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boykisser4 · 1 month

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Humbled by Gojo's Heart

Warning: male reader, smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, physical and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative, blaming of cheating....

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Gojo manipulates the reader to marry him Gojo treats the reader like a prince, making him fall in love with him, but then one day as Gojo and reader were on a date...reader talks to another guy making Gojo jealous. So he brings him home punishing him for "cheating"

In the heart of a bustling metropolis, where steel and glass skyscrapers kissed the heavens, a young man named Gojo Satoru went about his day with an air of unshakable confidence. His eyes, the color of freshly poured whiskey, scanned the crowded street, his mind racing with thoughts and plans. A gentle smile played upon his lips, hinting at secrets he held close to his chest. Dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that whispered of wealth and power, he cut through the throng of people like a knife through warm butter. Gojo's presence was undeniable, a silent force that drew the gazes of passersby, though they couldn't quite place why.

Y/n, a male with a gentle disposition and a heart as vast as the ocean, had been swept off his feet by Gojo's charm. Their courtship had been a whirlwind of extravagant dates and passionate whispers under the moonlit sky. Every gesture, every touch, was a symphony of affection that resonated deep within the Y/n's soul. He felt like a prince in Gojo's arms, treated with a tenderness that bordered on worship. The days melded into a warm embrace, each moment a testament to the love that was growing between them.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, Gojo took Y/n to an exclusive rooftop restaurant. The ambiance was perfect: soft jazz played in the background, the scent of exotic flowers filled the air, and the city lights twinkled like a million stars at their feet. They talked, laughed, and shared stories as they sipped on their wine, the conversation flowing as freely as the river that carved through the heart of the city.

But as the night grew darker, an unexpected encounter unfolded. Y/n was approached by an acquaintance—a friendly exchange that seemed innocuous at first. Yet, as the conversation grew longer, Gojo's smile began to waver. His eyes narrowed, the warmth in them retreating like a tide receding from the shore. A storm was brewing beneath his calm exterior, a storm that would soon unleash its fury.

As Y/n turned back to Gojo, a sense of unease settled in his stomach. The handsome man's grip on his glass tightened, the veins in his hand standing out like rivers on a map. "You're flirting with him," Gojo said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "You're mine." The accusation was a knife in the reader's heart, a stark contrast to the sweet nothings they had shared just moments ago.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise and confusion. "I wasn't—" he began, but Gojo's hand was already on his arm, pulling him to his feet. "Let's go," he said, his grip painfully firm. Y/n looked back at his friend, who had the decency to look apologetic, before allowing himself to be led away.

In the back of the sleek, black limousine, the tension was palpable. Gojo's jealousy had transformed into a raging inferno, consuming the love-soaked air around them. His fingers dug into the reader's flesh, a silent warning of the punishment to come. Y/n felt a cold shiver run down his spine, a prelude to the tempest that awaited him in their penthouse suite.

Upon arriving home, Gojo didn't bother with pleasantries. He pushed the Y/n against the wall, his body a wall of rage and possession. "You're mine," he repeated, his breath hot and heavy. "You don't talk to other men like that." His words were laced with a dangerous edge, a promise of consequences that left the reader trembling.

With a swiftness that belied his size, Gojo grabbed Y/n's wrists, pinning them above his head. His eyes searched the reader's, looking for any signs of resistance or defiance. Finding none, he leaned in, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of Y/n's neck. A bite, not quite hard enough to break the surface, served as a stark reminder of who was in control.

Y/n's heart raced as Gojo's free hand roamed over his body, pulling at his clothes as if they were mere obstacles in his quest for dominance. He didn't ask for permission, didn't bother with sweet nothings or gentle caresses. This was a claiming, a brutal display of ownership that left Y/n gasping for air.

In the harsh light of their apartment, Y/n could see the raw desire in Gojo's eyes, a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He knew that tonight, Gojo would take him without mercy, a punishment for his perceived infidelity. Y/n's mind swam with a mix of fear and arousal, the line between love and obsession blurring before his very eyes.

As Gojo's fingers unbuckled his belt, Y/n felt a jolt of panic. "Wait," he whispered, but Gojo ignored him, his movements driven by a primal need to assert his dominance. He yanked Y/n's pants down, exposing his trembling form to the cool air. Y/n's eyes searched Gojo's, desperately seeking understanding, but found only a fiery determination that sent shivers down his spine.

With a rough hand, Gojo turned the reader around, pushing him face-first into the plush leather couch. The scent of their combined arousal filled the room, a potent cocktail of desire and fear. He stepped closer, his breath hot against the reader's ear. "You're mine," he growled, "and I won't let anyone else have you." Y/n could feel Gojo's hardness pressing against him, a silent declaration of war on his innocence.

Without warning, Gojo's hand connected with the reader's bare skin, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

Y/n yelped, the sting of the slap burning like fire. He could feel the warmth spreading, his cheeks reddening with the force of Gojo's hand. His eyes watered, and his body trembled, but he didn't dare move. Gojo's breath was ragged, his chest heaving with the effort to contain his fury. "You will not disrespect me," he said, his voice low and menacing. "You will not look at other men."

Y/n's body was a canvas of emotions—fear, anger, and a perverse thrill that made his stomach clench. He knew this was wrong, knew that Gojo had crossed a line, but he couldn't find the strength to fight back. Instead, he whispered, "I'm sorry," his voice shaking.

The apology seemed to satisfy Gojo, if only for a moment. He leaned in closer, his whispers a mix of dominance and possession. "You will learn your place," he said, his hand moving to Y/n's waist. He yanked the reader's underwear down, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. "You will learn to obey me."

The sound of fabric tearing filled the room as Gojo ripped his own pants open. Y/n felt the tip of Gojo's erection pressing against his entrance, the heat of it a stark contrast to the cold fear that had taken root inside him. He gritted his teeth, bracing for the pain he knew was coming.

With one swift movement, Gojo pushed into him, the force making Y/n's knees buckle. He bit back a scream, his nails digging into the leather couch. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot brand searing through his body. He could feel Gojo's size, the way he filled him completely, leaving no room for anything else.

Gojo didn't give him time to adjust, didn't bother with pretense. He fucked Y/n hard and fast, his hips slamming into the reader's ass with a brutal rhythm that mirrored the pounding of his heart. The couch squeaked in protest, a cacophony of sounds that seemed to echo the tumult in Y/n's soul.

Y/n's eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out from the corners. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and pain, but his body responded despite his fear. He could feel his own arousal growing, his body betraying him in the most primal way. The pleasure mixed with the pain, creating a toxic cocktail that had him moaning into the cushions.

Gojo's grip on his hips tightened, his breath hot against Y/n's neck. "You're mine," he repeated, punctuating each word with a rough thrust. "You will always be mine."

Y/n could only nod, his voice lost to the sobs that tore from his throat. He didn't know if he could ever love Gojo again after this, didn't know if he could ever trust him. But as Gojo reached around to stroke his cock, he found himself responding, his body arching back to meet each thrust.

The climax was explosive, tearing through him like a tornado. Gojo's roar of release filled his ears, the warmth of his semen a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled in his heart.

As Gojo pulled out, Y/n slumped against the couch, his body aching. He could feel the stickiness between his legs, a stark reminder of what had just transpired.

The silence that followed was deafening, a testament to the shattered trust that lay scattered around them like broken glass. Gojo didn't bother to clean him up, didn't offer a gentle touch or a soft word. He simply zipped up his pants and walked away, leaving Y/n to deal with the aftermath alone.

Y/n pulled up his underwear and pants, his body feeling foreign and violated. He knew he had to get out, had to find a way to escape the clutches of Gojo's obsessive love before it consumed him completely. But for now, he was trapped—trapped in a prison of his own making, with no clear path to freedom in sight.

#bottom male reader #anime x male reader #jjk x male reader #jjk x male reader smut #jjk #dark blog #x male reader smut #gojo x male reader #gojo x male reader smut #dark content #smut #male reader smut #male reader

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nodefinition-found · 1 year

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- The Death of Peace of Mind -

An inferno is quite a sight to behold. There are always victims, bystanders, and the arsonist.

The arsonist is the one who sets fire to the city, who lights the match and throws it in the grass. Never mind the reason why; that becomes of very little importance once the first bystander becomes a victim.

The first victims will scream and plead with the fire, as if it could ever be reasoned with. Quite often there is no reason for why they were chosen first, but even if there was the fire will never say. Perhaps it was God who needed this for his plan, or perhaps it just happened because this is a world where bad things happen more often than not. One will hear the screams of his family and eventually the flames will reach him, and only then will be try to fight them but by then it is far too late and eventually he realizes that. Buried in soot and ash, he will claw his way out from a shallow grave. He will lose the battle but win the war.

The second victim, however; that was intentional. She, too, will try and fight the fire and lose. Except she will not win the war. She will be burned alive and have to drag herself over hot coals to reach safety. The scarred epidermis covering her flesh will be a reminder of her failure and there will be nothing that can satiate the thirst for vengeance. She will never be the same after, and eventually she will set a fire of her own.

The bystanders, however; they are no victims. The bystanders will watch as the blaze spreads and the world burns, but stay just out of reach. One of them, however, will gaze upon the inferno too hot to touch with admiration and awe. The embers in her eyes will glow as bright as her desire and the smoke will make her choke, but she will never step away to breathe. Closer and closer she will try to get, until she discovers that the only way to stay is to also burn. Eventually, she will throw herself to the flames and revel in its warm embrace as it consumes her. There will be nothing left but charred remains.

And when the fire dies and there is nothing left but a graveyard of cinder and ashy skies, the ones who survive will have to live amongst the rubble of what was once their lives.

#creepypasta #creepypasta art #creepypasta edit #creepypasta fanart #jeff the killer #jeff the killer fanart #homicidal liu #jane the killer #nina the killer #tumblr artist #artist on tumblr #fanart #digital art #digital artist #digital illustration

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doumadono · 8 months

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mmm emergency request

take as long as you need to answer!! or if this is too triggering, no need to answer at all!!

tw for mention of childhood m*lestation

so recently (couple of weeks ago) i found out that my dad’s friend/girlfriend kind of knows the guy who m*lested me as a kid…

she knows everything that happened and knows how difficult it was for me to heal from. now finding out that she knows him— it set me back and i distanced myself from her.

a bit ago she called me, telling me that i should forgive him for what he did to me… and it went into a whole thing and now i’m trying not to cry while writing this lol

but anyways

it set me back really far and all of my progress is gone so i was just hoping for some comfort??

like twice or dabi comforting their gf/s.o. through this and helping them try to heal again.

maybe even twice or dabi getting a bit of revenge on the two people lol /j

sorry if this doesn’t make sense i’m just a bit out of it

- twice & dabi anon

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Twice

Twice is initially shocked and angered when he learns about your troubled past and the person responsible for your pain.

He lets out a string of curses directed at the one who caused you harm, showing a protective side that you hadn't seen before.

Immediately, Twice pulls you into a comforting embrace.

"I might be a bit crazy, but I'm crazy about you. We'll get through this together, I'll never let you face it all alone."

After learning more about the person who hurt you, Twice puts together a plan for justice. "Nobody messes with my girl and gets away with it."

He ensures you have the support you need, encouraging you to take good care of yourself and promising to be there for every step of your healing journey.

As you try to hold back tears, Twice pulls a playful expression, "And if you need someone punched, I got a clone for that too. Or ten."

Twice is genuine, realizing that some battles require a team effort, and mental health is no exception.

Later, you discover Jin had discreetly gathered information to ensure the person responsible faced the consequences.

Twice, without a moment's hesitation, serves justice to the person who has caused you harm.

One day, accidentally overhearing him in conversation with Toga, you catch her asking for "the blood of his new friend." The request surprises you, but you eventually shrug it off.

The next day, Twice seeks you out and declares that the case is concluded, justice served.

When you express a desire to learn more, he simply smiles at you, smoothly shifting the topic, leaving the details in the shadows of his actions. "Don't worry, little mousie, Twice did his best to make sure they won't hurt you ever again."

Dabi

Dabi listens silently as you open up about your troubled past. His eyes, however, betray a mix of anger and concern.

"No one should go through that. I'll make sure they pay for what they did to you, princess."

Dabi, in his understated way, offers a warm touch, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Don't think about that anymore. Let me take care of everything."

Dabi, true to his straightforward nature, ensures justice is served.

As you express your fear of encountering your past abuser, Dabi assures you, "I won't let them get away with it, don't ya worry your pretty, little head, princess."

Dabi, true to his character, never utters empty promises. Swiftly acquiring information about the person's name and address, he becomes a rare sight within the League of Villains' hideout for the next few days. Unbeknownst to you, he meticulously stalks every move of the individual, methodically transforming their life into a nightmare.

Days pass, and news reports flood the airwaves. Resting your head on Dabi's shoulder while watching the news, you hear of a house engulfed in flames, with a person unable to escape the inferno. The police chalk it up to a gas leak, citing eyewitnesses who observed the flames as an eerie shade of blue.

Your eyes widen, and you glance at Dabi, seeking confirmation. "Dabi..."

He, however, responds by gently placing his index finger to your lips, silencing any questions. "I promised you something, and I'm a man of my word, yeah?"

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edgeray · 3 months

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The Sun Sets Again

(Arlecchino x Clervie)

A/N - Hi anon! If you plan on requesting again from me make sure to give yourself a name/emoji! Thank you for being my first arlevie request, and feel free to request more of this ship in the future–I love arlevie and have been meaning to write them. I want to thank @myfrierndscallmebun for giving me a summary of Puella Magi Madoka Magica to let me write this; I hope it's okay if I don't make this with magical girls, mainly because I don't know how to write that. This took so long because I love arlevie and I didn't want it to suck <3 this is short because i haven't been able to get in an angsty enough mood since i'm writing this during my vacation, but this will probably be picked up again when i have more ideas / if pt.2 is requested. for that reason, no happy ending :)

Content warnings / info - character death(s), angst, teenage romance, 1.9k words

In the evermoving cycle of pain and torment that the House of the Hearth embodies, there are a few constants that Peruere is aware of. One such constant is that Peruere herself is strong, strong enough to consistently gain Mother's attention and strong enough to survive the kingmaking event. She is strong enough to where her other siblings remark her with poisonous envy and jealousy, disdain in their gazes whenever they view her. She is strong enough to win duels against her other siblings. Peruere is aware of that.

Another constant that she is aware of, though the notion seems to escape from her other siblings’ mind, is that Mother does not love them. She is despicable, but it is her honey-coated lies and sugar-dipped promises that deceives the more ingenuous bunch, though at this point, Peruere often wonders if the children choose to follow her because out of naivety or dubiety–unable to accept that the family and home given to them is just a mechanism to supply the Tsaritsa more useless fodder.

Finally, the last constant that Peruere is aware of is that Clervie's touch burns her in a way unlike the cursed flames inside of her do. Clervie’s side is soothing, like what a house with a hearth is supposed to be: a warm flame that coats her like an embrace. She finds that underneath Clervie's eyes, Peruere melts, crumbles, and dissipates because Clervie is the sun that provides her life, and without her, Peruere would be little more than a withering flower. This is the one constant that Peruere would like to be eternal, to forever be burned by Clervie’s rays of light.

—

Peruere does not remember when Clervie's light was lost–what event caused the final embers of her will to fade away. She does not remember when the sullen, hopeless expression worked its way into her once softened face. She does not remember when her eyes, once brimming with determination, lost their emerald glint that Perueure always found herself enamored with. She does not remember when her sun was extinguished, leaving the moon to wander the night sky, blind and alone.

Perhaps if the moon had reached for the sun once, the moon could share what little light she had. Maybe if she did, the sun wouldn't be snuffed out.

—

Clervie's weight is heavy against her as she holds Clervie, futilely trying to grab onto the life that is bleeding out of her and onto her hands and the ground. The pitter-patter that Peruere had often slept to was fading underneath her cursed fingertips. The verdant eyes are replaced with a faux, dimmer gemstone. Peruere is cursed, perhaps she has no right to ask for the Archons’ regard, but she asks for them just this once, pleading with the Archons to save her dying sun. When Clervie's warmth is finally gone, dissolving into nothingness, she knows that the Archons have ignored her calls and that she has been abandoned. The moon is dyed red from the sun's blood.

The previously dormant blood flames roars to life, brewing within Peruere and its fiery inferno incinerating the crimson moon. Flames enrapture Peruere as she cradles her friend, unsaid words charred the moment they escape her tongue, whispered confessions fleeing like wispy embers.

(Why must it end this way? Why did you leave me? How could you do this to me? What of the aurora?)

Peruere burns and burns until her blood fire consumes her and she reaches nullity.

II.

When Peruere opens her eyes again, she is not met with the expected incinerated landscape around her. Instead, her knees rests on the familiar texture of chartreuse grass, and she sits before a vaguely familiar tree and a dugout hole. A small wooden box is held in her smaller-than-she-recalled hands, her palms are gritty with small clumps of dirt stuck to it.

Her eyes flit down to the black sweater and short set she dons, a previous attire she was fond of until she outgrew it at eight years old. Most notably, however, her curse had only reached the knuckles of her chubby, baby hands.

This must be a memory of the past. A flashback to one of the most significant moments in her life, she knows how this scene will play out. Comes the burial of Bambi is Crucabena's daughter, Clervie, who befriends her through the offering of cake. And since then, their friendship has blossomed.

As if on cue, a soft crunch sounds from behind her, and Peruere dares whip around.

Long pink-red hair and emerald abysses suffocates Peruere in a chokehold; she is breathless and the oxygen from her lungs are pried out.

Clervie remains exactly as she remembered, with her frilled white dress matching with her white headband, and that stubborn strand of hair refusing to stick down. Holding that tray of the two petite cakes.

But for a memory, Clervie seems far too vivid, far too realistic–like she is alive. The six-year old child stands before her, the sunlight making her hair shine and her skin glow. Her facial features do not lag, shifting as smoothly as her locks flowing in the wind. Even her soft chewing and gulp is audible.

Peruere misses Clerive's question altogether, too distracted by the internal battle of deciphering reality.

Clervie is not alive, no matter how it may look. She cannot be deceived by the lifelike image, because Peruere knows that Clervie died by her hands, her blood stained on Peruere's hand, and Peruere is still alone, abandoned by her sun. Peruere still hears Clervie's final words, only whispering into her ear a few minutes prior.

(“You will be a great king. I'm sorry. Thank you.” It still rings through my ears. How can there be a king without a queen? How can you leave me?)

Clervie is dead. She is dead, forever gone, burned to ashes by her blood flames–

“Um… hello? You don't have to say yes if you don't want the cake.”

Everything comes to a stop.

That is not what Clervie says. Clervie is supposed to step back, flustered by Peruere's comment of how spiders cannot eat cake.

This is not the memory that Peruere remembers.

—

Peruere waits for the dream to end, for her to be plunged back into a reality where her much older self cradles her dying sun, waiting for dawn that will never come. Except, each morning, the sun rises, and Clervie still remains by her side after days have gone by. The actions that she takes in this ‘dream’ affect the dream's events; perhaps this is her new reality, and not just a dream. Still, Peruere is cautious. What did that make her previous lifetime? A nightmare, or a vision for the future?

Perhaps the Archons have answered her prayers, their way of saving Clervie.

Peruere would be foolish not to use this opportunity. Even if this is a dream waiting to end, she will make the most of her time with this Clervie.

Clervie is startled, but welcomes Peruere's unseeming attachment. Peruere finds herself overly physically affectionate, but it is to make up for lost time in her past lifetime. Often, the two can be seen, hand in hand, fingers entangled as if they could never be separated, like two halves of a celestial body fitting together perfectly. The moon follows the sun's every step, forever in the sun's shadow.

—

Reading novels has always been Clervie's favorite pastime. Although past Peruere preferred searching for any stray insects in some decrepit corner of the House, this Peruere wants to savor as much of her potentially limited time with Clervie–that involves reading the vast variety of books besides the pink-haired girl, often admiring the stars in Clervie's eyes whenever she learns discovers something. Here, when her sun shines so bright, it's almost blinding.

She learns more of the aurora that Clervie dreams of. She learns of the nation's creatures, each one appearing stranger than the last. She learns of the stars and constellations. Each new thing that they discover about the world, Clervie promises that they'll see them together.

It is in these moments, that, regrettably, Clervie sounds the most like Mother–spilling promises that will never be fulfilled far too effortlessly than what Peruere likes. Peruere does not tell her what fate had in mind for them, that almost a decade later Clervie would rather choose freedom over remaining by Peruere's side.

Lately, her primary fascination has been whimsical romance novels, of brave knights saving the trapped princess, of cursed beasts reverting back to men from the power of a single kiss, of two people on opposing sides seeking comfort in one another. Of love. Love, which is often described as the fluttering of stomachs, the blushing of cheeks, the beating of hearts, the meeting of lips. Peruere does not know if Clervie had this interest in this specific genre before; perhaps Peruere wasn't attentive enough then, or this was a new event entirely, somehow catalyzed by the miniscule alterations Peruere created.

Either way, it leaves Peruere wondering. If there was such a specific label for those certain types of actions, then what could characterize the abnormal warmth that she feels with Clervie? Is this another symptom of love? Peruere hopes not.

Mother's love is cruel enough; how much crueler would Clervie's love be?

—

Peruere was wrapping Clervie's bandages when it happens. The two of them are older, now the two of them are nearly sixteen.

“You should stop arguing with Mother, Clervie… you keep getting hurt,” Peruere notes with a sigh and a shake of her head.

Clervie dips her head, as if a bit ashamed from the light scolding, before resolutely shaking her head. “I can't do that, Peruere. You know that.”

Clervie's just as stubborn this time as she was in their last life and just as beautiful–a dawning sun before a rising moon.

Peruere notices the cut on Clervie's bottom lip. She leans in to gain a closer look, a cotton puff in her hand as she approaches nearer until their noses are just a few inches away. Clervie's breath cascades against Peruere's cheeks, its warmth contagious as it spreads to the rest of her body. Peruere’s body ignites, a fire blossoming inside of her chest and an incessant sensation claws at her ribcage.

“There's a cut on your–” Peruere begins but she's interrupted when Clervie pushes forward, and their mouths slot together clumsily. Clervie tastes like rainbow roses and of freedom. She tastes of a warmth that always coaxes her, of a home that comforts her, of a love that seems plausible. But it is all too brief when Clervie pulls away, a stammering apology tumbling out of her sweet lips.

Peruere pulls Clervie back towards her, hoping to get more familiar with the taste of the sun–hot and encompassing.

—

Still, her efforts weren't enough. The outcome of the kingmaking event is just like her last lifetime. She couldn't dissuade Clervie, she couldn't convince Clervie to live, to struggle harder against the chains of fate, to fight against Mother. Again, Clerive didn't listen to her suggestion. Clervie, with her sweet smile and those eyes to which Peruere would always melt under, strolls up to her, and again Peruere's sword impales her.

(Again, she didn't pick me. She decided that she cared about Mother too much. Why would you pick Mother over her? Why do you keep choosing the one who hurts you the most over the only one who cares for you? Why do you keep leaving me?)

This time, Peruere understands.

The sun doesn't need the moon–only a moon needs a sun to shine.

Peruere's vision fills with red again, and the blood flames devour her.

III.

Peruere's eyes open again.

#arlecchino #peruvie #cleruere #arlevie #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fanfics #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests #peruere #clervie x peruere #clervie #arlecchino x clervie

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zapreportsblog · 1 year

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Mini Spot

➥ summary: Jonathan never thought he’d have kids especially with how much more different he looks now after the accident

➥ a/n: this fic is brought to you by @cyborgnoodle7297 saying “It would have been cute if the baby had vitiligo 😭💗” from this fic Embracing Love's Unfathomable Depths

➥ one shot

Jonathan Ohnn, known to the world as the notorious supervillain known as the Spot, sat alone in the dimly lit room, his mind consumed by a mixture of guilt and self-doubt. He had embraced his dark alter ego, believing that his transformation into a villain would drive a wedge between him and his wife, (Y/N). He had convinced himself that she could never be attracted to him, that their passion would wane and disappear.

But fate had other plans.

(Y/N) entered the room, her steps hesitant as she approached Jonathan. She stood before him, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and desire. With a gentle touch, she placed her hand on his cheek, her voice soft yet firm.

"Jonathan, I know you've been through a lot. The darkness that surrounds you doesn't change how I feel about you. I still love you, and I am still attracted to you, no matter what form you take."

Jonathan's eyes widened in surprise, his heart both lifted and burdened by her words. He had never anticipated such unwavering devotion from (Y/N). A flicker of hope sparked within him, intertwining with the tendrils of guilt that still clung to his conscience.

"(Y/N), I don't deserve your love. Not in this state, not as the Spot," Jonathan murmured, his voice filled with a mix of longing and regret.

(Y/N) leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his. "Jonathan, we all have darkness within us. What matters is how we choose to navigate it. I choose you, regardless of the battles you face. Let me show you that our love can conquer all."

In that moment, Jonathan's resistance crumbled, replaced by an overwhelming desire for connection, for the intimacy he thought was lost. His hands found their way to (Y/N)'s waist, pulling her closer, their bodies pressed together with an electric fervor.

Passion ignited between them, an inferno of longing and rekindled desire. In that stolen moment, they rediscovered each other, their bodies entwined in a dance of love and vulnerability. The weight of the world fell away as they surrendered to the intensity of their connection.

Days turned into weeks. (Y/N) discovered that she was pregnant, a secret she held close to her heart, knowing that the revelation would both surprise and elate Jonathan. She awaited the right moment to share the news, wanting to ensure that their newfound happiness remained undisturbed.

One evening, as they sat together, Jonathan turned to (Y/N), his eyes filled with a mix of nervousness and adoration. "I feel like we've been given a second chance, (Y/N). Our love is stronger than ever, and I can't imagine my life without you. You mean everything to me."

(Y/N) smiled, her hand reaching out to clasp Jonathan's. "Jonathan, there's something I need to tell you. Something that will change our lives once again."

Jonathan's eyes widened, a mix of excitement and anticipation coursing through his veins. "What is it, (Y/N)? What could be more life-changing than what we've already experienced?"

(Y/N) took a deep breath, her voice quivering with emotion, “Honey, I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.

Jonathan’s jaw dropped, , his mind struggling to process the overwhelming joy that flooded his senses. He laughed and cried simultaneously, his heart bursting with a mix of disbelief and euphoria. "I'm pregnant! No wait, you're pregnant! Oh my god, we're pregnant!"

He pulled (Y/N) into a tight embrace, his body trembling with a mixture of happiness and nervousness. They clung to each other, their laughter and tears merging into a beautiful symphony of emotions.

In that moment, Jonathan realized that his past mistakes and choices didn't define him. The love he shared with (Y/N) had the power to heal, to overcome any obstacle. Together, they would embark on this new chapter of their lives, with their unborn child serving as a beacon of hope and a reminder of the power of their love.

And as they reveled in the joyous chaos of the moment, Jonathan couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man in the world, grateful for the chance to embrace his role as a husband, a father, and a hero in his own right.

•••

Jonathan Ohnn, dressed in a crisp suit and clutching his resume, walked purposefully down the bustling city street. He had made the decision to leave his life as the Spot behind, to find a way to support his growing family. A job interview awaited him, a glimmer of hope in an uncertain world.

As he navigated the crowd, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation mixed with anxiety. He was determined to turn his life around, to leave the shadow of his past behind. However, fate had other plans for him on that fateful day.

Suddenly, a figure swung down from the rooftops, landing with an agile grace right in front of Jonathan. It was Spider-Man, Miles Morales, the friendly neighborhood hero of New York City.

"Hey, Spot! You can't run away from your past forever," Miles called out, his voice laced with determination.

Jonathan blinked in surprise, his heart sinking at the interruption. "That's going to have to wait, kid. I'm on my way to a job interview. I'm trying to make a fresh start here."

Miles squinted at Jonathan, studying him closely. "Wait a minute... You're in a suit. The Spot doesn't wear a suit. What's going on here?"

Jonathan sighed, realizing that his secret identity was at risk of being exposed. With a resigned expression, he activated the mechanism in his suit, causing the familiar black and white spots to appear all over his body. The transformation completed, and he stood before Miles as the Spot once again.

"I've made some changes, Miles. I'm trying to leave my old life behind and find a better path," Jonathan explained, his voice tinged with sincerity. "But right now, I need to focus on providing for my family. Can you understand that?"

Miles' eyes widened, a mix of surprise and empathy crossing his face. He had always seen villains as adversaries, but in that moment, he caught a glimpse of the complexity that lay beneath the surface.

"I get it, Spot," Miles said, his voice softer now. "We all have responsibilities, and sometimes we have to make difficult choices. Just remember, I'll be watching you. Make sure you stay on the right path."

Jonathan nodded, his heart filled with gratitude for Miles' understanding. "Thank you, Spider-Man. I appreciate your vigilance. I'm determined to be a better person, not only for my family but for myself."

With that, Jonathan resumed his journey, leaving behind the encounter with Spider-Man. He felt a renewed sense of determination to make a positive change in his life, to prove that he could rise above his past mistakes.

As he arrived at the job interview, Jonathan took a deep breath, straightening his tie and adjusting his posture. He walked into the building with confidence, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but he was determined to carve out a new future for himself and his family.

And as he sat down for the interview, his mind focused on his goals, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope burning within him. The past may have shaped him, but it did not define him. Jonathan Ohnn, once the Spot, was ready to embrace a new identity, a new purpose, and a brighter future.

•••

Jonathan Ohnn, the former supervillain known as the Spot, stood at the front of the classroom, a feeling of both excitement and nervousness coursing through his veins. He had embarked on a new chapter in his life as a fourth-grade science teacher, determined to make a positive impact on the young minds before him.

Despite his unique appearance, the children in his class were surprisingly accepting. They looked at him with wide eyes and curious expressions, unabashed by his unconventional looks. Jonathan couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of hope as he began to teach, sharing his knowledge and passion for science.

As the day progressed, the children's enthusiasm grew, and they bombarded Jonathan with questions during a break. One young girl raised her hand, her eyes shining with curiosity.

"Mr. Ohnn, do you have superpowers like Spider-Man?" she asked, her voice filled with excitement.

Jonathan chuckled, his heart warmed by their innocent curiosity. "Well, sorta," he replied, a playful grin forming on his face. "I can make portals, which allows me to travel from one place to another quickly. But they aren't as cool as Spider-Man's abilities."

The children gasped in awe, their imaginations running wild with the possibilities of his power. They started buzzing with excitement, eager to hear more about his unique ability.

Throughout the day, Jonathan found himself inundated with drawings from his students. The pages were filled with colorful depictions of him, the Spot, creating portals and performing heroic acts. Some of the drawings showed him rescuing people, while others showcased him using his powers in imaginative and fantastical ways.

Toward the end of the day, as Jonathan collected the drawings, he came across one that struck a deep chord within him. It was a meticulously crafted illustration of him surrounded by portals, with the words "The Portal Hero: The Spot" written underneath. Attached to the drawing was a small note that read, "Thank you for being our superhero."

Jonathan's eyes welled up with tears as he held the drawing close to his heart. Emotions swirled within him—a mixture of pride, joy, and gratitude. In that moment, he realized the impact he was having on these young lives, and the profound transformation that had taken place within him.

He wiped away his tears, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Thank you, my young superheroes," he said, his voice filled with genuine affection. "You have no idea how much this means to me. Together, we can explore the wonders of science and unleash the power of our imaginations."

The children beamed with pride, their belief in him unwavering. They had found a hero in Jonathan, not for his past deeds, but for his commitment to change and his ability to inspire. In that classroom, Jonathan Ohnn had found a new purpose—one that extended beyond himself and into the lives of these young minds.

As the school day came to an end, Jonathan looked around the room, a profound sense of fulfillment washing over him. He had been given a second chance, not only to teach, but to shape the future in a positive way. And he vowed to do everything in his power to be the best teacher he could be, to guide his students towards a brighter tomorrow.

With renewed determination, Jonathan prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead. He knew that transforming himself from the Spot into Mr. Ohnn was not an easy journey, but it was one he was willing to take. Together with his students, he would embrace the power of knowledge, empathy, and the belief in second chances.

Jonathan Ohnn, the former Spot, had become a hero of a different kind—a hero of the classroom, a beacon of inspiration, and a symbol of the transformative power of love and redemption. And as he locked the classroom door, he looked forward to the days ahead, eager to continue this remarkable journey of growth, discovery, and making a difference, one student at a time.

•••

The sterile hospital room buzzed with anticipation and excitement as (Y/N) lay on the delivery bed, her face flushed with a mixture of pain and anticipation. Jonathan stood by her side, his hand clasping hers tightly, offering both comfort and support. They had arrived at this moment, eagerly awaiting the arrival of their child, knowing that something extraordinary was about to unfold.

The doctor, a seasoned professional with an air of calm, guided (Y/N) through the final stages of labor. "Okay, (Y/N), it's time to push," she said, her voice steady and reassuring.

(Y/N) took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength within her. But just as she prepared to push, an unexpected twist occurred. The baby, filled with the powers inherited from their father, Jonathan, teleported out of (Y/N)'s stomach, leaving everyone in the room momentarily stunned.

Gasps filled the air as the doctors and nurses stood frozen in disbelief, their eyes fixed on the baby who now rested on the bed, surrounded by a shimmering portal residue. Jonathan's jaw dropped, his heart racing with a mix of awe and bewilderment. (Y/N), her voice filled with equal parts shock and amazement, broke the silence.

"Oh god, they've got powers," she exclaimed, her eyes wide with astonishment.

As the initial shock subsided, the medical team quickly regained their composure, gathering around the baby to assess their well-being. The doctor's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and curiosity, observing the baby's vitiligo—a skin condition that caused patches of depigmentation, resembling small white spots scattered across their body.

Jonathan's expression transformed into a radiant smile as he gazed down at the baby. "And little spots too," he said, his voice filled with awe and adoration.

(Y/N) held the baby gently in her arms, a mixture of wonder and overwhelming love flooding her heart. "Just like their amazing daddy," she added, her voice filled with pride.

The medical team, though initially taken aback, quickly adjusted to the extraordinary circumstances. They ensured that the baby was healthy, monitoring their vital signs and performing necessary tests. As the commotion settled, the room became filled with a sense of wonder, a recognition of the miracle that had unfolded before them.

Jonathan leaned down to place a tender kiss on (Y/N)'s forehead, his eyes filled with an indescribable depth of emotion. "We've been blessed with something truly extraordinary, (Y/N). Our child carries the legacy of their powers and the uniqueness of their appearance. They will be a beacon of strength and individuality."

(Y/N) nodded, her heart bursting with a mixture of joy and gratitude. "Yes, Jonathan, our child is a testament to the love we share and the extraordinary journey we've been on. They are a reflection of the strength and resilience we possess."

As they marveled at their child, their hearts swelled with the knowledge that their family was something truly special. They knew that challenges lay ahead, but with their love, support, and unwavering belief in each other, they were confident that they could face anything that came their way.

In that hospital room, surrounded by the gentle hum of medical equipment and the whispered promises of a beautiful future, Jonathan and (Y/N) embraced their child's powers and appearance as a symbol of their unique family bond. And with the love that flowed between them, they knew that this child, with their teleportation abilities and vitiligo, would grow up to be a remarkable individual, leaving their own extraordinary mark on the world.

As the family basked in the warmth of that precious moment, they knew that their journey together had only just begun. With the support of their loved ones and the strength they found in each other, they were ready to face the adventures and challenges that lay ahead, embracing the extraordinary in their ordinary lives.

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changelingsandothernonsense · 1 year

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Wip Whenever

Another week and some more art and writing. Tagged by @mareenavee <3 Tagging @orfeoarte, @thequeenofthewinter, @paraparadigm, @polypolymorph, @snippetsrus, @thana-topsy, @saltymaplesyrup, @tallmatcha, @kookaburra1701, @rosette-dragonborn Yea i have exactly 2 spoons and I'm using one to interact with others. 0 pressure of course but I wrestle with my desire to tag and my anxiety with annoying people :P lol Anyway! First I have some painting! More of that tarty Josh tarting about before kicking Dagoth ass. Playing with embroidery, accessories etc.

It's getting there! :) Writing under the cut.

A snippet from chapter 6 of Serious Mistakes (the Skyrim timeline)...or Josh is relying a little too much on potions to get him from point A to plan E.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Teldryn’s attention snapped back to the guard captain’s sudden change in tone. He watched as the outlander flashed the guard captain another overly sweet smile before dropping down into the tunnels, a larger cloud of ash arising from the impact of her landing.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! No! Teldryn chewed on his lip. A light metallic taste filled his mouth, mixing with the familiar, disappointing bitterness of ash. He grimaced, he’d never gotten used to that side effect. He wondered if he ever would.

“Get back up here!” Veleth was crouching over the grate, his voice panicked at the sudden deviation from regulation, “I… I can’t fit down there!” Teldryn waited for a moment, watching as the guard captain floundered, a small voice arose from below, though he couldn’t quite catch what was said. Too far away, too much echo. Teldryn moved himself back into the small alcove beside the cell, a small wooden table and a bookshelf sat by the sloping wall, obscured ever so slightly by the darkness. He leaned against the table and waited as Veleth muttered something under his breath, too low for Teldryn to hear but the tone was clear.

He hadn’t expected this either.

He watched as the guard captain stalked out of the cell, right past Teldryn and back towards the door. Conveniently leaving the cell door wide open. Perfect, that saves him fiddling around with the lock. He waited a few extra moments after he heard the door close. What he needed to do now would blow his cover and remove the effects of the invisibility potion he’d just downed. He needed to be absolutely sure he was alone.

He counted to three and exhaled slowly, taking off his helm and placing it on the table beside him. A cold sensation overcame him as the cloaking effects of the invisibility potion nullified. A stupid side effect really. Teldryn thought for a moment. He had one shot at this and he couldn’t afford to mess this up. He ran his modified plan over in his head one last time, staring at a small, dusty vial sitting on the shelf before him. Hang on! Teldryn reached for the vial and rubbed off some of the dust, revealing the pale, blue liquid that the vial contained.

Maybe he should start praying to Lady Luck instead. She seemed to be the only one listening. An interesting turn of events but Teldryn decided he’d embrace it. How often do you find magicka potions lying around Raven Rock after all? By the gods! Did he need this small win! He downed the entire vial; the bitter taste of ash coated his tongue as the pain in his head subsided slightly. It was weak but better than what he’d been working with earlier. Which was absolutely nothing. He summoned a small flame for a moment, felt the energy whirl around his fingertips as he allowed the magicka fuelling the tiny inferno to dissipate. It was more than he felt right asking for. He wouldn’t waste it.

It was time to finish this!

#wip whenever #my art #teldryn sero #danger!josh #eepy!Josh #dunmer #Sydari Aralen #mentioned #talking #josh is observing #Modyn Veleth #Raven Rock #solstheim #skyrim #morrowind #nerevarine

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sweet-child-of-night · 5 months

Note

prompt : rewrite your favorite myth or legend

The Myth Of Hero and Leander

the first flicker of hero's flame lanced through the night, a defiant pinprick against the vast tapestry of stars. a cold tremor snaked down my spine, eclipsed by a white-hot longing. across the churning hellespont, a world away, that solitary spark had ignited an inferno in my soul. hero, a priestess of venus, her beauty a challenge to the goddess herself. in that instant, the bustling streets of abydos faded into a distant hum. only the unforgiving expanse of water separated me from her

days bled into a feverish yearning. each night, i haunted the shore, the image of her flame burned into my eyelids. then, on a moonlit night woven by the stars, fate intervened. a friend, swept up in the revelry of adonis' festival, returned from sestos with news that sent a fresh spark skittering through my heart – tales of hero's unwavering devotion to venus, the lonely vigil she kept in her high tower. the spark, timid at first, roared into an inferno.

we could never be together, not openly. her vows demanded purity. yet, the thought of a life devoid of her light was a desolate wasteland i refused to accept. driven by a love that defied reason, a plan, as audacious as it was terrifying, hatched in my mind.

every moonlit night, i would brave the treacherous waters. with each stroke, the image of hero, her hair a cascade of moonlight, spurred me on. the waves, once indifferent, became hungry beasts, testing my resolve with every surging swell. but the thought of her touch, warm as the aegean sun, fueled every desperate kick.

hero, my light in the endless night, would leave a lamp burning in the tower window. it was my lodestar, my promise of a stolen night of love. we'd meet in the hushed secrecy of darkness, our stolen whispers and kisses a defiant melody against the world's harsh symphony. every rendezvous was a victory cry against the forces that kept us apart.

but fate, a fickle mistress, had other plans. one night, the storm descended with a fury that sent shivers down the spine of the gods themselves. the sea, once a playful companion, became a monstrous adversary. the light in the tower, my guiding star, flickered erratically, then plunged into darkness. disoriented and spent, i battled the relentless current, the fear of losing hero a constant torment.

the inky blackness became my shroud, and the icy embrace of the hellespont, my final reward. i didn't wash ashore into hero's waiting arms, but onto the harsh canvas of dawn, my love, my defiance, all swept away by the cruel tide. perhaps, in the end, our story became a cautionary tale, a testament to the perils of forbidden love. yet, even in the clutches of death, the memory of hero's touch, the warmth of her love, remains my guiding light, even as it fades into the relentless march of time.

and maybe, just maybe, it would flicker once more in her dreams, a reminder of our love's defiant flame.

#noc prompt #queued #dark academia #light academia #darkacademism #dark acadamia aesthetic #spilled thoughts #literature quotes #coffeeandpoetry #love #english literature #book quotes

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supernovafeather · 2 years

Text

Anonymous, But Not For Everyone (18+)

Leto Atreides x F!reader

Content : smut, oral sex (female to male), breeding kink, handjob, angst, fluff.

Summary : you're his whore and he is having an existential crisis, deal with it.

Please comment and reblog if you liked it !

Softness had started to become the norm for you. As gentle as a silky veil in the breeze dancing with sand, you had to be by the Duke's side. Either by your gaze, gestures or moans, you had to bring peace to his torments. It was the rule, the fundamental one you had to obey if you wanted to be considered as existing in the middle of these harsh yet rich dunes.

Leto hated the idea of owning you like any property on Arrakis, but he did, sometimes with a cruel primitive reminder from his hips whenever he would end up between your thighs. You were not an object but having you so docile and entranced was a formidable way of blowing some steam in this inferno. Hearing your pleased and shaky breath between the creaks of your bed was a blessing after so many hours on this planet haunted by so much golden dust and machines harassing its skin. Your warmth was welcoming, unlike this endless pain preventing life itself from evolving at its full potential. Hypothetically you could even create life, he only needed to let his seed in you after his delightful release in your arms and it would start to grow inside you. Your belly would swollen thanks to his simple sexual need that shouted at him to take you whenever he felt like it.

One day, Leto felt hateful to everyone. He woke up in a horrible mood and didn't plan on resolving it. From the infinite sand scenery to the Harkonnens poisoning his life, he couldn't decide who to blame for his anxiety rising to levels unseen until now. His hazel eyes were turned to the ruthless burning see forming those mountains as far as he could see when he felt your delicate hands rubbing his back.

"My Lord..." You scolded him with a voice barely above a whisper, "please come back to your chambers. You need to take some rest."

Danger was imminent. He could feel it. Something wasn't quite right and your presence couldn't change it. Tensing up even more as you started to embrace his figure shielded by the palace's shadows, Leto was trying to close up to you, unsuccessfully. Even fully clothed he couldn't fully resist to your naked body pressing against his back. He had visited explored your being dozens of times and couldn't get enough of this comfort you would bring to him. His whore as others would could call you brought him more goosebumps than a huge enemy fleet and more joy than the certainty of external peace. His beloved whore.

"Please cover yourself," he mumbled as he examined the tortuous horizons, "even though no one can see us you still need to show some decency."

"You heard me less than two hours ago. Do I sound like a decent woman ?"

"You don't. But this doesn't excuse your lack of decency under some precise circumstances. For example as right now."

Leto closed his eyes as your hands started to wander on the front of his pants, pressing this bit of flesh you loved to take care of. You started to massage it shamelessly and he didn't try to hide it from any potential curious eyes that could be wandering around there.

"Decency is for the weak my dear Duke. You can blame its absence in me but can ignore its absence in you under - as you just said - under some precise circumstances."

"You are a whore." He mumbled as he remained placid despite his tired yet hardening shaft pressing against his pants.

"A whore that loves to take care of you."

That was the thing. You loved it. Himself loved it but knowing that you enjoyed everything he did to you, as dirty as they could be, was enough to make him moan whenever he was taking you. Whatever the angle was, he could picture you moaning his name. His good and lovely and cherishing whore taking care of his well being much better than any experienced servent. A good whore that had brought him so much content just by existing by his side.

He repressed a moan and clenched his teeth, his eyes narrowing at a dune when your hands found this flesh reacting to your mere touch. Your fingers knew where to press, where to rub, where to harass him. As much as he loved his House and heritage, he was only a man.

"Undisciplined," he whispered as you started to apply the same torture as at the start of the night before, "that's what you are."

"But I obeyed everything you told me my Lord."

Oh, you did. How well you did. His eyes closed as you pressed harder against him, your hips rolling against his pants to get some of this pressure your body was asking for, your hands and wrists certainly painful at the pants trapping them. Himself could only close his eyes now that you decided to rub the sensitive and licking tip with the pulp of your fingers.

"Slave of your own desire." He scolded you before moaning slightly with his body falling slightly against yours.

His pants fell down to his ankles and he grinned cockily at the dunes without looking at you standing in front of him then kneeling. The dunes were weirdly hostile but he didn't think much of it as his hands closed on your hair, his mouth opening in a silent "o" as your tongue started its usual marvel.

What was the Emperor planning though ? Yes Leto was moaning like a whore at the debauchery you chose to expose this morning but... still what was the Emperor planning ? And the Fremen could they... could they...

He didn't know why but he wanted to impregnate you, he realized as his eyesight got blurred by your mouth acting so wonderfully around his cock. He wanted to ejaculate in you and watch that belly swollen day after day, coming back from stressful meetings about the universe whereabouts likely to cause his demise. How lovely it would be to feel his heir growing safely inside you, his DNA so serene in your body protecting it.

"You're going to be the death of me." He whispered as he watched the blurry dunes.

Leto was going to die. He knew it, or at least he was convinced of this possibility being serious. How, when, how ? He didn't know, so he chose to let a loud moan out as he closed his eyes, his fingers still grabbing your hair. He wanted to forget that dry sand just as much as he could hear the wet sounds of his tip hitting the back of your throat.

This was not any kind of garden that could dwell his sour thoughts, but at least it was a loophole he loved to get lost into. A whore that would get forgotten throughout time and generations, just as clueless as you were about his new feelings.

- - - -

Please comment and reblog if you liked it ! ☺️

@salome-c @stevenngrant @lavenderluna10 @one-hell-of-a-disappointment @dailyreverie @thecursivej @lady-targaryen @general-latino @harrys-tittie @laura-naruto-fan1998 @later-gators12 @geo-winchester

#leto atreides #leto atreides x reader #leto atreides x you #duke leto x reader #duke leto x you #duke leto #oscar isaac

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ask-healthy-light · 6 months

Text

Mere moments after Luna uttered these words did she let out an immense sigh of relief, as she could tell that Nox had also started to feel calmer, and she smiled as the group in the Dragon Lands took some time to catch their breath; for while they ate and drank to recover their energy, Nox was able to speak to her Mother, and she said that she was correct, since she, Light, and Inferno were safe.

At that moment, Luna politely asked Nox if Boom was doing well, and whether the little Pink Pup was all right, to which Nox replied that the little Pup, Courage, was safe, and had just jumped off her back; but to Luna's confusion, and dismay, Nox said that she did not know how Boom was, as they had been separated by a strange and dense fog, and she could not even find him with her enhanced Sight.

The only message they had received from him since they lost track of each other, Nox continued, was that they had to continue heading to the East, and that he would meet up with them again later, but they knew not whither he had gone, nor why he had vanished so suddenly; but because she was able to find Courage when a green flare opened up the fog, she figured that she should also have seen Boom.

Unfortunately, despite flying around above the mist for a long time, and looking all over the area, even though she was always able to see where Inferno and Light sat, she could not find any trace of Boom; and since he was the first being who had ever managed to evade her gaze, Nox knew not whether she should be frightened or impressed, as she had no idea what foul magic could hide Boom from her.

Before Nox could utter another word to her Mother, however, Luna sweetly asked her to slowly take a deep breath, and to not make herself worry about what had not yet happened, for what she was saying would only ever make herself grow ever more worried; and she told her that Boom would be all right, for if he was able to evade her Sight, he surely would stay undetected for as long as he wanted to.

With an understanding nod to herself, Nox thanked her Mother for her reassurance, and told her that she would most likely feel a little safer when Lord Shining joined their group in the Dragon Lands, although they had to meet up with Boom first; but then, Luna asked Nox to wait, as Shining had just received a message from an Outpost near the Empire, and left the Great Hall to gather his supplies.

In response, Nox confusedly told Luna that Eclipse had sent them a second scroll a few moments ago, in which they wrote about Shining's intent to join the group on their travels to the East, and that they could not let Cadance know; and Luna whispered to herself that she should have figured that he was planning something, especially since he turned down Frost's offer to go to the Outpost for him.

But as she discreetly glanced at the gentle Dragoness in whose embrace she was lying, she let out a quiet and dreamy sigh, before she said that she admired his bravery and honour, and appreciated his integrity; but since she did not know how well he could handle himself in battle, she was concerned for his safety, and by extension, the rest of the group, and she wished they would face no trouble.

Both Nox and Luna thought for a moment about Cadance's terrible vision from whence they had rescued her, and the nauseating sight of her Family gravely injured, or worse, and they did not need to say a word to understand what the other was thinking; for while there was much they did not know, since such a horrendous fate could occur, they would do everything in their power to assure it would not.

After they had shaken off the terrible fear that they hoped would not lie ahead of them, Nox kindly told her Mother that they would keep in touch with her, since out of all their friends, she was the easiest to talk to through the Void; but in case more secrecy was needed, and they had to send them a message another way, Nox admitted that she had not sent a message via Dragon-Fire in a long time.

But Nox had barely uttered these doubtful words when she felt herself calm down, before Luna said:

"I shall eagerly await your next message, for I have faith that you will succeed."

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

Featuring: Nox Lunarwing from @nox-lunarwing

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strelles-universe · 2 years

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Thinking about the future

"ThunderClan is impure," Tigerclaw proclaimed. "A clan of halfbreeds founded upon blasphemy and one day they will face the Souls for what they've done. But ShadowClan and RiverClan will not be struck down with them - we have impurities yes but we will show our repentance! We will make ourselves clean!"

His eyes landed on Featherpaw and Stormpaw trembling before them all, with Silverstream and Stoneswipe standing protectively over them. Grassfeather stared blanky at her foster sister and former deputy, nothing but disgust showing in the face of their defiant expressions. When Tigerclaw looked at her, she nodded without hesitation ad he turned back to TigerClan, united beneath them.

"Starting with these halfbreeds that Leopardshine allowed to taint this clan and the cats within it."

#strelles au #embrace the inferno planning #or possibly fan the flames #i genuinely don't know at this point

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vendettaspathfanfic · 10 months

Text

Chapter Three

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

The concept of a reunion between long-lost siblings is typically portrayed as an emotionally charged moment, filled with overwhelming joy, tearful embraces, and a bittersweet blend of longing and relief. It is often seen as a heartwarming occasion, a chance to mend the bonds that were torn apart by cruel fate.

But for Scourge, the reunion with his sister was anything but idyllic.

Aside from Tara’s aggressive and somewhat feral behavior, her unexpected reappearance in his life has thrown a wrench into his plans of rising back to the power that was stolen from him.

Instead of making strides towards regaining his lost supremacy, he found himself routinely reaching out for aspirin, trying to soothe the throbbing headache brought on by yet another of Tara's explosive fits of rage. The trigger for this latest outburst had been Fiona's seemingly innocent attempt to persuade Tara to exchange her foul-smelling, worn-out clothing for something fresh and clean.

“I DON’T WANT THEM CLOTHES BITCHSHIT!!!!” Tara's voice echoed off the walls, her arms folded across her chest in a stubborn show of defiance.

Fiona, visibly exasperated, retorted, "This place is already rank as it is, it hardly needs your stinky clothes adding to the miasma. C'mon, there's absolutely nothing wrong with the ones I'm offering."

"I WANT MY CLOTHES!!! SCREW THOSE ONES!!!" Tara's retort was filled with such vehemence that she punctuated her words by stomping her foot hard on the ground, further escalating the tension in the room.

"Two days of enduring this," Lightning growled under his breath, snatching the bottle of aspirin from Scourge's hand and hastily swallowing a much-needed dose. With a sigh of exasperation, he couldn't help but blurt out, "Good god, she makes Flying look like a monk." His offhand remark struck a nerve with Flying, who took offense to the comparison.

“Seriously, we can’t go on with the constant tantrums. We got work to do.” Simon chimed in, his voice a mix of frustration and concern.

Scourge, deep in thought, furrowed his brows as he pondered potential solutions to their predicament. Suddenly, his face brightened with a spark of inspiration.

Swiftly turning his head towards Predator, he instructed, "Go check the surrounding buildings to see if any of them have a hose we can use."

"Consider it done, boss," Predator responded with a nod, swiftly making his way outside to take flight in search of the much-needed hose.

Turning his attention to Flying, Scourge implored, "Flying, I need you to distract that little terror for a while. Fiona needs a break from the havoc."

A mischievous grin spread across Flying's face as he eagerly replied, "You can count on me-he-hee!" With that, he hopped behind Tara, waiting for the opportune moment. And just as Tara was in the midst of her tantrum, unleashing her fury upon the world, Flying let out a sudden, piercing yell that startled her, causing the young girl to lose her balance and tumble over in a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"HEY!" Tara’s initial shock quickly transformed into a blazing inferno of rage as she hollered back, her voice laced with fury and defiance. Her eyes narrowed, burning with intensity.

But Flying Frog was not one to be intimidated. With a burst of audacity, he matched her volume and ferocity, his own voice booming with equal force. Leaning in just inches away from her face, he unleashed a “HEY!” that reverberated through the room, his expression unyielding and his gaze unwavering.

Enveloped in a cloud of seething anger, the young girl's fury reached its peak. She released a prolonged, ear-piercing scream, its shrillness filling the air. Her head trembled with the intensity of her rage, and her widened eyes seemed to ignite with an inferno of wrath.

Unfazed by her outburst, Flying maintained his unyielding stance. His grin stretched from ear to ear, displaying an unsettling confidence. With relentless eye contact, he unleashed his own piercing scream, a sound so piercing and powerful that it prompted everyone present to instinctively cover their ears in a desperate attempt to shield themselves from the violent intensity of the noise.

Consumed by anger and frustration, Tara launched herself at Flying, her teeth bared and her nails poised to scratch.

However, luck was on his side as he narrowly evaded her attack, agilely hopping away with a gleeful, maniacal laughter reverberating through the room.

"Don't you dare!" Flying wagged his finger in a mock scolding manner, quickly hopping onto a nearby counter, out of her reach. Undeterred by her aggression, he taunted her once more, "I bite back-wack-snack!"

“I wouldn’t do that, Flying.” Fiona interjected, her voice tinged with weariness as she rubbed her temples, “she’s probably toxic.”

Embracing Fiona's warning, Tara adamantly declared, "Yeah, I'm toxic, bitch!" She stomped her feet defiantly, her gaze locked intensely on Flying Frog, readying herself for another attack.

Unfolding a mischievous plan, Flying Frog swiftly responded, his voice filled with playful enthusiasm. "Well, toxic little girl, how about we play a game of hide and seek? I'll hide, and you can count! Catch me if you can!" With that, he let out a boisterous holler and bounded out of the room, leaving Tara seething in anger, her desire for pursuit left unfulfilled.

“GET BACK HERE BITCHSHIT!!!” Tara shrieked furiously, her anger reaching new heights. She lunged forward, attempting to chase after Flying Frog, but her efforts were abruptly halted as a blur of green grabbed her ankle, suspending her in mid-air.

“Count. Those are the rules.” Scourge chimed in with a smug grin, relishing in his sister’s flailing rage as she struggled against her airborne restraint.

Infused with a surge of unrestrained fury, Tara emitted a primal, childlike roar of anger, punctuating her outburst by thrusting her hand forward and giving him the finger. The ring finger to be exact.

Scourge, upon witnessing this unconventional display of rebellion, was caught entirely off guard. The unexpected sight triggered his amusement, causing him to erupt into uncontrollable laughter. "Can't swear right or even give the finger? How the hell do we share the same DNA?" he exclaimed between fits of laughter, struggling to compose himself.

Ignoring Scourge's amusement, Tara's frustration intensified. She scowled and demanded, "Stop holding my foot!" Her attempts to wriggle free from her aerial confinement proved futile, as Scourge maintained his grip with unwavering determination.

"Count," Scourge insisted, his voice firm and resolute, his eyes narrowing with authority.

Reluctantly, Tara crossed her arms in a display of begrudging cooperation. With gritted teeth, she begrudgingly began to count, her voice infused with sullen determination. "One, two, three, four… Uhm…”

"Five," Simon interjected, rolling his eyes at the slight hiccup in Tara's counting.

"Five, six, seven, nine... eight... ten! Now let me go!" Tara demanded, her impatience palpable as she yearned to be released from her airborne captivity.

With a triumphant grin, Scourge acquiesced, dropping Tara to the ground, setting her free to embark on her quest to find Flying Frog.

"Good idea getting Flying to distract her," Fiona remarked with a sigh of relief, savoring the respite created by Tara's absence.

"Surprised my ears aren’t bleeding," Lightning grumbled, rubbing his finger in his ear, the echoes of the incessant screaming still reverberating in his senses, leaving his hearing temporarily muffled and distorted.

Scourge sighed, his face etched with a mix of frustration and concern. "Look, guys, I know it's a setback, but we won’t let it deter us. Once her infection is cleared up, we'll find an alternative place for her to stay," he explained, his voice laced with a touch of determination.

“She’s not staying?” Simon inquired calmly, although somewhat surprised he’d give up his own sister.

“‘Course not. We can’t be taking care of a kid with everything going on right now.” Scourge replied, his gaze drifting away momentarily, his fingers deftly adjusting the collar of his jacket. He reached into his pocket, retrieving a cigarette, and lit it with a flick of his lighter. The smoke curled upward, mirroring the uncertainty that hung in the air.

“Sure as hell not that one anyways.” Lightning scoffed, casting a disdainful glance in the direction Tara was last seen, his arms firmly crossed over his chest, “but who would take her?” He absently tapped his finger against his arm, lost in thought as he pondered the daunting question.

Just as the conversation was about to proceed, the group was abruptly interrupted by a raucous yell echoing through the corridor. "YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!" The voice, unmistakably belonging to Flying, reverberated through the rooms, capturing their attention and causing a momentary pause.

Within seconds, Flying burst back into the room, his movements frenetic and accompanied by the scrambling of tiny feet. Tara, fueled by determination and a relentless spirit, jumped onto and clung tenaciously to his back as he hopped and maneuvered, desperately attempting to dislodge her grip.

"Fo-- For fuck's sake," Scourge muttered under his breath, a mixture of annoyance and concern etched across his face. Hastily, he extinguished his cigarette, his focus shifting to assisting Flying in prying the growling child off his back. However, their efforts were significantly hindered by Flying’s own erratic movements, as he continued to bounce up and down in an attempt to shake Tara loose.

"Hold still, you maniac!" Scourge growled in frustration, his voice tinged with exasperation as he wrestled with them both, attempting to pry Tara off despite the relentless motion.

The chaotic fiasco finally came to an end when Flying, propelled by a desperate surge of energy, leaped into the air with remarkable force. His powerful jump propelled him to such heights that his head made a forceful impact with the ceiling, resulting in a resounding thud that echoed throughout the room. Unable to maintain his balance, Flying came tumbling down to the ground, his descent accompanied by a deafening crash.

Fortunately, Tara had jumped down to safety just moments before Flying's body would have squashed her. As the dust settled, Flying, still feeling disoriented and dizzy from the fall, struggled to sit up. He wobbled unsteadily, attempting to regain his equilibrium, before turning his bleary gaze towards Tara. Speaking in an odd and delirious tone, his words were tinged with a mix of admiration and defeat. "You sure know how to play, kid," he muttered.

In a cruel twist of fate, as if the universe was playing a practical joke on him, debris from the damaged ceiling plummeted down, striking Flying's head and causing him to once again collapse flat on his back. A brief moment of stunned silence followed, only to be shattered by Fiona's stifled laughter. Her amusement quickly spread, and Scourge joined in, their laughter filling the room.

“He keeps-“ Fiona managed to gasp between fits of laughter, struggling to catch her breath. "He did it again!"

“Damn it, Fiona!” Scourge exclaimed, his amusement reaching an uncontrollable peak as he struggled to maintain composure.

Perplexed, Fiona retorted, her voice tinged with amusement, "What did I do? He knocked himself out!"

Scourge pointed at her and managed to get his words out between fits of laughter, "You made me laugh!"

"But it was funny!" Fiona defended herself, struggling to contain her own laughter. " I mean, come on, he's practically a living cartoon!"

Their infectious laughter soon spread to Lightning, who couldn't help but join in the mirthful chaos. Even Simon, the typically stoic and somewhat gruff member of their team, couldn't fight off the urge to allow a few muffled chuckles to escape from his lips.

What astounded them even more, however, was the completely unforeseen response from the normally bad-tempered and irritable little girl they had the misfortune of being stuck with. Tara, to everyone's shock, also fell victim to the infectious laughter.

As soon as the others became distracted, their attention drawn to her uncharacteristically jovial demeanor, and their laughter eventually faded, Tara's own laughter quickly died down. She crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant posture and raised a single eyebrow in a mixture of confusion and curiosity, silently questioning why everyone had reacted so surprisingly to her joining in the laughter.

An awkward tension filled the room, the air becoming thick with silence. This silence was abruptly shattered when Predator re-entered the room, having successfully completed his task. His facial expression remained stoic, betraying no emotion as he surveyed the peculiar scene before him - the entire group standing around aimlessly, with the exception of the unconscious Flying, who lay sprawled out amongst the rubble on the floor.

Shattering the lingering silence, Predator voiced his inquiry in a calm and emotionless tone, hinting only at a mild curiosity, "Should I ask?"

Fiona waved off the question dismissively, her tone nonchalant. "Nah, he'll be alright. Hey, did you find somewhere nearby with a hose?"

"Yes, ma'am. There's one just down the block. I'II lead the way," Predator responded dutifully.

"Cool" Scourge nodded approvingly, diverting his attention to Tara. "Hey, Tara-"

"No! I wanna be named Toxic! Like she said!" Tara interrupted, demanding to be addressed by the insult Fiona had used earlier.

With an indifferent shrug, Scourge easily accepted the sudden name change.

"Alright, Toxic. This is your last chance to put on the clothes Fiona got for you." In response, Toxic emitted a low, menacing growl, baring her teeth in defiance. She extended her ring finger in Scourge's direction, her eyes boring into his with a cold, icy stare.

"Suit yourself," Scourge replied nonchalantly, his shoulders rising and falling in a dismissive shrug. He chose the safest and least repugnant method of grabbing Toxic by the ankle, preventing her from launching an attack on him. Ignoring her loud and indignant protests, he turned to Simon, seeking his help. "Hey, would you mind holding her up while we hose her down? You might get wet."

Simon wrinkled his nose in disgust, reminded of the lingering smell of the little girl’s filthy clothes. "I don't mind, as long as it gets rid of the stench."

Scourge, satisfied with Simon's agreement, nodded in affirmation. "Great. Fiona, grab the clothes and some towels. Predator, lead the way."

“Have fun,” Lightning sneered quietly at the departing group.

Toxic let out a furious roar, her voice echoing through the apathetic slums as she screamed, "DON'T YOU FUCKASSING DARE." before her protests escalated to an even higher decibel. Despite her fierce resistance, Scourge, Fiona, and Simon, led by Predator, remained undeterred, paying little heed to her outbursts as they steadfastly pressed forward with their plan.

Scourge, seizing the moment, offered Toxic a casual lesson in swearing. "Actually, it's 'don't you fucking dare.’ 'Fuckass' isn't really a commonly used swear word, especially when you're trying to emphasize something."

Toxic's eyes clouded with confusion as she squinted, attempting to understand the unfamiliar terminology that Scourge was introducing. The complexity of his explanation was a little too much for her four-year-old brain to comprehend.

Scourge, sporting a patronizing grin, dismissed her confusion. "You'll figure it out eventually. The bad swearing is becoming more irritating than funny, so I'll make sure you learn the right way to do it."

"Right over here," Predator gestured, his gaze shifting towards a grime-filled alleyway. The group followed in his footsteps, stepping cautiously over scattered debris as they ventured down the grungy, narrow passage. Taking a sharp left, they arrived in the secluded back parking lot of a dilapidated store. Against the graffiti-smeared wall, a hose hung haphazardly, ready to be put to use.

“IMMA KILL YOU!” Toxic’s voice once again erupted in anger, her frustration palpable as she fiercely struggled to break free from Scourge's grip on her ankle. With a sharp glare, she focused her attention on the hose. The prospect of being forcefully hosed down, an act she vehemently opposed, fueled her fury.

Scourge, unperturbed by Toxic's defiance, let out a dismissive scoff, shaking his head in mild amusement at her futile attempts to resist. Turning his attention to Simon, he calmly instructed him to, "Take the little gremlin.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Simon complied, his large fingers enveloping Toxic's tiny hands as he lifted her up, suspending the raging child in the air. Meanwhile, Fiona swiftly moved into action, retrieving the nozzle and positioning herself beside in front of Simon and Toxic, ready to unleash a torrent of water.

Toxic's enraged demands and menacing threats were met with resolute determination from the group, their focus unwavering as they pressed on with their mission. Scourge, hunkering down beside the spigot, deftly adjusted the settings to achieve the highest possible water pressure. With a twist of the lever, a powerful surge of water erupted from the hose, spewing forth with forceful intensity from the nozzle.

Fiona, positioned strategically, took charge of directing the torrential spray. With meticulous precision, she aimed the gushing stream at Toxic's dirt-covered form, meticulously washing away the layers of grime that stubbornly clung to her body and clothes. As the water cascaded over Toxic, the accumulated filth began to dissolve, forming muddy droplets that dripped off her, leaving behind streaks of brown residue on the ground.

Scourge's face twisted in disgust as he muttered “gross,” under his breath, his voice laced with a cringe-worthy tone. The sight of the runny grime on Toxic's body was enough to elicit a visceral reaction from him.

Fiona, sharing his sentiment, wrinkled her nose in distaste as she chimed in with a hint of disdain, "You should be thanking me. No wonder you got so sick, you're disgusting."

Toxic, now a screeching blur of blue fury, continued to unleash her verbal wrath upon them. Scourge growled low in his throat, finding it almost unfathomable that such an obnoxious and unruly child shared his own DNA.

After a thorough dousing, the water cascading off Toxic's body had transformed from murky brown to a clear stream, indicating that she was finally in a much more hygienic state.

"Alright, I think we've managed to clean her up as best as we can for now. Turn off the hose," Fiona declared, a sense of accomplishment evident in her voice.

With a decisive twist of the nozzle, Scourge shut off the flow of water. He then walked over to his fuming and swearing sister, his frustration with her escalating with each passing moment. Ever since they had stumbled across each other, Toxic had become an absolute nightmare to deal with. She exhibited violent behavior, displayed an incessantly bratty attitude, and emitted ear-piercingly loud screams that grated on his nerves. He couldn't stand her. Interrupting her tirade, he shouted directly in her face, his own anger boiling over.

"Shut the fuck up! God, aren't you tired of your own bullshit by now!? We've been nicer than you deserve—which you won't find anywhere in this place—and yet, you...you bite us," he gestured, counting her actions on his fingers, "you scratch us, you kick us, you scream so fucking loud it makes us want to shove knives in our ears, and you do all of this when we haven't done a damn thing to you! Just..." Scourge clenched his shaking fists, his body trembling with pent-up rage. He walked towards a nearby wall, his clenched fist slamming into it, causing several bricks to dislodge and fall to the ground. A mixture of anger and pain radiated from him as he growled, “FUCK!” through gritted teeth, blood seeping through his glove from the force of the impact.

His piercing gaze shifted towards the motionless group, their silence accentuating the intensity of the moment. “What?” he sneered in disdain. With a contemptuous curl of his lip, he swiftly reached into his jacket, extracting a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The metallic clinks echoed as he forcefully inserted a cigarette between his lips and ignited it with a resounding flick. A brief pause ensued as his eyes locked onto Fiona's, their gazes intertwining momentarily. Breaking the silence, he issued a terse command, his voice laced with authority, "Give ‘em the towels. I'll be back."

Weary and in need of respite, he sought solace on the edge of the sidewalk. Inhaling deeply, he drew in the burning nicotine, its bitter taste a mild distraction for his racing thoughts. His blue eyes remained steadfastly fixed on an unseen focal point, as if attempting to anchor his racing mind. Alas, his efforts to silence the relentless clamor of his thoughts proved futile, each inhale only serving to fan the flames of his internal turmoil.

He cursed their decision to stay at the orphanage, wishing they had chosen a different hideout. If they had opted for an alternative location, he would have never crossed paths with her. However, if they hadn't stumbled upon it, she would have succumbed to her infection. The perplexing part was, why did her survival matter? He had spent years coming to terms with the fact that he would never lay eyes on her again, so whether she lived or died shouldn't have made a difference. Yet, the mere contemplation of her demise triggered the same strange and nauseating sensation he experienced when they initially discovered the deserted orphanage where he left her as an infant. He berated himself for allowing these emotions to affect him, considering them trivial under normal circumstances. However, as his thoughts clashed and collided, they brewed a tumultuous storm within his mind, obscuring his senses and leaving him in a state of disarray.

That is, until a subtle movement from the edge of his peripheral vision caught his attention. It was Fiona settling down next to him on the cold concrete curb. Without uttering a word, she extended two fingers towards him, a silent request for a cigarette. Scourge acquiesced without hesitation, his eyes barely leaving the horizon as he skillfully placed a cigarette between her waiting fingers, igniting it with a flick of his lighter, all without looking at her.

As time passed, an awkward silence draped over them, their shared cloud of smoke swirling around them, intertwining like ghostly tendrils. Fiona, in an attempt to pierce the growing tension, spoke up, saying, “Got her to change. She hated those soggy clothes.”

Scourge responded with nothing more than the barest of nods, his silence reestablishing the quiet that had briefly been disturbed.

“What are we doing, Fi?” Scourge finally broke the silence, his voice barely more than a hum. He extinguished his spent cigarette on the rough curb he was perched on, dropping the stub onto the pavement without a second thought.

“You tell me,” Fiona countered, her voice smooth as she took a long, deliberate drag of her cigarette. “You should've seen yourself when we stumbled upon that place. And then when we found her alive, well…” She trailed off, her eyes carefully watching Scourge for any hint of a reaction.

“Well?” His face remained a stoic mask, the only sign of his inner turmoil being a slight twitch in his brow.

“You were worried about her, Scourge. And since you matter to me, I helped out…” The crimson-furred vixen's voice faded away, her words dissipating into the air as she continued to speak.

“I seriously doubt you turned into a saint in a split, just to make me feel a bit better,” The green hedgehog shot back, a fresh cigarette already nestled between his lips as he sparked it to life.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, exactly?” Fiona’s brows furrowed, her body leaning in closer to Scourge as she sought an answer.

With a smug smirk, Scourge echoed a piece of wisdom she'd once harshly imparted to Tails, “You can’t count on anybody.”

Fiona scoffed, her crimson head shaking indignantly as she retorted, “That was a long time ago! And he was just some brat-“

“Same with her,” Scourge interjected, not giving Fiona a chance to finish. “Doesn’t matter who she’s related to.” He adjusted his sunglasses with a casual flick of his fingers, a plume of smoke billowing from his mouth.

“Alright, so what are you trying to suggest, Scourge?” Fiona demanded, her voice thick with indignation.

“Don’t play dumb, Fiona. You’ve clearly got a soft spot for the kid. And I don’t believe for a second it’s just because you feel sorry for me.” He sneered, a bitter edge in his voice. “Why else would you have spent the entire first night taking care of her?”

Fiona shook her head, her silence louder than any words. Scourge’s accusation sent ripples of turmoil through her, rendering her mute as she dropped her cigarette, the ember dying under the sole of her boot.

She was reminded of her own childhood, a time when she was chewed up and spit out by a cruel twist of fate. She had spent grueling years under Robotnik's tyrannical rule, forced into hard labor, subjected to inhumane experimentation, and ultimately abandoned in a dank cell to waste away. In the throes of her adolescence, she had clawed her way to freedom, literally digging her way out of her prison cell.

Adding to her torment was the fact that Sonic, the supposed hero of not just the world, but the entire universe, had saved others from one of the prisons she was kept in while she was there. But he couldn’t save her. The memory of being left to rot in that cell, the feeling of being forsaken, still made her blood boil. Regardless of the reasons, and despite her attempts to forgive, and even love him, the gnawing resentment lingered.

Toxic was not imprisoned like she was, but her fate seemed to be nothing more than an inevitable, bitter end. Fiona had learned to trust sparingly, but the desperate child within her couldn’t be silenced when she saw an opportunity to offer Toxic at least a chance at making it in this unforgiving world.

After a long moment of tapping her foot against the ground in a rhythm of frustration, Fiona finally broke the bitter silence that had settled over them. She stood up, the tension in her body pouring out as she stretched her arms above her head. Then, turning her attention to Scourge, she asked, "You hungry?"

Scourge, taken aback by the sudden turn in their conversation, paused, his mind needing a moment to recalibrate. Then, with a sudden jolt of realization, he remembered that the only food he'd ingested that day was a measly bag of potato chips. His stomach, now keenly aware of its long period without proper nourishment, issued a low, plaintive rumble of hunger.

"I could eat," Scourge responded, attempting to maintain an air of indifference even as his stomach clenched with a gnawing sensation of hunger.

"I'll go tell the others to head back," Fiona stated, her voice reverberating slightly in the confines of the narrow, dingy alleyway. She moved away with a confident stride, heading towards the rest of their disparate group. "We could do with a little 'us' time."

As she disappeared into the alley, Scourge rose to his feet, discarding his finished cigarette onto the cold, grimy pavement. He stamped it out with his sneaker, killing the feeble ember. He muttered a curse under his breath as he readjusted his worn jacket, the leather hanging awkwardly on his underfed figure.

"We'll bring stuff for you guys, okay?" Fiona's voice floated back to him as she spoke to the remaining group. Scourge watched as she, along with Predator, Simon, and Toxic, emerged from the murky depths of the alley.

His eyes met Toxic's and they held each other's stare for a moment, exchanging glares as frigid and sharp as a glacier. But it was Scourge who broke the intense eye contact, shifting his attention back towards Fiona.

"What are we in the mood for?" Fiona queried, sauntering back to his side.

“Tired of ramen. Pizza sound good?” Scourge’s ears perked up at the suggestion, and he casually draped an arm around Fiona’s waist.

“Smart boy.” Fiona complimented him, reciprocating his gesture by looping her arm around his shoulders, “lead the way, baby.”

As they began their journey out of the squalor of the slums, Scourge relished the tranquil feeling that came with the company of a single person. Not any random person, but Fiona. Her presence was a source of solace for him, one that surpassed the fleeting relief granted by any chemical stimulant. In comparison to any substance, she was his most potent addiction.

Feeling Scourge’s appraising gaze on her, Fiona quirked an eyebrow, a playful smile spreading across her lips, “what?”

“Nothin’. Just enjoying the view.” Scourge responded, sealing his remark with a flirtatious wink.

A wave of warmth washed over Fiona as she felt the familiar rush of blood coloring her cheeks. She tilted her head towards him, her gaze filled with affection, "Well, I hope you're not referring to that big pile of trash bags," she teased, her eyes flicking towards the stench-ridden pile they were passing by.

Chuckling, Scourge responded in a faux seductive tone, "Oh I don't know, Fi. It's got a certain... hot and steamy appeal to it," he quipped, his smirk acknowledging the trash heap wilting under the intense heat of the sun.

"Gross!" Fiona retorted, her nose crinkled in distaste as she playfully jabbed his shoulder, her arm still linked with his.

As they crossed into the lively shopping district, their eyes darted to and fro, scanning the dazzling neon signs in their quest to locate a pizza place. Their search was soon rewarded, and they plunged into the moving mass of people that flowed in multiple directions, propelling themselves towards the entrance of a rather run-down pizza parlor. As they stepped inside, a tinny jingle echoed from the overhead speakers, announcing their arrival.

"Snag us a spot, babe," Scourge murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek as he withdrew his arm from her waist.

"Make sure it's pepperoni," Fiona instructed, pointing a finger at him as she set off to find a table for two.

"Gotcha," Scourge confirmed, flashing her a thumbs-up as he took his place in the queue to order.

Beneath the monotonous hum and sporadic flicker of the overhead fluorescent lights, Scourge moved to the front of the line when his turn arrived. He met the gaze of the cashier, whose eyes held a dull, weary look, and ordered two slices of pepperoni pizza accompanied by sodas. After settling the bill, Scourge picked up a number and joined Fiona at the table she had selected, his confusion evident at the sight of her staring off into the distance, lost in thought.

"What's on your mind, babe?" Scourge inquired, pushing up his red sunglasses to better perceive her in the restaurant's dim lighting.

"Just thinkin’..." She replied in a thoughtful hum.

"About what?"

"Where the hell are we going to place that kid once she's healed? Nobody in their right mind would want her," she mused, her gaze distant as she rested her chin on her knuckle.

"You’re right, but we can't keep her. We have our own lives to lead and we can't afford the delays this little psycho is causing," he asserted, his tone firm.

"Are there any other orphanages?" Fiona suggested, her eyebrow arched in query.

"I dunno, Fi. It's been years since I last looked. And even then, I could only find one we’re staying in." he replied, sounding somewhat deflated as he adjusted his jacket on his shoulder.

"But there’s gotta be some place where orphans go," Fiona mused aloud, her thumb nail caught between her teeth.

"In my experience, they either end up homeless or doing manual labor for some company," Scourge said, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck. He froze mid-movement as a sudden idea sparked in his mind.

"Damn…" Fiona muttered under her breath, her attention then drawn to Scourge's sudden shift in demeanor. "What's up?"

Scourge snapped his fingers and pointed at Fiona in a eureka moment, "We could possibly find an abandoned building for her. We'd have to teach her survival skills, but at least she'd be off our hands," he suggested, his voice brimming with newfound confidence.

"That could work… If nobody else is willing to take her in, I suppose it's better than forcing her into labor," Fiona considered, shrugging her shoulders in resignation.

Scourge nodded in agreement, just as their conversation was cut short by the shrill call of their order number. Upon collecting their food, Scourge evenly divided their meal, placing plates and drinks before each of them. Saliva pooled in his mouth as he opened wide to sink his teeth into the hot, oily slice of pepperoni pizza.

"Ew!" Fiona burst into laughter as she spotted a trail of drool mixed with pizza grease dribbling onto the table while she picked up her own slice.

"Fuck," Scourge mumbled under his breath, hastily wiping up the mess with a napkin, his ears flaring red with embarrassment.

"Good thing you're hot," Fiona teased, winking at him as she took a bite of her own pizza. "Pizza was a good choice."

"I'll grab a box for the guys on our way out so it's still warm," Scourge proposed after swallowing his mouthful of pizza.

"Smart idea," Fiona agreed, her smile warm as she sipped her soda, gazing fondly at her boyfriend.

"No need to rush, though," Scourge added, reaching across the table to hold Fiona's hand, his thumb softly stroking her knuckles, "When was the last time we actually went on a date?"

Fiona, intertwining her fingers with Scourge's, hummed in thought before answering, "Before you got arrested. So, about three months ago, more or less?"

"Oh right," Scourge nodded, "we could do with a moment like this…" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he tightened his grip around her hand.

"Why don't we deliver some pizza to the guys and then take the rest of the evening for ourselves? Perhaps enjoy a night out in the city?" Fiona proposed, her eyes softening as she watched Scourge press a gentle kiss to her hand before she reached for the last bite of her pizza slice.

"You read my mind, babe," Scourge mumbled in a low, gravelly tone against her hand before releasing it to rest lightly on the table.

"I'll grab the pizza," Fiona offered, an eager smile playing on her lips as she rose from her seat to join the queue.

"Roger that," Scourge responded, shooting her a playful salute before his attention was drawn to the television mounted on the wall. He cringed as an ad for the latest single from an up-and-coming teen pop sensation sang from the speakers while he polished off the last of his pizza. As he began to drain the remnants of his soda, a breaking news bulletin interrupted the regular programming. A police chase was underway, with the suspect described as a female blue child hedgehog. She had been seen stealing from an upper class shopping district on the opposite side of town, and had reportedly assaulted officers when confronted.

Scourge's eyes bulged, his jaw dropping in disbelief. He slammed his empty cup down onto the table, causing a resounding clatter, and belted out, "Fiona!"

Hearing Scourge's cry, Fiona quickly spun on her heel and hurried back to their table. "What's wrong?" she inquired, her eyebrows furrowing in alarm at the urgency in his voice.

Scourge pointed a finger towards the television screen, revealing to her the blurry image of Toxic taken from a security camera that was now being broadcast across the city, her antics having caught the attention of the local law enforcement.

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