#I was going for that resigned kind of dead inside look

[unordinary-diary]

Blyke in Season 3.

This is my prediction. With the way Season 2 ended, I think they’ll find Blyke months later looking something like this.

Shit happens to people in prison. Terrence was murdered in his cell, Rein was worried about being killed by other inmates, hell, Blyke’s already pretty banged up in the finale and he’s been there for 2.5 seconds. Not to mention that the Authorities seem to have no problem torturing kids *COUgh* Keon.

Perhaps it’s a bit pessimistic, but the story’s been getting a lot darker lately. I doubt Blyke’s getting out of prison without a little extra trauma at least.

Latest Chapter as of Prediction: Side Story — Triple Threat (1)

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

𝕿𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕿𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 | 1

Read Chapter two - here [MASTERLIST]

screencaps and gifs: Pinterest

Pairing: dark!Joel Miller x Fem!reader

Warnings/tags: MDNI 18+, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, BLOOD, Auctioning people, talks of BDSM, talks of virginity, talks of STD and STI tests, Dom and Sub dynamics, underage drinking (20), THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME

Summary: 20,000 dollars in student debt can lead to irrational decisions, like engaging in a questionable discussion when a friend who is knowledgeable about BDSM mentions an auction she's attending.

WC: 3.6K

A/n: the first of the new and improved version of my mister miller fic🫶🏻

For notifications follow - @sinful-mind-joyful-fics

Cold and heartless, Dr. Richards, your financial aid advisor, was a stern woman. You had expected that, considering the difficulty of having to inform hundreds of students about whether they could afford to continue their college careers or not. Last week, you discovered an unpaid dues notice from the school when you were looking through your financial reports. You had thought that all your dues were covered by a creative writing scholarship and financial aid.

Dr. Richards set your papers down and sighed, taking off her glasses and looking at you with an unexpected hint of pity. "Would you like me to be kind or blunt?" she asked, her voice steady but softened by the weight of bad news.

Your hand slapped to your forehead instinctively as dread pooled in your stomach. "Blunt," you muttered, bracing yourself.

"You're $20,000 in debt," she continued without missing a beat. "The total cost of your first year was $40,000. $20,000 was covered through financial aid and the scholarship, but if you wish to continue, the remaining $20,000 has to be paid by the start of next semester."

Shock and anger twisted inside you, making your vision blur. "Three months?!" you exclaimed, your voice rising with panic. "How am I supposed to afford that? I can barely afford anything as it is."

Dr. Richards leaned back, her eyes holding a mixture of sympathy and resignation. "I understand this is difficult, but the reality is, you need to find a solution quickly. Perhaps a private loan, more scholarships, or even a part-time job."

The office walls seemed to close in around you, the air thick with the weight of impossible choices. You stood up, feeling the urgency of time slipping through your fingers. "I'll figure something out," you said, your voice a brittle whisper of determination.

As you stepped out into the corridor, the gravity of your situation bore down on you. The campus buzzed with the usual life of students, oblivious to your internal turmoil. Every step you took felt heavier, each echoes a reminder of the $20,000 chain now dragging you down.

Night fell as you wandered the campus, lost in thought. The familiar paths seemed alien, shadows stretching long and menacing under the flickering streetlights. Once you made it back to your cramped dorm room, you opened the door and flopped onto your bed without even glancing at your roommate, Faith.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Faith asked, concern lacing her voice.

You lifted your head from the bed just enough to reply. "Remember the financial notice I got last week? Turns out I'm $20,000 in debt, and I didn't even know. Ugh, I should have read the papers more thoroughly." You sunk your head back into the thin, scratchy comforter on your bed, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on you.

Faith sat down on the edge of her bed, her eyes wide with concern. "That's... a lot. What are you going to do?"

You sighed deeply, the sound muffled by the comforter. "I have no idea. Three months to come up with twenty grand? It feels impossible."

Faith was silent for a moment, the tension in the room thickening. Finally, she spoke, her voice a mix of determination and desperation. "We'll figure something out. There has to be a way."

You nodded weakly, and Faith gently moved your shoulders to get you to sit up. She sat next to you and nudged you playfully. "Maybe a sugar daddy? You're a hot 20-year-old with a banging body," Faith joked, her mischievous grin breaking through the tension.

You managed a small smile, though part of you wondered if she was actually being serious. Faith was always open about her sex life, unlike you. You were a virgin, but the thought of a sugar daddy did sound appealing in your desperate situation.

"Yeah, right," you replied with a chuckle, though the idea lingered in your mind longer than it should have. Faith's laughter filled the room, a momentary reprieve from the oppressive worry.

Faith stood up abruptly before walking to her laptop and bringing it over to you. "A Twilight marathon isn't going to fix this," she cut you off, her tone serious, as she settled beside you.

"I know, I know... but," she hesitated, her expression grave, "well, I might have a solution." With a look of persuasion, she showed you her laptop screen, displaying a website named 'Twisted Temptations.'

"Your BDSM club?" you blurted out, taken aback.

"Okay, okay, listen," Faith hurried to explain, sensing your shock and disapproval. "We're doing this auction... You get 10% of whatever they bid for you."

You stood there, frozen in disbelief, waiting for Faith to continue. "How do you think I paid for college and..." she paused, choosing her words carefully, "most don't even want sex. You should at least look at the application."

You shook your head, doubt clouding your thoughts. "I don't know, Faith. This is so out of my comfort zone."

Faith moved closer, her expression softening with concern and determination. "Listen, I wouldn't suggest this if I didn't think it was safe. The club is strict about boundaries. You set the limits, and they are respected. Plus, I'll be there to guide you through everything."

You glanced at the laptop screen, the application form open and waiting. The prospect seemed overwhelming, yet there was a glimmer of hope—an unconventional solution to your daunting financial problems.

Faith sensed your hesitation and continued, "I know it's a big step, but think about the benefits. You need the money, and this way, you control what happens. You set your limits and preferences, and everything is mutually agreed upon with your partner. Trust me, you'll be safe."

You took a deep breath, considering her words. "But what if something goes wrong?"

Faith smiled reassuringly. "It won't. The club has strict rules and procedures to protect everyone involved. I'll help you with everything—filling out the application, setting your boundaries, and making sure you're comfortable. You won't be alone in this."

The weight of your financial troubles pressed down on you, and Faith's unwavering support felt like a lifeline. You sighed and sank onto the bed next to her. "Alright, I'll do it, but you have to help me. I don't want something to go wrong."

Faith's eyes lit up with excitement. "It won't," she assured you confidently. "Let's get started." She quickly filled in your name, age, and other essential details, then looked at you with a reassuring smile. "Okay, now we need to talk about your preferences and limits. This is really important."

You nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity. "What kind of preferences?"

Faith glanced at the screen, scrolling down to the next section. "Let's start with the basics. Are there any absolute no-go areas for you? Things you absolutely won't do?"

You bit your lip, feeling a flutter of nerves. "Well, I'm a virgin, but I'm ready to...you know, not be. I just don't want to do anything I'm not comfortable with."

Faith nodded, her expression serious but supportive. "That's totally okay. You can specify that you're new and what your limits are. Many people in the club respect that and will help you explore at your own pace."

She typed as she spoke, checking off boxes and filling in fields. "What about things like light bondage, sensory play, or role-playing? Have you ever thought about those?"

You blushed slightly, feeling a mix of excitement and fear. "I've never tried any of it, but I guess I could be open to light stuff. Nothing too intense to start."

Faith smiled encouragingly. "Perfect. We'll start with light bondage and sensory play. You can always update your preferences later as you get more comfortable."

She continued filling out the form, asking about your comfort levels with different activities, safe words, and any medical conditions or allergies. You answered as best as you could, relying on Faith's guidance and the snippets of information she'd shared with you over the years.

"Remember," Faith added, "most of what you like and don't like is decided mutually between the dom and sub. Communication is key. You'll discuss your limits and preferences with your partner beforehand, and you can always say no if something doesn't feel right."

Faith noted your availability and reviewed the application one last time. "Alright, I think we're all set. Ready to submit?"

You took a deep breath, nerves, and excitement swirling within you. "Ready."

Faith clicked the submit button, and the screen flashed a confirmation message. She turned to you with a grin. "Welcome to Twisted Temptations. You're going to be great."

As you sat there, a mix of relief and apprehension settling over you, Faith squeezed your hand. "Remember, you're in control. This is about exploring your boundaries and discovering what you're comfortable with. And I'll be here every step of the way."

You nodded, and Faith smiled. “The auction will be held next week. You’ll need to get an STD and STI test done, and you desperately need to get something sexy.”

You gasped at Faith. “I own sexy clothes?”

Faith giggled and walked over to the closet. "Well, maybe not yet, but that's what I'm here for."

She flung open the closet doors and began rifling through your clothes. After a moment, she pulled out a baggy hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, holding them up with a look of mock horror. “Unless you plan on seducing someone with the allure of ‘Netflix and no chill,’ we need to do some shopping.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, okay, point taken. But where am I supposed to find something sexy?”

Faith’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Leave that to me. We’ll hit up the mall tomorrow, and by the time we’re done, you’ll have an outfit that’ll make jaws drop.”

You felt a mixture of excitement and dread. “Fine, but no leather. And nothing with feathers. Or sequins. Or—”

“Relax,” Faith interrupted, still laughing. “I know just the thing. You’ll be sexy, not sparkly.”

As Faith closed the closet doors with a flourish, she turned back to you, her expression turning serious. “But seriously, the tests are important. We need to make sure you’re safe and everything is in order.”

You nodded, the gravity of the situation sinking in again. “I’ll make an appointment first thing tomorrow.”

Faith grinned and flopped down on the bed beside you. “Great. Now, let’s watch a terrible rom-com to celebrate your big decision. It’ll be our last bit of normalcy before you become a sex goddess.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile.

Faith and you decided to Uber to the auction. The city lights blurred past the window as you fidgeted with the hem of your newly purchased dress. Faith noticed your nerves and squeezed your hand reassuringly.

“Alright,” she said, her tone both calming and excited, “let me walk you through what’s going to happen tonight.”

You nodded, trying to focus on her words instead of the churning anxiety in your stomach.

“When we arrive at the venue, we'll check in at the front desk. They'll hand you your papers and auction number,” Faith explained. “Then, we can mingle and meet some of the other participants. It's like a real auction party, so don't be shy about striking up conversations.”

You took a deep breath, feeling slightly reassured. “And when does the bidding start?”

Faith grinned. “Bidding starts at 10 PM sharp. That's when the real excitement begins.

As the Uber came to a stop outside the venue, I looked out the window at the unremarkable building that awaited me. Faith led the way, exuding confidence as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

Stepping into the venue, anticipation swirled around me like a gentle breeze, mingling with the soft melodies of background music. The interior whispered of understated elegance, with dim lighting casting enchanting shadows across the polished floors and plush furnishings. Faith guided you towards the check-in desk, where attendants bustled about with papers and pins. You exchanged a nervous glance, excitement bubbling beneath the surface as you approached the desk.

“Welcome,” greeted the attendant with a warm smile, “may I have your names, please?”

You and Faith exchanged introductions before the attendant handed you each a set of papers and pins to attach to your dresses. With a playful grin, Faith nudged you and held up her pin, wiggling it teasingly.

“Alright, partner in crime,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “let’s get these on and make sure we’re looking sharp for the auction.”

You chuckled, feeling a surge of affection for your friend as you both leaned in to help each other attach the pins to your dresses. 

With your pins securely fastened, you and Faith made your way toward the main ballroom. The air seemed to buzz with an undercurrent of excitement and anticipation. As you approached the entrance, the grandeur of the room came into view.

The ballroom was a striking blend of opulence and decadence. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the space, illuminating velvet drapes in deep, sensual hues that lined the walls. The polished marble floors reflected the ambient light, creating an almost surreal atmosphere. Guests mingled in clusters, their laughter and hushed conversations weaving a tapestry of sound that filled the room.

At one end of the ballroom stood a grand stage, draped in rich, crimson fabric and adorned with luxurious golden trim. The stage was set for the auction, with a sleek podium at the center and rows of plush chairs arranged in front, ready for the evening’s main event.

As you stepped further inside, the scene grew more intense. The guests were an eclectic mix, their attire ranging from sophisticated evening wear to daring, barely-there outfits that left little to the imagination. Leather, lace, and latex dominated the fashion choices, with some attendees adorned in intricate harnesses and collars, their outfits hinting at the BDSM theme of the event.

Faith squeezed your hand one last time before she was swept away by a familiar face, her confident stride never faltering. You stood there for a moment, feeling a sudden pang of anxiety as the crowd seemed to close in around you. The noise, the lights, the sheer number of people—it was all too much at once.

Your heart raced as you tried to navigate through the sea of faces, each one strange and intimidating. The grandeur of the ballroom that had seemed so captivating just moments ago now felt overwhelming. You took a deep breath, attempting to steady yourself, but the sensation of being out of your depth only intensified.

The guests were like nothing you had ever seen before. A man in an immaculate tuxedo strolled by, a jeweled mask obscuring his eyes, while a woman in a full-body latex suit and stiletto heels sauntered past, her movements deliberate and commanding. A couple nearby caught your eye: the woman wore a sheer, flowing gown, her partner trailing behind her on a leash, wearing nothing but leather shorts and a collar.

In one corner, a group of people had gathered around a figure suspended in a rope harness, their intricate knots both artistic and functional. Soft moans and murmurs of appreciation floated through the air as the person twisted slowly, lost in the sensations the ropes provided. Another attendee, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, held a riding crop, playfully tapping it against their thigh as they chatted with a scantily clad submissive whose eyes never left the ground.

Guests lounged on plush sofas, some openly engaging in power play dynamics. A woman in a sleek corset held a leash attached to a submissive kneeling beside her, while another couple whispered intimately, their hands exploring each other's bodies with practiced ease. The atmosphere was charged with an erotic energy, a palpable sense of anticipation for what the night would bring.

As you continued to weave through the crowd, searching for a familiar face or a quiet corner, the overwhelming nature of the evening began to settle heavily on your shoulders. The mix of luxury and raw sexuality, the boldness of the guests, and the anticipation of what was to come all blended into a dizzying mix that left you feeling adrift.

In that moment, you longed for Faith's reassuring presence, her confident guidance. But she was somewhere amidst the throng, leaving you to navigate this new and intimidating world on your own. You felt a prickling sense of vulnerability, the realization that you were truly stepping into uncharted territory sinking in as you tried to steady your breath and find your footing in the extravagant chaos surrounding you.

So, like every college student in a social bind, you made a beeline for the bar. "Shit," you muttered, realizing you had left both your fake and real ID back in the dorm. Trying to muster some confidence, you approached the bar, hoping your outfit might be convincing enough. You sidled up next to a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, dressed impeccably in a well-tailored suit. You could catch the faint scent of pine and campfire from his cologne.

Putting on your best flirty face, you addressed the bartender. He was the complete opposite of the man beside you—average height, slightly taller than you, skinny, tattooed, and wearing an ill-fitting button-up uniform top. His head was shaved clean. "One shot of Tito's, please," you said, playing with your hair in an attempt to seem older and more sophisticated.

The bartender chuckled. "ID, please?"

You leaned forward, arms together to emphasize your cleavage. "ID, really?" you said, trying to be as seductive as possible.

The bartender looked tempted but quickly shook his head. "No ID, no alcohol," he said firmly, turning away.

You groaned in frustration, which caught the attention of the man next to you. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was older, that was clear, but he looked good. His stubble was neatly trimmed, his curly hair slicked back in a way that seemed both effortless and intentional, and his eyes were large and expressive.

"So, no ID?" he asked, his voice warm and slightly amused.

You smiled back. "No, but a girl can try."

He set down his glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. "Well, how old are you then?"

"Twenty," you admitted, locking eyes with him.

Before you could continue the conversation, Faith appeared, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the bar. "What were you doing talking to Joel Miller?" she asked, her voice a mix of shock and concern.

You glanced back, watching Joel as he turned back to his drink. "Just chatting. Why?"

Faith handed you a pamphlet and opened it to a specific page. "Page four," she instructed.

As you skimmed the page, she continued, "Joel is... intense. He's someone to shy away from until you're more experienced. Trust me on this."

Your eyes widened as you read the details. "Intense" was an understatement. "So, who's the safe bet?" you asked, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Faith's face softened. "His brother, Tommy. He's more laid-back and a better choice for someone starting. You'll find him much easier to talk to."

You sighed, glancing back toward the bar. "Guess I dodged a bullet, huh?"

Faith smiled. "Yeah, you did. Now, let's find Tommy and get you introduced. He's around here somewhere."

Joel suddenly appeared as you and Faith navigated through the crowd, stopping you both dead in your tracks. "Tito's," he said, handing you a glass with a wry smile. He glanced at the number pinned to your dress before walking away, leaving you stunned.

"What was that about?" Faith immediately questioned, her eyes wide with surprise.

Before you could respond, a voice boomed from the auction podium. "May all the products please make their way backstage."

Faith turned to you, her expression shifting from curiosity to urgency. "We'll talk about this later. Right now, we need to get backstage."

Your heart pounded as you nodded, clutching the glass of Tito's Joel had given you. You downed it in one gulp, hoping it would calm your nerves, then handed the empty glass back to Faith. She gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "You'll be fine. Just remember what we talked about. You're in control."

With a deep breath, you joined the other "products" making their way to the designated area. The backstage was a flurry of activity, with organizers checking names and numbers, and participants adjusting their outfits one last time. The air was thick with anticipation and a hint of perfume mingled with the scent of leather.

An organizer approached you, checking your number against his list. "You're number 3, correct?" he asked.

"Yes," you replied, your voice barely audible over the din of conversation and last-minute preparations.

"Great. Just wait here until you're called," he instructed, pointing to a row of chairs along the wall.

You sat down, your mind racing. Faith's words echoed in your head: "You're in control. You decide your limits." The reality of what you were about to do began to sink in, but you steeled yourself, determined to see it through.

As you waited, you couldn't help but think about Joel. His unexpected gesture with the Tito's, the way he had looked at you—something about him intrigued and unnerved you. But Faith's warning was clear: he was intense, someone to be cautious around. Your thoughts were interrupted by a tap on your shoulder.

"Number 3, you're up next," the organizer said.

You stood up, smoothed out your dress, and took a deep breath. As you stepped towards the stage, the curtain drew back slightly, giving you a tantalizing glimpse of the auction room. The ambient lighting cast a soft glow, illuminating the expectant faces of the bidders, their anticipation palpable in the air.

Stepping into the spotlight, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. The auctioneer's voice echoed in the room, commanding attention as he announced, "And now, presenting number 3, starting bid at $500."

[yeowangies]

Covenant

PAIRING: Sukuna/AFAB!Reader. CONTENTS: AU - Medieval, Demon!Sukuna, Explicit Sexual Content, Dubcon, Mentions of blood. WORDCOUNT: 1404

Summary:

Turning to look for its point of origin, the voice was basically lost in the darkness, and your hands shuddered in anticipation.

Notes:

KINKTOBER DAY 2: DUBCON

This was inspired by the movie The Witch. I was so excited to write for Sukuna, but I don't know if I did him justice tbh. I had fun though, and I'll write more of him in the future!

divider by @/saradika-graphics

Surrounded in a puddle of blood inside your own dark, precarious house, you tried to wipe it away from your clothes, your hands, your face, but there was no use. If anything, you were spreading it more.

You couldn’t stop shaking, and the tears in your eyes made everything blurry. 

Your entire family was gone. All that was left were pieces of them, torn clothes, blood splattered on the floor and on the walls, and of course, you. 

It was your fault. You didn’t know how, but it was. 

You were powerless to stop the horror that was unleashed at your home, and the predicament was just as tortuous. Being the only survivor of a massacre was its own kind of hell. 

With resigned courage, you walked into the forest just a few meters away from what used to be your place. It surprised you that you didn’t feel any doubt about doing so, no matter that you were still shaken up about what you’ve lost. 

An ominous voice was what made your heart sink as the sun went down. 

“Have you lost something, brat?”

Turning to look for its point of origin, the voice was basically lost in the darkness, and your hands shuddered in anticipation. 

“Who are you?” You asked with feigned bravery. “Where are you?”

A mocking laugh was your response, and a shiver ran up your spine. 

“Where is your family?” The voice asked. It lacked any kind of warmth you could have recognized in any other human being, and it only made you tremble more. Whoever was speaking was obviously laughing at you, mocking you, and fear crept in quickly. “You are alone, aren’t you, girl?”

When a figure suddenly appeared out of thin in front of you, you fell backwards, gasping in shock. 

Whatever it was, it was enormous, imposing, with four arms, and four eyes that gleamed through the dark. 

Inhuman. 

“Look at you, all lost and alone.” He licked his lips, eying you with all his eyes as if you were a piece of meat. “Do you need help?”

“What are you? What do you want?” You demanded urgently, with a breathy voice.

“To help you.” He replied; he was grinning, sharp teeth visible like pearls in the night, but he sounded annoyed with you. “Your family is dead, isn't it? You have nothing left in this world, you are better off this way. I can give you something, anything.”

“What?” You asked, stunned, but he went, ignoring you.

“They would have married you off to some poor idiot who wouldn’t even touch you the way you deserve, and you’d die as poorly as you lived. But I can give you whatever you desire.” You were too taken aback to move when he approached you, towering in front of you with his impressive size. “I see your heart, you envy those wealthy women with flamboyant dresses, living in mansions while you starve to death. I will give you the biggest castle, with the most expensive dresses and impressive jewls.”

He paused, leaning down to gaze at you with unnaturally red eyes.

“If you stay by my side, and give me your soul.”

“What… What does that mean?” Your breathing turned erratic, louder, at the shock of what was currently happening. 

“You will live a fruitful life, far longer than anyone in your ancestry has ever lived.”

No matter that you were clearly in the presence of a demon, with sharp, sinister features, you couldn’t avert your eyes from him, like a magnetic field was drawing you closer. Even if you were too stunned to move, you couldn’t even move away from him if you wanted to.

And a voice inside you told you that even if you tried, he wouldn’t let you go too far.

He stared at you, expectantly, as if he knew you were going to say yes. 

“I don’t have all day, girl.” He playfully complained, in a tone that feigned annoyance, but his eyes stared up and down your body as he spoke. “I have another calamity to attend to.”

It shouldn’t have been a hard choice, it really shouldn’t have been. But you had considered your options before this entity even showed up: you’d either find a job for another lord, who would beat you, abuse you and even rape you, only to be dead at a probably young age, not long from then, of an unknown disease; or in worst cases, you’ll be begging for food on the streets, maybe even trading sex for money, leaving you vulnerable again, with an unknown fate that would make you die as a penniless person. 

Gulping hard, eyes closed, you drooped your shoulders in defeat.

“I accept.”

Your vision turned blurry, back hitting the dirt as you were pushed backwards with full force with a hand on your neck. You gasped for air, as he climbed on top of you, all hands pressing you to the ground as he laughed wickedly. 

“That was too easy!” He scorned, ripping your clothes with little effort. 

“No!” You tried to cling to whatever fabric was left on you, to no avail when he pinned your arms to the ground.

“Shut up!” He roared, making you whimper when he tightened his grip on your forearms. “We have to seal the deal, and this is how we do it.”

“But I-”

“You accepted this.” He scolded you with a tone that made your stomach sink, empty yet heavy eyes staring at your face. “I don’t give a shit if you want to die in this disgusting forest, I’ll leave you to rot right here if you take your word back.”

You gulped, tears threatening to spill as he squeezed his grip around your throat. 

“Do you really want to end up beaten and raped by some revolting rich man, dying as pathetically as you lived?” When you shook your head softly with a sob, he unwrapped his hand from your neck. “You’ll enjoy this, it’s not as bad as you think.”

The mischievous grin on his lips didn’t give you any reassurance; he sounded like he was making fun of you with every word he spoke. 

However, you didn’t fight anymore. When he grabbed and kneaded one of your breasts, nipples already erect when the cool air hit your body, you whined, but didn’t complain. It was a strange sensation, to have his hands on you, his lecherous gaze focusing on every curve. It felt wrong, and simultaneously so good, when his fingers dragged down your sides, nails turned your skin red. 

As he pulled his pants down, you closed your eyes, bracing yourself for what you assumed would be pain (you had been told it’d hurt on the first time), but his hand on the back of your head forced you to watch in horror as two cocks bounced free. 

“My name is Sukuna. Remember it, it’s the only name you’ll scream from now on.”

Your mind turned blank when he suddenly pushed both of his cocks against you, penetrating your pussy and asshole simultaneously. Your body was numb, pain surging through your veins, as he started moving unrelentingly. You watch with hazy eyes as he slid his cocks in and out of your holes, mouth hung open, breathy whimpers and sobs spilling from your lips. 

You didn’t even notice you were crying until your face was drenched.

The hand on your head pushed you against the ground again, squeezing your neck, coercing you to meet his eyes. 

“You break my fucking heart.” Sukuna chuckled, licking his lips. “You’re crying on your first time? No one will treat you as nicely as I am.”

Something wet and warm sliding across your lower abdomen made you choke back a moan, alarmed since you had no idea what was real or not anymore. But something bloomed rapidly inside your tummy, like a wildfire.

“Oh, you like that? What a slutty girl!” His dark voice sneered at the pathetic situation you were in.Pain and pleasure mixed in together, turning your brain to mush. You couldn’t explain what was happening to you, noises spilling from deep inside your chest, moans, whimpers and sobs, with each thrust of his hips. Whatever wet thing was sliding between your legs made your body shake with delight, and your eyes were rolling back into your head as he tightened his grip on your throat.

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 1

(I promise I really did try to stop myself from posting this and have patience but I just couldn't do it!!!)

You and the group, exhausted and starving, search for safety in the ruins of a broken world and find potential refuge in an overrun prison. Amid the constant danger, your bond with Daryl grows, though you remain haunted by the trauma of the last night on the farm.

You

You remember again what true hunger feels like after all this time—the gnawing, aching, painful twisting in your gut that threatens to distract you.

The third house of the day looms before you, a crumbling relic of a life long lost to the apocalypse. You tighten your grip on the knife, holding it up by your ear, moving silently as you creep through the back door. The mudroom greets you with the scent of mildew and decay, and the cracked tiles beneath your feet crunch softly, though the noise feels deafening in your heightened state. Snarling comes from somewhere deeper inside the house, faint but unmistakable. You can tell it isn’t the kind of sound that means the walkers have noticed anyone. It’s that idle, low growl they emit as they wait, like predators with no purpose other than to react when prey comes near.

Your heart rate quickens, but you stay calm, methodical. You’ve done this enough times to know better than to let panic creep in. Months of jumping from house to house, exhaustion clouding every move, not sure what lies around every corner. You learn to push down the fear after a while. It never fully leaves you, but it’s manageable now. 

From another part of the house, you hear bodies thump heavily to the ground—silent but unmistakable. The thud is followed by a brief pause, then nothing. 

Moving into the kitchen, you carefully step over the broken dishes, upturned chairs, and scattered garbage littering the floor. The mess seems like a reminder of how quickly life had fallen apart. People left in a hurry, abandoning everything in a desperate attempt to survive. You glance at the countertop where a calendar still hangs, frozen in time on a date that no longer matters.

The kitchen is eerily quiet, with only the occasional creak of the decaying house keeping you company. Taking a breath, you cross the room, your eyes trained on the door ahead. With your knife raised, you brace yourself and throw open the door, immediately jumping back, ready for whatever horror might come charging through.

Instead, your breath catches when a pair of familiar blue eyes meet yours, an arrow aimed directly at you. For a second, you freeze, heart leaping into your throat.

Daryl lowers his crossbow just as quickly, his lips curling into a faint, teasing smile. Scoffing, you follow him as he turns to go down the hallway. You stay close behind, eyes fixed on the back of his head, watching the way he moves with quiet precision, his crossbow back up at the ready. Always careful. Always ready.

As he leans into the doorway of what looks like a bedroom, you catch a glimpse of something unusual. A large bird—a magnificent owl—perches in the window, its enormous yellow eyes staring back at you, wings slowly spreading wide in an attempt to intimidate.

Without hesitation, Daryl raises his crossbow again and shoots the bird, the arrow landing squarely in its chest. It slumps forward, dead before it even knew what hit it.

“A meal is a meal,” Daryl says, already yanking the arrow free and pulling feathers from the owl’s body in preparation.

“Hear me complainin’?” you quip back, though the idea of eating owl doesn’t sit well in your stomach. At this point, though, you’re beyond picky. Anything that fills the gnawing void in your gut will do.

As Daryl works, the sound of a can opener interrupts the silence. You glance over to see Carl, looking young and exhausted, fiddling with the opener on a can of dog food. The others sit around him, watching him mess with it, looks of hollow resignation on their faces. Before he can get it open, Rick strides over, his jaw tight with frustration, and snatches the can from Carl’s hands, tossing it aside without a word. There's a strange tension in the air, the kind that always lingers after too many days without food, without safety.

The group’s exhaustion weighs heavily on you, making everything feel slower, more oppressive. You look around at the forlorn faces of those around you. Lori sits with her hand resting on her stomach, her head tilted back in momentary reprieve. Hershel sits nearby with Beth and Maggie at his side, while Glenn sits with his eyes cast down, his hand wrapped around Maggie’s. T-Dog stands at the window, his eyes scanning the outside world with quiet vigilance. As you glance at him, your gaze shifts past his head, and that’s when you see them—walkers, moving with their lazy, inevitable purpose, shambling closer to the house. T-Dog catches sight of them too. He turns back to the group, his voice low as he makes a quiet “psst,” a signal that instantly grabs everyone’s attention.

In a heartbeat, the atmosphere shifts. Instinct takes over. The exhaustion that had weighed on everyone moments ago disappears, replaced by the sharp edge of survival. Everyone moves quickly, grabbing what they can, the unspoken understanding that you need to leave—now.

Outside, the vehicles wait like lifelines, ready to go. You swing your leg over the back of Daryl’s bike, the familiar rumble of the engine vibrating through you as he revs it up. The wind whips through your hair as he takes off, his back solid in front of you, but there’s no time to relax. Not now. Not with so many so close. A few miles down the road, when everyone seems sure nothing is around, the vehicles stop and people clamber out. Carl immediately goes on watch towards the back, Beth taking to your right, Carol off to the front left. 

Once everyone’s on their feet again, you find yourself standing by Rick and the others, a map splayed across the hood of the Hyundai. The sunlight beats down on you, hot and relentless, as Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog huddle around the car.

“We got no place left to go,” T-Dog says grimly, eyes scanning the map with no real hope.

Maggie is the next to speak up, her voice tight with worry. “When the herd meets up with this one, we’ll be cut off… We’ll never make it out.”

Daryl’s voice cuts through the tension, practical as ever, looking to Glenn, “What’d ya say, about 150 head?”

Glenn squints in the sun as he looks over, trying to calculate. “That was last week… could be twice that by now.”

The words hang heavy in the air as the group exchanges uneasy glances.

There’s more conversation around the map, tension rising with every passing second. Hershel points to a spot where a river cuts through the terrain. “This could delay the walkers some,” he says, his voice steady but tinged with concern. “Might buy us a little time.”

You shift your weight, leaning against the hot metal of the car as sweat trickles down your spine, soaking into your shirt. The end of summer has brought an unbearable heat in the day and cold nights, and the relentless sun beats down on all of you now. It makes everything harder—thinking, moving, even breathing. The heat feels like it’s closing in, amplifying the suffocating sense of being trapped, surrounded on all sides by herds of the dead.

Your eyes drop to the map, though the lines and roads are starting to blur. It feels like you’ve been running in circles, from one house to the next, never finding enough supplies, never feeling safe for more than a few hours. Every turn feels like it just leads you back to the same dead end—hunger, danger, exhaustion.

As a plan starts to come together, people split up and take a moment to relax by the cars, getting their things in order. 

“Hey,” Daryl growls, his voice breaking through the fog of your thoughts. He’s looking straight at you and Rick, the two of you still hovering in front of the car. “While the others wash their panties, let’s go out and hunt.”

Rick and you meet eyes then, and you nod along, your stomach giving a sharp reminder of how little your lunch had done to fill the void. 

“That owl didn’t exactly hit the spot,” you mutter, heading for the trunk of the car where your rifle rests. Your fingers close around the cold metal, and you feel a strange sense of relief. At least with a weapon in hand, things feel a little more certain, even if it’s just an illusion.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・

The train tracks are rusted and overgrown, tangled with weeds and vines from months of neglect. Each step you take along the old rails echoes softly in the still air, the sound barely noticeable over the distant rustle of the wind through the trees. The three of you walk in silence, your eyes constantly scanning the woods, ever-alert for movement—whether it’s game or danger.

The forest feels endless around you, dense and shadowed, the overgrowth reclaiming what was once human space. There’s a quiet tension in the air, the kind that never really leaves anymore, always lingering at the edge of every moment. Your fingers brush against the cool metal of your rifle, ready for anything.

Then, the trees break suddenly, the thick wall of branches and leaves giving way to an open clearing. The sight ahead stops you in your tracks.

A large, imposing structure sits just beyond the clearing—an old prison. Its tall fences and watchtowers rise like dark silhouettes against the sky, but what immediately catches your attention is the movement inside. Walkers. Dozens, maybe more, stagger and shuffle aimlessly within the prison yard, their moans faint but distinct, even from this distance. The chain-link fences seem to hold them in, for now, but the sight is enough to make your skin crawl.

“That’s a shame,” Daryl grunts, squinting as he assesses the situation, his eyes scanning the yard filled with the dead. He tightens his grip on his crossbow, frustration clear in his voice. 

You nod silently in agreement, the potential of a fortified structure like that being overshadowed by the sheer number of walkers roaming the inside. The idea of clearing it out seems impossible.

But Rick remains silent. His gaze is fixed on the prison, his jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimmer in his eyes—a twinkle of something…hope, maybe. Or determination. It’s the look he gets when he’s already starting to formulate a plan, even if the odds seem stacked against him.

You exchange a glance with Daryl, sensing that Rick might see something more than just a lost cause in the wreckage ahead.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・

You press your weight against the fence, the chain link rattling under the force as you shove your knife through an opening, right into the skull of a walker. Its snarl cuts off abruptly as it slumps to the ground, but you barely register it. You’re already moving again, feet pounding against the ground as you run through the middle walkway between yard and forest. Daryl stays up front, his torn leather vest flapping in the wind, the angel wings on his back catching the light.

“It’s perfect,” Rick whispers, his eyes scanning the prison yard as you all pause, “If we shut that gate, stop any more from coming in, we can clear the yard.” His voice holds a quiet certainty.

“I’ll go,” Glenn offers, stepping forward, but Maggie immediately shoots him a glare, shutting him down. Glenn stands his ground, though. “I’m the fastest. I can do it.”

Rick’s eyes shift to Maggie, Beth, and Glenn. “No, you, Maggie, and Beth, draw as many as you can over there.” He points toward the far side of the fence around the corner, “Pop ‘em through the fence.”

“Daryl, head back to the other tower,” Rick continues, calling out names and assigning positions, while you stand quietly, waiting for your role. Steady adrenaline keeps you going, buzzing with something inside you. There’s no space for fear, excitement, or even hesitation. This is just survival.

Daryl catches your eye, his gaze quick and searching. It’s a silent check-in, a wordless connection. You give him a short nod, enough for him. Then, he’s off, running toward his position.

One by one, everyone scatters, moving to their designated spots—ready to lure, shoot, and take down walkers. You watch them go, your focus sharp, every movement rehearsed in your head. The gate is key. If it stays open, there’s no winning this fight.

Rick looks around, watching them all head off, and then his eyes land on you. His lips quirk up in the corners, eyes almost apologetic.

You breathe out a chuckle, half rolling your eyes at him, “I’ll run for the gate,” you moan sarcastically, realizing your fate.

“I’m right behind ya,” he chuckles, standing by the fence. It’s such a strange thing– seeing him smile now. Like all his prayers are being answered today.

You hear the others calling for walkers, the sounds of knives piercing skulls and bodies hitting the ground inside the fence. Lori stands by the gate, her face tense as she takes a deep breath, looking at both of you for a moment, then pulls it open just wide enough to let you and Rick through.

You move quickly, quietly, gun raised, knife ready in your other hand. The air is thick with tension, but your movements are automatic now—practiced, efficient. You let your gun fall to swing around your torso by the strap to slash your knife through walker’s heads, a few finding you and Rick more interesting than those along the chain link fencing. Gunshots ring out nearby, and you see bodies falling, but you don’t let it break your stride. Rick is right beside you, both of you sprinting for the main gate. You hear a snarl coming up behind you, but when you turn to take it down, it’s already falling to the earth with an arrow in its head. You look up across the yard and see Daryl in the guard tower, his eyes on you. You throw him a quick nod again, thanks , and take off.

When you reach the inner fence, you quickly tie a cord to secure the entrance, your fingers working fast as Rick kicks down a walker that got too close. Without missing a beat, he pulls you toward the center guard tower, and you follow him up the narrow stairs, your breath steady despite the chaos below.

At the top, you finally pause, glancing down at the sea of walkers in blue jumpsuits. Their lifeless movements seem almost surreal from this vantage point. When you look over at Rick, you notice something that catches you off guard—a smile. A genuine, wide smile spreads across his face, a rare sight these days. He lets out a short, breathless laugh, almost disbelieving, and before you know it, the two of you start shooting down the walkers below, one after another.

One by one, they hit the ground. The smiles on everyone’s faces are priceless. For the first time in months–months, you hear laughter. A small part of you recognizes this rare moment of relief too, letting your tense shoulders fall in celebration. Daryl is waiting for you when you reach the bottom, moving toward you with a quiet kind of confidence. Without saying a word, he hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you close so that your head fits into the crook of his elbow. He kisses the top of your head, a gesture that feels grounding, steady. 

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・

Later that night, everyone is gathered around the firepit, the orange glow flickering against tired faces, and you and Daryl are stationed on watch atop a truck that was flipped onto its side to block the gated entrance out of the field. Your legs dangle down by one of the tires, your rifle resting across your lap. You sit quietly, feeling the weight of the night but enjoying the quiet– just the rhythm of breathing and waiting. Daryl’s footsteps sound behind you, pacing back and forth along the metal of the truck, eyes sweeping the area, always alert.

You watch Rick make his rounds, occasionally catching sight of him when he passes through the inner fence. It’s almost mechanical now, his path well-worn as he loops around again and again. He’s passed three times already. For a moment, the space feels surreal—so much room to breathe, and yet the tension still lingers just beneath the surface.

A hand appears beside you, and you glance down to see Carol’s face, her eyes alight with a small smile. Daryl must have noticed her at the same time, because he leans down and helps her up onto the side of the truck with a grunt of effort. 

“It’s not much,” she says, handing you and Daryl a few scraps of meat, “but if I don’t bring you anything, you won’t eat at all.”

You give her a quiet nod of thanks, accepting your share. The meat is dry, but it’s something.

“I guess little Shane over there’s got quite the appetite,” Daryl grumbles between bites, nodding toward the group around the fire. You immediately avert your eyes, your fingers tightening slightly around your lap. You try to drown out the conversation, forcing yourself to focus on anything else—the distant crackle of the fire, the rustling of the trees outside the fence—anything to stop the memories from creeping in.

You can hear the teasing tone in Carol’s voice, “Don’t be mean,” but as she continues, she gets quieter–serious, “Rick’s gotten us a lot farther than I ever thought he would. I’ll give ‘em that.”

Daryl grunts in agreement, chewing on his food.

“Shane could never do that,” she adds quietly, her tone shifting.

The name catches you off guard again, and your stomach twists, though you try to push the feeling away. You gulp down what’s left of your food and squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to stifle the wave of nausea creeping in.

“What’s wrong?” Daryl asks, his voice low, though Carol doesn’t seem to notice the look on your face as she rubs her neck. But he’s not talking to you, he’s looking at her. You manage to open your eyes after the wave of uneasiness passes, and look up at them.

“The rifle,” Carol mutters, her hand gripping the side of her neck, “The kickback—guess I’m just not used to it.”

Daryl finishes licking the last of the juice from his fingers, then invites her over with a simple wave. He puts down his crossbow and begins kneading her shoulder, working out the tension in her muscles. You sit there, watching, feeling almost like you’re observing from the outside. His hands move with practiced ease, and Carol smiles back at him, teasing warmth in her eyes.

She turns her head, grinning. “Wow, Daryl, that was pretty romantic,” she says with a mischievous twinkle, “you hitting on me now? One girl not enough for ya?”

“Pffft…” Daryl rolls his eyes, clearly ignoring her, though a flicker of a grin crosses his face. He’s about to dismount the truck when he adds, “I’ll go down first.”

Carol, with a playful smirk, looks to you and winks, “Even better!”

A twinge of humor finally breaks through, and you can’t help the laughter that escapes you as you chuckle with her. Daryl’s face flushes brick red as he helps Carol down from the side of the truck, his hands gripping her sides briefly before letting go the moment her feet hit the ground. She heads off towards the group around the fire, leaving the two of you.

You go to get down yourself, but he stands in front of you, his arms up, waiting. “I got it,” you say, waving him off.

“I know,” his voice quiet, but his fingers twitch to beckon you down. You give him a small smile, and allow him to take you in his arms as you make your way down to the ground. His hands remain on your sides even when your feet find the grass below, and you find yourself holding onto his elbows for support, both of you lingering in that space.

There’s an unspoken moment between you, the air thick with something unsaid. You hang there, waiting for what he might say next, aware of the quiet tension settling in his features.

“You know,” he begins, his worried expression breaking into a small smile playing on his lips, teasing, “I’m still all yours,” 

“Good to know,” you murmur back, not really sure what else to say, but your lips twitch up playfully at his flirting. The way he’s looking at you makes it a little easier to be present, even if just for a moment.

Daryl’s lips quirk into a grin, satisfied with your reaction, even if it’s brief. He shifts, moving to walk along the side of the truck next to you, the two of you side by side now.

“Can’t have anyone thinkin’ I’m strayin’,” he teases lightly, his tone playful but gentle, almost like he’s testing the waters.

You glance at him again, another small laugh slipping out, even if you don’t fully feel it. It’s enough to lighten the mood, and for now, that’s enough. He takes your hand, his rough calluses a comfort you’d come to love scraping your skin. He tugs you forward, towards the group. Where you could hear Beth singing.

But since it has so ought to be 

By a time to rise and a time to fall 

Come fill to me the parting glass 

Good night and joy be with you all 

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・

Daryl

She hadn’t smiled in months. 

Not a real smile, anyway. Sure, he’d gotten some laughs out of her, but they weren’t the kind that came from within– a true, belly laugh. It was more like a quick puff of air, almost like a scoff, like the sound escaped before she could even stop it. But those smiles, the ones that used to light up her whole face– Gone. He missed that. He missed the way her eyes used to shine when they’d tease each other, trading jabs and grins like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Now, her smiles never touched her eyes. They were always distant now, like her mind was a million miles away. And damn if that didn’t tear him up inside.

It had been months since they’d felt any real safety, and maybe that was part of it. Being on the run, never knowing if you’d have a place to sleep or if walkers would come through at night—it wore on everyone. Constantly watching your back could drain a person’s spirit, and he figured maybe that had something to do with the change in her. But deep down, he knew better. This wasn’t just about the lack of safety. This was about that night on the farm. What Shane had done. What she had to do. Daryl hadn’t been there in time to stop it, and even though she survived, something in her had changed.

Daryl wasn’t good with words. Never had been. And when it came to asking her what was really going on, he figured he didn’t even have a clue where to start. He didn’t want to push her—didn’t know if he should. But every time he caught her staring off into the distance, or going through the motions like she was just surviving, it hit him like a gut punch. Something was broken inside her, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

So, he did what he always did—he stayed. Quiet, steady. Right by her side. If there was one thing he was good at, it was being there. Being solid when everything else fell apart. He didn’t need to know the right words, not really. Words had never mattered much between the two of them anyway.

He wasn’t gonna give up on her. Not now. Not ever.

But damn, he missed that twinkle in her eyes. Missed the way she used to jab him in the ribs with her elbow, flashing him that teasing smile that made everything feel lighter. He wondered if that part of her was ever coming back, or if the world had taken it from her for good.

He glances over at her now, sitting a few feet away, the firelight dancing along her features, fingers idly tracing the edge of her gun. She looks lost in thought, far away from him, from the fire, from the group. He isn’t sure how to reach her, but hell, he was gonna keep trying, even if it meant standing next to her in silence for the rest of his damn life.

[zarnzarn]

new fic, tw rescue from a kidnapping and s/a (calypso), illiad modern spy au

They find him in the place they were told they would.

The lot of them almost don't make it past the door with how all of them fight to get inside first. The woman inside screams and drops her basket of fruits as they storm into the kitchen, staring at them with wide, piteous eyes as they all point their swords at her.

"Where is he?" Eurylochus snarls, half-bear in his rage. The guilt has been ripping him apart, whatever he and Odysseus disagreed on before he disappeared into thin air all those months ago, driving him wild. Menelaus nearly flinches himself when he roars louder, "WHERE IS HE?"

"Have you people never heard of politeness?" The woman demands starchly, even though she's still pressed back against the counter. Menelaus sees her eyes flash with power as she scowls at them, and takes a deep breath, readying his sword.

If he dies fighting her- if any of them do- the rest will understand. It's only because of Odysseus that any of them were alive at all.

"We were told that the merchant Xen'ath made a sale to you, seven months ago," Diomedes cuts in, voice cold. "An illegal one, even for a protected one like you."

She snorts, jewellery tinkling. She looks kind, and for a desperate moment Menelaus hopes.

"What will you do, put me in jail?" Calypso giggles. "Besides, a sale is a sale. He's mine, fair and square, so if you all would kindly-"

A vase crashes by her head, scattering muddy water and making her scream.

Patroclus hasn't recovered much from the coma, but he's just as angry as any of them and wouldn't be talked out of not coming along, even though he has to use a cane. He doesn't know about how they all fell apart while he was under, but has informed them all quite clearly that not only does he not care, in this situation it does not matter.

Menelaus holds out a hand to signal him to back down, knowing that they are all barely holding onto their fury enough to get answers.

"Where is he?" Ajax cuts in quietly. They point their swords again.

She scans them all calculatingly, grimacing. Then recovers, tossing her hair over her shoulder proudly, hmphing at them.

"In the basement," She says casually, and Menelaus' heart drops. Horror suffuses the faces around him, with many eyes closing in pained resignation, even though they already knew the truth. Knew what kind of sale it had been.

Penelope had recovered over fifteen hundred victims in her search for her husband, and all of them had the same story.

"He tried to run last week," She sighs, putting her hands on her hips and talking with such casual disappointment that it makes his blood run cold, makes him want to throw up. "Honestly, I made sure that he had everything one could need, I don't know what on earth-"

"Shut up," Polites snaps. "Just- shut up!"

"Why, you-" Calypso growls, eyes turning pink as she calls her power, and with a roar of fury, Achilles rounds the table and attacks.

Menelaus whistles to the others and they all scatter. He comes out at the veranda, opening every door and cursing when there's nothing beyond. It's a beautiful house- idyllic and pristine and packed with luxury, and it makes Menelaus want to claw off his own skin.

"HERE!" Someone shouts inside, and Menelaus skids to a stop and changes direction. They all reach the door at the same time, and he holds back the dizzying wave of horror at the lock on the outside as they all hack at the wood like crazed people to get in.

The door crashes down and Menelaus charges down the stairs into the dark room, scrambling for his torch.

"ODYSSEUS!" He shouts, moving it around. "ODY-"

They all go dead silent.

Odysseus scrabbles back, eyes glinting and wild in the light of the torch. He's still in the same outfit they have the last sighting of him in, dirtied and torn now, but the man wearing it is completely different- hair overgrown and body rail-thin, so much so that Menelaus for a heart-stopping second doesn't recognise him.

There's a chain around his leg, connected to the floor. A collar with an owl on it, made of metal that's been welded shut straight on and rope on his wrists. A dirty cloth stuffed in his mouth.

Blood on his legs.

"Odysseus!" Polites is the first to break their standstill, a huge grin of pained relief on his face as he rushes forward. It falls as Odysseus gives a small scream of terror and tries to get away from him, making the metal dig into his already scarred ankle.

Of terror. Of terror. Ten years of knowing him, and Menelaus has never seen Odysseus afraid.

Odysseus spits out the cloth. "Please," He whispers, voice wrecked, and they all flinch. The Odysseus in Menelaus' memory shines bright and golden, charming and funny and kind and angry and humble, despite having run missions for his kingdom since he was thirteen, sharper and swifter than all of them. This is not his friend. "Please, not them, not them, don't wear their faces too, please."

And-

Menelaus comes to with his face pressed against the wall, tears streaming down his face. Sick with rage and guilt and fury and horror. The others aren't faring any better when someone snaps over the microphones for them to hurry up and he turns back around- Eurylochus is sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, two others are vomiting, Polites has disappeared and the rest are just standing there frozen, crying. Patroclus is the only one who's kept his head on enough to attempt quiet reassurance, crouched near a trembling, animal version of their best spy and talking softly to him, trying to coax him away from cutting into his own skin with the rusted metal.

He tried to run away last week, Menelaus grasps onto desperately. It means he's still in there, fighting.

He can't take his eyes off the blood. There's so much of it.

"Eurylochus!" Polites snaps as he comes back down the stairs, a blowtorch in hand. "Hold him."

Odysseus screams at their approach and Menelaus does not have the courage to keep looking, places both hands over his ears like a child, unable to bear it.

(Penelope had opened the door to the group of them; twelve men Odysseus had run with for ten years who had no idea he disappeared until someone casually mentioned that Penelope had gone rogue and was on the watchlist for having tortured and murdered Circe.

Her eyes had been frigid. "Welcome," She said, as if they were strangers and not close friends. "You're quite lucky you decided to visit, you know. I had plans of killing you lot next."

Menelaus doesn't blame her.

She'd sent them all message after message, call after call- begging, pleading, bargaining; that they all ignored out of grudges and anger, until she'd stopped asking and done it herself. None of the fights Odysseus had had with them had even been that bad- it was just, somehow, every single one of them had just been that little bit extra annoyed as to not pick up when it had been her calling; and then Xen'ath had all Penelope's calls rerouted, so she couldn't reach them anyway.

"Queen of Ithaka," He'd bowed, Helen bowing lower at his side. "... Penelope. I- We are all so incredibly sorry-"

"Save it," She'd said, holding up a hand. "Just answer me this- would you rather run a mission or guard Telemachus? And what is your price?"

That had thrown them.

"Penelope," Diomedes had stepped forward hesitantly, looking heartbroken. "We would- all of us, any of us- we would do anything to save your husband. You don't need to fucking pay us to rescue him- we are his friends. We are your friends."

"Then WHERE WERE YOU?" Penelope screams, and her mask finally cracks with it, eyes filled with tears and mouth curled in rage. "Where were any of you when he- when I-" Diomedes grabs her and pulls her into a hug and she breaks down sobbing. "Where were all of you when we needed you?"

"Penelope," Menelaus says, stepping forward to place a hand on her shoulder. Glass crunches under his feet and guilt overcomes him again- all this while he'd been living in luxury, unburdened, his sister-in-law had given up everything to run missions on her own, feeding her people and taking down enemy after enemy while living in squalor herself, in a building full of unsavory men. Tears come to his own eyes. "Please, I beg you to believe me. None of us, not a single one- we did not know. We did not know your husband never made it home, Penelope, I swear on the Styx."

"Then you should have picked up my calls," She snarls, venomous, and gathers herself back up to push Diomedes and him away. "Now. Mission or Telemachus?")

When he takes his hands off, the silence is ringingly loud, the phantom screams still stuck in his ears. Menelaus looks when Odysseus whimpers suddenly and sees his sister's husband holding him down while Polites melts the collar off, Ajax silently working on the chain around his ankle.

Achilles shouts from upstairs and Diomedes calls back, and he comes into the room with grim eyes. "How is he?"

None of them can bring themselves to reply. The collar falls off with a thud.

"Odysseus, hey, we've come to rescue you," Polites tries again, smiling at him and holding his head in his hands so they can meet his eyes. "Don't worry now, we're here."

Odysseus is still. Too still.

Diomedes steps forward, eyes hard, and carefully pulls Polites' hands away. "He'll attack you. If shapeshifting is involved-"

Silence.

"What is wrong with all of you?" Patroclus says suddenly, scowling. "Did you lose your training along with your brains when I was unconscious? Soldiers, post-rescue protocol, now."

The command shocks him back to adrenaline, and they all burst into familiar movements, collecting pictures and pulling out shock blankets. Someone grabs Odysseus as the chain unravels and holds him still while they cut him free, and another talks gently to him as they inject him with a sedative. Menelaus is just glad it isn't him, because he doesn't think that even with his hardened nerves he could bear to face the fact that- to treat Odysseus like-

He looks away as Achilles grabs the other in a fireman's carry and makes his way to the door instead, pushing the debris out of the way to let them through.

Calypso isn't going to be held back for long.

"NO!" She screeches as she bursts through a wall, three times bigger than they left her. Menelaus slashes and she cowers back, baring her teeth in fear. Her face falls as she catches sight of Achilles running out the door, and tears well up in her eyes instead. "No, please, I can't be alone again! I can't be locked in here, please, I can't be alone, send anything, anyone, please!"

"Go fuck yourself," Ajax says savagely as he swings at her, and Menelaus grabs the person closest and yells for a retreat.

The van rumbles along. The windshield wipers swing.

"How long does the sedative last?" Menelaus hears himself ask.

"Should be done by now," Polites says, voice similarly bleak, turning to Odysseus. "Ody?"

Odysseus is crouched in the far corner of the van, staring at them all with sharp, hate-filled paranoia. Menelaus swallows and slows the vehicle, the rest of them turning to look.

"You're safe," Ajax says, softer than he's ever heard from him. "We got you out, Odysseus, you're going back home."

Odysseus narrows his eyes and snarls. Menelaus braces himself for something biting and sharp about how they could have done it earlier, better, faster. Except- "I'm not falling for another illusion, Calypso. Drop the fucking act."

Menelaus hits the brakes and closes his eyes as he presses his face against the steering wheel. "It's not an illusion, Ody, we promise. We're actually here."

"You don't have your chains any more, see?" Eurylochus tries. When he turns, they're all clearly holding themselves back from rushing forward in heartbreak; Odysseus had been the touchy one amongst them, winding around them like a hyperactive snake and hanging off them and hugging them tight and offering handshakes and high-fives, no matter that they were all hardened warriors. To have him clearly ready to throw a punch if they approach hurts. "Your collar is off- why would Calypso do that?"

Odysseus' face spasms and he grabs for his neck. Feels around as if it might be a trick, expression blank.

"Athena," He says abruptly, and Menelaus is extremely confused for a second before he recalls the owl etched into the metal and catches Diomedes' eyes in sudden horrified agony. Of all the terrible-

"Athena," Odysseus breathes, bending over with eyes wide in disbelief, saying it as if he can't believe he can. Hope flares in his eyes, before crumpling at the sudden landslide of grief that follows, tears Menelaus never saw from him at the worst of the Troy mission dripping down his face. "Athena. Athena. Athena! ATHENA! ATHENA!"

His voice is agonizing to hear, crazed and desperate, and someone rushes forward with a tranquilizer, before-

A loud clap, blinding light, and Athena, the goddess herself, appears in their mission vehicle.

"What the fuck," Ajax whispers next to him, grabbing Menelaus by the arm. They're both trembling. Everyone is. "What the fuck- that's actually her."

Athena snaps her neck around to study them all with blank eyes, nodding to a terrified Diomedes, before looking down at Odysseus. Studies him.

Oh shit, Menelaus thinks, remembering the rumors of Medusa, and motions for someone to intervene as he struggles with the seatbelt.

She dissolves her spear suddenly and- holds out her arms.

"What?" Odysseus says faintly, which sums that up too.

"What?" Athena returns, sounding- defensive? Confused? "You were the one who insisted on hugs and physical touch to be added to the rescue recovery manual."

Menelaus finally makes it over the barrier to the back of the van and gets to watch everyone's brains break slightly, and for Odysseus' mouth to drop open in sheer disbelief. Menelaus still knows him enough to recognise the look of him very much wanting to say that is not something you say in a situation like this before a smile suddenly pulls at his lips. A threadbare, incredulous giggle escapes him, then rickety, mirthful laughter and Menelaus breathes a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, I did," Odysseus grins slightly, and walks closer- hugging the goddess without a lick of fear, of course he does. The gods are famous for their pride and detachment and untouchability and of course this crazy man goes and hugs the most closed-off of them like an old friend.

Although, the way they talked to each other, and the implications-

"I'm not thinking of this anymore," Ajax mutters, rubbing at his face. "Odysseus, you believe this ain't an illusion yet, my dude?"

He pulls back and stares around at them like he's seeing them for the first time. His face twitches, like he can't decide whether to smile or be devastated, and quietly says, "You're here. You all came?"

The van bursts out in noise as they all trip over their sorrowful reassurances and apologies, almost shouting. Odysseus trembles. Blood drips to the floor.

Achilles steps forward and Menelaus feels the same alarm of a disaster incoming from earlier; he and Odysseus had never quite gotten over their irritation at dragging each other into the Troy mission and argued plenty during- he'd even heard word that they'd let a target escape once because they'd got into a fistfight.

But Achilles just gives Athena a wary look and a wide berth, and then pulls Odysseus into his arms. Menelaus suddenly remembers who'd been the first to run to Achilles and hold him when he'd sunk to the floor at Patroclus' diagnosis.

"We're here," He murmurs. "We came late, but we came. You're out."

"I'm out," Odysseus repeats, letting his tense posture drop as he leans into the embrace. "I'm out."

"You are," Athena confirms clinically, then- surprise on surprises, she kneels down to pull him closer as well.

Menelaus smiles, then climbs back to the front of the vehicle, satisfying himself with the flickering relief that slowly takes over Odysseus' expression. Gives his friend the privacy he can when he starts to have the breakdown delayed seven months, turns the keys to start the engine.

It's still a long journey to get Odysseus back to Penelope, then back to the Ithaka headquarters. But they have him now, and they'll get him back.

Menelaus, and the rest of them, will have to content themselves with that. That at least, the most they can do now, is bring him home.

He taps on his earpiece, and it crackles to life. "We have him," He tells her. "We're bringing him back to you by morning. Rest, please, Penny."

She sobs over the comms and the car drives on.

[gigabyte-flare]

There's No Escape (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: You inadvertently discover one of Leon's trauma triggers, piquing your curiosity as you to try to figure out why he is the way he is.

Pairing: yandere!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Word Count: 3k

If any of the warnings below trigger you, please kindly pass on this fic 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life; if you feel this way, please go touch grass. You are solely responsible for your own content consumption

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL YEET YOU INTO THE GODDAMN SUN. Thank you!

Warnings (may not apply to all parts): Sex, gaslighting, swearing, stalking, acts of violence, blood, dubcon, kidnapping, pet names (baby, doll, angel, sweetheart, etc.), PTSD triggers, unprotected sex, forced breeding, daddy kink, manipulation, oral (m and f receiving), choking, overstimulation, knife play, gunplay, masterbation, drugging. Long story short, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. More warnings could be added in the future.

Tags: @lipglossanon, @ghostkennedy, @explorevenus, @nexyswrites, @ilookatlater, @shroomietrip, @dollrxst, @lomaeuwu, @aliet, @luniaxifics (Shoot me a message or an ask if you want to be added to the list!)

A/N: Holy shit you have no idea how happy I am to finally get this out. I had originally written out something completely different from what this ended up being, but I hated where it was going, so I changed it. Definitely like this better. It does get pretty intense in this one, but then it gets kind of fluffy and then there's some angst. As always, please excuse any grammatical errors. Enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You awoke to the most intense feeling of pleasure washing over you. A tongue swirling over your sensitive clit along with at least two fingers digging inside you, hitting your g-spot oh, so right. You arch your back as you push your head back into the pillow, your eyes still closed as you let out a soft moan. 

You open your eyes, sit up on your elbows and look down, seeing Leon kneeling at the end of the bed, your legs draped over his shoulders as he ate you out and fucked you with his fingers. In that moment, the recollection of where you were and how you got there rushed at you all at once, causing you to tense up completely. Leon stops what he’s doing and looks up at you, his lips drenched from your juices and the remnants of his release from the night before.

“Oh, sorry princess! Did I wake you?”

You think about giving him a good kick in the face, but you were so drained, plus you weren’t keen on getting put in timeout and chained to the wall again. Resigning to your current situation, you lay back down, giving him a wave of your hand for him to continue. Instantly you feel his lips sucking on your clit, causing your legs to twitch as his fingers continue their assault on your g-spot.

As much as you hated this man, there was no denying that he was extremely good at taking care of you, knowing exactly which buttons to push. It’s likely why you tolerated his sick, demented mind for as long as you had before escaping.

Your whole body begins to tremble as you inch closer to your release, your legs clenching to his powerful shoulders. Your right hand runs through his hair as you let out a loud moan.

“D-Daddy… I’m so close!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the back of his head.

You feel him smile around your clit as his fingers begin to pound into you, and in an instant you snap, soaking his fingers with your release as you cry out. You feel him pull his fingers out of you, you sit back up to look down at him.

“What a good girl,” he purrs, licking your juices from his fingers like it was candy, “Daddy’s going to get cleaned up, then I’ll make us breakfast, ‘k pumpkin?”

You watch him stand up and go into an adjacent room, which you assume is the master bathroom. You hear the sink run for a couple minutes as you get up from bed, your legs extremely unsteady between last night and this morning. You approach the closet and open it. You don’t see your clothes, however you do see a large navy blue t-shirt you could use. Pulling it out, you see the faded letters say ‘R.P.D.’. Pulling your sweaty t-shirt off and tossing it into the laundry basket on the floor in the closet, you pull the new t-shirt over your head.

It didn’t quite cover your lower region, so you found a pair of his boxer shorts to put on with it. You felt gross wearing his clothes, but it was better than being naked, which you figured Leon would enjoy way too much; you couldn’t have that. Turning around, you find Leon standing in the doorway of the bathroom, staring at you in awe.

Maybe you were better off naked…

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Later that afternoon, you were in the living room trying to hook up your game console as Leon worked on paperwork for his job in an adjacent office. His only instruction was that you weren’t too loud. Once you got it hooked up, you sat on the floor, cross-legged, as you went through the small pile of games that Leon had grabbed from your apartment prior to bringing you here. 

You decide to put in a game called Dead Rising, a game about a photographer stuck in a mall infested with zombies that you could grab pretty much anything you could use as a weapon to kill the zombie horde with. You needed an outlet for your pent up frustration at your situation. As you boot up the game console, you make note of the clicking sounds coming from Leon’s office, letting you know he was distracted with his work. 

You get the game booted up, and immediately you get to work killing as many zombies as possible. You catch yourself smiling, this is the most normal you have felt in over three months. You pause the game for a moment to adjust yourself on the floor, one of your legs is starting to fall asleep. You happen to glance down at your shirt.

You wonder what R.P.D. stands for…

P.D. clearly meant police department, and given Leon’s current occupation of ‘government agent,’ you wouldn’t be surprised if Leon had been a cop at some point, although he neglected to mention that when you first met him. Odd. You unpause the game and continue your undead killing rampage, that smile of content returning to your face as you let out a sigh, completely oblivious to the fact that the clicking of Leon’s keyboard had stopped.

The TV suddenly explodes in a burst of sparks, loud bangs ringing in your ears as you sit there in complete shock. As the smoke clears you see three holes in the TV which you immediately recognize are bullet holes. Before you’re able to process what just happened, you feel Leon’s hand grab you by your hair, forcing you to your feet, he practically drags you out of the room.

“Ow, son of a bitch, Leon! What the hell?! What did I do?!”

“Out of all the games you could play, you had to pick one with fucking zombies in it,” Leon growled, pulling you towards the timeout room.

“No, no, no, NO! I’ve been so good, why are you putting me in timeout?!” you cry out, trying to struggle against him.

He whips the timeout room door open, tossing you onto the bed, slamming the door behind him. He grabs you by your throat, bringing you up to the collar, making short work of clamping it around your neck. He didn’t bother with the other chains.

“Will you at least tell me what I did wro--”

You are suddenly smacked across the face with a very heavy object, your vision blurs for a second as your head rings. You feel blood start to drip out from your mouth; you must have bit your tongue when you were hit. You realize quickly that the heavy object was one of Leon’s prized pistols.

“For starters…” Leon growled, once again grabbing you by your hair, pulling your head back as you felt the muzzle of the pistol under your chin, “you didn’t call me, Daddy. And you swore at me, again.” 

“D-Daddy I’m sorry! I just don’t know what I did wrong!” I sob, tears streaming down your face as blood trickles from your mouth. 

“You just had to play something with fucking zombies in it!” Leon shouted.

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. You’ve seen Leon angry before, but you’ve never seen Leon this irate, and about a zombie video game of all things. 

You swallow hard, “Daddy… zombies aren’t real… it was just a video game…”

Much to your surprise, Leon lets out a boisterous laugh, “oh sweetheart, what I’d give to be as ignorant as you.”

“W-What are you talking about…?”

“You have no idea what I’ve been through, princess. How much I have lost.”

You stare at him dumbfounded, having absolutely no clue what he’s referring to.

“I promised myself, I would never lose anything ever again. And that includes you, princess.”

You feel Leon move the muzzle of his pistol away from your chin, causing you to release a sigh of relief, but watch in horror as Leon proceeds to lick the barrel of his gun.

Oh my god, he’s completely lost his mind… as if you had any doubt of that before.

“When you left me, do you have any idea how much that crushed me? Did you even think for one second how that would make me feel, after everything I have done for you?”

Your throat is so dry from the blood running down your throat, but thankfully blood is no longer dripping out of your mouth, however, dry bits of blood coat your lips.

“I-I’m so sorry… I… I had no idea…”

His grip on your hair tightens as he stares down at you, his blue eyes wide and wild for a moment before his expression softens. You are relieved when he lets go of your hair.

“You know what, sweetheart? You’re right. How could you have known?”

He places the pistol on the bedside table before climbing on top of you, kissing you deeply.

“Let Daddy play with you and you can come out of timeout, ok, sweetheart?” 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Leon hated hurting you, but you made it so fucking hard not to when you would constantly misbehave. But truly, how could you have known how deeply scarred he was from that night in Raccoon City? The public had no clue what had happened. They knew the city was sectioned off due to a mystery outbreak and rumors flew around how the government fired missiles at it.

If only people knew the truth.

You nodded at his request, instantly warming his heart, pushing the nightmares away from his mind. He removed the collar off your neck and he made short work of pulling his old Raccoon Police Department shirt off over your head and tossing it aside. His hands latch onto both your breasts, squeezing tight before rubbing both your nipples between his middle fingers and thumbs, causing you to squirm. 

He pulls his boxer shorts off you, and he takes a moment to admire your soaked hole. He loved how much your body clearly wanted him. He reaches down, his middle and ring finger slipping inside you easily as his thumb gently rubs circles into your clit.

He watches in delight as you arch your back, moaning loudly as you reach your arms up, gripping the pillow behind your head. He continued to expertly fuck you with his fingers, a smirk overtaking his lips as he watches you clearly enjoying this. 

“D-Daddy… please.. Inside!”

“Oh?” he couldn’t help but smile, “you want Daddy inside you now? Oh what a good girl you are!”

He hadn’t heard you ask him to fuck you since you first moved in with him and it absolutely thrills him. Pulling his own shirt off, followed shortly by the rest of his clothing, Leon undresses himself and climbs on top of you, settling his hips between your legs, his cock slipping inside you with ease.

Because you were made just for him.

He moves his hips rhythmically, pushing deep inside you rather than flat out pounding into you. You were being such a good girl for him and he wanted you to enjoy this as much as he was. He looks down at you so lovingly, cupping your face in his hands before kissing you.

He’s immediately taken back to his first date with you. He had taken you to a fancy restaurant in D.C. before you both went and saw a movie together. Afterwards, he dropped you off at your apartment on the other side of town, but you invited him inside. It didn’t take him long to coax your clothes off you and let him have his way with you; just like it didn’t take long for him to convince you to move in with him, that way you were never out of his sight. You were so perfect, and you were the only one that could hold the demons of his past away.

He began to move his hips more aggressively, eliciting more loud moans out of you along with a generous mix of ‘Daddy’ and ‘Leon.’ You drape your arms around his shoulders as he continues to kiss you eagerly. 

“Daddy… Pl-Please let me cum…!” you moan into his kiss. 

“Of course, my princess, you’ve been such a good girl, Daddy will let you cum.”

You cry out as you cum all over his cock, he can feel your juices coat him as he pushes into you, coming undone himself as he lets out a low growl. He collapses beside you, rubbing your belly as you cuddle into him. He wraps his arms around you, kissing the top of your head. 

“I love you so much, babygirl,” he says softly, inhaling the scent of your hair. 

It doesn’t take long until you are fast asleep in his embrace, it comforted him knowing you felt safe falling asleep in his arms. 

He is so happy you are finally starting to give in to him.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You wake up to the sound of Leon climbing out of bed, immediately disgusted at yourself. You had given in to his advances last night, he hated how he could make you feel so good. You rub your eyes before sitting up, watching as Leon gets dressed. You realize you’re still in the timeout room.

“I have to run into town to get a new TV to replace the… one that I shot. Can I trust that you’re going to be a good girl while Daddy’s gone?” Leon asked as he finished putting his clothes on.

“Y-Yeah…” you say, your eyes still heavy-lidded from just waking up.

“Good,” Leon replies, “I brought in your clothes, I had them in the Jeep. They’re in the closet in the bedroom.”

You climb out of bed and follow Leon out of the timeout room and into the master bedroom where he opens the closet door, showing you that your clothes were indeed there. 

“Alright, I gotta go, I’ll be back as soon as I can ok?” He kisses your forehead before leaving you in the bedroom.

You don’t move until you hear the front door open, then shut, and then lock. You grab one of your t-shirts with a pair of jeans along with a set of underwear. Once dressed, you walk into the living room and find Leon had already taken care of the very broken TV. You then immediately notice his office door is open.

He had an office in the apartment in D.C., too, but it was never open. Mustering your courage, you slowly approach the office, you see papers scattered all over the desk, you pick them up and read them, most of it government nonsense that you didn’t care to understand. There are drawers in the desk, you open one of them to find a series of files. One of them immediately caught your attention.

It was labeled ‘Raccoon City Incident.’

The manilla folder had a large CLASSIFIED stamp on it but that did not deter your curiosity. The folder is stuffed full of different documents, you quickly glance over them, quickly growing mortified at the contents that you skim through.

Hundreds of thousands infected… viral outbreak… undead… T-Virus… G-Virus… nuclear sterilization… 

“What the fuck…?” you say to yourself in complete disbelief over what you were reading, this is some video game bullshit…

Suddenly, a photo fell out from the documents face down. You quickly pick it up and turn it around. You gasp; it’s a photo of Leon. He clearly was a lot younger in this photo, wearing damaged tactical gear that had ‘R.P.D.’ printed on the front. It suddenly occurred to you what the print on Leon’s shirt stood for.

Raccoon Police Department.

Your eyes widen at this revelation as you look back down at the photo. Even though he clearly went through hell, he had a light in his eyes that was nowhere to be seen now, it honestly broke your heart. You put the manilla folder back together and put it back into the drawer with the others. However, there’s another one that catches your eye, this one is labeled ‘Kennedy Report.’

You sit in the office chair as you open the folder, reading through the documents. This one talked about a parasite rather than a virus and how a cult leader had infected an entire village plus the president’s daughter that had gotten kidnapped by the cult and… Leon?!

You had to re-read the sentence a few times to make sure you had read it correctly. Leon was infected with this parasite? You start to wonder if there’s a chance that he was still infected when you read that he and the president’s daughter successfully removed the parasite from each other. You low key hoped he was still infected, it would have at least explained his demeanor. You continue to read the report before you suddenly hear the front door open.

“Sweetie, I’m back!”

“Oh shit!” you say quietly as you carefully put the folder back in the drawer, making sure to close the drawer silently. 

You scramble out of the office, making sure to shut the door. Just as you step away from the office door, Leon comes into the living room with the new TV, placing it in the spot where the old TV was and plugging it in.

“There we go, all better!” he says, turning around to look at you, “and there’s my good girl.”

You give him a weak smile as you nod. You can’t help but look at him in a different light, now knowing the darkness of his past that you were almost certain he did not want to you to see.

Part 5

[numbuh-7-knd]

Well apparently my not being too active on the hermitblr side of mcytblr as of late has resulted in me missing the information that Stress and Iskall have just resigned from hermitcraft. Iskall apparently did something? And when it was brought up he flat out resigned over it. Stress either resigned in relation to it, because of how close they were, or because of something unrelated, which would not surprise me as she just had not been active much in awhile, it does stick since she was starting to return to videos.

I guess the permit office will just have to repossess those permits, so I guess one tiny good thing will come out of this in that there can be a reliable rocket shop on the server... I'm just kind of in shock, and thinking about all the stuff left uncompleted, such as the murder mystery street that I was really looking forward to seeing when they finished it, and hermit challenges, those were very fun.

I hope we find out more eventually, I have seen something about doc saying that it did not involve minors, so that's good.

Really was not expecting this kind of drama today, but I guess that's what happens when you're focused on real life stuff, and on the life series and rats.

And, ya know, in the span of a few weeks the us election happened, I came out to some of my family and friends, the house belonging to a dead relative got put up for sale, and a family friend died. Oh, and a disabled pigeon I was taking care of and trying to catch to bring inside was killed by a hawk. And the family friend had lots of cats and we might have to take one in. Yeah November has been crazy and I for one vote that we build a time machine and go back to October and start the month over again.

[fishareglorious]

In the wake of the new pizza hut collab and that one specific emote of schneider threateningly looming behind pizza hut regulus with a gun, I got possessed and created an au where ezra, matilda and regulus work with each other in the same branch.

May or may not have gotten carried away with it. AU below.

matilda is the long suffering branch manager that doesn't even want to work there. this poor french girl is really going through it (customer service)

alas she stays because of a certain redheaded customer. sonetto visits sometimes to check on regulus and that the store is relatively close to where she lives.

matilda constantly five seconds away from firing everyone and handing out her resignation but then sonetto walks inside and suddenly everything is good (sotheby just accidentally created ketamine in the back)

she hates her job because all the people that visit here are fucking lunatics.

ezra is the least problematic of the employees and he sometimes supplies the mushrooms because of his mycology hobby, but one time he accidentally switched up the button mushrooms with similar-looking hallucinogenic ones and matilda put a stop into it because a customer got high (desert flannel)

kanjira is their one and only delivery driver and while she drives matilda up the wall by always stealing from the cash register, she'd terrifyingly efficient and fast with her deliveries (at the expense of being a menace in the highway)

regulus works as an all-rounder but sometimes takes kanjira's place whenever she's not around. she always gets a traffic ticket. she and kanjira are in a competition on who can amass the most

apple is here and is the only other voice of reason working in this place. matilda respects him because he's the only one that can rein in regulus

The one story that started this whole AU. sorry schneider's dead in this universe

one day vertin comes around to catch up with regulus. regulus was on the process of serving pineapple pizza when suddenly someone appears behind her to chop her in the neck and curses her out in the most horrific ear-bleeding italian. vertin catches a glimpse of regulus' attacker, then crumples into the floor in shock because its her dead mafia girlfriend.

matilda comes to the scene only to see regulus passed out and vertin silently weeping on the floor.

someone still has to serve the damn pizza. fucks sake.

after the pineapple pizza incident there's now a ghost haunting the store that really really has an agenda against pineapple pizza. at this point matilda is very much inclined to blackout the hawaiian in the menu just to placate the damn ghost.

A comprehensive list of all the weirdos that come in here:

there's an absolutely pleasant and nice lady that sometimes eats here but the thing is she has this thing where she puts yellow bug things in her pizza as some kind of condiment and its so damn weird because those things are still ALIVE. but she gets a pass because she's done no trouble and is nice to everyone

one time the store had a break in and for some reason all the greens in the inventory were eaten. everyone checks the security cameras. it was. it was a fucking deer.

(yes, jessica is an actual deer here.)

constantine came here once only to pull the "i demand to speak to your manager" thing

pickles at one point ordered something here by himself. in the words of regulus: what the dawg doin?

ezra's collegemates (the laplace crew) sometimes visit and its a hit or miss depending on who is it

the last time x came here the stove got legs and sentience then it left pizza hut and never came back. some say it became a famous track and field runner

medicine pocket was banned like. years ago even before matilda started working here. does it stop her? no. he caught wind of sotheby's ketamine thing and tried to recruit her at one point. matilda chased them off with a spray bottle.

mesmer jr is the least chaos-inducing person of the group but at the same time because of the childhood friends that have baggage with matilda the tension between then is. frankly you could cut through it with a knife

one time she, vertin, and matilda were in the same proximity and regulus passed by and started asphyxiating

sometimes their research advisor enigma gets dragged here because someone has to feed him something other than his twentieth cup of black coffee. matilda has beef with him for some reason.

the only people matilda remotely respects that has entered this pizza hut is shamane and kaalaa baunna

but at the same time she has witnessed kaalaa stumble here at an insanely late/early hour with three giant cups of coffee then proceeded to chug all of it down then order something. she is visibly shaking from the caffiene. matilda is scared.

matilda called shamane 'dad' once and after that she has sworn to never show her face to him again

pavia exists here but keeps a wide berth of pizza hut because it contains the insult to italian cuisine

one time a foreign singer (isolde) came here to have lunch with her wife then got possessed by schneider and started angrily lambasting and threatening to haunt everyone from the grave if they've ever dared to eat pineapple pizza. she later passed out then woke up all normal again

lilya is also on the pizza hut blacklist because she crashed her motorcycle into the windows trying to pick vertin up

broke as hell researcher windsong stumbles into pizza hut with the biggest smile on her face as if she won the lottery (she did. it was the amount of the cheapest thing in the menu) then proceeds to hork down her food like she's starving (she probably was.) fun fact this is inspired by her voiceline that is basically the same story

bear with me on my vilasong propaganda for a sec.

local schoolteacher vila comes into the store because her student wandered off and is now talking windsong's ear off, and then the two have this weird but sweet meetcute that's almost the same as canon

windosng tells her "oh god hey i swear im not a child abductor" then vila just laughs and fucking sniffs her and says "yeah i know you don't smell threatening at all."

they are both so strange. next time they come together hand in hand.

matilda is malding can't she have a nice meetcute like that with sonetto (minus the whole. child abduction statement. and the sniffing thing. actually she just wants a normal nice meetcute)

37 came there with the aperion gang and all she did was calculate the precise circumference of the pizza and then tell the matilda it was an imperfect circle. matilda then says 'do i look like i give two shits about whether or not this is a perfect circle. fuck you want me to do' but in customer service language

would arcana even step inside a pizza hut.

a knight sometimes comes here and he and apple are the investments in pizza hut's old men yaoi stocks.

hofmann and marcus came in once and marcus was the one trying to order but the poor thing kept stuttering so badly that hofmann heaved out the most world-weary sigh and ordered for both of them

besmir came in there once while vertin was there and vertin shot up from her seat and went 'MOTHER???!?!??!?!?!!!!!!!!" and thus came the most awkward family reunion that happened. (regulus screamed out "SO YOU HAVE A MOTHER" while the two were watching each other awkwardly not knowing what to do)

[amazingmsme]

That Was Funny. Laugh

AN: I haven’t forgotten about the rest of tickletober, don’t you worry! Here’s day 24 with Max & the nerds! I feel like he would probably try too hard to fit in with them, & it doesn’t exactly always work. But that’s ok, he’ll make it work! Think we all could use a bit of fluff right now…

Things were starting to look up. They were hesitant to say that the prank worked, but at least Max had stopped bullying them, and that was their main goal, so Pete marked it as a success.

The rest of the jocks started to change their tune, following Max's lead, and it had been weeks since he had a swirly or was shoved inside a locker. Pete and Steph were going steady, and the school play was really starting to come together. The Jagerman himself even invited them to the big game to watch him "stomp Clivesdale into the fucking mud." And what do you know, he did!

So things were honestly pretty great. There was just one little problem...

"Sup nerds!"

They all groaned in unison as he announced his presence from behind. He caught up rather quickly, slinging his arms around Peter and Richie's shoulders, the latter flinching at the contact.

"Oh, h-hey Max," he stuttered, trying to play it cool. Max didn't seem to notice, or he just didn't care. "What's up?"

"Oh nothin' much, practice got canceled 'cause of the rain so I gotta fuckin' walk home. Can you believe it?" he complained. Steph couldn't hide her smirk as she answered.

"Yeah I can, actually."

"Shut it, Lauter," he snapped, but it lacked the usual venom his words carried. "You never have to walk anywhere."

"Actually," she corrected, "I'm walking right now." Peter, Ruth, and Richie all snapped their heads to look at her, silently begging her not to say another word.

"Oh yeah? Where the hell are you nerds going? The fuckin' library?" he wheezed out a laugh, slapping a hand on his knee in amusement, although his laughter trailed off when he realized no one was laughing with him.

Steph merely arched a brow and crossed her arms. "No smartass, we're going to Pizza Pete's to win that ugly little doll Ruth's been wanting." Pleading stares turned to annoyed glances as she spilt the beans. The very act of telling Max where they were going was practically an invitation in his eyes.

"Really? Didn't know Spankoffski had his own pizza shop," he quipped, a smirk stretching across his face. That one was good, he had to admit.

And they still didn't fuckin' laugh! Are they brain dead or something?

"Ha ha, like I never heard that one before," Peter rolled his eyes, an annoyed smile tugging at his lips. At least Max was trying.

"Well if you need tickets to win the ugly fucker, I'm great at skee ball," he offered.

"Don't call him that! He's so fuzzy and cute, you guys are just mean!" Ruth whined, clutching her chest dramatically.

"Ruth, radioactive Cthulhu is not cute, he's just creepy," Richie deadpanned. Ruth stuck her tongue out as he returned the gesture.

"Come on you two, those tickets aren't gonna win themselves," Peter prompted, and they began walking down the sidewalk, dumb jock in tow. They all resigned to their fate of backhanded compliments and obscure sports references for the next two hours. Still, it was better than the way things used to be.

Not ideal, but surprisingly tolerable.

At least when he wasn't trying so damn hard. He would go out of his way to be what he considered kind, but was really the bare minimum at best. And Peter wasn’t exactly sure why he thought he needed to be funny for them to like him. Honestly, it was getting old.

Peter, Richie and Max stood off to the side as Ruth and Steph fed their tickets into the ticket counter. A waiter passed by carrying a pizza, and Max nudged them to get their attention, pointing at the restaurant’s signature dish.

“You see that?”

Peter and Richie exchanged confused looks and shrugged. “I guess…”

Max sported a proud, shit-eating grin. “I’d tell you a joke about pizza, but it’d probably be too cheesy,” he punctuated the joke with a deep laugh of his own as they just stared at him.

“I’m lactose intolerant, what the fuck are you talking about?” Richie deadpanned, clearly not getting the joke. Max rolled his eyes dramatically.

“It’s called a joke, dumbass! And it was funny, so you better laugh!” He took a step closer when Richie didn’t immediately comply. “Laugh,” he demanded, deciding to ditch the jokes all together and go for a more “hands on” approach.

“Mahahax! Whahat thehehe hehell?” he asked, thrashing from side to side as he managed to escape Max’s evil clutches.

“Ha! I knew you’d be ticklish! What about you Soanioffski?” he questioned, catching him off guard.

“Wha- me? Max, wahahait!” he cried out as Max targeted him as well. He scribbled up and down Richie’s side while his other hand prodded at Peter’s ribs. Richie flailed around uselessly, shrill giggles filling the air. Peter slapped at his hand, but Max wasn’t deterred in the slightest.

“How come you nerds never told me how ticklish you were? Think of all the fun we could’ve had!” he cheered, shoving his hands underneath both of their arms, eliciting two different giggly shrieks.

“Thahahat’s exahactly why wehe nehehever tohohold you!” Peter whined.

“We gotta make up for lost time then, don’t we? Don’t worry, I can hustle.” They started protesting, shaking their heads and tripping over their words as he wiggled his fingers closer and closer.

He was just about to really strike when Steph came to their rescue.

“Hey, I think we have enough tickets,” she called for their attention, a fond smirk firmly in place.

Max pulled them closer, ruffling their hair as he did so. “Don’t worry, we’ll pick that up again later.”

Y’know… call him crazy, but Peter wasn’t exactly dreading it.

[hyenahunt]

Obbligato: Epilogue - 4 (END)

Writer: Akira

Season: Winter

Characters: Hiyori, Jun, Tatsumi, Nagisa, HiMERU

Proofreading: Remi + 310mc (JP) & Skyress (ENG)

Translation: Peace & hyenahunt

Tatsumi: Amen.

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Hiyori: Haha. Yes, do continue to lavish your praise upon our Jun-kun!

...Honestly, when I was first shown around Reimei Academy, I found myself feeling as though we'd gotten the short end of the stick.

At that time, we had nowhere else that we could go, so we'd no choice but to resign ourselves to it. That before we could escape from Hell, we'd continue to be trapped in its depths for a while longer still.

Hiyori: But you see, as I walked along preoccupied with such melancholy thoughts, I happened to look out the window, and there I saw Jun-kun, dutifully practicing in silence all on his own.

The atmosphere of Reimei Academy at the time was truly dreadful — everyone seemed either dead inside, or they glared at each other with pure resentment.

Jun-kun was the only one with none of that air about him — instead he aspired only to improve himself.

Hiyori: And what a beautiful sight he was... Of course, telling him that to his face would be too embarrassing — it'd go to his head and he'd never let me hear the end of it.

It was while watching this boy that I found it in myself to believe my decision hadn't been made in vain. That if there was even one person like him here, then perhaps it wasn't all so bad.

And so that's why I made the decision to enroll at Reimei Academy, with Jun-kun as my goal. Honestly, I was there initially to scope out Shuuetsu Academy, a school made up of nothing but Special Student elites.

But I found myself believing that I should start all over again at rock bottom and covered with mud, just like Jun-kun.

After all, when you're up somewhere so lofty and high, you'll fail to see what's truly important.

Jun: And just what have you been so cheerfully badmouthing me 'bout, huh~?

Hiyori: Goodness, I wasn't badmouthing you. You're simply being paranoid.

Jun: You swear?

Tatsumi: That's right. I believe that you're rather important to Tomoe-san, Jun-san.

Hiyori: It's true! You rank right after my family, namely Nagisa-kun and Mary!

Jun: I rank below a dog, huh?

Hiyori: If that bothers you so much, then climb your way up! Come now, put your all into it and work ever harder for my love!

Jun: Shut it... It's not like I'm working hard for the sake of your love, y'know~?

I'm working hard so that I can be a better version of myself. Maybe my life looks all kinds of unfortunate and pitiful besides yours, but...

That's precisely why I wanna become the best and strongest idol, so that someday I can declare that's who I am, loud and proud.

It's then that the hard work of my past self will finally all be worth it.

So I'm gonna work hard, right now. I'm gonna give it everything I've got — 'cause giving it all that I've got is all I can do.

Tatsumi: That's right. Fufu, you truly do have no need for God's divine protection.

Jun: You got that right. I don't need no God to save me — 'cause I'm gonna be the one who'll save myself.

Tatsumi: .......♪

Nagisa: ... Shall we stop this idle chatter and begin recording, everyone?

... Though we could simply just rehearse today, and leave the actual filming for another day…

... We don’t have another day to spare, do we?

HiMERU: HiMERU agrees. There is no time to be looking back on days gone by.

We must look towards the future instead, and live earnestly.

So long as we are allowed to do so.

HiMERU: (Kaname. My poor, pitiable little brother. I shall take your place, at least for now.)

(I hope that one day, when you are able to walk once more, you will be able to live a little happier than before.)

(I'll arrange an environment in which you can, and secure a place for you in it as well.)

HiMERU: (I am your older brother, after all.)

HiMERU: (When you awake, when you're able to walk once more…)

(I won't fail this time. I'll make your wish come true.)

(Long have I lived alone, void of any dream at all — and now what was yours has since become my own.)

Tatsumi: (... Ah, even though this is the same place as then, the same Reimei Academy…)

(It feels different. Right now, I feel so refreshed and full of energy.)

(Are you the one I should thank for that, God?)

Tatsumi: (Our Father who art in heaven, you have always guided my life with your hand.)

(Dear fate, dear faith, I thank you for leading me to where I stand today.)

(We have faced much sorrow, despair, and tragedy.)

(Nonetheless, I stand enveloped in the warmth I had always craved. If this is reward for my piety, O God, then I truly could never detest you.)

Tatsumi: (Even if it happens that God does not exist, and this is nothing but a series of coincidences…)

(Then I shall call those coincidences miracles, rewards, and love you all the more.)

(Amen.)

(Fufu. I shall do as Tomoe-san did and use Jun-san, whom he loves so much, as an example; I'll begin at the very bottom, crawling my way through the mud.)

Tatsumi: (No matter how often he gets knocked down, how often he collapses, he still stands right back up.)

(I am forever grateful for that. Not only do I have God on my side, but friends as well.)

(Such invaluable friends who support one another…)

(Who share their warmth, and move forward with happiness in their hearts.)

(We shall walk together on this road, step by step.)

Tatsumi: ♪～♪～♪

[ ☆ ]

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← prev ✦ all ✦

[transsongtaewon]

"Hey, Hamin."

Yoojin is sitting slumped in a beaten up garden chair, fiddling with his lighter. He can't smoke in here but there isn't anywhere to sit outside and he really can't stand that long today. Go figure.

"Hm?" Do Hamin is sitting on an equally beaten up chair, guzzling a mana potion. He's had to actually do his job today for once and is very unhappy about it.

Not that Yoojin is any happier, he can already tell it's going to rain later by the pain crawling up and down his leg, and he'll need to be on public transport for at least another hour to get to his flat. Hamin will have to cope with being his distraction from misery.

"How do you even become a furry?"

Hamin chokes on his potion, clearly expecting anything but that. "What?!"

"Oh come on, don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. I've slept at your place before." It was a deeply disturbing experience to get up at three in the morning for a piss only to stumble across a giant hamster head. Yoojin almost died of a heart attack before he figured out what that thing was.

Hamin is red in the face, partially from embarrassment and partially from breathing in potion.

"How do you get into anything? You see it around and think it sounds kind of fun, I guess."

Yoojin shifts in his seat, trying to find a position that isn't immensely painful. "Yeah but like specifically. You don't go from 'nice art' or whatever to the whole, uh-" He waves his hand in the air.

"Fursuit?"

"Yeah, that. I mean, there have to be steps in between, right? Those things look fucking expensive."

Hamin sighs, apparently resigned to being Yoojin's Furry Insider. "They are. Bought or self made."

"Wait, you made that yourself?"

"Mhm, took fucking ages. But worth it for Hammie."

"Hammie?"

"My fursona."

Yoojin clicks his lighter open and shut again. "That's a nice name."

Hamin scoffs. "You don't have to pretend to be nice, I can hear you're judging me."

"No, no!" He is. "I think it's nice you're having fun and stuff."

"You just wouldn't get it."

"That's why I'm asking, I don't know what there is to get."

"I don't know what to tell you, it's just fun. The art, the lore, the community. No idea what else you want from me." He shrugs.

They sit in silence for a bit, Yoojin chewing on his lip. Surely, if he only pulls off all the dead skin, what stays behind will be soft and nice.

"So, about the porn."

"I hate you sometimes, you know that?"

"Get in line. But about the porn."

"What about the porn?"

"Just. Are you into it?"

"You're horrible. Why do I even talk to you. No, not personally. A lot of the art is really good though, can't scoff at that."

"I don't know, I don't love the cartoon style."

Hamin rolls his eyes. "You're not even a furry, how would you know what there is to appreciate?"

"Are you gonna show me?"

"And have you laugh at me? As if." Hamin whisks his empty potion bottle away, back inside the inventory, and gets up to dig a bottle of beer out of the mini-fridge he has in his office. The true height of classiness. "Want some?"

"Yeah." Yoojin pulls out his keys to open the bottles with the edge. "I wouldn't laugh at you, I'd just appreciate the artistry."

"Right, and pigs can fly."

"I'm sure there's some flying pig furries. Not that I'd know, because you refuse to share."

Hamin lets out a deep, beleaguered sigh. "If you want you can come to a furcon with me next month. But only if you promise to be nice."

"Really? I'm always nice! How much are the tickets?"

"Like seventyfive thousand won."

"Oh god. Sorry, I don't think I can become a furry anymore."

"That's what I thought, asshole."

Written for Sctir Pride Week Day 4: Free Day

[14muffinz]

2/?

C1 (and prompt) / C2

It is extremely rare in Wayne manor that someone is completely awake at breakfast. Half the time, Bruce doesn’t even show up until the rest of the house’s residents have gone off to do something else.

Duke is picking at his eggs instead of, y’know, actually eating them, and is focusing extremely hard on not focusing his vision to the point of seeing bacteria that he frankly doesn’t need to be thinking about for anything except an extremely specific kind of case.

Somehow, Damian manages to maintain his proper posture, the only indication of his exhaustion being the occasional slow blink.

They’ve both got their phones on the table, observing and not responding as Steph and Tim lose their singular shared braincell over the fact that it’s not projected to rain at all today. The level of energy involved in the conversation suggests that neither of them have actually gone to bed yet.

He doesn’t process when Cass enters the room. There are more people than usual in the manor in order to greet the new arrival, but knowing that and remembering that are two different things.

Cass pokes him in the forehead, and Duke scrambles, nearly falling out of his chair.

When he collects himself, he’s receiving a smug smile from Damian, and a mischievous smile from Cass. He weakly glares at each of them, then stabs his eggs.

Dick slides into the room on his socks, tries to turn it into a smooth wall lean that really only makes him look cringe, then asks, “Does anyone know if the new kid is up?”

“His bedroom light wasn’t on,” Damian notes, “Though he may be elsewhere in the manor.”

“Cass, did you give him the tour yesterday?” Dick checks.

Cass shakes her head. “He was tired. He wouldn’t remember if I showed him around.”

“Fair enough. I can’t tell where I am in here half the time,” Duke admits.

“You have been here a year, Thomas,” Damian remarks.

Duke crosses his arms. “Time is a lie and we all know it.”

Cass lightly taps the table to draw attention back to her. She declares, “I can go bring him here. Show him that he’s welcome.”

“Good idea,” Dick chirps.

⠀

⠀

Half the time that Jason checks his phone, he wishes that he didn’t. The other half of the time, he’s lucky enough to get a text from anyone other than his adopted siblings.

He feels nothing but disappointment and anger when he checks his phone this morning. He’s resigned to the fact that his family gets into a lot of shit, and unfortunately he’s part of that shit sometimes, but it seems like Bruce has caved and brought in another kid, and this one isn’t even connected to vigilante shit.

Jason can’t even do shit about it. Since he’s legally dead, and had an extremely public grieving period, he can’t exactly show up to the manor without raising questions that will just have to be revised over and over until the kid finally figures out that he’s living with the Bats. It’s more of an annoyance than it is a source of entertainment.

He’s gotta check in on the new kid, though, no question about it. He doesn’t trust Bruce’s parenting skills as far as he can throw the guy, and even if Jason’s a vigilante, he can’t throw people very far.

Looking at the wall of texts on his phone, he observes that getting an ally on the inside is going to be harder than usual. He and Tim are usually on the same page when it comes to Bruce’s parenting, but from the way that he and Steph are texting, he’s indisposed due to exhaustion. Dick’s a decent option, since he’s also got reason to doubt Bruce, but he’d also try to examine Jason’s thoughts from every angle and Jason doesn't need that kind of introspection for what feels like an open and shut issue. Damian’s not an option because he’d defend Bruce, and is likely trying to pretend to hate the new kid for as long as possible.

Good news is, this family is so fucking big that he’s only exhausted about half his options.

Jason calls Cass, and she answers even though she’s in the middle of applying eye liner.

“So, the new kid,” he immediately prompts. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Secretive,” she fingerspells with her free hand. “Closed. Disconnected.”

Great, so yet another extremely traumatised kid for the collection, good to know. “How’d B find him?”

Cass sets down her eye-liner and purses her lips in thought. After a few seconds of waiting, she explains, “He worried CPP. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t sign. Writes, but not to talk. Knows English, won’t use it. Won’t give name. Worried me.”

“Then he’s a case,” Jason deadpans.

She signs a sharp “no,” frowning. “Bruce wants to protect him.”

“He does that by making kids into cases,” Jason argues.

Cass glares at him through the phone screen. “We did that to ourselves.”

“Just–” Jason pinches the ever-present knot of tension between his brows, and fights to remain in control of his emotions. “Keep an eye on the kid for me, yeah?”

“Of course.”

⠀

⠀

Dick knocks on his new sibling’s door, and does not receive any indication that he’d been heard. Cass will usually knock on the wall or furniture to show that she’s aware someone’s knocking, but either their new sibling – John????? – hasn’t gotten that idea before, or he’s not up.

Right as he’s raising his fist to knock a second time, the door swings open. John – the guy doesn’t look like a John, why is the name they gave him so awkward – is wearing what looks to be the same outfit that he arrived in the day before, based on the picture Cass had snuck, though it’s not at all ruffled by sleep. There’s something dead-looking in his blue eyes that he wants to put up to exhaustion, but an instinct he’s never had a name for insists that it’s different from what he sees in his vigilante friends and family.

He hadn’t gotten the chance to meet John – he’s just going to have to give up, for now – yesterday. Dick had been waiting inside his own bedroom while texting Wally, and by the time he noticed the alert that John had arrived, the kid had already squirrelled away in his room.

That is to say that Dick isn’t at all prepared for how unsettling John really is. He stands completely still, meeting Dick’s eyes impassively, and does not speak a word. It’s only Dick’s hard-earned confidence that saves him from fumbling. “You want to come down to breakfast?”

No known allergies, Dick remembers without really meaning to. Will eat any food given to him, has not indicated any preferences or discomfort.

John blinks. Just blinks, once. He does not nod, shake his head, or do anything else. He blinks, and maybe Dick grew up with Bruce for a guardian, but he still has very little idea what to do with this new person’s nonverbal cues.

Dick takes a step back from the bedroom door, belatedly realising that he might be in John’s personal space, and then adds, “It’s a nice chance to get to know the people who are around the manor the most. A lot of our schedules don’t really line up.”

Aside from patrol, but Dick doubts that they’ll have anyone new joining them over the rooftops of Gotham for a while yet. If he can help it, John won’t get to that point at all.

John steps out of his doorway, reaching back to grab the door but not closing it. He quickly cases the hallway with a precision that turns Dick’s stomach, and then goes back to making unflinching eye contact.

He’s leaving his room, hasn’t ended the conversation, hasn’t frowned or shook his head. Dick’s not really one for physics, but he’s pretty sure that this is a net positive, and he’s clear to lead John to the dining room.

Dick gives a nod down the hall and a soft smile, and starts a mental chant of talk to Cass, talk to Cass, talk to Cass ASAP.

⠀

⠀

DW: Father’s collected yet another stray.

JK: new batkid just dropped?

DW: John.

JK: yeah yeah

JK: wait wtf did you, damian wayne, heir to the bat and the demon’s head and the superior robin, just spell my name wrong?

DW: No, John is the “name” of Father’s newest charge. He has not shared his true name, so his papers refer to him as John Doe.

DW: Also, neither of our fathers would appreciate how many secrets were just disclosed over a public channel, Jonathan.

JK: sorry

JK: so how’d your dad get another one?

DW: I’m uncertain. Likely, it was just to satiate his curiosity about John’s unique case.

JK: idk man, that doesn’t sound like b-man to me. he respects kids too much to use anyone to “satiate his curiosity”

DW: I will take that under consideration.

DW: Whatever the case, there is certainly an investigation to be had. Doe appears to be refusing to communicate for reasons unknown, despite having previously displayed an understanding of English.

JK: i think its UR curiosity that really needs to be satiated lol

JK: but there’s def cause for concern. if u need a lowkey lie detector to help out, just say the word

⠀

⠀

“I’m assembling a file, yeah,” Barbara admits without any fuss. “It’ll be helpful down the line to have everything we know in one place.”

She’s sitting at her at-home setup, nursing a cup of coffee and with a comm line open to Tim.

Tim hums in thought, and lets it drag way longer than is comfortable. Barbara knows that he and Steph have just returned from a steakout which didn’t turn out, and is slightly impressed that he hasn’t collapsed from exhaustion. There was probably caffeine involved. “Can I look at it?”

“Not ‘till you’ve met him,” Barbara insists.

“You haven’t even met him,” Tim argues.

“I’m just putting in what Bruce tells me to,” she tells him, shrugging. “It’s only been one night, anyways. There’s not much to see that wasn’t established before he showed up.”

She hears Tim. “If this has anything to do with a gang in the city—”

“Then we’ll be on top of it.”

“If this has anything to do with a player in the city,” Tim repeats insistently, “and not just the result of some fucked up form of abuse from a previous guardian, we really need to know about it. It’s been a while since I put in any research on the topic, but mutism usually stems from either some sort of brain or vocal cord injury, or is a trauma response, but from how I’ve heard him described, I’m getting a different impression of… refusing. Like in situations where an individual is being tortured, and has been taught not to give their captures anything to go off of, but in a much safer circumstance.”

Barbara purses her lips.

Tim’s not exactly wrong.

“There’s a lot left to rule out,” she replies carefully. “Knowing the Gotham system, there are probably medical examinations that were skipped for him. But I did notice something similar in the reports, yeah.”

⠀

⠀

Cass finds that yet again she does not have the words.

She’s been asked to describe the emotions she noticed in John Doe, but the problem is this: she didn’t notice anything. Nothing that she could call relaxation, surprise, tension, anything she’d expect in his current situation. She’s never met someone capable of completely masking their body language, but there’d been something undeniably wrong in the way that John Doe moved beside her.

There’s no doubt that several members of their family have warned Bruce not to turn this into a case. Yet, Cass still feels the need to watch her newest brother closely.

[mcthmancometh]

baylor dawson 💋

💋: did you ever lock lips? did you want to?

“Me? I’m not exactly Baylor’s type,” August scoffs, arms crossed over his chest. It’s ostensibly the truth. Everyone knows Baylor is a ladies’ man, often to great success. He goes after girls who are gorgeous, and popular, who will make a pretty trophy to brag about to his friends so he can move onto the next one, and August is exactly none of those things. But, well, the thing is—

It went a little something like this.

Almost exactly a year ago. Baylor, home for winter break, throwing the rager to end all ragers to celebrate his homecoming, the first Baylor Dawson Extravaganza Misty Mountain had seen in months. August, desperately searching for some sense of normalcy in a life that only seemed to be getting more turbulent by the day, somehow ending up there even though the two girls who used to drag him to those sorts of things weren’t exactly around to do it anymore (one of them being dead and the other acting like August went and died along with her). It was a shitty, stupid idea, and August spent the better part of two hours getting progressively more drunk as he tried and failed to track down a single friendly face. He was just about to give up and head home when he went out the back door and practically tripped over the man of the hour himself, sitting on the back deck all on his lonesome.

What are you doing here? Baylor had asked, brow furrowed, but he sounded more confused than anything. His words were slurred and his blinks were slow.

August had frozen the second they made eye contact, going full deer-in-headlights, and when he did manage to find his voice again, the truth had tumbled out: Looking for a friend. But I don’t think she’s here. So I was just leaving.

And then Baylor had said, Want some of this? and offered out the joint in his hand. August had stared warily at it for a long minute, then, with no shortage of caution or trepidation, he’d made his way over and sat down. And, for the first time in their lives, August and Baylor had had an actual conversation.

Well — Baylor did most of the talking as they passed the joint back and forth. He went on and on about school and football and his issues with his parents and his insecurities and damn near verged on an existential crisis while August listened and wondered why the hell Baylor was telling him all of this and what the catch was.

You get it, though. Right? Baylor had finally asked.

Yeah, August had replied. Because weirdly, he did.

And then Baylor had kissed him.

And August had kissed back.

He has no idea how long that went on — it wasn’t exactly just a kiss, but it wasn’t exactly more than that, either — but then there was a loud crash from somewhere inside the house and they’d jerked apart and just kind of blinked at each other in startled confusion for a minute.

Baylor had gotten up and said, You should go. And he hadn’t sounded pissed, or sad, or — anything, really. Just kind of resigned. He went inside. August smoked a cigarette and then he went home.

He hasn’t seen Baylor more than in passing since then, the few unavoidable encounters passing with a subtle but intentional lack of eye contact from both parties. Baylor hadn’t gotten into any of the multitude of reasons August shouldn’t tell anyone about it, but he hadn’t had to — August had immediately added it to the pile of shit he fully intends on taking right to the grave. (And who the fuck would he even tell, anyways?)

“Besides,” he adds, “I doubt the guy even knows my name.” And that part, at least, is the complete and honest truth.

[deezbignutz]

Redacted characters as musical songs because I'm a sucker for musicals :))) + some lyrics cuz why not 🤷‍♀️

Guy abt Honey - "Never Ever Getting Rid of Me" From Waitress. He is a simp and he makes sure they know it. Kinda yandere coded, but womp womp ig. (yandere Guy? 😳😏) "Such a stubborn man, you'll likely never meet another." "Oh, I'm gonna love you so." "I though it was hilarious to call a cat a kind of fish."

Damien abt Hux - "When He Sees Me" From Waitress. Damien just overthinking about going out Hux even before knowing him all that much. "I stick with real things, usually facts and figures. When information's in its place I minimize the guessing game. Guess what? (What?). I don't like guessing games or when I feel things before I know the feelings." "What scares me the most. Is what if when he sees me, what if he doesn't like it? What if he runs the other way and I can't hide from it? What happens then?." "Or even worse, he could be very nice, have lovely eyes and make me laugh, come out of hiding. What do I do with that?" Also literally the entire song ngl. It's very Damien coded in my opinion.

David & Asher - "For Good" From Wicked. Just wholesome, very platonic love and friendship shared between two friends. (No, I'm not trying to be sarcastic. They're just very good friends) "I've heard it said, that people come into our lives for a reason. Bringing something we must learn." "Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But because I knew you, I have been changed for good." :')) "You'll be with me, like a handprint on my heart."

Young David & Asher - "For Forever" From Dear Evan Hansen. Just two friends. On a perfect day. :'))) "All we see is sky forever. We let the world pass forever. Feels like we could go on for forever this way, two friends on a perfect day." "He looks around and says to me 'There's nowhere else I'd rather be.' And I say, 'Me too'." "And I see him come to get me. He's come to get me, and everything's okay." witerally the inversion

Imp!Lasko to Imp!Freelancer - "Meant to be Yours" From Heathers. I don't think I need to explain this one, it just speaks for itself. "You chucked me out like I was trash, for that you should be dead." "You were meant to be mine. I am all that you need. You carved open my heart. Can't just leave me to bleed. Veronica, open the, open the door, please. Veronica, open the door. Veronica, can we not fight anymore, please? Can we not fight-" yada yada yada, you know the audio

Freelancer (?) - "The Wizard And I" From Wicked. It's just them being pumped to go to DAMN and to get to learn more abt their weird and foreign powers. "This weird quirk I've tried to suppress or hide, is a talent?" "No father is not proud of you, no sister acts ashamed." 🙂 "And this gift or this curse I have inside. Maybe at last, I'll know why."

Asher + werewolf bois - "I Feel Pretty" From West Side Story. Broski is on cloud 9 after meeting Baaabe, and the others are just there to witness his delulu. "It's alarming how charming I feel. And so pretty, that I hardly can believe I'm real." "Have you met my good friend, Maria (Asher)? The craziest girl on the block." "I feel dizzy, I feel sunny, I feel fizzy, and funny, and fine. And so pretty, Miss America can just resign!"

Gavin - "Noel's Lament" From Ride the Cyclone. Just a gay little guy dreamin up his gay little fantasies during work because workin in 7-Eleven is too boring. 👍 "Good girls call me 'The Town Bicycle'. Don't knock it 'til you've tried my life of sin." "He said, 'I think I am in love with you' I've heard that lie a million times before." "'My chils, do you have any final words to the Lord you'd like to say?' 'Oui, tell him that, like him, I coose to burn out rather than fade away!'" get into it, queen.

Avior & Starlight - "What Is This Feeling?" From Wicked. This is how I feel like their first reaction to each other when they're in hell went. "For you see, my roommate is: Unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe. Blonde!" "What is this feeling? Fervid as a flame. Does it have a name? Yes. Loathing. Unadulterated loathing." "Ev'ry little trait, however small, makes my very flesh begin to crawl."

Caelum to Freelancer - "Popular" From Wicked. Hear me out. He doesn't mean it in a bad way, he just wants to help Freelancer out in their new, scary school. "And even in your case, though it's the toughest case I've yet to face. Don't worry, I'm determined to succeed!" "So let's start, 'cause you've got an awfully long way to go..." "Now that I've chosen to become a pal, a sister and advisor. There's nobody wiser!" he's just way too excited to show the magical world to them

Shaw Pack - "Jet Song" From West Side Story. You could also debate that this is also kinda like the Solaire Clan, but the Shaw Pack suits it better cuz of how laidback and playful the song is. "When you're a Jet, if the spit hits the fan, you got brothers around, you're a family man." "When you're a Jet, you're the swingin'est thing. Little boy, you're a man; Little man, you're a king!" mmmm, Solaire Clan vibes "Someone gets in our way, someone don't feel so well!" Quinn? That u?

Any and all immigrants moving to Dahlia - "America" From West Side Story. Two perspective on how livin in Dahlia is like. "Buying on credit is so nice One look at us and they charge twice." ✨racism✨ "Life can be bright in America (Dahlia) If you can fight in America (Dahlia)" "Here you are free and you have pride Long as you stay on your own side."

Marcus - "Cool" From West Side Story. Anxious little technician anxious about being found out and fired. :)))) "Don't get hot, 'cause man, you've got some high times ahead." "Breeze it, buzz it. Easy does it. Turn off the juice boy. Go man, go. But not like a yo-yo schoolboy." idk with this one, it doesn't really have much lyrics anyways :\

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk :))))

[cross-my-heartt]

Alright folks, now that Solitary Clone and Outpost are out and we have more insight into Crosshair’s character, I thought it would be interesting to revisit some of the things he said on Kamino at the end of season one.

I’ve been meaning to make this analysis for a while but I’m glad I’m doing it now because season two gives us a lot more context and material to work with. (Let’s hope the rest of the season doesn’t make me look like a clown by throwing us a curve ball lol.)

Beware this is a quote heavy analysis.

Right off the bat I want to look at his motivations because that’s one thing people often use when they try to dub him as a villain. The thing is, Crosshair’s speech does often makes it sound there’s some more sinister ideological beliefs behind his actions.

“Crosshair, I've seen what the Empire's doing, occupying planets and silencing anyone who stands against them. You know it's not right.”

“You still don't see the bigger picture, but you will.”

But when we look into it, I think the ‘bigger picture’ for Crosshair is something much more pragmatic and cynical than it seems.

To put it simply Crosshair sees the Empire for what it is, he knows how dangerous it is and that stopping it at this point is nigh impossible (and let’s be real, if Luke had caught a stray blaster bolt at any point, the Empire wouldn’t have ended anytime soon.)

He’s even more aware of it than most because he’s on the inside so when he talks about it there’s almost this resigned fatalistic quality to it.

“They did what needed to be done. Kamino, regs, the Republic... that time is over. The Empire will control the entire galaxy, and I am going to be a part of it.”

There’s no reverence here. Compare it to the way any imperial baddie talks, Rampart, Tarkin, Sidious, etc. and you’ll see that this isn’t praise, this is just reality as Crosshair sees it. And Crosshair’s realism is really neat because it’s so uncomfortably close to the truth sometimes.

“Send her on a shuttle off-world.”

“Crosshair, don't.”

“It's for her own good. And yours.”

“Omega belongs with us.”

“Living among fugitives where she's in constant danger? You want to protect the kid, then let her go.”

___

“Blind allegiance makes you a pawn. A real leader protects his squad.”

“Look where that's gotten you. They're all going to die here because of your failed leadership.”

It’s in these moments of rationality that we see Crosshair’s perspective as someone who’s trying to protect his family at all costs, to the point where he’s almost begging.

“It's time to stop running.” (Running is too dangerous, I know the thing that’s hunting you and you can’t defeat it.)

“Don't make the same mistake twice. Don't become my enemy.” (Don’t pick a fight you’re going to lose.)

Of course coming from him, it all sounds like a threat because not only does Crosshair not sugarcoat things, he also finds the most brutal and even cruel ways to say them.

“If I wanted you dead, you would be. Not that it wouldn't be justified.” (I could have killed you but I didn’t. You did things that put you in danger of being killed.)

And because of his tendency to do that, you can easily make wrong assumptions about his character. The most uncomfortable parts of his speech are where he sounds eerily like a supremacist, like all of those officers who serve a bigoted and elitist empire.

“Because the Empire will be phasing out clones next.”

“Not the ones that matter.”

___

“We're not like the regs. We never have been. We're superior.”

But is that really supremacism? If it was would Crosshair treat the people around him as he does? Think about the way he treats Echo, Cody (especially in The Solitary Clone) and of course Mayday. That’s not the behavior of someone who finds other clones unworthy of friendship and kindness.

This is Crosshair being all bark and no bite. And it’s also that toxic coping mechanism that’s been hammered into his head: if you’re good enough, if you’re better than everyone, you earn the right to live and be safe and protected.

The batch’s life has always been about proving themselves, they’re an experimental unit, so it’s no surprise that a mentality like that has festered into something more insidious with Crosshair.

“You all are meant for more than drifting through the galaxy. It's time to stop running. Join the Empire, and you will have purpose again.”

Purpose? Ideological purpose? A higher purpose? Or just purpose in the sense of use, the thing that’s always kept them safe.

What’s funny here is that Hunter follows that line with “You really don't get who we are, do you?” because Hunter struggles with the same dilemma of ‘keeping my family safe’ vs ‘doing the morally right thing’ throughout the show and in most cases he needs an extra push from either Omega or Echo to choose the latter.

He as a leader knows firsthand how difficult the balancing act between those two is with how much grief it causes him.

Crosshair is on the extreme end of that dilemma. That protective side that sometimes overrides morality is much stronger in him and that coupled with his cynicism can make for a dangerous combination.

To Crosshair there will always be an unfeeling higher power that he has to please in order to earn its favor and protection. Once upon a time it was the Kaminoans, then it was the Republic and most recently it was the Empire – they’re all the same to him.

“The Empire can't protect the galaxy without strength.”

This is what the Empire is doing in his mind, the same thing as the Republic before it. It’s enforcing its will for the sake of peace and you needn’t look further than Cody’s own lines from episode three to realize that this is what things look like from most clones’ perspective, at least at first:

“The Empire seeks to establish peace and order throughout the galaxy. […] Listen, we both lived through one war. Let's not start another. Too many people have died already. We can resolve this without more bloodshed. Please, do this for your people.”

We also see that Crosshair doesn’t think all that highly of the Republic either:

“You betrayed everything we stood for. And for what? The Republic?”

And I think that’s because these big abstract entities hold little meaning to him.

His contract with both the Republic and the Empire is simple: protect and provide for me and my family and I will do what you say. You could even say he was conditioned to think that way. Ironically it’s Hunter who voices where Crosshair’s loyalties really lie when he says they're "loyal to each other and not some Empire" (and accidentally manages to be a bit hypocritical in the process).

And that’s true for Crosshair as well: his relationship with the Empire is not quite loyalty but more like a symbiotic relationship. It’s necessary but not personal:

“That's your problem, Hunter. You take things too personally.”

DBB put it best when he said “his job is not only to hit things from a stealth distance, but I think he also views the world and other people from that distance, as well”. (Remember that line about the bigger picture? Yep, Mr Baker knows his material.)

That’s why serving under Rampart seemed easy for Crosshair, we never once see him question or defy him. But then along comes Nolan who breaks that contract because suddenly things are personal, his hatred for clones is personal, he represents the part of the Empire that’s not just unfeeling but also actively goddamn awful and he makes the mistake of directing that cruelty at someone Crosshair cares about.

That’s both an eye opener and a deal breaker for Crosshair and we see what he’s capable of when things become personal, just how raw and human he can be.

That humanity, I think, is also why we see him split from the batch on Kamino. It might seem counterintuitive at first, but it starts to make sense when you see it from his pov: if you’re someone who’s so deeply devoted to the people you care about, the most painful thing that could happen to you is to be abandoned and rejected by them.

There’s a lot of hurt in what Crosshair says on Kamino:

“And here we all are, together again.”

“You betrayed everything we stood for. And for what? The Republic?”

“You weren't loyal to me. I was one of you. You may have forgotten, but I haven't. And it's why I'm going to give you what you never gave me: a chance.”

“Think of all we could do together. We were brothers once. We can be again.”

“All those missions together and you threw it away.”

And all that doesn’t just go away like that. It’s his pain that pushes him into making a decision that will later haunt him.

At the end of the day, Crosshair’s biggest virtue is how loyal he is to the people he cares about. He’s not like Rex or Echo or Omega, who selflessly put themselves in harm’s way for a cause that’s bigger than them (not for now at least) but you can bet he’ll tear himself to shreds to protect what’s valuable to him.

And you can love or hate that about him but I think it makes for a very interesting character. To quote DBB again: “He's not pure evil. He’s ultimately a rational guy, and there's some humanity in there, too.”

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Mind & Heart

Summary: Augusnippets 2024 Day 31. Set in a Modern AU, Sci-fi AU. Mind Full AU. Toothless can feel what Hiccup is doing.

Warnings: Implied/Referenced near Death

Rating: Teen and Up

Dead Dove: No

Words: 483

Prompts: Bonus Day - Write whatever you want.

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless

Pairing: /

Author's Notes: And so "write whatever you want" is what I did. :) My final day for Augusnippets, posted on time! An immediate follow-up to Day 30's "This Choice Is His".

Enjoy!

-XOXOX-

Toothless hated the humans, he hated them. After the loss of his tailfin, he should be glad that he’s alive he supposes, but he couldn’t even bring up that much. He’s a downed dragon, he’ll never touch the sky again, he’s meant to die. And if it wasn’t for these humans keeping him captive in this sorry excuse for a man-made den, he would be already. His suffering and shame would’ve ended, they should’ve just let nature take its course.

Hiccup thought differently.

In the middle of the night, when Night Furies are supposed to be the most active, he sneaks into his den. Toothless growls, already disliking the boy. The humans think he’s so weak, so bad at being a dragon that they think this small boy is nothing to him?!

“Ah, ha-hey, um…” But Hiccup is rightfully anxious, fumbling with a lengthy roll of paper in his hands and keeping his wide-eyed gaze on the Night Fury. He’s scared and yet he’s here.

Toothless can tell that he’s like his mother, there’s a pull to him that he usually only feels with other dragons. It’s untapped, like a barrier. Humans would consider it a plastic wrapping someone should poke a hole into to get to whats inside.

“I-I made this and, uh…” Hiccup unrolls the roll and shows it to him from far away. Toothless grows silent as he takes a look. Not bothering to get up until he thinks he recognizes what’s on it. It looks like his tailfin.

“I-I have this mentor and he- and he- and he teaches me things and, uh… I think I can help you fly again.” Hiccup explains, anxiety growing as the very dangerous Night Fury quietly steps closer.

Toothless reaches out to him, grabs hold of that unseen pull, pokes a hole through that proverbial plastic wrapping and finds only genuine intention. Hiccup doesn’t want him to waste away in this fake den, a fate all the other humans have already resigned him to. There’s a brilliant head on his shoulders and he wants to use it for good.

Toothless hasn’t let go of that pull since. He’s kept tugging and tugging, until they’re able to practically read each other’s minds without even trying.

-XOXOX-

Five years later in the middle of the night, Toothless shoots awake. The cause? A debilitating emptiness in the corner of his self reserved just for his human. Something is wrong, he knows there is. That spot fills with a kind of dread he has never experienced before.

He begins clawing on the door and the one-way window, he needs to get out of here. Something is wrong and he needs to fix it. He charges up a plasma blast strong enough to tear through the mostly iron hull hidden by fake foliage. He can feel Hiccup slipping away and nothing will stand between him and saving his human.