#I've lost count of how many times I've had to adjust his in the last moment before His Lordship declared the court to be in session.

[barok-vanzieks]

Hey you wear a cravat. Those are kind of similar to ties. What are you supposed to do with the extra bit of tie from the slimmer end that you aren't supposed to see? I'm struggling, my lord.

-Log

Allow me to begin by politely correcting you, Miss Log: I wear a jabot, not a cravat. With respect to your question, the tie's end is meant to be tucked into the shirt. If it is not long enough, it would be wise to retie it.

[bellaxgiornata]

Sweet of You

Pairing: Frank Castle x Mom!Reader Word Count: 1.6k [Collection Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: just fluff and a soft dad!Frank

Summary: Waking up in the hospital the morning after giving birth, you find Frank missing from his makeshift bed. But when you learn the reason for his disappearance, you're even more grateful that he's part of your life.

a/n: I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love a soft Frank. Especially a soft dad!Frank. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Collection Tag List: @danzer8705 @glowstick-lesbian @flowher @geminadeckerwritesstuff @shiorimakibawrites @beezusvreeland @ebathory997 @maryyymothhh @4happilyeverafter @sleepysleepymom @kezibear @charmedkim @midnightramble @carolinaxvz @1988-fiend @marcysbear

Sunlight beat against the backs of your eyelids, the brightness of it pulling you straight from sleep. Gradually opening your eyes, you immediately squinted at the warm light shining in through the hospital room’s windows. Blinking hard as you attempted to adjust to the unexpected morning light, you began to wonder exactly when the blinds had been opened; you knew Frank had certainly closed them last night while you’d still been in labor.

The thought of Frank had your eyes shifting away from the windows that overlooked the back of the hospital’s parking lot, your gaze instead lowering to the couch that folded out into a bed. It sat in front of the windows, the blankets a mess from having been tossed to the side. Frank’s pillow was still indented from where he’d been curled up with it last night, but Frank himself was missing from the makeshift bed, no longer buried beneath the blankets. 

A frown settled onto your lips as you carefully pushed yourself upright in the hospital bed, wincing slightly at the soreness in your body as you did. But as you moved, a soft, contented sigh caught your attention, the noise quickly distracting you. 

Your little baby girl was sound asleep in the hospital bassinet next to your bed, her small body bundled neatly in her purple swaddle and matching tiny hat. Her head was turned in your direction, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She looked so peaceful sleeping there–a complete change from the screaming and crying she’d done when she’d first come into the world just a few hours ago.

Staring down at your daughter, who’s mouth you already swore was the same as Frank’s, you found yourself entirely forgetting that he was missing from the hospital room. Instead, you'd become entranced by her tiny little face, watching the faint twitches along her lips as she slept. She was already a perfect mix of you and him.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been lost in thought just staring at the swaddled bundle before you heard the hospital room door open behind you. The noise pulled your attention away from your daughter as you turned around on the bed, expecting to see one of the many nurses coming into your room–because they’d certainly popped in and out of your room plenty of times throughout the night. But instead you spotted Frank carefully closing the door behind himself with his shoulder, a bag in one hand and a drink tray unmistakably holding two coffees in his other. 

“Where'd you go?” you asked.

At the sound of your voice, Frank’s eyes darted up from the drink tray in his hand that he'd been focused on balancing before they landed on you. A small smile pulled at his lips when he saw you sitting there awake before he strode across the room, making his way around your hospital bed as he walked. As you watched him, you saw how his gaze shifted to your sleeping baby girl, noticing how the smile on his face had grown somehow brighter, lighting it up in a way you'd never seen before. Though your stomach growled at the scent of food when he passed by you, and that had your attention switching curiously to the bag in his hand.

“Woke up early. You were still asleep so I thought I'd grab us breakfast,” he told you, placing the coffees and bag onto the little table near your bed. “Figured you deserved somethin’ better than hospital food after what you just went through. And,” he said, pulling one of the massive to-go cups from the drink tray and holding it out to you, “I figured you deserved a large coffee. Know how excited you've been about not needing to watch your caffeine anymore.”

Your eyes lit up at the sight of the coffee cup he held out towards you, your hands already eagerly reaching for it. “You're my hero,” you gushed, accepting the hot cup from his hands. “Forget knights in shining armor or superheroes, all I need is you bringing me coffee.”

He chuckled lightly as he turned and began untying the knot on the bag he'd carried in. As you took a long drink from your cup, relishing the coffee you didn't feel guilty for drinking since you were no longer pregnant, your mind began to race at what might be in the bag.

“Don't know about that, honey,” Frank muttered, undoing the knot. “But I did get you somethin’ else.”

Your eyes narrowed curiously as Frank reached into the bag, pulling out a styrofoam container. He leaned over and set it onto the hospital tray beside your bed before rolling that over closer to you. Setting your coffee onto the tray beside the container, you opened the lid and were hit with the delicious scent of food. 

And then you realized what he'd actually brought you. A vegetable egg benedict that you recognized from the brunch place you both frequented. Your favorite item to order whenever you went there, but something you'd been unable to have despite craving it for nine long months.

Eyes growing wide, your head darted over your shoulder towards Frank. He was grinning proudly back at you.

“You got my favorite from Buttermilk?” you asked in awe.

“Knew how much you've been missing it,” he replied with a shrug. “Figured it'd go perfect with your coffee. You know, now that you don't need to avoid runny yolk, either.”

“Marry me,” you blurted with a straight face.

Frank's grin grew wider. “Thought I was s’posed to be the one asking you that?” he teased. Gesturing a hand at the container of food, he ordered, “Eat. Before it’s cold.”

“Thank you, Frank,” you replied, pushing the button to more comfortably raise your hospital bed upright so you could eat. “This was sweet of you. Now I feel like I owe you.”

“Don't owe me nothin’, sweetheart,” Frank assured you, settling down onto his makeshift bed with his own food. “You and our girl there are all I need. Don't need anything else.”

Pausing with your fork hovering above your food, your gaze returned to him. Frank sat there on the fold out couch staring at your sleeping daughter in the bassinet. The corners of his lips were curled into a warm, gentle smile, one of the rare ones that truly reached his eyes. And his eyes–those soft brown eyes of his that you loved so much–were visibly full of emotion.

Sitting there watching him, your coffee and breakfast both temporarily forgotten, you found yourself growing emotional, too. You damn well knew what that little girl meant to him, long before she'd even taken her first breath in this world. And right now it was written all over his face.

The purple little bundle beside your bed suddenly moved, your little girl gradually beginning to fight against the confines of her swaddle. Her face scrunched up in discontent as she let out a grunt. You reached out to push the hospital tray off to the side, prepared to check her diaper or offer her a bottle, but Frank's soft voice stopped you.

“Don't,” he said. “I got her. Just eat your breakfast.”

Your eyes darted up to Frank, watching as he set his container of breakfast off to the side. He rose to his feet, his eyes on your little newborn as he stepped over to the bassinet. 

“C'mere, baby girl,” he cooed softly, his large hands gently sliding underneath her body. “That's it, I got ya.”

He gradually pulled her up and into his arms, carefully cradling her against his chest. Her tiny eyes slowly blinked open, focusing somewhere near Frank’s chin. The look of discontent she’d had was gone as she continued to quietly stare up at him.

“Had a rough introduction to this world, huh?” he asked her softly, sitting back down on the bed with her. “Don't blame you for crying about it. But let me tell you something. You've got the best mom over there,” he said. Frank glanced up, shooting you a wink that quickly had a warmth spreading through you. “We're both lucky she’s ours.”

Biting back the smile threatening to overtake your face, you focused back down on your container of food. Stabbing your fork into the top of one of the eggs, you watched as the delicious yolk you'd had to avoid for months oozed out over the english muffin beneath it. 

“And I'll tell you somethin’ else, baby girl,” Frank continued on, his voice a soft, soothing rumble as he spoke. “If anyone ever hurts you, I can promise they'll have me to deal with. Especially any future assholes thinkin’ they can take you out.”

Eyes going wide in surprise at what he'd said, your head darted over your shoulder towards him once more. “ Frank !” you scolded, though you couldn't stop the laughter that slipped out of you. 

Frank looked up at you, cocking his head to the side as one of his brows slowly rose up onto his forehead. “What?” he asked. 

You shook your head, trying to stifle your laughter. “She's not even twenty-four hours old,” you pointed out. “Can’t you hold off a little longer before you start threatening her future significant others?”

“Why?” he asked back. 

“Because she's only just a baby and–” you stopped short before shaking your head and focusing back on your breakfast. “You know what? Nevermind,” you said. “But I fear for her future dates because you're probably going to have them pissing their pants.”

“Good,” he stated. “Should be scared. ‘Cause no one's gonna hurt either of my girls. Ever.”

Grinning, you speared a vegetable with your fork before bringing it to your mouth. There wasn't a doubt in your mind that Frank would keep his word, making sure to take damn good care of the both of you for as long as he was a part of your lives.

[the-fiction-witch]

Mr Crown

Media - Morbius Character - Lucien Crown Couple - Lucien Milo X OC Reader - (OC) Anastasia Morton (Assistant) Rating - flirty + Cute Word Count - 1435

Anastasia made a grand entrance as she sashayed into the opulent mansion. Her every step was marked by the distinct clicking of her black Louboutins against the marble floor. She wore sleek black stockings that complemented her skin-tight black dress, accentuated by a vibrant red belt. Her hair cascaded in carefully arranged curls, framing her face with effortless elegance. Around her neck, a delicate silver necklace shimmered, catching the light as she moved with grace and confidence.

Lucien couldn’t help but smile from his chair as he sat receiving his usual medication from his private doctor. He did have... A rather large crush on her, but surely he couldn't be blamed after all, to Lucien she was gorgeous! Not to mention her shapely body and large... Assets, the kind of chest you dream to squeeze, and a backside you fight the urge to spank. 

She played the crucial role of being his right-hand person, handling all administrative tasks, and managing the various businesses operating under the umbrella of Crown Industries. This company was involved in a wide range of ventures, from producing bottled water to providing private jets, and served as the source of his vast wealth and luxurious lifestyle.

"I hope I'm not disturbing Mr Crown," she said as professional as ever,

"You could never be disturbing, you have the right to disturb me any time of the day." he smiled, "That dress certainly suits you."

"Why thank you, sir," she cooed, "I must say, you're looking strong and handsome today," she cooed,

He chuckled at her praise, he knew he looked far from "strong" and "handsome" being as sick as he was, but he enjoyed the reassurance she gave him daily. A grin came to his face as he teased her in return. "Strong and handsome huh? Well, aren't you just so very charming today,"

She approached his chair and opened her folder, "Shall we?"

He let out a playful groan as she brought up the business, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. Deep down, he wished she would abandon the business talk and join him in a more leisurely pursuit, like sitting on his lap for example? Nevertheless, he nodded in agreement, signalling his willingness to engage in the discussion. As he reclined, he adjusted himself to get comfortable, preparing for a serious conversation ahead.

"The accountant has finally returned my phone calls he is back from his vacation in Figi and the numbers are in, all separate LLCs and company holdings have doubled from last quarter. The factory strike has finished on the east coast with only minor recruits needed. The builders have sent the quote for the upgrades to the downstairs bathroom," She explained, "And ... We seem to be paying for a boat? Don't know when you got a boat and didn't tell me?"

Lucien listened intently, impressed by her efficiency in handling all the business dealings. He chuckled when she mentioned the boat. "A boat? can't say... I remember... buying a boat. Put a pause on that."

"Is it perhaps something to do with Michael?"

"Perceptive as always. Perhaps it is." He had a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice as he continued. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"I like to know where every dollar goes. And his lab has been a large drain lately so perhaps I'll schedule a call with him," she said, "Tomorrow is the gala, Thursday is the opening and next week is the ceremonies so I'll pencil the call in sometime next week,"

Lucien nodded a smirk on his face at her efficiency and attention to detail. He chuckled at her comment about Michael's lab, knowing all too well it was taking a big chunk out of his wallet. "That's my girl, always planning ahead." He cooed, "The call can wait until next week, there's no rush. How many times are we going to end up at galas this month? I've lost count."

"... Sixteen." She answered, "The charity equitable, the Upper Billion club, the grand gallery, the museum, the anniversary which is taking four slots alone. Along with all the business part summer garden events and of course the upper billion clubs gala auction tomorrow,"

His eyebrows raised as she rattled off the list of events and he let out a low whistle, looking at her in surprise. "Sixteen? Well, we're certainly going to be busy these next few months." He chuckled and shook his head, but beneath his amused expression, there was a hint of weariness. "I don't know how you keep up with it all. You must spend your life organizing my social calendar."

"I have plenty of time to organize your time. Mr crown" she answered just she dropped her pen, rolled her eyes and bent over to grab it,

However, she did so in front of Lucien her slightly crooked stocking and the hint of the top of her suspenders,

Lucien's eyes widened and his breath stuttered as he got a glimpse of her backside and the top of her suspenders, his gaze travelling up her figure as she stood back up. He swallowed and cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way her curves were emphasised by the tight dress.

"I... I see what you mean." He said in a slightly strained voice, a small smirk on his face as he tried to focus on the conversation. He slightly adjusts himself in the seat moving his hand a little to try and conceal that he was getting a hard-on from the sight, "I suppose I should just leave all the organizing to you then."

"It's what I do best, ohh I did get a call about tomorrow for the gala, asking to confirm your plus one," she asked,

Lucien chuckled when she asked about the plus one, knowing they went through this every time. He shrugged his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. "As always, you know I never have a date for those things." He looked at her for a second and an idea came to mind, he gave her a playful grin half kidding. "Unless you want to volunteer yourself, that is."

"As delightful as your company would be, I have enough work to do here,"

Lucien chuckled at her response, "Ah, of course, the ever-diligent assistant." He let out a theatrical sigh, "Here I am, the world's richest bachelor, and ... I can't even get a pretty girl to attend a gala with me. A mockery, really."

"Would you want me to?" She asked half teasing,

Lucien's smirk widened having not expected this usually it was only ever mentioned as a joke between them, but his gaze roamed over her figure appreciatively once again. "Now that's a stupid question, of course, I would. You're a beautiful and intelligent woman. What man in his right mind wouldn't want you on his arm?"

"Very well Mr crown. In that case, I'd like to drop off a last-minute holiday request for time off tomorrow morning in order to become adequately beautiful for such an event. And perhaps get use of the company credit card for a dress?"

Lucien chuckled, "Of course. I have no doubt you'll be gorgeous, as always. As for the credit card, consider it yours. Go and buy the most expensive dress you can find. Spare no expense."

"Thank you, sir. Well, be leaving at seven taking the Bentley."

Lucien nodded, a satisfied smirk on his face as he looked up at her, "Excellent. Seven o'clock it is. I'll be sure to be ready and waiting." He gave her a wink, his gaze roaming over her figure once more before settling back on her face.

"If that's all you need me for today Mr Crown?"

Lucien's gaze lingered on her figure for a moment longer, a faint hint of disappointment that she was leaving so soon. But he forced a smile onto his face as he nodded. "Yes, that's all I need for today. You better go and start getting ready for tomorrow." He leaned back in his chair and gave her a playful grin. "And remember spare no expense, the most expensive dress you can find I want you on my arm as the most beautiful woman for miles."

"I have a few ideas," She smiled fixing his hair and stroking her hand down his cheek,

Lucien's breath caught in his throat as she touched his hair and stroked his cheek, his gaze roaming over her face, taking in every feature. He leaned slightly into her touch, savouring the moment before she pulled away.

"Have a good evening, Lucien." She said as she headed out,

"You as well, my dear. Until tomorrow evening."

He watched her leave, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure, a mixture of longing and anticipation for tomorrow's event swirling within him.

[zhongrin]

INCUBUS ZHONGLI who's lacking energy and needed to feed caught your sweet scent when passing your apartment window which was open and sleeping peacefully was you. You were so helpless so easy to take advantage of so deliciously innocent to corrupt it's making him drool but he wants to take his time with you slowly make you fall for him and him alone. Over the course of 4 months he's been in your dreams giving you sensations you never felt before the overwhelming pleasure he gives you.

Dream after dream you always see him this mysterious man with brown hair golden eyes it was like he was sculpted by the gods like they were telling you he was your soulmate but you were so so wrong about him entirely, he is nothing but a demon a sex demon who will TAKE whatever he wants weither they come willing or by force.

It has been a year now that Zhongli has entangle you in his web and just like he wanted you know nothing but him only him and it was about time he showed you what he truly is and claim you as his mate where you can never think of escaping him.

~~Later that night~~

You were fast asleep naked in your bed (the day was hot and so was the night) when Zhongli entered your room in his true form golden horns that curve along his head, arms black with veins of gold running up along them, a long serpentine tail with ridges lining all the way to the tip with tuffs of fur and eyes that's like molten gold glowing ever so brightly in the dark room

"Ah my dear jewel the time to claim you is now, you will be mine wholly for all eternity"

"Now then let's give you a little dream to loosen and wake you while I devour you"

~~In your dream~~

The sounds of high pitched moans and whines spill from your lips breathlessly begging the man between your thighs for more or to stop probably the former, he was devouring you like it was his last meal he'll ever get after cumming for the nth time face and chest covered in your slick, his tongue long and forked reached place you never knew that made you feel this good

"My dear don't tell me you're tired already and we haven't even begun this is just me preparing you for what's about to come"

After finishing his sentence his form started to change into that of a beast (a sexy beast at that🤤) that towers over you like a predator would to a prey with nowhere to escape

"It's time for you to wake up my darling"

~~End of dream~~

And when you come too the sight that greeted you was the man who you called Zhongli is eating you out like it was his last meal in a long time (which was true) but he was different his appearance changed into the beast from your dreams, it until you felt him suck harsh against your clit did you snap out of it letting out a whorish moan chuckling against you he said

"Finally you're awake darling I've been enjoying my meal for the past 15 minutes now let's continue where we left off in that dream of yours"

Did I mentioned that he is fucking HUGE both in size and girth with ridges on the underside of his cock no well now you know so that strench is going to leave you gaping that's for sure.

"I'm going mark and breed you until you're nothing but my little personal cumdump that'll take all of my cum whenever I want"

And with that he slowly push his cock in making sure you feel the ridges of his cock inch by inch until he's balls deep, letting out a cry and a few tears at the burning sensation of his cock strenching your cunt

"I-It hurts please it hurts"

"Shush it's okay my darling the pain the pass soon shush I'm going to take good care of you"

Whispering sweet nothings to you in hopes of helping you relax and adjust to the strench of his cock in that tight cunt of yours after a minute or two you tell him it's ok to move

"A warning to you my dear once I start I won't stop until I'm satisfied that I've fuck you senseless even if you pass out I won't stop is that understood"

"Yes I understand"

"Good then I shall not hold back"

You had lost count of how many times you've cummed that night probably around your 10th orgasm and yet Zhongli has cummed a total of 3 times and as pre his warning he did not stop even when you passed out from being overstimulated with orgasm after orgasm right after the other, Zhongli on the other hand had his fill of your energy but it wasn't enough he couldn't get enough of it he's addicted to it to you and he will never let you go after all he did claim you before you even knew of him by placing a special tattoo right on your womb after all you are his and his only😈

Oh one more thing incubus semen is more potent than human semen but let's keep this as a little secret 🤫

Did a little drawings of that very special womb tattoo couldn't decide which I like more both are the same but one has an extra detail to it

cw. total filth utc - you have been warned

oh to be incubus!zhongli's little darling whom he uses as he pleases as his personal fucktoy. oh to be utterly overwhelmed by his serpentine tongue, his ridged cock, his entire being. oh to be his little cumdump who gets filled up every single night, to be the vessel that carries his demihuman offspring... hskdjskjdlsjddl *grabby hands* gihb meeeeeeeeeeeeee

that second pic with childe... oooooghdjshfjsk what if. what if demon!childe caught on to what his friend has been doing? and he's so curious... what does this puny human look like, how captivating are you to make the normally so stoic and composed incubus so addicted? so he visits you one night and sneakily peeks from your window, and he sees you. such an obedient thing folded in half as you're being made to take a cock that's too big for your human pussy. babbling incoherently, eyes unfocused, singing so beautifully in such a sweet voice.

and oh, the way you beg when the demon teases you. the way you arch your back and pant like a bitch in heat as the dark fingers of his friend tweaks your pebbled nipples and pinches your raw clit. the way you apologize when you cum without permission and the delicious-looking tears cascading down your cheeks as you're made to lay across your bonded mate's lap, made to take the harsh slaps to your ass, made to choke around the ridged cock slathered with the mix of precum and your own releases from the previous rounds...

childe thinks he too, is captivated by you.

so who can blame him when he knocks on your window the next night, a sultry grin on his lips as he presents himself for you, offering you double the pleasure and some demonic magic that could spice up your night with your favorite incubus?

he's fine with third wheeling for now... eventually, you'll realize that he can give you more than what his friend can offer.

[syrena-del-mar]

Blind Spots of Motherhood: Last Twilight, Episode 10

We're coming off of the emotional rollercoaster of last week's episode and seeing the consequences of Day and Mhok's getaway. And the consequences are big, which not even Night can assuage.

I love scouring the tags as I watch Last Twilight, and I've been seeing many call Day's mom evil or a narcissist. In my opinion, she does not fit the bill (if you're looking for one that is, go watch Twins, now that's a narcissist). There's a tendency of wanting to villainize mothers, and BLs do a great job of giving us mothers that do fill that role, but I sincerely don't think that's the story P'Aof is trying to tell us here. Rather than evil, I think her arc is more about being a flawed mother that does more harm than good through overparenting, her perceiving Day to be more vulnerable than he really is, and sidelining of Night.

Stages of Adjustment to Vision Loss

Just like the seven stages of grief, similarly there's a theory about the seven phases of adjusting to vision loss. The Stages of Adjustment applies not only to the one suffering the vision loss, but even their friends and family.

Phase 1: Trauma, where personal attitudes and generalization form one's personal view of a person who is blind takes over.

Phase 2: Shock and Denial. Self-explanatory.

Phase 3: Mourning and Withdrawal, it's where the loss of regular activities and routines occur.

Phase 4: Succumbing and Depression occurs when an individual is unable to come to terms with the sudden low vision/blindness and they stop caring for themselves. Feelings of inadequacy becomes prevalent.

Phase 5: Reassessment and Reaffirmation occurs when individuals regain and maintain control of their life. Loved ones play a significant role in assisting them to reach this independence at this stage.

Phase 6: Coping and Mobilization happens when individuals develop coping techniques to live with the vision loss and acknowledge their abilities and accept when the need assistance.

Phase 7: Self-Acceptance and Self-Esteem occurs when the individual realizes that they have value and their loss of vision is just one of the many attributes.

When the Last Twilight first started, we met Day as he was dealing with Phase 3 and 4. With the help of Mhok, we've seen Day grow in his independence, but also come to terms that his vision loss may be forever. He no longer was thinking and hoping for that transplant surgery, he wasn't even counting on it anymore. Instead, with the help of Mhok (and Night), Day was able to reach Phase 6 and was transitioning into Phase 7.

But just as Day was moving on with his, his mother wasn't. She's still struggling with his disability and has gotten stuck in Phase 3 and 4, just as Day had been. She's so blinded by Day's disability, that she's drowning in the fears of what could happen to Day rather than seeing the strides of improvement that he has made.

Overprotective Parenting fails in Harm Reduction: Day

"Expecting him to be independent at one time and overprotecting him at another will only result in a frustrated youngster. It is important to judge and treat the blind child fairly; not indulging him, yet not setting goals and expectations so high that he is discouraged." -The Blind Child: Becoming an Independent Adult

Day's mother is frustrating, to say the least. She is so incredibly misguided in how she treats both of her sons, it's no surprise that Day locks himself away into the cavern of his bedroom.

She only sees Day for his disability. Acknowledging and accepting that Day is blind is important, and that does signify life adjustments, but that doesn't mean making Day's blindness the only thing about him. She forgets that Day was a full-functioning adult that had his own lifestyle before he lost his sight. She's only come to known Day for his blindness. She's the one that puts his blindness at the forefront.

She wants him to get out of his bedroom, to stop locking people out, but once he has some sense of independence, apart from his family, now she's afraid? Her son, vision loss or no vision loss, is an adult, but instead of giving him such dignity, she regresses and infantilizes him. She pushes him back into that suffocatingly big bedroom. She takes away his phone, his internet, every tool that connects him to the outside world. She takes away what little independence he had started to build up again.

Any good parent would be worried about their child who has undergone a traumatic event, but over-protecting does more harm than good. In her anxieties, she ends up resorting to using unintentionally abusive tactics. Yes, Day would be physically fine, but in her overprotectiveness, she fails to realize that it could lead to dependency inducement, learned helplessness, and bouts of depression. Day's mother fails to realize that taking away any autonomy that Day has only started rebuilding, would only result in Day's emotional state worsening.

Blindness doesn't have to mean debilitating, but locking your son up in his room without any way to interact with the world around him that he is trying to relearn? That's more crippling than any vision loss could ever be.

Readjusting as the Glass Child: Night

"The most egregious form of rejection that anyone can ever experience is parental rejection" -Is Rejection, Parental Abandonment or Neglect a Trigger for Higher Perceived Guilt in Adolescents

Oh man, the pain I felt for Night this whole episode was next level. The idea of a glass child is not one's delicateness but rather as a sibling of a individual with disabilities, the sibling becomes invisible to the parents, only seen when the parents need them. If it wasn't obvious before, it's clear that this was the role that their mother was forcing Night into.

There's nothing that hurts worse than the sharp words of a mother directed to her child. His mother explicitly blaming Night for Day's disability was a new low-blow. Night had already been beating himself up for the accident, his father (who doesn't even live with them) knew that, but seemingly their mother was oblivious. The only one that Night could rely on was an outsider, a father that they hadn't been in contact with for years. Their mother created that environment by not paying attention to her other son, who was also in that accident.

Nothing fuels sibling rivalry like preferential treatment from parents. Even worse when one has to be the caretaker of the other when they already have a fractured relationship. Instead of easing the tension between the two brothers, their mother is too busy worrying solely for Day without accounting for Night. Caretaker burnout is already incredibly exhausting when you're caring for a loved one, but Night has personal guilt and Day's resentment to deal with as well. Not once does their mother ask him how he's doing, if Night is alright.

Night is the forgotten child, the child that's expected to take care of his brother no matter what, no matter how independent Day has become. She has parentified Night without any consideration of how he was doing or what was going on in his life. This was probably already a running theme as they grew up, assuming from their positioning in the family portrait. In doing so, she unknowingly worsens the strife with the brothers, making Day believe that Night had only been "behaving well" in order to win some preferential treatment from her.

Even on Christmas, their mother only cares for Day, feeding him first and putting food on his spoon, body fully turned against Night. In that scene, visually Night seems like he's intruding and he feels it as well! It's why he excuses himself, saying that he's going to meet up with some friends. Even after being forgiven by Day, his mother doesn't make any effort to include Night other than just having him at the table. It's as if he wasn't part of their nuclear family, just a convenient body that is there to help out as Day adjusts to his new life. If it hadn't been for Day, Night would have left that table that night and would have believed that nobody cared for him. I'm hoping this makes her confront and reassess how she's treated Night, now and in the past.

It's ironic, even though Day is blind and held a lot of contempt for his brother, he was still saw Night and all his struggles. Meanwhile, their mother was seeing right through him, blaming him for what happened to Day. Driving a dagger, that Night had already stabbed himself with, even deeper.

Final Thoughts

I'm not quite ready to jump on the 'Mother Gothel' train for Day and Night's mom. I think she is juggling being a career woman and being a mother at the same time, while failing to adjust to Day's blindness and making mistakes in her parenting as a result.

I also don't think it's out of maliciousness or self-importance, either. When I see their mother, it's as if she's trying to save a sinking boat that is already pierced by numerous holes. There's no going back to their lives before Day's blindness. She needs to adjust her priorities, because disregarding Night and locking up Day is not the answer.

This episode was frustrating, not because I found her to be outright abusive, but because of her worries she ends up hurting her sons even more. No parent is perfect, and they can hurt you while thinking they're acting in your best interest, but they have to be willing to love and let their kids learn on their own.

[d1xonss]

Desert Rose

Chapter 2 ~ Who the Hell are You?

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 1

✧ Word Count : 4.1k

In this chapter ~ After spending her first night in the camp she was brought back to, Rose learns the hard way that these "walkers" are starting to head out of the city and straight for the place they all thought was safe. But what really seemed to stick with her the most, was a new and unfamiliar face, but an all too familiar name.

After the unexpected talk with Rick, I was left to stew over my thoughts for a while, letting the silence consume me. Though it couldn't last as long as I'd like it to, finding myself wandering back toward the campground as expected. I dropped my bag near the RV, my eyes glancing up toward the top of the vehicle when I sensed something there. Dale sat tall in a lawn chair, his stare searching for any kind of threat or danger before he felt the familiar itch of my eyes glancing at him, waving down to me politely. I raised my hand back up to him briefly before drifting toward the fire that was still burning from this morning, sitting myself near it as I felt the heat brush up towards my skin.

A tired sigh passed through my lips as I closed my eyes for only a moment, breathing in the morning air and hopefully not be bothered while doing so. But judging by the amount of people that filled this space, I could only assume someone would pop in eventually, my eyes nearly rolling at the thought. 

My hand reached down to grasp one of my throwing knives that once sat around my hips, picking up a rock from the dirt floor as I began to run the blade across it harshly, sharpening it. My gaze stayed down as I focused solely on the task that sat in my hands, but that didn't stop me from feeling a sudden presence sit down right beside me, nearly touching my shoulder with theirs. So much for not being bothered.

My narrowed eyes glanced over to their frame, faltering for a moment as I realized it was Rick's son, Carl. His bright, blue eyes and freckled face were hard to ignore, his smile the moment he caught my eye was even more sweet.

"Hi," he spoke excitedly, "I didn't mean to bother you...I just wanted to ask if you slept okay your first night here."

His politeness took me a bit by surprise, but nonetheless I responded, "Yeah I slept fine. Why do you ask?" I spoke, my voice softening.

"Well, I overheard Dale say something about you sleeping in the woods, and that didn't really sound comfortable to me." he said as he shook his head, finishing with a small laugh at the thought.

It took everything in me not to smile in amusement, attempting to keep my expression neutral though I nodded to confirm his suspicions. "The old man's right. But I've done it plenty of times...nothing to worry about." I assured.

He smiled with a nod, before the conversation diverted to him opening up about his old life before the world abruptly came to an end. I found I didn't mind listening to him talk, allowing him to tell as many stories as he wished about him and his old friends, briefly touching on how his dad was in a coma before now and quite literally came back to life.

I had somewhat heard the familiar tale just last night when we all sat around the fire, but I found I didn't pay it much mind at the time as I remained too lost in thought. Although Carl retelling the story honestly amazed me, enough for me to slightly perk up a bit in interest. The man just suddenly woke up from a coma and the world looked like this? I would be freaking the hell out. But Rick on the other hand seemed to have adjusted well enough. I will admit, it made me respect him just a little bit more.

As time passed, the kid eventually caught sight of Sophia before excitedly telling me he was going to go play with her for a bit, watching as he ran off toward the opposite side of the trees. I went back to sharpening my knife only seconds after he left, but it was only then I felt a pair of eyes on me, burning into the side of my head. But I didn't even need to glance up and look to know that it was Lori.

The entire time Carl sat beside me, I could sense that she had been watching me closely while I talked to her child, yet it didn't bother me. I was still a complete stranger to everyone here and I understood when it came to the kids, their safety being more important than anything. But even last night I could tell that she didn't trust me one bit, always looking at me like I was going to suddenly whip out a weapon to threaten someone. Realistically I could, but it sounded like a lot of work and not worth my time.

However, my movements came to a halt when I heard a frightened scream come from the other end of camp. It was high-pitched and terrified, sounding as if it came from a kid. Without another thought, I shot up from my spot and ran past the trees toward the source of the noise, getting my knife ready to throw if I needed to. It didn't take long before I saw Carl come into view, seemingly okay and unharmed as he sprinted towards me, practically tackling me in a hug. He clung to my legs breathlessly, but I could barely pay him any mind as my eyes scanned through the woods, trying to find the thing that made him so easily terrified.

When I didn't see anything close by, I leaned down and pulled him off of me by his shoulders, "You okay? What happened?" I asked as calm as I could.

His head bobbed up and down frantically, "I'm okay, Sophia and I saw a walker!" he exclaimed with wide eyes.

My brows furrowed as it took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. I didn't really have a specific name for the dead, but it seemed like walker was a pretty good and accurate one once it clicked in my mind. I then looked back to my right when I saw the briefest of movements, seeing Sophia in Carol's arms as she quietly cried, her mother holding her close once she realized she was safe.

I instantly turned back to Carl, "Just go find your mom, I'll take care of it, okay?"

He nodded and sprinted off not too far behind me to Lori, who had stood back and seemingly watched the whole exchange between me and her son. Once I knew he was safe, I jogged towards the direction he came from, slowing down slightly as I listened for any rustling nearby that could've come from the monster. A branch snapping is what made my gaze snap to the left, seeing a few bushes in my way, blocking whatever was hiding behind them almost perfectly.

I slowly crept up towards the noise until I was able to peer over the greenery, seeing the corpse Carl was just describing, hunched over and feasting on part of a decaying deer. Gripping my knife tight, I quietly inched closer so I could easily take care of it, the sound of rushed footsteps coming up behind me made me suddenly pause as I turned toward the noise. But I sighed when I saw it was only a few others from the group, coming up to see what all the panic was about.

My eyes rolled as I went to step forward again in the second attempt to kill the walker, but yet again, something stopped me. The moment I felt a hand on my wrist, it took everything in me not to slap the shit out of whoever was holding me in place, looking up to lock eyes with Shane. He gave me a pointed look as if he was telling me to stand back, but I quickly scoffed and ripped my arm out of his hold harshly, opening my mouth to speak. Though he didn't even give me the chance, as all of the men seemed to suddenly spring forward at the same time through the bushes, screaming and flailing as they tried to kill the corpse.

My eyes narrowed at how stupid they were making themselves look, attacking the thing everywhere else but the brain. I stood in place away from the mayhem, my arms folded in front of my chest as I found myself wondering how long this would take without me having to step in. Once glance over at Andrea and her sister Amy told me they were just as unimpressed as I was. Though finally, Dale took the shovel he gripped onto and cut its head clean off, leaving the rest of them breathless and heaving.

Yeah. I was the one who needed to stand back.

Dale wiped the sweat that managed to pool on top of his forehead, "That's the farthest they've come up here." he breathed.

Shane nodded and sighed, "Yeah well, clearly they're running out of food in the city."

No one got a chance to breathe another word as more rustling just inches away caught all of our attention. I quickly raised my knife back up towards the sound, seeing a gap in between Rick and Shane's head where I would have a perfect shot if it was another walker. I was prepared to see gray, dead eyes, but instead I was thrown off guard. The eyes I spotted where icy blue and piercing rather than what I expected. It was a man.

He was wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, some jeans with many holes embedded in them, and very worn, old boots on his feet. I even noticed the crossbow slung lazily behind his back. Since I saw everyone visibly relax a bit and lower their once raised weapons, I connected the dots in my mind that this had to be the one and only Daryl Dixon. The same Daryl Dixon that these people were worried to break the news to. Merle's brother.

"Son of a bitch that's my deer." he cursed, his voice snapping me out of my thoughts.

He then walked around the animal and noticed how much damage the corpse caused and quickly began kicking the dead walker, taking out his frustrations and spewing insults at it. God, he seemed like a man child. The conversation with Rick should be interesting.

"Now, calm down son, that's not helping." Dale advised with an extended arm.

Daryl snapped, "What do you know about old man?! Ya can take that stupid hat and go back to On Golden Pond."

My lips surprisingly pressed together in a firm manner to stop the laugh that seemed to bubble in the back of my throat at his little comment. Man child, sure...but he at least had somewhat of a sense of humor.

"I been trackin this deer for miles to bring it back ta camp." he continued to rant, "What do ya think? Ya think we could cut around this chewed part right here?" he asked, pointing where the walker had torn it apart.

Shane shook his head, "I wouldn't risk it."

"That's a damn shame." he responded, glancing around at everyone briefly.

Although as his eyes did a scan of his surroundings, he suddenly caught sight of me standing just behind everyone else, his intense gaze studying me for a moment. It almost looked like he did a double take, but I wasn't quite sure, it happened too fast. I had to admit his gaze was very heavy and sharp, not being able to tell if he was trying to figure me out or see into my soul. But either way, I didn't like it. However as stubborn as I was, when he didn't look away, neither did I.

I held his stare, scanning his eyes for any kind of emotion that I could tell he was trying to hold in and push deep down. For a split second his eyes flickered with something more, but I couldn't quite tell what it was. All I knew was that it was directed at me, which I couldn't tell if it was a good or a bad thing.

A dismissive scoffed passed his lips as he was the first to look away, adjusting the strap of his weapon, "Well, I caught a few squirrels, bout a dozen or so. That'll have to do." 

I could tell he was slightly intrigued to know who I was, curious almost, but I on the other hand was over the whole introduction thing. I didn't make an effort to tell him my name, especially if I was going to be gone by the time the sun went down. It seemed pointless to me.

Everyone's attention diverted back towards the scene suddenly as the walker's head started chomping its teeth, still very much alive. I could feel Amy squirm from behind all of us at the sight, muttering, "Oh God." before hurriedly walking away with her sister whilst shielding her eyes.

"Come on people, what the hell." Daryl muttered as he started to grab his crossbow from behind his back.

Though I figured I would save him the trouble of getting it ready and loaded, stepping forward slightly to throw my knife directly into its head. That's when everyone turned back to look in my direction once the walker was silenced. Regret began to fill me as I noticed the sudden attention, and the one person I didn't want staring, now had his gaze fixed upon me again. I wanted to just walk away without saying a word, but unfortunately, I needed my stupid knife back, hesitantly stepping around Shane and Dale to retrieve it.

As I pulled it out, I suddenly found a boost of confidence as I couldn't help but state the obvious, "It's the brain that kills them...I thought we all knew that here." I trailed off as I looked around at all the men.

I then turned on my heel to make my way back, feeling their eyes burning into the back of my head as they deliberately followed my lead. Their pace resembled some kind of hesitance or reluctance which I couldn't seem to understand. But then once Daryl spoke up, it was suddenly all too clear.

"Merle! Merle, get your ugly ass out here, I got us some squirrel!"

I knew this conversation wasn't going to be pretty, but I honestly couldn't help but want to see how it would play out. So, I plopped myself down in front of the fire where I had originally sat that morning, watching the scene in front of me. Like a free movie or some trashy reality T.V. Daryl seemed like the type of man to have a pretty short fuse, judging by the little temper tantrum he threw earlier about his deer. I just knew the news about his brother, he wouldn't take it very lightly. Asshole or not, he was still his family.

Shane eventually caught up with the man's long strides and yelled to get his attention, "Daryl wait, hold up a minute, we-...we need to talk...it's about Merle."

There was an awful silence that followed right after his statement, Daryl looking around to everyone as he realized his brother wasn't there, nor had responded to him. I could see the man trying to hold back his emotions once again as he turned to ask the dreaded question.

"He dead?" he eventually blurted out, ducking his head down.

Shane sighed as he clearly didn't know quite how to put it, "We're not sure." he settled on saying.

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl snapped.

"There's...no easy way to say this so I'll just say it." Rick chimed in, walking up closer to the angry man with caution.

Oh God here we go. "Who the hell are you?" Daryl asked.

"Rick Grimes."

"Rick Grimes." Daryl mocked, "There something you wanna tell me?"

"Your brother was a danger to us all...so, I handcuffed him on a piece of metal on a roof, he's still there."

At this point everyone nearby completely stopped what they were doing to watch this interaction, and I couldn't say I blamed them. I for one grew very intrigued to see how he would react. Although I had a pretty good idea, I still couldn't really tell which way the wind was blowing. He would either just scream at him, or he would get violent...or both.

"Hold on." Daryl said after a moment, "Let me process this...ya handcuffed my brother to a roof? And you left him there?!"

"Yeah..." Rick simply responded with a nod of his head.

...It was both. Daryl stood there for a moment, huffing air out of his nose before taking the string of squirrels he still had in his hands and chucked them towards Rick. The man dodged them quickly as they went completely over his head, stepping back as Daryl continued to approach him with smoke coming out of his ears. Though Shane hardly let him get the chance to touch him, shoving Daryl down to the ground to lay him flat on his ass.

"Ooh." I cringed at the impact.

But the man recovered quickly as he reached down, grabbing his knife from his hip and pulling it out harshly as he stumbled back up to his feet. "Watch the knife!" T-Dog quickly spoke.

His warning alone caused me to stand up from where I was sitting. I barely knew these people, but the last thing I wanted for any of them was to get hurt by the grieving and angered man.

He continued to clumsily stomp around in a blinded rage, before swinging his sharp blade towards Rick which he quickly avoided, but I had seen enough. As he tried to take another jab, I stepped up on a rock that was conveniently placed behind his figure, quickly jumping on his back. I kept my legs firmly on either side of him while I took my arms and looped them around his neck, putting him in a headlock as I tightened my hold. When he was distracted from the impact, Rick took the opportunity to knock the knife out of his hand as he fell down to his knees from my weight being on top of him so suddenly.

"The hell?" he muttered to himself as he struggled in my grasp, "You best let me go!" 

I only tightened my hold on him and heard him gasp a little, "Nah, I think it's best if I don't." I spoke lowly.

The man was clearly thrown a bit because for a moment, he stopped struggling. I didn't know if it was because he heard my voice right next to his ear, or if he just needed a second to process everything that was happening around him. But either way, he faltered momentarily.

"Chokeholds illegal." he replied.

"Well, file a complaint to someone who gives a shit." I replied quickly.

Rick then slowly inched forward and got down to his level, "I would like to have a calm discussion about this, do you think we can manage that?"

Daryl was silent for a moment, Rick having to repeat himself one more time as I squeezed harder, getting him to finally agree with a frantic nod of his head.

Rick looked back up at me, giving me the okay to let him go and I did as quickly as I could, wanting his sweaty body away from me. As I shoved him further from my grasp, I stood back to my full height to see everyone had their eyes on me with their mouths hung open a little in astonishment. I just shrugged as it was no big deal, because truly it wasn't. Contrary to popular belief, Daryl wasn't as tough as he looked, at least not in his vulnerable state, and it wasn't my first time doing this. I had a lot of practice with this sort of thing, taking down grown men was almost like therapy to me.

As Daryl got up and caught his heavy breaths, his head slowly turned back to look at me, before getting to his feet to storm over in my direction. I watched this happen out of the corner of my eye before turning back to him when his face was closer to mine, our noses nearly touching. I wasn't expecting him to hit me, he didn't seem like the type, I could tell by his eyes. I was expecting him to yell at me, threaten me that if I ever did that again I would be six feet underground by now. I mentally prepared myself as I studied his harsh blue eyes that seemed to spark with a hint of curiosity.

"How the hell did ya get me down on the ground like that?" 

My eyes widened slightly as I was completely thrown off by his tone. Not even twenty seconds ago he was screaming and fighting because of the news he had just received, but now he was talking to me with a much calmer approach. He looked shocked, mildly impressed, yet pissed off all at the same time. But still, he didn't yell. He didn't even attempt to raise his voice. It took everything in me not to shove him out of my face with how close he became, but I managed to keep my cool.

I just simply shrugged, "Practice."

He stared at me for just a moment longer before scoffing at my answer, finally turning back to Rick to hear what he had to say.

I tuned most of the conversation out because I've already heard this discussion about a hundred different times. Hell, they practically rehearsed what they were going to say to him like lines from a middle school play. I mainly just focused on Daryl's reaction to the information in case he wanted to get another swing in, but he didn't. In fact he grew a little emotional instead, wiping some tears from his eyes quickly in hopes that no one would notice. I couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. His brother was a prick, but I could tell he cared a lot about him, and the thought of him being dead was probably an image he didn't want to visualize.

Though after the news had been broken to him, Rick promised he would go back to Atlanta with Daryl in order to get Merle back. It clearly wasn't in officer friendly's nature to leave a man behind, and boy did Shane have some things to say about that. But Daryl on the other hand didn't even look grateful for the help, pathetically storming off in the other direction instead.

Soon the rest dispersed and went back to whatever tasks they were doing before. I headed toward the RV where my bag lied, digging out my notebook to have something to keep myself busy for a while without having to talk to anyone else. However, I couldn't help but noticed the presence that suddenly hovered over my crouched position. I glanced over my shoulder to see it was Rick, my eyes staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. But he sure took his sweet ass time finding the words to say to me.

He finally cleared his throat, "I just, uh...wanted to thank you for doing what you did back there...with Daryl."

I stood up to face him as I simply shrugged my shoulders, "It was no big deal." I brushed off before walking away from him, wanting to get away for a while.

"No, it was a big deal," his voice suddenly stopped me once more, "I mean you pretty much saved my ass out there. How do you know how to do that?"

I turned back around to look at him, "I took a lot of self defense classes before...you know all this," I said gesturing around me, "Plus I had some practice with my job too...it really was no big deal, I just...didn't want anyone to get hurt."

That's when a shit eating grin broke out on his face, and I knew I had somehow fucked up with what I said. "So, you do care?" he asked with a hint of a smugness, as if proving his point from earlier this morning.

I blinked, "No." I spoke dryly,

He chuckled at my tone, "Well, either way, thank you." he said again, genuine appreciation coming from him.

"No problem." I replied with a nod before I hastily walked off into the woods.

I knew Rick wouldn't follow me or try to talk to me more after the conversation we had this morning. I think he understands why I want to be off on my own and is hoping that if he leaves me alone, I'll come around and think more about the idea of joining their group. But I can definitely say that Daryl Dixon would not be a plus to me staying.

~ Thanks for reading!

[enniewritesathing]

Discussion/Comment Post #...5?

I'm not sure; I've lost count but The Werewolf certainly did not.

Like my dude Walt from Fosters said:

It was not!

This is (maybe obviously) the part that I wanted to get to after me spending how many months yelling about and wanting to get it right to the point where I was doing the equivalent of moving furniture two inches to the right. Partially because I wanted to do this part justice; I had the idea when I did the Incident but I did not have the skillset I do now (or the CC).

That said, thank you @pink-chevalier for pointing in the right directions of a lot of things at 2-3-4 in the morning.

There is something that I would've liked to do but I have no patience for -- and that was animating blood dripping. I had enough trouble with highlights and making the heart wet/fresh... also learned how to dink around in Procreate.

I recognize that this part of the story is the scare the hoes (affectionate) away part. If you stumbled upon this and you stayed? Hello. If you took one at the warnings on top and said I'mma sit this out? Well, there's a bit more left.

also that said, this update got way more love than when I did it. Seriously; that part of the Incident averaged like 4 notes... part of why I was nervous about this update.

Anyway, let's get to it. Not in exact order..

When The Werewolf/Vin promised he was gonna kill everyone, he meant that shit. He said that shit with his soul and folks? He did it.

I'm not sure if anyone has caught this at all and I wish tumblr has like a spoiler thingie that's the black bar, you know the one but...

hey, everyone's death? foreshadowed!

except Thomas' in that he literally just caught a stray bullet. to the head. See, had he stayed in the other room, he would've lived and I'mma say this -- like John, when The Werewolf says he's gonna do something, he'll do it and he wouldn't have done anything to him or Mark. but nooo. see how Charles thought little of him?

anyway, back to the foreshadowing. Jordan was first -- and The Werewolf nearly got to them the first time until Dan came in at the last moment. (this is also important later on.) Jordan was more or less responsible for monitoring/making sure that The Werewolf is at least breathing and adjusting the levels as needed.

so him going for their throat and not only putting his claws through it but slashing? makes sense right? I couldn't breathe (oxygen) so now you can't either except you're choking/drowning in your blood. :)

honestly, Jordan fucked up when they asked the question of why John hadn't turned back if he was dead. when you bring questions into a situation like that, it's not going to end well. it's the equivalent of the teacher asking any questions before letting class go early and someone raises their hand to do that and now you're stuck bc it's actually a legit question. In a horror situation?! C'mon...

is that going to be explained? maybe, maybe not. i encourage yall to think. or don't and be like "yeah sure i'll believe that".

Bernard's I had to think... and honestly, his death was kind of out of pocket. So, his death was foreshadowed (if you squint) when he was with Charles and that big ass knife -- and he suggested that to him maybe he should cut John's face bc he is too pretty. Another thing with Bernard is that he is known for mouthing off and get into arguments specifically with Daniel. He's p much he's an asshole, but he's right in most cases.

I had to keep in The Werewolf jumping off like he's on the top rope of an AEW match. One of many favorites I have.

This time I decided to show Bernard's crushed face/head and the shocked looks of Daniel and Charles (more so Dan.)

Now, we get to Dan, who arguably, is just a coward, a hypocrite, and y'know what? engaged in some, dare I say, pussy behavior this whole time. Let's roast talk about him.

when I was going through the Incident and I was wondering, okay, what's Dan's deal and throughout the story, I decided that y'know what? big man ain't shit.

(i also decided that Daniel was the biggest out of everyone which meant that what happened to him in the Incident didn't quite make sense -- so I changed it for the way better.)

Sure, Dan saved Jordan right as The Werewolf was gonna grab them and do lord knows what. But he flat out abandoned them and made no effort when they were grabbed by The Werewolf. Oh! And! AND! He fucking guarded Charles. (Charles side-eyed him btw.)

Prior to that, he was given not one (he could've walked out), not two (he def could've walked out), but three! Shit, four times! He had more than enough chances to be like "aight, I'm out; have a nice day".

Yall heard what The Werewolf said about that. Nothing is lost on him and he read him for absolute filth before he killed him.

Anyway, his death -- it is the longest. Jordan and Bernard? They were chump-change, they were the warm-up.

now keep in mind, this mfer was still guarding Charles when The Werewolf did the Phoenix Wright finger (🫵). You know it was gonna be bad when Vin didn't even look Charles way.

0.1 seconds later Daniel is shifting the blame to Charles and Charles parried that shit like "hey, you're still here, idk what to tell you."

Dan does that thing where you accuse someone they know they did but they try to be all horrified about it??

But I have to hand it to Dan, in a way, he wasn't exactly phased when The Werewolf blinded his right eye.

like I said, this is the only major change I did to this part but I did keep the choking in (something something if I had a nickle everytime Vin choked someone out, I'd have 2 nickles, which isn't much but it's weird it happened twice) and I thought -- what would The Werewolf do instead?

and he said, "I wanna yeet him" (me: "is that what you wanna do?" // Vin: "let me do it, woman." say no more, wolfman.)

This is also another fav thing of mine that The Werewolf does. It is a show of power, even if he's not 100%. (Idk what percentage I'd put him at all things considering that he was 99.98% dead for 2 hours a few minutes prior.) He can throw a dude that's bigger than him into a wall, breaking said dude's back.

(there's so much I love about this part.)

Anyway, Dan's death is a call back to when he rescued Jordan and punched The Werewolf right in the solar plexus with a needle (something that neutralized Vin almost immediately).

The Werewolf was like 'oh, you punched me in the chest, well I'm gonna punch into your chest and rip your heart out since you've been fuckin' with mine'.

Did The Werewolf had to eat his heart tho? Probably not but yknow, all that jumping around and throwing people... bound to get hungry.

(this was slightly extra but he deserves it as a treat.)

like I said with Thomas, he would have survived had he just stayed in the other room.

You notice that Mark is flat out absent. if you have a good memory, I said he was the smartest person out of this whole story. as early as when The Werewolf was starting to wake up, Mark was like nope, I'm out, I'm not going anywhere near him again.

Not only that, he won against Jordan at Rock, Paper, Scissors in deciding who was gonna be the 4th in the lab.

Don't forget, Jordan told him it's okay to be selfish sometimes… at someone's expense.

Now, let's get to the Werewolf himself!

He had his (beautiful) dead fish eyes wide open for 2 hours and frankly I'm surprised he didn't blink earlier when he did.

I wanted it to be extremely subtle that he's just waiting to snatch people by having his hand twitch (I didn't want to make it super obvious bc that meant that Charles would have seen it. I thought about it when Bernard was taking the bracelet off but that would've been too obvious.)

In the Incident, they were just blank, but adding the super blown pupils in really makes it ...creepy? I'm not sure if that's the right word. he's just there like ◉_◉ and nobody exactly addresses it, lol.

which really makes the part where he looks up at Jordan truly scary.

I made the command decision for him to have his hair down after killing Bernard for a visual cue aside from the cracked floor. The force of him just cratering this guy's head in loosened up his hair. It gives him a much wilder look like the lord intended. and hotter lbr here

since I couldn't do it last time or I didn't quite have the cc for it, I made The Werewolf bloodier with each kill. I'm sure you can guess where this is going to go. (he's gonna need to be powerwashed)

I also decided to make a gif out of him breathing after killing Jordan to emphasize that hell yeah, he's alive, he's breathing actual air, let's go gamers; I'm gonna fuck everyone up.

now that I look back on it, this part kind seems kind of mouth focused. don't think that's anything on my part, but it could be for yall.

now the part between The Werewolf and Daniel... there may or may not have been some metaphorical fucking happening. Jury is out on that, but I wouldn't be surprised if that actually was the case. Why did you whisper in his ear and call him that, Vin? Huh?? 🤔😭

that said, he'd get so many catfish if he went noodlin'. love that for him tbh.

I wanna be on the record that this might be a favorite shot of mine -- I have several and I may do a "ennie's favs" post when I'm done with this story completely but--

The fuckin' look The Werewolf has in the mirror. Get his ass!

I thought to myself, "do I want to make The Werewolf a Nasty Man while I'm at it?" and ofc, I did because a) he deserves it and b) I want that moment where he eats Daniel's still beating heart to be a statement. What statement could that be?

i'm so sorry

I did kinda scare myself a little when I had to take the shot of him smiling. It was gonna be a close up but I'm like no that distant is good. I considered putting it as a jumpscare.

I made the decision for him to look deranged for a bit and go back to 'normal' on the basis that the amount of blood around his mouth was distracting. Like you just wanna get a big ol towel and wipe it off (but a risky wipe bc he's feeling bite-y).

Here's a question or maybe a comment, idk: just how did Daniel and Charles clock that The Werewolf was still weak or even guess that in the first place? Did they figure out through his movements/body language? (Vin did kind of linger after killing Bernard and he was a little raspy after throwing Daniel into the wall.)?

on the other hand, Vin is a mixture of the remaining toxins and a shitload of adrenaline and kind of a mess in general. He may or may not be vibrating a little bit.

...I want yall to keep that in mind for a later thing; it's also an explanation. (One that I think that I feel is indicative of The Werewolf in general.)

Or was it like their way of trying to bluff their intentions? like "a-HA; I have a shot at [x]! You can't do shit to me!" obviously that went so wrong for Daniel.

and finally -- this is gonna be just the one question that I have for Charles and for you, readers if you wanna take a crack at answering.

hey, what the fuck is YOUR deal? you uh, you got something to share with the class, Charles? This is the second time that's happened. Oh, and Vin thinks your blood smells bad. What does that mean? Can your blood be stinky because you're a stinky man in general?? And why is it that your vibe is just rancid?

You know a mfer is sus when he addresses John as Johnathan this whole time. Nobody calls him that!

(a side note... as much as I hate this mfer, Charles is fun to write. He's just so slimy; this is the first time in a while that I've had a sicko (derogatory). So, next part/update is going to be interesting to say the least.)

okay, if you made it this far, congrats -- but I also wanna hear your thoughts, speculations, comments, etc...

[forgottenfourr]

i saw you in a dream - university smau

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chapter nine - gone.

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warnings: angst (sorry not sorry), dissociation

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word count: 1.1k

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a/n: second written part of this series! i’m definitely not as confident with my writing when it comes to written parts so i hope i am able to portray somewhat of what yn is thinking and feeling. i know i said slight angst for this smau but i will feeling a bit silly i guess.

- x four! <3

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yn's pov:

it finally happened. the thing you've feared since the start of all this. for the first time in months, you didn't dream. you didn't dream of him. you didn't dream of the place. the place you once felt as if you could call home.

instead of the comfort and safety that usually filled every inch inside you as you finally drifted asleep, you were met with darkness. an empty shallow cavern where your happiness once was. you felt engulfed, suffocated with hopelessness and loss. there was nothing there. no trace of what once was.

---------------

you woke up in a panicked cold sweat, feeling distant from yourself. like you were watching yourself in 3rd person. nothing felt real and you didn't want it to be real.

you kept hastily closing your eyes. trying to force yourself to sleep. hoping, begging that you'll find yourself in another dream, being greeted with the blonde's kind smile.

but it never happened. each vast attempt met with nothing but disappointment. you found yourself staring at the ceiling. too confused to cry but too sad to try and reason with yourself. to figure out why it had suddenly stopped. you continue to just lay there lost. minutes feeling like hours and the world around you growing more stale and cold by the second.

heartbroken. it was the only way you could describe what you felt. the last thing you had in your life that you felt was actually yours. that belonged to you. was gone. the boy you had spent months with had disappeared. the small things about him you grew fond of and the things you did together were now just a mere memory.

it was pathetic, really. the fact that you are so destroyed over the loss of something that wasn't even real. even though it felt so real to you. it wasn't. it was all made up and you were stupid for getting attached to the dreams in the first place. deep down you always knew that they were going to stop one day. you just didn't want to believe it. nor did you think that day would come so soon.

7 months. the dreams went on for 7 months and it wasn't nearly enough time. you still had so much left you wanted to do. so many things you still wanted to say. to experience. to feel.

---------------

before you knew it, the sun had risen and your day was meant to begin. you only had one class today but you couldn't do it. you couldn't force yourself to get out of bed let alone sit through an hour and a half long lecture. so you continued to just lay there. wallowing in your pain and sorrow.

---------------

seungmin was the first to notice your absence in the spared apartment space this morning. how it was 10am and you had yet to leave your bedroom. it was unusual for you.

"hey gyu?" seungmin calls out to his other roommate.

beomgyu gives a stretched-out hum in response.

"have you seen yn today? their class starts in 30 minutes and i don't think i've seen them yet." the worrying tone in seungmin's voice making beomgyu more aware of the situation.

"uh, no i don't think so. maybe they just slipped out while we were both in our rooms." beomgyu replies, trying his best to reason for your vacancy.

seungmin shakes his head. "no that's not like them," he replies sternly as he gets up and makes his way to your bedroom door, cracking it open slowly.

it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the stark contrast of the darkness in your room to the light filling the rest of the apartment. but after a few blinks, he can clearly see your figure on your bed. your blanket wrapped tightly around you as you sit there staring at something in the distance.

"yn?" seungmin asks softly.

your eyes dart to him almost immediately, seemingly snapping you out of a trance you yourself didn't even know you were in.

you clear your coarse throat, "yeah minnie?" the pain and exhaustion are clearly evident in your tone, striking seungmin in the heart.

"are you okay? your class starts in less than 30 minutes," he asks carefully, almost too quiet for you to hear. he knew it was a stupid question, you obviously weren't okay. but in that moment, he didn't know what else to say.

you can feel your lip quiver at his simple question. you rarely cried but with seungmin and beomgyu? you crumbled almost immediately at their worried questions.

just as you were choking down your tears in order to answer, beomgyu appears at your door, taking a place next to seungmin.

"you can talk to us you know," beomgyu says warmly, "we might not say it much but we love you and we're here for you."

you felt the seal crack as warm tears began to stream down your face. a choked sob leaving your mouth soon after.

without another moment, both boys run to your side and embrace you. giving you the warmth and comfort you so desperately craved and needed at the moment.

you stayed wrapped in their arms for a long time, and neither complained. each of you needing this moment in one way or another.

it was a still and quiet morning. seungmin and beomgyu both opted to skip their classes as well, neither of them leaving your side as the hours went on. you cherish moments like these, where you realize just how loved you are. how lucky you are to call these people your friends. how willing they were to drop everything to be with you, even if they didn't know what was wrong.

you couldn't find the strength in yourself to tell them. you couldn't bare the embarrassment it would bring. and they didn't force it out of you either. they knew that if you wanted to talk about whatever was causing this pain, you would do it on your own time. all they cared about was being there for you.

it had only been a couple of hours later when jisung, minho, and soul had picked up on the fact that something was wrong and were at your doorstep, and even in the silence, you knew you were safe and loved.

yet still you yearned for the dreams, for the boy. that you knew you would feel for a long time. you had too many questions that you needed answers to. even if you weren't exactly sure how to find said answers, you needed them.

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[tsarisfanfiction]

A Single Drachma

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rated: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship Characters: Michael, Clarisse, Chris Alone. Injured. Hunted. Michael doesn't know where he is, but he knows he's running out of time, and he's only got one shot at calling for help. He's got to make it count. I'm a bit late posting it here because rl, but this was a fic written for @pod-together and my podficcer partner for the event was once again the amazing @stereden, who I also worked with for this event last year and once again had an absolute blast with! I pushed the boat out rather further this year in terms of length (there is actually a lot more to this story planned, but it became unrealistic to podfic... that being said I am still hoping to finish writing it at some point, for all that this does currently work as a stand-alone). We both had a lot more free time this year, and we definitely made sure we used it! I've lost count of how many times I've listened to Stereden's various takes on the podfic but it's been so much fun to work with her on this again this year! I was in a massive Michael&Clarisse mood when the event first started, and Stereden is a fantastic enabler who was more than willing to let them be the focus of the plot for our project, so here we are, and I hope you all enjoyed reading and listening to this as much as I did creating it! You can find the podfic to listen to here (go, listen to it! It’s amazing!)

After so long in darkness, the light of the sun was blinding.  Michael’s tolerance for bright lights had always been higher than most, just like his siblings, but as he staggered out onto the street, limping heavily and doing his utmost to ignore the various signals of this fucking hurts different parts of his body were sending to his brain in discordant harmony, his eyes narrowed into a blurry squint.  He stumbled, biting back a curse as his leg protested loudly at the bulk of his weight being forced onto it, and raised a dirty, shaking hand to shade his watering eyes from the worst of the glare.

Where was he?

With a wince he couldn’t hold back, he limped a few steps forwards, impatiently waiting for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, until he almost collided with a wall.  Knocking his shoulder - the less-bad one, the one that was only bruised and not taunting him with fears of dislocation - against it, he awkwardly shuffled until he was leaning heavily against the painted brickwork, shifting his weight until it was off of his right leg.

It still had the audacity to fucking hurt, and Michael could feel his left leg trembling from the strain, less injured but no less exhausted than the rest of his body, but there was nothing he could do about it except lean harder on his shoulder, shoving as much of his weight as possible onto the building.

He needed to keep moving; he knew that.  His arm stung, his newest injury still bleeding sluggishly.  Michael could hear the slow yet steady drip, drip, drip of the liquid onto the ground.  He’d run out of useable fabric to tear into makeshift bandages a while back - his clothes were in tatters, and stained with so many things he didn’t want to think about that using them to wrap an open wound was probably begging for a dose of tetanus, as though he needed any more problems on top of everything he had already.

Leaning against the building was the most relief he’d had in days, though, and Michael was at loathe to give it up.  He glanced towards the sun again, still blindingly bright and near-impossible to look at.  Hi, Dad, he thought, his mental tone somewhere between bitterness and despair.  Apollo hadn’t contacted him for a long time, not since the night before they left for Manhattan, and Michael missed his father’s dream visits.  He didn’t understand why they’d stopped - he’d feared, for a while, that Apollo had fallen to Typhon , that despite the lack of Kronos stomping around suggesting that they’d won the war his father had been lost for good.

Deep down, he still feared that - despite the freak saying things to the contrary - because if it wasn’t true, if Apollo hadn’t been destroyed, then that meant his father had been ignoring all of his pleas for help.

Apollo had been answering him reliably since he was a small kid, before he’d even realised the guy he dreamed about frequently was real and his father.  There was no good reason for him to have stopped.

And yet he had.

Where the fuck are you, Dad? he thought at the sun.  And where the fuck am I?

He lowered his hand, squinting against the bright light of the sun as it inflicted a fresh assault on his eyeballs, and took stock of his surroundings.

It was some sort of side street.  Not enclosed enough to be an alley but no major thoroughfare - Michael could see a busier street, if he squinted against the shadows and too-bright sun hard enough, running perpendicular to the end of the street he was in.  People passed through with purpose, none of them batting an eyelid at a messy, injured demigod leaning against the painted bricks and no doubt leaving some crimson stains behind.  Was that the Mist at work, or was he somewhere where no-one even noticed bleeding teens?

Michael didn’t really care.  Both options were far better than where he’d been, where he was running from.

He needed to keep moving, no matter how much his body protested, but first he needed a plan.  Running blindly wouldn’t help; he hadn’t shaken his pursuers despite his best efforts so far, and he wasn’t naive enough to hope he’d shaken them now, either.  But now that he was out, he had a chance.

His hand tightened its grip around his precious prize, the one small shard of hope that had crossed his path amongst the pain and fear.  Firm edges pressed into his palm in a way that would be almost painful, if his body’s resting pain threshold wasn’t currently up around ten out of ten, a reassurance that he hadn’t lost it, hadn’t dropped it as he ran.

Michael had no weapons.  He had no way to fight off his pursuers, no way to make them stop following him for good.  Hand-to-hand had been out of the question even before the injuries started stacking up; he’d never done well enough in that during training to treat it as anything other than a last, desperate, resort.  Here, where defeat meant getting dragged back to the freak, it was even lower on his list of non-existent options than normal.

But what he did have was one, single golden drachma.  A stroke of luck amongst everything else, because drachma meant communication, and communication meant help.  He could call Chiron, ask the old centaur to send someone his way, and warn him about the freak while he was at it.

Once he knew where he was.

He only had one drachma, one chance to make a call.  He had to make it count.

It didn’t take Michael long to come up with a plan, if it could even be called that.  Step one, find out where he was.  Step two, find a rainbow and make the call.

Don’t get caught in the process.

He’d lingered too long.  He knew he had.  With a groan he forced his body upright again, biting back a scream as his right leg buckled and almost collapsed, and shoved himself away from the wall.  The movement pushed him into a run, one leg in front of the other with no pause to think, for all that they both threatened to crumple beneath him as he staggered forwards, each step sending a bolt of pain up his right leg.

Michael stumbled his way towards the busier street.  He didn’t know if it was a major enough street to have helpful signs like “welcome to”, but it was the best shot he had at finding where he was.

Several times, he almost fell, barely catching himself on the building walls, but he made it to the larger street without picking up any more injuries.

It didn’t have a “welcome to” sign, or any other defining characteristics that might have at least given Michael a clue.   Cars drove past him without a second look, not that Michael intended on getting in one, anyway.  It would be infinitely easier than walking, but the freak had a lot of influence.  Michael couldn’t trust anyone not to be part of his many, many circles.  Until he made contact with Chiron, he couldn’t risk talking to anyone.

The street ran east and west, as straight as an arrow, and Michael barely even had to think before he was turning east, glancing up at the sun as he did so and sending yet another silent and rushed prayer his father’s way.

Apollo had guided him to safety before.  Why couldn’t he do it again?

Passing mortals paid him no more attention on the major street than they had on the side street.  Michael still didn't know if that was due to the Mist concealing the various injuries and blood dripping from hastily wrapped (and in some cases unwrapped) wounds, or if they really just didn't care in this place. Not that the why actually mattered; at least no-one was stopping him.

It was only going to be a matter of time before they found him again, and Michael needed to have figured out where he was and called Chiron by then. If they caught up to him here, he didn’t stand a chance.

The thought spurred his protesting body on, legs screaming and lungs hauling in as much air as they could stand. There had to be some sign, somewhere, to tell him where he was. A café name, roadsigns, billboards. Something.

He reached an intersection just as the lights turned green for the cars. A glance behind him didn’t show any obvious pursuit but Michael couldn’t risk it. He dashed forwards, dodging honking vehicles, and felt his leg buckle halfway across, but he snarled and pushed on, refusing to let it surrender to the break just yet.

Not until he was safe.

It was probably more luck than skill that got him across without being knocked down by a irate driver, but Michael didn't pause when his feet met the sidewalk once more, leaving the cacophony of chaos behind him as he kept running.  His lungs were starting to burn; no demigod endurance could keep going forever, and Michael had been fleeing for days, weeks, he didn’t even know.  He’d long since lost track of time.

There were more than a few near-misses with crashing into mortals on the street, his legs not quite up for intense manoeuvrability and reliant mostly on other people getting out of his way, and more side streets crossed - more than one involving a game of chicken with cars and the accompanying soundtrack of blaring horns and swearing drivers - but Michael didn’t let himself stop.  Couldn’t stop.

Where was he?

His eyes scanned the streets as he ran, desperately searching for any sign, a familiar name to latch onto, but his dyslexia kept jumbling anything that might be helpful and he didn’t dare stop long enough to decipher it.  He couldn’t hear any pursuit yet, but he knew with a certainty deep inside his bones that they’d come.  If he hadn’t lost them in there, he wouldn’t lose them here.

Another intersection - complete with more cars and horns, and Michael almost collapsing in the middle of the asphalt as his leg buckled alarmingly - and the buildings sharply receded on the other side of the street, leaving a large lawned area with a broad paved path leading directly up to an impressive building.  People milled about, sitting on the edge of the cacti-infested planter that ran up the middle of the path, signifying it as a public place, and Michael made a snap decision.

It was the first thing he’d seen that seemed like it could tell him where he was, and further down the street he could see a fountain.

He clutched the drachma tighter, certain it had to be leaving jagged red marks in his skin, and ploughed across the street, his run disintegrating into more of a rapid limp as he dragged himself towards the building.  There were words emblazoned above what was clearly the entrance, and flapping banners covering the outside of the second floor windows, more images than words.

When he drew to a stop outside, chest tight with pain and almost all his weight on his left leg, which trembled frantically as it desperately tried to bear it, he blinked at the large words, willing them to arrange themselves in a way that made sense.

AZRINOA STATE MEUSUM

No, that wasn’t right.

Arizona State Museum.

Arizona.

Michael had never been to Arizona before in his life, but the state name triggered an immediate memory of crackling spears and loud, abrasive words.

Clarisse.

He’d had a lot of time to think, while the freak had him.  Time to get angry at the daughter of Ares, time to shout and curse her existence, to blame her for the battle going wrong, for the hellhounds tearing Nathan apart, for the shockwave that had sent half his siblings cascading off the shaking bridge-

But then time to go hollow, time to remember that the Ares cabin was never going to be stationed with the Apollo cabin, that the deaths wouldn’t have been prevented.

Time to realise that it wasn’t Clarisse’s fault.  That in the grand scheme of things, their argument had been petty and inconsequential.

Gods, but the Fates had a sense of humour, dropping him in Arizona, of all places.

Michael didn’t know which city held the state museum, if it was Phoenix or Tucson or somewhere else entirely, but… Clarisse would know.

Clarisse, for all that they’d never got on, had always been a strong leader.  She might hate him, might have told him she hoped he died (and he almost had and that still stung, a little), but she was prepared for trouble and Michael had never seen her without at least two visible weapons on her.

Hades, he’d been on the receiving end of them a few times, when their arguments got too heated.  Lee, and Emily before him, had always told him off whenever he landed in the infirmary again after a fight with her.

The drachma felt heavy in his hand.

Michael turned away from the museum and pushed his body to start moving again, a walk that turned into a jog until he dragged it into a full run again, leg screaming in agony but something almost like hope starting to bloom in his chest.

He just had to reach the fountain.  The Arizonian sun blazed down above him; there had to be a rainbow shimmering in the droplets somewhere, and then he could call for help.

The back of his neck prickled as his staggered run took him out of the museum grounds and back onto the street, and the blooming hope stuttered before it had much of a chance to grow.  He threw a glance down the street, back the way he’d come, even as he pressed forwards towards the fountain, glistening in the sunlight.  No sign of pursuit, but that didn’t mean anything.  Michael hadn’t survived this long by not listening to his instincts, and the sudden tenseness at the top of his spine told him he had to run.

So he ran.

Jagged agony shot up his broken leg as he pushed it further, stumbling but refusing to fall even when tears of pain started leaking from the corners of his eyes and his breathing took on a whine of desperation that rang in his ears.

He almost crashed into the edge of the fountain, hands reaching forwards to brace himself against it and absorbing the impact.  The drachma in his hand dug in deeply enough Michael wouldn’t have been surprised if it had drawn blood, but he’d take that a thousand times over dropping it now, so close to being able to use it.

Exposed and with no cover, if he lost it and the cry for help it afforded him now, it would be over for him.

Dashing away the tears of pain with the back of his hand, and wincing as the salt stung open scratches, he glared at the fountain, desperately searching for the glimmer of colour that had to be there, somewhere.  The sun and the falling droplets of water were present, he just had to find -

There.

It was halfway around the fountain from where he’d stopped, and he clawed his way around the edge, leaning heavily on the white stone rim and letting his right leg abandon his weight.  His left leg, and the arm he was bracing himself with, both trembled angrily, but Michael wouldn’t fall here.  Not now.

The rainbow shimmered in front of him and he forced his fingers to unfurl from their death grip around the drachma, streaked red with angry lines where the coin had imprinted almost every detail onto his palm.

“Oh, Goddess, accept my offering,” he mumbled.  His voice rasped in his ears after however many days it had been since he’d last had a reason to talk out loud, hoarse in his throat - maybe he should’ve taken a drink from the fountain first, but there wasn’t time for that - but hopefully the words came out clearly enough for Iris to understand.  He tossed the drachma into the rainbow with a shaking hand.

“Clarisse La Rue.”

Fuck.

He hadn’t planned on calling Clarisse.

Even if he was in her home state, Chiron would know where things like the state museum was, and crucially, the centaur had never told him to die .

But the drachma was gone, the only one he had, and he’d said the name now.  He dashed more tears - pain, frustration - away and stared at the rainbow, waiting for the call to go through and knowing he wasn’t at all prepared to talk to Clarisse, but that he had to.

Nothing happened.

The rainbow shimmered, glistening in a way that didn’t quite seem natural, and Michael stared at it in horror.

“C’mon,” he muttered, glancing back the way he’d come.  Still no signs of pursuit, but his instincts were screaming at him.  “C’mon, connect, why aren’t you fucking connecting?”

The rainbow pulsed lightly, as though it was still waiting for something, and realisation crashed over Michael.

“Fuck.”  He hadn’t said where Clarisse was - where was Clarisse?  He didn’t know, didn’t know if she was even still alive, let alone if she was at camp or if she’d left camp now, or...  “Fuck.  I don’t-  Where the fuck is Clarisse?  Iris- fuck- Lady Iris, please.”  His hand clenched into a fist as he leaned forwards and rested almost the entirety of his weight on the rim of the fountain.  Breathing was supposed to be easier than that but the air kept getting caught in his throat and distantly he realised he was panicking, sensing his hope slipping away from one slip of the tongue.  “Clarisse La Rue at… fuck, I don’t know.  Camp Half-Blood?”

His right leg buckled and he clamped his mouth shut against the cry of pain as broken bone fragments slipped against each other.  More tears welled in the corners of his eyes and he turned his head, wiping them away frantically in the dirty remains of the fabric on his shoulder.

When he looked back up, Clarisse La Rue was staring at him out of the centre of the rainbow, eyes wide in shock.

She looked older than when he’d last seen her, hair semi-neatly chopped around her cheeks and small scars he didn’t remember peppering across her face.  She was bigger, too, always broad-shouldered but now easily twice his width, and Michael was pretty sure she was even taller.

“Clarisse,” he rasped, too relieved to even care how frantic he sounded.  “Help. ”

“Michael?” she asked.  “You’re dead.”

The bark of laughter that erupted from his mouth wasn’t humorous in the slightest.  Fuck, camp thought him dead?  It made sense, explained why no-one had ever come looking, but-

Fuck.

“Not fucking quite,” he replied hoarsely.  The back of his neck tingled again and he glanced back the way he’d come.  Still no sign, but that didn’t make him feel any safer.  “Not yet.”

Her brown eyes sharpened, narrowing from wide-eyed shock to the assessing daughter of Ares Michael had seen so many times before.  “What happened to you?” she demanded.  “And why are you calling me?”

“Fuck if I know.”  He looked around again, and caught sight of movement in the distance.  Movement that didn’t seem natural for mortals going about their day.  “Fuck.  I’m in Arizona, don’t know where the fuck except the state museum’s just down this road and if I don’t find somewhere safe to hide - or at least some fucking weapons to fight back with - now I’m fucking dead for real.”

“I know where you are,” Clarisse said.  Michael saw her glance away from the IM for a moment, then nod firmly, a familiar stubbornness settling into her expression.  “There’s a big building behind the fountain.”  He looked up and nodded.  “That’s the state university.  Get around the back of it then follow the boulevard east through the campus.  Once you’re out of the campus, keep following the street east for six blocks, then go left, then get to the park on the right.  There’s an unused building in the far corner; mortals think it’s locked but it’s not.  It’s one of my safehouses.  You’ll find weapons there.”

Through the college campus and then another six blocks.  Michael’s leg throbbed in protest but he set his jaw and nodded.  He could do that.

He had to do that.

“Thanks,” he rasped, glancing back again.  The shapes were clearer, bulky individuals that clearly hadn’t figured out exactly where he was yet but were searching.  “Fuck.  Gotta go.”

He slashed an arm through the rainbow, cutting off Clarisse’s “Mi-”, and pushed himself away from the fountain.

Time to run.

Michael knew that his leg shouldn’t be able to keep moving, let alone running.  A mortal could never have managed it, and he was pretty certain most demigods couldn’t, either.  Being the son of Apollo had its perks, but that didn’t stop it sending vicious stabs of pain up through his body with every step, reminding him loudly and furiously that son of Apollo or not, he wasn’t doing it any favours and sooner or later it was going to run out of endurance.

Oblivious college students didn’t even seem to blink as he ran past them, adrenaline flooding his body and pushing him further, further, faster.  Fear of being caught and the hope of safety ahead of him worked in tandem to urge him on, slamming away the pain with extreme prejudice and forcing his legs, both the broken one and the merely exhausted one, to keep going, one foot in front of the other and jarring with every step.  The campus stretched out before him, seeming impossibly long, and in the back of his mind a small voice despaired that he’d never make it.

He told the voice to shut the fuck up and kept going.

The sun beat down as he ran, sweat joining with blood to leave a trail behind that he was painfully aware of but could do nothing about.  All he could do was hope that he had enough of a headstart to outrun them to Clarisse’s safehouse.  And that Clarisse would think to tell Chiron, because fuck, he’d forgotten to tell her to.

The first sounds of active pursuit reached his ears as he passed a set of tennis courts near the end of the campus, lungs burning, chest heaving, legs screaming, and he glanced over his shoulder to see students being pushed out of the way by larger, armed and dangerous, figures.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His body had nothing left to give but Michael wasn’t going to let it surrender.  Not now, not when he finally had a chance to get away.  He ignored the voice in his head that said that a safehouse wasn’t much good if they saw him go into it, and that he didn’t stand a chance in combat even if he did get his hands on weapons, because it didn’t matter how true it was, it was still all he had.

He accelerated again, finding speed he didn’t know he was capable of even with two intact legs and not on the cusp of exhaustion, and bolted across the last few yards of the campus, hurtling across the street without stopping and forcing cars to swerve to avoid hitting him, and kept going.

One block.

Behind him, more car horns sounded and drivers started shouting.  Something sounded like it hit something hard.

Two blocks.

Something went crunch and the shouting abruptly stopped.

Three blocks.

Michael’s lungs were on fire.  He couldn’t even feel his legs any more, which definitely wasn’t a good thing.

Four blocks.

Fresh shouting started up, low and guttural and undoubtedly aimed at him.

Five blocks.

His lungs transitioned from on fire to non-operational, each breath a constricting choke as he ploughed on.

Six blocks.

Michael skidded around the corner, crossing the intersection to more irate cars and almost toppled over at the change of direction.  He caught himself on a wall and all but bounced off of it, lurching down the sidewalk and knowing it was too much to ask that his pursuers hadn’t seen him make the turn but part of him begging whichever gods might be listening that they’d missed it anyway.

The park on the right, Clarisse had said, and Michael almost stumbled over his own feet as he caught sight of greenery after a moment of desperate running.

A javelin sailed past him, missing only because his leg buckled and listed him to one side for a heartbeat, and Michael’s stomach leapt up into his throat.  Not now, not now he was so close.

He threw himself into the greenery the moment it opened up, using the shrubbery for what little cover it could give him, but it was barely moments before he heard the leaves get brushed aside behind him.  Guttural cursing in a language Michael didn’t know but had got used to hearing was far too close as he frantically scanned the far side of the park for the building Clarisse had mentioned.

Where was it where was it where was it where the fuck was it-

There!

On the far side of the park, sheltered by trees on multiple sides, was a building that looked old and rundown.  Chains and padlocks wrapped around the door, but as Michael focused on it, they shimmered and fell away.

He hadn’t known Clarisse could manipulate the Mist that well, but he wasn’t going to complain.

He didn’t have time to complain.

There was still half the park to cross and he wasn’t going to make it unless he found another burst of speed from Hades-knew-where.  He choked on more air, willing his legs to go faster, but he still couldn’t feel them, not even the pain from the break, and he definitely wasn’t speeding up.

If anything, he was slowing down.

Fuck no.  He wasn’t going to get caught, not here.  Not now .  He leaned forwards, desperate for just a little more speed, and felt something snag his feet.

He landed on his front hard enough to see stars, every part of his body compressing in a way that made him feel sick, or perhaps that was the knowledge that he’d never get up and away in time.  It didn’t stop him trying, pushing himself upright on arms that were shaking almost too much to bear his weight, one shoulder screaming as it reminded him it probably wasn’t in its fucking socket, determined to fucking crawl if he had to.

Electricity crackled.

“Back off!” a female voice roared , footsteps running towards him from where he’d been trying to get to.  Michael’s first thought was that he must have hit his head when he fell, because that was Clarisse’s voice.

He dragged his head up just in time to see a figure jump over him, barely an instant before there was the clash of weapons behind him.

Rolling over was marginally easier than trying to stand up.  It brought with it a reprise of pain from his broken leg that jolted back into awareness so quickly he barely choked down a cry, but more importantly gave him a front row seat to Clarisse La Rue in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt wielding a familiar electric spear with a vengeance against the freak’s employees as they found themselves on the back foot, clearly not expecting to face anything more than a desperate, injured demigod they’d already run into the ground.

A skilled daughter of Ares with a weapon gifted to her by the god of war himself was not a desperate, injured and run into the ground demigod.

Michael had seen the Germani fight before, when the freak wanted entertainment.  They were skilled and powerful, far more so than most demigods - but Clarisse was not most demigods, and had surprise on her side.

He pulled himself backwards with trembling hands, away from the fight, until his back hit something solid.  A panicked glance upwards revealed that it was the trunk of a tree - not a rogue Germani trying to get around Clarisse - and Michael reached up with his less-bad arm for a low-hanging branch to haul himself to his feet with, much to the protest of his entire body.

If one of the Germani did get around Clarisse, he refused to be vulnerable on the ground.  He could still run to the safehouse if he had to, leg be damned .

For the moment, he let the trunk of the tree take most of his weight, keeping his right leg off the ground and gripping the trunk with white knuckles to stay upright while he watched Clarisse fight.

She’d always been an impressive fighter, but the demigod in front of him here was a whole different class to the one he remembered from before Manhattan.  The IM hadn’t deceived him - she was slightly taller and muscular since he’d last seen her - but there was a confidence to her that felt different, almost more natural.

Or maybe he was just so relieved to be saved that his mind had entered delirium.  That was certainly possible.

Whatever it was, Clarisse clearly needed no help in finishing up the fight, her spear whirling around and dispatching the startled Germani in a typically child-of-Ares display of aggression, until the last one disintegrated into dust.

Michael was not ready for Clarisse to turn and face him, towering over him the way she always had done and racking him over with narrowed brown eyes.  There were some bleeding scratches on her front, and a rather more considerably bleeding gash on one arm, but she didn’t seem to notice them as she stepped towards him.  Instinctively, Michael straightened, his weight automatically transferring back to both his legs, and provoking another blinding protest from the right one.

“Clarisse,” he croaked.

“What happened to you?” she demanded, voice sharp and unyielding.  “You died in Manhattan.”

“The fuck I did,” he protested.  “Some fucking emperor-god-wannabe fished me out the river and dragged me off.”  At least, that was what he’d gathered after the fact.  He didn’t remember anything between the bridge collapsing and waking up in the freak’s floating villa, which had taken far too fucking long to escape from.

He didn’t expect Clarisse to believe him, though.  It sounded fantastical, he knew it did, wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t lived it himself.  But it was the truth.

To his surprise, Clarisse’s gaze sharpened.  “Emperor-god?” she demanded, and there was something in her tone that made Michael’s default defensive snap back falter briefly, because it sounded like she did, somehow, believe him.

Still, “that’s what I fucking said,” he retorted after a few seconds, the familiarity of arguing an unlooked-for comfort washing over him even though he didn’t want to argue, still needed Clarisse’s help badly.  “Freak said he was one of the Roman bastards despite the fact they’ve been dead for fucking millennia.  Called himself Caligula.”

The soft shit that slipped out of Clarisse’s mouth seemed like a reflex, and Michael blinked as she set the butt of her spear on the ground.  “Let’s move,” she said, glancing around.  “We can talk once we’re somewhere more secure.”

That, Michael agreed with, and he took a step away from the trunk.

His body did not agree.

Enough, said his leg, at the same time adrenaline drained away, leaving his head lighter than air.

He crumpled.

“Shit!”  Large, warm hands caught his shoulders in a grip of iron.  “Michael!”

Michael snarled weakly and tried to get his leg under him again.  “I’m fine,” he insisted, knowing it was a lie.  He wasn’t fine, but he hadn’t hit his limit yet - he refused.  He dragged his head up to meet Clarisse’s searching gaze.

She snorted.  “Pull the other one, Yew.”

To his surprise, she sank down in front of him, and by the time his brain realised what was going on he was slumped over her shoulders, pinned in place by an arm around his leg and hand clamped around his wrist.

“The fuck, La Rue?” he yelped as she grabbed her spear with the hand not holding him in place and straightened up.  “I can fucking walk!”

“This is faster,” she said.  “Instead of slowing us down, keep an eye out for more of Caligula’s people.”

Michael tried to be offended, but as she broke into an even jog, he had to at least privately concede the point.  The movement jostled his broken leg, thankfully not the one she was using to hold him in place, and he fought back whimpers, but after so long running under his own steam, it was a relief not to have to, anymore.

Even though it meant a fireman carry from Clarisse.

It was easier to let his head hang than try to hold it up, and his matted hair made a curtain that was difficult to see through, but Michael had no desire to be ambushed by more Germani - more of Caligula’s people, and he was starting to wonder how much Clarisse knew about the freak, how she knew anything about him in the first place.  He squinted past his hair, watching the park behind them as Clarisse jogged forwards, and then the street as she passed the safehouse without pausing.

“Where’re we going?” he asked, watching the building get smaller for a moment before flicking his attention back to the street.

“My apartment,” Clarisse said shortly.  “It’s more secure than that.”

Clarisse’s apartment?   “Your mom’s place?”

She snorted.  “No.  My apartment.  You just ran through my college campus.”

It hadn’t occurred to Michael that Clarisse would be in college, now.  Fuck, they were the same age; if she was in college, then if it wasn’t for the freak, he probably would be, too - if he’d ever decided what the Hades he wanted to do.

“Huh,” was the only noise he could summon in response, followed by another muffled whine as his broken leg jarred again.  Fuck, he missed the pain numbing properties of adrenaline.  Clarisse’s grip on his wrist shifted, and he realised that she’d heard it.  She didn’t mention it, though, just kept up with the jog as though he didn’t weigh a thing.

In his current state, he probably didn’t as far as she was concerned.

Wherever Clarisse lived, it felt a long way away.  Maybe it was because she wasn’t running in a flat-out sprint, but the journey seemed to take forever.  More than once, Michael found his eyes starting to slide shut, exhaustion fighting for dominance, and forced them open again, unwilling to risk missing a threat.

Nothing attacked them.  Michael could feel the tension in Clarisse’s shoulders rising the longer they went without being attacked, but she drew to a halt outside an apartment building unchallenged.

“Still awake?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Good.”  She turned around, looking back the way they’d come for herself and giving Michael a clearer view of the building, complete with the flight of stairs they were no doubt about to go up.  Seemingly satisfied that he hadn’t missed anything, she then turned back and continued towards what was clearly her apartment door.

Michael’s leg did not approve of the stairs.  Clarisse went slower than he expected, the rise and fall of her body minimal, but still his leg complained and more than one hiss forced its way past gritted teeth on the ascent.  Her grip on his wrist tightened, but she still said nothing.  Michael appreciated it.

Eventually, they came to a stop outside a plain door, indistinguishable from the rest of the apartment doors.  Michael wasn’t sure how Clarisse was planning on opening it with her spear in one hand while the other kept hold of him, but he wasn’t expecting for her to call, “it’s him.”

The door was yanked open so fast, Michael half-expected it to fly off the hinges.

“Michael?”

He forced his head to raise, his hair falling mostly out of his face so that he could see over Clarisse’s shoulder.

“Chris,” he rasped, not liking the way the son of Hermes was looking at him in horror.  “Take it you two are still together, then?”

“Yeah,” Clarisse confirmed as she walked past her boyfriend, who shut the door behind them.  At the click of the catch falling into place, Michael let his head sag again.  “Down you go.”

Michael didn’t manage to brace himself before spilling out of Clarisse’s grip, but he didn’t have to as he was gently laid on a throw-covered couch, his limbs limp and boneless as he sank into the fabric.

It felt heavenly.

“Gods,” Chris breathed, kneeling on the floor next to him, dark eyes surveying him from head to toe.  Michael heard the quiet click of a catch opening and his eyes flitted to look at the floor, where Chris had a large plastic box cracked open on the rug.  “Eat.”  A small square of ambrosia was held up in front of him.  Michael forced a shaking hand to take it from him and slipped it into his mouth, instantly feeling the relief that came from eating the godly food.

Hades, how long had it been since he’d last had ambrosia?  The freak certainly hadn’t ever given him any.

He let his arm fall heavily back onto the couch as he savoured the taste.

“Let me treat your wounds,” Chris insisted.  He was already pulling on gloves, and Michael eyed him in surprise.  The son of Hermes huffed.  “I know I’m not an Apollo kid, but my dad is still a patron of medicine, even if he’s not strictly a god of it.  I might not be able to instantly heal you but I can make sure you don’t die of sepsis.”

It wasn’t like Michael could do much more for his own wounds than he had already; he healed fast but not instantly.

“Fine,” he agreed, and Chris broke into a relieved look.  Clarisse shifted her weight.

“I’ll make sure the perimeter is secure,” she said, grabbing a small vial of nectar and taking a sip from it.

“Could you grab Michael something clean to wear before you go?” Chris asked her.  Michael felt him gently take hold of one of his arms, then hissed as he gently dabbed at the exposed cut with antiseptic.  “These clothes are filthy.”

“Fuck you,” Michael muttered, well aware that he was right.  They weren’t clothes he was attached to - the freak had got rid of his clothes after Manhattan and replaced them with some sort of sailor’s outfit, which Michael had had no hesitation about tearing up for makeshift bandages.

He was still furious about the loss of his camp necklace, though.

Clarisse headed further into the apartment without another word as Chris wiped down the skin around the gash before peeling away one of Michael’s makeshift bandaging attempts and getting to work treating the wound underneath it.

“You know I’m right,” Chris replied.  “Those rags need cutting off, anyway.”

Michael bristled.  “I can-”

“I know a broken leg when I see one,” Chris overrode him.  “I don’t even want to think about how much damage you’ve done to it running around - or how the Hades you managed to run around on that - but it won’t thank you for moving it again.”

Clarisse returned before Michael could come up with a retort, dropping a bundle of fabric over the back of the couch.  “I’m securing the perimeter now,” she said.

“Be careful,” Chris replied, and Michael watched as she stalked out the front door, shutting it with a loud click behind her.  “Okay, let’s get these rags out of the way.”

Chris’ hands were gentle as they tended to each cut, scrape, gash or worse.  It wasn’t the same as one of his siblings, but it was enough to make Michael feel halfway human again, if completely helpless.

“I’d run you a bath now but I think you’d fall asleep in it,” the son of Hermes told him as he probed gently at the probably-dislocated shoulder.  As much as Michael hated to admit it, the older demigod was once again right; he was well aware of the exhaustion doggedly gnawing away at him now that the adrenaline had faded away.  “I’ll do that later.”  He frowned at Michael’s shoulder.  “This, on the other hand, I’ve got to deal with now.”

One good thing about the encroaching exhaustion was that Michael’s muscles couldn’t tense up too much, even if they wanted to.  He grit his teeth as Chris carefully manipulated his arm into extending, before slowly starting to rotate it.  The earlier ambrosia was not enough to completely muffle the sensation of the joint grinding back into its socket; some whimpers slipped out past his clenched jaw.  Like Clarisse earlier, Chris had the tact to not mention it.

Even worse than the dislocated shoulder, predictably, was the broken leg.  That was by far the worst part of the treatment as Chris gently poked and prodded at it before resetting the bone.  The ambrosia was no more effective as a painkiller for his leg than it had been for his shoulder, and Michael couldn’t help a short, high-pitched shout as it shifted back into position - thankfully also passing unacknowledged by the son of Hermes.

“No walking on it,” Chris said firmly as he fitted a splint to keep it in place.  Michael grumbled a string of curses under his breath as it was secured.  “It - and the rest of you - needs rest.”  It was obvious that he wanted to ask about what had happened to Michael, much in the same way Clarisse had, but to Michael’s relief, he wasn’t actually broaching the subject.

Then again, Chris knew a lot about traumatic experiences.

Once all his wounds were treated properly, Michael pulled on the spare clothes Clarisse had dug out for him, begrudgingly accepting Chris’ help.  Unsurprisingly, they were all far too big for him - Clarisse was easily twice his size, now, and Chris might have been rather lither than his girlfriend, but he was far taller than Michael.  The only advantage was that it meant they were easy to pull on over the various bandages and even leg splint, which didn’t negate Michael feeling like he was swimming in fabric.

“I’ll get you something that fits better soon,” Chris apologised as Michael flaked back down again, finding the couch far more comfortable than it had any right to be.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

The apartment door opened and Clarisse strode back in, bolting it behind her and propping her spear up beside it.  “Secure,” she reported, heading for them.  “Done with the first aid?”

“Done,” Chris confirmed.  “He won’t be walking on that leg any time soon, but otherwise it’s mostly exhaustion.”

Clarisse sat down on the rug; with Michael laying down on the couch, their heads were at similar heights.  “So what happened after Caligula grabbed you?” she demanded.  Chris’ sharp intake of breath at the name told Michael that they definitely knew something about the freak.  “That was nearly two years ago.”

Michael grimaced.

“Couldn’t get out,” he admitted, glossing over the gloating, the leering Germani and the self-important big-eared pandos, to say nothing of the fucking horse and the freak himself.  They’d found his attempts amusing.  The freak had even dared him to get out, promising him that he couldn’t.

The freak had said a lot of things, and Michael still couldn’t shake the shivers at the promise that he would be the new sun god.  It was delusional - it had to be, Apollo was the sun god and wouldn’t be usurped by some fucking wannabe - but the freak had always sounded deadly serious when he’d said it, like he fully believed he would .  He’d said Michael would help him, too.

Michael’s attempts to escape had always got more frantic whenever he heard that gloat.

He didn’t say any of that, didn’t think he could if he tried.  Neither Clarisse or Chris pressed him for details.

“Had a fucking boat villa.  Never let the thing near land.”  He’d managed to get on one of the boarding boats, once.  Mortal security guards had spotted him and dragged him back, citing some nonsense about the boss’ son not being allowed to leave.  “Took for fucking ever to get off.”

Eventually, one day, the guards had been distracted by something.  Michael still didn’t know what, but it had been enough for him to finally slip past them, onto land for the first time in eighteen fucking months, and run for it.

It almost hadn’t been enough, he’d almost been caught, but a door he’d run through had ended up in tunnels and more tunnels and more and more and more fucking tunnels with monsters with claws and teeth and other appendages they shouldn’t be allowed to fucking have that wanted a piece of demigod flesh and-

“Michael, breathe.”

A hand rested on the couch, not touching him but enough to catch his attention.  His eyes snapped to it, then followed the arm up to a shoulder and up again until he was looking at Chris’ face.  The older demigod’s brow was furrowed in concern, and Michael realised he was breathing too fast, air not actually reaching his lungs.

Fuck.

Michael closed his eyes, only to be assaulted by memories of being tracked, hunted, and snapped them open again, focusing instead on Chris’ face as he tried to wrench his breathing under control.

“Don’t push yourself,” Chris told him gently as air started to reach his lungs again.  “It’s okay if you can’t talk about it.”  Michael glanced at Clarisse, still sat on the rug behind her boyfriend but frowning, face all twisted up.

“No,” he said, hating how thin his voice sounded.  “I- fuck.”  If it was anyone else, he’d take the invitation to stop talking, because they wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t get it.  But these two…

“Fucking Labyrinth.”

Chris’ face paled, and Clarisse moved, putting her hand on the son of Hermes’ shoulder.  Her knuckles were white.

“It got me away,” Michael admitted, because it had; without its twists and turns and traps absolutely everywhere the freak’s men would have caught up to him within a day.

He didn’t know how many days he’d been running through the fucking thing before it finally spat him out in Arizona.

“But- fuck .”  He’d never been in the fucking thing before, but he’d seen what it had done to Chris, how pale and shaken Annabeth had been when she re-emerged alone after her quest.  Had seen the monsters spill out of it into camp, had seen Lee’s head smashed open-

The fucking thing was supposed to be destroyed.  Why was it back?

He could’ve done without experiencing the inside of the fucking living nightmare for himself.

“You made it,” Chris told him, voice shaky but assuring.  “You made it out, Michael.”

“You’re safe,” Clarisse added, tone firm and leaving no room for debate.  Michael looked at her, remembering too many arguments and disagreements and threats from the daughter of Ares but seeing only pure sincerity and stubbornness there now.  “Those shitheads won’t get you, and you’re never going in there again.”

Michael swallowed around a lump in his throat.  “Yeah,” he agreed, voice shaking just as much as Chris’.  “Yeah.”

He was out.  He was safe.

The knowledge settled over him, heavy and warm as it finally sank in, and with it came a looming darkness his battered, aching and exhausted body finally stopped fighting and instead welcomed with open arms.

potentially tbc...

[crystalflygeo]

Incubus Zhongli

INCUBUS ZHONGLI who's lacking energy and needed to feed caught your sweet scent when passing your apartment window which was open and sleeping peacefully was you. You were so helpless so easy to take advantage of so deliciously innocent to corrupt it's making him drool but he wants to take his time with you slowly make you fall for him and him alone. Over the course of 4 months he's been in your dreams giving you sensations you never felt before the overwhelming pleasure he gives you.

Dream after dream you always see him this mysterious man with brown hair golden eyes it was like he was sculpted by the gods like they were telling you he was your soulmate but you were so so wrong about him entirely, he is nothing but a demon a sex demon who will TAKE whatever he wants weither they come willing or by force.

It has been a year now that Zhongli has entangle you in his web and just like he wanted you know nothing but him only him and it was about time he showed you what he truly is and claim you as his mate where you can never think of escaping him.

~~Later that night~~

You were fast asleep naked in your bed (the day was hot and so was the night) when Zhongli entered your room in his true form golden horns that curve along his head, arms black with veins of gold running up along them, a long serpentine tail with ridges lining all the way to the tip with tuffs of fur and eyes that's like molten gold glowing ever so brightly in the dark room

"Ah my dear jewel the time to claim you is now, you will be mine wholly for all eternity"

"Now then let's give you a little dream to loosen and wake you while I devour you"

~~In your dream~~

The sounds of high pitched moans and whines spill from your lips breathlessly begging the man between your thighs for more or to stop probably the former, he was devouring you like it was his last meal he'll ever get after cumming for the nth time face and chest covered in your slick, his tongue long and forked reached place you never knew that made you feel this good

"My dear don't tell me you're tired already and we haven't even begun this is just me preparing you for what's about to come"

After finishing his sentence his form started to change into that of a beast (a sexy beast at that🤤) that towers over you like a predator would to a prey with nowhere to escape

"It's time for you to wake up my darling"

~~End of dream~~

And when you come too the sight that greeted you was the man who you called Zhongli is eating you out like it was his last meal in a long time (which was true) but he was different his appearance changed into the beast from your dreams, it until you felt him suck harsh against your clit did you snap out of it letting out a whorish moan chuckling against you he said

"Finally you're awake darling I've been enjoying my meal for the past 15 minutes now let's continue where we left off in that dream of yours"

Did I mentioned that he is fucking HUGE both in size and girth with ridges on the underside of his cock no well now you know so that strench is going to leave you gaping that's for sure.

"I'm going mark and breed you until you're nothing but my little personal cumdump that'll take all of my cum whenever I want"

And with that he slowly push his cock in making sure you feel the ridges of his cock inch by inch until he's balls deep, letting out a cry and a few tears at the burning sensation of his cock strenching your cunt

"I-It hurts please it hurts"

"Shush it's okay my darling the pain the pass soon shush I'm going to take good care of you"

Whispering sweet nothings to you in hopes of helping you relax and adjust to the strench of his cock in that tight cunt of yours after a minute or two you tell him it's ok to move

"A warning to you my dear once I start I won't stop until I'm satisfied that I've fuck you senseless even if you pass out I won't stop is that understood"

"Yes I understand"

"Good then I shall not hold back"

You had lost count of how many times you've cummed that night probably around your 10th orgasm and yet Zhongli has cummed a total of 3 and as pre his warning he did not stop even when you passed out from being overstimulated with orgasm after orgasm right after the other, Zhongli on the other hand had his fill of your energy but it wasn't enough he couldn't get enough of it he's addicted to it to you and he will never let you go after all he did claim you before you even knew of him by placing a special tattoo right on your womb after all you are his and his only😈

Oh one more thing incubus semen is more potent than human semen but let's keep this as a little secret 🤫

HI SIR PLEASE YES DO RUIN ME HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

[blotlcss]

@wishkept asked: "Have you been able to adjust to your classes yet, dear?" Beryl asks, her tentacles a rippling blur of motion as she cleans the mess from the table. One of them holds up a teapot decorated with coral in a silent offer to refill Yuu's glass. "Last we spoke, you were getting ready for summer break. Ah - it must be difficult to get everything done the way teachers want with no magic, but you're a clever one." She winks over her shoulder at Yuu, affection writ clear as day across her features. "Please, you'll have to tell me all about it while the boys are out."

It was mesmerizing the way Beryl moved, how each tentacle moved with precision and purpose and their individualized tasks. Yuu didn't get to see Azul much in his true form, so every time he has revert back they would make a point to watch him and his movements. They quickly learned that his hips tend to sway certain ways when he has his legs, perhaps subconsciously reaching for something with his tentacles. He always made this cute face when he realized he didn't in fact have his multiple arms. Of course Yuu never told him of their observations. It was their little secret.

"Thank you." They say as they lift their cup to accept more tea with a comfortable smile on their face.

"Oh, yes of course!" They eagerly nod before taking a drink. They'll have to ask her later if they can take home some of the tea leaves with them whenever they got a chance. "It was definitely hard to get used to. I knew practically next to nothing so I had to start from the ground up and it wasn't easy." They lost count of how many hours they spent going through years of basic education over the course of a month or two just to try and be on level playing field with the other students. "Luckily a lot of the assignments don't need a person to have magic, though would definitely be easier." Through sheer determination and adaptability Yuu was able to become one of the more brightest students in many of their classes. "And any I couldn't do I had Grimm to help me." Who was out with the boys as they speak.

"Truthfully I think things got a little easier for me after spending time with Azul and the twins during winter break." They make sure to leave out the overblotting that occurred during said break. "We had gotten off on the wrong foot previously and I was worried he might even hate me." They admit sheepishly as they trace their thumb along the rim of the cup. "After the break was when I started working at the Lounge part-time. I've had a lot of jobs before and I have to say working for Azul has been sort of a dream come true. He's amazing at taking care of his staff and his business. He's also helped me a lot when it isn't related to work either." Helping them learn how to swim, assisting them with their studies whenever they do so at the lounge, and even with smaller more meaningless things. Azul had unknowingly become a strong pillar of support for the Prefect. "I think once I graduate I'd like to keep working with Azul if he'd let me."

[kyunisixx]

chiaroscuro

artist!Robert Plant AU one shot.

a/n: this really started out as a song I wanted to write. But I knew I had to turn it into a longer writing!!

themes: fluff, mild implications of nsfw and tw: childhood trauma.

summary: in which Y/N becomes a muse for Robert, a landscape artist in more ways than one. (Man, that summary is so shit but let's roll with it)

pairing: artist!Robert Plant x fem!reader

chi·a·ro·scu·ro

the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting.

an effect of contrasted light and shadow created by light falling unevenly or from a particular direction on something.

"Lean back for me a bit more, darling. That's right, relax."

As she moves, the old sofa creaks beneath her. Chilled air gusts through a partially opened window, making her shiver and sending miniscule bumps all over her bare skin. Her eyes drift over the fixtures inside the cozy cabin, illuminated by an outmoded oil lamp situated on the man's table. Several tiny moths were floating around it as the flame wavered ever so slightly from the breeze.

Scattered were all paintbrushes and smudges of paint were messily smeared all over the table. A round board was placed so close at the edge (one she heard him call before —a palette). In the middle is a rustic cup with half-empty, now cold tea. But a paint-smudged hand grasped on its handle and swiftly brought it over to a mouth. 

Then her eyes met his.

His frizzled, curly blond locks are pulled into a disheveled bun. One he pinned up so carelessly with a thin, unused paintbrush as to prevent it from obstructing his view but a few ringlets managed to escape and are now framing his face.

Ivory-colored shirt, a few buttons undone to reveal smooth skin of his collarbones which were also marked with a few shades of paint. Some scattered across his jawline to his cheek. 

Lips are pursed and eyes are pulled into deep concentration, they are set into a particular part of her. As if to capture the exact curvature of the crease on her waist.

Salient was the cleft on his chin and the sharp edge of his cheekbones by the incandescent light lent by the lamp, making him look like a contrast between sinister and elegance.

He dipped a brush and carefully made short strokes on the canvas, pausing every now and then to look at her.

The sun was setting and the sky was shaded a dull gray, providing so little of brightness which seemed to have darkened even more being situated in a lush forest.

Many months ago at this time of the day, she would have just been getting up from her sleep. Wake up and get ready for a long shift. It was a routine she had gotten so used to every day.

Take a bath. Eat. Pick out an outfit. Put on makeup. Be into the persona.

She would become a completely different person as soon as she stepped into the establishment she knew for as long as she moved into the town a few months ago.

From having to move into different cities and using different names to hide her identity. All of it to escape the filthy and haunted ghost of her past. 

Screaming. Glass breaking. Bruises. Slamming doors.  All of the things a child shouldn't have to go through. She took a risk and ran away from it.

And here is where she ended up thirteen years later.

Lacklustre eyes unmoving as they steadily stared back at her in a blurry mirror inside the changing room. All the girls' chattering seemed to have been muted and faded in the background as she gazed at her reflection. She picked up the small item in her hand, before taking the cap off and swiped the crimson lipstick across her chapped lips, creating a thick shade.

"Y/N, you ready to go?"

She turned her head back to Don, the club manager. She smiled and moved her head in a single nod.

“Sure, Don. Just give me a short moment”. She adjusted the strap of her black velvet dress and walked on the familiar, dimly lit hallway. Her stilettos clapped quietly on the floor as she padded and stopped in front of a red curtain covering the doorway from the side to the stage. 

"How's it going, folks? Alright, alright. I'd get right into it. This is the moment you've all been waiting for. The crowd favourite, slithers like a python, mistress of the night; Marilyn"

Then, she waited as the main lights switched off and took her cue to enter as smoke filled the platform. Coloured lights gleamed right through. She situated herself right in the middle then circled her hand on the pole as the first note of the song started to hum quietly. Like a distant patter of rain—calm before the storm. Her hips moved into the rhythm and fluidly sneaked around the pole as the cloud of smoke started to clear out. Gazing into the crowd of men, her blood-red lips quirk into a smirk.

It was the only time she knew she had complete power and control. And she relished it, savoring the potency. 

Her hands smoothed all over her now slightly perspired skin as men clamored and hooted for her. Bills were haphazardly thrown into the dancefloor. Something that she wasn't used to when she first started, it made her feel cheap. Dirty. But her routine carried on almost every night, she eventually got used to it and had even grown to like it.

Then she spotted him. 

Big ball of golden hair illuminated by stage lights. He was situated amongst the sea of predators, his eyes followed the fluidity of her movements. But what struck her the most was the way he was watching her. It wasn't shadowed by lust, but more of an intense wonder and curiosity. It was as if he was memorizing each part of her curves, but for another purpose.

Her gaze somewhat mirrored his. He definitely wasn't strange-looking. Hell, he might have been the most beautiful man she has ever seen. He didn't belong to a place where no good men wander around. Both his beguiling beauty and aura was completely out of place for such a place like this.

The song then came to a stop. Her number was over but her eyes remained locked with his. It was only then she came back to consciousness as Don's voice boomed into the large speakers, signalling the end of her performance. She collected the bills scattered on the floor and walked off the stage, throwing a last glance into the crowd as she took her exit.

He was gone.

He wouldn't show up for a couple of days. She was sure, of course. The moment she steps out, her eyes would already be skimming through the lounge, and would sigh in disappointment if she didn't spot any sign of him.

"Have you seen your mysterious man yet?"

One of the girls she was closest to, Hershey, asked as she counted the thick block of bills on her hand.

"He wasn't out there tonight"

"You could have been hallucinating. Anyway, you told me he was 'like an angel'"

Hershey laughed, mimicking the way she had said the last part with a breathy tone and added, "Or could have been disappointed in your dance number, ran away and swore to not step a foot into this place again"

She stopped momentarily, chuckled lightly and sighed, "You may not be far from the truth but we'll see."

Then he would be there the next night, positioned right at a table at the back. His curly locks gave his identity right away, with his elbows propped up and fingers poised against his chin, bearing the same gaze. 

Later that night, he'd be waiting right outside of the club.

"The show was spectacular."

She tilted her head to him, nodded and smiled.

"Thank you."

She wasn't sure how it ended up with her sitting on a stool inside a cozy 24-hour operating diner so late at night, chatting with her "mysterious man" late at night, who introduced himself as Robert. He was apparently a landscape artist and has traveled the world where he finds inspirations for his works.

"The best place I have ever been to? Hm. I'd say Machu Picchu, set in the high mountains of Andes in Peru, above a river called Urubamba. I had to hike all the way up, and you could see the breathtaking view when you reach the top."

"That does sound very lovely." She sighed wistfully.

"Have you ever traveled anywhere outside the country?"

"Oh no, I have not. I move to different places a lot but I've never gone out, never had the chance to."

"Ah, you should! It's wonderful."

She nodded, "Do you only do landscaping?"

"Well, no. I do a little bit of abstract art but I focus mainly on landscaping. I was thinking of expanding more, though. Maybe portrait, or nude art."

"That's a good idea. An artist has to come out of his comfort zone and be able to become great."

"Yeah…", he trailed off, as if lost in thought. "I hope this doesn't come off as strange or I as a creep. But may I ask you to be my muse? Don't worry! We'll only do portrait." He added the last sentence quickly.

She tilted her head to the side and looked at him, her brows furrowed deep in thought.

"You don't have to s—"

"I'll do it."

A few days later, she was again popped up on a stool inside his flat just a few blocks away from the club. His place was spacious, but had a very rustic feel to the interior design. A few souvenirs from different countries were neatly placed on a shelf and most of his paintings were hung stylistically on the walls (in which she stared at in complete awe for what she could tell an hour each painting until he had to drag her away to his studio)

Her fingers fiddled as she tried to stay still under his calculating gaze. She never had much problem with how she looked and never had insecurities. Perhaps she just didn't care enough to be insecure. But at that moment, she thought of how she must've appeared to him and if she was good-looking enough to be an inspiration for his art.

"Are you alright there?"

"Yes! Yes, I… Yeah I'm alright."

His hand stopped and placed the paintbrush on the table. "Are you sure? If you're not comfortable or if you need a break, we could stop for a bit."

She shook her head vigorously, "No, it's okay. Don't worry."

"If you say so."

She let her eyes travel from his bare foot, to his khaki trousers, to his satin shirt with top three buttons undone, to his face. Oh, his gorgeous face. It was pulled into a deep concentration as he stared at his work, giving her some time to study his majestic features.

His eyes flickered to hers as if sensing her stare and playfully frowned, a small smile curled on the side of his lips.

"What?"

"What?"

He laughed, "You were staring."

"I was. Is it a crime?"

"No, I wouldn't say it is." He said with a teasing edge to his voice. 

It was their arrangement which they stick to a few times a week. On her day off, after work if she wasn't feeling too exhausted. There was an obvious attraction lingering inside the room of his small studio but none of them acted upon it other than just casual flirtations thrown around. He was a perfect gentleman and had always been accommodating. A couple of times he would insist on paying her in which she would always refuse to accept. 

"The tea you make for me is enough for a payment." She had jokingly said. "Do not worry about it, Robert. Really, it's okay. I'm making enough from my job."

One night, after their sessions, they had too many drinks and bottles were littered over the table along with his paint brushes which had long dried of paint. 

"Tell me about you, Marilyn. Mistress of the night, who apparently, slithers like a python." He mused, mentioning her alias. His glossy eyes filled with mirth.

She snorted, took a long swig of beer and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. 

"Marilyn is… Nobody. I'm nobody. I came from somewhere that in my mind, ceased to exist." She stared ahead. "I ran away from home. Who calls it a home anyway?" She laughed humorlessly.

"My parents fought a lot. They spent so much time fighting, they didn't even have time for me. Looking back at it now, I could have just preferred that. But then, they turned their anger towards me." She sniffed and quickly wiped the salty tears before they even slid down to her flushed cheeks.

"I went to my grandparents. They loved me so much and I loved them so dearly. But they were not my parents. Eventually, both of them passed away and I was left on my own. But I was eighteen. I didn't have to go back to my parents. So I went to different cities, finding places where I could feel like I could fit in. Looked for jobs, and then I ended up here. I made friends and I have my own place, but it still never felt like home."

He was quietly staring at her, and the silence was deafening. Then he lifted his free hand to her face and ran the back of his index finger to dry her cheeks. Her hand caught his and brought it to her lips and placed a soft kiss. 

"But with you, it feels… different. I like hanging out with you. I like being with you. You feel like home to me, Robert."

Her voice echoed softly as he took his time to reply. But he didn't, instead, he leaned down and sealed his lips against hers. 

He layed limply on top of her body as he shuddered from his release. Both tried to desperately catch for their breath as her hand smoothed down his back and the other combed through his damp locks. He slid out of her and dropped beside her, not too long before he enclosed his arms over her and pulled closer. He catches her lips on his in a lazy kiss and smiled.

"You feel like home to me too, Y/N."

Her heart soared and nuzzled her nose against his.

"I want to paint you like this. May I? You are so beautiful. In light and in shadow."

She blushed, "Yes, but right now? I'm tired."

"No, no. We'll do it tomorrow. I'll take you somewhere." His warm breath hit her skin as he whispered.

"Where?" She whispered back.

"Well, I'm not telling you that. But it was what I helped my Father build when I was younger. It's somewhat like a special place for me, and I want you to see it."

He gazed at her as he waited for her to respond.

"Okay."

Under the light of the lamp, she peers at him under her lashes.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Mm? I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You know what it is. Cut it out or I'll never get to finish this."

She huffs. "You're no fun"

"I can prove you otherwise in a few minutes."

He continued to do his finishing touches and leaned back to admire his work.

"That isn't too bad. But nothing compares to the real art."

"And what might that be?"

"You, my love." He stood up, walked over to where she was, placed his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her to him.

"I've been waiting for this for hours."

"I've been giving you hints and you insist on finishing your art."

He chuckled. "Of course I had to."

His fingers danced their way from her sides to her hips, rubbing along the marks littered across her skin.

"Are you ready to see it?" He murmured against her neck. She shudders as she nodded, giving their playful banter a break. 

He bit her earlobe softly, "Okay."

He walked over to his canvas and carefully turned it around to face her.

She gasps.

.

⭐ writings list ⭐

.

taglist: @jonesyjonesyjonesy , @princesspagey , @ritacaroline , @jimmys-zeppelin , @rebel-without-a-zeppelin , @reincarnated70sbaby (if you wanted to be added in, let me know 🤘🏻🤗)

[taehyungsgrowl]

Illicit Affairs IV - Duncan Shepherd x Fem!Reader

{gif by @ansonmount}

hey babies! it has been a while! but i have finally gotten enough brain cells to write part four of illicit affairs!

big thank you to @desertsunflower00 for pointing me in the direction i wanted the story to go to after being stuck ily amiga!

also.... this was not the ending i thought i was gonna give when i started writing it but my heart led me to this so

i hope you all enjoy!!! and thank you so much for being so patient!

I've had so so much fun and heartache writing for this story.

please let me know what you think!!!

the first 3 parts are linked here!

Illicit Affairs Part I

Illicit Affairs Part II

Illicit Affairs Part III

word count: 5.9 k

as always! not proofread! italics are for memories!

(also really hope the italics copied correctly from google docs!)

Emma’s head was pounding. With each sob she felt the pain strike her heart.

Duncan was her world. She couldn’t imagine… couldn’t even think of what her life would be like without him. He was the one who lit up even her darkest days - always being that rock that held her together.

All the years they’d been together, she never had reason to think Duncan didn’t feel the same way. She thought he was enough for him…

A message from her friend pinged her phone, making her acknowledge the time.

God, she wanted to scream again. She didn’t know whether to believe if he was really at his office.

Lost. Alone. She didn’t know what to do. The one person she knew could make her feel loved was now the person causing her the most pain.

Emma tried to get herself off the floor, but what was the point. She didn't see a rhyme or reason to it when she didn’t know what to do.

She didn’t know where he was.

She didn’t know what she’d say to him if he was.

And she felt like she had nowhere to go.

So she laid on her closet floor, clutching the nearest shirt of his she could reach and stained his shirt with her tears. Her tears would soon dry and disappear from the fabric, but the lip print on his collar would be painful to remove both from his shirt and her mind.

--

While Duncan waited for Y/N to finish in the bathroom, he checked his phone and saw a message that had come in from Emma. Guilt clouded every emotion he had. It overtook the anxiety he felt of the what ifs with Y/N. It encompassed him completely.

Missing you x, she sent with a picture of their dog.

He’d been gone for longer than he anticipated and knew she must be getting worried. He took a deep breath, trying to ease himself.

He was doing this for her.

--

Y/N’s nerves bubbled up in her stomach, but she couldn’t stall much longer.

“Are you okay?” Duncan asked right at the door.

She knew looking at the results would then seal her fate with Duncan - one way or another.

“Yup! Just a minute.” she got up and held on to the edge of the sink before splashing her face with cold water. “You can do this,” she whispered to herself.

Y/N picked up the test and held her breath.

Not pregnant.

As relief washed over her she couldn’t deny the tiny part of her that hoped she was -- as selfish as it was, she didn’t think Duncan wouldn’t leave her if she was.

Y/N walked out of the bathroom, negative test in hand, to a Duncan who nervously paced her living room.

“It’s fine, Duncan. I’m not pregnant.” She pretended not to care when she saw his shoulders finally relax since he’d heard of the possibility of it being true.

He clapped his hands together nervously. Duncan hadn’t realized how sweaty his palms were in the short time waiting. “Okay,” he nodded. “Okay - I… How are you feel-”

“Stop.” she interrupted him. “We don’t have to do this.” Although normally seeing Duncan in her apartment always filled her with a sense of warmth - it was the illusion of having a life with him - when she saw him now, he seemed out of place. He didn’t belong there no matter how much she wanted to force that piece there.

He frowned, studying her expressions, “I came because last time we spoke -”

Y/N interrupted him again, “I know why you’re here. You think you can clear your conscious by telling me how fucking special I am,” she rolled her eyes. “We don’t need to do all that.” If she had any doubts about the way he felt before - they were made clear now.

And while she felt she had a million things left unsaid to him, she didn’t feel like she owed him that. “You’re good. We’re good. I just want to shower and move on. So I’d appreciate it if you quit calling and showing up.”

Just let me go.... She wanted to scream.

--

Duncan was driving back home from Y/N’s apartment and while he had so many thoughts racing in his head - for the first time in a long time, he felt lighter. As difficult as it’s been to part ways with Y/N, he knew that it was the right decision. He’d finally have a chance to do things right by Emma.

“I’m home, baby!” Duncan called out, hanging his keys by the door. The house felt cold and a shiver ran down his spine.

He walked into their bedroom looking for his wife and saw the door of their walk-in closet jarred open. When he opened the door he saw Emma curled into the fetal position asleep, holding his shirt with Captain snuggled up on her side.

She had tired herself out from crying and fell asleep waiting for his return.

Duncan’s heart rate spiked, thinking she’d been hurt or something happened. “Emma!” he fell to his knees, placing the back of his hand on her forehead, feeling for a temperature. “Baby, wake up,” he cooed, until he saw her eyes flutter open.

And for the fraction of a second between unconsciousness and consciousness, she got lost in the blue of his eyes all over again. For that fraction of a second it was like waking up to him that very first night they spent together.

“Hold still,” Duncan laughed, his fingers delicately brushed over Emma’s face until he got the eyelash that was in danger of going into her eye. “There,” he showed her the lash stuck to his thumb.

“Thank you,” she licked her lips, her eyes glancing down at Duncan’s pink lips.

“Wait,” he grabbed her wrist with his other hand, “Press your thumb to mine - and whoever the lash sticks to gets to make a wish,” he explained the silly ritual. It was something one of his nannies had taught him and it always stuck with him. He loved how he could be like this with Emma… soft… vulnerable. He’s sure very little people actually knew this side of him.

Sure, they’d only been dating for a little bit now, but Duncan was more than sure that she was the love of his life.

“What?” she laughed, her voice like music to his ears.

“Trust me,” he smiled when she pressed her thumb to his. “Okay, ready? One… two… three.” They each pulled their digits away from each other and took a look. The lash was gone from Duncan’s thumb and Emma was smiling like a child with it pressed on her skin.

“What do I do now?” she giggled.

“Make a wish and then drop the eyelash into your shirt.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes trying to keep a very serious face, but Duncan could see the smile tugging on her lips. “Done.” she dropped the lash into her shirt.

“Well… what was the wish?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you that!”

“I never said that was a rule!!” he argued back.

“That's a basic wish rule,” she rolled her eyes, crossing her legs criss crossed on his couch. “You can’t say what you wished for!”

“I’m taking the wish back if you won’t tell me,” Duncan tried to look stern, but his lopsided smile gave it away. He adjusted on the couch and pushed her down until he was hovering over her. His fingers started to tickle her sides, making the bottom of her shirt ride up.

She was in a fit of laughter begging him to stop. She found herself grabbing the back of his head and tugging his hair down to have his face just inches away from her own. Duncan’s fingers stopped tickling her, but his hand snuck inside her shirt, feeling her softness.

Everything froze for a moment when she stared into his eyes that way. He looked at her like she’d hung the moon and the stars. She never wanted to stop looking into the safety of his eyes.

-

She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting and focusing back on Duncan’s. After that split second had passed, she sat up and shoved his chest, trying to make him give her space.

Duncan furrowed his brows, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Emma backed away from him, eyes prickling with tears again. She picked up his stained shirt - what once was her favorite, got closer to him and shoved it into his chest, “F-fucking asshole!” she finally let herself sob again. She felt so weak when her forehead fell against his chest and her balled up fists rested against him.

Entirely confused, Duncan wrapped his arms around her waist, trying to get her to look at him. He hadn’t gotten a chance to examine the shirt she handed him.

Emma felt herself melting into his hold, but stopped herself. She took his arms and removed them from her waist, taking a step back, “Don’t touch me.”

“No…” Duncan let out under his breath, seeing the lipstick mark, “No,” he said louder, “No, honey, I can explain.” He reached his hand out to touch her but she flinched at his approach.

His warm “honey” had a cold stare behind her tears. He couldn’t imagine what she could be feeling… She was never supposed to find out.

A single tear rolled down his cheek. “I love you. No one else but you.” his voice cracked.

“Get out.” she sniffled, wanting so desperately to be strong.

“Let me explain!” he felt his knees wanting to give out and his head started to spin. This couldn’t be happening. He asked her to let him explain but he didn’t know if he even had a good reason to give her.

For a moment, he saw her face soften. A result of seeing the sick look on his face - she still felt the urge to hold him, to kiss him.

He took the chance at her moment of softness and continued, “It’ll never happen again, I promise.”

“Maybe we should back up for a minute if you really want to explain.” she wiped her cheeks, “Let’s start with an easy one, no? What’s on that shirt, Dunc?”

“Baby…” it felt like a kick to the gut.

“I’ll help you out,” she continued, “Who’s lipstick is on your shirt?”

“It was a stupid mistake, Emma. I promise.” he pleaded.

“No, Dunc. A mistake is when I accidentally add too much salt to a recipe or leave my coffee mug on top of my car before I pull out of the driveway.” her voice lowers again, “I trusted you.”

“How long?” she took a deep breath. “And please don’t bother lying.”

“Six months.” he hung his head in shame.

No. No. No.

Emma thought she wanted to know the truth but… hearing it from his voice that this had been going on far longer than she imagined broke her heart all over again.

“Six months,” she repeated. “You’ve been fucking some whores for six months. God I’m so fucking stupid,” she groaned. She raised her hand to the pole that held all of Duncan’s clothes in the closet and slid them off, throwing them to the ground in frustration.

“It was never more than one.” he tried to defend himself.

“Because that makes it so much better!!!” she laughed humorlessly. “Get out! Get out!” she tossed his clothes at him until he backed out of the closet.

Even if it broke her again, she wanted to know the reason why. But it couldn’t be today. She could barely stand to look at him and with everything that came out his mouth - just ending up cutting her more and more.

“I love you,” Duncan dropped to his knees and crawled to her until he could wrap his arms around her legs. “If we can both calm down and talk-”

“I don’t need to calm down,” she cried.

In all his years spent with Emma - he’d never seen her so upset and it killed him to know he was the reason for it. Maybe it was his selfishness taking over again, but he couldn’t lose her - couldn’t let her go.

They’d almost been inseparable from the moment they met. Attached at the hip. Always in sync.

-

Duncan was in his home office, typing away on his laptop. His glasses were low on his face and he wore a white t-shirt and his plaid pajama pants.

Emma had been trying to get him to bed for the past hour, but he was really busy with the project he’d been working on.

She came back into his office ready for bed. She wore one of his old college sweatshirts and rubbed her eyes. “Almost done?” she yawned.

“Almost,” Duncan didn’t look up from his screen.

Emma lingered by the door, not wanting to go to bed without Duncan by her side. Duncan felt her at the door and looked up, pushing his glasses back. He knew how much she loved sleeping in his old sweatshirt at this point he considered it hers.

“C’mere,” he rolled back his chair, “You can sit in my lap until I’m done working.” he smiled, patting his thigh.

She hurried to his desk and curled up on his lap. She loved being close to him. Just feeling his breathing, taking in his scent, feeling his hands absently wander up and down her body.

Her legs hung off the side of his chair and her face was nestled in the crook of his neck, but Duncan kept her steady with his arm around her waist.

And he could stay like that for hours - feeling her close as he finishes reading over reports for his app. She was like a life size stress reliever for him. Just by having her touching him, pressing little kisses along his jaw… melted away his stress.

-

When she looked down at Duncan on his knees for her, she still saw the man she loved. She wasn’t sure she’d ever feel that way about someone again.

“Baby, honey,” he cried, “I’ll never stop making it up to you just please,” his forehead pressed into her thigh, “Don’t leave me.”

“I-if you won’t leave - I will,” she stepped out of his grasp. “I can’t think straight right now. I… I’m so hurt,” her voice broke with the last word.

“I’m going to my moms house…” she spoke out loud, guiding herself through the plan. “I can’t be here. I can’t even look at you.”

Duncan begged her to stay. He told her if anyone should be forced to leave the home it should be him - he was the one who screwed up. But she couldn’t stand being in the place that has brought them so many happy memories.

That night, Emma stayed in her childhood room. Although she had outgrown it over the years, the whole situation made her feel small. She curled up under her yellow bed sheets and stared at her phone each time it lit up with another text from Duncan.

Duncan tossed and turned in his empty bed. In his sleep, his arms searched for his Emma, coming up empty every time.

--

“Em?” her mother woke her up gently, “It’s been five days of just sulking around and ignoring calls. You need to get up, sweetheart.”

Her mother softly pulled her covers down. “Maybe you can get dressed and we can go for a coffee,” concern clouded her voice.

Emma didn’t say anything - just stared at her ceiling. “Duncan came by why you were sleeping,” her mom continued. His name was the only word she’d responded to; she looked at her mom with tears in her eyes.

“I told him you weren’t available to talk…” She handed her daughter her glasses off the nightstand.

She put her glasses on her face and slowly sat up in the bed. Her mom was right - she’d been avoiding everyone; avoiding Duncan for too long now. She slowly nodded, feeling her body drag out of bed.

The hot water that almost burned her skin in the shower suddenly turned frigid. The warm embrace evaporating away. Her heart was growing tired of the things she loved leaving her reach.

After a day of blurred nothingness, her heart was finally pounding a million beats per second, staring at the door of her home. As familiar as it was, it didn’t feel like home anymore.

With a shaky hand, her fingertip pressed deeply into the doorbell.

12:46 am - Although Duncan should have been asleep he found himself the same way he had since Emma left; sad and alone.

He pulled on an old pair of sweats, his hair in messy curls with a few strands in his face - even his stubble had gotten a little scruffier.

“Emma,” his eyes twinkled in the moonlight. Seeing her again finally made him feel like he could breathe again. “You’re home,” he tried to reach for her, but saw the way her entire body tensed up at his advancement.

“Stop,” she shook her head, her heart couldn’t handle having to reject him. She was holding on by a thread. “We need to talk.”

--

Four months later:

Y/N smiled in the sleepy state between dreaming and being conscious as she felt strong arms pulling her closer. His large hands pressed on her stomach, slowly inching up her shirt. At the same time, she felt his lips softly pressing into her shoulder.

“Morning,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed.

“Morning, princess,” he rolled over and pinned her below him. She met his kind, unclouded gaze. Not a trace of guilt behind his eyes - he was solely happy to be hers.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “You want chocolate chip or blueberry pancakes today?” he nuzzled the tip of his nose with her, making her break a smile.

“Both?” she bit her lip.

“Oh my god,” he playfully rolled his eyes before kissing her, “You’re absolutely spoiled, darling.” He started getting out of bed, pulling his sweats that were discarded on the floor. Y/N stared in awe at the strong muscles of his bare back. She loved running her fingers over the smoothness of his skin, leaving invisible idle patterns or semi-permanent marks of her fingernails scratching down.

There was peace knowing she never had to share him. With him, she didn’t have to sacrifice bits of her happiness.

With one last kiss, he stepped out of the room to take a quick shower before starting breakfast. It’d become sort of a ritual for them; Sundays were for Y/N to sleep in and for him to make her breakfast. They’d later fold their laundry together and watch movies.

Her phone buzzed too loudly on the nightstand for her to ignore. “Hello?” she picked up the call, her eyes still closed.

“Y/N?” her heart came to a halt. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Her name dripped from his lips like molasses; warm and sickeningly sweet.

“Y/N, it 's me, Duncan.”

After a brief pause, Y/N let out a deep breath. She was fine. When Duncan left her apartment almost five months ago, she didn’t know what it would be like the next time she saw him. They’d left so much unsaid, but it was better this way. She wanted to be done. And while there were nights she thought she’d never stop missing him, the soft ache in her heart started to fade.

She was relearning what it meant to love someone who could give her what she wanted; what she deserved. No longer did she feel shameful - kept like a dirty secret.

Late night meet ups in dark parking lots with Duncan turned into proudly holding hands with someone who wanted the world to see the way he felt about her.

Quick fucks that left her feeling empty as Duncan hurried to leave her apartment to go home to his wife turned into her boyfriend spending the night to make her breakfast in the morning.

Things were never as bad as she anticipated. There was a part of her that was proud of not feeling fazed by Duncan’s call.

“I…” Duncan continued when she didn’t speak, “I mi- I’m sorry,” she could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose as he stumbled over his words, “How are you?”

“I am doing really well, Duncan,” her tone was sincere without a trace of bitterness. If there was one thing Duncan did right, was give her his final piece of advice - when he told her she deserves someone who could make her happy.

“Emma… filed for divorce.” he coughed to cover up any anxiety in his voice.

“We need to talk,” Emma told him before stepping into the house. Duncan still replayed that night over and over in his head wishing and attempting to bargain with anyone that would listen to turn back time.

Duncan sat beside her at their small kitchen table; they always talked about getting a bigger one when they’re little family started to grow, but it was perfect for just the two of them. Countless mornings sipping coffee with the comfort of the other’s company were spent at their little table.

“I need you to know how much you hurt me, Duncan.” Duncan couldn’t recall the last time Emma had called him Duncan. He was her babe, her baby, her honey, her Dunc. A few nights ago, when she left - as angry as she was, through all the tears and screams she still called him Dunc. Hearing his full name fall from her lips with distaste made him realize things were changing.

The more Emma listened to Duncan recounting his inexcusable reasons the more upset she became. Silent tears strolled down her face as he explained over and over that he didn’t even have a real reason why because that meant there was nothing she could have done to keep it from happening.

“Do you love her?” Emma interrupted him. If there were any hope for them, Emma knew it would be in his answer.

“Baby - that’s over. I’ll never see her again,” and with the absence of a ‘no,’ Duncan sealed his fate.

She winced, internally accepting the end.

Duncan had a harder time really accepting it was over. A few weeks after that night, Duncan was served with paperwork for the divorce. He hated the word; it felt heavy on his tongue.

He didn’t want to make the process miserable for Emma; the least she deserved was to be able to leave him without so much legal jargon in the way, entangling an already large mess.

But lawyers do what they do best.

His attorney ‘friends’ squeezed pretty dime after pretty dime out of Duncan.

“She found out. About us,” Y/N imagined all of the awful things his life must have thought about her. “A couple months ago, really,” Duncan couldn’t stop talking.

“Why are you telling me this? And why are you telling me this now?” her boyfriend’s shower was still running and she was thankful to have the privacy for this conversation.

“She’s really left. I don’t know what to do. I miss her. I miss you,” he looked out at the skyline from his downtown condo; a place that could never feel like a home. A bachelor pad with a sad bachelor. Could a divorce candidate be considered a bachelor?

“I’m sorry,” she didn’t know what else to offer to that, “I did what you said,” she continued after a moment of silence. “I found someone who could give me what I needed. I’m happy, Duncan. I didn’t think I’d ever be happy like I am now after you - and I don’t mean this to rub it in, I just mean,” she searched for the right words, “I know it feels like you’ll never be happy again without that certain person, but there will be time when you will. I know you love her a lot. I can see that now and I could see it then. I’m sorry for the part I played in all this.”

They were both moving on without him. Not that he could blame them; he’d made them both sacrifice parts of themselves so he could be selfish.

“I’m sorry for calling,” Duncan grimaced. “I really hope he treats you well, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, “And Duncan,” she chewed on her bottom lip, “Take care, okay?”

“You too.”

--

One year later:

A bead of sweat dripped down her forehead as she huffed, setting the last of the boxes down by the front door. An entire year had passed and Emma had clung on to the final memories of her marriage. Things were different now and as much as she still found herself yearning for what she once had, she knew this was how things needed to be.

“Think we’ve got most of it now,” he came around the corner with a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hand he kept from being put up.

“How are you feeling?” Duncan asked, pouring her a generous amount before handing her the glass.

“Nervous,” she laughed, “scared,” she admitted.

Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth in the way it always was when she had more to say. Duncan couldn’t help but smile until his eyes crinkled; as happy as he was for her, he couldn’t wrap his mind about her leaving.

He wrapped one arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head, “You’re gonna do great. I don’t know anyone smarter, more qualified, more perfect for the job,” he encouraged.

“Not just about that,” she admitted. She sat on the floor of her empty living room and Duncan joined her, filling his own glass. “Moving. Being so far - starting over,” she sighed and took a long sip of her wine.

“Dunc,” she shook her head, “We grew up in this house. We loved in this house. Fought and made up,” she laughed.

--

“What’re we doing?” she kissed him as he pushed her into the house, hands fumbling all over each other.

“Don’t think about it,” he groaned against her lips, pressing her against the wall and hiking her up. “Just.. don’t think,”

“Mm, not here,” she sighed, feeling his hand wander up her dress, caressing the inside of her thigh. “The bed.. Our bed..” her voice was shaky as his skilled fingers brushed over her panties. She missed this. Missed him.

With signed divorce papers forgotten, Duncan tossed her on the bed and climbed over her, never letting his lips leave her skin. Savoring every moment she let him have with her. He didn’t know if she’d regret it in the morning. If she would hate him more than she did before, but she was giving him this now and he wanted to take it in. He wanted to memorize her taste as if it would be the last time.

He kissed down the hills of her breasts and hiked her dress past her thighs, dipping his head down to kiss along her inner thighs. “Emma,” he breathed her name like it was his final breath.

Duncan hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, “Up.”

She raised her hips and he slid them off her legs in one quick movement. He wasted no time - he swiped his tongue along her wetness, immediately moaning at the feeling of having her on his tongue.

Two of his fingers plunged into her, slowly pumping in and out of her while his pouty lips wrapped around her clit. Those lips she loved. The same lips that formed into her favorite smile; the ones that kissed her like the most delicate flower in the world; the ones that held his tongue that massaged her just like that.

Like muscle memory taking over her, her fingers laced themselves in strands of honey brown hair - pulling with the way he was making her feel.

“Dunc!” she almost screamed, feeling his dexterous curl and brush against her g-spot.

“Gonna cum,” her legs wrapped around him, her thighs closing around his face.

Duncan didn’t stop. He kept going. Wet open-mouthed kisses on her pussy, letting a trail of saliva and cum drag from his lips. He peeked up to watch her with a wet mouth before licking them clean.

He tried to hold her still as she finished, not letting his lips leave her center. He cleaned up every bit of cum with his tongue before he sponged kisses along her twitching thighs as she came down from the high he’d given her.

Duncan climbed on top of her again, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. There was comfort in the scratchy tickles of his beard on her soft skin.

She held him, softly running her fingers through his hair until she was ready.

While she didn’t plan on thinking that night, there was a part of her that knew this would be the last time they’d ever be like this again. She shook the thought away. For selfish reasons, she didn’t want it to ruin the night.

“Fuck me,” like it’s the last time, she thought.

And he did.

Their teeth clashed together with desperate kisses as he buried himself inside of her. As close as they were - they wanted to be closer.

Duncan’s stomach tightened, feeling himself twitch inside her. Her walls clenched around him, milking his cock for his cum.

“Fuck,” she sighed against his lips. “Feels so good.”

“Missed this… missed you, baby,” he rut his hips against hers. He took her hands and pinned them above her head, staring into her eyes with a dazed out smile.

Duncan didn’t dare think about it the next morning. He wished it’d never come.

But it did… it always did.

-

By the time Duncan woke up from his Emma filled dreams, she was lying awake with nothing but the sheet covering her.

“Uh hey,” Duncan offered, trying to get a feel of the room. Maybe he was still in a blissed out state of mind, but he didn’t feel a sense of regret lingering between them.

“Hi,” she laughed, turning to face him. “About last night…” she tried to read his expressions.

“I missed that. In all honesty, I miss you.” Duncan couldn’t dare to move, afraid if he did he would wake up from a dream. “I don’t think… we need to stop being friends. You’ve always been my best friend.” Which was true. The months leading up to the divorce were miserable - for both of them. “I… don’t think we can continue doing this,” she gestured between their naked bodies. “I don’t want that - I can’t handle going back to how things were, but I miss my friend.”

Duncan would take having her in his life in any capacity she allowed.

Of course, what they had couldn’t be recreated. But they did their best to be good friends to each other. Emma was tired of feeling like a victim of betrayal. She wanted to move on and not feel heavy from that anymore.

Duncan would come over on occasion for dinner or they’d go for a walk. As much as he wanted more, he wouldn’t push her - he couldn’t.

-

And like a good friend, Duncan was helping her pack up her belongings from the house they called their home so she could move hours away from him. The small sliver of time he’d see her was now being taken away, but he couldn’t keep her from going.

“I’m scared of being away from you,” she looked over at those familiar eyes that would always be home to her. “You’ve been the one constant in my life - good or bad - and you’ll be so far,” her eyes started to wet with tears.

Duncan took her hands in his, “I won’t ask you to stay. As much as I want you to stay with every fiber of my being - I can’t ask that of you. What I can ask is this,” he paused and looked into her eyes, “do you want to go?”

“Yes,” she answered, keeping his stare.

He smiled and hoped it met his eyes, “Em, I’ll always be here. Near or far. I’ll always love you. You know that.” And he meant the words in ways she didn’t know.

“I know,” she whispered, “I love you too.” Duncan wanted her to mean it in the way he did, but he knew better.

“Change is good, right?”

“Change is scary - but good,” Duncan tried to affirm her.

As much as everything around them could change, one thing would remain true; Emma was the love of his life. There would always be a part of him that wished he didn’t mess up the best thing that happened to him.

But there was a time he thought she’d never speak to him again and they found themselves back to each other. He wasn’t holding his breath for more to happen, but wishful thinking kept him going.

-

Duncan hoped she wouldn’t ask him to take her to the airport because he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle that goodbye.

Her last few days in town were so busy, Duncan hardly got a chance to see her. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and stared out his view.

Emma was leaving the next morning and he hadn’t had a chance of a real goodbye.

What he didn’t know was that Emma found herself at his apartment door. Her stomach was tied in knots over the anxiety of it all.

Duncan opened the door after a soft knock.

Emma.

“Hi,”

“Hi” as confused as he was, he was also so happy she came.

“I just came to say bye,” she bit her lip in that way Duncan was too familiar with. He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.

“Do you want to come in?” he moved out of the doorframe to let her in.

“I shouldn’t,” but she took a step forward.

“Tomorrow’s the day,” she sighed, nervously fidgeting with her clothes.

“Getting cold feet?” he joked.

“Didn't have cold feet when I married you, not getting cold feet now,” she laughed, cheeks burning hot.

“I just really came to see you before I left,”

“I’m glad you did. I have something for you. Wait here,” he rushed to his bedroom to get his college sweatshirt she loved. She made him take it when they split up. He’s never worn it since she used to - that was hers and she should have it.

“Dunc,” she smiled, taking the sweatshirt he handed her. “Thank you,” she hugged him.

She hugged him and didn’t let go. He slowly wrapped his arms around her waist, breathing in her familiar scent, and just held her.

“I have to go,” she mumbled against his shoulder without making an effort to move.

“I know,” he squeezed her harder, making her laugh.

They eventually let each other go for their final goodbye.

“Promise you’ll call?”

“Of course,” she promised. She reached up to grab his face, giving him a kiss on his cheek, “Bye, honey,” she said softly in his ear.

tagging:

@xavierplympton @thatonehumanbeing05 @plsfuckmelangdon @ntxoza @quillanpie @bloodcoatedeclipse @kitty4860 @welcometothelioncage @angelicmichael @silky-luxe @lady-jane-revisited @ritualmichael @feralthoughtdump @bitchchatter @wroteclassicaly @langdonswhoreprobably @devilish-hecate @thatspookyagent @dark-mei-rose @lovelylangdonx @fckinsupreme @littledemondani @brattylovee @ferndolan @dhampiravidi @7-wonders @melodylangdon @allytrap @luciahoneychurch @moriatysringtone7173

[gangrenados]

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

Venom!Jason Todd x fem!reader.

What does the title has to do with all of this? Not much, it just sounds cool

@astroherogirl thanks for helping me with this weird ideas and also thank you for the moodboard ilysm 💖💖

Warning: violence, blood, sexual content.

Also this is like a version of Venom who is more similar to the Tom Hardy movie?? And also it has my touch, so it might be kinda ooc

THIS IS LOOONG

It's not weird that beingsfof other universes end up wandering in this earth somehow. It has happened before and it will happen again no matter what the heroes do.

But in that night in particular something went bad, affecting Red Hood who was supposed to stop some members of the cartel.

It was supposed to be an easy thing, but before he knew it black goo was straggling him in the middle of the gunfire.

Jason fought against the thing, but it was a stronger than him and determined to make him submit into it's force.

So after what it seemed hours of fighting, Jason was left disoriented between dead bodies and a weird voice talking to him. He became the new host of this parasite...

•Jason's mind was a mess, it reminded him of those days when he was fresh out of the pity and it's less to say that he wasn't happy about it. Not feeling in control always got this negative effect on him, also having a voice in his head doesn't make things any easier.

•The voice was talking about making greater things, claiming it was destined to become a fearful name who imposes respect and always is there to protect the weakest. This thing wanted to be in control, but Jason was not gonna give it to it.

•So they fought until both of them were too tired to make a move, finding out each other weakness and spitting out harsh comments.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" Jason said breathlessly, rolling on his side to sit up. Blood was running down his nose and he spat it when it started to accumulate in his lips.

•The black goo looked at him cautiously, not daring to get out of the corner. The walls had a lot of gunshots marks, but the alien preferred to stay hidden in the shadows.

" You are not so mean as you like to pretend." The deep voice of the symbiote echoed in the room." You're just a little bitch who is scared to show what's deep inside you"

"Say something like that again and I'll set you on fire..."

•Red Hood was a name of fear among the underground. It was shocking to see him more taller and muscular, he was like a monster  who would not hesite to tear apart your body with his big, sharp teeth.

•  Also his attacks were more violent  and agressive, he didn't hesitate to kill and now his ways of fighting didn't limited to jst shoot a few bullets and land some punches. Red Hood would abusive his strength, playing with the criminals before he would break them as if they were mere paper.  Nobody wanted to end up dismembered by this lunatic.

•High ranked criminals weren't dumb, they knew very well something was going on and it wouldn't take long for them to find what it was...

•The presence of "venom" also changed a lot of Jason's behavior, affecting his dating life without a doubt. He acted more nervous around you, hiding things and avoiding you as much as he could.

•It was less to say that Jason wanted to keep you out of this mess. Deep down he feared this weird thing would cause you any harm or that you will find so weird that he's the new host of a very stubborn symbiote.

Everything could be summarized in a phrase: Jason didn't wanted to lose you.

"Where the fuck have you been Jason Todd? I've been calling you so many times, I was going insane! Where have you been!?"

Yeah, Jason didn't really thought that if he was being so evasive you might start to worry.

" ...so this human is your mate?" The voice in his head made him groan, Jason didn't answer him but he didn't had to. "You might be an idiot, but you got good taste."

"Shut up." Jason says sternly at the alien and you gasp shocked, ready to start a fight if it wasn't for those white eyes and big smile full of teeth that was seeing you so eagerly from your boyfriend's shoulder.

"What's that?" You point to the tiny black goo who's smile grows wider. The thing wants to go farther, it wants to touch you and have you in ways that can make anyone blush.

"(Y/n) go. Now." Jason demands as he does his best to control this thing, but it's power is getting stronger. Maybe this is time for the symb race to grow, another member would be greatly accepted.

•It's less to say that this little inconvenient cost Jason a lot of things, mainly his strenght to go and face you. He wasn't sure that you'll accept him now and to be fair, he wouldn't blame you if you did wanted to dump him.

•So Jason decided that it was the best if you both take separete ways for the moment, just a little breake until he figures out what he's going to do.

"You should go with your mate." the voice said sternly as Jason punched a thug in the jaw.  Jason has lost count of how many times this thing has tried to convince him to search for you, he knew Venom wanted more than just get Jason a happy life...its thoughts were enought to explain what were his morbid plans with you.

"I just wanted to have some fun, alright?" Venom shouted" It has been so fucking long since I've had sex...I just wanna breed that pretty little human."

"God, you're disgusting." Jason growled, taking a deep breath and letting all the smell of blood and gunpowder fill his nostrils. Just another day in the job, too bad he wouldn't be able to see you anytime soon.

•It didn't took much before all the bats started to haunt him down and although Jason did his best to lost them, they were really stubborn and annoying.

"We can help you, Red Hood." Bruce says as he dodges one of Jason's hits and by the corner of his eye he can clearly see Tim and Dick trying to get a sample of the symbiote.

"So this is your family? Iit's quite lovely" Venom says in Jason's mind, but it's all ignored.

•He felt like he was escaping and it was so annoying.

• Avoid his family, kill criminals and have to live with this thing was too much for him, Jason was so tired, but sometimes -when this thing wasn't blood thristy or saying nasty things- it would be funny.

•Jason couldn't help but chuchle at the naivity of Venoom toward mundane earth things, like soap operas or why bread was so delicious even when it wasn't made out of meat. Deep down, Jason knew that maybe you and this thing could get along...

"Are you sad?" venom poke Jason's cheek; his concerned tone make Jason rolls his eyes so he just stays focused on eating his sandwich. However, Venom doesn't back down and it decides to expand more to be in Jason's eye vision." You should call her."

By now Jason is done with this over used phrase." Will you stop if I do so?" Venom noods eagerly, not daring anymore time pass before he picks up the phone right next to Jason and marks your number.

•When you both finally are together the silence that filled the room is constricting as it best.

• For one part there is Jason who just wants to keep you safe and save himself for the embarrassment and the hurt of rejection and in the other end there is you who just want an explanation of what's going on.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You ask with a faint voice as you bluntly sit down in the couch.

Jason scoff at your words." It's hard to explain how you get involved with an intergalactic parasite if we're being honest." Your hard gaze makes him sigh, maybe this wasn't time to be a little shit." Sorry, I didn't knew how tell you and I didn't wanted to put you in danger."

•It takes a while before things get back to normal between you too. Jason was happy to have some stability back in his life by having you.

•Yeah, things were were slightly different now with you and Jason adjusting your life style for this weird goo who apparently had a thing for eating raw meat at 3a.m.

•Your relationship with Venom was...weird. Don't get me wrong, you could get along at times and sometimes you'd even team up to annoy Jason, but you couldn't help but feel weird out towards this goo.

•For Venom in the other hand, the appreciation it had for you grew so much that maybe the world "love" was more appropriate to describe it. You were their girlfriend, no just Jason's.

•Jason didn't really knew how to manage all of this, but at least one thing they had in common was the fact that they wouldn't hesitate to beat the shit out of whoever dares to harm you.

•Is worth to mention that the presence of this alien made Jason a lot more horny.

•He wanted to fuck at any free time you both had, it didn't matter if was just a blowjob or him fingering your pretty cunt. Jason wanted all of that nasty stuff.

•Venom had an especial preference for eating you out, he could be down there for hours and no complain even a little. It large tongue would fuck your pussy delightedly and make you see stars, yeah it might be a weird view but it was worth it.

•Venom would also use its ability of expansion to fuck you senseless. Jason would be fucking your pussy and the black goo would be fucking your ass:

"Jay please..." you whined as your boyfriend rubbed the tip of his dick across your soaked pussy. He was looking down at you with a shit eating grin, so delight to have you begging.

"Please what? Use your words, princess" Jason demanded and you groaned.

"Please fuck me like a slut. Just do it."

Venom was too overwhelmed with all of this, dreaming about fucking you became it favorite thing to do and now the time has come.

It only took for a few moments after Jason introduced his cock in your throbbing cunt for being the last straw for Venom. The way you moaned when Jason was thrusting you was making its mind foggy.

Venom wanted to participate.

A strand of black goo went to your neck, keeping a tight grip on it while another takes advantage and sneak in your ass, pumping slowly, spreading all of your juices before setting up a pace. All of this made you gasp, however, the shock washes in just seconds as Jason starts to fucking you harder.

He's gone. It's like the only thing in his mind right now is cum and nothing else, you look like nothing but a toy.

"Of fuck! Keep going" you moan and Jason goes down to kiss you and before you know it, his fingers are teasing your clit in such way that's making you tremble.

"You look so pretty taking my cock like this," Jason groans. By know you more than sure that the grip his hold on your hips will leave a bruise, but it doesn't matter that much since you're more focused on the pleasure and the way his balls are slapping your ass." You're gonna look prettier with my cum dripping down your cunt, babe."

Tag list @bathroom-sand @aterriblelangblr @simpery @strangerthings14 @jyarumu0619 @kellieriddle96 @adarksoul098 @rosethegothamhistorynerd @duckmylife18 @panic-attheplace @malfoys-demigod @darkraven1983 @magicisabluewish @hamdehlesmis @lucy-roo @lovelyartemisa @missmaskedwriter @c0-77 @ginevraxrogers @imagines-fluff-yandere-smut @shadygoateeprincess @nervousfandom @ghost-bitch @silverw19 @thegirlwholovesbooksblog @hecatemacbeth7 @unknowntoanyone @mistalli @screechingghostbananafarm @psych0crybaby @barnowl48 @waroncheer @lady-stirling @ghostly-ginger @greeknerd007 @la-femme-lupita @jasonsballsack @violettessuniverse @wondergal21 @pree-2003-blog @dreamxcollide @thirstiestpotato @magicalbeanie @dreamingforthosewholost

[idontlikeem]

How does one tell the difference between actual pens things to worry about and dooming?

haha, interesting question.

the easiest one: anybody on twitter replying to a tweet from the pens account after a loss is going to be a doomer, full stop.

anyone who says 'this team is going to be swept, they're lazy and don't care, they should have traded [insert player here, but usually it's geno] six years ago, blow it up' is a doomer.

anyone who ONLY looks at the final score (which, yes, that's the most important part of a game obviously) and doesn't have anything to say or think about re: gameplay and how the team actually looked, and immediately goes into how 'soft' and 'weak' the team is: doomer.

someone calling for sully to be fired is also a doomer.

basically, anyone (including yourself, and i've gotten stuck in this before too!) whose instinctive reply to any stretch of a few games where they're losing is to talk about how the team is bad, the players are bad, nobody's any good, one and done, etc etc—that's doom and gloom mentality, and it's easy to get sucked into it for sure; don't let yourself! there's no benefit to sitting around after a game talking about how shitty it all is and how it doesn't matter because they won't go far. maybe they won't! but getting locked into that mindset isn't going to help you, it'll only make you sad. and i personally try to avoid being sad!

things to actually worry about:

-the defense has NOT looked good recently. pettersson is getting walked on a nightly basis and it sometimes looks like the pens have completely given up on being strong in front of their own net to protect the goalie

-secondary scoring is better than it was for those couple of weeks at the start of the year, but it needs to keep trending upward. more depth guys need to be potting goals, and frankly, a few players need to look a little more like NHLers and a little less like passengers. i'm thinking of jeff carter in this instance; i don't know if he needs to be rested for a game, but his skating has looked very off in the last few weeks, and he needs to pick it up

-the overpassing: that 2 on 1 sid and jake had is a prime example of this. players tend to overpass when they're having a confidence issue, which i'm convinced jake is going through right now; instead of taking the shot, they get worried they'll miss and pass it along to someone else. it's generally better to just take the shot and trust your team to be at the net to poke in the rebound. which leads me to....

-net-front presence in front of the OTHER net. i scream every time a goalie gives up a rebound and there's not a penguin in sight to pick it up and snipe it in. we have missed out on so many chances because people wheel away after the first shot. there's an emphasis on going for style on this team, but unfortunately style doesn't make your goal count for more points. look at that goal from last night—it was ugly, it was greasy, and it counted. they don't ask how, they ask how many. just put them in the net! not everything needs to be a highlight reel

-sully's lineup choices recently have had me raising my eyebrows. i trust him, but if he doesn't make some adjustments on thursday i am going to start getting a little concerned about that aspect. he needs to be recognizing what's not working and reacting and making changes accordingly, not just keeping players where they are because he, or the players, are stubborn about who they want playing where

basically, it comes down to this: the difference between a genuine worry based on gameplay and observations and dooming is, are you taking a step back and looking at the game as a whole, or are you fixating on the result and extrapolating that out to the literal worst-case scenario? almost all games have both positives and negatives, and taking the time to think through all of that can really help pull you out of the worst of the 'oh god we lost again' mentality.

[eleanorbloom]

I'm sincerely curious - how will Eleanor reveal to Bryce that she's pregnant?

I've missed Elle and Bryce so much 🥺🥺🥺 Glad to have you back!!!

My dear Conch! Thank you so much for asking this question! You have no idea how much joy you brought me when I had to think about an answer.

The thing is, I've always imagined it's not really a big surprise, but man, that doesn't mean it's not precious.

Eleanor and Bryce knew they'd had kids since they early stages of their relationship (once Eleanor make up her mind about certain attending, of course). It was just a matter of when.

Here's a litle ficlet. Hope it fills your curiosity, my darling ❤️

This is my submission for @openheartfanfics event Meet My MC: About The Future. Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for Fics of the Week.

----

Little Blooms

Book/Pairing: Open Heart / Bryce Lahela x F! MC (Eleanor Bloom)

Word Count: 1.2k Warning/Rating: None/Teen

When Eleanor and Bryce proposed each other, they agreed to marry when they felt sure about taking the big step in parenthood. So, after they got married, Eleanor stopped taking the pill and hoped for the best.

Bryce noticed the changes since she stopped being on birth control. She wasn't regular in her period, she was way more horny than usual but also moody.

However, four months since she was off birth control, he noticed the morning sickness, how could he not if right after Bryce put a plate of omelette in front of her, Eleanor ran to the nearest bathroom and couldn't swallow anything that morning.

Completely oblivious, she blamed it to the churros she ate the night before.

Bryce was suspicious. He couldn't remember the last time she got her period, but it was a lot. But as they days passed and nothing extraordinary happened, he attributed it to the her body still adjusting to the lack of hormones.

Until he arrived home one night, late, after a massive surgery.

Eleanor wanted to tell him the moment she found out, early that afternoon, but Bryce would be on surgery for several hours, and this moment had to be private. The proposal and wedding had been so public, that she wanted this moment to be only theirs.

Bryce opened the door of their apartment around midnight and found Eleanor sitting by the couch in a lilac nightgown.

"Hey babe, you're still awake?"

"Yeah, I was waiting for you," She said softly.

When she got up from the couch, he saw an unusual glow on her face, in her eyes. It made his stomach flutter.

"Oh yeah? What for?"

She smirked, ignoring the question, "How did the bypass go?"

"It went well. We had some complications with an artery, but nothing I couldn't solve myself," he winked at her, with his usual confidence.

"That's awesome. Congrats, my love," she said leaning to kiss him on the lips.

There was a different softness in her kiss that night.

"How are you?" he asked with evident curiosity. He wasn't sure where this was going.

Her eyes lighted up.

"I'm great. I'm..." She sighed, as if she had been contianing the air for hours.

Maybe in a way she had been.

Then, she bit her lip and shook her head with her eyes full of wonder.

"Mi amor..." she whispered.

And he knew. Before she told him he knew.

"Mi amor, I'm pregnant," she confessed, releasing a long breath, "We're going to have a baby."

The world stopped right at that moment. Just like the moment he saw her walking down the aisle, beautiful like a goddess, ready to be his wife.

And this, this moment, this life-changing moment would be ablazed to his memory just like the moment he told her he loved her, or when she told him she had finaly fell in love with him. Or when she asked him to marry her, and right after that he asked her the same question.

They had lived so many life-changing moments together and he was sure they'd live a hundred more.

But this. This was different. This was something else. It felt surreal.

Their love had grown so big, it was enough to create another human being and bring it to this world. To overflow their lives with love and happiness.

"Elle, love. My love..."

He saw the tears spilling down her cheeks. Tears of joy, of utter happiness. Of that happiness just Bryce makes her feel.

"We're going to have a baby, my love. A baby from you and me."

Her words were pure sweetness. The most beautiful thing he could've ever heard from her.

He couldn't say anything. Even if they've been preparing for this moment, it was a whole new thing processing the reality. They would be parents. He would be a dad. They'd have a little bean made of their love. It wouldn't be just them, Bryce and Elle. It would be them and the new family they were building. Their kids. Their kids who would turn their lives upside down.

So Bryce kissed her. At his -unusual- loss for words he just kissed her and then laughed and laughed until a single tear spilled down his cheek too. He didn't know if the tears were of emotion or laugh. Either way, he didn't care, it was his most genuine reaction.

"Babe. My princess. My love," he whispered with utter tenderness, peppering her with kisses all over her face, starting on her forehead and down her cheeks, jaw, nose and finishing in her smiling lips, "My koala. We're gonna have little koala?"

Eleanor couldn't help but giggle. At the image of a little koala hanging in her arms, but also because of the tenderness in his voice.

"Or a little Goldie. Or maybe a Koldie."

Both snorted, a mixture of complicity and incredulity.

"It's gonna be a koala. I want him or she or they to be just as beautiful as you are."

"Ummm hello, where is my husband and what did you do with him?"

"Have I never told you you're the most beautiful creature in the universe?"

"Mmmm.... Multiple times."

"What's the surprise there, then?"

"You wouldn't want our kid to be like you? To inherit your beauty?"

"I do. But the second can be like me."

"Oh, and there's gonna be a second?"

"Well, yeah, we talked about two, at least."

"Well, yeah, but that depends on how the first one goes."

He nodded, chuckling, "I respect that."

Then, he slowly slid a hand to her side until his palm reached her belly. It was as usual, flat, but he knew there was something there. A little bean that in less than nine months would be with them to change their lives completely.

It already had changed his life completely.

"You know what?" he added, caressing her cheek with his knuckles, "They can all be like you, I don't care. That way every time I see them, I see you and they remind me of how happy you have made me."

"That's not fair," she giggled. "I want one looking just like you so I can see you when you're not close."

Bryce bit his lip and shrugged, "I guess we have no choice but have at least two so we're both happy."

"Two little Blooms," she said in a tiny voice, fighting the tears. It was moving how contemplative he was. But she knew, she knew that once the amazement was over, he would be ecstatic, and cheery and noisy, just like the Goldie he was, so Eleanor wanted to relish in that moment.

"Our little Blooms," he repeated softly, and he crouched down until his face was inches away from Eleanor's belly. "Hey baby, are you there? It's dad."

Eleanor couldn't help but sob as she saw Bryce talking to their baby for the first time, "I know you can't hear me, you probably don't even have a nervous system for now, but I want to tell you I already love you, and I'm so freaking happy you're coming."

Eleanor rested her hand on his head and caressed his silky hair softly, then she wrapped both arms around him and pulled him close.

"Te amo."

He enveloped her in his arms and looked up at her.

"And I love you. Once again you have made me the luckiest man on this planet."

That night, they barely sleept. The plans for the future and guesses about how their baby would be and look made them lost track of space and time.

They were immersed in their own bubble of love and happiness.