#but also has much more of a sense of responsibility and care for the shades than zag had...

[sunlight-shunlight]

melinoe hades 2 is such a good protagonist. like the writing is so.... they're not afraid to show her as both a really single-minded, callous, somewhat black and white morality person, as well as showing how she can be kind, or uncertain of herself under the pressure she's under, or a bit silly at times. she's so endearing, and you can FEEL that she's going to have such a neat arc whenever all the set up with the olympians and mortal stuff pays off

the fact that you have to have these arguments with prometheus, where she's just willfully denying that he has a point bc her entire identity is based around never questioning her mission... i love her so much, in conclusion i'm this cat

[flamingpudding]

Substitute City Ghost

Clockwork had a plan. Their young king needed to learn how to take care of people without the kind of hero like fighting he did in Amity Park. There was a lot to learn for the young halfa and his king classes could only cover so much. Thus he had found a plan that would give his king the perfect learning expirence while also helping out his recently new friend. Well not that new since his friend was quite an old ghost of their own. But he had only recently made direct contact with her.

Lady Gotham was an old and powerful ghost. Born from the beliefs of her city and strengthened by the once living and protecting it. But she was stretching herself thin. Managing her city, helping the dead find their way, looking out for the shades, and protecting the weaker entities, was already a lot of responsibilities for a city ghost. But Lady Gotham has added more to her plate, supporting those that protect her city. Mortals that she called her knights. Aiding them by controlling the shadows, guiding those that need help toward them, or the other way around, guiding her knights to those that needed help. She was strong, but even a ghost like her could grow exhausted. His friend needed rest and recharge. Surely Lady Gotham wouldn't say no if he invited her to a vacation to the Realms, and in that same invitation, he would direct his king to his new hands on training.

The bats and birds knew something was different about Gotham lately. It was strange and slightly unsettling. The change felt like it had just happened overnight. They were suspicious, wondering if they were sensing one of their rogues planning something big. Jason and Duke appeared to sense it the most.

At first, it didn't appear to be too big of a problem, but then strange things started to happen. Their rogues started tripping over, seemingly nothing. And if that wasn't enough it appeared like their rogues were a whole lot more inattentive to their surroundings. Now the Bats and birds were good at sneaking, but they had human limits. Yet there were times they snuck up on them like they weren't even seen.

Dick swore that one of the goons had stared at him and didn't see him, even though he had tried to pull the tap their shoulder and greet them before punching them act. The guy had turned around and stared at him before looking around like no one was even there until he punched the guy anyway.

And that wasn't even the weirdest part. Bullets, throwing knives or anything aimed and thrown at them never hit their marks. Not for the lag of them dodging but for the things they were sure they shouldn't have been able to react in time for. Tim espacially had pointed out that a bullet should have hit him once but it never even graced him. Yet when he checked the place after the arrest. There had been a clear bullet hole in the wall where he had been.

They weren't sure if it was a blessing or a curse. They had even tried to get a member of the Justice League Dark to look into it. But strangely enough Constantine had refused to even set foot into Gotham for once, and even insisted that the other do not either.

To say that Batman was not amused would have been a very big understatement. The man was brooding. And of course Dick had to jinx them too. The eldest bat kid had to mention that it at least wasn't getting worse.

And don't you know it. It got worse. Like weirdly alarming strangely worse.

Because, how else would you define it when you're in the middle of a briefing with your patrol partner for the night when suddenly a Lazarus Pit look alike portal opens below your feed swallowed you up and the freaking drops you into the middle of a crime scene or mugging.

It was only thanks to their training that they were able to react quickly enough after a bound of disorientation. But fuck did that gave them all a good damn heart attacks when that happened the first time to Damian of all people.

Something was definitely wrong with their city. Thankfully they had some sort of hint, because the first time the Pit portal happened to Duke, he claimed that he saw a white haired figure right before it had swallowed him hole and spit him out at a bank robbery.

Danny was honestly believing he was doing a good job as substitute city spirit while Lady Gotham was enjoying her vacation. Sure , he still had trouble with some things, but he was sure he was getting the hang of the whole supporting the cities vigilantes gig Lady Gotham had going on. The whole managing the shades and the dead spirits was still up in the air, though. But at least he had figured out a way easier way to guide the vigilantes towards the once that needed help.

Now he just needed to figure out what was wrong with that one guy in the red helmet and he was sure that both Clockwork and Lady Gotham would be proud of him and how he had managed her city during her vacation.

[b1rds3ye]

“Your Hoodie? No, My Hoodie.”

How the boys react to you stealing their hoodies/clothes, if they would steal yours, and other cute clothing shenanigans

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions

Genre: Pure Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k (~300 each)

Warning: A little spice but no smut

A/N: After writing some drama/angst pieces I figured some pure fluff will do me good 😌

Captain John Price

Price’s fashion sense has become a little dated, so while he has one or two hoodies, he owns a lot more jumpers and vests (especially those puffy ones that all American dads seem to wear in colder weather)

He also doesn’t wear said hoodies all that much so if you steal them, he’ll likely just compliment your attire like a gentleman then go about his day. When he does notice the hoodie as his, he doesn’t care, you can have it

“Lovely top, darling.” “Price, sweetheart, this is yours.” “… Ah, so it is.”

However Price will notice if you use one of his jumpers or sweaters, not that he has a problem with it. In fact he encourages it, he thinks you look far better in them than he ever will and you actually make his clothes look fashionable when all he ever cared about was practicality

It becomes a bit of a love language of his, for the sake of being a gentleman and as he gets older he’s more aware of the cold. Price is always making sure you’re suitably warm before going outside when it’s chilly and he’s always giving you his own clothes to layer yourself with

Ever a traditional man, Price loves doing up your outerwear for you, as you keep talking and he nods along with deft fingers making work of buttons or zippers. There’s something intimate about it, having his hands so close to your abdomen, with him being responsible for your warmth and consequently your wellbeing

Has considered asking you for a hoodie or item of clothing of yours to bring him comfort on missions but eventually decided against it. His operations get messy unexpectedly and quickly, heaven forbid if he loses your items. He doesn’t have the best habits either and he’ll never forgive himself if he gave your clothes the lingering smell of cigar smoke

Simon “Ghost” Riley

When off duty, hoodies are his go to. They’re simple, easy to put on, the hood obscures more of his features and with his stature they help him look terrifying. He has quite a few but they’re all the same dark shades so for the longest time you thought he only had a couple

He always tells you and Soap that he’s “plenty fashionable” and you genuinely can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. All you know is that it looks like he wears the same outfit 24/7

The first time he saw you in his clothes, it activated something in him. It was an almost animalistic possessiveness, like wearing his clothes meant you were willing to be owned by him

“Fuckin’ hell,” is all he can say, it’s quiet, barely audible but just loud enough for you to hear and get the hairs on your back standing. You feel like prey being found by the predator as he stalks up to you and attacks you with kisses

Seeing you in his clothes is like a public broadcast that you’re with him, that you’re proud to be with him and Simon wishes he can reciprocate but he’s got a reputation to uphold but most importantly, he doesn’t want to put a target on your back by associating you with him

He still does little things just so he can feel connected to you though, he’ll gladly slip accessories under his sleeves or in his pockets to remind him of you

He has taken one of your hoodies with him on long missions, he swears it’s the only thing that keeps him sane when he brings it close and gets the scent of you and home. He’s not concerned about having it damaged, he leaves it at base, neatly folded and stashed away like a treasure that he guards with his life

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Has a respectable amount of hoodies, he likes how comfy they are and he wears them well. The only thing better than him wearing them, is you wearing them

He’s a tease, he wants you to take his hoodies but he’ll never outright say so. You won’t have a choice though when he straight up steals and hides all of your outerwear, leaving you to drift over to his wardrobe and take something

And then he acts incredibly smug about it as if he didn’t orchestrate the entire damn thing

He gets giddy whenever he sees you wear his things, you just look so damn cute. If you’re leaving for an event you better hope your friends don’t mind you being half an hour late because he will latch onto you, begging you to stay with him

Johnny will also try to wear your clothes. Doesn’t matter if you’re a few sizes smaller than him, he’s not afraid of prancing around in a crop top in the confines of your home (or in public if he’s very tipsy). Are you a similar or larger size to him? Well call Johnny a communist because it’s not your closet but our closet now. Don’t be surprised if some of your favourite clothes “magically” disappear

He becomes very proud and energetic when wearing your stuff or vice versa, he puffs his chest out like a pigeon but he does get very serious and apologetic if he accidentally damages your things and will immediately buy you a new one

A chronic clothes stealer, he has most definitely taken your non-important items with him to missions. He stores them under his camp bed, he calls it a mini shrine that he worships for good luck

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably the most fashionable out of the 141 (although the bar isn’t set particularly high), he has a range of hoodies for various casual occasions, dark for covert missions, brighter if he’s just out with friends, you name it, he’s probably got it

His clothes are so high quality you honestly feel bad so you initially avoided using his clothes, which just broke Kyle’s heart because he’s an absolute sucker for the trope of partners sharing their things. He has to near beg you to take his stuff

But when you finally do? Especially out of your own volition? Kyle is all over you, praising you to the moon and back about how good you look, trying to encourage you to take more of his things

Extra points if you borrow his hats, Kyle swears it’s the cutest sight in existence and now he has a reason to look forward to a sunny day

Loves cuddling you while you’re wearing his hoodie, particularly where you’re lying on the couch and he’s on top of you, head on your stomach or chest. He has to give himself credit, he bought some very soft hoodies and on you with his head listening to your heartbeat has him feeling like he’s lying on a cloud

He adores how at the end of the day his clothes end up smelling like you instead, he’s almost tempted to never wash them

He will never gift you clothes, if you want clothes you’re taking them from his wardrobe and that’s final. The only exception is if he wants you two to wear stylish matching outfits where he’ll supply you with what you need

Alejandro Vargas

A man of style, Alejandro much prefers his turtleneck jumpers (also because he knows he absolutely kills it) but he does have a hoodie or two if he’s really prioritising discretion or comfort for the day

Seeing you in his hoodie gets him incredibly riled up, even if to you it’s not incredibly stylish or sexy. The instant he lays eyes on you in his clothes he’s rushing up to pull you into a passionate kiss, hands tugging and massaging you through the thick fabric. Whenever you have to pull away he’s purring in Spanish before pulling you back in

Obsessed with seeing you in his clothes, if you ask for a jacket he’s automatically going to his wardrobe. If you want your own clothes you’re going to have to get it yourself because Alejandro can be very stubborn when he wants to be and will only bring you his own attire

Alejandro will gladly borrow your clothes if he can, but only in private. It destroys him inside because he desperately wants to be publicly associated with you but he will never risk your safety associating with him in Las Almas for his own selfish wishes

An absolute gentleman, he loves putting clothes on you. He opens up the hoodie so it’s easier for you to slip your arms in, he zips it up for you, and then he tugs at the folds so it compliments you perfectly. In his world, you’re the emperor and he’s but a humble and grateful servant, he’s not letting you lift a finger

The only thing he could enjoy more than putting on your clothes is taking them off for you. Not even in a lustful manner (although that’s not off the table for him), it just feels intimate, like he’s pulling armour off of you, with you entrusting him with your most vulnerable self and he’s honoured you trust him this much

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

He likes his cosiness and practicality so he has a fair lot of hoodies and he’s more than happy to lend them to you. You don’t even have to ask, he just assumed that when you two became a couple his stuff was yours too

But when Rudy first saw you in his clothes, he was taken aback. He never thought much of his clothes, they just look decent and offered functionality, so how did you make such mediocre items look so damn good?

Gets oddly sentimental when he sees you in his clothes. It’s such a domestic sight, one he thought he’d never see when he dedicated himself to Las Almas. Every time he’s holding you close, peppering your face with brief but hefty kisses. You won’t be escaping his grip anytime soon

Rodolfo will only borrow your clothes if you explicitly tell him you can. He adores you and treats all your items as something sacred, it feels almost blasphemous using your things

When he does use your items, he realised it’s been a long time since he’s felt bashful. Not that he’s embarrassed or ashamed of you, far from it. He just knows some of his soldiers will ask and he’s near giddy that he can talk about you

Another clothes helper, he giggles when he sees you get tangled and lost in his slip on hoodie, accidentally trying to put your head through the arm sleeve. He gently guides you, and when you finally poke your head out, he gives you a soft smile and a kiss on the forehead as though he hasn’t seen you in months

“Ah, I found you mì amor.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

[j0kers-light]

hi bae, ik youve been going thru a rough patch i hope(in fact ik) you’ll bounce back harder.🫶🏻

i really wanted to make a request for a long long time now, no pressure write it whenever u feel like it i am just going to drop it here.

for me J has always been a Lana del rey song specially the ultra violence album, he’s shades of blue, he’s ultraviolenec, smts hes even brooklyn baby. Can you write something dark, like real dark where hes possessive, violent, exatcly like he was in TDK. Pulling stunts and dropping hints. maybe he kidnappes the reader or smt like that, he’s acting all crazy and violent but something inside him just makes him slip to a lil caring or loving side every now and then, which eventually leads to some serious SMUT 😏😏

the reader could be his enemy’s daughter(maybe even batman’s daughter lol i am going wild) he tortures her,loves her, takes care of her then tortures her a lil more but make no mistake the reader is a fireball she gives him that lil fight they have in her which makes J even more attached to her.

ik i am just blabbing and making no sense, but i hope ukwim. i am also attaching a link to my fav J edit ever which might give u an outline of what i am trying to say. maybe even add J’s POV.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CqyP1PdveA9/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

okay ill shut up now. feel better love you 🫶🏻

His Lighthouse: Broken Dolls (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Broken Dolls - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

I feel ashamed that you had to wait so long for this request. Forgive me times a thousand @heathisbae !! I still love you and I got carried away with the word count. (10,500 words!!) I promise you that my blood, sweat, and tears went into this request. You should've let me stay in my enclosure. I LOVE DARK requests and I was in a dark and lonely place when I wrote this. The perfect mood for Broken Dolls.

Gather round children it’s time to go over some legal stuff. I usually do not care about trigger warnings. You are responsible for your own reading pleasure, BUT I’ll add a TW: List because yall gone need it. Chaos had a lil bit too much fun writing this one.. 👀😬

TW! Dark!Joker. rape, knife, blood, impact, choking, power play, dacryphilia, spitting, biting kinks, unprotected sex, overstimulation if you squint, degradation, no prep (foreplay is important kids) uhhhh… I’m missing something. 🤔 It’s canon Joker people. He’s a walking trigger warning.

Just be careful if you decide to read this one. I know I went overboard but your mental health is always my top priority. Enjoy or not. It’s entirely up to you. Since its a dark request, I decided not to tag anyone except @heathisbae Read at your own risk 🖤✨

Your father made it virtually impossible for anyone to find out. By fate’s design, you looked nothing like the iconic figure you called “father”, and you were forever grateful for that. 

Your skin complexion, eye, and hair color masked you from the surname that was your birthright. You were the rumored Wayne heiress that Gotham City whispered about. Many far and wide longed to meet you to strengthen their businesses by marriage, whereas others flat out questioned your conception.  

Bruce Wayne had neither confirmed nor denied the mother of any of his children to the world. Not like he ever would. There were only a few secrets Bruce had left in this world: you being the most important one.  

Your life would be in danger if anyone were to find out you were a Wayne or worse, the precious daughter of Batman.  

Many were adopted into the bat family, but you were blood to Bruce. A last-ditch effort he made to secure his family’s legacy; He hired a surrogate.  

Should Batman ever fall in combat, you could pick up the torch and continue the Wayne legacy.  

At an early age you wanted to make your father proud and wisely decided not to follow in his footsteps moonlighting as a vigilante. The eldest boys, Dick and Jason, celebrated for days. They loved their half-sister and supported every decision you make, but they would’ve put their foot down should you have wished to don a bat suit.  

Instead of violence, you dedicated your life to education. Only the best schools with full ride scholarships—your cv was lengthy as it was profound. You spoke multiple foreign languages, held many accreditations issued from all over the globe, and excelled at virtually every extra-curricular skill you could think of.  

You were a hardworking, driven woman with a no-nonsense attitude. That much, you got from your mother. 

You dominated any boardroom you entered, and your famous e/c eyes could make or break contracts with a single look. Now that was all your father’s genes. You gave the phrase, beauty and brains, a living breathing, mascot and Bruce couldn’t be prouder.  

That unfortunately made you a target.  

You shied away from public humanitarian appearances to avoid being recognized as a Wayne. Too many similarities with Bruce would make people curious. Instead, you worked behind a smokescreen and attended the many charities and sponsorship parties as a third-party spectator to oversee your work.  

That way, you got to see your hard work being implemented into the community—far better results than your father’s monetary donations provided.  

You took pride knowing your hard work was creating a change in Gotham City. With the safeguards Bruce and the boys had in place; it would take an actual genius to put the numerous clues together to uncover your identity. You could live in relative peace while still making a difference.  

Sadly, your long forgotten surrogate mother would soon threaten life as you knew it.  

Joker prided himself in being a vigilant man. Nothing, not even the smallest of details, went unnoticed by him and when it came to his best friend Batman, J took extra care to notice every little thing.  

The level of surveillance Joker did on the dark knight bordered on obsession but in a way, he was. Joker strived to be twelve steps ahead of his arch-nemesis in order to maintain his freedom. Being shipped back to Arkham was not an option, so he took information gathering very seriously.  

Joker knew that Batman was Bruce Wayne for years. He was surprised other Gotham villains or just the local law enforcement didn’t put the clues together. It was so obvious. 

There was no point in telling the world Batman’s not so little secret, but when Joker studied the daily life of Bruce Wayne a bit further, now that was a blackmail gold mine. Having a one up on Bats just felt good and especially when Joker discovered the perfect weapon that would break the man once and for all.  

You. 

Tucked away and hidden in plain sight; Y/n Wayne, the perfect tool for Joker’s plans.  

A father’s worst nightmare, seeing their child in distress, Joker looked forward to scaring Bruce with this latest prank. All he had to do was get close enough to steal you away, but Bruce kept you protected twenty-four seven. Smart man and Joker didn’t blame his bestie for being a protective father.  

There were dangerous people out there who would dream of your demise if they knew the truth! 

No, it was much easier to track down your mother and it was mere child’s play to make her talk. Joker thoroughly enjoyed extracting as much information from the woman before her untimely demise.  

He found it was unfair that she was virtually defenseless while you had security tighter than most world leaders. It wasn’t fair in Joker’s book, so he set out to put your safeguards to the test.  

And what achievement it was to outsmart Batman at his own game.  

You should’ve known better. Dad drilled it into your brain time and time again to always be aware of your surroundings.  

There was no such thing as a coincidence. Things happened for a reason, and it was up to you to detect any signs of danger at any given time.  

The same could be said for that fateful night. You were feeling a bit overwhelmed by a journalist at a charity event. She kept asking probing questions—a few hitting too close for comfort about your identity.  

How ironic that you attended every event the rumored Wayne heiress organized and knew so much about her personal affairs. What a coincidence how reporters asked you questions like you were the boss..  

The curious woman would not leave you alone! Her mindless chitchat felt more like an interrogation by the minute. You feared your identity was compromised after one of her questions rang true, but she simply laughed it off and said that if you were indeed a Wayne, “You’d be way prettier.”  

Whatever that meant.  

Perhaps the comment hit hard since your longtime friend/rival, Lana, stole attention from the fund raiser with her scandalous outfit. The brunette reeked of new money and had an ego the size of Metropolis, demanding attention wherever she went.  

Her appearance ruined your event for helping orphaned kids and turned it into a mini Met Gala. You had every right for storming out to scream into the back alley. She never failed at ruining things!  

You were really letting your frustration be heard when a whistle nearby startled you. 

“Listen to the pipes on that one.”  

You quickly stopped screaming once you realized that you weren’t alone. A lone male was smoking in the same alley, and he locked eyes with you once he caught your attention.  

They were an unnatural green that felt familiar however, you couldn’t place where you might’ve seen them before.  

“By all means... don’t let me keep ya from your.. uhh temper tantrum.” He blew a long puff of smoke into the night air.  

At first you were in shock, but that reaction soon turned into irritation. Just who did he think he was talking to you like that? “I am not having a tantrum thank you very much a-and... you can’t smoke here!”  

He simply chuckled while taking another drag. You crossed your arms and tapped your heels on the concrete as you waited for a response. This guy was something else.  

“Hello? Did you hear me?” You added.  

“Yup.” He popped the letter p, “Loud n’ clear. Pretty sure this area is ah... employees only. Ya wouldn’t catch me smokin’ if ya weren’t out here being a brat, hm?”  

He had a point, but you still scoffed at his choice of words. You had the idea of using your title as the boss of this event to get him fired; yet he would surely talk and by morning, Gotham City would know that you’re a Wayne. That was the last thing you wanted; however, it was worth the hassle if it got rid of him.  

For now, all you could do was shake your head at this strange man breaking your employee’s no smoking rule. You personally selected all the staff for the event and your security team performed background checks on everyone to ensure your safety.  

The gentlemen sitting before you did not jog your memory.  

His presence made you uneasy and you took a step back, “Do I know you?”  

He snorted, smoke emerging from his nostrils in comical puffs. “Uh no, but I knoooo~ooow you.” 

The blood in your veins ran cold when the stranger stood up and stepped into the light. “Didn’t your dad tell ya not to talk to strangers Miss Wayne?” He said mockingly.  

You took one look at The Joker’s grotesque scars and turned to run.  

Joker grinned and let you have a running start although you didn’t get far. Your feet got caught in your dress fabric and made his job relatively easy. The two of you tumbled to the ground, Joker landing on your back, but that quickly changed with a sharp elbow to his nose.  

You didn’t stick around to see if your hit landed, you just scrambled to your feet and tried to reach for the back door when a hand grabbing your ankle disrupted your sense of balance. One second you were upright, the next, you were on the ground seeing double vision.  

Joker didn’t think you’d put up much of a fight. His research into you was limited, but he doubted that you had any of the fighting skills your father was notorious for.  

Technically he was right. You had taken up self defense training from Jason and he reported that you sucked at it.  

Despite your lack of skills and concussion, you weren’t going down without a fight. One of your nails scratched Joker’s elongated smile causing it to bleed and suddenly, he had enough of your little games.  

You were making too much noise, and his window of opportunity to kidnap you was running out. If he didn’t move you soon, his plan would be ruined. You just had to make things difficult for him.  

“Alrighty Y/n, time for a little nap. Shhhhh... shh easy now.” Joker dodged your wild punch to his face as he dug a syringe out of his pocket.  

The sight of it made you panic and fight back harder but your scream of help was drowned out by a roar of applause from inside. The auction must’ve ended with a success. Joker pierced your skin and watched the milky white substance disappear into your system.  

It was cold seeping into your veins as you still tried to fight back.  

“Aht ahttttt don’t fight it. Let it happen.” Joker crooned into your ear; not like you could hear him. Your body felt so heavy, you lost function of your limbs so suddenly it was terrifying.  

The Joker’s obnoxious laugh sounded miles away from you. When your eyelashes fluttered closed, Joker knew victory was his.  

The environment that you woke up in was dark and cold.  

Your limbs were still groggy with whatever The Joker had injected you with and after a few test stretches, you still had motion in them. Although it would do you no good. The distinctive sound of metal on metal gave away your current predicament. 

You were chained to something.  

You tried not to panic but you were unable to see anything a few inches in front of you much less see how far the chain allowed you to move. You felt something solid underneath you and concluded that it was some sort of mattress or padding. It was a small comfort while being confined in total darkness.  

Wherever you were, The Joker was to blame, and you weren’t going to let him have this much power over you. You had to find a way out before he started his sick form of entertainment.  

Every citizen of Gotham knew Joker’s M.O. You didn’t want to be tortured to death all for a laugh.  

You waited until your eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings before exploring how much freedom you truly had.  

You felt around in the darkness until your hands bumped into something solid. It was a surface with nothing that could help you escape on it, so you moved on. Minutes felt like hours as you stumbled through the dark, searching for anything useful. Just when you thought you were painting a clear picture of the room in your head, a door opened beside you.  

The blinding light was nothing compared to the searing pain of the door hitting you square in the face or that of the trauma caused by falling to the ground.  

The room was still spinning when your loudmouth got the better of you. 

“What’s your f__king problem?!” You cried out. You feared that your nose was broken, it sure felt like it with the amount of blood you felt gushing out. The Joker didn’t seem phased by the display.  

Instead, he stepped right over you and flicked on a light, blinding you in the process. “Errr let’s see... problems. MY problem.. Social injustice? Global warming…uhhh rush hour traffic?” Joker paused for dramatic effect and slowly turned to face you. You froze, feeling his emerald eyes rake over your form hungrily.  

The unnatural hue seemed to suck you in the longer you stared. “You.” Joker purred. 

“M-Me?” How were you a problem? He abducted you not the other way round! 

You had never crossed paths with the Clown Prince of Crime until tonight. The two of you couldn’t be more worlds apart. You stayed nose deep in your humanitarian work and out of any trouble whereas The Joker was trouble personified.  

The only thing that linked you to Joker was your father, yet you doubted the clown was smart enough to put all the puzzle pieces together to uncover that.  

You prayed that this was all some sort of misunderstanding but judging how The Joker was staring, your hopes began to shatter one by one.  

You instinctively shielded your body from the known threat and in doing so, your skin brushed against unknown material. The formal dress you originally wore for the evening was gone and replaced by a thin t-shirt and baggy men’s pants. The implications were not lost on you. 

You turned to glare at the madman before you. “Who changed my clothes!?” If you were able to blush, you knew you’d be redder than a tomato.  

This man obviously had no respect for women. He simply threw his head back and laughed, “The pleasure is allllllllllll mine.”  

You failed at hiding your full body shudder and even worse, you were unable to silence yourself from talking trash. “Screw you.” You regretted saying it the moment you opened your mouth.  

The room suddenly got quiet. Joker sauntered his way over to your mattress and crouched down so he could be eye level with you. He admired the fire burning within your e/c eyes for a time. Such a strong wielded fire, it was beautiful to behold. If Joker had his way, there would only be smoking embers after he had his fun. He would make sure of it.  

The Joker always had an air of drama about him, and it took center stage as he spoke to you. “Ya wanna.. know something? You should be lucK-yyyy my boys didn’t change ya. They would’ve loved to uh.. what did ya say? Screw you.” 

His choice of words held more meaning as he tried to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. You shut down that idea by chomping at his fingers the second they were within your reach.  

You refused to sit around like some damsel in destress until dad or one of the boys came to rescue you. You would fight back even if it killed you. 

To Joker, your little stunt was comical. You could rebel all you wanted; your antics would never compare to what he had in store for you.  

He simply wagged his paint-stained fingers at you like a scolding parent and insulted you further. “Mm, feisty! I like thaT. But that’s no way to behave while you’re here. No noooo. No. You are a verry special guest, Y/n!” 

Joker walked over to the table that you found earlier. You watched as he pulled out a tripod and took the time to set up a camera in your general direction. Once it was positioned to his liking, he mashed a button—and to your horror, a red light began to blink. 

“Tada! May I present.... Y/n, my lead-ing lady in this uh.. short film of mine! The title you ask? Why it’s, How to Break Batman’s Little Girl 101!”  

Joker’s words were like a sucker punch to your gut. They bounced off the thick walls of the room and echoed back in your eardrum's times a hundred. Your worst nightmare was happening right before your eyes. Not only did someone know who you were, but dad’s long kept secret was out—and his arch-nemesis of all people, knew about it.  

You were blinking a mile a minute and Joker thought your lips flailing like a fish was oh so adorable. Kissable really but he shook that odd thought away.  

He hyped up his performance so much, you weren’t sure if he was addressing you or the camera at this point.  

“Oh come now, Y/n. Don’t act so sur-prised! I knew Bats’ secret for years now. We are friends ya know.... Mmm on second thought. Ya might wanna work on the security Batsy.. I just so happened to waltz in and steal your precious.... and might I add.... beau-ti-ful daughter away easy peasy. Did I mention she’s verrrry beautiful?”  

You snapped out of your panic by Joker’s fingers grazing your cheek. Your response was instinctive by slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch me!”  

Joker wasted no time reacting to your outburst. His gentle touch turned cruel and struck your face hard enough to turn it sideways right into the wall.  

He quickly grabbed ahold of your jaw and yanked you back upright. You were forced to bear witness to his self-inflicted scars, all jagged and swollen up close. It was a permanent reminder just how insane this man truly was. Joker’s nails dug into your cheek and for a split second, you genuinely feared this man.  

His green eyes were almost electric staring into your soul. “You’re mine now and I’ll touch ya however I want. Got thaT?”  

Joker saw the insult queuing up in your brain and squeezed your face tighter in his grasp. You whined but still managed to part your lips to respond. “I’m not yours.” You growled.  

A brief staring contest ensued. Green verses your e/c.  

Joker admired your bravery; you questioned his sanity. He dressed the part of a gentleman with his three-piece suit and coattails (despite the outlandish colors) yet he was so far removed from the title. He was unpredictable in every sense of the word that you weren’t sure if you would survive a moment longer in his presence. 

You were confident that someone would come save you, Joker thought you were too naïve to understand the gravity of your situation. In any case, he would have ample time to extinguish the fire blazing in your eyes before someone started searching for you.  

He was so caught up crafting his mental plans, he didn’t notice the glint in your eye right before you bit his hand.  

It hardly phased him and for your efforts you received a rough shove towards the ground. Thankfully the mattress softened the blow however you still had the strength to glare at The Joker in disdain. 

“Let’s see how long that feisty streak of yours last hmm?” Joker chuckled under his breath and walked over to the door.  

The sudden change in brightness blinded you again but this time you caught a glimpse of a bulky man guarding the door before he and Joker disappeared from sight. 

Finally you were alone with your thoughts. The first thing you did was let out a shaky sigh and glance at the camera still recording you. The Joker didn’t turn it off and you concluded its sole purpose was to monitor you and collect material for the ransom cd your dad would receive. 

You choked back a sob just thinking about dad. He would be beside himself knowing you were abducted. Finding out that his greatest enemy took you would be a low blow—one you hoped he would overcome in order to rescue you. Dick and Jason would steer the detective in the right direction but with every hour that passed, you knew dad would slowly lose his mind. He knew firsthand what Joker was capable of. Your nose throbbed bitterly as a harsh reminder.  

There was nothing stopping the clown from killing you if he simply became bored.  

If only you took dad’s words to heart and abided by his strict security measures. You had snuck away from your detail for a bit of privacy. Now you regretted that dumb decision. You were in Joker’s clutches with no chance of escape, and it was all your fault.  

He chained you to a bedpost like some animal and now that there was light in the room, you could see it in its entirety.  

It was a mini prison right down to the bare necessities. The Joker had every intention of keeping you here, cut off from Gotham City, most likely below ground to disrupt the bat tracker embedded in you since childhood.  

You scratched at your wrist, praying that it miraculously still worked despite the odds. Surely your father, the world’s greatest detective, could locate his daughter with much less. 

It was the only reassurance you had.  

You were getting tired overthinking your predicament. There was nothing you could do at present, so with one last hesitant glance at the video recorder, you tried your best to get comfortable on the mattress and fall asleep. 

That became your routine. Time held no value anymore.  

Was it a few days? Weeks? Longer? How were you to know? You were confined to four concrete walls with no form of contact, save for the ever present blinking red light watching your every move.  

You were forced to use the horrendous facilities they called a bathroom, and meals (which were surprisingly great) were brought to your room like clockwork while you were asleep.  

You began to look forward to the tray that would magically appear on your table. It was the only connection to the outside world you had, and you didn’t take it for granted.  

There was always a special treat on your dinner plate and it never failed at putting a smile on your face regardless of being a prisoner. You tried to keep a grip on your sanity with these small bouts of happiness, but it was obvious what angle Joker was playing at.  

He was using isolation to mentally break you and it was working. 

You thought being locked away all alone would be easy, but the constant silence was unbearable and before long you began to fear when Joker would return.  

Not fearing him specifically, but of what you might do for a sliver of human interaction.  

That visit came unexpectedly. You woke up from a nap sensing a presence inside your room. Sadly, you had embraced having hallucinations during your lengthy stay here, but this one felt a little too real.  

Something didn’t feel right. “H-Hello?”  

The door was still closed with the lights dimmed and there wasn’t a tray of food dropped by, so you glanced near the bathroom area on pure instincts. Nothing was inside the room except that camera that you loathed so much. Its constant flashing light both annoyed and comforted you. At least you weren’t completely alone.  

You sighed to yourself and was about to fall back asleep when you felt something move behind you. Joker’s laugh blended in with your scream as you tried to scramble away.  

You didn’t get far given that Joker dragged you back towards him.  

The last thing you expected after waking up was a man lying in the same bed as you. It was a natural response to freak out, especially since it was The Joker pinning you to the mattress. “YOU SICK F__K! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?”  

You didn’t see the way Joker's eyes glazed over or the way his hands tightened around you before he grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Have I lost my… have I.. losT my mind?”   

You tried to pry his hands off you, but Joker was just too strong as he continued to repeat your question over and over. His manic laughter was deafening in your ear. “Have I lost my mind, Y/n? Or have you?”  

You looked up into pools of jade that glinted mockingly down at you. “What are you...?” 

Joker cut you off by directing your gaze to the camera in the room. “Did ya forget I’ve been watching you this entire time doll? Talking to yourself, your uh... hopeless words of affirmation? Oh Dad will come, he’ll come save me! Hang in there, Y/n! You’re so braaaaaave and strong!”’ 

Joker’s imitation of your voice was cringeworthy as he repeated your own words out loud. He mocked your defiant spirit and hopes of escape as if it was a joke. Strangely enough, Joker’s tone softened, and he sounded sincere with his next angle of attack.  

“You just don’t get iT. Daddy’s not coming Y/n. No one knows you’re missing, and nooo one cares either. It’s been a month now doll. If Daddy Bats really cared about his precious daughter, he would’ve rescued you by now don’tcha think?” 

Joker was just messing with you. This was another tactic of his to break you down. He was a master of manipulation and his way with words was just as dangerous as his work with knives. His sole existence was to harm others and yet with your fragile state of mind, a part of you believed him.  

You couldn’t believe that a month had passed with no one trying to find you. Was Joker telling the truth?  

It was too absurd to believe. “N-No....  no dad cares about me. He wouldn't.... he wouldn’t give up..” You whispered. You didn’t know who you were trying to convince here, you or The Joker.  

He must’ve seen the doubt starting to creep in for he pushed you a little further. “Are you sure, Y/n? He’s a uh, busy bat! Fighting crime always comes first, you know that better than anyyyyy one. He’s never had time for you...” Joker smiled, watching you blink back tears.  

He enjoyed every minute of tearing down your defenses one lie at a time.  

He leaned away and bit back a smile when you followed, seeking his contact. You were making this child’s play for him.  

“Bats always sent ya away when you were younger. Never letting you err.. blossom to your fullest. He hid you away because you were a failure to him. A mistake. He never cared about you! But guess whaT?”  

Joker waited until you looked up into his grassy green eyes. Were they always so expressive or was it your imagination that made them sparkle? It was the first source of human contact you had in who knows how long. You felt special to have The Joker staring at you the way he was.  

The air in the room was filled with static energy as you waited for Joker’s next words. You craved validation, acceptance, and attention at a time like this. The Joker had starved you for far too long in isolation.  

His hand raised up and softly caressed the side of your face and you missed how his eyes lingered on your lips longer than intended.  

“I care Y/n.” He chuckled seeing you pout, “I mean iT! I’ve been so ah.. cruel to ya. I should’ve treated you better. You want me to treat ya better doll?” 

Joker leaned forward and kissed both of your cheeks. The contact made you jump and blink up at him in shock. If he couldn’t hear your heart beating wildly, then he was deaf.  

You soaked up his form of human contact like a sponge. How long had you been wasting away in this room?  

Was it really a month like Joker had said? Right as Joker was leaning down to kiss you properly, you had a moment of clarity.  

Who was to blame for you being trapped in here? Why were you here in the first place? The answer was right in front of you, buttering you up with sweet lies and fake affection. Joker was playing you like a fiddle, and you were weak enough to fall for it.  

Not anymore.  

The Joker was the enemy. He was full of lies. Dad would never abandon you so why were so inclined to believe this green haired clown? No amount of isolation, no form of torture, could break you to believe such. You couldn’t give up so easily. You were a Wayne. You were born a fighter.  

Joker’s scarred lips ghosted against yours as you shoved him away. “You are nothing but a liar.”  

You enjoyed his brief moment of shock before his eyes cooled into the hard emeralds that they were. 

And just like that the act was over. One second you were in the comfort of Joker’s arms, the next you were tossed aside like trash and his true colors were revealed.  

He towered over you like a titan as you tried to back away but there was simply nowhere to go. You were at Joker’s mercy, and he spared you none. Each kick to your body made you cry out for Joker to stop but he didn’t listen, rather he laughed and kicked harder.  

You grabbed his ankle and begged him to stop but he jerked free and stomped on your wrist in retaliation. The audible crack was background noise to your earsplitting scream— yet it was all music to Joker’s ears.  

He enjoyed the pain of others and yours was icing on the cake.  

You sounded so pretty, so helpless and filled with anguish. He wanted to hear more. He was obsessed. How far could he push you until you gave under pressure? 

Two knocks on the door stole Joker’s attention and his eyes watched as another person entered the room. Joker knew who it was. Anyone else wouldn’t dare enter while he had his fun.  

Frost took one look at you sobbing on the floor before he focused his attention back on his boss. “We got trouble.”  

Joker rolled his eyes at Frost for interrupting his fun although it was probably for the best. He didn’t want to break you just yet. Slow and steady won the race and he had all he time in the world to do so.  

He might’ve went overboard today judging by how you visibly flinched when he moved in your direction, but he knew you’d bounce back defiant as ever. You had to.   

“You’ll have to uhh, excuse me Y/n. It seems.. I’m needed elsewhere. Don’t. You. Move.” He patted your head and laughed all the way out the door.  

The heavy sound of it closing did little to silence your tears.  

The pain was nothing. You were more upset with yourself for not being stronger. Joker was destroying your fighting spirit in record time and you were powerless to stop him.  

The bruises never faded, and it made sleeping even more difficult on your worn mattress.  

Sure, Joker was considerate enough to cast your broken wrist, but it was a small gesture compared to the verbal and added physical abuse he bestowed upon you daily.  

You became Joker’s personal punching bag and there was no end in sight to your suffering.  

Each time the door opened, you were forced to endure Joker’s twisted mind games or his heavy hand. It didn’t matter that you were a woman, in his eyes you deserved every ounce of pain that he inflicted. And when he finally left you bleeding and holding back tears, your own thoughts tortured you some more. 

Did father really abandon you? How was the world’s greatest detective, renowned for his state-of-the-art technology and gadgets, unable to locate his only daughter?  

The days blended together and all the hope you originally had of being rescued, diminished.  

The Joker enjoyed his daily visits with you but he could tell that it wasn’t enough. Your body was obviously battered yet your mind remained intact.  

You still possessed a thread of hope that made you defiant to the end. You spat in Joker's face whenever he was in range, and you rolled your eyes at his half-hearted jokes about killing you.  

“Then do it.” Your snide remarks often led to more beatings that did little to fulfill Joker’s goal.  

Nothing seemed to be working to ultimately break you, so he decided to try a different angle. 

You woke up to the smell of food in the air. Your stomach growled in want, but the reset of your body hurt too much to move. You debated skipping eating all together in favor of rest however that choice was made for you.  

“Sit up.” 

His voice. The root of all of your problems. You didn’t have the strength to be bothered with him today.  

Joker waited for you to move yet when you remained lying down, he became agitated. “I won’T re-peat myself doll.” 

Your voice cracked with your response. “I can’t. It hurts.” You just wanted to be left alone, to hurt in peace but Joker controlled everything here. As if you had a choice to begin with. 

“Lemme help you.” 

Just hearing the offer gave you the strength to flip over to face him. Surely he was joking. He wanted to help you?! After all he did? Screw the consequences, you had to speak your mind. 

“Help me? You want to help me? Okay then. Go away! Far… far away and leave me alone! Or even better! Let me go!  What’s the point of keeping me here? What do you want from me?!”  

During your speech you began to cry and Joker (for the first time in his life) felt guilty. Your timeless beauty was marred by cuts and bruises that he caused, and he couldn’t justify his actions for creating them.  

Somewhere along the way Joker lost focus of the mission.  

It was all a game— to get at Batman but along the way Joker saw how strong you truly were. Anything he tossed your way, you deflected it with ease. You never faltered, never lost hope. Even now as you lay weak and hungry, your eyes set him ablaze.  

You had won, he just didn’t know at what.  

Joker didn’t know what else to do with this failed experiment of his. One thing was certain, he wasn’t letting you go. There was something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on.  

Your rant fizzled off as you stared at Joker.  

There was an odd gleam in his eyes that you were wary of. He looked lost in thought and when he snapped to, you were shocked to see a genuine smile appear on his lips.  

You feared what his thoughts could lead to.  

To mask your fear, you rolled your eyes at his lack of an answer and reached for your dinner tray. Your groan of pain made Joker wince. Were you really in that much pain?  

Without thinking, he smacked your hand away and stabbed a portion of food with the provided fork. The two of you stared at each other in silence waiting for the other to make a move.  

“I can feed myself.” You grumbled.  

Joker gave you an, ‘are you sure about that’ look and tapped the fork to your lips.  

Just thinking about moving used up too much energy and your muscles begged for you to take him up on the offer. The Joker, Gotham City’s notorious criminal, wanted to feed you dinner; who were you to deny him?  

You begrudgingly opened your mouth while looking away from his smug green eyes.  

The act was so demoralizing, but you kept your cool while chewing in silence and opening your mouth for the next morsel.  

Just to be cheeky, you closed your lips around the fork and refused to let go. Joker didn’t think it was funny but he entertained your bratty behavior nonetheless. He considered stabbing your tongue—but thought against it. There was no need to be violent.  

He was trying a different angle to this whole hostage situation he created. Your defenses were down tonight and he would be a fool not to take advantage of them.  

A quick glance to his right confirmed that the video camera was still recording. Perhaps it was time to send a message to daddy dearest and make some progress.  

You were under the impression that Joker was taking pity on you with his nice guy act. He was patient, feeding you bites of food and not shoving it down your throat like he’d done in the past when you tried starving yourself.  

He was being.. (dare you say it) nice. You should’ve known it was too good to be true.  

He finished feeding you and you thought he was moving onto the slice of cake that was on the tray. You had been eyeing it since Joker uncovered it and you licked your lips thinking about the delectable treat.  

It would have to wait. There was an ominous shift in the air that completely blindsided you.  

Joker didn’t know what came over him. He didn’t have any plans when he entered your room tonight. It was supposed to be a simple food drop—nothing more, but the moment his eyes landed on you curled up on the mattress resting so beautifully, what left of his demented mind, checked out early.  

This past month and a half was filled with harsh lessons and far too many close calls. Batman and his ban of birds did everything in their power to find you and they almost succeeded once or twice. 

Thankfully Joker was smart enough to place you inside a shipping container so you could always be mobile and out of reach. You hardly noticed the frequent moves since he coordinated them during your sleeping hours. It also ensured your meals were always hot and fresh since they could just travel to wherever Joker deemed fit to your standards.  

Everything was planned down to the smallest detail, everything except developing feelings for you.  

Now that was out of Joker’s control.  

Underneath the clown façade, Joker was still a man and you were absolutely stunning with your aristocratic beauty and educated mind.  

Your fierce personality drew him in despite you being a means to an end. You were supposed to be a form of entertainment, a toy until Joker got bored and let Batman have his daughter back but over time, Joker became attached to you in an unhealthy way. 

You were Joker’s property, his special secret hidden from the world to do with as he so pleased.  

He stopped hitting you and allowed you time to heal due to some unknown form of guilt. More and more tasty desserts were included with your meals to make up for his abusive behavior, and unbeknownst to you, Joker watched you sleep every night.  

There was something soothing watching you blissfully unaware of the monster in your bed. He could slit your throat in your sleep but he didn’t. No, that would be a waste.  

Joker found it better to sleep beside you and hold you close. He knew you would freak out if you knew all the liberties that he took while you were asleep.  

From tracing your major arteries with a knife to leaving lipstick marks all over your skin—his feelings for you were disturbing and perfectly justified in his opinion.  

Joker didn’t want the traditional lovey dovey crap most couples shared because he wasn’t normal. He wanted to own, to control, to destroy you completely and then protect the broken pieces that remained. 

There was no concept of love in Joker’s mind and there never would be. Seeing you so docile as he fed you was the breaking point. He got a taste of your submissive side and craved more.  

Why couldn’t you just give in and break already? You brought this upon yourself. You forced Joker to do this. 

He blocked out the sound of your cries and wrestled your arms down to onto the mattress. His only goal was to get you naked and when you began to struggle more, he took matters into his own hands. 

Joker grabbed the army knife from his pocket and sliced your clothes off. One motion caught your skin and you howled as the sharp metal tore it open. Joker saw red bubble to the surface and dove down to lick you clean.  

He didn’t like hearing your voice filled with pain. It distracted him from getting hard and after staring you in the eye, you quickly got the message. Keep quiet or else.  

You tried not to make a sound louder than your whimpers. You didn’t want to provoke Joker’s wrath.  

“Much better. So pretty.” Joker hummed to himself when you were laid bare beneath him although he frowned seeing tears staining your cheeks. “Shhhhhh, hey hey. Look at me... Behave and it won’t hurT.”  

He watched your lip wobble as you remained quiet. Your wrists were being held down by Joker’s hand, leaving you powerless to squirm away and he loved the power scale tipping in his favor. Good. You would always be beneath him.  

He struggled a bit to unzip his fly but managed to get his cock out without letting you go. A shame you were being bratty and didn’t prepare yourself for this. He really had to do everything around here.  

Joker spat on his hand and worked it up and down his cock, groaning to himself at the feeling. His eyes roamed over his doll and admired your beauty mid stoke. You had curves in all the right places that begged to be fondled. He wanted to touch them, but if he let go of your hands, you would act out.  

He could see the fire burning in your eyes. If he gave you an inch, you’d take a mile.  

Yet it was criminal not to mark you up the way he wanted.  

Joker sighed as he lined himself up with your pussy. You panicked and tried moving away from his tip tapping your opening with heavy slaps to no avail.  

“Are ya gonna behave doll?” 

He shifted his weight and applied more pressure on your healing broken wrist when you continued to rebel. The searing pain made you bite your lip and cease struggling altogether.  

“Now. Are you gonna be a errr.. good doll for me n’ stay realllllllly still?” Joker sang.  

Your lip curled back, ready to cuss him out, instead a loud scream took escaped your lips as Joker began to force his way inside your dry entrance.  

It burned. It ached. He was tearing you apart and you shook your head in agony as it continued without end. You didn’t think about the consequences, you bucked your hips away from the unwanted invasion.  

You knew you were in trouble the moment Joker said your name in warning. 

“What. Did. I just say doll? Dumb b___h.” 

Joker let go of your wrists to hold your hips instead. Once he found purchase, he began thrusting in and out of your pussy. His pleasure was your torment. Your silent tears spurred him on and he swatted your hands away that tried to push him off.  

Nothing would stop him after he got a taste of you. He was an idiot for not taking you sooner. 

“Haha, you’re grippin’ me soooooo tight doll. Ease up for me!” Joker groaned louder to drown out your pathetic pleas. He would not slow down; you were too perfect to stop now.  

He noticed the camera in the corner and got an idea. “Are ya enjoying yourself, doll? Why don’tcha give the ah.. a-audience a good show? Go on. Tell him how you feel.”   

You forgot all about the recorder in the room! Your sharp gasp was music to his ears. You tried to turn away, but Joker would have none of that. He grabbed your jaw and forcibly turned your face towards the lens. Your tears were a paid actor for his production.  

“Ya see that Bats? ThaT, oh f__k... t-that is the face of your failure. She’s all mine and I’m gonna take ahaha.. verrry good care of her. All mine.. d__n it..” Joker choked back a moan and licked the tears from your face as he sped up his thrusts. If he kept this up, he would cum before the fun really started. Although he shouldn’t have to be the only one getting off.  

With a smug grin, he snaked a hand down to rub messy circles on your clit.  

The response was instantaneous. You threw your head back with a mewl on your tongue. He felt the result of his adventurous touch the same time you let out an unexpected moan. “Oh? Ya like that doll?” He mocked.  

He laughed at you trying to deny deny deny but your body was speaking on your behalf.  

You tightened around him and he felt the slick begin to coat his cock. He arched an eyebrow at the sudden turn of events. You really were enjoying this. He wondered... 

He stroked your clit faster and was rewarded by another sweet moan gracing his ears. His doll made the prettiest sounds under distress. He could see the confusion dancing across your features.  

“Ohhhhhh Bats! You have a naughty.. naughty girl! Enjoying my touch after begging me to stop just minutes ago? Ah.. mmm, it's okay doll! M-Moan louder. Enjoy ittt, I know I am. Mm, you feel better the uh wetter you become.” 

Joker stopped mid thrust when you clenched down unexpectedly on him. Were you trying to crush him to death?  

He wondered if you could feel him throbbing in your pussy. Your tiny fists were beating on his clothed chest but there was no point in pretending.  

You were enjoying yourself and if he was correct to assume, you were getting close. You just needed a little push and Joker had just the thing.  

“I knew you were secretly a whore. Only dirty sluts get off on being used like a toy. Hehe. It's a-always the quiet ones f__k!” Joker chuckled to himself followed by a shuddering groan. You were very close. He had to act fast.  

Without warning he bit down hard on your shoulder. You moaned out before covering your mouth with your hand. It was too late; Joker already knew what kind of woman you were. He bit harder and rejoiced as blood bubbled up to the surface to coat his lips. Finally, he was marking you up the way you deserved.  

He sped up his thrusts, laughing at the sloppy sound of wet skin on skin in the room. His cock happily slid in and out of your pussy now that you were horny.  

You were shaking your head in denial even as your legs shivered on Joker’s shoulders. He licked the fresh bite mark clean before whispering in your ear.  

“Let go Y/n. Shatter into a thousand tiny lit-tle pieces— and when you snap them back together, I'll be righT here to ruin you all over again. And again. And again. I will always break you just the way you need. The way you deserve. So go on. Do itttt. B-Break for me.... For us.”  

Joker thought you were beautiful before, seeing you admit defeat and cum was a vision from heaven.  

Your cheeks darkened in color as your lips parted like the sea to allow carnal bliss to fall from its depths. You twitched uncontrollably in Joker’s hold, and he was more than happy to pull you in close as you fell apart on his cock.  

You rode the wave of pleasure and swept Joker along with the force. He was caught off guard by your tightening cunt and came with your name a whisper on his lips.  

No drug could ever compare to the high you gave him.  

He saw new sounds and heard colors that he couldn’t name. His breath came in short pants as he came down. Words failed him, his head was still too foggy to process the world around him.  

What could one say after an orgasm that intense? He just came inside your quivering hole, and he already wanted to do it again.   

He couldn’t find the energy to even think coherently! All he could do was flop down next to you and sort out his senses in the right categories.  

His paint-stained hands wandered aimlessly and began playing with the ends of your hair, much to your horror. While Joker floated in post-coital bliss, you fell back to your harsh reality.  

You let this monster have sex with you and even worse, you enjoyed it.  

You felt dirty, cheap, a literal failure. You allowed The Joker to touch you, to make you feel good. You came from his ministrations. God, you could feel him softening inside your used pussy. Your inner thighs felt sticky, and you shuddered realizing that The Joker came inside you. The room began to spin as you spiraled into a panic attack.  

What would dad think when he found out? What if you became pregnant with this monster’s child. You felt sick to your stomach and feeling Joker playing with your hair, as if nothing was wrong, tipped you over the edge.  

“Don’t touch me!” You wailed. Your shout made Joker come to and instinctively hold you closer to his chest. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on inside your head, but you didn’t have to be so loud. 

“Doll... I ahh uh, already touched ya.” He rubbed up and down your back despite you flinching from his touch.  

You made eye contact with the video recorder in the corner and Joker curiously followed your gaze. Oh. That would explain your sour mood. You were smart and deduced what he would do with the footage. “Listen Y/n..” 

A knock at the door interrupted Joker’s sentence. He didn’t move an inch as he granted whomever on the other side entry.  

You tried maintaining your modesty but it was a useless effort. You were bare as the day you were born in Joker’s arms and he wasn’t letting you go. 

Joker’s henchman walked in and struck a conversation with the clown, pretended as if you didn’t exist. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die you were so embarrassed.  

You didn’t notice what was going on until Joker snapped his fingers in your face. “Huh?” 

Joker rolled his eyes at your lack of awareness. He sat up straight and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I said..... take a bath while I’m gone. I uh.. took your chain off for ya.”  

He pointed at your bare ankle that was in fact free of the heavy metal. You twisted your leg, feeling the freedom granted to you.  

You wanted to thank Joker but he was already walking out the door with his henchman. And just like that, you were alone. The silence was unbearable as the full reality hit you full force.  

You didn’t fight back. Why did you give in so easily? Why did you miss the warmth of Joker body against yours? Just what was wrong with you for craving his touch?  

Screw taking a bath, you ran straight towards the toilet to empty your stomach.  

Sleep did not come to you when your mind was abuzz with doubt. 

You paced the room while biting your nails and reliving your time spent with Joker over and over. You were beyond restless thinking about your uncertain future. What would Joker do now that he got what he wanted? 

Would you be killed off and discarded like trash? Would your family be given the chance to mourn your passing? Would they even know what became of you? There were too many questions and not enough answers. One thing was for certain, you refused to sit around and wait for your fate.  

For some unknown reason Joker removed your chain. It was a sliver of hope that you planned on exploiting.  

The heavy metal door loomed in the distance. Before it served as a reminder of how trapped you were; now it was a shining beacon of hope. Either coincidental or simply a miracle, Joker also took the elusive camera with him. Nothing was stopping you from running, and nothing was holding you back.  

Joker had slashed your clothes to ribbons but the woolen blanket on the mattress was still intact for you to wrap around your body.  

It left you feeling far too exposed, but you had no other option available. Once covered, you padded over to the door and turned the handle to freedom. 

The hallway was dark and ominous before you.  

You weren’t sure if you wanted to venture into the unknown. You looked at the barren cell you were forced to inhabit and back into the dark void, weighing the odds.  

You took the first step, then another, and another until you were walking with haste—desperately searching for an exit.  

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as you stumbled across a door with light poking out underneath the frame. It was the only lead you had so far towards an exit. You slowly pushed it open and regretted it instantly.  

The room full of men all stopped their various conversations to stare you caught like a deer in headlights in the doorway. You quite literally walked into a den of wolves.  

“Well well. Look what we have here!” One guy catcalled.  

They all leered at your body poorly wrapped up in a blanket. It was obvious your purpose here at their hideout. Free entertainment.  

The door slammed shut behind you, trapping you again, only this time in far more hostile conditions. You berated yourself for leaving the safety of your cell if this was the cost. You could barely defend yourself against Joker. There were too many men here to even consider escaping.  

You backtracked right into a broad chest and the male laughed at you already cowering in fear.  

He roughly pulled your hair while another pair of hands ripped your blanket away to knead your breasts. Whistles and laughter broke out in the room at the sight. “The Boss been keepin’ this from us!? Look! She’s freshly used too!”  

You screamed as fingers stabbed their way into your cunt and explored inside. Their hands weren't like Jokers. There was no pleasure to be gained here and unlike before, your body did not warm up to the stimuli.  

You were in pain as they groped and fondled your body and despite Joker being the origin to all your problems, you cried out his name to save you. 

Someone yanked your hair again before shattering all your hopes with a handful of words. “Ya think the boss is gonna help you? You are nuthin’ to him! Just a warm hole for him to use. And now it's our turn.” 

You closed your eyes to block out the pain. The last of your fighting spirit faded away as a lone tear rolled down your cheek. 

Frost and Joker were waking back towards your room when they heard the loud commotion coming from the common room.  

It was well in the night and nothing of note should’ve excited the men to be so rowdy. Most of them should’ve been on patrols in the first place.  

Frost merely shrugged his shoulders and followed his Boss.  

Curiosity killed the cat, but Joker was not so simple minded. He knew something was wrong. He wasn't religious by any means, but he prayed that this didn’t involve you.  

He barged into the common room ready to scold his men when his worst fears came to light.  

Joker didn’t think, he simply acted until nothing else stood in his way to get to you. Frost could handle the aftermath of his rage—you were the only constant in Joker’s mind the second he opened the door and saw you in distress.  

He left you just a few hours prior, safe and accounted for in your room. He left to prepare better accommodations to reflect your newfound status in his life. Joker took great care of his possessions, and you deserved better than being tucked away in some dingy shipping container. You didn’t belong on the floor like a cheap whore. No, you were worthy to be displayed, dressed up like the doll Joker wanted you to be. 

 Never did he imagine he would return to this. 

He fought his way to your side and fell to his knees by your side. His green eyes were wide with an unknown emotion as they took in your battered form.  

He didn’t want to touch and accidentally hurt you any further yet something about the thousand-yard stare in your eyes told him you were no longer here to feel anything at all. Joker knew how ruthless his men were, but this was barbaric.  

He didn’t regret killing them after what they done. His only remorse was not making them suffer more before death.  

Joker gathered you up in his arms and tried shaking you back into focus. “Y/n? Y/n, c'mon doll! Look at me.. s-say something!?” He pleaded.  

You mumbled something inaudible and curled up into a ball.  

Rage. Guilt and surprisingly shame. Joker’s mind was wild with this flood of new emotions.  

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have a single cell of compassion in his body, yet the sight of his newest toy utterly broken (and not of his own doing) had him feeling remorseful.  

“I... I don’T.. I...” Joker gathered his thoughts with a deep inhale.  

Frost watched the intimate scene while kicking over a body. It was a bloody mess in here; however, that had to wait.  

Frost could tell his Boss needed some assistance. “I’ll run a bath.” Frost said offhandedly.  

It would point Joker in the right direction at least rather than rocking you back and forth on the floor to no avail. The comment snapped Joker out of his musing.  

Emerald eyes roamed over your sleeping form. “Bath. Y-Yeah uh she needs a uh.. bath.” 

He nodded to himself and slowly rose to his feet to carry you out of the common room. He passed up your old room in favor of his own that had more privacy. Not like it would matter. You had yet to speak.  

This was not the outcome Joker had planned. Even after he washed you clean and tucked you into bed— he sat by your side contemplating his next move.  

You were no longer the shiny doll he wanted on his shelf. His own men had ruined you. They took away your feisty demeanor and all conscience thought from you that made this game fun.  

Joker tried to get you to speak, to react to anything, but you remained stagnant, blinking owlishly at the wall until sleep finally took you.  Nothing of the defiant Y/n that Joker had grown to like remained.  

You left him with no other alternative. He got what he wanted, and it was time to move on.  

In three more days, it would mark your two-month long disappearance. Bruce would be a liar if he said he didn’t count the days if not the minutes that you were gone.  

He blamed himself for your capture and the boys tried their hardest to steer him in the right direction and not spiral into depression. Bruce loved all his children, but you were his by blood. You held a special place in Bruce’s heart and as such, he spent every waking second trying to find you. 

No expenses were spared, and any lead (no matter how small) were investigated. Joker was smart, but Bruce was smarter. He would find you.  

Dick and Tim investigated a possible lead and discovered where you were originally being held. You still had a sweet tooth and your favorite bakery recognized your custom order being placed and tipped off Wayne Enterprises about the person who picked it up. 

Unfortunately, The Joker moved you before Batman could arrive at the location but now they knew you were still alive. It strengthened their hopes in finding you safe and sound.  

Numerous rescue attempts were thwarted in the following weeks, but they never gave up. There would be another lead, they would have another chance to save you.  

All hope was not lost. 

Their patience was rewarded the day the Batcomputer picked up a signal on your tracker. It was finally online for the first time in months. Everyone scrambled to assemble at the pinned location. Bruce was ready for a fight and mentally prepared himself to do anything necessary to get you back.  

None of the boys were prepared to arrive at the back of your office building. It seemed to be a mistake, it had to be. Was Joker sending them on a wild goose chase? Bruce scanned the area but there was only one faint heat signature detected. His nerves were on edge, already assuming the worst.  

Bruce’s heart stopped beating when he saw a body lying in the delivery drop-off/ loading area. He didn’t wait for the others to secure the area. His father instincts were in overdrive as he rushed to your side, calling out your name.  

You were unresponsive with only a tattered blanket covering your shivering form. That’s when Bruce saw the bruises painting your body and the cast still present on your wrist. He didn’t want to believe that this battered woman was his spit-fire daughter.  

You were a shell of your former self when Bruce finally roused you awake. The fire that once blazed intently within your e/c eyes was gone and it was evident what The Joker did to you.  

“Bruce, look.” Dick said as he picked up something near your feet.  

Scattered around your body was a deck of playing cards. On the joker card a note was written in red.  

You can have her back Bats; I don’t like broken dolls. 

[cosmichorrorlesbians]

new Silt Verses ep was so incredibly good and there's so much to talk about but I keep coming back to Sibling Rane.

I think Jon and Muna do a great job of making even minor characters feel distinctive and resonant with the main cast, and the disciples of the various faiths are one of the places this shows most strongly. The disciples of the Trawlerman are the people Faulkner has made himself responsible for and as early as Chapter 22 a thread develops that many of them are naïve, and young, and almost comedically earnest.

And yet, at the same time, these 'children' are part of-- at the forefront of, even-- Faulkner's acquistion of power within the Parish. In the same episode, Thurrocks accurately articulates both the depth of the faith they have in him and the result to which it is already leading.

So. Young members of the faith as (at least superficially) earnestly artless and yet having a dangerously fervent power of belief. Rane, when we meet them in Chapter 30, seems like another genuine and ardent neophyte.

They're eager and conscientious and I half expected them (like Jasp) to last less than two episodes. But they become a quiet background voice to Faulkner's downward spiral. They take on administrative tasks, attending to Roemont when he visits the Gulch, and-- increasingly-- becoming an emotional and social anchor for Faulkner as he slides into depression.

Rane doesn't seem to be a born diplomat. Earnest. Naïve. Clumsy. But I think that ambiguity the stage directions draw out is interesting. Is Rane really so ingenuous? Are they 'pretend[ing]'? They've taken on so much responsibility for the faith, smoothing over awkwardnesses, arranging things in the background, organising transport and supplies while Faulkner broods. Is it earnest? Pragmatic? Both?

I think it's very easy to read Rane as having unreciprocated romantic feelings towards Faulkner. I certainly do. Their devotion shades into excess, and in the moments where the pair seem to engage almost as equals, like the car ride in Chapter 38, there's this real sense of simultaneous shared joy and an underlying desire on Rane's part to 'get Faulkner's attention' and prove themself worthy of it. To impress him.

This Chapter sees Faulkner experience a dark night of the soul. He's already depressed to the point of suicidal ideation, detached from his surroundings and utterly anhedonic. He's clearly not equipped to acknowledge or accept love from others, romantic or platonic. This episode is about caring for someone who is fundamentally disconnected from you, who will never see things the way you do but must be loved and kept safe nonetheless. It's also where Rane saves Faulkner's life.

Rane, acting as caretaker, quietly reverses the established power dynamic of their relationship. Faulkner's attempted drowning directly parallels his childhood experience of conversion as recounted in Series 1. He becomes the lost, frightened child in their dynamic.

This speech obviously underlines Faulkner's insecurities, his youth, and the validity of his prophetic status as "chosen". We know he's engineered and manipulated his own glorification.

But it also draws attention to how Rane acts as a parallel to Faulkner. Faulkner, when we first meet him, seems precisely this enthusiastic if inept younger disciple. 'Was I like that?' he asks himself about Thurrocks. Maybe he was once. Because we see the same kind of darkness surface in Rane. As Faulkner clearly no longer cares if he lives or dies, they take on more and more of the unspoken burden of leadership.

They 'stage-manage'. They become the structural surety at the heart of the myth of Faulkner, putting in his hard work, handing him his kelp wreath, shoring up his crumbling facade. They recognise the gap between what he is and what his people want him to be, what they need him to be.

'It will be different when it's written'. Did Faulkner trip, or was he shoved? Does it even matter? We don't truly know whether Rane has taken the wheel as the endgoal of some Machiavellian scheme, or as a decision of pure pragmatism motivated by their faithful zeal, or out of desperate, genuine, self-deluding care for Faulkner, but is it important?

Faulkner isn’t just made up of Faulkner any more. Rane is being quietly assimilated into his legend. 'When it's written', I doubt they'll be much more than a footnote in his story. But I would also dispute whether High Prophet Faulkner isn't substantially a creation of unnoticed, unappreciated Sibling Rane.

[votive-candle]

So I've been considering a rebrand on this blog for a long time for "professional" reasons... like changing my username, making an official portfolio with my name to it elsewhere, etc.

This idea has been mostly motivated by this deep insecurity I have surrounding what I would say is either NSFW work, suggestive art, "fangirl" energy, all that. And it's... frustrating, to say the least. And difficult express in a way that's coherent. Because my personal feelings are that art, even art that within the sphere of industry that I want to approach (ie. game art & story design, character writing and so on), should not have to be confined within this box of "sensibilities" that I'm told it should be.

If I was doing fine art like painting, or making installations, or sculpture, I get a sense that this puritanical ideology of self-censorship would not be expected of me. I also get a sense that if I was born male and lived as a man, there would be different industry expectations of me also. If I was a cis dude I don't think a game director would mind if I had a portfolio full to the brim with borderline naked, hypersexualised women and girls with big swords and huge racks (no shade, big boobs and big swords are fun and cool). But -- and again I don't have evidence of this, it's just a hunch -- I somehow get this idea that the way I approach drawing masculine figures? The way I write and express myself through, and speak about characters? The sexually explicit artwork I've drawn over the years, which majoritively does not even show genitalia? I get this gut feeling that this would be much less... palatable (?) in the industry for commercial, media focused art.

I've been drawing sexual content since I was a teen fangirl and I think it's really strange that somehow, as I get older and more mature (and I'm serious here, like really, let that sink in? I was told directly "you're not a kid anymore, potential employers won't like this" in response to shipping art an old tutor saw me post online a few years back?), it's considered in many ways less appropriate for me to produce explicit or sexually themed artwork. Particularly when that art has that air of "fangirl" (or "fan-person" in regards to myself) around it. Because "fangirls" aren't professional, are they? They're vapid, of course. They don't consume art meaningfully, not like strong, stoic men do. No, they just want their shipping and their coffeeshop AU's and their moodboards, and there's nothing creative in that, is there? No "professional practice" there.

I just find that... baffling

I'm speaking from the perspective of someone who is borderline asexual on that spectrum, and always has been. Somehow, professionalism is partly hinged on making your art less exploratory of adult themes, once you become an adult, once you're old enough to understand and properly illustrate the importance of adult themes. Isn't that strange to anyone else? Because to me it feels wrong.

Like I said, I'm borderline asexual. I don't draw sexual content to get my rocks off. I draw it because I find physical intimacy to be one of the most multifascited expressions of humanity between people. Sex and sexuality are so dynamic in their capacity for storytelling. With it (and safely so through fiction, if you're careful about it), you can express and explore so much; passion obviously, love, but also sadness and grief and condolence, malice and rage, heartbreak, self-destruction, self-improvement, excitement, fun, even just friendship.

Sex is beautifully dynamic from a humanistic standpoint. It shouldn't need to be considered this looming force of demonitisation, or an industry blockade. And I understand I have drawings that are too graphic, too NSFW to put in a professional portfolio, to leave online for employers to see. But I'm not even talking about smut here.

Majoritively, I really don't want to distance myself from a lot of this work I've created. It means something to me dude, because these characters and stories mean something to me. Sometimes the drawing itself is just... a technically well executed drawing. I don't want to revoke that because there's an implication of "ooh, someone's touching ass, breast and dick in there!"

Yet by expressing my excitement over that, I do feel cornered. Like I'll never get hired anywhere. Which isn't easy given the struggles I already have with disability, mental health, etc. So I feel a need to sort of give in and retcon a lot of my posts.

I don't like that finding work in the fields I'm interested in kind of hinges on a lack of self-expression, I suppose. I find it bitterly ironic since I want to work in creative fields. It feels like a betrayal of the self and of the purpose of art and good media for grown individuals.

But hey, I guess that's capitalism, baby.

This blog might change a bit in the near or semi-near future. Maybe a new username or profile pic, I'm not sure yet. Maybe a second blog will pop up somewhere. I just wanted to vent a bit on my disdain in having to make these decisions. Beg your pardon.

[faux-ecrivain]

Headcannons about Yan Emperor

(Seventeenth Official Post)

(Name is Adonis Margold)

(Links to help you; 140 Shades of Purple Color With Names, Hex, RGB, CMYK Codes - Color Meanings , 134 Shades of Green Color With Names, Hex, RGB, CMYK Codes - Color Meanings , 140 Shades of Purple Color With Names, Hex, RGB, CMYK Codes - Color Meanings , eighteenth century | British Food: A History )

He hates it when he starts sweating, it makes his body feel all sticky and uncomfortable 

He hates the color Harelquin green and despises the color Fuchsia purple, but loves the colors Chinese violet and tea green

He’s actually the son of a concubine/mistress and was quite close to his father (the late Emperor)

Despite this he has no intention of taking a concubine or mistress

His favorite food is filet mignon 

His favorite dessert is smoking bishop (a British dessert from the 18th or 19th century)

He dreams about a domestic life with you (he’s even considered adopting/having a few kids)

He hated you when he first met you

He hates the Duke so much that he has a target dummy that has the duke’s painting on it and the emperor literally rips that thing apart with his sword/arrows

He’s been through 21 failed assassination attempts on his life, 33 failed assassination attempts on his mom’s life, 14 failed assassination attempts on his dad’s life, five failed assassination attempts on his siblings and 6 successful ones (he had a lot of siblings).

He doesn’t know how to ride a horse and wants you to teach him

He sleeps with a stuffed bear at night

He has a very comfy bed and often invites (commands) you to lay with him

He doesn’t hate the peasants, but he wants nothing to do with them and do he devised a plan to just take care of their needs, so they’ll stop bothering him

He absolutely despises any and all, except you, nobles, like he cannot stand being in a room with them for long than 20 minutes

His favorite flower is the Dawnrising flower, it only blooms at Dawn and he loves the way it looks. 

It comes in two shades, one has a yellow center which fades into orange at the beginning of the petals which then fades into a light red and has splashes of light blue in it, and the tips of the petal are a dark shade of pink

The second version has a dark shade of purple center that fades into a light purple near the edges, then it fades into a pink as the petals bloom and the tips are a shade of blue

Although, Dawnrising flowers are quite rare and he’s only found a handful, all of which he’s kept alive and taken wonderful care of them

He doesn’t actually want to be the Emperor, but he’s the only one left in his blood line and he’s not one to forsake responsibility 

He adores cute fuzzy animals and has a pet cat (it’s a tiger), it’s quite big though and has to be kept outside

Many women have tried to win the Emperor’s heart, but he has turned them away and will continue to do so. 

This has caused speculation about the Emperor’s sexuality, some assume he’s into guys, but the truth is he doesn’t care about the gender as long as they have a respectable personality (also he just really wants to marry you)

He’s a very good dancer and favors the tango

When it comes to cuddles, he prefers to wrap his arms around whomever he’s cuddling and then lay on top of them (no idea why, of course this doesn’t mean he’s against being the little spoon when cuddled)

He gets bored rather easily and gets irritated just as quick

Despite his friendly personality, he’s actually quite cruel and temperamental. If someone bugs him too much or resists him too often, he’ll lash out and severely punish them

If the person he loves doesn’t reciprocate then he’ll wait a little for them to come to their sense, but if it takes too long then he’s not above kidnapping and murder

He has a reputation for being a monster on the battlefield, it’s said that he’s killed entire armies of opposing forces before (of course, his reputation could never live up to yours, you’ve got far more experience in battle then him)

He has a thing for really strong people and if the person he’s perusing has some muscles, well, let’s just say they should expect an onslaught of perversion and flirtatious remarks/touches 

Although, if the one he loves Isn’t particularly strong, he doesn’t mind and will still love him

His favorite color is Liserian Pink

He likes watching the middle class performers do plays, actually he likes to watch plays in general and operas

He’s visited many places on Ilasatra and his favorite place to visit is Rais (the equivalent of china in this world)

He’s enjoys learning about other cultures and heritages, his own is a bit messy and he doesn’t like thinking about it

He hates his grandfather and doesn’t care for his grandmother 

He never really cared for his siblings, except for a little boy named Frederick those two were quite close and up until little Fred died (at the age of twelve) Adonis spent a lot of time with him

He likes to read books on myths, particularly Terres myths (equivalent of Greek myths in this world)

He has a journal that he uses to write down every dream, every thought and everything about you, actually he has many, many journals. :)

(Hope you enjoy this and don’t forget to reblog/comment!)

(Also, please send in some asks/requests about my characters, I’m happy to answer them and it’ll give me the motivation necessary to continue posting!)

[hornkneebee]

//no warning tags applied, 502 words//

How irresponsible, Mark thinks. The Farmer is always stretching themselves thin. From managing their farm, running people's errands, fighting monsters within the shadows–the Farmer has a lot on their plate.

And despite Mark's initial indifference towards the Farmer, pity begins to well when he sees the Farmer sleeping so soundly beneath the tree in the Woodlands. Sleeping so peacefully that even the bypassing insects weren't startled by their moving chest.

Might be from exhaustion, he thinks. No wonder; day and night the Farmer goes here and there doing things of many sorts.

Mark sighs. How can the Farmer be so irresponsible. Sure, sleeping on the open grass under the shade of the oak tree seems nice, but he'd reckoned the Farmer might get rashes and itches all across their body.

Mark approaches the Farmer, crouching so that he can see the Farmer's face that is partially obscured by their straw-hat (did the Farmer bought it recently?), gently nudging the Farmer to wake.

Yet, the Farmer remains oblivious towards Mark's nudging. Instead, they lean more towards the tree, a small, satisfied smile etches across their face as they say "Just five more minutes," as though Mark was waking the Farmer up from their daily sleep.

Mark sighs, again. How helpless. With one swift motion, Mark hoists the Farmer up, craddling them protectively to ensure their security within his arms before walking. Their home is not that far, so it is not that far of a journey.

But such sudden movement immediately jolts the Farmer awake, their eyes widen as they were lifted out from the earth below before they begin to register the presence of strong arms around them, securing them in place. Only when the Farmer turns towards Mark does they speak.

"M-mark?!" the Farmer's mouth agape, still trying to make sense of the situation, "What are you doing?"

"Bringing you home," Mark says, his face stoic and cold as ever yet his tone betrays the warmth that already exuding within, "You're tired."

The Farmer doesn't know what to say to that. Indeed, they were tired.

"I..." Alas, there's no other appropriate response but a little, "Thank you... Mark..."

Despite his overall apathetic aura, his lips quirk upwards a bit, though not noticeable enough for anyone to notice.

"You know, it's amazing how you manage to keep all those plants alive..." he sighs, now the Farmer's farm is within views. He sees a vast piece of land decorated by nothing but crops that the Farmer had planted. Otherwise, there's untouched land beyond the fences.

"Yet you can barely take care of yourself." and Mark's expression soften a bit. He then looks down at the Farmer, who has a bewildered expression across their face.

"You ought to take better care of yourself, okay?" and as if the last wall had collapsed, the Farmer witnesses Mark smiling. Not at anyone else. Or anything else. But at them.

The Farmer smiles. Again, still confused, yet they're slowly taking in this development.

"Thank you, Mark."

⬦⬥⬧⬨✿⬨⬧⬥⬦⬦⬥⬧⬨✿⬨⬧⬥⬦⬦⬥⬧⬨✿⬨⬧⬥⬦⬦⬥⬧⬨✿⬨⬧⬥⬦

🌻A little note from me🌻

Thank you for reading! I hope you like this one! I really love Mark and the only other fan fiction of Mark is about him adopting a pet and I love it so much!!! To contribute to the scarcity of Mark-related content, I wrote this one just for fellow Mark-lovers out there!

Also, if you notice, the last few dialogues from Mark is heavily taken and inspired from his own dialogue in game;

Which I interpret as Mark softening up with the Farmer, which is a development I yearn for!!!

Anyway, again, thank you for reading and see you guys when I see you!!!

[leading-manhattan]

Dysfunctional || Modern AU

You can also read on Ao3!

David is dead on his feet. After a day of morning classes and the shift he picked up at the restaurant he feels like every spark of energy he had in him has been drained away. The only thing keeping him from sitting down in the stairwell of the apartment complex and passing out then and there is the promise of Jack waiting for him up on the second floor. There's nothing more satisfying than shoving his keys into the lock and pushing open the door. Unsurprisingly the lights around the flat are all on. It's not a big place by any means, they were two broke college kids lucky enough to find an affordable single bedroom near campus, but Jack often flipped on all the lights when he was working late into the night on a piece. In the center of their living room Jack's easel was set up with a medium-sized canvas nearly finished perched in its grip. Hence the lights.

David throws his keys on the counter, glancing around the space to see if Jack is in the room but quickly coming up short. He takes another look at the painting and furrows his brow. He recognizes the painting, splashes of navy and shades of purple that he couldn't name flowing together in a brilliant forest scene, it was the same commission Jack's been working on for the past week. The same commission that Jack's client was supposed to pick up tomorrow. It should've been finished by now so it'd be ready to collect by the evening after Jack wrapped up his classes. 

"Jack, I'm home!" David calls just in case Jack didn't hear him come in from, he assumes, the bathroom. A soft grunt comes from the couch, the cushions blocked by the back facing the door, and a sense of dread starts to stir up in David's gut. "Jackie?" He murmurs much softer into the quiet air of the apartment, slipping his bag off his shoulder and hanging it off the back of one of their dining chairs as he makes his way towards their makeshift living room.  

He's close enough now to see just who's on the couch and his chest constricts at the sight of his boyfriend. Jack is stretched out on his side, head propped up on one of the throw pillows, staring listlessly at his unfinished painting. He's still clad in the tank top and sweats he was in this morning when David left, streaks of paint scattered about his arms and clothes, and his eyes look so dead that for a moment David doesn't feel like he can breathe. He gently bats his anxiety aside and lowers himself slowly onto the armrest by Jack's feet. David swallows thickly, trying to think of the best way to approach this, but ultimately tries to take a casual approach.

"Is this the one you were working on when I left?" David asks softly, careful still not to break the fragile bubble that seemed to encase them. Jack offers another noncommittal grunt in response. David tries to push down the worry that flares cold and demanding in his chest. "I thought they were gonna pick this one up tomorrow, did they say they couldn't make it?" He presses tentatively.

Jack makes a choked sound deep in the back of his throat and David feels like his whole world collapses when Jack's lifeless expression cracks and tears quickly flood his eyes. Jack curls up, arms wrapping around his middle and legs pulling up to his chest, and David immediately jumps into action, leaping from his seat and immediately rushing to Jack's side. It's an awkward fumble lifting Jack up from the cushions high enough so that David can slip onto the couch but he manages and settles Jack lovingly against his chest. Soothing words spill from David's lips as he holds Jack tight, pressing soft kisses into his hair while Jack trembles violently with the force of his repressed emotions.

"I just couldn't do it," Jack gasps, arms uncoiling from his waist to latch desperately onto David's work shirt. He's sure there's a sauce stain on him somewhere but neither of them is in any mindset to care. "I was so prepared to finish it today, I was, but then I just sat down and suddenly it was like I couldn't get up and I-" Jack chokes on his words, a strained sob ripping from his throat.

David feels even more helpless than he did before, arms tightening around Jack while the other man tries pathetically to hold himself together. David's familiar with executive dysfunction, his anxiety has put him in very similar positions to Jack, but he also knows that there's nothing he can really do now to help. It was far too late for Jack to try and finish this painting for his client and Jack had classes tomorrow that he couldn't taint by pulling an all-nighter anyway.

"Hey, hey, hey," David says frantically into Jack's hair when he hears Jack's breath hitch. "It's okay, baby, it's alright. You can have an off day, that's okay." He promises warmly, nuzzling the top of Jack's head softly. He projects as much care and assurance into every movement, throwing himself into the act of holding Jack together.

Jack sniffs and shakes his head, burying his face into David's chest, "I gotta have this done by tomorrow. Ain't no way I'm gonna get this finished. They're gonna drop me and then I'm gonna 'ave a random paintin' I won't be able to sell." There's an undercurrent of anger and bitterness wrapped in Jack's sorrow and David hates how much self-loathing he can hear in Jack's voice. He slides a hand up Jack's back and runs his fingers soothingly through Jack's hair.

"How about this, huh? You're gonna tell the guy that you need a couple more days-" Jack looks up and opens his mouth to protest but David presses a swift kiss to his forehead to silence him. "And if the guy is a big enough asshole that he can't understand than I promise you so many people would love to get their hands on that painting. Jack it's gorgeous. No matter what you're gonna sell it." There's not a doubt in David's mind that if Jack were to list his painting somewhere it'd sell quickly. Jack was incredibly talented and even if he only did commissions sparingly there were plenty of people around the campus familiar and infatuated with his work. Jack's biggest critic was himself.

Jack lets out a watery laugh, offering David a shaky smile that nearly melts him with relief, "Just like that, huh?" Jack asks.

"Just like that." David promises easily. Jack swallows thickly, gaze drifting back to the unfinished painting that was taunting him a few feet away. "Hey, how about we turn off all these lights and order in? We can put on one of those musicals you like." David is determined to keep Jack's focus away from the easel that Jack's been lost staring at for who knows how long. If Jack sat down and just couldn't get himself back up David wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't eaten anything all day and that just wouldn't do.

Jack snorts, unclenching a hand from where it was fisted in David's shirt to wipe away the tears in his eyes, "Shuddup, Jacobs, don't act like you don't like 'em too."

David finally relaxes as the dread and worry start to uncoil. It makes room for the fondness and love that Jack imbues in him. "Yeah, they aren't so bad." He concedes agreeably. David didn't mind musicals but he'd be lying if he said that Jack singing along wasn't his favorite part.

"Can we get Chinese from that place over in Queens?" The tension is bleeding out of Jack's body and without it he melts against David's chest. He's quickly becoming a dead weight, perfectly pliable, and while this makes it a little harder to get up and turn off the lights David can't really say he minds.

"Of course we can." David nods easily, still carding his fingers through Jack's dark hair. Jack sniffles and turns his face into David's chest once again. The feeling of defeat and guilt isn't just going to leave but David's still glad to see that he's helping to make it more bearable.

"You're covered in sauce," Jack mumbles, a whiny note to his voice.

"You're covered in paint." David throws back.

A pause. "Touché."

[trashc-anon]

hazbin hotel is polluting my mind so if I were the editor's intern: reco

• either stretch the season into 16 episodes or cut the plotlines in half;

• definitaly cut Alastor's screen time in half (if not more)

• make up your mind how much of the pilot is canon (especially regarding Lucifer)

• episode 1 is good as is, a soft reboot from the pilot without getting in too much detail and I love hating Adam, "Hell is Forever" is banger (i hope the music writers were properly paid and Disney learns why AI is a bad idea!)

• episode 2 is a problem, because Sir Pentious presence is only because of the V's, make that episode 2/2;

• ep 1/2 - Charlie and Vaggie leave the hotel to recruit; Sir Pentious attacks, all on schedule

• Charlie or Vaggie save some of the eggs from being crushed; when the "battle" is over, Pentious is cautiosly agrees to entertain their hospitalty; angel is untrusting;

• "Starts with Sorry"

• leave the Vs as unseen foes, and Alastor's only appearance is his shadow at the end of the episode (Overlords are mysterious unseen threat)

• episode 2/2 - Vs are anxious that Alastor is with the princess;

• see, the first couple of episodes make sense, but they take away from the girls and the hotel

• but "Stayed Gone" is sooo good! maybe use at a later date?

nevermind

• "Stayed Gone" is a fun song, BUT it doesn't make sense for Alastor, mysterious serial killer, to have childish rivalries; why didn't he kill Vox back when he rejected him and Vox got 'pissy'?

• either make Vox less pathetic or less there;

• soooo, episode 3/1 is would be trust exercises

• i actually liked Angel's plan with BDSM, he's not wrong and I wished he had the chance to be an adult that LIKES sex separate from the victim that uses overtsexuality as a defence mechanism

• each character could have their own moment to show what trust means to them; trust comes in different shades;

• between Angel and Maggie we see sexual intimacy and surviving extreme situations; Husk has issues with openess; Niffty with intrusive thoughts;

• IN FACT! actually stablish WHY Husk and Niffty are part of the exercises! they're not guests, Husk says as much, they are employees LOANED by Alastor; they're not there to earn redemption; *vague hand gesture in confusion*

• OKAY - Overlord meeting... ehhhhhh

• i still want to cut Alastor's screentime! whats the point of the meeting? screentime for the overlords, the dead angel (which we know, but main cast won't until episode 7) Carmila being responsible is important, we need to know who to ask for help, but ugh. I get its also, prelude that you need love to fight and win against angels, but its never stablished in canon, Carmila says it to Maggie to use as internal compass to keep her fighting beyond pain and fear; bloodlust is distracting, love is focused;

• my delight with Zestial being all dark and yummy need to take a hike for the sake of - what am i even doing any more?

• I can't help but think how much of these decision are also based on Voice Actor salaries; because Keith David (Husk) gotta be expensive and for a character that is literaly always presented he almost never talks; and just, ALL of them being expensive and ~ahahah better make fewer episodes if you want big names in your projects~

• ughhhh that's when you know a series has issues, when trying to fix you run into a thousand more problems;

• i would respect how much they put into 8 episodes, ONLY IF it's true they didn't know they would get season 2. Because in that case a bunch of these plot lines needed to be dropped, I don't care how fanfavorite the character is;

• the Vs serve no purpose what so ever, you can easily have Valentino as a lone villain (also less confusion about hells social rules about SA and abuse);

• Lucifer should've been the last big name to enter screen; work up to the trial with Heaven for S2E01 (why even a trial)

• just how PLOT heavy is this series that Viv needed Lilith's bomb to drop in season 1? which is a major inconsistancy for a series based on the theme of redemption, a CHARACTER heavy theme;

• as it is, i don't see how Sir Pentious being redeemed is a good thing, because he died before entering Heaven, so other souls need to die too and hope it's not forever? wouldn't that fuel Exterminators cause to kill in name of 'clensing'? (holy shit, the more I write the worse it gets)

• IS there an primordial EVIL to scare the angels so badly?

• omg I hope they won't try to bring actual GOD into the series; I know there is concept art floating around, but please, do not;

• Supernatural barely got away with it in Season 5 because it was a funny 'what if' and made it got bad in Season 10 (?) (no series should ever emulate Supernatural, its a warning I mean it, don't, not worth it, you don't have 10+ years of dead horse to beat)(the fans, me, stayed out of, idk, regretfull loyalty)

• my english is not good enough for this... KAY IM DONE NOW! BYEEEE

[austinslounge]

You'll not have me sympathizing with that ugly ass bitch who is holding Austin's dog hostage all these years. Not that bitch who made shady comments when he was getting dragged for his voice. Not that bitch who was abusive to him! I don't like Kaia either but y'all don't bring Vanessa here to justify your hate towards her.

I love it when complete strangers on the internet who weren't even in a relationship try to re-write history or think that they know a couple's entire relationship based on rumors they've heard on the internet. 🙄

Listen, I go by an entire picture and things that I've seen with my own eyes in order to make up my judgment about someone, because people are usually multifaceted, and typically are not all angel or all devil. Most people are very nuanced and have many different levels to their personality.

Take a seat, because I have lots to say.

1) First of all, Vanessa isn't "ugly". If anything, she's probably more naturally beautiful 👀

2) You know that Vanessa is holding Austin's dog "hostage" how exactly? 🥴 Were you actually there when she and Austin had a conversation about the dog? 🤔 Let's just use common sense here for a second. If anything, she probably kept the dog after the breakup because she knew that Austin would be busy filming "Elvis" for months, and didn't want the dog to be jumping from home to home. No doubt, the dog grew very attached to Vanessa while Austin was busy working. Darla was living with Austin and Vanessa for years after his mother died, and it would have probably been more stable (and healthy!) for the dog to not be left for months without its owner. You do realize that Austin got sick right after "Elvis" filming ended, and then he also went right into MOTA filming right after right? If anything, Vanessa has provided a stable, loving home for the dog, especially since Austin doesn't have any immediate family members who could have watched the dog for him while he's busy filming on location. It's actually probably helped Austin that he doesn't have a dog to worry about or take care of as his sole responsibility while he's busy working and building his adult career in Hollywood.

3) Wrt to the shady comments.... I personally don't think that Vanessa should have been doing that. So I definitely agree with you there. I feel that when a breakup occurs in the public eye, it's best for both parties to take the high road and keep things civil. I don't condone Vanessa's shady remarks towards Austin or her petty behavior after the breakup. To me, it was dumb, unnecessary, and wasn't a classy way to handle a breakup at all. At the same time, I do recognize that people are only human, and that most of the "shade" she was throwing was coming out two years after they broke up, around the time that she was having to see him everywhere due to "Elvis" prep. Having to see an ex all the time after a breakup isn't always easy. To me, the fact that she was still triggered by Austin two years after a breakup reveals to me just how much she must have loved that man. You're not behaving that way unless you are HURT. The opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference. While I don't think Vanessa behaved her best during this time, I still recognize as a woman how it feels to go through a breakup. This was a man that she loved for nearly 9 years. Perhaps the breakup came suddenly? We weren't there. We don't know what transpired or what things were said when they broke up. I'm not making any excuses for her behavior, I'm just sharing a different pov. I still don't think she should have behaved that way -- especially towards a man that she dated and supposedly loved for so long. It was petty, it was immature, it was uncalled for, but at the same time, can we really say that we've never been hurt by a breakup before and behaved in ways that probably weren't our finest moments? 🤔

4) "Abusive"? So, you're choosing to believe one or two random reports on the internet which may (or may not) be true, over a span of a nearly 9-year relationship? 🤔 Do you really think Austin (a man who has plenty of options) would have been with Vanessa for nearly 9 years if she had really been an abusive girlfriend? Are we talking about the same Vanessa who helped Austin with his sick and dying mother? The same Vanessa who was always so super supportive of Austin so publicly, was over the moon for him when he got the Elvis role, and who always posted sweet msgs about him publicly on social media? The same Vanessa who threw Austin birthday parties? Do we also REALLY think that Austin's older sister Ashley would have been so close with Vanessa (even had her in her freaking wedding!!) if Vanessa had really had a history of being abusive and a jerk towards Austin? 🤔 Think about that for a second. Do you really think Ashley would still be following Vanessa on social media to this day if Vanessa had really done something so utterly bad to Austin during (and after!) their relationship? Do you think Austin's mother would have loved Vanessa if that were the case? Are we talking about the same Vanessa who seemed to love Austin to pieces and couldn't keep her hands off of him? The same Vanessa who was there for Austin through his depression, through his mom's death, who supported him with love throughout his career? The same Vanessa that Austin looked deeply in love with and actually seemed happy around? That one?

5) Nobody is bringing in Vanessa to justify their "hate" for Kaia. (I don't "hate" Kaia btw -- I just don't think she's the right match for Austin) Some people just notice the stark difference in how Austin looked with Vanessa for 9 years, vs how he looks with Kaia in his "less abusive" relationship. 🙄

Look, you don't have to like Vanessa -- in fact I completely understand why some fellow Austin fans might even dislike her (she's done a few side-eye worthy things over the years imo). But to paint Vanessa with a huge wide negative brush like she's some character villain in a movie is just weird to me.

People have ups and downs. Sometimes, people say and do things they don't mean. At times, couples have fights. It happens. We weren't in the Aunessa relationship. We don't know every single little thing that happened.

All I know is what I see with my own eyes, and to me (to me), Austin looked far happier with Vanessa for years (and even Lily Rose Depp) than he has looked with Kaia. JMHO

I know some fans want to villain-ize Vanessa in order to make themselves feel better about the breakup or about his current relationship, but I'm just going by the photo and video evidence, and there is nothing that I've seen that gives me the impression that Vanessa was "Abusive" towards him. And unless Austin himself comes out and says that about her, all we're relying on is hearsay over the internet, especially when we've never seen any photo or video evidence of the sort, nor seen anything in Austin's body language to imply that in all the years that they were together.

[shkika]

Hi! I have a question regarding how close pebbles is to moon! I just finished reading pebbles pearl reading dialogue and in all his dialogue he just refers to moon as his neighbor. And he refers to suns as a close friend so do you think that canon pebbles doesnt feel close with moon while moon feels close with pebbles?

Oh no... do you know how much I love Pebbles and Moon's relationship. How well it's written, how every event makes sense and how much I love them?? Anon... you're sending me into a spiral..

Short answer to your question is yes! Moon thought of Pebbles as closer than he considered her in my opinion.

Incomprehensible ramble incoming! Since I NEED this information for my Moonie blog, I've researched this quite a bit, but I'm scatter brained so I'm sorry if it's hard to read.

We actually know this as a fact even merely from NSH talking about their relationship from him perspective!

Actually Sig and Suns are PERFECT candidates to peer into what Moon and Pebs were like! As they were their close friends from different sides of the coin!

Look at this for example.

Pebbles has always been distant. Moon tried to be a big sister to him and Sigs felt like she was never truly appreciated for it proper.

Suns acknowledges this and gives the reasoning that Pebbles sought independence. He didn't want to be told things. Which combined with Moon's seeing him as a younger sibling, it probably led to him being coddled too much.

Which.. no doubt probably annoyed him!

And how could he NOT seek independence on the other hand! He might sneer to Artificer about the protests concerning his creation, but they NO DOUBT left an impact on him! That's my opinion at least.

Not only was his very existence protested against from both the Shaded Citadel people, but ALSO from the very city that built him to MOVE there!!

WE KNOW that not everyone even MOVED!!!

(Ashy green pearl quote- Pebbles)

They did not want a new iterator!! They wanted Moon. No doubt he was compared to Moon as well. He didn't even get the luxury to have his own grounds of sorts. He and Moon are the only example we and hell maybe even they know of iterators being built so close together.

Which is especially sad when we put into perspective that Moon doesn't even like her citizens or have strong fondness for their art and culture. Unlike he very much does!

His last comfort was a pearl containing their hymn. He shares how he viewed the relationship he had with them as mutually beneficial (Very funny when she compares them to parasites.)

Moon is the one with seething hatred for them, not him which is just... so good. It only deepens as the game goes on by the way. Moon you are such a good character.

Back on track though.

What this entire situation reads to me as. Moon wanted to help and be there in any way she can for her little brother. She had responsibility over him. Pebbles was literally the only iterator out of them with another iterator administrator and it was her. She wanted for him to view her as family not as a boss or direct example.

But they were still attached and compared to one another. And although she tried her best, you can see how being treated as the lesser of the two, led to him wanting to be more distant.

Instead he grew very attached to Suns! Who seems like the opposite of Moon in all ways honestly. EXTREMELY BAD with their words, nihilistic prick!!!

It just makes sense. It's sad. I wouldn't blame anyone for the fact they grew a little distant.

I also don't in any way think Pebbles didn't at all like her or didn't care for her or all of that. His feelings were just complicated. I still think they loved each other.

[altocat]

what are your thoughts on sephiroth being more evil then hojo and president shinra

How evil you rank someone is personal opinion. They're all sort of different shades of evil.

Personally I think Hojo is the most evil of the lot, but that's just me. Sephiroth definitely gives him a run for his money but tbf to Seph, in his own incredibly twisted way he thinks becoming God will BENEFIT the universe. He's the hero in his own mind. He'll just kill everyone in the process. But even he is still capable of some sense of love as he still feels it for Jenova. That's not to say he isn't evil though. He IS. Very. He killed an entire town out of anger with no thought for anyone. And he continues to mentally toy with Cloud for fun. He kills the last Cetra. He tries to wipe out civilization...Sephiroth is a true monster, truly evil.

BUT AT THE SAME TIME

Hojo is more on dehumanizing and making as many people suffer as possible. He doesn't respect living things at all and just wants to violate them to satisfy his own curiosity..So while Sephiroth is certainly extremely evil, Hojo isn't out serving some grand delusion so much as just being a sadist for kicks. Now you could argue that maybe he DOES at least care about Sephiroth so maybe he's still capable of love too, but remember that Sephiroth's entire life was spent being psychological (and likely physically) tortured by Hojo. Hojo created Sephiroth, who is already his own brand of planet-destroying evil. The fact that he's responsible for shaping Seph into who he became is an even bigger condemnation in my book.

Pres. Shinra is probably less evil than the others, but only in a mundanely power-hungry way. He isn't out to kill people directly, he'll just let others do it for him. He's corrupt and greedy and ruthless, and probably has his own inherently sadistic qualities. But he's also the most human of the three. He just wants absolute power and control and he'll do whatever it takes to get it. A huge, huge dick and a monster in his own right. But not like these other two assholes lolol

[einshi]

The night drags on and yet, restless, Li Tianchen has found no sleep. Fresh emotional wounds haunt his mind. He rubs his eyes and frowns while scrolling further through his phone. His new phone. All ties were severed. He’s learned that life changes at a rate no one can prepare for. No one, except seemingly…

Tianchen lowers the screen and peers at his company. Liu Xiao. His childhood friend — perhaps the only friend he’s ever had — reads on the sofa opposite his chair, also awake. Tianchen doesn’t know what they both seem to be waiting for. Chances are, Liu Xiao has entirely different plans than he does with his fickle procrastination, anyway.

Setting his phone down on the armrest, Tianchen stares more prominently. Almost glaring. A moment passes; in a fit of impulse, he stands and moves to join Liu Xiao, side by side. Everything thereafter happens slowly, cautiously, like a stray animal’s approach. He leans closer so he can read the words on the page with a narrowed focus.

Is that… English? He recognizes bits and pieces, although his lessons were admittedly subpar. The way he snorts, amused, should let Liu Xiao know exactly what he wants to think of all this. Dorky. Weird. But despite that dismissal, he remains by Liu Xiao, trying to make sense of fragmented phrases. There must be a reason he is reading it, right?

❛ read . silently read a book alongside my muse . ( also hi, hello, you are no longer safe from me 🥺 )

a dispassionate read, if he’s ever seen any.

even if he’d waited, he doubted any interest beyond surface curiosity would maintain itself alight and sparkling in li tianchen’s mind. he imagined this is how it would be, from that moment where their paths merged and liu xiao’s space had soon been invaded by a surge of bright hues, contrasting his own dark shades. their opposing tastes regarding hobbies, the books they’d read, everything felt like a makeshift dreamland, and whoever’s dream this was, it certainly doesn’t feed liu xiao’s interest or keep li tianchen out of his boredom. 

“it’s a retelling of Theseus myth. you’ve probably heard of it before.” he pauses for a second, turns to face him for the first time, eyes sharp and dark above the rim of his glasses. a look of confusion - or possibly judgement towards his book choice, tell him better than prying would of li tianche’s most sincere thoughts.

and liu xiau laughs, like sand over rocks, dry, throaty. he waits for no response, “well, just part of it. i find it fascinating, that regardless of his glory, an epic hero is still cast aside and into the underworld. isn’t it ironic? that one’s name lives on through the ages, though he’ll never know it while he’s conscious and breathing. they say madness and glory are more alike than we think.”

mirth, wry cynicism, as though he’d seen much of the world and found himself wanting it entirely. he tries to keep it at bay, dormant, because there are better uses for this kind enrapturing confidence. li tianchen’s interest is piqued, or so he believes. liu xiao pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, closes the book with a light tud, “it’s subjective, that’s what i’m trying to say. fame is poison, some drink it, unknowing or not. either way, it’s bitter stuff, is what i think.”

“do you care to read it? i’ve already done it a couple of times. i can lend the book if you ask.”

@timeislikemusic

[kloppinthekop]

Have you ever thought what would be trent/domi's shopping style? Who would be spending more time in selecting items, who would spend more bucks? Who would like to try new things? Would any of them change their mind and return stuff after purchasing 😝 and lastly what is the thing they would rather die than being seen wearing 🤪

Hi anon! ✿ Sorry for the late response, but this is a fun topic to ponder and I ended up having many thoughts, lol! Okay, hmm, so I think that Domi is definitely more eclectic with his sense of fashion, more playful and willing to try new things. I think most of the time he feels comfortable staying within brands he knows, like LV or Gallery Dept, but occasionally some new designer or style will catch his eye and he’ll become super obsessed with it for a month or two. He probably lurks on a few fashion influencers’ pages, clicking through the tags when he sees a cool pair of trousers and then spending ages scrolling through all the options before buying something, maybe ending up with a OOAK customised piece. He will splurge on a statement item and then make sure he has all the other pieces and accessories to match it (shoes, sunnies, etc.) just right. But although he occasionally branches out to independent designers, for everyday/casual clothing he’ll usually stick with brands/designers he knows.

Either way, he loves to wear more unique pieces—his light blue LV backpack with the adorable patches, his checkerboard trousers, the basketball player pants, etc.—and isn’t afraid to make a bold fashion statement. He likes when people think he looks good, but he also really doesn’t care when other people don’t like his sense of style. He can do the fuckboy/frat boy look that everyone expects—and he’ll look hot doing it—but he also can rock a sparkly suit and embrace his camp fashionista side.

Once he’s bought something, he doesn’t do returns—no regrets; he’s very confident in what he likes, even if his best friends or people on social media make fun of him for an outfit.

Ultimately he knows what he likes and wants to have fun.

(I love him for that.)

Trent, on the other hand, cares very much what other people think about him and how he looks. His style is usually a bit more bland because of that, but also, he dresses like he’s born and bred in Liverpool, you know? Nothing too flashy—he’s from a working class town, and his sense of style usually reflects that.

Loves a trackie, loves a hoodie; will usually choose comfort over style. Usually sticks with neutral shades, but they work well on him. He wants people to focus more on his talent and his hard work, and ultimately, he’s more interested in being known as a footballer than a style icon. (However, that obviously doesn’t stop him from being competitive in everything he does, and fashion is no exception. He still thinks he’s the best-dressed in the team, with maybe the occasional exception of Virgil, which Trent will allow just because Virg is the captain and all that.)

He’s lucky that he’s so naturally good-looking, because yeah, he sometimes relies on that face card. But that’s okay, because I mean, look at that face!

Domi will spend more on a single item (and definitely more on jewelry), but Trent will spend more overall. At home, Domi will wear whatever is clean, and in fact wears a lot of team clothing or swag that he’s gotten for free. Trent probably spends a lot of money on trainers, and I bet he has clothing items that he thinks are cool but maybe just too over-the-top for normal situations, so they stay hidden in his closet until he has the opportunity to go somewhere like Milan Fashion Week.

Domi wouldn’t be caught dead in fur. Trent wouldn’t be caught dead in a sparkly suit. (He loves how Domi looked in his though… maybe a little too much to admit. This is why he never commented on Domi’s Instagram post about the Hungarian Male Athlete of the Year award, because he was stressing over how stupid that suit looked but how stupid good it looked on Domi specifically. And kept getting distracted… 😌)

Anyways, these are just my thoughts! Thanks for the ask. 🙏

[eggiesins]

Where the Sand Meets the Sky Chapter 8 is up!

Summary: Athenas and Grace enjoy a girls night out, and Logan is vindicated

Find it here on Ao3 or the full chapter below the cut!

I also take headcanon requests, so for more posts like Sandrock Bachelors Being Drunk let me know!

Andy gently clasps at Athenas' cold calloused hand as Fang finishes tying her sling in place. Though her safe return had been a matter of when rather than if, seeing her now - pale from blood loss, and still trembling after the ordeal - a sense of injustice swells in his chest and he looks on with resentment-shadowed eyes. She sits up slowly in the small clinic bed, allowing her head to fall back softly against the smooth wooden frame. Her breathing is shallow but steady, eyes closed as she tiptoes at the edge of consciousness. Unsuur and Justice stand only a few feet away with their crossed arms and haggard faces.

"You will…live," Fang murmurs, a hint of frustration adding an edge to his tone. "But…I tire of. Putting you…back together." Hearing this, Athenas begins to mutter an apology, but the doctor only waves her off. "Just…be careful," he warns with a small glare. Guilt flickers across her features as she nods somberly in response.

"Glad you're gonna be okay, Athenas," Justice begins slowly. "When we saw you go over the cliff, we…" His voice trails off as his stare grows long. With a quick huff, he begins again, "You wanna report now or tomorrow morning?"

"Not much to tell honestly," she murmurs though cracked lips. "I fell, bounced 'til I passed out, and climbed back up when I finally came to. If it were anyone, uh, normal, they probably wouldn't have made it." She knows the best lies are simple, rooted in truth, and it seems the sheriff is satisfied for now.

"Stop by the office in the morning then. Still gotta file the report," he turns alongside his deputy, heading for the front door. The builder sighs to herself as Fang begins packing away his supplies; she'll need to go for an herb run for him soon. It's the least she can do after he's just patched her up yet again.

Once the room has emptied, leaving only the builder and her ward, Athenas beckons Andy closer so she can whisper softly, "I'm in the gang now, kiddo." She flashes him a small, sly smile, as much as she can manage for the moment, and the boy responds with a grin of his own.

"Grace told me already," his smile falters for a moment as he glances at her bandaged arm. "Fightin' with Logan did all this?"

Athenas shakes her head. "Some, not all though. Had to make the story convincing, right?"

Andy purses his lips as he considers things. A few months ago he would have been begging to hear the story of their fight, vividly watching the scenes play out across his mind's eye. The scars on her face and arms used to tell him of spaceship crashes and daring adventures in the desert. But as he sits and studies her now, he only sees his caretaker, bruised and broken, trying to win a fight she never should have been in.

"I don't want you gettin' hurt out there no more," his voice takes on a more somber tone as he lifts his eyes to meet her gaze. "Yer in the gang now, right? Means you won't be goin' out t'fight Logan again, at least."

Athenas nods, trying to push thoughts of Duvosian sabotage and relic weapons out of her mind. "Gonna do my best, kiddo. I've got no intention of leaving you to grow up gardening with Miguel, don't worry." She chuckles weakly as her voice trails off, but Andy doesn't seem convinced.

"Better not," he replies. "You promised."

As the pair slowly makes their way outside, Andy whistles for their mount and Athenas leans against the shaded wall of the clinic to wait. After a moment, the sturdy brown yakmel finally appears, stopping to graze at a patch of grass growing along the walkway. Andy grumbles under his breath before telling Athenas to stay put so that he can retrieve the wayward animal. The builder chuckles to herself as she watches him wrangle the yakmel, gripping it firmly by the bridle and chastising the poor beast as he walks it back to the clinic.

"Ya just had to rent one of these this week, huh?" He shoots her an accusatory glare, and Athenas does her best to stifle her laughter.

"Where's the horse at? I got both."

Andy scoffs and spits at the ground. "Dang thing got spooked after the stuff with Rambo. Won't come out of the stables, even for chestnuts!"

Athenas' shoulders tremble with the effort of giggles held in limbo. "Unfortunate, but can't be helped, I suppose. Gonna have to talk to Coop about buying that one for good."

After an awkward moment trying to mount the yakmel, the pair finally make their way home together in a somewhat uncomfortable silence. In spite of what Athenas had expected, Andy doesn't pepper her with questions or demand to hear more stories about the fight. Instead, he spends most of the ride staring thoughtfully into the fading sunset, watching as the colors deepen and fade into soft shades of purple just the same as his eyes. At times his features darken with unspoken conflict, but these moments are brief - small detours from the uncharacteristic air of melancholy settling around his hunched shoulders. Athenas can't decide whether to ask further or crack a quick joke to lighten the mood.

As they pass through the wide tunnel, and the workshop finally comes into view, she settles on a response - reaching an arm around the boy's shoulders to pull him close and offering a murmur of support. "If you want to talk, that's great. If not," she shrugs, "that's okay too, kiddo."

Andy lays a hand over hers, and his somber facade finally cracks into a small smile. With a barely stifled sniffle, he responds, "Thanks, Athenas."

"'Course," she nods curtly. "Now, let's see if some of that sandrice cake is still good. I think we've both earned a little treat after today." The boy lets out a huff of air he didn't realize he was holding and nods his assent eagerly. It's only a ghost of the vigor he usually shows, but for now, it's enough.

Steam drifts lazily upward from the handcrafted bathtub as Athenas finishes wrapping her bandages. Ripples in the water seem to expand and contract the ephemeral veins running along the smooth marble slabs lining the interior, and cast an array of twinkling lights against the ceiling as they refract the lapis and gold detailing - some of Amirah's best work yet. It seems almost a shame to sit and slough off layers of dirt, grime, and sweat in such a work of art, but options are few at the moment. The builder groans and her sore muscles scream as she gingerly lowers herself into the water, taking care to avoid dunking any gauzed limbs.

As she closes her eyes and leans back, her thoughts begin to race through the events of the day. She had been right about Logan, but he's only a small piece of the puzzle. A bandit with a secret heart of gold is one thing, but Grace being a spy for the Central Alliance? Duvos sabotaging Sandrock as they prepare for war with the city states? And someone in the church is working with them? Before Sandrock, her job had consisted of simple orders: kill this target, blow that building up. The reason behind the mission never mattered, was never questioned. Only the results spoke for themselves.

And now? Now, things are complicated, messy. The enemy hides in plain sight, responsible for - if not direct deaths - the ruin of so many lives and careers, the hardships of people she cares about. And once the traitor is uncovered, what then? What will it mean for Heidi's school, for Vivi's shop? She can't imagine anyone in Sandrock giving in, but the people are desperate, clinging to a thread of hope thinner than spider silk. Duvos aside, what about things with Logan? Assuming Sandrock survives whatever storm is brewing on the horizon, there will be a trial and a sentencing. And after that, they'll have to decide how to handle Andy.

She sighs and glances down at her hand, at the lingering twitch to her fingers. If Logan comes back to town, it would be best for Andy to go with him. Athenas knows it would be the right choice, but her heart sits like lead in her chest at the thought, twisting into a spike as she forces herself to imagine it, to face the reality now and spare herself the worst of the pain later. She'll wake up every morning to a silent house, back to making breakfast for one - if she decides to eat at all. At some point, she'll have to move the furniture out of Andy's old room and find a way to sell it or re-purpose it. In the evenings, she'll read by herself, and the smell of hot chocolate won't permeate the kitchen. Apart from the steady hum of machinery in the yard, her days will pass in silence, a life rebuilt for one.

She'll see Andy around, of course. He might stop by and visit now and again with some crazy new design or invention, but he'll never stay for long. And then it will be just her in the big workshop - no pranks, no impromptu building lessons, no burden. She considers the bright flash of excitement on Andy's face as he catches his first king sandfish, or hefts the newly finished super shock shield for the first time. The memories course through her, slowly at first, and then rushing like white water. They froth to the surface and spill over and out, salty sea foam streaming down her cheeks as the leaden spike turns in her chest like a watermill.

Hurt now for peace later.

It takes a few weeks for Logan and Athenas to nurse themselves back into fighting shape, but things in town remain eerily quiet. Pablo, Arvio, and Vivi set up their shops every morning, and Matilda gives her usual sermon from the Blue Moon Stage, just as they've always done. Athenas finds herself rising before the sun and sprinting to the commission board alongside Mi-an, eager to begin their work and be gone before Yan pops in for the day. Though she tries to get home quickly, she can't help but stop and stare at a familiar wanted poster hanging outside the Guild. Unsuur's rendering is spot on - in as much as it can be, being only the top half of the bandit's face - but now that Athenas knows the truth, she can't help but find the impression lacking. Compared to the drawing, Logan's eyes are lined with the weight of his burden, undercut by weary dark circles. She hears the exhausted determination in his voice as he explains his position, the crack of his knuckles as his hands clench into fists by his side. His steely gaze in the drawing seems almost a whisper of the man when compared to the sorrow and tenderness in his eyes as he asks her for help saving his home.

The real Logan has a voice that dips down affectionately when he talks about Andy and a soft tilt to his brow as he recalls painful memories. It's not the poster's crinkled eyes and crooked smile that seem to haunt her, chasing her from dawn to dusk alongside a fluttering in her stomach and a tightness in her chest. She glances over at her distorted reflection in the window: the one white eye staring back at her, the hook in her nose as she angles her head, the thick pink gash carved into her face. With a scoff she turns away, still lost in thought.

In a way, the photo reminds her of her own military portrait. Her mother had praised her for how dignified and serene she had appeared, but only Athenas remembers her trembling hands as she balanced herself on the stiff wooden stool, or the lump in her throat as she forced herself to take a deep breath and smile. The black eye and split lip she sported that day had been wiped from the final product, leaving only the dedicated patriot behind. If only the future had been so kind.

Footsteps ascend the wooden steps behind her, and the sheriff's low voice reaches out, comforting and sympathetic. "Don't beat yourself up too much, partner. We'll find him. Eventually." But Athenas can hear the spike in his heart rate, the way his voice trails off ever so slightly toward the end, and she's not sure who needs the reassurance more right now. The truth bubbles up inside of her, rising in her throat and sitting like a lump. How many times had he saved her life or hauled her to the Clinic when she inevitably passed out from overexertion? And what had she told him after Gecko Station - that she had everything under control? She's only rewarded his kindness with more and more lies, haphazardly stacked on top of one another, tilting this way and that in the slightest breeze, yet somehow never collapsing. Only a matter of time.

She stands in silence for a moment before turning to the sheriff with a performative half-smile. "We'll find a way to save Sandrock. This town is too stubborn to fall anyway."

Justice lets out a sharp laugh at that. "Times like these, everyone going about their business like nothin's happened." He pauses. "I think you may be right." His gaze softens as he turns to face her fully. "When yer ready to hop back on that horse, just let me know. We'll take 'em down together."

"Thanks, Justice," she offers a brief nod goodbye before making her way back to the workshop.

Later that night, Athenas dresses quietly, opting for simple dark colors and her softest leather boots. She checks at Andy's door again, listening carefully as she confirms the boy is still asleep. Rather than take the creaky stairs, she instead eases herself slowly over the banister before leaping to the ground. She lands on the balls of her feet and lets her knees take the brunt of the impact, silent as the early morning fog. She whispers a soft word of thanks for the new rubber bushings and freshly oiled hinges of her brace.

It's a quiet walk to the thick steel door tucked away beneath the church where Grace waits for her. The town is bathed in silver moonlight as she ghosts through the quiet streets, and she can't help but take in the sights, even now. Just outside the door, the frycook-turned-spy greets her with a small smile and a quick wave.

"Athenas, good of you to come. Don't worry, no one's gonna be here around this time." The small assurance does little to quell the anxiety and anticipation twisting in the builder's stomach. It doesn't seem to matter how many missions she goes on; the unsettling calm before is always more nerve-wracking than the storm itself.

Noticing her hesitation, Grace continues, "I need you with me all the way now. Whatever we find in there, let's have each other's back."

Athenas nods with a resolute set to her jaw. "Let's do this."

Despite her resolve, the builder's heart sinks as the antilock she constructed slides perfectly into place on the secret door before them. Regardless of personal feelings, she knows what the church means to the people living here, and to see that faith rewarded with betrayal almost stings worse than a horned adder bite. Despite her growing dread, she presses forward across the threshold with Grace following closely behind.

"Oh for fucks sake," she mutters as she sees the spotlights traveling up and down the corridor ahead. "Now I'm supposed to be James Bond, too?"

Grace chuckles softly as the two women begin twining their path down the hallway, careful to stick to the shadows against the wall. "Was he really as capable as the documentaries say?" she asks. "Personally, I always thought it was weird for an agent to become such a public figure. Kinda defeats the point of being a spy in the first place."

Athenas stops in place. "The hwhat now?"

"Don't you know? James Bond, 007, master of espionage and seduction? The films detailing his exploits in the Old World are common enough. Though, it is a matter of debate still, whether the name refers to a title given to agents of such exceptional quality and status, or if the man was such an incredible spy that no two accounts of his appearance actually match."

Athenas opens her mouth to respond, but pulls back for a moment. Grace watches as she tilts her head to the side before whipping around to face her.

"You're fucking with me right?"

It takes all of Grace's training to stifle her laugh. Athenas is much easier to read than she'd like to believe, and the story her face tells is one of bewilderment, concern, and just a touch of agony. If the builder's eyebrows could raise any higher, she'd risk giving herself a new hairline entirely.

"This is a bit. You're doing a bit right?" Athenas asks as the women swiftly round the corner and find themselves in yet another room full of spotlights.

"Of course not," the spy responds sarcastically as she edges her way around the room. "I'm a professional. I'd never interrupt an important mission for some silly joke."

A smile flickers at the corner of Athenas' mouth as she whispers back. "Well then, you should know that the James Bond movies were all fictitious cover ups to mask the real spy at work: a hero named Austin Powers. Feel free to put that in a report or textbook or whatever."

"Now there's an idea," Grace quips as she dashes forward to access a nearby access panel. Soon enough the lights are out and a large door to the side glides open on silent hinges. "Hah! We're in. Piece of cake."

Athenas' brows furrow as she steps into the next room, overwhelmed by the familiarity of the scene. Machines and relics in various states of disrepair are placed sporadically along the outer edge, surrounding a large water tank affixed in the center, all humming quietly. Another control panel sits nearby, crudely drawn schematics on a desk just to the side. Metal panels and railings line the steel walls, and the only illumination comes from small emergency lights embedded in the ceiling. She can smell machine oil, coolant, and something else - someone else. The lingering scents have largely dissipated and jumbled together, but there's a hint of freshly tilled soil, of hair gel and sweat. Enough to begin painting a grim picture.

"If my sense of direction hasn't failed me, we're directly under the oasis right now. Somehow doesn't seem like a coincidence," Grace murmurs as the pair moves closer.

"Pen's relic weapon seems so small compared to this," Athenas responds, coming to a stop directly in front of the tank. "Speaking of, I'm picking up what might be a bit of…Miguel, maybe. And Pen, most likely. If someone else is involved, it's been too long for me to tell clearly." She places a hand against the cool glass of the tank, suddenly feeling far, far too old. After a pause, she casts her partner a sidelong glance. "It's like I'm back there again. But also not. Does that make sense?"

"I can imagine walking into an Old World facility buried directly beneath the town you've called home for the past two years might dredge up some strange feelings," Grace says. "Let's just focus and search around for anything that might explain what we're looking at."

Grace carefully photographs each new piece of evidence as they work their way around the room. From the diagram of the piping in the Peach Statue to Yan's ridiculous user manual for the water tank, it quickly becomes clear to both women how exactly Duvos is planning to undermine Sandrock. Drain the oasis and sell water from the tank back to the city, a simple plan, but one that feels far to easy. Something this disastrous should be locked behind at least twelve more layers of intrigue. As they talk through the scheme, footsteps begin to echo down the corridor. Athenas flinches at the sudden noise and turns to Grace, alarmed.

"Someone's coming?" The spy whispers, but doesn't wait for a response. "Find a place to hide, quick!"

Athenas scrambles at first, but catches the smallest hint of fresh air from a corner across the room. Following the scent, she spots the door she's looking for. Grace follows quickly behind as they slide to a halt on the other side, leaving a crack only just wide enough to peek through. The builder's heart pounds in her chest, surely loud enough for even Grace to hear. But if the spy notices, she doesn't say anything. Her eyes are glued to the doorway, listening closely to the pair of voices coming closer. Sandrock's protector and shepherd bicker back and forth, oblivious to the soft click of Grace's camera as she takes another photo. After a tense exchange, the men murmur a final "For the Empire," before taking their leave, and the empty facility is once again cloaked in silence.

"Well, well, well," Grace begins, turning to Athenas. "All we're missing now is a little pink bow on top. Excellent work Athenas. Now let's see where this tunnel goes. I don't really want to face off with Pen right now if I don't have to."

With one last glance in the direction of the two men, Athenas mutters, "Look who's the weed now, bitch."

A ladder to the surface sits not far behind the women, and with it, a letter from Mason, further detailing the entire plot. Grace hurriedly adds the letter to her arsenal of evidence, and the women take a moment before bidding each other a quick goodbye and dashing off into the night.

Just as Athenas is passing over the railroad tracks, she spots a small flash of light against the inky black horizon. She pulls up short, paying careful attention to the pattern. Four white flashes, three beats dark, five white flashes. Haru remembers the signal.

Athenas approaches from the side; anyone watching her from town would see her enter her home, not to come out again. With a quick dash out the back door and a quiet leap over the fence, she weaves her way through the shadows to find Haru tucked well out of sight.

Before she can launch into her report, Haru speaks up first. "There you are! I was starting to worry, but glad to see you're safe. You seem in high spirits; what did you find?"

Athenas pauses, staring blankly for a moment. When his expression turns from one of relief to concern, she pulls herself back together. "Sorry, there's been a lot of praise from folks I'd never have expected it from. But right, the report…" As she explains, Haru's eyes go wide and his finger taps quickly against the side of his leg as he processes all the new information. When she finishes the story, he quickly thanks her and disappears into the night.

Athenas sighs to herself as she heads back home, paying no mind to Andy's door - now standing slightly ajar - as she throws herself into bed.

The early morning sunlight shines dimly over the desert, vividly illuminating the red bricks of the workshop, but only just beginning to light up the town. As usual, Athenas wastes no time getting to the commerce guild for her commissions, but when she stops yet again at the wanted poster, she can make out several voices calling out from further into town. Curious, she heads to the square, completely unprepared for the scene unfolding before her.

The entire town gathers in Martle Square, murmuring excitedly to one another or slinging questions and demands at the officials lined up on the steps of City Hall. As Athenas looks over the throng, she can make out a small head of messy blonde hair. Before she can sigh in relief her gaze travels upward to the gloved hand resting at the back of her son's head. Swallowing a few choice phrases, she quickly traces a path through the wall of shoulders and elbows. Coming up to take Andy by the hand, she casts a sidelong glance at Pen, who smirks back at her. The boy only shoots her a look and begins fidgeting, scratching at his side and bouncing in place. Just as Pen moves to scold him, Andy stops, gaze set firmly ahead.

Unsuur spots her first from his post behind the mayor, seemingly calm if not for the slight furrow in his brow as Miguel stands next to him, vainly attempting to quell the anxious crowd. Flanked on either side by Matilda and Justice, standing front and center, is Haru.

Athenas' jaw falls slack as she looks on, and eventually, the hushed whispers surrounding her fade into uneasy silence. She glances around, taking stock of the people's worried faces - some less than others, but all unified in their sheer surprise. It takes only a moment for Athenas to notice Grace is missing. She looks back up to Haru, meeting his eyes with a silent question. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and Athenas worries at her lip.

"We can make it easy on you, my boy," Miguel begins. When Haru doesn't respond, he turns to the Sheriff, "Kindly remind the criminal what he's charged with."

Justice clears his throat and steps forward stiffly. "Uh, right. Haru, you're charged with unlawful destruction of properties, theft, hijacking, kidnapping, and resisting arrest." He glances around furtively. "It's…a long list."

Haru's eyes darken, and he remains silent for only a moment before muttering, "You're the ones…"

Andy flinches and sucks in a sharp breath beneath Pen's suddenly tight grasp. Haru quickly glances between Andy and Athenas. His mouth sets into a firm line as he falls quiet once more. The builder, for her part, reaches over to take hold of one of Pen's fingers, carefully leveraging her digits beneath his and wrenching them backward one by one. She can feel the strain in his fingers as he tries to push back against her, but there's a strange stony calm to her demeanor, an uncanny resolve in her gaze as she stares him down with her feral mismatched look. As she continues to pull the fingertips only an inch from his wrist, the Protector finally yanks his hand from her grasp, letting his fist fall to his side for the time being. Athenas takes the moment to reposition Andy directly in front of her, both hands resting on his shoulders. The boy makes a small face at Pen, but quickly turns forward as the man's darkened gaze follows him with laser focus.

Miguel makes swift work of running through the charges against his reticent hostage, eagerly pushing for a heavy judgment. But even after Arvio stumbles through his defense of Haru, Grace still doesn't appear. Athenas chews at her lip as time grows short. She won't hesitate any longer.

"Pastor, I have a question!" Her call rings clearly through the square, and her mouth runs dry as a sea of faces suddenly turn to her.

"Very well, Athenas," Miguel responds languidly enough, but there's an edge to his tone belying his own anxiety. "What is it?"

"Do you remember when we had that talk about weeds and flowers?" The sea waves swirl with confusion, and the pastor lets out a lengthy sigh.

"Of course. As I recall it was…enlightening."

"You told me then that weeds must be removed from the garden because they'll use up all the water and nutrients in the soil instead of the flowers. Is that right?" Her voice trembles only slightly as she lays down her trail of breadcrumbs.

Miguel huffs impatiently, shifting his weight from side to side. "That is correct, Athenas. Weeds, like this one-"

"Seems pretty hypocritical given that you're the one stealing water from Sandrock!" Athenas shouts out the accusation with every bit of air her lungs can hold. As expected, gasps roll across the crowd like waves crashing at sea. Some turn to Miguel with horrified shock or wide-eyed bafflement. Others turn to Athenas with suspicious glares and asking looks. Unsuur watches in his usual stoic silence. For a moment, Athenas doubts. After all, most nighttime revelations quickly turn rancid in the light of day. But when she looks past the pressure of the crowd, meeting Haru's cobalt gaze, she finds the resolve to steel herself against the torrent.

Miguel beats her to the punch, quickly silencing the crowd as he cries out, "You accuse me of stealing Sandrock's water?! You've truly sunk to a new low, Athenas," he practically spits her name as he speaks, "leveraging such an accusation all to distract from the real threat here." He pauses to take a deep breath, but Athenas can hear the frantic beating of his heart, even from this distance. She can smell the adrenaline-fueled sweat beginning to drip down his neck. He's close to cracking.

Veins bulge and blood rushes in a hot flush as Miguel finally bellows, "WHERE. IS. LOGAN?"

A hush falls over the bewildered crowd, and from behind Athenas, a deep, Sandrock accent coolly calls out, "Lookin' for me?"

Athenas whips her head around to face the voice, and her heart skips a beat. Wordlessly, the crowd parts as Logan steps forward. The builder and her ward watch his every move with wide eyes and slack jaws. He flashes them a small wink as he passes, careful to ignore Pen's murderous gaze.

When Logan finally approaches the stage, Justice is the first to find his voice, regarding the bandit with no small measure of confusion and suspicion. "You…turnin' yourself in, buddy?"

Blue eyes crinkle in what Athenas knows to be a smug grin, and Logan responds with an easy wave of his hand. "Somethin' like that."

"What are you all waiting for?!" the good pastor shrieks. "Get him!"

The Civil Corps moves, but Logan moves faster, dashing back through the throng and vaulting over the railing of the stairs. Athenas' breath catches in her throat as she joins the wave of townsfolk rushing after him. In the confusion Pen attempts to shove past her, but the builder counters with a swift kick to his shin, letting the large man's own momentum carry him face first into the ground. She comes to a halt at the wall overlooking the oasis, and the rest of the town follows suit, blocking any entrance to the stairs below.

Logan leaps atop Rambo's back and points a finger straight at Miguel, fury blazing in his darkened gaze. "Citizens of Sandrock! What if I told you that your very own pastor, yer Protector, and yer Commissioner were the very ones plottin' against you this whole time?"

Whispers and murmurs ripple through the crowd, but no one moves. Tension hangs thick in the cool morning air, and for a moment, Athenas imagines Logan might cut right through it with the dagger hanging from his narrow hips. The idea sends sparks dancing down her spine and goosebumps rippling across her skin. Even now, he seeks her out among the crowd, azure eyes glowing with vindication. When he does find her though, the glow calms for a moment, temporarily replaced with something decidedly softer. Something Athenas might - if she were very, very silly indeed - mistake for affection.

With a shake of his head, and turning his attention to the statue adorning the oasis, Logan begins swinging his lasso. "Better t'show than tell anyway!"

Just as Logan lets loose, Miguel barks out an order to Pen, but his voice is drowned out by the crumbling of stone and the creaking of pipes as the statue comes crashing down. Athenas flashes Andy a triumphant smile as her chest swells with emotion. Her heart races and all her senses seem to hone in on Logan as he rushes back to the square: the proud set to his shoulders, the familiar scent of leather and sweat, the steady gaze that locks on to her and holds her in thrall. It's overwhelming. Thrilling. Terrifying.

The crowd turns back to Miguel as Trudy demands answers. From this distance, Athenas can make out the wild look in his eyes and the restless twitch in his hands, clenching and unclenching, just before he reaches for the sheriff's gun.

A shot rings through the square but it's Matilda who cries out. Unsuur and Fang carry her away, doing their best to staunch the flow of blood. Time skips a beat and Miguel is in handcuffs before Pen comes crashing down. But the space punch doesn't happen. Nothing happens. The "protector" glances down at his fist with a furrowed brow, clenching and unclenching his fingers, turning his hand back and forth. Still nothing happens.

"Looking for this?" Andy pipes up, clutching a small processor in his hand, a smug toothy grin plastered across his face.

"You!" Pen snarls as he advances toward the boy, but pulls up short when Athenas quickly steps forward, pulling Andy behind her and drawing her pistol.

"You're not going anywhere near my son," she growls, finger ready and waiting on the trigger. The tip of the barrel quivers ever so slightly as a rush of adrenaline surges through her, setting her nerves on fire. Her ears prickle with hushed whispers and her skin tingles with the warmth of the rising sun. Her heart races in her chest and her breathing shallows. The quivering barrel begins to tremble and then to shake as red trickles in at the corners of her vision.

"We need him alive!" Justice interrupts, casting a wary glance in her direction. Athenas keeps her focus trained on Pen but pauses when the sheriff speaks. With a huff, she relents, stowing her pistol with one hand while drawing her spear with the other. Pen grins, but wastes no more time as he lunges at her with outstretched hands. Athenas dodges to the left, ducking beneath the blow as she swipes at the back of his knees. The protector lurches forward but catches himself easily, spinning to face her once more with barely a scratch. He's faster than he looks, and catches Athenas off guard with a few quick blows to her side, briefly knocking the wind out of her. Her blood pounds through her veins and her breath comes in short, choppy gasps. The red vignette closes in.

"Nice try, Skinny," he sneers. The words are barely out of his mouth when he pounces, tackling her to the ground with the sheer force of his weight. It's all she can do to avoid being crushed, and Athenas croaks as she gasps for air. "You're pathetic," he snarls. His hand grasps at her throat and begins to squeeze. Even without the relic, it's hard to believe any normal person could have such strength. The thought nags at her as she struggles to break free from his iron grip.

Just in time, Athenas spots a familiar set of horns appear over Pen's shoulder. With a loud crack, Logan slams the butt of his pistol into the back of his head, and the Duvosian agent cries out as he falls to his knees. Athenas sucks in a sharp breath as she scrambles to her feet, quickly bracing the shaft of her spear against the column of his throat in order to yank his head back by the chin. With a hoarse cough, Pen finds himself staring down the barrel of Logan's pistol. Even as he fights to breathe, fire rages in his eyes and a bloody grin splits his lips, but it's only a matter of moments before the inferno is extinguished and his body falls limp, dragging Athenas back to the ground with his deadweight.

"Son of a bitch," she groans as she struggles to shove his comatose form onto his back, dragging herself over him to keep him down while she busies herself with the cuffs. Pen only groans at the weight of her bearing down on his chest, but he remains thankfully asleep.

Logan's eyes soften as Athenas glances up at him. Her hair hangs loose and small sweat-damp waves curl against her cheeks. The morning sunlight glints in her mismatched eyes and highlights her rosy flush. Her chest heaves as she finally begins to calm down, scarred webs dancing across her shoulders, and when she offers him a small exhausted smile, the world seems to stop for a moment.

"We work surprisingly well together," she remarks, ignoring another low groan from the man currently trapped beneath her. For a moment, neither she nor Logan speak, and though they'd never admit it, they each share the same intrusive thought. It's a pesky little idea, one that pops up without warning and seems to take the mind in a stranglehold. Seemingly irrational - yet compelling - drawing them in like moths to a flame.

What if it were Logan pinned down instead? Strong thighs squeezing firmly against his stubbled cheeks, a soft sigh and a giggle of surprise, a sudden jolt of electricity as he finds just the right spot to drive her wild above him? Or perhaps darkened sapphire eyes peering upward, a gaze filled with affection and need, calloused fingertips pressing into soft flesh, holding her in place with an iron grip?

When he realizes he's already indulged the idea far too long, the bandit suddenly coughs and turns away, profusely thanking the Light for the bandana masking his rapidly warming features. "Y-yeah, seems like," he manages to stutter after a while.

Athenas clears her throat and glances down to see Pen rolling his eyes at the display. Or perhaps they were just lolling about in his head? Her cheeks burn bright red and she turns to Justice for help.

The lawman - who had been otherwise preoccupied with watching the fight and dissecting the prolonged moments of intense eye contact - surges forward to take his prisoner.

When Athenas and Rocky catch Yan trying to leave on the train, it's all the restraint they can muster to leave things at only one blow. Something inside her screams at her to fling the unconscious man right out the window, consequences be damned. She's sure Rocky feels the same way, but Unsuur's clear voice cuts through instead.

"Good work guys. We got all the bad guys in one go. This has gotta be a record or something. I'll have to ask the Sheriff." Despite the serenity of his demeanor, his white knuckled grip on Yan's shoulder tells a different story.

As Athenas walks back to the square, Andy rushes up to meet her, dropping his grip on Logan's hand as she sweeps him into a hug. "I'm so proud of you!" she squeals as she spins them both around before coming to a sudden stop and pulling back. "Snagged it while you were fidgeting in the crowd?" The boy beams back at her as he nods and Athenas throws in another spin for good measure. Logan swallows and pulls his bandana back down around his neck.

"We did it," he grins, still in disbelief. "We saved Sandrock! I can finally rest my head easy."

"Rest yer head easy?" Andy pipes up. "I know yer a bandit, but I thought we were above torturin' one of our own!" When both Logan and Athenas cast a concerned glance his way, the boy continues. "Let me back in the gang, damnit!"

"'Course that goes without sayin- wait." Logan narrows his eyes at the boy. "What did you just say?"

Andy stumbles over his response, but Athenas interjects, setting him back down on the ground. "He, uh, probably got that one from me," she grins sheepishly. "Working at the shop, things get - let's say, messy."

"Uh-huh." He raises a stern eyebrow at the pair, but says nothing more. As the two stand next to each other with their matching sheepish grins and tapping feet, part of him can't help but feel jealous at how close they've become. But he would never deny Andy the family he's found here in Sandrock. Besides, there's still room in the picture for a handsome and daring bandit king, right?

"Of course Andy's back in the gang!" Logan nods, echoing the sentiment, and Athenas claps a calloused hand to the boy's shoulder encouragingly. "Speaking of," she turns her attention back to the bandit. "Has Trudy said anything yet?"

"It'll be a day or two but Haru 'n I'll go on trial, serve our debt to the town. After that, I'm not too sure. It'd be nice to go back to just huntin' monsters but-" He pauses, and for a moment he seems to deflate. Athenas can read it in his slumped shoulders and stooped head, the uncertainty, the doubt that eats away at him.

"You're not sure how the town will welcome you back, even after everything today." Athenas finishes the thought for him, ducking her head slightly to meet his lowered eyes. Something changes in his gaze, something the builder isn't quite sure how to read. His brows furrow as he stares back at her, almost as if he's looking for some confirmation hidden behind her scarred expression.

Without warning, he stands up straight, hastily yanking the bandana back into place. "Well, uh, we oughta be gettin' back to the hideout for now. Haru 'n me are on house arrest 'til the sentencing…"

"Already? -I mean, of course, yeah," Logan shoots Athenas a suprised look as she fumbles over her words. "Gotta do what you gotta do, right?" She flashes him what she hopes is a reassuring smile and a quick thumbs up.

"Y-yeah." Logan's mind scrambles as he scours his brain for any remaining scraps of dignity. "Uh, see ya at the trial?" Idiot.

Athenas chuckles at that and nods, unable to stop the small smile from lingering on her lips. As the two seem to tiptoe around each other fruitlessly, Andy glances back and forth between them and grins to himself as he hatches another scheme.

Scheming, as it turns out, will have to wait. Athenas tears through the workshop like a sandstorm, leaving almost as much of a mess in her wake. All kinds of materials lay strewn about the yard, and the pile of stray parts begins to grow into a mountain. The telegram plan had failed, and Duvos could be at their doorstep any moment now. Frivolities, shenanigans, and all general roguery must be put on hold for the time being. Instead, Andy reluctantly occupies himself by assisting Athenas with turret construction.

He lets out an exasperated groan when she asks him to fetch materials yet again. Even after nearly twenty grueling hours at the assembly station, she still refuses to let him do anything other than deliver plating and bearings. The ringing of her hammer pauses as she turns to face him. Sweat drips down her forehead and carves a freckled path through the thick layer of grime and oil smeared across her weary, lined expression. Her back is hunched as she sits-cross legged in front of the partially built turret, and her gnarled, scuffed hands fall into her lap.

"Sorry kiddo," she begins with a sigh. "Can't let you in on this project."

"But why?!" Andy demands with tense shoulders and his fists balled at his sides.

"Andy, listen to me," Athenas beckons him closer with a gentle wave of her hand. When he steps forward, she slides over, giving him a full view of the machine's interior. She holds up a large bullet, at least the length of her finger and even more than the width. "This is a .50 caliber bullet. Just one is enough to rip the heart from a person's chest." She gestures to the gun behind her. "This machine has the power to spit them out at almost 1,000 meters per second, and at a rate of 600 rounds per minute." Andy's eyes go wide as he begins to eye the bullet warily. "This machine is a weapon of war. Its only purpose is to kill." Athenas pauses, playing the casing along her knuckles as she glances back at the turret. "As soon as this is over, I'm melting it down." Another pause and her voice softens to a murmur. "You at least deserve a better chance than I ever got. Everyone here does." She sets the munition gently to the side and folds her hands in her lap. "Now, go grab me some more alloy plates and after that see if you can't rustle up a snack for us both, pretty please."

The boy glances from builder to machine before nodding slowly and making his way to the storage shed. Athenas pinches at the bridge of her nose and takes a deep, trembling breath. Duvos sits at the doorstep of her glass home wielding sledgehammers and wrecking balls. The turret will help, but it's as likely to tear the walls down as it is the enemy. In the distance, she can hear Andy rummaging around in the shed. The clang of metal rings out as he emerges, loading the last of the plates and bearings onto a small wooden cart. He rushes the materials to a skidding stop by the assembly station and takes off for the house. The door slams shut and all falls silent for a moment. The evening breeze is a cool relief for her aching muscles, and she breathes a sigh of exhaustion as she leans back against the turret.

Two sets of boots crunch on the gravel-lined path to her gate, and soon, a soft knock follows. Athenas slowly sits up, reaching down to tighten her brace before making her way to greet the visitors.

"Hey Athenas," Justice calls as the builder approaches. "We're checkin' in on folks as everyone prepares for, well, whatever comes next. How're you an' Andy holdin' up?"

"Good as we can be. Oh!" Athenas hurriedly unlatches the gate and ushers the men in. "I've got something for y'all while you're here." She rushes them inside and guides them down the stairs to a thick steel door, . Justice casts an uncertain glance at his deputy, who only shrugs in response as she slowly pulls the thing open.

As they pass through the threshold into a brightly lit room, their jaws fall slack. Dense gray foam lines the walls of the small space, and nestled into custom molds along the walls sits an almost dizzying array of different pistols and rifles sporting all kinds of modifications and variations. Some are snub-nosed and stocky, others nearly as long as their creator herself, each crafted from different materials, but they all bear the same signature engraved just above the trigger: a single empty eye with a jagged scar running through it.

Justice's gaze darts around the room as he tries to take it all in, even as Unsuur approaches one pistol in particular. The steel of the barrel, trigger, and hammer is plated in gold, and the polished handle is carved from a smooth white stone with a characteristic blue glow in the center.

"Is this…moonstone?" he asks, incredulous.

Athenas shoots him a smug grin. "Thought you might like that one. You can have it if you want. Just watch out for the recoil."

The deputy turns back to the pistol and takes it gingerly in his hands. "They are the most diverse thing in the world," he murmurs to himself in awe. His fingertips trace the sharp lines and smooth curves of the revolver, taking in every detail.

"This is some impressive work, Athenas!" Justice remarks as he pores over the rest of the collection. "Mind if I?" He gestures vaguely to the wall of rifles ahead. Athenas chuckles.

"Go ahead," she chirps. "I won't send our Civil Corps into battle with anything less than the best, so take what you like."

The sheriff jerks around to face her. "You sure, partner? Seems like a lot of time and care went into these."

But Athenas only shrugs. "Someone's gotta use 'em, and I'd much prefer they get put to work protecting Sandrock, rather than just sitting and collecting dust. And besides," she pauses, suddenly refusing to make eye contact. "I owe you one, don't I? You two have been by my side since the beginning of all this, even when I didn't make it easy or deserve it." There's a pause as she clears her throat, and her voice drops to a murmur as she continues. "Just wanna make sure I pay my debts, y'know?" A hesitant shrug.

Justice's brow furrows as he takes a step closer. "You feelin' alright there, Athenas? Startin' t'sound a little fatalistic." The concern in his voice settles like a stone in the pit of the builder's stomach. Her jaw clenches against the tide of unspoken confessions bubbling up as she resists the overwhelming urge to reveal her secrets. But Justice continues, "Listen, whatever it is you're not saying, well - no pressure, but honestly Athenas, you're a one woman army. You're a big part of the reason we have any hope of winning this thing at all. Sandrock has always been the underdog, and somehow, we've always found a way to adapt." Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she finally tilts her head to face him. "I ain't givin' up on this town just yet, and that includes you, partner." His tone is soothing as he places a gentle hand on her shoulder before pulling her into a bear hug. "We'll find a way. We always do."

When he finally sets her dangling feet back on the ground, Athenas is a mess. Her eyes are an even deeper shade of crimson than her cheeks as she wipes her runny nose on her sleeve. Her hands tremble ever so slightly as she fills a few crates with more weapons and supplies and hurries the corpsmen on their way. As they finally round a corner and disappear from view Athenas slumps against the doorframe of her workshop, sliding to her knees, suddenly exhausted. Andy's empty plate sits on the counter behind her, and she can hear him playing out in the yard. She takes a deep breath, and it's as if the air around her has suddenly tripled in weight, bowing her head and hunching her back. She stays there a moment, kneeling against the sturdy wooden frame. But the brace begins to engrave itself into her flesh and her toes go numb.

Her blood pounds in her ears as she collapses instead onto the sofa, leaving her braced leg to rest on the small coffee table in front. From her pocket, she pulls out a small pill bottle. A quick rattle confirms the stimulant's almost out. She sighs and quickly swallows the remaining tablets. The builder huffs a quick breath and closes her eyes, waiting for the medicine to work.

In the sudden stillness, the uneasy doubts she had been forcing down finally worm their way into her focus. Ever since the injections, she's been living on borrowed time. She'll be lucky to make it through the coming fight, and even if she does, she'll still be a threat to the town. Perhaps she'll go to the Peripheries to live out her days until she finally encounters something mean enough to kill her. That'd be ideal, but reality rarely ever lines up so nicely. If she does lose herself in the fight to come, someone else will have to take the shot. Unsuur and Justice would be her first choices, but they may hesitate, may not want to see the beast she's becoming. No, she'll need someone with the experience to know when a monster needs to be put down.

Resolved to her plan and finally feeling the medicine kicking in, Athenas rushes outside, but almost immediately pulls up short. A faint noise pricks at her ears, and she moves to the front of the shop, listening closely. As she rounds the corner, the sounds begin to come through more clearly, and the builder's breath catches in her throat. The longer she listens, the more her heart seems to pound in time to the rhythm: heavy boots crunching against gravel, dozens of boots, and all advancing quickly.

"Andy!" she cries, dashing across the yard as she searches frantically for the boy. It doesn't take long for him to pop up from behind a recycler with furrowed brows hanging low over wide, panicked eyes. As soon as she spots him, Athenas rushes over . Bending down, she pulls a small sheathed dagger from the top of her boot and clips it to the waistband of his pants, tucked away safely beneath the cape. "They're here. Take the knife but only use it if you have to. Do not fight back against those men, Andy." She cups his face in her hands, staring straight into his eyes as she speaks. "Right now, we fight smart, okay? And when the time comes, we fight back hard. So stay in the Temple and look after everyone." He nods quickly as she continues. "With the knife, slash - don't stab - and do it sideways across the limbs. Focus on drawing as much blood as you can as quickly as you can. But this?" She taps at the blade hanging from his belt. "It's a last resort only. It'll buy you just enough time to run away, so don't be a hero. Do you understand?"

Andy nods firmly in response, doing his best to appear stoic and resolute. If Athenas notices his trembling lips and weak knees, she says nothing.

"Good," the builder brushes a rough hand across her face. The soldiers aren't far now; only a matter of minutes before they swarm the city. She whistles for her horse and wastes no time tossing her ward into the saddle. "Head straight to the temple," she instructs him. "And if there was ever a time to be as loud as you possibly can, it's now. Make sure the whole town knows Duvos is here! I'll get the turret set up in the meantime, and when all of this is over, we'll come back home together."

The boy nods once more, his face ashen as Athenas gives his hand a quick squeeze before sending him on his way. With a quick smack to the rear, the horse is gone in seconds, bearing its tiny rider quickly to their destination, even as he cries out into the rapidly darkening night.

Athenas races to her assembly station, and after a few quick rivets, makes her way to Martle Square, careful to avoid the main road into town while carrying the damned machine. Her heart races as she prays for a miracle.

Logan paces back and forth across the large, empty cavern. In the otherwise silent room, each step of his boots rings out and echoes back at him in what quickly becomes an irritating cacophony. Haru should be back by now, but there's been no sign of him, and to disobey the arrest order while they're both so close to earning their redemption… Most likely he just got caught up by Arvio on the way back. Logan gives his partner an hour before he goes hunting. But what to do in the meantime?

His gaze turns to the two goats situated nearby, standing with their eyelids half-closed as they nap in place. Moving closer, he reaches out a gentle hand to scratch at Rambo's forehead, one of his favorite spots. The goat's ears twitch briefly at the contact and flicker toward Logan's low voice as he begins to ramble.

"We'll be out of here soon enough, boy. Finally back home in the old place, at least after we've served our sentences." The goat snorts at that and Logan lets out a soft chuckle. "Yeah I suppose you'll be a free man either way, huh? Must be nice." Rambo lets out a quick huff and returns to his nap somewhat smugly.

Logan's hand drops softly to the wooden fence between them, and his knuckles tap nervously against the smooth grain. Once he's done his time, he'll need to work things out with Athenas and Andy. As much as he loves the kid, he can't rightly take him away from her, but would Andy really be happier bouncing between two homes constantly? He's a strong kid, but after everything he's been through, stability is exactly what he needs. Of course, they could always stay in one house together like a proper family.

"Yeah, 'cause she'll appreciate two ex-bandits suddenly asking to move in," he mutters to himself, his voice drenched in sarcasm. "Dumbass."

Maybe Athenas will be the one to come and finally arrest them. It's been two days since the Peach fountain came down; the trial should be coming up soon. Would she greet him with the same warmth in her eyes as she had after taking down Pen? Or would she return to her stern, authoritative mask? She shifts like night and day, turning the very marrow in his bones to ice with her white-eyed glare only for the moment to dissipate, and soon, that steely façade melts away to reveal a tender heart, bruised and battered, but still beating strong for the ones she loves. When she turns to him with that look, it's as though he's falling through fifty feet of searing Sandrock air only to crash into the oasis below, suddenly enveloped and lifted by the cool currents. The longer she stays, the longer he can linger in the waters that drown out the noise of the world and leave him floating through the still, blissful silence. His face grows warm beneath the mask, and he yanks it down, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths.

Off to the side, the goats turn restless. Their eyes snap open and they paw nervously at the ground. Logan slowly approaches the pair, murmuring more soothing placations, but neither Rambo nor Merle pay him any mind. Their ears prick up and their breathing goes heavy just as heavy gunfire rings out in the distance.