#Implied/Reference Child Abuse

[lynlee494]

“Mrs....Mrs. Rogers...he looks…” a small voice sobs quietly, and Sarah was at his level immediately, her arms tight around him. Bucky let out another sob, this time muffled by her shoulder. His small body shaking against her as she can tell he tries to hold it in.

They stay like that for a few minutes and some of the tightness leaves Sarah’s chest just a little, and the trembling in the small boy calms some. Bucky sniffles and murmurs an apology. Sarah gently pulls back from Bucky and sweeps some hair out of his eyes. Stevie might be the frail one, but this poor Barnes boy had such a soft heart.

Prompt 8: Lyrics: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.” Prompts: Overcrowded ER / Outnumbered Shaking / “It’s all for nothing.”

___________________________________________________________ I am not going to lie, I'm excited about this one and the multi-prompt series it begins.

[luxshine]

Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: RRR (2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alluri Sitarama Raju/Komaram Bheem Characters: Alluri Sitarama Raju, Komaram Bheem, Jenny (RRR 2022), Lacchu (RRR 2022), Ventakeswarulu (RRR 2022), Scott Buxton, Catherine Buxton, Malli (RRR 2022) Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/confort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

A child was stolen from their tribe, and taken to the British's Home. However, this is not the child you're thinking about. This happened 20 years before Malli was taken, and the Child was Alluri Rama Raju.

How did that little difference changed his life, and his fated meeting with Komuram Bheem? Well, read to find out!

[gloomyteddybear]

crazy all-over & for you

oneshot

cw/tw: vague-ass spoilers for twin peaks; creepy fluff; danny's very delulu; some allusion to kidnapping but it does sound more like trapping (staying under coersion/ obligation/ dependency, not necessarily the baby-type); good ol' referenced child abuse (thanks johnson-senior); matricidal ideation (but you kill eachother, idek how to tag this shit)

can be read as a sequel to 'vulture.

when you become a writer or an avid watcher, you begin to take notice of patterns, tropes they're called. repetitions of behavior that makes up a character's personality, you know them at a glance and your immersion is ruined; eventually due to them, your taste begins to change towards the unpredictable. you want something more real, more marking, more scarring, more... if you want it done right, do it yourself.

danny lost his immersion in life. during his many years limping on earth, each life-lesson hammered in the teachings of his father.

teachings-rants that sounded like it described someone, that talked about people, about relationships, about loyalty, about fear, about respect, about trust, --- about consequences for breaking that trust.

'people are... you can't trust people to stay. you gotta tie them down, give them a damn good reason not to leave.' he slurred, his sour breath stank of fermented and stale bread, clutching tiny-him by the shoulder to look'im in the eye. ('just like you give them something to cry about' went unsaid)

if he were to describe his father in movie tropes, it'd be the crazy homeless man who was right all along. sounds harsh, but it's true. raving about the war, being watched, communists, trees and (his phobia of) spiders.

he learned everything from him, he was thoughtful as a father, always preparing him for the worst case scenario so he didn't need to worry too much while making contingencies for unaccounted variables.

a slap against the back of his head (it hurt, always made him cry when he was younger, but kid-him knew he held back) always reminded him to never let anyone sneak up behind, watch his surroundings.

he was his father, who did dad things like making sure his room's not clean (perfectly horizontal pennies), got food on the table (always canned), kept the house clean (the stomach-acid smell of white vinegar) and safe (gun safety, tourniquets, traps)...

gave him... affection (the heavy shoulder pat when danny finally got that deer) and told him bedtime stories, even though he grew too old for them (gunfire, the fading light in their eyes, shells-hock).

sure, danny hid under his blankets like a spider's cocoon and pretended to sleep when he was drunk (suffocating safety), but... he truly tried raising (a soldier) him.

his role in that relationship is stoic, patient and efficient. but you... 

you didn’t know him by his real name– only as meek, weak, jed olsen--- you were... too... (minds eye picturing himself gesturing weakly with his hands to all of you) too you for danny, out of his league. but this man he pretended to be, meek but earnest, maybe he has a shot--- sure his typecasting was off (gaunt, grey, gangly and definitely not giddy) in his role as jed the only thing that salvaged his performance was his acting.

he couldn't reduce to just a love interest... it was... as if you were real. not a character unlike these... figurants--- these extras.

you warranted softness, normalcy, something he learned when comparing his childhood to others- he never had. you wanted a movie date (more like you were appalled that he never watched twin peaks, and wanted to amend that. but a man can dream) and he could never say no to you.

so danny has to make sure jed's house is clean. which includes... removing the evidence and preening himself 'til he looks presentable to his... (not a date, not a date, not a) series-binge-hangout-slash-maybe-comma-hopefully-sleepover.

danny grabs the collage of pictures on his wall and throws them into a shoebox beneath his bed (worst case scenario he'll say it's a sex-toy box, and lose more of his pride in the process) he feels kind of bad, like a parent boxing his kid's toys for a garage sale after they went away for college (not like he'd know what that's like, on neither end), he locks his bedroom for extra precaution.

now onto the... situation at hand... well, the ghostface's killings were described as messy crimes of passion, it's not going to be clean. it's not like he uses that sink to brush his teeth, anyway (it's broken to only use cold-freezing water, it's practically fate). it's not like the sink has visible traces of blood (it dries dark enough to look like usual inescapable grime) but-what-if you wanted to use the restroom and got sick?!

bleach, his father taught him, is just chemical white-out. he bets his father never thought he would use his knowledge of skinning deer for--- well maybe he did. gloves and a mask, disposable. his first bought-instead-of-handed-down sweater still has that pink-salmon-flesh spot.

danny uses mint air freshener this time, still have the same (spider) smell-of-crime warding-off properties of white-vinegar without the gag-inducing smell.

you shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits knock on his door. speak of the devil, but you weren't a devil, and he wished you'd appear as often as he thought of you. you smile at him, a hand holding what he assumes is the tape you brought.

danny keeps a hand on the door and stares as you enter, and closes it for you--- cushioning the doorknob behind him with both hands, he rocks backwards on his heels and plants his weight on the door until there's a 'click'. shoulders pressed against the wood as an anchor. trying to project playful, not predatory.

---him following soon after, he smiles. you smile back waving the tape in your hand. the ecstasy of having your eyes on his, it's a combination deadlier than any drug. he'd kill for one look, he'd die for one glance.

(4 weeks and 5 days of knowing him, you were so trusting its as if you wanted him to---)

"ready to create a conspiracy board? i'll even tell you if you're getting warmer," you smirk, all teasing "but for now, get us the snacks, henchman! don't want you to get spoiled for the plotwist."

jed made a mock "sure thing, boss." with one of those smiles he knew made his employers give him less work and spun on his heel to grab them (wasn't hard to, his pantries are practically for cobwebs). danny splurged a bit from his okay-ish paycheck, is it sad that this is the only indulgent thing he bought (aside from the hobby items) and it wasn't even for himself?

danny arrives, with the colorful packaging in his arms. all your favorites--- a coincidence that he also likes them (you two have so much in common it's like fate).

he sits beside you on the couch and you swing your legs over his lap, using him as a foot-rest when there's a perfectly available coffee table, oh-well. danny's not complaining. but jed does make a half-attempted whine-complain at the treatment.

you keep a close eye on his expressions, as jed plays up some of his reactions, not even paying attention to the show. the knowing smiles you had whenever anyone cried during the show, the dissecting gaze as you watch him just like he watched the show... it looked...his fingers twitched and he dismays at the lack of camera.

then, danny feels the weight on the couch dip and your neck is resting-bending uncomfortably on the arm-rest.

you're sleeping.

he resists to keep watching the series without your supervision (see? he has impulse control), and ejects the tape, keeping a mental-note of the hour-tally (a few episodes subtracted, for more time with you.)

danny stares, you looked so peaceful, untouched by the ghostface's reign of terror. this was where you belonged, in his... under...no, at his mercy.

he reached out a hand and trailed the delicate lines of your neck, he could just crack-snap your neck and get it over with... but it needs to be special, not just one-and-done murder, there has to be a build-up, some meaning for you, because this means so much to him. you have this stabbing grasp on danny and he wants to make sure that the feelings are mutual--- it needs to be mutual, its only good if your hands are also on his vulnerable throat. the only way you'll be allowed to die is by his hands and him, yours.

you both, at the same time. you will become his legacy and he will become yours, your deaths intertwined like veins of the same pulse. that's something to put on the headlines, a romeo of juliet but on-with purpose--- not due to some stupid misunderstanding but a mutual death.

you made your choice when you came here, you had to know what you were getting into, the newbie in town when, coincidentally, the murders began and he just-so-happens to be there to report ghostface's every move--- like a demented slasher-parody of peter parker. because you wouldn't be here if you...

if you... what if you didn't. you were only there because you didn't know. if you did, then you're danny's; if you didn't, then you're jed's.

that can't be. there's a narrative, a storyline, a fate. you were fated to be. you and danny. forever. 

he's had a taste of what it feels to have you in his life, and it feels like---love a-and... it's like you wanted him t-to...  (obsess, desire, envy, bleed).

--- and, and now he just can't let that feeling go. can't let you go, if you're not staying for danny, he'll just... tie you down and give you a damn good reason to stay.

[wisteriasymphony]

awww ☺️ mother son bonding... so normal and not traumatizing for a seven year old...

[kei-likes-memes]

WAIT A MINUTE WAIT A MINUTE WAIT A MINUTE PLEASE EVERYONE (dark subject)

IT LOOKS LIKE SHADOW AT FIRST BUT

[witchysolfan]

The Princess and the Fools

How a child’s soul transferred into the Poppet

Killed by a witch

Gained a witch for a mother

[thegeniusofplaytimeco]

Chapter 2: not here. not now. not anymore.

Y/N would probably have thought of everything, except what he just heard on his phone, it hits him harder than he would have expected. Then theres this Problem with CatNap and a missing Worker, this will get weird.

---

This chapter contains some depressive behaviour… i think.

---

Nothing.... at all... I hear absolutely nothing as I simply push my phone back into my coat pocket. A Headache starts, a very bad one, my head throbs as if someone had shot me. I... I can't do this...

"Why?" That's all I say... I just can't say anything else. I just don't understand it... 'Why me? Is this the karma for my actions here in this fucking shithole? Just thinking about it makes my head throb harder. 'Shit'

No matter what, showing emotions in this Hellhole won't get me anywhere, especially not with the Experiments. 'I need to distract myself, which experiment do I still have to visit?'

While I'm thinking about the other experiments, a memory comes up out of nowhere that I had long forgotten.

Me and Rin on the football pitch, well..not exactly, we were sitting on the grass both eating an ice cream. 'Siblings are great'. Shit, what am I thinking, I haven't spoken to him for years. And now that mum's funer-

"Fuck!" I shout it out loud, far too loud for the dark passages that await me here until I arrive at the lab. I can't distract myself, and I won't see the lab for another 700 meters, so there's plenty of time. Enough time for my thoughts to slowly consume my Sanity…

And I have to get out of here slowly, the stuffy air and my flaming head are killing me down here, and I also have to talk to Elliot later. 'Pathetic' Pathetic to ask someone if you can take time off because someone has died.

'Wait a minute, someone? My mum isn't just a someone, is she?' No, I don't need permission from someone like him, who lets little kids and staff down here turn into monsters just because they don't dance to his tune.

But am I that much better? After all, I have the direct position under him and carry out the operations that turn people into these flesh-filled abominations.

My eyes tremble as I can finally see the light. 'The lab' I literally grind my feet against the glass door as I slowly pick up the handle and press on it 'Its cold', I haven't even opened the door and there are already 2 people running towards me.

Before they say anything I check them out, thats what i always do. Stacy and John, both wearing their hair up today. With Stacy being about 5.5 ft and John standing taller than me, at 6.2 ft. They both stop Running to me and just stay here, well not long… Cause Stacy begins to Speak.

"Y/N you have to ma-"

"The Smilling Critters, right?"

"Shit… youre Scary... but yeah, Them. well actually just CatNap but I heard they need a medic down there for the kids and Lukas has already been down there for a day." She talks way too fast, Lukas is not the smartest nor the physically strongest so he's probably lost somewhere. 'Wouldn't be the first time'.

"Wait a minute... How did you know it was about the Smilling-"

"You're both far too worried to have just one employee down there, you do realize we have almost 10,000?" I quickly reply,trying to not waste Time.

"Hey, you don't think that way about us, do you ?, or when we get lost down there?" John starts to mumble, and quite heavily at that, but there's not really much he could have said.

"I don't think you're that incompetent, after all, you're scientists here, and not an electrician who can't tell left from right."

"Man, Lukas is really nice, you really don't have to look down on him like that, you know?" I stopped listening at the beginning when I heard the name Lukas. That guy got lost many Times before already.

"Yes, and Lukas has to be found quickly and brought here, he didn't want to go under there but it was an emergency!"

"Hm?" Well, now they had part of my attention. An emergency ?

"Yes, and also it's his Mother's birthday tomorrow, and he doesn't want to be late."

"His mum? He can be la-" 'Wait, what?' I feel like my brain has just stopped, like I'm seconds away from a panic attack. His mum? He has to go to her birthday?’

"Hello... earth to Y/N?" My brain is completely switched off I can't hear anything apart from my pounding heart,dammit. And on top of that, my fucking head is throbbing more and more. 'Mother'. The only thing working in my head right now is the amygdala, the emotional memory system.

'Birthday' was all I could hear, but I could still see all of my mother's last 60 birthdays before my eyes. As a family on the couch, or in the restaurant, even in the car when we just drove to another Place. 'God damn it' why now? And then the birthdays of the last 5 years.

Where I wasn't present because I was: 'working', I didn't do shit. I spent the days turning the employees who threatened to 'talk' into neglected monsters who could neither talk nor think for themselves. No 'monster' doesn't even begin to describe what I did to them, from drugging them to slowly pulling out some of their nerves so they would be so scared they wouldn't even dare to think about driving this company to ruin.

"Hey Y/N is everything good?"

Goddammit... I wasted my time down here in this hole using my brain while out there the people who brought me here were running out of time but I didn't care.

"! Y/N HEY Y/N!"

No I didn't give a shit, I've been doing the same thing for the last few years and now time ran out for my mom... How much longer do I have until my father dies?

I'm about to fall to the floor,but I just about catch myself. 'What the fuck?'

"Hey?" 'Yeah, what is it? what do you want?'

"Y/N" ‘Yes?’, they’re both staring at me like I'm a little kitten they just found on the street.

“Well sorry that I pushed you”    Yeah yeah very sorry, ‘I know you don’t give a shit about it’.

"I was just thinking about something..." I'm not lying, but I've been doing a lot more than just thinking about it...

"Damn Y/N it looked like you saw a ghost hahaha... You were really petrified for a few seconds, but that's with you with your whole... I'm sure it's normal with your big brain and knowledge" Damn he talks a lot, he likes hering his own voice so much.

"Funny... I'm on the way" I turn around and walk through the clean and all white lab, I don't need to turn around because I know how Stacy and John are probably staring into my Soul.

As I walk through I see a tall man coming through into the lab with a small child. 'A little girl? how? she's not old enough for the experiments' I decide not to get loud now and jeopardize the researcher's job. Besides, the little girl would probably start screaming if she knew that nobody wanted to adopt her, but that people trained and educated by *me* would be taking her organs from her body in a couple of hours. And Stuff that shit into some fucking puppet.

But I just leave the laboratory. ‘I have more important things to do' Saving a man with a family like Lukas or a little orphan without anyone, its not that hard of a decision.

I walk out of the door and a couple of employees come towards me again, 'I just hope they don't talk to me'.

And they don't, but they stare at me far too long for that. Of course every member of staff here knows me, and I'm in the direct position under Elliot Ludwig, but I'm not a god or anything, I'm just the guy who turns people into experiments.

At least I'm not one of the lowly employees who has to take the train to Playcare at Gamestation, because I got a master key personally from Elliot, and as I slowly slide my hands under the soft smock material in my pants pocket to get the key out, I can already see the elevator from a distance. !HIGHER MANAGEMENT ONLY! is written large on the front in dark red letters.

I take the golden-brown key in my hand and slide it under the shield into the lock. Turn it twice to the left and three times to the right. That was the combination, not everyone is allowed in here. The clean metal doors open and I stand in the open doorway.

And the lights around the room start to go on 'at last'. Theodore is supposed to have something, or as the rest of the gang call him CatNap. In my opinion the thing is a far cry from CatNap which now takes care of the children who don't want to sleep, after all it's not really alive anymore as I removed the heart and only left the operating part of the brain in the puppet.

But that was necessary because Theodore had a friendship with the Prototype and almost escaped with it, but I knew about their plan long before that. I knew that the prototype had chosen some kind of outsider among the children. would pick some misfit among the kids and make him obsessed with the 'Freedom', very predictable. and i was even sure exactly when they would pull it off. So I changed the green hands of the grave pack to non-functional ones so that anyone who tried to use them would be electroshocked.

The plan worked and the next thing I found was the badly burned, barely breathing, and bleeding Theodore Grambell on the operating table. He was to become a puppet that would only obey orders from the staff not the prototype. And now the 7-year-old sits in a corpse  that he has no control over whatsoever. Well, that's just the result of his belief in the prototype.

I hear a loud squeak and a ring, a female voice that says: "Playcare"

[bluejaysandblackbats]

If There's Nothing Missing In My Life...

Fandom: DC Comics, Superfam

Summary: Newly-emancipated popstar and child actor, Conner (screen name: Lucky) navigates high school and stardom on his own.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Conner Kent, Lois Lane, Roxy Leech, Rex Leech, Lois Lane, Clark Kent, Hillary Chang

Additional Tags: Highschool AU, Celebrity AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Exploitation, References to Depression, Conner Kent Needs a Hug, Conner Luthor, Lex Luthor is Conner's Parent, Childhood Trauma, Self-Confidence Issues, Teen Angst, Angst, POV First Person, No Powers AU, Conner Kent-centric, Bisexual Conner Kent, POV Conner Kent, Protective Lex Luthor, Child Celebrity AU

Chapter One: Dear Diary

"You are gonna kill this whole high school publicity stunt thing!" Rex exclaimed while I sat on my balcony, soaking in the sun. I hadn't broken it to Rex that I'd actually enrolled in a real public high school. Rex would've blown a gasket if he knew, so I decided to wait until after my first week to tell him. "What are you gonna wear? Have you come up with a caption for the Face-sta-gram yet?"

"Please never say that again... And I haven't decided yet. I thought I'd keep it caj and wear board shorts. The weather's gonna be nice. Clear skies," I replied. Someone stood, blocking the sun, and I snatched off my sunglasses. "What gives!"

"Lucky, you've gotta take this seriously. Board shorts? Are you out of your mind? You're peddling unattainability. Any high school chump can wear board shorts on their first day. You've gotta go big or go home," Rex chastised me. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

I put my sunglasses on and tried to regain my cool. Sometimes I wished Rex would shut up and find someone else to bother, but I think I was his only client. "Can you move this lecture like three feet to the right?" I asked.

"You mean the left, right?" Rex questioned. I grinned. "Oh, so now you're a comedian?"

I chuckled and gave him the finger because he hated when I did that. The sun hit my skin as he stormed off. He finally let me be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes, and I started feeling homesick. I wanted to call my dad and talk to him, but that's what he was waiting for. He wanted me to give him a reason to think I regretted the emancipation proceedings. I didn't. I only wanted to hear his voice. He was my father, after all. It wasn't like I got emancipated because he was stealing from me or abusive. He wasn't any of that. I got emancipated because I wanted to go to public school and stay out late on the weekends. It didn't mean I didn't miss him. I teared up under my sunglasses and used my face towel to wipe my eyes, pretending I was dabbing sweat from my cheeks. I always thought he'd eventually break and take me to my first day of public school. Dad always told me it was too dangerous to go to public school. Instead, I'd be taking myself.

The sunlight and cool ocean breeze put me to sleep. Rex woke me up to get me out of the sun and bothered me about my first-day outfit. "Rex, go home. I will pick a fit so sick your grandchildren will print pictures of my student ID on t-shirts," I lied in the hopes that I'd be able to shower and work on one of my songs in peace and quiet. It worked.

I got cleaned up, sat in front of the muted tv, and screwed around on the guitar. Everyone decided pop would be my sound. I didn't have a choice because they thought I was too young to get into heavy sounds. I argued with them for weeks, but my dad said pop was safe, and I got stuck with the genre. I still wrote my own stuff when I got a moment to myself, but I never showed anyone out of fear they'd say I was a bummer. Most of it was my way of venting out all the negative emotions I felt that weren't profitable. In the words of my ex-publicist, whenever my dad wasn't around, "Depression doesn't sell." A few hours passed, and I went to my closet to pick out something for my first day to appease Rex. I picked a fitted white t-shirt and a pair of powder blue splash pattern wool trousers and sent him a picture. He was so nitpicky about everything, even though fashion wasn't really his forte. I figured he'd have Roxy look at it and give him a thumb's up or down.

Afterward, I made my lunch for school while heating up some leftover pizza in the microwave. It was quiet. Around this time, my dad would nag me about my wind-down routine. He did it with me my whole life to prepare me for bed, but I had gotten too old. I loved it when I was a kid, though. We'd say three good things and three bad things about our day, he'd give me a kiss on the forehead, and we'd sit together in silence and read for thirty minutes. He used to read to me, but he stopped doing that when I was eight. I wanted to tell him about my six things so badly I couldn't stand it, but I knew he'd say I wasn't ready to live on my own. It'd been nearly a month since we talked, and I felt like I could've been kinder, but I was dumb. I got cocky, and I said things I couldn't take back.

I turned the sound on the TV and flipped to the first celebrity gossip show I could find to see if my dad was doing anything. Instead, they were talking about me. "Is Lucky getting lucky? It's rumored that the freshly emancipated minor was spotted leaving the hottest-."

My phone rang. I knew who it was before I answered. "Have you ever heard of motels, kid?" Rex yelled at me. I put the phone on speaker and knocked my head against the back of the couch.

"That isn't true. Do you think my dad saw this?" I asked. I was mortified as I read the closed caption and saw some of the jokes they made.

"Your old man is the least of your problems! Do you know how bad this looks?" Rex questioned.

I hung up on him and called my dad. "Dad, what they're saying isn't-."

"I know. Is that all?" Dad questioned. I swallowed hard.

"Yeah," I replied. He was still mad at me, and I couldn't blame him for that, but it made my stomach feel empty in the worst way. "Oh! I forgot it's like two a.m. where you're at."

"I was awake... But be mindful that our time zones are six hours apart. Conner, what you've done or haven't done is no longer any of my business," Dad replied. That stung but not as bad as it had to sting when I told him he wasn't even my real dad.

"Right... Sorry. Well, I love you, Diddoo," I whispered to show him it was no hard feelings. Diddoo was my first word. I called him Diddoo whenever I wanted to say sorry for something stupid I'd done.

"I love you too, Conner," Dad replied before hanging up. At least I knew he still loved me. I rubbed my eyes with my palms to knead away the tears forming in my eyes. I wanted to tell him I missed him, but I couldn't. I couldn't bend for him this time. I had to be my own man, or he would always treat me like a little boy. It was always the two of us, but my emancipation alienated me in ways I never imagined. I thought I could do what I wanted and live on my own while still having my dad around, but I guess I was wrong.

"The sun... The sky... Leftover pizza," I listed, "Missing Dad... Rex got on my nerves today... More gossip." I stood up, washed my hands, and went to my room to read for a little bit. I did it every night, even after my emancipation, because I couldn't sleep without doing it. I wondered if my dad did it too.

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum �� one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you ��� not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

[sans-enjoyer]

Inanimate Insanity Episode 16 Spoilers!!!!

its been like, two days since episode 16, and people are already arguing about Mephone's age. He is a child, and this didnt come out of nowhere guys, he's always BEEN a child:

^post from 2018!! 5 YEARS ago!

^Brian reposting art (amazing art btw<3) where Mephone is described as a CHILD and drawing in a childish way.

^Brian saying that Mephone is so young he doesn't even know how to SPELL.

Now; heres some stuff ive been hearing in argument against him being a child.

"Cobs is infantilizing him." I agree with this to a certain extent, he is acting like Mephone is a child who cant comprehend anything like an abusive parent. but thats where it stops. Children can ALSO be infantlized! But aside from that, Cobs even says; "I forgot how young you are!" Parents don't say that to their adult children, because it makes no sense unless Mephone is a child.

Secondly, why would Brian and Justin be doing the same thing? They say he's young!

"He has an adult voice." Robots don't hit puberty! This means nothing. Unless youre saying that the creators implied hes an adult because hes voiced by an adult, well i'll have to refer you to the images above.

"He hosts an entire show." Arguably not very well, also again, he's a robot, and also, theyre on an island! its not like you need a permit to film on a random island in god knows where. Any child can "host" a show if they have enough determination, general knowledge of how they work, and equipment, and would you know it Mephone has all three! He knows how they work because he watched them in meeple, and he can generate any equipment he needs.

"He's a robot, he doesn't have an age." True..? sort of...? But the thing is, being legally defined as a child is based off your mental capacity. Children arent as mentally/emotionally intelligent as grown adults, because they don't have the life experience nor the capacity to be. Mephone barely has ANY life experience, he grew up in Meeple, and then started the show immediately after leaving. And obviously, in Inanimate Insanity (and all object shows), robots are almost always sentient beings, unlike real life.

"He's much more mature than a child, especially one that couldn't spell." Debatable! First of all, he thinks things like 'going to jail for one day' and 'the calm down corner' are terrible punishments, like children. If you tell a child to go sit on the stairs for 5 minutes and frame it as a punishment, they will take it as serious as anything else. Secondly, he literally decided to make a random species of bat.. things? fight to the death because they ate his four month old ice cream. No mature person would do that... Thirdly, abused children ACT more mature than others because they HAVE to be. Abused children are not ALLOWED to act like children. They have to be mature for themselves because who else is going to be? Who else is going to take care of you when your parent doesn't? But that doesn't mean they arent still a child.

So now we tread into questionable territory. Is it okay to deny the idea that he is a child at all costs, just so you can ship him or sexualize him? There is really no other reason why you would deny that he is a child.

Now obviously; lets not harass anyone who has drawn ship art of him or sexualized him in the past. This stuff was not commonly known, most people thought he was an adult. But if you look deeper, he isn't.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk, if anyone reads this far (￣^￣)ゞI know I usually only post art, but this is an important topic to me as i am very hyperfixated on Mephone4 i swear i can't control it guys!!

Feel free to make any counter points, im open to discussion, but i am also very set on this opinion. Have a good day everyone!!☆

[wosoamazing]

Rescue

Barça Femeni x Teen!Reader (Mainly Alexia)

Based off of this request. (And also vaguely off of Lauren Daigle's song - more so just the title, but it kind of under lays the fic I guess.)

WARNINGS: Attempted Sexual Assault References (flack backs), Abusive Father (physical and emotional), drinking/drunk, slight mentions of implied sick (doesn't happen). Let me know if anything else

The team were always suspicious about your home life and what it was actually like but you always brushed them off when they questioned and no one had tried to push further until recently.

“Y/N, we missed you last night, what happened?” Lucy asked you as she walked in, most of the team following behind her.

“Oh, sorry I was going to message but I must’ve forgotten, I felt a little sick so I thought it was best to stay home,” you told them, causing Alexia to move towards you with her hand out, which you dodge, “but I’m fine now,” you smiled at your captain and she gave you a fake smile back.

That was far from the truth but you didn’t want to tell them what happened. You were in your room making some finishing touches before you left to go out with them, when one of your Dad’s friends had walked into your room, you thought you had locked your door but you must’ve forgotten. He walked up behind you and his body was pressed against yours before he slinked his hand up under your dress and brushed his hand over your upper thigh. You snapped around and punched him before you ran, you could hear him yelling at you afterwards, and you Dad yelling at him, but all you could do was run, and to the safe place you knew no one would come looking for you. Thanking the heavens above that Jona somehow gave you a pass that meant you could go to the training grounds at all times. You quickly got changed into your training kit and took off your makeup before setting an alarm on your phone and falling asleep on one of the couches.

That day during treatment you flinched every time one of the physios touched you, and when he moved his hand up to your thigh you felt your body tense up and your breath becoming laboured, when he applied pressure to start working you bolted straight out of the room, the touch bringing back all the feelings from the night before. You found yourself in a room, full of your teammates, who all worried over but when you finally calmed back down they all left except for one, your captain. Who gave you a pointed look as you made contact with her eyes.

“I’m fine” you reiterated to her for probably the 100th time that hour.

“You know you can talk to us anytime, about anything,” Alexia reassured you.

“Si, I do, but I don’t need to because I’m fine,” she gave you a very unconvincing nod before walking out, leaving you to be by yourself. The team knew you weren’t fine. You constantly showed up to training with bruises that were slightly too dark or too big to be caused by whatever your excuse had been that time, but you were clumsy so they never really questioned it. However Alexia had kept a mental note of when they happened and what your excuses were and she couldn't help but see that there was a pattern. Then there was the incident last week when you were calling some of them and your Dad started yelling at you, and calling you names. You tried to convince them that it was because he had tripped over because you had left your boots and bag and other stuff all over the floor which caused him to stub his toe, however they all felt that it was a very poor excuse to yell at your child in such a way but you just brushed them off.

One week later you found yourself laying on a yoga mat in the gym, you were flat on your back as you stared straight up at the ceiling. Alexia had come over and placed a mat down next to yours, she didn't say anything but just laid there next to you on her back, as the team filtered out to go to the pitch for training neither of you made an effort to move. 

Several different thoughts ran through your head as you laid there next to her for quite some time. You were having an internal battle in your head of whether you opened up to her or not, maybe she would help, maybe this wasn’t normal. But maybe she would tell you it was your fault, you had a short dress on that night, that was slightly slutty, were you asking for it? Had you deserved all of it, all the yelling, the hitting.

“He-he, tried to touch me,” you blurted out, one side of the fight winning, your words caused her to bolt straight up, sitting crossed legged on her mat facing you.

“Who did? Your Dad?” she asked.

“No one of his friends,” you said, shaking your head.

“Did he?” she asked, concerned. “No, not really, I mean he put his hand up my dress, he was leaning forward into me and he touched my thigh, but I quickly moved away from him and punched him and ran, while I was running he was saying something about reporting me for hitting him, but I don’t think he did because I could hear Dad saying something about them finding out if he did because the police would show up to the house,” you said as tears started to flow out of your eyes.

“Find what out?” Alexia asked, confused, wondering what had been happening.

“That he abuses me, they would see the holes in the walls from where he would try and punch me but miss, the shattered mirror that I glued back together, it smashed because he threw it at me, but they wouldn’t see the emotional things, they would only see the physical things. The name calling, the swearing, they couldn’t see that, it would be his word against mine,” you continued as your shoulders started to shake as your cries turned into harsh heavy sobs, “I’m sorry,” you cried out as you rolled over onto your stomach, head resting in your arms as a puddle formed on the underneath you.

“Oh Nena,” Alexia sighed as she went to place a hand on your back, “please don’t touch me,” you asked and she obeyed, quickly retracting her arm, “b-but, please, s-stay” you hesitantly asked her. You felt broken, like there was something wrong with you, how didn’t you notice it wasn’t normal. You thought you had a broken home but at the same time, you never spoke about it so maybe everyone had a broken home and just didn’t talk about it, but since being at Barça you slowly started to realise that what was happening in your home wasn’t normal and wasn’t okay, but it was normal to you, to you being called an idiot, or a stupid bitch was normal, being told you were too lazy or not good enough was normal, being scared to take a step in your own home was normal. Constantly living on the edge and not feeling comfortable in your own home was normal. It was normal in your extended family as well, you came from a long line of toxic men, there was no one to show you that what you were experiencing was abnormal, until now. Men drinking until they passed out was normal. Men controlling the house was normal. Women only dated Men, even in a different universe you would never see a Woman dating a Woman in your family. But somehow Barça had shown you this wasn’t normal.

Alexia’s heart ached as she watched sobs rack your body, she just wanted to hold you tight and tell you it would all be okay, but she couldn't. She had to respect your boundaries and give you some control back.

But you soon found yourself sitting in her lap, your body having gravitated to the warmth and safety she seemed to provide. Your hands clutched to her shirt.

“Nena, can I hug you?” She asked not wanting to do anything against your will, you nodded into her chest and she wrapped her arms around you. You suddenly felt safe, cared for, loved, it suddenly all came crashing down, this team loved you, you had never really experienced that before, and you broke down even more. You were now gasping for air as your body shook, Alexia’s concern for you was rapidly growing.

“Nena, I need you to breath, you’re going to make yourself sick,” She told you, “I-I can’t” you told her as you struggled to suck in air, “Yes, you can Nena, just in and out, focus on my chest moving up and now,” you managed to slightly calm down, but it was barely, your were still shaking and your sobs still racked your body, but you were no longer gasping for air. Alexia put her headphones over your ears and made sure to turn on the noise cancelling feature, she needed to call someone for help but didn’t want you to have to listen in, you didn’t mind, you kind of liked the quietness they provided you. She called Mapi.

Mapi, I need you and Ingrid to take me and Nena home now.

[fairuzfan]

Hey, I've read your post reply on the ask about the Standing together movement, and there you mentioned that it's incorrect to separate Palestinians and Jews and create a false dichotomy when speaking about liberating Palestine and anti-occupation movement. Could you please elaborate on that? It's a very interesting take that I haven't heard before yet.

So I generally don't understand why we are separating "Palestinian" and "Jews" with no potential for overlap between the two. By separating them, this implies, fundamentally, that there can be no Jewish Palestinians which... is not true. Just even historically, Jewish Palestinians exist and continue to exist.

Why are they mutually exclusive terms within their mission statement when they wish to "stand together"? And I'm not saying this in a condescending manner, I'm saying this because I know there are Palestinians who live in Israel who insist on being referred to as Palestinian. They won't let their Palestinian identity be erased under any circumstances. But they're the only group at risk of having that happen to them. Jewish people are not at risk of having their Jewishness erased for being Palestinian. So how can it be "standing together" when you acknowledge that there is a divide, societally, between perceptions of identity where one is at risk of total destruction by another and you, yourself, do not risk anything?

Where do Jewish Palestinians fall in this dichotomy, exactly? Does that mean no Palestinian will be able to convert to Judiasm without giving up their Palestinian identity? Are Jewish people just innately separated from Palestinians as a whole? If so, what is the thing that categorizes "Palestinian" in their eyes? Is it their religion? Well it can't be, because Palestinians have a diverse array of religions and like I said, people who identity as Palestinian and Jewish exist and are at risk of having their "Palestinian" erased in favor of their "Jewish" one.

Is it their ethnicity? Also can't be, because there is a vast array of ethnicities within Palestinian society. Unless they mean Palestinian=Arab, which is erasure. It erases Armenian Palestinians who play an integral part in Palestinian culture, for example.

So like what is the separation exactly? How are these mutually exclusive categories and how are we defining them? Unless, which is the reason that underlies all this, you mean to say that there is a difference between people who are Palestinians and people are Jewish innately in some unidentifiable manner?

Now, many Palestinians who have Israeli citizenship are not really subject to equal rights lol. And those rights are taken away *because* they are Palestinian. You have to acknowledge that. So when we say "Jewish and Palestinian" in a mission statement where you intend to """solve""" inequality, you're already setting that distinction in your mind that there is an actual difference between these people. So it's problematic in that vein.

But also, the group doesn't address the systematic abuses Palestinians face for YEARS, even before the Likud government. You can't erase that and attribute it to Netanyahu only. You have to address that the very system of Israel was founded on the mass expulsion and erasure of Palestinians, that includes Palestinian Jews.

But again, we have this dichotomy of "Jewish" and "Palestinian," setting into motion that "Palestinian" is somehow an identity that is separate from "Jewish." And through what definitions are we imposing that difference? Through... race science? Through cultural differences? Well, again, what about people who have cultural overlaps. Like if a nonJewish Palestinian marries a Jewish person who is not Palestinian and their child is growing up with both cultures? What does that mean for them? What does that mean for the two people who got married? And even Jewish Palestinians, are they having to give up their Palestinian side for marrying someone Jewish? Won't that cause further inequality within our groups? Isn't this separation just a nicer worded version of segregation in that way?

We have to acknowledge that it is within the state of Israel's interests, at their core, to separate these two identities. So by playing into this narrative, we're continuing the very colonization of history as they try to rewrite the past, implying that Jewish Palestinians especially were not considered a part of Palestinian culture and werent allowed to partake in it.

And it's just, to me, very racist to assume that there can't be overlap between these two types of people. It's happened in Palestine for centuries. But when Balfour comes in and is like "here you go, Jewish people of European cultural heritage, here is your homeland, nevermind the other people who have customs and traditions here, just do whatever you want and get out of Europe," everyone just nods their head like yeah that's reasonable. They didn't even try to learn Palestinian culture and life they just kicked us out. I'd argue that Palestinians would have welcomed Jewish immigrants who sought a safe homeland, so long as they didn't kick us out and enact nearly a century of violence. Palestine is the holy land for a reason! This land is the convergence of faiths and ideas and culture in such a unique way. Labeling it "Palestine" emphasizes that Palestinians are diverse and allow for an overlap of identities!

Essentially, when you try to separate groups of people like this, particularly when the separation of "Palestinians" (or more commonly referred to as "arabs" in Israeli society. Even our identities are erased to homogenize us) and "Jews," it makes it seem like Palestinians are fundamentally anti-jewish and antisemitic. And historically, just doesn't even make any sense.

[pricetagged]

that death is a very stable job

Poor little Dormouse, with her cruel father and labourer's hands. You find an unexpected guard dog in one of the passing knights.

Enjoy 4.8k words of half inaccurate-medieval, half poorly-built-fantasy AU. Inspired by a few existing historical AUs (like @bi-writes 1600s au, 391780's 'the rus') and a scene from 'The Serpent Queen'. Also, I stan 'old grizzled dog with a heart Ghost' so here you go.

Warnings/content: implied domestic abuse/sex work (not Ghost), very mild suicidal ideation, violence, power imbalance (social hierarchy ew), kissing & intimacy (no smut. yet.). Reader is described as a young woman, generally body-neutral (one reference to being 'plump').

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

What makes betrayal so potent is that, by its very nature, it can only come from someone you trust. Of course, as a child you knew little of the abstracts and intricacies of trust. You knew the warmth of your mother's bosom. You knew the sharp, lingering smell of lye that clung to her chapped hands. You knew that you were not hungry or hurt for those blissful early years, at least.

You did not know that you had a father.

He spent those blissful, early years of yours fighting for a King and cause that meant far less to him than the pocketful of coins he earned and promptly spent on pleasures. But a soldier cannot earn coin in times of peace, not if he weren't a member of the standing army, so with treaties signed he shipped back to neglected wife and babe.

You did not know that fathers could be cruel.

Your mother protected you as best as she could, but slippery riverbanks and lixivium fumes were hardly safe for a little girl. So you learned to scurry about, eyes wide and feet soft as a dormouse. When your mother's whimpers and father's shouts split the silence of dusk you crouched and covered your mouth lest his attention switched to you. On the rare times your father called for you, you remembered your mother's hushed advice - be quiet, be meek, be sweet - and bobbed along to the waves of his fickle moods. When your stomach growled and gnawed you stifled it with a look at your mother's wan face, her fingers worked to the bone for mere pennies that were no longer spent on peat and produce. You lived in a cold house, an empty house. A strained house.

'Look at the size o'her, running wild, eating me out of house and home!' Lies. Your father hunched over your mother's shaking form, three meager brass farthings spilled across the crooked kitchen bench. 'You put her to work, or I will.'

The lye stung your skin. Sometimes you imagined yourself floating off, down in the frigid waters, your funeral clothes being salvinia and your shroud made of pennywort. Those thoughts rose like lily pads, big and blooming and plentiful, the autumn your mother passed.

'You've really got to work now, girl,' your Father sneered. 'Got to earn your keep now that your mother can't cry on your behalf.'

The glint in his eye pricked at your neck, made your spine stiffen and eyes shift away. Be quiet, be meek, be sweet. You wondered if your mother's advice would save you from his basest assertions, or encourage them. You would soon find out.

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

Ordinarily the Mid-Autumn festival was a slight reprieve, allowing a few days for your aching, numb fingers to warm and stretch as you enjoyed the city turned to colour. Ordinarily.

This year, you found yourself hauled down to the drinking district, your Father's blunt, filthy fingers digging into the soft meat of your upper arm. It was still daylight, thankfully, but you already felt exposed as he had you linger in the square near the public houses. You could already hear the hoots and laughter of raucous men enlivened by drink and company. The smell of stale ale and piss was not enough to cover the scent of fresh baking and roasted game drifting on the breeze. You shivered, your burned, you hungered.

Meek little dormouse, scurrying around the greasy ferret who held her tail under his claws.

Your Father's chance came as the sun was setting, candlelight just now visible through the slats and windows of taverns. Far from cozy, it reminded you of the lidded eyes of some lazy predator about to watch your ruination.

'I don't care if you are crusader to the gods themselves! Knight of the Realm or not, you can't come into my pub and throw furniture around like you're at the Solstice games!'

The snarling Madame looked comically small next to the absolute beast of a man currently ducking under the doorframe. Watching her chuck the splintered leg of a chair after him you thought her lucky that he didn't want more of a fuss. You had never seen a man so big, so broad, seeming bigger whilst dressed still in his mail and wearing the colours of the King. He merely grunted as he made his way to the tethering post, letting her threats and screeches fizzle into the cool, twilight air. Leather-gloved hands worked at the harness of the dappled stallion you had been admiring earlier, easily more than 18 hands tall and capable of carrying this brute. You had imagined earlier slicing that very harness and riding hard across the cobblestones away from your father. Away anywhere.

'Good sir, are you in need of lodgings?' The words dripped from your Father's lips like ichor. You could smell the sickly underlying rot.

The Knight's hands stilled, head still lowered. His voice rumbled out, deep and rough as gravel.

'You offerin', then? 'ow much will that cost me?'

'Well, it's busy in the Festival. The guest houses are full but my home is open to weary travelers-'

A barked laugh cut him off. The Knight raised his head, pinning your father in place like a moth in a hobbybook. You quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with a nearby fruit cart. His face was covered, a dark black slash across his lower face like an empty maw. But his eyes. You could have drowned in those eyes, dark as they were. They pulled you in more than the call of the river on your bad days. If you stared too long you'd never wade out.

'Ain't you charitable,' you couldn’t see his mouth but you were sure that he sneered.

'Well, a former soldier should be willing to support the Crown. Although, with a mouth to feed a few coins wouldn't go amiss..' his hand swept back and you tried not to cringe away.

'Former solider, eh?' Your Father clearly had the Knight's attention now. As did you. Though you continued to look away you felt his gaze like you felt touch. Like he was grasping you, keeping you still. Your head felt heavy as you raised it towards them, now a part of this bargain whether you wanted to be or not.

'I know what it's like to seek the comfort of a warm hearth and soft bed. I would not see you ride off into the cold night.'

The Knight huffed; you could almost mistake it for a laugh. Though quiet, the voices and laughter of the nearby inns seemed quieter, like all sound and light was absorbed by this armoured beast. Once, just after your mother died, you headed to the riverbank as always for work. It was barley daybreak, some of the older more experienced women already beginning their washing, but you walked on. And on. Until the river led you to its mouth, rushing and rocky and dangerous. You wanted to jump in. You felt the same now, gazing at this man.

'How much for the girl, then?' He looked right at you as he said it, catching your wide, staring eyes. You didn't blink, couldn't look away.

'She is my daughter! Sir, I-' that same rot, spewing out of his mouth.

'I didn't ask who she is, I asked 'ow much?'

Your Father took a step towards him, faltering under the weight of his gaze. He leaned, then, trying to seem ashamed. Trying to seem like a father should.

'Sir, she is my daughter. I can do nothing but take offence at what you are suggesting.'

The Knight pulled out a small velvet purse, heavy and distended with coins. They clinked as they smacked into the cobbles at your Father's feet. All pretenses dropped, then, as he scrambled to pick it up with greedily shaking fingers. Prize in hand, he found his courage as he sidled closer to him, thick neck open and exposed as he leaned in to whisper his betrayal. His filicide.

'She's a bit older, yes, but unused to the ways of men, mind. With a firm hand I'm sure she cou-' a gloved fist at his throat turned perfidy to gasps. You watched red bloom instantly under those fingers, and marveled at the strength. The violence.

'Your own daughter,' he sneered. 'What kind of man, soldier at that, would sell his daughter to a man like me?'

Your Father was bigger than you, yes, but looked like a poppet in the hands of this beast, so easily dragged towards him ready to be shaken in his maw.

'I'd love to think that she isn't yours, that she's some whore you peddle out to drunken leches in the alley. But you're slimier than an eel in birdshit, aren't ya?'

You didn't move, didn't speak as you saw his fingernails scrabbling uselessly against the unforgiving strength. You, for a small moment, felt the claw release your tail. Run, you thought. A look at this behemoth and his horse had you thinking again. Run where?

Be quiet, be meek, be sweet.

'Please!' The plea bubbled up your throat like acid.

He said nothing, did not loosen his grasp, as he tilted his head like a dog.

'It is as he says. He is my father,' you continued.

A scoff stilled your words.

'Some father, look at the state of ya.'

You looked down at your chapped, scarred hands. Your patched, slightly-too-short skirts. You felt the throb of the bruises on your upper arms, the beginnings of hollowness eating away at your usually plump cheeks.

'You mistake me, Sir,' You could barely hear your voice over the blood rushing in your ears. 'I am not asking for his life. I am asking you to take me with you. Please.'

Silence. His eyes flickered over you anew, contemplating. Your hummingbird heart fluttered in your chest.

'Close y'r eyes, girl. Until I say.' Your shocked hesitance made him growl. 'Now!'

The imprints of tavern candlelight burned behind your lids. You let the corners of your mouth flick up.

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

Your Knight's name was Simon. The Ghost, it was rumoured. You weren't seasoned on the field so you knew not of his reputation, but the reaction of those you encountered gave it away. Even without the blood staining his hands he was imposing. Tall, broad, intense. You still hadn't seen under the kerchief he kept around his face, but you spent many nights imagining. Was his nose crooked, or was it a trick of the light on fabric? Did he have stubble across his jaw that matched the fine, blond strands that decorated the top of his head? Did he smile? Scowl? Was he handsome?

He was gruff, certainly. You spent the first few days obeying your mantra - be quiet, be meek, be sweet -but it didn't provoke anything in him at all. Neither praise nor censure. It seemed, rather, that he was determined that your presence would be nothing more than a fact of circumstance. Not worth much fuss.

'She needs winter clothes. A nice dress. A travelling cloak. And some boots.'

That was how you found yourself perfectly still, getting prodded and pinned in the parlour of a tailor shop in the city's mid-tier. The seamstress' cheeks burned red as she turned her disapproving eyes between her task and the Knight who refused to leave the dressing area. He dwarfed the chaise, leather and chains indenting delicate brocade. After a grunted 'She's my Charge. If you want my coin, then 'm not leavin'' he sat silent. Just kept his eyes on your face. As always.

You couldn't find it in you to feel embarrassed. He'd done no more than see you in your petticoats, even at the guesthouses where you lodged for the night. An altogether better set up that you could've envisioned for yourself. You had thought your Father like a sly weasel, thought any future husband like a carrion crow ready to pick over whatever your Father left. But you thought Simon like a grizzled old guard dog. A dormouse held no interest when bigger prey was to be had. When you didn't pose a threat.

He clothed you. Fed you. Ordered hot bathwater for your room - a luxury you had never experienced - and otherwise left you alone. All he touched you with was his gaze, steady and unashamed. Strange how you now saw your silence -quiet, meek- as a barrier.

'Where are we going?' You worked up the courage to ask as you rode behind him up to the next tier of the city, seeing wooden roofs change to tile.

'The Palace.'

'The Palace? What, but what about me?'

'You asked me to take you wiv me, didn' ya?' you felt the rumble of his words all the way from his chest to your arms.

'Yes, but.. What, what will I do there? How will you explain this?'

You realised now your lack of foresight. You foolishly assumed that someone high-ranking wouldn't be starting brawls in lower-tier taverns. Or magistrating over scoundrels due to the sale of their daughters. You thought, perhaps, of an impoverished country knight who came to the city only for the festivities. You could bargain your way (or slip away) if he turned out to be just as bad as your progenitor, and make a living in one of the towns or hamlets that stretched along the woodlands of the Kingdom. Foolish girl.

'No one will ask questions. No one will bother ya,' You believed him, felt the threat in his words.

'But they'll think. They'll wonder.' I wonder, you thought to yourself.

'Can't stop that,' He snorted. 'Why don't you ask me what you really want to ask?' He pulled sharply on the reigns, causing you to clutch hard around his waist and whisper your words pressed into his back.

'What are you going to do with me?'

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

"Ho, Simon! Hard to drag ye from yer hermitage in Northmire,' you stared as a smiling Isleman slapped your Knight hard on the back, hooking his arm and dragging him down into the booth. 'And ye've brought a wee Bonnie thing with y-'

'That'll do, Johnny,' Simon growled. Still, he let himself be handled onto the bench. He looked at you, standing still, staring at the other side of the table. 'Well? You sitting down or wot?'

You scrambled down beside him, too timid to sit next to the laughing stranger. Too wary to put your back to the rest of the tavern. Past Simon's profile, you snuck a peek at the man - Johnny - and found him looking back at you. He looked friendly, sure, but you were reminded of the harriers that plucked young hens from the woods. His eyes were too sharp, too bright. His smile was a little wicked, too. Too intense to be without danger.

'Well, the King'll be happy. He'll finally have a real reason to say naw to all the harpy mothers pecking at him about their single daughters. Cannae say I expected it, but congratulations,' You blinked. 'Cannae believe you beat Garrick to it an' all, thought fer sure he'd be the dutiful one. Well, first that is.'

Simon ignored him as he flagged down the serving girl. He ordered for you, as always.

'Bit bold of ye, though, plastering her in your colours. Scared o' a challenge to her? Like anyone would chance their arm seeing her wi' you, Your Grace,' Johnny laughed again, blue eyes shining as he watched Simon's jaw tick under the scarf. 'Go oan then, introduce us.'

'Dormouse, meet Johnny.'

'Aw, come oan!' Johnny leaned over, then. 'He's forgotten his manners all the way oot in Northmire. I'm John MacTavish, of the Northern Isles. I've known this one fer a while, but never knew him tae settle.'

You squeaked out your own name in return, quickly taking a sip of the weak ale Simon pushed in front of you. Gave yourself more time to take stock. He too had the King's colours in a sash across his chest. Unlike Simon, he wasn't wearing full mail or a face covering. A heavy shirt of forest green, a red tartan kilt, and thick knitted socks were his attire of choice. Blue warpaint swirled from his temples down to his jaw, and he'd shaved his hair only on the sides. Not commonly seen in the Tiered City, but you knew the islanders to the North of the mountain wore similar garb. You let your eyes catch the glint of a dagger in his socks, as well as the hefty broadsword hooked by the table. The warpaint on his face was not just for decoration.  

You stayed quiet, munching on thick slices of bread dipped in broth as they talked, Low, rumbling voices and warmth from the hearth lulled you to a wakeful sleep, eyes still open but mind calm. MacTavish had called Simon 'Your Grace'. You were wearing his colours. You were going to the Palace. Something about that niggled at you, deep at the base of your skull.

You woke to Simon gently sliding you along the bench. Big hands and stained fingers so soft, like you were an overripe damson he wanted to preserve.

'Time for bed. C'mon, mouse.'

'Why do you call me that?' You murmured, still feeling his arm around you as he led you to your rooms. 'I never told you that was my Mother's nickname for me. Dormouse.'

You felt him huff out a laugh, pressed close against you.

'Didn't need ya to. It's obvious.' he answered after a pause. He leaned down, bracing you against the  room door. Only his scarf separated you from his flesh, close as you were. Wide eyes meeting dark. You shared the same breath.

'You're quiet like one. Seem sweet. But I saw you'd be willing to chew y'r own leg off to escape a trap,' he whispered that horrible truth so tenderly. His blunt, calloused fingers left firetrails on your cheek. 'My mouse. My survivor.'

His thick forearm braced your back as he opened the door, stopping your from tumbling into the emptiness behind. He needn't have bothered; you'd already fallen into him.

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

'How many more days' to the Palace?'

'Two, if we don't loiter. Johnny'll meet us at the gates to the Citadel.'

You looked up, seeing the Palace fortress taller and more intimidating than it had ever seemed down at the city's lowest levels. You were awed by the mason and marble buildings up here, the clean streets and cleaner people. Everything seemed to gleam this high-up. This close to the sun. Close to the Palace. Your skin had started to heal, after a week or so without labour and with good meals and rest, but you could see the discolouration that would never fade. It made you pick at your sleeves. Dormice didn't gleam. They hid.

You looked at the wide streets and their sun-bleached stones. Nowhere to hide here.

'And when we get there? What will happen?'

'We'll greet the Court. I have news for the King. They'll be a Ball f' the Festival. And you,' Simon stilled your steps, 'You will be good. You'll do as I tell ya. Not everyone is a friend. And I won't always be wiv ya.'

Perhaps you imagined it but you swore you could see something soft - warm - in those dark eyes of his as you nodded. You had years of experience avoiding the attentions of predators; you could do the same for Simon.

When you reached the Citadel Gates Johnny was waiting as foretold, chatting with a guardsman by the pulleys. He perked up as he spotted Simon's horse, all dappled grey with black skull harness. A proud danse macabre, carrying The Ghost.

'Here they are, the Duke and Duchess of Northmire! Let them pass, go oan. Here, raise his banner.'

It was a good thing that your blood turned to ice in your veins; it prevented you from letting go of Simon's waist. You watched as a square banneret in the same colours as your new travelling cloak - and dresses, and overskirts, and, and - rose to flutter slightly below the banner of the King. The wind lured the heavy fabric to thwack against the sky, echoing the drumbeats of your tambour heart. What were you marching towards?

Johnny had mounted his own stead, canting a light pace next to you and Simon.

'Ye should hae seen the ponces and pricks - sorry, My Lady - who came riding up here in their carriages this mornin'. I ken they think they were showing off but the guards and I were havin' a barry laugh watching the wheels get stuck in the cobbles and streets from the mid-tier all the way up-'

'Y'r point, Johnny?'

'Alright, cool yer blood. The point is, we've got tae change our travel plans. Be at the Palace tomorrow, nae a day later.' He sent Simon a significant look that you weren't so stunned as to miss. 'We've got a night hosted by Garrick's sister, then we'll be off in the morning.'

'Garrick's sister' was a comely, slender woman with sharp eyes and a kind smile. She, or rather the Garrick family, kept a townhouse in the top tier close to the Citadel as well as their estate at Thamesbury.  As a close peers and allies of her brother, her doors and hospitality were open to you all. You didn't want to seem like the uncultured urchin you were, but even the entry hall surpassed any luxury you'd seen thus far. You had to suppress an instinctual flinch as her manservant stepped behind you to reach for your cloak. Or perhaps the lessons from the streets were written all over your wide eyes. You saw Johnny chew on a smile as Simon glared down at the man, massive arms crossing across his great oak chest.

'That'll do,' he growled. 'There are saddlebags to be seen to.'

The poor man scarpered with a stuttered, 'Of course, Your Grace.'

You stared after your Knight as he stomped up the stairs, heavy footfalls disturbing the frames of the Garrick ancestors across the walls. He looked back, silhouetted with a hand outstretched.

'C'mon then.'

His rough, warm hand enclosed yours and you followed him to exegesis.

Ensconced in your chambers - shared chambers, marriage chambers - you found your tongue.

'Should I be calling you 'Your Grace'?' Be meek, be sweet.

He snorted, inelegant against the filigree and flowers that bore witness to your unsettled feelings.

Be meek, be sweet. Be meek, be sweet. Be meek-

'I do not speak in jest, Simon. Sorry, 'Your Grace',' Your mouth twisted, trembling with the force of holding back. 'I asked you to take me with you, yes, and I have tried not to inconvenience you beyond…beyond the circumstances of our meeting. But I must demand, now. Tell me what is going on.'

He merely tilted his head, old grizzled dog on a velvet chaise. You could see his lips - what did they look like, what did they feel like? - move under the black of his kerchief.

'We're in a guest room, talkin'. Listenin' to you ask stupid questions.'

'If the question seems stupid it is because you have made it so!' You felt your stubby nails bite into your calloused palms. The feeling made you shake, brought tears to your eyes. Shame and fear turned saliva to acid. You flung your hands towards him. 'Look! You see these. These are not the hands of a girl addressed as 'Duchess'. If this is a joke, I ask you to stop it now. I am grateful to you, I will remain so always, but playing in this manner is lower than whatever my Father had-'

"Do not. Compare me. To that man.' His growl cut you from cutaneous to cartilage, exposing your raw, soft innards. You hoped he'd be kind. Even if he chewed on your heart, popping gristle between sharp canines, perhaps you'd be a part of him, dripping down his throat with an intimacy you longed to initiate.

Viper-quick, your hands were in his. Your lap was in his too. Too warm, too bulky, too close.

'Quit y'r squirmin'. Look at me, no. Look!' Your jaw was turned more gently than you expected from hands made for violence. You couldn't meet his eyes, but that mattered not as he brought your hand and his up to your sight. 'Look. My hands aren't delicate neither.'

You took a deep breath, feeling him pant underneath you, and reached to cup his hand in yours. Butterfly-soft, you turned it, watching candlelight catch on silver scars and pockmarks. Deep gouges and veins raised valleys between knuckles and wrist. One finger seemed slightly too short, like the top joint had been lost in some gruesome accident. When you looked at the palm, it was calloused. You had already felt its roughness, deep imprints from years of work. Of war. He flexed, closing his fingers around yours.

'I'm not 'of the blood'. I'm good at spillin' it, but the stuff inside me isn't worth much. Was a Squire. Then a Knight. Caught some eyes on the battlefield and was sent to defend the borders. Became a Margrave for it an' all. Now I'm a Duke. The titles don't mean much t'me, except I've got more coin and can tell nobles to fuck off without spending a day in the stocks.'

You're not sure whether your sigh was a laugh.

'Then, what? Please, Simon. What are we doing here?'

With your face this close to him you were reminded of the night in the tavern where you first met Johnny. You felt that you were sharing the same breath then. Now, here on his lap, you felt more. The warmth of his body that leeched through your skirts. The hard press of tough leather plackart. The pounding of his heartbeat - or was it yours - as you clutched his hand with trembling strength. That same trembling strength had you meeting his eyes at last, your position allowing you to be equal in height. His pupils dilated under scarred eyebrows, deep brown melting into pitch black.

'I took you wiv' me. It was sealed in blood. You're mine.'

You cupped his jaw, feeling stubble peek through his scarf. The sensation grounded you, kept you from flying off as his words used all the world's gravity.

'Bit of a terrible dowry, blood.' You whispered, a whisker away from his lips.

'I'm not made for anything else.'

Wrong, you thought as you pressed your parted lips to his covered ones. You were made for me.

His hand trailed up your arm as yours trailed across his jaw, two bodies with one mind. With deft, strong fingers you removed the last barrier between you. Black fluttered to the floor, still flesh-warm, and your lips met again. His lips were a little thin, but hungry. He groaned, supplicant to your taste, as you sought to press him closer. You could feel stubble tickling your chin, and the firm outline of another scar close to his cupid's bow. Lightning struck across the back of your neck, making you shudder against him. All you could taste, all you could smell, all you could feel was Simon.

And he all was yours.

After his face mask fell, so too did all barriers. You feel asleep together, entwined on the same bed. You awoke to his face made soft in the morning light. Sunbeams danced in the crevices of his scars, pale and rugged like the mountain you'd looked up at as a child. You watched, sentry, as you mapped the features of his face. Golden hair, golden stubble. A crooked nose that had been broken and set several times. Tributaries of scars running down to a strong jaw. And dark, unwavering eyes that creased a little as you met his gaze.

'G'mornin'.'

'Good morning,' You murmured, still sleep-soft. You traced along his lips, laughing as he nipped softly. 'Why do you cover this up?'

'To preserve my modesty,' he smirked as his tongue flicked out to soothe your nipped fingertips.

'Simon!'

'I'll tell ya. One day. When we get back 'ome. I don't trust everyone in this city.'

'You can trust me,' you whispered as you pressed your tingling digits into his mouth, catching on blunt teeth.

You felt the heat of his gaze bring blood to your cheeks. His eyes didn't leave yours as he pressed his teeth down softly. You knew the dog wouldn't bite.

'I know, Simon. I trust you too,' You leaned your forehead against his. 'Just, wherever you go, take me with you.'

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

Got a part ii drafted (palace intrigue, meet John and Gaz, Ghost and his mouse finally enjoy marital rites *wink*, conflict, etc., eventual HEA) but I'm not sure if there's an audience for it. And this is the first writing I've published in y e a r s since my cringe forays into dark videogame smut as a 19 y/o, so I'm not really confident. This is unedited/not proofread. Here ya go~

[thegeniusofplaytimeco]

Chapter 11: A Tight Squeeze for Everyone

Here you are at last, the preparation is as good as complete and it's back to the factory. The goal: to retrieve the real bodies of the Smilling Critters. But navigating with 7 people is very tiring, especially when some of them have to talk all the time. You are also greeted by someone who is already ringing your alarm bells.

---

I am back! Finally, the next chapter of the story! As I said on my Wattpad, writing this was a long story, With the burning Heat and everything. And here are a few of the future chapter names I can already say: - Moments before disaster - In a Silent Way - The Theory of True happiness - Truth - Break my Heart Well, with that I would wish YOU a lot of fun reading, best leave the endnotes too!

---

"First aid kit?"

"Yep!"

You're all in your living room. You're standing right in front of the TV with a big backpack leaning on your right shoulder, but your eyes are facing forward, all of the critters are sitting on the couch. They were sitting in the same order as always: Hoppy and Kickin on the far end, followed by Crafty and Bobby, then DogDay and CatNap and finally Bubba and Picky.

Right now, for once, it's different, they're all completely focused on what you're saying and doing, because you're discussing the plan and your luggage for the last time. Right, in a few hours you'll be driving back to the factory and now was the last chance to check everything and avoid mistakes.

The division, chosen by you, was based on interest and selection. Everyone had a reason for what they put in their luggage. You had the most important role, everything medical and documentary was in your large Backpack. Apart from the small things, like a first aid kit. Your backpack was filled to the brim with medications such as Dramamine, Cough Drops, 70 percent isopropyl alcohol and much more. You store it in the back of your mind in a kind of list: First Aid ➤ Specialized Items ➤ Additional Supplies.

But the most important thing was in a small pocket behind the backpack: Ciclosporin. The drug that is needed when body parts such as organs or tissue are transplanted to suppress the immune system and prevent rejection of the transplant: Immunosuppressants. As the laboratory may have been completely lost in the experiments, it may no longer be in stock, so you take it with you from home.

You have thought of every little detail, as always.

[ "There are parts of the human being that are still a great mystery." ]

It's going to be a long trip, and somehow you have a strange feeling in your stomach. As your eyes go from critter to critter, this feeling grows stronger. You can't shake it, it burns itself into your head like a dream you've always wished for.

But it's bad at the same time. You not only have the feeling, but also the idea of what horrors await you in the factory. You will probably all be pushed to your limits, both humanly and existentially. It will be horrible, especially for you.

After all, you are the one who made them all the way they are.

"The construction plans for the Main Entrance to Train Station areas?"

"Yes! All in my backpack!" Replies Bobby, far too enthusiastic and nervous for your liking. She has no real idea what to expect, they haven't even been out of Playcare yet, so why the tone in her voice? To you, the Smilling Critters were just one thing most of the time:

Idiots

"I think we have everything, Y/N. I think we can go, I mean the sooner we go the better, don't you?" Bubba looks confident, as far as you can tell. They have at most a couple traits for each emotion that change when expressed, less than humans. Bubba pushes his trunk a little higher and strikes a thinking pose. "Since our bodies are uncooled right now, and the temperature could drop constantly,

Like I don't know, does he think I'm an idiot? Why are you explaining it as if I don't know? I'm the one who explained it to you. Or is that some kind of consideration for your friends?

No matter.

"Yes, go...let's go."

[ "You can sacrifice pieces of your flesh but still be considered selfish for keeping your bones "]

The feeling is tearing you apart, not just the nervousness you're covering up, no. In the end, it's all your fault and you're hoping that the feeling of guilt won't catch up with you. If you meet the prototype, even you can't imagine how the conversation will go.

Will you really face the horror of the experiments, death and all the dead employees? Even if you have always been quite unemotional in life up to now, it could be that everything is taking its toll on you.

Maybe even a genius like you is pushed to his human limits, both mentally and physically.

So here we go.

<hr> </hr>

"Will we be there soon?"

You don't answer. Your eyes are fixed on the dark road and the trees in the background, both hands on the steering wheel. Your ears have so far ignored the critters, even when CatNap and DogDay sitting in the passenger seat start talking loudly. The other 6 of them sit in the back and talk louder, most of the time playing "I spy with my little eye" or talking about stupid shit like little kids. Picky is already talking about the food she will prepare in the factory after we take a break or sleep.

"Anon"

So it was quiet again for a while. Kickin kept asking in a 7-minute rhythm when you would finally be there. Yes, you counted the time between each question. Your eyes waver on the mirror for a fraction of a millisecond, and Hoppy's eyes meet yours for a moment. You know her look, the emptiness in her eyes, the tired and unwilling manner. A few days ago, that was you. Or you still are, after all, you've hardly changed at all, your habits have remained the same and so has your realistic and logical way of thinking.

People don't change overnight. People like you take years, maybe not at all. They die alone, with no purpose in their lives and goals that never existed. Empathy Loose beings who only walked this earth because they had no other choice, in fact you have done everything so far because somewhere deep in your mind there was no other choice.

Hoppy looks just like you think.

She definitely still hates me. I can't blame her, and I don't, because I don't care. But she's the only one of the critters who still has that look on her face. I wonder how long it will last.

Your hand sinks down and finds itself on your right knee. You're wearing a white shirt, every single button buttoned all the way down. Over it is a black coat, it reaches about your knees, lies flat on your shoulder and covers you. The exact room temperature was one of the factors you can't determine exactly, so you have a coat and a change of clothes in your backpack next to the medical supplies.

The coat also serves as sight protection for the pistol, which you conceal in the inside pocket.

It's not just that the Smilling Critter shouldn't see the weapon. In case you run into other experiments, which is bound to happen, it's an extra layer of protection. Every experiment has a certain vulnerability, and you have great aim with the weapon. Shooting was basically nothing more than physics, predicting fast shots based on gravity using probability was not difficult, especially not for a genius like you.

"I spy with my little eye, something that is blue and square!" Bobby shouts it loudly through the whole car, for a moment you see CatNap slightly folding down his ears.

You know exactly what she means, and it's not really difficult to find out. Along the road you are currently driving along is a large pillar with a signpost saying: Playtime Co. Toy manufacturing company. The dark road, slightly mixed with fog, high yellow/orange lights above the road and the huge factory building already in view reminds you of a dream from a few years ago, it even feels like déjà vu at times.

So we're almost there, 700 meters to go.

There it is again: that feeling in your stomach. You can hardly describe it, as if you are now experiencing a moment that you dreamed of a few days ago, and these are usually not good moments.

"Dude, I'm really excited! I mean we're going to see the other side too, so it can't be that bad!

He didn't understand what we were doing here, did he? Fucking idiot.

600 meters.

"Kickin, what we're about to do is really dangerous and not cool, are you really aware of that?" Bubba answers him directly, like some kind of teacher who hears his student whispering a question.

500 meters.

"Yeah Bubba, I get it man!"

"Calm down, we all have to keep a cool head now. Everything is at stake here people, we finally have the chance to change everything. I mean...just imagine it: Enjoying life in a normal body and the normal world!"

Maybe they not only have the chance to change everything, but so do you.

400 meters.

"H-Hey...So...would you all like to...live together later?" Crafty asks, shyly, her head so low it's almost on her knees. She stutters slightly, probably already caught up in the anxiety the factory triggers in her. She sits in the middle seat, the smallest and thinnest next to Bobby. Now that no one is answering and it has become uncomfortably quiet, she quickly starts talking again.

"W-Well, we don't even have to

"That's a great idea Crafty!"

"Yes Crafty, really, not bad. Then we can all move into something like a shared flat later and go to school or college together."

300 meters.

He probably got the word "flat-sharing community" from one of your books. After all, it only appeared in one of the books you had on your shelf in the bedroom, although you never actually allowed him to get to it, in some of the documentaries of your work. But the word only ever appeared once... Damn genius. You can memorize everything perfectly, even better than fucking people with a photographic memory.

"Sooooo" Kickin starts talking again, a little bored, but at the same time waiting for something. "How are we supposed to do it, so I don't think any of you have a lot of money to just rent us an apartment."

"Oh, I think you earn very well as a scientist, don't you?" Hoppy, who else. The passive aggressiveness is hard to miss in her voice. Her bunny ears are hanging way over her head and her eyes are on the rearview mirror, trying to meet yours.

This is followed by silence. Nobody talks, nobody breathes loudly or anything else. Everyone seems to have understood what Hoppy is getting at:

She thinks because I did all this to them, I'm going to buy them a house now? Interesting way of thinking.

200 meters.

Your eyes focus on the large, visible parking lot that you are slowly approaching. You slowly press more gently on the pedal, only just under 40 km/h and the engine is no longer audible. The vibrations still follow you through the gearbox and drive your train of thought.

In case the Higher Management elevator doesn't work because of the power, then we have to walk a much longer one. First the Main Entrance then to the Gift Shop, through the Security Room and into the Main Lobby. Most likely into the Power Room for the doors and through the Warehouse. Then in the Make-A-Friend into the Conveyor Belt System, therefore the Ventilation Shaft. Then we should end up in the huge scaffolding structure, come across the Poppy room that was set up there at the time and through there to Ludwig's office.

100 meters.

"Dude, we're really back here."

"Yes Kickin, that was the whole plan wasn't it?"

"I didn't mean it like that, I just mean this feeling, do you understand?"

"I know what Kickin means! That warm fuzzy because we're all in the car together?"

"No Bobby, I don't think that's what he means."

"y-you are really loud"

"Crafty, I think it's the excitement."

"Yeah man! The excitement before the damned doom"

"Sigh...Kickin"

"Yes, yes. It's all right, I'll be quiet."

"Huh, I thought Bubba remembers them all?"

"What?!"

"We can't leave all the plans to Bubba, can we?"

"Well... actually, yes"

"Kickin!"

"It doesn't matter, we have him by our side, you know...he's a genius"

[ "Let him take care of it, he's a genius" ]

You have arrived.

The parking lot looks exactly the same as the day you disappeared with the Smilling Critters. There are loads of cars here, all different makes and colors, some of which literally glow in the darkness of the night. But not a person in sight anywhere, all dead, or for the people looking for them, gone.

You barely spend any time in the parking lot, you at the front and the critters all behind you. First up were CatNap and DogDay, following your steps side by side to the front door as if you were some kind of guide. Then came Hoppy and Kickin, just a few steps behind them but basically faster. Behind them was the rest, talking the whole time about how "It looks really creepy out here, so abandoned." Or "I think it's much nicer outside than inside in Playcare."

Two large glass doors, actually open, as if they weren't automatic. You're not surprised, after all, all hell will have broken loose in here if a riot of experiments has happened.

You stop, the Backpack on your back shakes slightly, but you don't care. Normally these doors should be closed, partly because of burglars and partly for security reasons.

"What's wrong?" Crafty asks, seemingly a little frightened that you've suddenly stopped. You don't answer, this is more important. You stop between the glass doors and take a closer look. Normally it works via a combination of sensors, a motor and a control unit. But you don't need a closer look to see that the sensor isn't showing any light.

And that's it: the power is off.

"The power is off" That's all you have to say, you don't even have to turn to the critters to hear their reactions.

"God damn."

"Oh my."

"And what should we do now, DogDay?"

With that, you turn slightly sideways towards them. They all stood in a small circle, heads interlocked, seemingly thinking together about the next step. It looked like a rainbow circle, the different colors of fur and their radiance unavoidable

"We..." With that, DogDay looks up, his eyes meeting yours Which are not directed at him. He easily follows the direction and sees that You're looking at Hoppy. She wasn't standing in the circle, close by, but clearly somewhere else mentally. DogDay looks away, once to CatNap, who only gives him a stoic look. Then once to Bubba, who only answers him with a slow nod, and with that DogDay seems satisfied. "We'll just follow Y/N's plan, the long way through the factory."

You walk straight in and are greeted by a cash register with a huge Huggy Wuggy drawing on the wall. All you could see was his head and the iconic red lips, next to the head was a yellow speech bubble with the word: Welcome. Straight ahead of you, to the left and right are two paths, which are blocked by a turnstile barrier.

Without wasting another glance, you go in, stand at the front for a moment and think for a moment.

On the left is the security room, on the right: the Gift Shop.

You hardly need to think about the whole thing, this is just the beginning of a long trip. Behind you, you can hear the critters all slowly coming in, heavy and light footsteps, some of them already breathing heavily. The reason is definitely the air: the smell of blood is subtle, but noticeable.

"Wait here for a moment." Go to the Security Room, where you should always have a spare GrabPack according to the regulations. In front of the door is a keypad with 9 different colors on it. Most of them don't matter, except for four. This system was only introduced 2 years ago, and was actually there so that if people tried to break in they wouldn't get far. However, every damn idiot should know that there are only 6561 combinations in a field of nine colors. That may seem like a hell of a lot to most people, but if you think about it, if you only need 5 seconds per entry, you need almost 9 hours.

Anyone who really wants to break in here would simply try the standard combinations. Like a number sign, so first check whether it's just one color, four times.

If you have eyes and ears, go to the Gift Shop. Directly on the ceiling is a small train, a model train. The colors are painted directly on it, in order. You were fundamentally against this idea: employees who can't even remember a four-color code shouldn't be entitled to a GrabPack. But since Ludwig told you every day about employees who once again couldn't get into the security room, you didn't care.

The dome of your index finger feels strange on the colored surface of the keys. It was as if you were pressing on a stone, the surface is actually slightly uneven, perhaps by a few millimeters.

Did someone try to escape the riot? Then the person here was scratching at it the whole time. Did they not know the code for the room? Anyone who can't even remember a four-color code probably doesn't deserve to have a shelter like this.

green, pink, yellow and red.

Your thoughts come to a halt as you enter the room. There is no one here. No sign of any people, apart from the subtle scent of blood in the air.

You don't know why, but somehow... you think about the thought you just had.

No one made it in here as protection? Did someone betray the code to experiments and sacrifice the others? Never. Or were the people really too stupid to get in here?

Your eyes take in the room: to your left are two chairs, followed by a table and then a square glass container in the wall. In front of you are 30 monitors on several tables, with 4 chairs in front of them. You walk directly towards the glass on the wall. Normally you need the tape on the reception desk or the tape in the gift store, but it doesn't matter.

You're smarter: just press the play button on the tape player and look: The glass opens and a GrabPack is there for the taking.

You can't believe that the whole system was so stupid, actually you can, but that there really were people who thought you really had to put in the right tape? Pathetic. People are so pathetic, with their simplistic thinking.

You grab it, put it over your shoulders and the plastic backpack-like part behind your backpack. The blue hand is in front of you, while the back part is on top of the backpack. But you can easily keep your balance, even with the extra weight.

The Red Hand should still be in the warehouse.

You go back to the main entrance where the critters are already waiting for you. Even though they are not small like their cartoon versions, some are even bigger than you. These were DogDay and Kickinchicken, they were about 6'1, pretty tall for an experiment. That also put them among the tallest of all the experiments, except for a few outliers like CatNap (the praying mantis version), Huggy Wuggy and the prototype's True Form.

On the left as you walk, you notice one of the marketing posters with the words "Poppy want's to Play". You never really liked Poppy, of course, she was one of the first creations created by the Doctor back then. That's as far as they got, and that's why she was regarded as a kind of goddess. But she was basically just a child whose organs were transplanted into a little doll, no, it's much worse than that. The child's innards were optimized so that they would fit into the little doll. Only one lung, the heart made smaller, the intestines shortened and parts of the brain completely removed.

But in your opinion, it wasn't a good job. The doctor, Harley Sawyer, didn't pay attention to too many things, and that's one of the standard mistakes of a human being. You weren't like that, in a situation your brain immediately switches into high gear, it was like overthinking, but hardly comparable. You see every possible scenario as if it were drawn on a tree diagram, with every outcome and consequence of every action. You were one step ahead of everyone, not just one, on average more than 5.

The only reason people thought Harley Sawyer was so good was because...they didn't know you.

"What's that?" Bobby asks, slightly puzzled but interested. Her eyes widen, she steps slightly out of the circle the critters have formed and waits for an answer.

"Is that one of those GrabPacks?" Bubba shouts a little louder, standing up straight and glancing at the Blue Hand sticking out to your left.

You don't answer, it would be wasted anyway because Bobby has an attention span of a few seconds and would forget it straight away. So you answer with a curt nod and turn towards the large Huggy drawing on the wall.

You walk forward, along the turnstile barriers and into the small dark semi-circular middle room. The only thing here is the metal-blocked door and the small blue scanner above it. You adjust the GrabPack a little so that it is not so heavy on your shoulders, after all, the journey is only just beginning and it will be on your shoulders for a long time to come.

Behind you, you hear the footsteps of the Smilling Critters, two quietly at first and then the rest. They've already looked around a bit, you saw that out of the corner of your eye earlier and because Crafty was still looking towards the Gift Shop in the circle. That's why they're making loud noises, because they know there's no one here, so they're safe.

With your left hand, you pull the small red trigger under the blue hand and watch as it shoots out and attaches itself to the blue scanner above the large gate. It takes a few seconds, but a small bar above the scanner starts to load immediately.

"Wow, this hand is really cool."

"I'm sure it would be easy to get into cupboards if you're small."

"Is there some kind of computer chip in there?"

They talk far too much.

The beam is full, the metal gate slowly rises and only one thing can be seen from afar: A giant Huggy Wuggy.

What is he doing here?

You walk forward slowly, instinct sharp because of the experiment, which is now within a 20-meter radius of you. You are not the only one who has noticed him, even if the critters take longer.

"DUDE! HOLY SHIT!"

"Kickin! Stop Screaming!"

"Kick, You really Scared me!"

Can't they all shut up for a few minutes?

"Guys, c-calm down. Have you forgotten that we're not alone?" You don't turn around, preferring to keep your eyes on the most important thing: Huggy. DogDay seems to be trying to calm the others down, even though you can literally feel his body shaking. "We've got Y/N, he-he's helping us."

Silence falls again for the time being, only heavy breathing can be heard behind you. You step forward into the huge room of the main lobby. The typical colored squares on the floor, the toy boxes lying around, the doors around you. The feeling is hard to describe, the closest you would get is if you were in a dark end of the hallway waiting to finally be found.

"I...I'm scared," Crafty mumbles, completely disturbed by the sudden change in atmosphere.

The only thing in the whole room where the light was is with him. Huggy Wuggy stands tall with a big smile on his face while not moving a centimeter. His left hand is taut next to his figure, the other holding the huge sign that reads: Playtime Co.

You observe him more closely.

The blue color of his body looks much too fresh. His eyes are slightly wider than in the labs, is it the human flesh he ate? Why are there these toy boxes everywhere?

"Wait here for a moment."

You walk around the area and keep an eye out. The various rooms that were all closed off: Testing, Innovation, Theater, Cafeteria, GrabPack-exclusive Room, and the Power Room that keeps the electricity flowing to the Make-A-Friend hallway.

But something was wrong: there was a hole in the large metal gate to the Make-A-Friend Hallway. A medium-sized hole, about the diameter of a knife, in the bottom left-hand corner.

Did someone sneak through there? Was someone trying to escape there? Shit, are we not alone?

"What's going on?"

"Is something wrong Y/N?"

You don't answer and look at them. They are still standing at the front of the room, all with their eyes fixed on Huggy. They look at him as if he's going to move on them at any second and eat them all.

Although that is also possible. Huggy is probably in standby mode right now, he won't be hungry for human flesh and therefore won't cause any problems for the time being.

Your eyes fixate on the metal gate again, but this time not on the small hole, but on the scanner above it. You shoot the blue hand of the GrabPack at it and don't really expect anything, after all nothing should happen as the power is off.

The person who made a hole in the metal gate here is bloody stupid. How can you get any further without electricity? This power room conducts the electricity in this direction in the first place.

Before the scanner bar fills up, a short circuit sounds. A voltage can be seen, small and quite fast, running from the scanner along the cable and then stopping at the power room. You follow it, a few steps and you are standing right in front of the room labeled "POWER". Next to it was a small drawing of Huggy, but he was unimportant for now.

At least until you hear a small metallic sound behind you.

You turn around in a flash, feel your backpack shaking on your back and the GrabPack about to fall off. Your eyes wide open, your breath held for a second and you felt the adrenaline from your brain run completely through your body.

You analyze Huggy's form.

He didn't move. Not a bit. He is standing on the same square meter, his feet are in the same position as 27 seconds ago.

But now a key was hanging from his right hand. A small yellow key with a triangular head.

The key to the Power Room.

Most people would be shocked now, after all, a key has appeared out of nowhere in his right hand. But you, no, you're not like most people. Without a second thought, you shoot out the blue hand, grab the key and pull it back with the trigger.

You take it in your right hand and step straight back to the power room. You are about to go in until you hear the critters.

"Hey, Y/N..."

Ugh.

You turn to them, they are already standing in a kind of circle again. This time they all turn their heads towards you. All of them are trembling, if only slightly. The fear was easy to see, unexplored territory and situations that have not already been explored always trigger panic in the brain.

"C-can we go with you?"

No.

"It's really creepy here."

Did I ask?

"Huggy was never that scary."

You've only seen him in a cartoon, what did you expect?

You already knew that they get scared so quickly, but you're still annoyed. The power room would only take you a few minutes at most. You know the wiring diagrams by heart and the only thing you have to do there is to connect a high voltage connection to another point via two conductors. If anything, you need 30 seconds.

"Come then"

Have you gone soft? If you had been here a month ago, you would never have let them come with you. You wouldn't have cared what happened to them, whether they survived or were gradually torn to pieces by Huggy. But now? No, you can't just leave them here, it's like morality. But you haven't changed much yet.

You walk one step faster, into the dark corridor with the red sign "STAFF ONLY". Simply push open the black glass door and you are already in the Power Room. Lots of small gray cabinets, behind which there are small systems and distributors. The company's electricians should have made more of an effort to distribute the power boxes, then the power would certainly not have failed so easily in the riot.

You shoot the blue hand at one of the power cores, turning the extension blue, which is a sign that voltage is flowing through it. You waste no time, walk once around the room, glide along the conductor with the thin, energized arm and reach your destination.

The critters watch you like little children, which they actually are, at least in part. Big eyes and two open mouths that look like the left arm is shining blue and an atmosphere that was a change from the one you just had.

"Wow."

"What a beautiful color."

"Can I touch that?"

"Better not do it Bobby, I think there's electricity running through it..."

What a bunch of idiots.

You turn around and something catches your eye. It's not as if you hadn't seen it before, you just didn't want to stop and take a closer look because it would take time.

It was a destroyed boogie bot surrounded by spattered blood, above it on the wall was a drawing of The Prototype's hand. The only word there was "Wonderful".

The riot seems to have happened a long time ago, the blood is already so dark. But what's with the Wonderful? Does the prototype want to assemble his own body with the corpse parts just because I told Ludwig that I wasn't helping?

You turn around, walk back down the corridor to the main lobby and notice something.

Huggy has disappeared.

Your eyes only see the empty pedestal where he stood a few minutes ago. Only the lights above it were also on and all shone downwards, where no one was.

Has he just come out of stand-by mode? Right now when we were all in the power room? No way, he was awake the whole time and was just waiting for us to let him out of our sight.

The critters don't make a single sound, not even DogDay's tail moves. You don't have to turn around to see their fear, the loud breathing you hear is enough. None of them talk, whereas they usually all talk at the same time.

As you shoot the Blue Hand at the scanner and watch the bar slowly fill up, you think.

Not only is Huggy now in our path, no. There is definitely a human here who is taking the same route as us, otherwise the hole would be here for no reason. So a human and an experiment directly in our path.

You let them know what you had never done before.

"We're...we're not alone."

This opens the metal gate to the Make-A-Friend hallway and you see a long blue arm clinging to a door far away.

---

All right, that's it for now. But who is this mysterious person who, instead of solving the electricity puzzle, simply made a hole in the door and crawled through? I hope we meet them soon. As I said before, here are some of the names of future chapter names that I can already name: - Moments before disaster - In a Silent Way - The Theory of True happiness - Truth - Break my Heart Have fun reading, leave a Like and a comment!

[bluejaysandblackbats]

If There’s Nothing Missing In My Life…

Fandom: DC Comics, Superfam

Summary: Newly-emancipated popstar and child actor, Conner (screen name: Lucky) navigates high school and stardom on his own.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Conner Kent, Lois Lane, Roxy Leech, Rex Leech, Lois Lane, Clark Kent, Hillary Chang

Additional Tags: Highschool AU, Celebrity AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Exploitation, References to Depression, Conner Kent Needs a Hug, Conner Luthor, Lex Luthor is Conner’s Parent, Childhood Trauma, Self-Confidence Issues, Teen Angst, Angst, POV First Person, No Powers AU, Conner Kent-centric, Bisexual Conner Kent, POV Conner Kent, Protective Lex Luthor, Child Celebrity AU

Chapter Three: Turkey Sub

For my lunch period, some of the juniors and seniors walked to the beach to eat. I followed them and bought a beach towel to sit on while I ate my sandwich. I saw a camera flash and kept eating as if I didn't know what was going on. Hillary put her beach towel next to mine, and her friends joined me. I was relieved to have people around me that seemed pleasant. None of them asked me weird questions or made me feel like an outsider. "Hey, Lucky? You're from Metropolis, right?" one of Hillary's guy friends asked. I nodded. "Okay, so I ask everybody this. What's snow like? Is it soft? Does it feel like shaved ice? Have you ever built a snowman?"

I laughed. "Like floury but coarser... I guess it feels like baking soda," I replied, "And it's cold. It's like holding ice cubes in your hands."

"See! That's how you give a detailed answer, Hillary," he teased. I covered my mouth as I laughed and finished my sandwich.

"Okay, my turn... What are school dances like?" I asked.

My question got a mixed response. Hillary seemed to like them, but some of her friends didn't. "Ignore them. School dances are great. If you're not stressing about a date... And no, they're not like tv. It's wayyy cheaper, the decorations are crap, and there's no DJ. They use the school's stereos to play music... But the experience itself is fun. You get to hang out with your friends for a few hours, and nobody cares what you dance like... Not that that'll be a problem for you," Hillary replied.

"I'm sorry, was that a compliment?" I teased. Hillary laughed and shook her head.

"Not even close," Hillary teased.

"She's lying to you. School dances are hot and sweaty, the music sucks, and no one ever manages to actually spike the punch because there is no punch. It's just soda cans in a cooler. Oh, and you have to take your own pictures because it costs money," one of her female friends disagreed.

"Okay, those things are true, but it's still a great experience... Oh, and the parade. You're gonna love the parade," Hillary added. She seemed so excited. I think school was the only thing that excited her because she made me feel ordinary in comparison. It made me want to be her friend. I wasn't sure I could get her to notice me long enough.

My phone rang, and I sighed before answering. "Rex, I'm at lunch. No work talk please-."

"When were you gonna tell me you enrolled in the school for real?" Rex yelled. I held the phone away from my ear and pinched the bridge of my nose. "This is gonna put a damper on your acting career! Do you know how many projects you'll have to turn-."

"I'm taking time off of acting this year... But I'm working on music. I was gonna tell you after school. Also, please don't call me during school. I could get in trouble," I warned him.

"You're at lunch. I checked. Someone snapped a picture of you ten minutes ago... Who are those kids you're with?" Rex asked.

"None of your business. You know what? I didn't get emancipated-." I bit my lip because I realized Hillary and her friends were looking at me. I put on my sunglasses and took a breath. "I'm still gonna be working. Now, I have to find a balance between work and school... Like a normal kid."

"You're not a normal kid. You're Lucky. Try not to become so average that you lose your market value. Relatable doesn't sell anymore. What do you think this is 2012?" Rex replied. I hung up on him, and amid my frustration, I got up and walked back to campus alone. Sometimes Rex said things that hurt, and I figured that was part of the job. He manages me, tells me what I don't want to hear, I hang up, and we go through it all over again. I don't know, though. What he said at lunch hurt me so bad. I hated when people talked about me like I was a product to be bought and sold at their discretion. My dad didn't like it either.

I tried to shake the thought from my mind, but it only made things worse. I thought about texting Rex and giving him a piece of my mind or blocking him, but I knew that'd backfire and make me look like a jerk. I had to swallow it as I did with everything else. Rex took good care of me after I hired him. He promised to help me rebrand a little, and I think he was working hard on that. Rex said branding me as more mature now that I was emancipated would be great for my image. I didn't know what that meant, but it sounded good. I shifted my thoughts to that until I calmed down.

The bell rang, and I went to my final class of the day. I couldn't focus, though. My last class was packed with over forty kids, and we were all squished into a hot room with windows that rusted shut. Everything in my body wanted to panic, but I swallowed it and tried to listen as much as possible. The teacher approached my desk and whispered, "Are you alright?" Her voice was soft and sincere.

I nodded, but I wasn't sure I should've. My stomach felt weird. "Are you sure?" Ms. Ito asked.

"Can I go to the restroom?" I asked. She nodded. I took my backpack with me when I went, and I ran to the bathroom to throw up. I seldom got sick, so I knew something had to be wrong. When I could stand up, I called Rex.

"You told me not to call you at school," Rex replied.

I took a deep breath and tried to collect myself. "I feel sick," I replied.

"Okay..." Rex trailed off. "What do you want? A Tums?"

"Come pick me up. I'm gonna go to the office and sign myself out," I replied.

"What do I look like? A babysitter?" Rex snapped.

My stomach was cramped up, and I didn't feel like arguing with him, so I snapped back. "Come and get me, now," I commanded before hanging up.

I lingered in the bathroom for a few minutes until I knew I could walk to the office and signed myself out. "Can I sit here until my ride comes?" I asked. The nurse nodded. I was dripping sweat when Rex texted me to pick me up.

I walked to the car and took a napkin from his glovebox to wipe the sweat from my face. "You look like shit," Rex announced. I gave him the finger and pulled the mirror down to look at myself. "Is it drugs? It looks like drugs. I don't-."

"I'm not high. I'm sick. Can you take me to the emergency room?" I asked. Part of me panicked because I wasn't used to being ill, but I knew they'd call my dad if I was admitted. My stomach cramped up so bad I felt like I was dying. I rolled his window down and tried to cool off.

"What'd you eat?" Rex asked.

"I made myself a turkey sandwich for lunch... Why?" I asked.

Rex sighed. "You put the turkey in the fridge, right?" Rex questioned.

"Why would I do that?" I asked.

"Jesus Christ, Lucky. Food safety one-oh-one," Rex replied, "But I'll still take you to the emergency room." I leaned my head back and shut my eyes.

"Try to take it easy," Rex whispered. I think he felt bad for me. Or at least he sounded like it.

He helped me sign in but didn't know my legal name, so I filled that part out between stomach cramps. I hadn't even eaten enough to throw up that much. The doctor called me after nearly an hour, and he put me on an IV drip and gave me a prescription. It was an anti-biotic-something for nausea. Rex drove me home and left me alone to get some rest. I slept in the tub once the nausea meds kicked in and woke up to a call from my dad. "The hospital called me. They said you came in earlier," he stated. I was tired and out of it from the medication.

"Dad?" I asked.

"I called you six times. I'm on my way to the airport-."

"Dad, I've got food poisoning. You don't have to drop everything to come and see me," I replied. I tried to pretend that I didn't need him. It was more for my pride than anything.

"I've already got my ticket. Besides, I have a few more of your things I need to drop off," Dad replied. I pushed my hair back. I was relieved that he decided to come anyway. "How was your first day?"

"It was okay. I don't have any homework or anything," I mumbled, "Dad, my head hurts... Can we talk later on?"

"I'll call you when I get there," Dad replied before hanging up. He didn't call me by my name or say he loved me. I shivered and pressed my palms to my forehead. He sounded angry. I was almost scared to see him after that. I didn't want to argue with him, and I definitely didn't have the energy for it.

[clitorphosis]

SPIT TO SEE THE SHINE

Vendetta Leon S. Kennedy x reader |18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, KIDNAPPING, DUB CON, smut, age gap (reader is in 20s, Leon is 37) female reader, abusive relationship, implied alcoholism, stockholm syndrome, creampie, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, use of ‘daddy’ (not a lot), implied erectile disfunction lmao, victim blaming, fingering, implied physical and sexual violence, forced breeding.

Summary: life gets lonelier after 30s, the realization hits harder Leon and the way to cope with it is to get his hands on alcohol… too bad booze tends to encourage him to not be a good man - ending up with a younger girl in his apartment. Maybe it is a grave mistake, but Leon is just a man and who doesn’t make them? notes: uhm, this may be a lil bit self indulgent, sorry for that :3 I DONT CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOR IN REAL LIFE!!! reblogs, asks and any kind of feedback or interaction are really appreciated! :3

tags: @withonly-sweetheart

Mama has told you not to trust strangers, the concern was referred to the men, but your ears have never held her words for a time longer than a day. Nor did you remember her words when an attractive, older man noticed you and was nice enough to ask you out. That night was supposed to be a little date, giddy and happy jumping into the front seat of his car. That’s the last thing you remember. Eventually, you can not fathom how this happened - the day later your head hurt as you were forced to swallow the hard pill: you got kidnapped by your date.

The first month was insufferable and painful, slowly growing out of your ‘rebellious attitude’ and memorizing his body language like a child in an abusive household. His gaze is everywhere, keeping you locked up in the room when he is not present, a reminder to you that there is no free choice. The food, clothes, and your free time were defined by Leon’s mood and taste which… Liked to swing, creating a mess for you both, not knowing if he was genuinely ashamed of what he had done. You hated him, dreaming about the day when his throat would be sliced, painting your hands with red just to breathe in the air of freedom.

Mama knows best. No, Leon knows best.

Sometimes Leon is mean, without hesitation, sharp words can be thrown at you when he is drunk. Blaming his misery on you. Trying not to be affected by them, not enough to avoid some of them as they cling to your mind - circling as a reminder.

“You deserve this, what did you think a man would want from a woman?”,

“you are better dead”,

“you asked for this”. Did you actually?

Sometimes he is the nicest guy around here. Showering you with tenderness and care, trying to have a normal conversation, but not daring to look into your eyes. Ashamed probably, which was bittersweet and pleasant, but confusing too. Like a couple. You promised yourself to not change the way you feel about him, even if he is sweet. Not like you have a lot of options now.

Certainly, Stockholm syndrome wasn’t going to avoid you, it didn’t take long either. You aren’t special and Leon looked so lonely, returning after work mostly devastated. The expression someone would have had while grieving over something not obtainable. Not even daring to look into your face, ignoring you until his hands do not reach the booze - drinking himself until his mood changes to a handsy one. Physical or sexual. Sometimes both. And Leon is lonely, he told it himself once. Naturally or not, anger has changed to pity, while hate is mixed with something affectionate towards him. You can’t help yourself.

As someone has said - from love to hatred is one step.

So the routine has become clear after a month of staying here, sitting on the floor and watching TV while Leon is behind you. Big brother is watching you - no, Leon is watching you. Drunk or not, monitoring whatever is on the screen is appropriate in his eyes. Not for too long you were concentrating on the blue gleam coming from the screen, illuminating both frames in the living room, now like a natural thing for you both - his fingers end up in your panties to rub your clit in slow and lazy circles. His chest is pressing against your back, focused on your expressions and squirming. His calloused fingertips press harder against your sensitive clit, to hear your voice. Your body is the biggest enemy here - like a Pavlovian dog, reacting to his touch quickly and eagerly. The skin of his fingers is wet and soaked with your slick already, in no time, filling the room with squelching and wet sounds as your moans become harder to keep to yourself. Writhing and trying to shift away, but your body tends to become immobile most of the time - there is no fight or flight, just freeze.

“You look so miserable. It is reassuring, so cute too” In misery, together. His tone is the one someone would use for a dog. Always using that one with you, but you are not a dog. Not like you have any other choices right now, other than taking like a good girl and not lamenting.

If someone would have asked you, Leon is shameless with you, not the one to be shy after a bottle of whiskey, even if he can’t get it up sometimes. His fingers nudge your soaked hole, which aches for his attention. It clenches around nothing, pathetically and you disappointedly whine at the emptiness inside you.

“Come on, open your legs, be a nice girl for Daddy” Leon cooed. His lips brush over your ear, not giving you a chance to do this by yourself - forcing your legs roughly to part wider. “So much better now”

Your hips shift, arching your back as his two fingers intrude into your pussy, curling sweetly inside it to push them at your favorite sweet spot - to enforce more moans at every jolt of pleasure hitting your body. Leon likes that, watching you squirm and open your mouth like a fish desperate for air cause of him. His grip on your jaw is tight, painful even - there are going to be bruises tomorrow and he will be apologizing like a madman.

“Daddy has been so miserable these days too, fucking Redfield is always hassling me.” You don’t know who is that. The sound of his hand fumbling with his belt and the fly of his jeans reach your ears, a loud noise of them falling on the floor. “Can’t even have a vacation, what would you do without me, baby?”

“Ughh…!” you choke on your moans. There is no thought behind your eyes, your entire attention is on your pleasure. Feeling overwhelmed at every thrust of his fingers, writhing in his hold while he is roughly pumping into your drenched hole, an uncomfortable wetness clings to your inner thighs - begging to fuck you already.

“Fuck, I am so sorry, sweetheart, but you are so wet. I can’t. Just the tip, okay? Sorry,” he groans breathlessly, giving hot and quick kisses on the side of your head. Sweet touch. His gaze darkens and his body presses harder against yours, feeling his erection press against your ass. “just… this hole is dripping, and you don’t look like you don’t want it”

You are so close actually, every thrust hitting your sweet spot, curling, and keeping the quick pace of his fingers make you almost drool while focusing on approaching orgasm. Too bad that isn’t on his to-do list. As much as he wants to see you cum, on his fingers or not, - his own pleasure is much more important, especially when his dick is hard. Whiskey dick isn’t so easy to get up these days. His fingers roughly withdraw from your soaked hole with a squelching pop, denying your orgasm. The emptiness returns and your sensitive pussy clenched around nothing again - aching to be filled again.

“So messy,” Leon mutters out, shoving his index and middle fingers in your mouth - forcing you to clean them, your tongue rolls and wraps around them, tasting yourself before he finally pulls them away. “asking for bad things to happen”

You can swear to God this made your clit throb. Wetter than you can ever be, or you are hallucinating, hoping this isn’t the case. Thoughts are quickly brushed aside when his cock is pressed in between your pussy lips, bumping against your aching clit while he rubs himself against your soaked and needy cunt that coats his flesh in your slick, lubing his length in it before he pushed his cock into you - Leon is not really a patient man. Yeah, just the tip, of course. Your velvety walls easily swallow his cock, stretching inch by inch with pleasant pain and letting it slide as he pushed in quick motion until his cock got buried deep inside you. Balls pressed against your flesh, while you can’t help but tightly clench around him, his chest is pressed against your back. Relishing how tight and warm is your pussy, the best and most calming feeling for Leon - to fill you with his cock for his own pleasure. Your hair gets tugged roughly, making your head roll back while Leon starts moving slowly. His cock drags against your walls, pulling out until only a tip remains inside.

“See? Only a tip” Leon mocks you, before slamming back in, bottoming out in one thrust. You whimper and squirm, but his hold on your hair is hard - the only way to keep you under his control. His hips start pounding into you, falling deep into the pleasure connecting your bodies. “Your pussy just feels so good, weren’t you made for this, mmm?”

His movements stutter as his pace slowens when his blue eyes make eye contact with the TV. You didn��t really catch on what was happening until his hand tugged your hair, directing your half-lidded gaze to the point of his interest. The sight of your image on the news, big words on the red background: MISSING PERSON. The former shelf of yourself is staring at you both, smiling brightly - not knowing there is no future for you. The volume is turned off. In this household, it is common knowledge that Leon doesn’t let you watch the news, every time getting agitated and avoiding you even more, when sober, which doesn’t last long after that. The mood swing was quick, every time it was like a loud thunderstorm, his hips make another thrust - cock hits your cervix and forces out a loud moan, involuntarily, when Leon’s cockhead grinds against it.

“This is bullshit, you know?” He hisses into your ear, giving another rough thrust to make you gasp pathetically, as he presses your head against the TV screen. “no one is coming for you. Why? Cause you are forgettable, baby, no one needs you”

“S-stop, Leon” you mumble in between moans and trying to keep yourself aware of what is happening. “T-too much, p-please!”

Your body feels like it is on fire due to the mix of emotions he provokes, your cunt grips his cock tightly while aching for your denied orgasm from before. His hand gives a hard slap on your sensitive clit, making you arch and flinch. Your pussy flutters, gripping him tighter.

“Shhh, I am doing a favor here” he mutters, yanking your head back, forcing you to look at the news while his pounding grew more erratic, intensifying wet and flesh-hitting sounds. His voice is loud in your ears, muffling other sounds, overwhelming as his cock keeps making rough thrusts into you with every word - to punctuate them. “Keeping you here, taking care of useless you that can’t do anything right”

He buries himself deep again, pausing again to relish in the feeling of his cock filling you, while your wet walls engulf him nicely - like a drug, inviting him to stay there and never pull away. Slick drips down your thighs, and his nose brushes behind your ear before nibbling on the soft cartilage. His hand gives another light slap on your pussy, the tightness of your walls almost makes him cum.

“Maybe a baby, what do you think about it, mm?” The idea makes him throb, sliding in and out more erratically. As if he cares about your opinion right now, his fingers tug your hair harder, but his words make you flinch harder. Tears prick behind your eyelids.

“No-no-no. You can’t cum inside, no!” He is not wearing a condom. Bad, too bad. Begging comes out naturally for you now, in between your moans. Fear coats your voice, as the idea sets in quickly - being trapped here cause of an unfortunate kid. “Not the baby! Leon, please! I’ll be good, please!”

“Of course, I can. Shut up. You like this” Leon hisses, keeping your head in a firm hold, so your eyes are set on the old photo. It doesn’t feel right, but you can’t stop yourself from making noises, shifting so Leon would hit a better angle. This somewhat combines with a shame, at every hint of it your mind shoves it away. “You can’t look at yourself, too bad. Dripping even more after my words, like a whore.“

Wanting to cum, focusing more on the pleasure of his dick filling your hole - feels so wrong, but good. Like your body shouldn’t enjoy how Leon’s hips keep pounding into your soaked cunt, hitting the pudgy spot and making you repeat his name like a prayer, but your own mind and body are the biggest enemy, betraying you. His own balls tighten, as a reminder of his so soon approaching orgasm.

“You love me right, baby?” Leon whispers, voice coming out breathy and brushing against your ear shell. His calloused fingers crawl back to your clit, flicking and rubbing it roughly and unsteadily. Trying to keep the feeling of that warm tightness sucking in his cock.

“I love you, Leon, o-oh!” you hum, nibbling on the lower lip and arching, letting more noises when his dick hits your sweet spot so sloppily and messy now, chasing his orgasm. And him circling your clit with his calloused fingertips makes your legs tremble - so close to tripping and falling flat on the floor. This makes your mind fuzzy, shoving away the fear of being pregnant. Leon is nice, right? Nice enough to push you against the cold screen of the TV, it doesn’t have its use anymore. That photo faded with the news, after all. “I love you, love you,”

Your voice comes out shaky and high-pitched now. His eyes are set on your disheveled look, with light traces of tears as you repeat the confession erratically, filling his mind with them. Making this normal, you love him, so he can allow himself to not feel so guilty, right? With a final and rough thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, giving chaste and soft kisses to the back of your head. Your body shudders eventually too, your walls spasm harder around him as the hard feeling of orgasm hits you, pleasant shockwaves dumb every bad thought in the head. His cock throbbed, letting a loud groan and finally spurting ropes of cum into you while keeping messy circles on your sensitive clit, prolonging your orgasm and making you more overwhelmed with every flick. The warm essence fills your hole, Leon pulls out his softening cock with a wet pop, watching how his sperm slowly oozes out from your pussy. His mind is light, the hint of booze keeps guilt from emerging.

Words of love don’t feel like a complete lie now, as pleasant memories overwhelm the bad ones. They become almost an empty spot in the back of your mind, leaving only a foggy feeling of hate and dread. And your brain is weak for the bliss, hammering every moment deep in you - craving for more. Hate won’t bring you out of this, maybe affection will. Your hand grips weakly his wrist, you won’t be able to bear the loneliness after sex tonight.

“Don’t leave me” Your mouth is quicker than your mind, not processing anything right now. Leon breaks out in a weak smile, but his gaze isn’t capable of keeping eye contact right now. Still, he scoops you in his arms without a second thought. Remaining silent, feeling your weak body in his hold he can’t help but pepper chaste kisses on your forehead. Trying to prolong the sweet and guiltless moment for you both.

You should have known better than to accept that date with him.