#good job murdering those orphans

[yezhi1k]

Flowers & Cherries chp.3 (Jinx x Reader)

(Had to re-upload, sorry, it got corrupted on my end, not sure if it showed up for anyone else)

Notes: SMUT ALERT!!! Yes, we finally got here. Sorry for taking so long, work and uni are currently making my life a little hectic. Apologies in advance for any typos, I am sure there are plenty, but I am very very very bad at proofreading. Also, pretty please read the CWs carefully! (also also, as usual, all my stuff is on AO3, under MisanthropicMoose).

Summary: After your whole gang is wiped out, you wake up at Jinx's place unharmed. You are angry at her, and she decided to make it up to you in a very special way.

CW: nsfw, dubious consent, edging, overstimulation, sex toys, descriptions of syringes/injections, very brief mentions of addiction/murder/suicide. Minors DNI!!!

A warm, heavy darkness enveloped you. It was almost humid; waves of it cascaded down your arms and legs, pressurized your head. You wondered whether you’ve died. While you were still alive, you never gave much thought to the afterlife. You liked to keep things simple: you live, then you die, and then nothing. Whether you’re good, whether you’re bad, whether you save starving orphans or set churches on fire. Once you’re dead, you’re dead. It was easier that way, you didn’t feel like you had to keep track of your sins. When your parents were still alive, they took you to a small, dingy church further topside sometimes, whenever your mother’s nervousness set in. You didn’t care much for it then. None of the very few kids there did. Did you care for it now? If you had the opportunity, would you atone for anything? There was plenty to atone for, of course. But would it make a difference?

You brought your attention back to the darkness. It pressed onto you from every direction, like a cocoon. Your thoughts drifted to reincarnation. Many years ago, you found yourself undercover at a brothel. You were looking for someone who frequented it. Who was it? Didn’t matter now.

You didn’t want to look suspicious, so you hired a girl. You couldn’t remember much of her now, except that she was tall and smelled of caramel.  

“So,” you remembered her voice. Velvety, almost baritone, “What are you looking for tonight?”

You remembered the tips of your ears tingling slightly at the question. You knew you couldn’t sleep with her, you were on the job and had to stay focused. But even if you could… You remembered being attracted to her, very much so. Her skin looked silky smooth and reflected, in an almost iridescent way, the light of the candles. You remembered your eyes lingering on her long fingers, wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. Her big eyes, glistening at you from underneath fluffy eyelashes. You remembered shifting on the plush sofa, changing the cross of your legs. You remembered wanting her, in a way you knew people wanted one another. And you also remembered a weird, invisible, all-powerful force holding you in place, not letting you act on those desires. It wasn’t a sense of responsibility or duty, you knew that much. Was it guilt? Was it that, out of all the immoral and low shit you have done up to that point, that was something you felt like you had to atone for?

You didn’t have answers for any of those questions then. So, you said you just wanted to talk. She didn’t seem surprised. You were sure that that wasn’t the weirdest request she has ever gotten. Probably not even the weirdest thing she had to do that night. Easy money, if you will.

You let her do most of the talking. Partially because you were still on the lookout for your client, partially because you didn’t know what to talk about. She sunk into the sofa, swirling and delicately sipping her wine. She told you about her life: she was from a middle-class family, one of those that lived closer to the surface, but still technically in the undercity. She attended an upside boarding school for gifted girls, on a scholarship. Her first kiss was with a classmate, in a broom closet, she told you, leaning in closer and lowering her voice slightly, as if she was revealing a terrible secret. Much later, in her final year of school, she tried a boy. Didn’t like it very much, she confessed, scrunching her nose playfully. You let out an understanding scoff. You have never slept with a man, but having to seduce drunk bastards on a semi-regular basis was unpleasant enough.

She was a good student, excelling particularly in botany. She loved plants, flowers, trees, all of the things that were so scarce in the undercity. Secretly, she dreamt of bringing the lush greenery to the fissures, somehow figuring out a way to make it flourish in the toxic air. It would greatly improve air quality, she said. People would be healthier, and happier, surrounded by plants.

But then, a tragedy, too common in the undercity, struck. Her father became addicted to shimmer. It was a rapid descent. To that day, she did not know how he even came into contact with it, or what compelled him to take it. But he did. And he lost all semblance of humanity. It’s like he was replaced, she said somberly. Her father died, and in his place was a monster. She begged her mother to leave him, to run away, to retreat deeper into the undercity, if that’s what it took. But she stuck by him. She loved him. And during one of his shimmer-induced episodes, he killed her. And then, in a moment of clarity, during which he understood what he had done, he jumped off the bridge between the upper and under cities. Her mother was buried at a local cemetery, and his body was never found.

She left school the day she found out. Everything seemed pointless then. Flowers wouldn’t save the undercity, she realized.

But she had to live. And after several unsuccessful attempts at finding a job, she found herself on the steps of the brothel. At the time, she thought it would be a quick, temporary gig. Just to gather some money to get her life on track. But then she never left. Surprisingly, in this place, looked down on by the rest of the world, she finally felt accepted. At peace, even. Upside, she constantly had to pretend to be better off than she was. She had to act as though she went on vacations during school breaks, as opposed to retreating to the undercity, that her birthdays were spent at opulent restaurants and not in dingy bars, where the air was thick with smoke and gaseous remnants of shimmer. But here, surrounded by other people down on their luck, she felt as though she could breathe freely. Topside air, she said, despite all their plants and flowers, hurt her lungs.

The night went on, the guy you were looking for was nowhere to be seen. You gave her a brief rundown of your life, entirely made up, of course. Then your conversation turned theological.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” she asked.

You furrowed your brow.

“I… am not sure what that means.”

She giggled and put her petal-soft hand on your shoulder, stroking it lightly.

“Well, some people believe that when you die, you are reborn, as someone or something different. Do you believe that?”

You thought about it for a moment. She continued rubbing gentle circles on your shoulder, and waves of warmth rushed through your body.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered, “I like to think that once we die, that’s it. Then there is nothing.”

“That’s a depressing way to think.”

“Works for me,” you shrugged, “I hope that the things I’ve done won’t catch up to me.”

She tilted her head to the side, a lock of hair falling onto her forehead.

“You don’t seem like the type of person to do bad things.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. In a sudden spur of confidence, you reached out and brushed the hair out of her face.

“I do. I promise.”

Were you being reborn now? The cocoon of darkness enveloping you, was it a new womb? Were you about to see the light of the outside world for the first time again?

Your pondering was interrupted by something cold and wet brushing your forehead. A chill ripped through you, starting from your head and moving down to your toes at lightning speed. And then your face was brushed again. And again. And again.

Suddenly, everything went white. Your eyes, now open, rotated in their sockets wildly, trying to find anything at all to focus on. You were blinking furiously, trying to shed the milky film from the surface of your eyeballs. You tried to move, but something was holding your arms and legs down. All you could do was blink and shake your head.

“Hey, hey, shh. It’s okay, I’m here, don’t thrash.” You heard a familiar voice. Jinx. It was Jinx.

Your surroundings came into view slowly. The first thing you saw was the blinding light of a lamp above you. You squinted your eyes instinctively and looked away. With every passing second, other things appeared before you. Walls, painted purple, a desk leaning against one of those walls. You could make out tiny nuts and bolts and other parts scattered across its surface. A wooden door.

You turned your head to the side and came face to face with Jinx. Her eyes were big, almost concerned, but mostly just curious. Being this close, you were able to make out the faintest whisper of freckles on her face. The microscopic cracks on her lips.

She held a moist rag in her hand. When you stopped thrashing around, she smiled down at you and brought the rag to your face. The same sensation as before. That’s what it was.

Your mind raced. You were now able to make out that you were laying on something soft and springy. A bed? A bed! It was a bed! Not your bed though, your one wasn’t quite this big. Then who’s? Jinx’s?

“Jinx?” your voice came out strained and raspy. She raised an eyebrow at you inquisitively.

“Where am I?”

“At my place.”

You scrunched your forehead. An all too familiar, sharp pain was resurfacing.

“Why am I at your place?”

Jinx gently tilted your chin so your eyes would meet hers again.

“Because I blew your gang up, and you got hurt.”

A strained groan ripped out of your throat. Memories of the latest events refilled your mind. You were at the courtyard, and then something in the bushes caught your attention, and then… You started drawing a blank, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Why?” was all you could utter. You weren’t sure how you felt. You were angry, yes. Incredibly angry. Furious, even. But not because Smeech and his goons were gone. It was something else, something less personal. It was the same feeling as the one you got when a neighbor’s toddler toppled over the pile of rocks you spent all morning building as a child. Scorching pain rose from the back of your head to your forehead.

You suddenly felt a warm breath on your cheek. You cracked your eyes open and saw that Jinx’s face was mere inches away from yours. Her eyes looked even bigger now, sadder.

“Please don’t be angry at me,” she whispered. For a moment, both of you were silent. You tried to collect your thoughts.

“Jinx,” you said, as sternly as your dry tongue could manage, “What happened?”

Jinx huffed and left your field of vision for a moment. You tried to sit up, but something was holding your arms and legs in place. You looked up at your hands and saw that they were bound to the bedpost with something resembling a thick ribbon. The same was true for your ankles.

“Jinx?” you called out. Suddenly, a weight came down on you. Before you could process anything, Jinx’s petite figure was sitting on your stomach, thighs on either side of your body. Your breath caught in your chest; she was so close now. Sweet-smelling heat radiated off her body. Her hands were encasing your head, her long blue bangs hanging down on you, tickling your nose.

“Silco gave the order, obviously,” she started. Her chest brushed against yours, and you suddenly felt the hardness of her nipples under her shirt, “I begged him to keep you alive, and he agreed. Tried to get you on our team. But you had to be stubborn,” she whispered the last sentence, dipping her head down to your ear. You instinctively tried to squeeze your thighs together, but the bindings on your ankles kept you in place. You did your best to steady your breathing.

“Why did he decide to kill them? What did they do?”

Jinx lifted her head back up and looked you in the eyes. You could have sworn you noticed a glint of magenta in her blue eyes. But that couldn’t have been true.

“They were stealing shimmer.”

The words took a few seconds to register in your mind. Smeech and his goons were… stealing? From Silco? That was beyond ridiculous, even for someone as dumb as Smeech.

“That’s impossible,” you shook your head, “I didn’t know anything about it. They wouldn’t do something like that.”

“And yet, they did. They didn’t tell you because they would have to give you a bigger cut.”

You blinked up at her. No way. No fucking way.

“They started almost as soon as we hired them. It was small at first, Silco even thought for a bit that his books weren’t adding up because he’s getting old. But then they got bolder. Some even started meddling with the Firelights. Your lot would let them steal freely, and in return they got a portion of the stock,” Jinx’s eyes narrowed, “We didn’t want a big fuss, so we decided to let y’all do your thing, and figure out who exactly was participating so they could be dealt with… privately. But it turned out almost everyone was in on it. The only dummies left out were you, and that one kid you took in several months ago.”

She suddenly grinned widely at you.

“He agreed to switch immediately. Smart kid. But you were just begging to skip right on into the grave.”

 Your head was killing now, and you shut your eyes again.

“Does it hurt?” you felt Jinx’s lips against your ear. All you could do was nod. This wasn’t real. None of this could be real.

She lifted off you, and you heard her footsteps get further away. They then got closer again. You cracked your eyelids open.

She was standing over you with a syringe of purple liquid in hand, looking over you curiously. Your body thrashed. It was shimmer again. Jinx cupped your cheek in the palm of her hand, grazing your cheek lightly with the long nail of her thumb.

“Shh… It’s okay. It’s for the pain.”

Before you could answer, you felt a cold needle press against the side of your neck. A small, pathetic yelp escaped your throat as it broke the skin, and you felt the liquid enter your vein. It tingled, sent a shiver down your spine. A sigh slipped past your lips as the pain started melting away. It was as though a fire was put out on the inside of your head. Your eyelids fluttered down slightly.

But then, a new sensation started taking over. It was small at first, a little warmth at the pit of your stomach. You didn’t even notice it at first. But the warmth grew; it spread from the pit of your stomach down between your legs. You felt something resembling a dull ache, not painful per say, but as though every nerve was firing off at your core. Your thighs tried in vain to squeeze together again, your breath exhilarated. You felt a bead of sweat start forming near your brow.

“Jinx… this stuff feels weird,” your voice came out in a breathy whisper, unfamiliar even to you, “Doesn’t feel the same.” 

The blue-haired girl leant over you, studying your squirming form. Her palm found the top of your head, and she stroked you gently.

“That’s because it’s not the same,” she cooed, tilting your chin to meet her gaze again, “Silco’s stuff is nice. Expensive. He keeps it locked away most of the time. I could break into his cabinet, of course, but I’ve got my hands on this stuff. Almost the same, but it has… a side effect. So, it’s considered a failed strand. I wouldn’t say so though.”

You tried your best to keep your cool as strange feelings roared through your body.

“What’s the side effect?”

Jinx laughed, then climbed on top of you again, painfully slowly. Her pelvis came down on yours, and you couldn’t feel but let out a small moan. You prayed she didn’t notice.

Jinx was sitting on top you now, arms crossed, looking down at you with her head tilted. Your eyes drifted from her face down to the delicate curve of her neck, down her chest and toned waist, before landing on the blue cloud tattoo on her hip. Her hips had the slightest bit of fat on them, and they looked so supple. Grabbable. Bitable, even. What the fuck are you thinking about?

“I think you know,” saying that, Jinx bucked her hips slightly, generating the smallest bit of friction between your bodies. Your head fell back onto the pillow, and you had to bite your lip to stifle whatever sound was about to come out. The fire from your head migrated to your body now.

You desperately tried to stay in control of the situation.

“Alright, very funny. Untie me now,” you hissed through gritted teeth, trying to seem composed. By all accounts, you were not doing very well.

Jinx lifted an eyebrow at you.

“Are you angry?” she asked. You couldn’t help but let a mean laugh rip out of you.

“Yeah? Obviously? You think you get to blow up my entire gang, erase years of my hard work, and that I won’t be angry at you?”

You saw Jinx’s expression fall ever so slightly, before restoring back to the smug look she had on before. She reached out her hand and stroked the side of your neck. Her nails scraped your skin softly. You tried your hardest not to react as she traced a sensitive spot near the base of your jaw.

“I figured you’d be angry,” she muttered, bringing her mouth to the shell of your ear. You yelped as she nipped the very corner with her teeth, “I will make it up to you, though.”

You turned your head and looked up at her.

“And how are you planning on doing that, exactly?” you tried to sound angry, but to your horror your voice came out soft, whiny, needy. Jinx’s eyes had a dangerous glint to them.

“Well,” she started, grinding down on your crotch slowly, watching your face keenly for any shadow of a reaction, “I see the way you look at me. The way you looked at me from the very beginning,” her mouth found your ear again, “you want to fuck me, don’t deny it. I see the way you stare at my tits when you think I’m not looking.”

You tried to interrupt her to defend yourself, but she pressed her finger to your lips.

“I like you too,” you felt her fingers get tangled in your hair and pull slightly. Your chin was tilted upwards now, neck fully exposed, “I was going to fuck you myself, at first. But I figured, you’re older, you’re so serious all the time. You would probably want to make the first move. So, I waited,” her knee suddenly moved in between your legs, pressing up to you, pushing your thighs apart, “I waited, and I waited, and I waited, but you wouldn’t do a thing. Just kept eye-fucking me, and that’s it. You know how frustrating that is, hm?”

Jinx’s knee bobbed lightly, sending jolts of electricity through your core. You clamped your teeth shut, trying not to embarrass yourself. Jinx sat up and looked down at you again. Her chest was heaving a little, and a faint blush spread through her cheeks.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” she hummed, still teasing you with her knee. You felt a wetness start forming, and you feared she would make a mess of her pant leg, “Anything you want. What do you like, hm? Do you like to be rough? You like to pull hair? Want to call me names? Or are you more of a receiver?”

Your brain felt like it was melting. You didn’t know what to say, your lack of experience more evident than ever. Jinx’s face suddenly came down to your neck, and you felt her hot, wet tongue slide from the base of your neck up to the corner of your jaw. You couldn’t hold back anymore; a high pitched, lewd sound filled the air. You felt Jinx snicker against your neck.

“So eager,” she said, looking deeply into your eyes, “So, tell me. What do you want?”

There was no lying your way out of this one. You squeezed your eyes shut out of pure humiliation.

“I… I don’t know.”

Jinx’s nails, still tangled in your hair, scratched at your skull gently. Her voice softened, as though she was talking to a startled animal.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Don’t be embarrassed, I’m sure whatever you are into isn’t that weird.”

You felt tears of frustration and shame form in the corners of your eyes. The shimmer coursing through your veins seemed to heighten more than just your physical sensitivity.

“I don’t know what I’m into! I’ve never done… this before, I don’t know.”

A silence filled the room. You cracked one of your eyes open and peeked and Jinx. You expected her to laugh at you. Maybe look at you in disgust, or with pity.

But, as your eyes met hers, you saw something entirely different, and your stomach churned. Her jaw tightened, and there was no mistaking it now: the hue of her eyes shifted from ocean-blue to magenta. The grip on your hair tightened, and you let out a pained cry. She looked over you with a newfound curiosity. There was something borderline predatory in her eyes.

“No way,” she said finally, loosening her grip. Her thumb came down onto your cheek and she stroked it, head tilted, studying you.

You stayed silent. You weren’t sure what was going to happen. Jinx planted her hands either side of your head.

“You haven’t been deflowered? Haven’t had your cherry popped?” her voice had a mocking tinge to it. You couldn’t keep looking her in the eyes, and you turned your head to look at the wall. Jinx grabbed your cheeks and turned your face back to her roughly.

“Tell me,” her thumb was grazing your bottom lip now, “Did I get that right?”

All you could do was nod. A devious grin spread across Jinx’s face, and she suddenly pushed her thumb into your mouth. You were too caught off guard to fight her, and her thumb planted onto your tongue. She forced your mouth open and watched you for a moment, smearing saliva all around your mouth and on your bottom lip. You knew you looked pathetic, tied up, Jinx’s thumb in your mouth, and all you could do was keep staring up at her.

“How did you even manage that, huh? You’re so cute, I was sure someone has gotten to you by now,” Jinx whispered. You decided you were going to make a last-ditch attempt to escape. The embarrassment was too much.

“Jinx, untie me, please,” your words were muffled with your mouth obstructed.

A cackle, an almost maniacal laugh, came out from somewhere deep within Jinx, and she shoved her thumb deeper down your throat, almost making you gag.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding. No way I’m doing that now,” thumb still in your mouth, she planted soft kisses up your neck and nipped your earlobe, “I’ve never gotten to break in a virgin before, no way I’m letting you go.”  

Her lips found the sensitive spot on you neck and planted onto it tightly. You felt her kiss and lick at the spot, coaxing whines and mewls out you didn’t know you were capable producing.

“After all,” she muttered in between kisses, “you wouldn’t want the entire Zaun to find out that Smeech’s right hand, the living nightmare of dozens of gangsters, is a little  pathetic virgin,” she suddenly bit down on the soft flesh.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. There was nothing you could do, really. Your limbs were still immobilized, and Jinx was seated firmly on top of you, pressing your pelvis and torso into the bed. And on top of it all, you felt so incredibly warm. Scorching. Your blood became infused with burning humiliation and desire. With one hand still in your hair, Jinx took her fingers out of your mouth and glided them down your neck and chest, leaving a trail of purple shimmering saliva. She grabbed a handful of your breast and squeezed lightly. You didn’t typically wear a bra, being happy with just an undershirt, and you felt her sharp nail graze against your nipple through the fabric. A spark of pleasure ran up your nerves as you tried to stifle another moan. You weren’t sure why you felt so embarrassed; deep down, this is what you wanted since the moment you met Jinx. So, now that she was feeling you up and you were entirely at her mercy, why did you feel such deep seeded shame?

Jinx was playing with your nipple through your shirt now, pinching and tugging lightly, occasionally running the sharp nail of her index finger over the hardening bud. The pressure between your legs built up mercilessly, and you desperately wanted to feel more, for her to do more. You bucked your hips instinctively, trying to generate more friction between your groin and Jinx’s knee. She snickered and tugged harder at your hair, forcing you to look her in the eyes again.

“Are you that desperate already? I’ve barely touched you, and you are already humping my knee,” she lowered her hand from your breast, fiddling with the hem of your shirt now, “I mean, I knew virgins are easy, but you are being outright slutty.”

Without a warning, she latched onto the hem of your shirt and pulled in up over your breasts. Your nipples fully hardened in the cold air. You saw Jinx’s eyes travel down, and she looked over your body with curiosity. You felt as though your face couldn’t get any warmer, and yet with every passing second more blood seemed to rush to your cheeks.

“How pretty,” she muttered, running the pad of her thumb over your nipple. You couldn’t hold in your moan, and it came out in a hoarse squeal. Jinx continued to play with your chest, occasionally moving from one breast to the other. Your thighs squeezed tighter around her as she rolled one of your nipples between her fingers.

She looked you in the eyes as her mouth lowered towards your chest. She planted a soft kiss onto your collar bone, then started slowly moving down. Her lips suddenly latched onto the flesh of one of your breasts, forming a seal. She sucked harshly, coaxing soft yelps out of you as she sucked in more air. When Jinx pulled away, a scarlet mouth-shaped mark was left on your breast, and she admired her work for a second before taking your hard nipple in her mouth. It felt warm and wet as she swirled her tongue around the bud, coating it in a thick layer of saliva. You couldn’t help but throw back your head, not holding back your voice now. It reverberated through the room, bouncing off the walls, and you wondered whether anyone could overhear you. As if reading your thoughts, Jinx nipped your nipple with her teeth, eliciting a louder scream. She then moved over to your other breast, toying with your abandoned nipple with the bad of your thumb as she sucked on the other one. You writhed against her, and she shifted more of her weight onto your torso to keep you in place.

With her lips still wrapped around one of your buds, Jinx glided her hand down to your crotch, palming you through your trousers. The newfound pressure was intoxicating, and you bucked into her hand, almost sobbing from how much you wanted her to touch you. Her fingers circled over your entrance, and you could see now that your wetness soaked all the way through the fabric.

“So fucking wet for me,” Jinx cooed, picking up the pace a little. Her mouth found the lobe of you ear and she took it between her teeth, nibbling softly as her palm continued its attack on your crotch. Tears welled in your eyes.

“Jinx, please…” your voice came out small, higher pitched than normal. She tilted her head, observing your expressions with a mischievous glint in her magenta eyes.

“Please what?” she teased, dragging her nail across where your clit would be under the layers of fabric. You whined and tried to buck into her hand again, but her fingers sunk into the flesh of your hip and she pushed you down forcefully. Her other hand found your hair again and yanked your head back, leaving you panting.

“Please, what?” her voice was stern now. Your lip quivered as you found her eyes with yours.

“Please… touch me more,” you managed in a strained whisper. Jinx’s eyes softened, her grip on your hip getting lighter as she rubbed gentle circles on your hip bone now.

“Well,” she muttered, hooking her index finger under your belt, her eyes never leaving yours, “Since you asked so nicely…”

You felt her work at your belt, sliding it out of its loops and letting it fall off the bed onto the floor with a loud clank. Jinx then pulled at the zipper of your trousers and pushed them down over your hips, leaving them pooled around your knees. You were splayed out under her now, ankles and wrists bound to the bedposts, purple drool dribbling down the side of your mouth, tits exposed and covered in hickeys and saliva, with only a pair of cotton underwear shielding your soaked core from the air of the bedroom. Jinx seemed to enjoy the view, letting go of you and sitting up for a moment, eyes tracing every curve of your defenseless figure.

“What a little slut you are,” she said, softly grazing your clit through your panties, making you shudder in pleasure, “Imagine if your folk ever saw you like this, hm? I bet they wanted to fuck you the whole time you were with them,” she slapped your entrance softly, “And yet, I’m the one that gets to have a taste of you first. Isn’t that funny?”

The pads of her fingers were circling against your barely clothed, dripping pussy now. She started out agonizingly slow, but with every passing second, Jinx picked up her speed, letting louder and lewder sounds spill out of you. You were writhing against her hand wildly, chasing your high; you felt a knot start forming in the pit of your stomach, as if something inside you was going to burst. You’ve never felt this way before, but instinctually you knew that that burst would feel delicious. As you got closer, Jinx grabbed your cheeks with your free hand and forced you to look at her. She was taking in your expression, drinking up your desperation and want. Her thumb made it into your mouth again, smearing your spit all over your bottom lip.

“You wanna cum already?” she asked, the speed of her hand relentless against your crotch. You couldn’t produce any coherent words, resorting to simply nodding whilst letting out an unintelligible groan. Jinx’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and she leaned in closer to your face. You felt the sweet hotness of her breath against your mouth, and you tried to lean forward to kiss her, but she yanked your hair, forcing your head to fall back onto the pillow. As you inched closer to your release you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation. You were so close, so painfully close, just a couple more seconds and you would–

Jinx’s fingers left your aching pussy in the last second. You let out a frustrated whine, bucking helplessly into the air, trying to generate any kind of friction, anything to bring you over the edge. You squirmed in frustration, the ribbon against your wrists and ankles digging deeper into your skin.

Your pleading eyes found Jinx’s. She was still holding you by the hair, studying your face, her other hand resting on your lower stomach now. She had a pleased smirk on her face, by all accounts she seemed to enjoy torturing you. Her facial expression quickly shifted into a mockingly sympathetic one.

“Ow, poor baby… What’s wrong?” her fingers traced your abdomen lazily as an aching want raged on between your legs, “Did you really think I was going to let you cum that easily?”

Your head fell back into the pillow in defeat, Below, you felt Jinx hook one of her long nails under the band of your sopped underwear and pull them down slowly, peeling the fabric away from your core and slipping them down to your knees in the same manner as your trousers. You were fully exposed now, and you could feel streams of your wetness cascade down your thighs onto the mattress. Jinx shifted down, planting kisses down your stomach until her mouth was hovering just over your entrance. Her eyes never left yours as she lowered her tongue slowly onto your clit. It was hot and wet, and you couldn’t help but moan as your hips jerked up. Jinx gripped both of your thighs and pulled them apart further, spreading you out in front of her. Slowly, she started lapping away at your clit, sending jolts of pure pleasure up your thighs. As heat started rising from within you again, she picked up the pace, her tongue gliding across your pussy and in between your folds, giving special attention to your throbbing clit. You could see her lips and chin become coated in your juices. Your wetness was also had a purple sheen to it, a common after-effect of taking shimmer. The room was filled with the sounds of your ragged moans.

Jinx’s tongue was dancing wildly over your clit now, and you felt your release rapidly approach again. It felt more intense this time, building upon your unresolved orgasm from before. With every lap Jinx took at your pussy your moans got louder, and you bucked into her mouth. Your mind was liquefying by the second.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami. A wave of warmth spread from your groin throughout your body, a pleasant ache spread through your core, rolling through it again and again as screams of pleasure ripped through you. Jinx held down your hips and licked you through your release, every lick sending additional sparks through your body. You chanted her name like a prayer, wishing you could burry your hands in her electric blue hair.

When the fire in your core died down, Jinx pulled away from your pussy. Purple liquid was smeared over her mouth and chin, and she wiped some away with the back of her hand before lunging forward and crushing her mouth against yours. You tasted yourself on her tongue, the shimmer making your juices taste ever so slightly fruity. Her tongue pushed past your lips with ease, and all you could is moan into her mouth as she explored your mouth. Your tongue glided against hers, spit mixing with your wetness in a cacophony of flavors. You were breathless as she pulled away, a string of saliva hanging between your lips. She wiped her mouth and grinned at you.

“How was that?” her voice was cocky. She seemed incredibly proud of herself. You gazed at her through half-lidded eyes.

“So fucking good, Jinx,” you muttered, throwing your head back onto the pillow, trying to catch your breath. A pleasant warmth spread through you. You heard Jinx hop off the bed and move away into the far corner of the room. You closed your eyes, feeling the remnants of your orgasm swarm through your body.

You heard Jinx rummage around her cupboards. Opening your eyes, you saw her approach the bed with a small box. You lifted your head in curiosity, trying to figure out what was in there. She set the box down on the bed, a mischievous grin spreading on her face. You suddenly got scared.

“What’s that?” you asked carefully. You tried to figure it out, but your mind was still swarming from the pleasure, a sweet fog enveloping you.

Jinx glanced over at you and giggled.

“You’ll see.”

You tried to lean forward more as she lifted the lid off the box. In there were laid devices you were unfamiliar with. A couple of them were of a cylindrical shape, some with prominent ridges, others completely smooth. You looked at Jinx in confusion.

She snickered a picked a small, bullet-shaped device out of the box. It was completely smooth, except for a small button at the base. You watched in astonishment as Jinx pressed the button, and the device started buzzing in her hand. She climbed on top of you again, mysterious object in hand.

Without saying a word, she forced your mouth open and shoved the device inside; it vibrated against your teeth. Jinx swirled the object around in your mouth, coating it in your spit. When it was sufficiently lubricated, she pulled it out. Before you could ask what she was doing, she lowered the tip of the device onto your nipple. An intense pleasure shot through you, and you arched your back as the pleasant sensation rolled through your body. The moist, vibrating bullet felt amazing against your skin.

“You like that?” you heard Jinx ask. She was watching your reactions carefully.

“These are all prototypes,” she continues, swirling the toy around each nipple, “You’d be surprised how many people in the Undercity are after a good sex toy.”

The next thing you knew, the device was pressed up to your clit. Your whole body jolted, the sensation was too strong, the pleasure too overpowering. You tried to get away from the vibrator, but Jinx held you firmly in place as she continued her assault on your senses. The pleasure morphed into something resembling a dull pain. You sobbed.

“Jinx, please, wait, it’s too much,” you begged. All you heard was Jinx’s dark chuckle as she pressed the vibrator more firmly against you.

“You can take it,” was all she said. She slid the device up and down your entrance, circling your clit, and your vision went dark with pleasure. Your mouth hung open, your hips bucked and twitched in a directionless manner. Another wave of release washed over you quickly, so intense that it spread through your core in a sharp pain. A wail escaped you as you tried desperately to pull away from the vibrator that was still pressed against you. Jinx was giggling villainously now, evidently enjoying your struggle.

“Good girl, such a good girl… Shh, its okay,” she muttered over you as you cried, desperately thrashing, trying to move away from the toy. After a few more seconds, she finally took it off you. Sparks of pain and pleasure continued shooting through your core and abdomen as you tried to catch your breath. Your clit was red and swollen now, and the mattress underneath you was slick from your juices.

You watched Jinx as she tossed the vibrator onto the mattress and reached back into the box again. The cogs in your brain started turning as you realized what she was up to.

“Please, Jinx, I can’t take any more,” you whined, tears rolling down your face, core burning from overstimulation. Jinx didn’t answer. Instead, she reached backwards and pulled at the knots around your ankles, releasing them. She delicately massaged the red lines left on your flesh, before grabbing you by the hip and turning you over onto your stomach. You were still bound to the bedpost by your wrists, and the bindings around them tightened. You felt Jinx snake a hand underneath your stomach and pull your hips up, pushing your face down into the pillow by the hair. Your ass was now raised in the air, the cool air hitting your pussy, still soaked and throbbing. You couldn’t see what Jinx was doing, but you heard her rummage around in her box, presumably looking for a new toy. As she took her pick, her finger grazed the slit of your entrance. You heard her pick something out of the pile and spit on it. Your insides clenched in horrified anticipation; you were overstimulated beyond belief.

A choked cry escaped your throat as you felt something press up to you, teasing your entrance. It felt bulbous and wet from Jinx’s spit. You turned your head to the side and tried to find Jinx. You saw her, sitting next to you, holding up your hips in the air with one hand and pressing a phallic, ribbed object up to your dripping pussy. It was ribbed, with a large head. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to brace yourself.

“You think you can take it for me, hm?” you heard Jinx whisper in your ear, knowing damn well that it didn’t matter what you answered.

You felt the head of the dildo move between the lips, pushing into you. You whimpered and felt Jinx plant a gentle kiss onto your temple.

“Shh, you are doing so well for me. Don’t be scared.”

The toy slowly stretched you as Jinx pushed it further. With every new inch that entered you, you let out a pained moan, the ribbing on the base stretching you even further. The pillow was wet from tears now. Finally, you felt the base of the toy hit your ass as all of it was now planted inside of you, filling every inch. Jinx stopped moving it, letting you adjust to the size of the toy, your walls desperately trying to accommodate it. She planted soft kisses on your shoulder as you got used to the feeling.

After a few minutes, you felt Jinx start to slowly pull the dildo out of you. As each ridge moved through your walls, a half-pleasurable, half-painful sensation shot through you. You bit your lip as you felt the toy slide back in. Jinx was gently thrusting it in and out of you now, taking care not to go too quickly. The pain morphed into pleasure, and as small moans started spilling out of you, she picked up the pace. Her toy was hitting deep inside you now, the ridges massaging you from the inside. The speed only got faster, and you felt a string of drool fall from your mouth onto the pillow, your eyes rolled back. Your stomach felt tight, it was way too much, every thrust coaxed an animalistic scream out of you. Suddenly you heard a familiar click, and the dildo started vibrating. The combination of vibration and thrusts made you bite down on the pillow as hard as you could, your thighs spasmed and struggled to keep your hips up in the air.

“Does it feel that good, hm? You can’t even keep yourself up?” Jinx’s breath brushed your ear as she pounded away mercilessly at you. Your eyes rolled back into your skull. Another release was on its way, and you could already tell it would be more intense than you could ever imagine. Jinx’s finger snaked underneath you and circled your clit vigorously. Your screams couldn’t get any louder.

“Come on, cum for me. Cum for me, you fucking slut,” she hissed in your ear, “You like to be fucked so much, huh? You like when I fuck you? If anyone else tries to touch you, you will only think of me; my tongue, my fingers, my toys, me,” she took her hand away from your clit for a second to pull your hair, lifting your head slightly. Her mouth pressed against the shell of your ear.

“Tell me. Tell me you are mine. Tell me you are my little whore.”

You yelped as the grip on your hair got tighter.

“I’m yours, Jinx, I’m only yours. I’m your whore,” you whined, trying to choke down your sobs.

Satisfied, Jinx let go of your hair and started circling your clit again. You screamed, and a wave of pain and pleasure washed over you as she sent you over the edge. Your walls clenched around the toy, and you pressed your thighs together tightly as your hips shook uncontrollably. Your legs gave out, and you collapsed onto the bed, still twitching as Jinx pulled out of you.

As you laid on your stomach, breathless, small sequels still passing your lips, Jinx turned you onto your back again and climbed on top of you. She brought the head of your toy to your mouth and you, delirious, wrapped your lips around it, taking it deeply into your throat, cleaning off your juices. Jinx’s eyes were barely visible from underneath her eyelashes, but you could see a dangerous magenta glow emanate from them as she watched you lick the mess off the dildo. She pulled it out of your mouth with a loud pop and tossed it to the side. She quickly untied your wrists, planting kisses onto the raw skin, and plopped onto the mattress next to you. She pulled the covers over the both of you, and her arms snaked around your waist as she pressed her small body up to you from behind. She felt delicate and warm, it was hard to believe that mere moments ago she was ferociously fucking you, humiliating you, calling you names. Your eyes started fluttering shut as you felt her press small, quick kisses onto the nape of your neck. You tried to turn around to face her, but she held you in place.

“But, what about you?” you asked. You knew damn well you were in no position to return the favor in that moment, but that didn’t stop the guilt from bubbling up. You felt her chest rumble against your back as she giggled and brushed a lock of hair out of your face.

“Don’t worry about it for now. We will have plenty of time for that later.”

Tag list:

@kiaralee25

@fvckingeetar

[adventures-in-mangaland]

More Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs

Since my last fic rec post got a great response and I've read some excellent fic in the meantime, here is a new list with more recs!

The Case of Richard Rowland by RB (BlueflowersandWings)

Charles' dad hires the Dead Boy Detectives to solve his murder. It's. Traumatic. The writing and characterisation are excellent and heartbreaking and the case is intriguing. I have many theories! Cw for domestic abuse, child abuse and homophobia.

we all have a hunger (series) by Anonymous

I couldn't choose! They're both so good! The first is from Crystal's PoV as she tries to figure out what happened to Niko. It also features some wonderful Crystal & Edwin bonding, an absolutely gut-wrenching speech from the latter and The Sandman cameos. The second in the series is an Edwin-centric (so angsty!) case fic featuring Accidental Child Acquisition, greek gods, the Cat King and a happy ending. Superlative writing in both.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good and Very Bad by hibye

Feelings realisation as Charles pines for Edwin and tries not to show it because he has to be sure he's in love. Terrific, very funny writing and Charles is a precious himbo. Excellent payoff too.

Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten? by DontOffendTheBees

Charles and Edwin investigate a mystery at St Hilarion's and discover a gut-wrenching secret. Compelling and brilliantly written.

I'll let you go if you kiss me goodbye by shadowquill17

Idiots in Love meets Friends with Benefits and Misunderstandings. Edwin breaking his own heart for no reason is very accurate and Charles gets a cool queer mentor.

the spooky thing about penis ouija by skadii

College AU! Everyone's alive and Charles and Edwin have been besties since middle school. This is another Oblivious!Charles fic; he's like a well-meaning golden retriever trampling Monty in his clueless wake. Also, the gang perform a seance and Edwin is a ghost-sceptic, which is hilarious.

after the insects have laid their claim by lolotr

Charles finds out that Edwin's body was never found and will not let that stand. Has a kind of gothic romanticism I really love and a nice in-universe explanation for the "Charles and Edwin can only feel each other" trope.

The author has written lots of other great fic, including a very cute librarian!Edwin and single dad!Charles human AU with bonus Crystal/Niko.

A Form of Genius by Neous (Greyality)

Charles shows off for Edwin. Crystal Suffers. Idk, it's just cute.

the taste in your mouth by greenaerie

When Esther hurts Charles, Edwin decides to take up the Cat King on his original offer. Interesting exploration of dubious consent, shame and guilt. The author is fairly sympathetic to the Cat King, while also exploring Edwin's complicated feelings, including the impact of his upbringing, general repression and, yes, coercion on his first time. It's not exactly explicit, but take care if those are tough themes for you!

The Manuscript of Real People by paraph

Slow burn Boarding School AU where they're both alive and it's also the 70s. And they were roommates! I have been longing for a fic like this. All the jock/nerd romance tropes, complicated by discussions of bullying and Charles' (perceived) proximity to Edwin's bullies. Edwin is an orphaned scholarship student, so it's also a kind of role reversal and touches on themes of class and poverty. Minor cw for sexual harassment as the Cat King/Thomas is also there (sorry catwin fans).

When We Walk Together We Tend to Walk Alone by UneducatedAuthor

Charles meets Death and gets to say goodbye to his mum. A sweet concept and it's nice to see Death of the Endless getting some love!

Marriage is a Payne by Ace_of_Turtles

Arranged Marriage and Omegaverse AU featuring the boys agreeing to get married to spite/escape their awful parents. Not explicit and fairly light on the a/b/o details, in case that's a squick for anyone.

job officially jobbed by vernesatlas

Charles decides the answer to the handjob question requires a practical demonstration. Very funny and well written and the title is excellent. All the kudos.

Try, Try Again by Asidian

Alterative ending to episode four. After the Night Nurse, Edwin makes a second attempt to comfort Charles. Heartwarming and sad.

The Risk and Rewards of Communication by Opossum_Subatomic

Another alternative ending to episode four featuring Edwin coming clean about the Cat King. So well written. I feel like this is going to be a fandom classic.

take your chances (win or lose her) by ObsessedWithFandom

Charles decides to check in on his mum. Some very sweet established relationship fluff followed by discussions of domestic abuse and family feels. The ending opened up some amazing possibilities for future fics! Highly recommended.

The same author has also written the ghost of the past that you live in, which is an excellent in-depth exploration of Charles' bisexual awakening and trauma-related repression.

Anyway, I'm going to try to make this a regular thing, so please send me more recs!

[moriitis]

What would happen if one of Toby's victims was pregnant / had a kid that they were taking care of? Would he leave the child alone if they saw him? :0

VERY BIG TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS. VERY, VERY BIG.

Content/Warnings; child murder, harm to children, murder, blood, death of infant, details of blood, gore, suffocation to a baby, intense detail in regards to child death. Please only open this link if you are comfortable reading detailed descriptions of death of infants, heavy horror themes.

If you have suffered with a loss, or you are vulnerable at this time, I heavily advise you to not read this. If you have recently lost a child or feel you cannot read anything to do with child loss, please skip this post. There are helplines for you.

Yikes! I think realistically he wouldn't want any risks so would kill the child too. He doesn't really have any remorse or shame but I think in the moment he's very fuelled and very pent up; so he doesn't really process what he's doing/done until much later. The idea of taking a child's life would definitely meddle with his mind and he'll be battling with himself and his 'morals' for awhile. He knows that he can't leave the child totally helpless with a corpse, a part of him feels sick just knowing that he would be making someone an orphan but it's not like he can care for them nor drop them off to a local police station! I feel like to try and justify the situation, he'd (as in the voices in his head) probably just tell him that he did the kid a favour, that maybe their parent was some abusive asshole and he put the both of them out their misery! Plus, being a proxy, there's kinda an unspoken rule on how to handle situations like this if one were to ever arise. Slender doesn't want some angsty teenager on his hands and he doesn't want any of his proxies being discovered, so really they have to do what has to be done! It's dirty work, literally..

With one final hack, the job was done and Toby gasped for breath as he swung the hatchet over his shoulder. The blood flicked from the blade, coating what wasn't already covered in blood. Stupid bitch put up a fight, making a ton of unnecessary noise. He didn't want to kill her here on her waxed kitchen floor but it seemed in the moment he didn't have much of a choice.

As he steadied his breathing to a more calmer pace, Toby turned to place the hatchet on the countertop. Thankfully he wore gloves whenever he did the job, so any fingerprints were concealed and he was careful to give away such a lead. Her body was sprawl across the floor, a puddle of blood gushing from her skull as it dampened her hair and filled the kitchen. The final blow was to her head, which killed her instantly but her body was also littered with deep cuts and lacerations that oozed blood. They were so deep that he could see the yellow from her fat, the white flush of her bone peaking out amongst the blood and flesh.

Digging a bloodied hand into his back pocket, Toby retrieved his camera and pushed it on with a simple click of a button. It wasn't a fancy camera, just one of those old ones where the lenses still clicked out open turning on. He'd found it in someone's garage and naturally took it for himself. He didn't admit it, but he was pretty big kleptomaniac. Raising the viewfinder to his right eye, Toby ensured he got a good angle before snapping a photo. The flash illuminated the dark kitchen briefly, further exposing his bloody work as he tucked the camera back into his hoodie pocket.

Embracing the moment of silence, he felt his muscles relax as he glanced around. Pretty fancy fucking house, she had money but he were certain it had to be mommy's or daddy's money. Shit, maybe he should snoop around a little. So, as he reached forward to tug open a cupboard, Toby helped himself to a glass and began pouring himself some water; stepping over her body in the process and standing between her outstretched limbs. The cool water slid down his throat, quenching his thirst as he found himself gazing aimlessly out the window that faced opposite the sink. He was daydreaming a little but he remained high alert, cautious of any shadows that may appear in the reflection before him.

With a satisfied gasp, he slammed the glass down upon the countertop in a sharp clink and it was there he turned to reach for his hatchet. Just as he turned however, something that sat on the windowsill caught his attention and he paused, almost doing a double take as he narrowed his eyes. It was a little monitor and it had lit up, alerting him almost instantaneously. A camera? Shit, he probably should've checked around for those - well, he would've if she didn't lose her shit and throw him off pace. Only the feedback on the monitor didn't resemble that of any room he had seen before, nor the kitchen which was his main concern. No, it was a room, a dark one clearly with the night vision that stood out to him the most. With a sofa in the corner, some teddies and books on a nightstand and shelf that sat upon the wall. His eyes trailed, taking in all the details - the wardrobe, a night light that illuminated on the ceiling, the crib- There was a sudden cry and immediately Toby spun on his heel, grabbing the hatchet with speed he couldn't comprehend as he glared down the hall, the direction of where the noise came from. It was an ear piercing cry, a distressed cry, a sob longing for someone that was no longer here. He wasn't sure why but his heart dropped. It wasn't just any camera, he turned to glance at the monitor once again, it was a baby monitor. Then his gaze was directed to the corpse on the floor, it was a baby monitor for her baby.

Toby groaned because now another problem had occurred and he didn't have time to think before another cry emerged out from the room down the hall. Deep down, he knew what needed to be done and it was nothing compared to the other crimes he had committed. Something within him clawed inside, desperate to come out and yet he pushed down with a simple, steady swallow before slowly trudging down toward the room. The cries became louder, nauseating almost as he pushed open the door with a creak, using the aid of his blade before slowly poking his head into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, taking in the details of the room, the colour of the nightlight on the ceiling and the soft lullaby that hummed gently.

The gentle sound of the music did not soothe the baby and nor him as Toby stepped closer, peering down into the crib at the soft flesh that wriggled around on the mattress. He wasn't sure how old the baby was, a couple months at least because the thing was tiny. It's hunger evident alone in it's cries as it called out into nothingness. He felt motionless as he just watched, his emotions and feeling conflicting with his line of work as he sucked in a breath.

"Sorry kid, sh-sh-sshe can't hear you-" he mumbled softly, leaning his elbows against the wooden door of the crib. "So really, this should make it easy," he grimaced a little. "It'll just be like-" he pulled away to pick up a teddy bear off the floor with a grunt, the bear almost the size of the baby itself. "Like going back to sleep." With the bear in his hands, he appeared at the edge of the crib, glaring down at the child that continued to wiggle in desperation for some attention, some milk.

Toby wasted no time to press the teddy bear into the child's face, pushing down hard enough to the point where the child's screams and cries became muffled. There wasn't much of a fight, which.. well, didn't surprise him and after a couple minutes of smothering, the child fell silent. A silence that felt uncomfortable as he slowly retrieved the bear away from the child's face. The baby, once pink and flush with blood and life, was now lifeless and blue.

His hand squeezed the wooden railing of the crib as he glanced down at the teddy bear in his hand, the dead, plastic eyes staring back at him and judging his every character. He sighed.

"I know, I'm an awful person," he mumbled to the bear before slowly setting it down beside the lifeless child, ensuring that the little corpse was not alone.

Everyone will view Toby differently and please know this is just how I view Toby, whether you agree or don't that's fine.

[ambrosia-vinca]

Thinking about how interesting it would have been to combine original Crow lore with Lucanis being protective over the slaves and freeing them, resisting Illario's very business, Crow-focused advice during the Wigmaker job.

It would have been interesting to explore why Lucanis acts the way he does in that story beyond “he's a nice person despite being a professional assassin”, especially when put up against established Crow lore.

To be clear, I'm talking about the Crows as their fucked up version established in previous games, books, and comics, and for the purpose of these thoughts I'm ignoring Veilguard's almost squeaky clean portrayal of them.

Lucanis is in his mid-thirties, and his parents were murdered when he was a child. This means that presumably, Caterina has been First Talon for a few decades, before Zevran defected from the Crows, which means that even if perhaps not all Crow Houses dabble in buying children (I'm thinking of Teia in particular, because in Tevinter Nights, she is portrayed as seeing the Crows and Caterina through kind of rose-tinted glasses, so maybe House Cantori doesn't do that anymore once Teia becomes a Talon), Caterina would definitely have known about this practice, and she would have overseen it. Just like she would know perfectly well what goes on in Velabanchel, the place where Crows lock up people "for fun and torture" (!)

Which means that going from this, Lucanis would have also known about everything. Heir to the First Talon as he is, his experience of the Crows is very different from someone like Zevran's, being materially privileged at least, never lacking for money, but also similar in that it was abusive with the fucked up training the Crows go through, on top of Caterina's special brand of smothering expectations. He wasn't bought from a brothel, but he would know that's how the Crows pad their ranks.

Now how would Lucanis reconcile his undying loyalty to his only two remaining family members with the moral principles he has apparently somehow managed to keep protected all these years, the heart that is purely him? Knowing that Caterina tacitly assents, if not outright participates in the practice of buying orphans to raise them into assassins while those who aren't strong enough die? Is that not another form of slavery on part of the Crows? It would mean a high level of cognitive dissonance to close your eyes on something like that, and it would mean smothering his own moral principles for a long, long time. Lucanis has been raised in this environment, brainwashed into being a killer too, with a determination and loyalty to his family that are unfailing because he clings to them as they are the only thing he has in the world, to the point of it almost (if not outright) being unhealthy, unable to ever say no to his grandmother or to risk disappointing her. If he goes against his family, he has nothing, he *is* nothing, because in his mind, the only thing he is good at is being a Crow aka killing people.

And then the golden Dellamorte child gets to Vyrantium, and he risks sparing a witness, because she is a slave and has no choice in being there. And then he takes even more risks to have the Wigmaker's slaves escape with their lives and be freed, and he feels rage at the way the victims have been tortured, and the perfect little Crow says fuck the job.

Could it have been, consciously, or maybe subconsciously, a way to oppose his grandmother? Have the principles he has never actually managed to make known because he has never been able to stand up to Caterina before grown too strong to ignore because of what he witnessed in Tevinter? Would Lucanis be conscious of the fact that perhaps his uncontrolled anger at the treatment of the slaves in Wigmaker might stem from his own repressed horror at Crow practices buying and torturing children, Lucanis going so far as saying “fuck the job” which is a big deal for someone as loyal and in control as he usually is? Could his saying “fuck the job” and causing chaos in Vyrantium or maybe in other jobs involving slavery have eventually made him butt heads with Caterina because of the mess he made for shamefully sentimental reasons despite being the usually perfectly controlled golden child, or would she have turned a blind eye because he's her “favorite”? Could *this* have been the rift that may or may not make Lucanis finally take a step away?

I want to study Lucanis' character under a microscope. His character can fit so much moral conflict.

[hexlenx]

TANGERINE — hp, bt [ crossover ]

Introduction.

In which the newly graduated lovable troublemaker of Hogwarts is not what everyone seemed. Apparently, he got a little secret.

Or

Sirius and Remus didn't think that their friend was hiding something from them until a few months after graduation.

note: I do not own Harry Potter nor Bullet train, this is made purely for entertainment purposes. English is also not my language so apologies for typos as well as wrong grammar.

warnings!!: violence, vulgar language, r-rated content, lethal weapons and gore.

__________________

This wasn't what James Potter was thinking of to tell his friends about his job. You see ever since he attended Hogwarts, in holidays or summer breaks he always said he had a job in the muggle world. Why did he need a job? Well one is for money, and another is for the satisfaction of...well killing someone. Though he only kills the one in his job and not innocent people. Most of his targets were bastards anyways.

He became an orphan when he turned eight due to his parents dying in a tragic accident when an Azkaban prisoner who was an unregistered animagi escaped and conducted a mass murder. After that he was sent into an orphanage in the muggle world by Albus Dumbledore, saying it was to keep him safe. Which made him hate the man.

It was not that safe.

He knew he had magic but he had no way of controlling it, so as months passed by in the orphanage he was treated as a freak when his magic accidentally went out one day due to his emotions getting the best of him.

But it was due to a very valid reason.

James was in the playground just behind the orphanage when he heard a yelp. It seemed like the person was in pain, so he went towards the source of that sound and saw kids older than him bullying and beating up a dark skinned boy who looked to be the same age as him. It made him see red because how could they bully someone who was defenseless against them as well as the skin color discrimination that he heard when he got closer.

That was when his magic went out.

One of the older kids got flung a few meters behind towards the trees, harshly. This made the others freaked out as well as scared because it wasn't normal and normal scares them.

The victim on the other hand was looking in awe, the power displayed was fascinating for him and he tried to search for the source of that power which wasn't that hard because James was standing behind the older kids shaking in anger. Seeing this the boys scrambled away screaming.

"FREAK!"

"Ye' well I ain't the one bullying people, now am I!" James retorted before looking towards the dark skinned boy.

"You alright?" James asked the boy who only nodded, speechless from the display.

"How 'bout we get you patched up, ye'?" James held out his hand towards the boy who hesitatingly accepted, not wanting to anger him because of his display of magic.

"C'mon, I ain't gon' hurt ya'"

And that was when the two brothers in all but blood came to be. During those years of friendship they decided to escape the orphanage and tend to themselves independently. Getting jobs were the hardest since they were too young but they found errands here and there like house cleaning, babysitting (which did not work out for James due to his temper.) and cleaning out the gardens of some houses. The pay wasn't that high but it was alright.

They stayed in an alleyway with left over wood as their cover and some blankets for the night. It wasn't as good as the rooms in the orphanage but it was better than staying in that abusive building.

A year had passed and their little home became a little larger as they grew. It was hard living in the streets but both of them had fun and as long as they're with each other, everything else doesn't matter.

Footsteps sounded in the small alleyway, the figure of a man was walking towards the small home the boy have built over the year. Grinning maliciously, he grabbed the dark skinned boy who yelped and tried to struggle free the moment he got awoken from his sleep. This lead the other boy to wake up as well.

The boy growled as he ran towards the man, a small pocket knife in hand. The boy stabbed the man once on his thigh making said man to let go of his brother in pain. This made the boy grab his brother to drag him behind him to protect him.

"You little brat!" The man yelled out before punching the boy with the knife in the face making the boy stagger from his place. The man grabbed the boy by the neck, suffocating him as he grinned maliciously. "You're going to pay for that, with your life!" He said while continuing to choke the life out of the boy.

The boy not letting go of the knife then threw the object to the man's eye. Letting him go as he staggered on his steps as he raised a hand to his face. His hands coating blood as his eyes rolled over to the back of his head before faceplanting. The knife that was in his eye going deeper after the fall, without a doubt the man was dead.

The boy breathed heavily as he looked at the dead man, his body shaking in horror. It was his first kill and somehow it felt good. It was sickening but he knew it only felt good because his brother was in danger. Being able to save his brother brought satisfaction in his heart.

"James?" The dark skinned boy softly called out to his brother who stood still with blood coating his face.

"..ye'?"

"You okay?" James paused, no he did not feel okay. He just killed someone and didn't feel bad about it, in fact he felt very satisfied that he killed the man so no he is not okay.

"..ye'"

After that situation a group of men arrived at their location. It seemed that the man was their target for their contractor, the dead man was one of the men who raped and kidnapped the wife of the man who hired them. The man who hired them didn't want to get blood in his own hands so he hired assassin's to finish the job. The dead man was drunk and wanted to take a piss in the alleyway when he saw the small home the boys live in and decided to have fun with one of them. Suddenly James felt relief flow through him as he felt that his actions are valid.

Seeing the potential of the boy, one of the men decided to offer them a job. An assassin, a contractor.

And that's how James ended up being one of the best of the best, the most sought after assassin in the underworld of the muggle world alongside his brother who didn't want him to take on the burden alone. And with that, they both became the most feared twins.

James never regretted his decision or he and his brother would've continued to live off the streets. Now, they have an apartment complex that was luxurious. This was bliss for him. Living a comfortable life outside his job with his brother and finally being able to sleep properly without fending for themselves in the dangerous streets. He was contented.

That was until his Hogwarts letter arrived. He almost forgot he was magic since he was living the best of his life now. This made James remember that he was a freak well in the muggle's eyes anyways. His brother William, who he now calls Lemon, because it's his codename, convinced him to take it. It wouldn't hurt to know where you originated from and if Lemon had the same opportunity, he would take it.

Looking at the platform filled with students and future students of Hogwarts, he breathed in deeply before stepping into the train. His brother couldn't join as the wards don't allow muggles inside the platform so he was alone for now. Walking down the long hall of the train he opened a random compartment close to the edge of the train because he had a feeling fewer people would be in there.

Opening the compartment, he was greeted by a girl his age. She had platinum blonde hair and familiar doe-like starry blue eyes that drew him in like a moth. He gaped at the girl in front of him who did the same before the female pulled him in harshly while closing the door and grabbed his face before slamming it on the compartment's window.

James groaned in pain before harshly pulling the back of her hair and kicked her on the side of her waist making her yelp in pain before he pinned her on the seat behind her.

"What in the fuck are you doing here?!" James growled out, keeping his grip tight on the girl who only groaned as she couldn't move before giving up with a huff.

"I'm assuming same reason as you?" The girl innocently smiled but James knew she was taunting him so he glared even harder before his grip softened when he realized what that meant.

"You're magical too?" Making the girl nod. Sensing no lie when he looked into her eyes, he sighed letting go of the girl beneath him. Great, the Doll, who is a fellow contractor from a different company, how did he know? Well they fought each other before in one of the contracts they coincidentally both have. Now she is going to a magical school with him. Just fucking great!

After that, he didn't want his real identity being revealed so he and the girl made a deal. He stays out of her business and she stays out of his. But it seemed to be harder than it looks when as years passed by, they become closer since they're the only ones who can understand each other in the Wizarding World. They've become close to the point of letting each other know each other's secrets and let themselves be vulnerable to each other, something James doesn't even show to his brother.

They even started going on dates in secret as they both have different roles. James being the troublemaking boy with his group of Marauders and Sophia who is Doll, being the quiet and intelligent Ravenclaw who is always the top of her classes. No one ever caught them as expected of an assassin.

This one thing lead to another and now they're dating. Even going as far as moving in together in James' and Lemon's complex which Lemon was very happy about due to being best friends with the girl since they met. They both bonded over Thomas the Tank Engine. With Lemon ranting about it and Sophia encouraging him by listening and commenting about it. As you can see, it made James very annoyed but inside his filled with fondness as he was looking at both of them as they bonded. Happy that his two favorite people were getting along well.

Years in Hogwarts passed by fast and now they just finished graduating. James graduated and now he was Tangerine once more, just thinking about doing more missions excites him as it has been so long since he went on a mission which was a few months ago on Christmas break.

This time he and his brother Lemon left the company to become independent contractors along with his now wife, Sophia. They stuck with their codenames and built a reputation in the assassin industry. Being famous for the Bolivia massacre without knowing it would lead them getting involved in something they never expected.

"Oh fuck me."

Tangerine stared at the two men in front of him in shock and disbelief as he stood in the middle of the economy car of the bullet train in Japan driving towards Kyoto.

"Prongs?"

[dcoraclestan]

Untitled Batfam/Squid Game cross over fan fic

Summary: a sad fan fic where the batfam are in a squid games-esc game playing dodgeball and it comes down to Jason and Tim as the last players on each side but Tim is too scared to say anything so it’s up to Jason to decide whether his team lives or dies and I gave the surviving Robin crippling survivors guilt as they refuse to open their eyes and witness their brother dead on the floor.

Background info: This is chapter 3 of a WIP a few people asked me to post. Basically Bat fam in a squid games situation were forced to split up into two to play dodgeball. They didn’t get to choose the teams and they get one minute to strategize before the game started. The transparent wall kills anyone who crosses it. All of which is explained in chapter one that I haven’t written yet lol. Not important but the teams are Alfred, Tim, Stephanie, Damian, Roxy Rocket, Harley Quinn, Deathstroke, Penguin, and Two Face. The others are Bruce, Selina, Jason, Tiffany, Lucius, Kate, Riddler, Killer Croc, and Scarecrow. If there are any grammar mistakes, just know I’m illiterate. Enjoy!

Ever since they broke off into teams, Alfred had not taken his eyes off Bruce. And while Bruce had done an excellent job at hiding his grief for Dick and Luke, Alfred knew better. Bruce may have been putting on a Batman exterior, but his eyes held the same look as the recently orphaned eight year old latching onto his petticoat, unsure of how to answer Officer Gordon’s questions about his parents’ murder.

Unsure.

Seeing his younger master unsure was what terrified him the most. If it wasn’t for the transparent wall having split the court, Alfred would have been over with his adopted son helping him plan, but instead he was standing with his grandkids attempting to figure out what to do while those that terrorized their nightmares were trying to convince them to win instead of throwing the game.

“Oh please! Like they aren’t over there talking the same shit!” Penguin squawked. “They’re going to kill us all the second they get and be thrilled we’re dead!”

Stephanie clinched her hands, “we need to delay the game! As long as possible at least!”

Roxy laughed, “I’m with this one. Make it exciting!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Deathstroke snapped.

“Aw come on, Willy,” Harley pouted. “Don’t be mean. The poor girl just wants her fake family to rescue them! There’s no chance they will in time, but these hero types always have a hope in them that’s hard to shake.”

“Quinn,” Damian ordered, “please stop talking. We have less than a minute to plan.”

“Planning our own deaths,” Mad Hatter shot. “You hero types never pass up an opportunity to sacrifice yourselves for the greater good. No, we gotta throw all of them in the front lines and make sure they get out fast.”

“You want to throw the three most physically fit members of our team under the bus?” Deathstroke pointed out sarcastically. “Great idea.”

“Fuck you!” Stephanie snapped, raising a fist. “You had no problem pushing Dick down! If it wasn’t for you, he’d be alive!”

Deathstroke rolled his eye. “I told you, I slipped.”

Stephanie threw the first punch which lead to a loud argument of people holding each other back, screaming over each other, and otherwise preforming a mockery of teamwork. Alfred almost joined the fray before turning and noticing Tim was not in the circle. He was standing close to the barrier and staring ahead at the other team.

Alfred approached him, wincing from his now relocated shoulder. “Master Drake, is everything okay?”

Tim shook his head vaguely. “We’re going to die. All of us here. We’re all going to die.”

Alfred’s heart sunk into his stomach, but he kept a gentle expression. “Why do you say that?”

Tim gestured to Bruce in their much more cooperative group huddle. “Batman doesn’t know what to do. I’ve been watching him, Alfred. He hasn’t said a word in their meeting. He also hasn’t let any of us move far away from him. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He’s trying to spend what little time he has left with us. I’ve seen him be less protective when Darksied nearly wiped all of humanity, but… he’s completely given up now.”

The lump in Alfred’s throat grew bigger. He placed his good hand on his shoulder and felt Tim shaking under his palm. “That doesn’t mean there’s no hope, Master Timothy.”

Tim shook his head. “Alfred, don’t try to pretend. We both know we’re not making it out of this school alive.”

Alfred didn’t know what to say as he secretly agreed. Fortunately, the whistle blew so he never had to come up with the words. “Planning period over. The game is about to begin. I repeat. Planning period over. The game is about to begin.”

Everyone got into a vague position to start. All of the inmates were at the front with the bat family further away from the center. Five balls dropped from the ceiling as a new ten minute timer started ticking down. The villains all ran for the balls and started throwing. Alfred and Lucius were not nearly young or healthy enough, and unsurprisingly were benched quickly. All the vigilantes were moving on instinct and muscle memory rather than a desire to live. Each time a ball got caught, someone else was called back in, but that was the only time the bat family spoke. Other than that, they were dodging as best as they could. The only two who were having any resemblance of fun was Harley Quinn and Roxy Rocket who couldn’t help but taunt and jeer at every person who got out. Once both were knocked out by a well aimed throw from Kate, the court was silent because of rule #3. It was obvious those on the bench wanted to say something, but none of them were willing to be shot just to make fun of someone being hit.

Reguardless of where they stood morally, both teams were all were nervous to be playing. All kept subconsciously glancing to Batman every few seconds for a way to get out of the situation entirely. Unfortunately, Batman was not playing the game. No matter how hard he tried, Bruce was the one on the court. Bruce found it impossible to ignore their glances at him for answers.

Similar to red light/green light, after each person was eliminated a whistle blew from no where and their name was called, except this time it wasn’t followed by a gunshot. That didn’t mean Bruce’s heart rate didn’t go up with each blow of the whistle. He kept seeing Dick’s face blown apart by a sniper rifle at too close range, hearing Luke’s chest ripped open by the same gun and Tiffany screaming in fear. Even Clayface and Bane perishing in an equally hideous display crossed his mind. He didn’t want anyone else to die, not even the Arkham inmates. It was senseless violence. All of it. Even then, as Two Face hurled a ball at Riddler’s bad leg with the intention of hurting him more, there wasn’t a reason for it.

Bruce kept trying to rationalize the scene. He was playing dodgeball in an elementary school with his family and enemies. That was the extent he could go. When he managed to get a ball in his hands, all he could think to do was roll it on the ground so no one got out. It was completely pointless. If that timer hit 0 everyone would be dead. Someone was going to have to decide who lives.

Bruce only became aware of his movements when he allowed himself to be hit by a disbelieving Tim who stood alone on the opposite side. Bruce didn't say anything and selfishly walked back to the stands. The ball that bounced off Bruce had rolled back to Tim’s side of the court, hitting his shoe.

“I-I thought he was gonna catch it,” Tim stuttered to the sole member of the other team.

Jason laughed humorlessly. “Bats not sacrificing himself for the greater good? You’re kidding yourself.”

Tim unsteadily picked up the ball at his feet, an unwilling passenger in his own body. He held the ball in his hand shaking violently but felt as though it was ten feet away. He could hear the countdown on the timer. He only had 42 seconds left on the clock. It wasn’t enough time. Less than a minute for half of his family to live. But which half? How does he choose? How could he? He was a teenager, a kid really. One side had more people, more members of his family. But he couldn’t let Damian, Alfred, or Steph die. But if he did let himself live with the others, the rogues had already declared their promise to kill them the moment Batman was dead. The inmates had a numbers advantage on them. They could easily overpower an elderly injured man and three kids who wouldn’t be able to defend themselves without Batman’s help. Tim felt everyone staring at him wanting to shout out their opinions and what he should do. He almost wished they could as it might have blocked out the sound of his beating heart.

“Jay… I can’t do this,” Tim whimpered, shaking where he stood.

Jason searched his mind for a sarcastic comment to shoot back at his brother to make him laugh, but he couldn’t come up with anything. “Tim… man, it’s gonna be alright,” Jason consoled.

“I… I can’t do it. I can’t. We’re all gonna die and it’s gonna be my fault but I can’t choose…”

“Don’t then,” Jason blurted out trying to give him some solace. “Throw it easy. I’ll either catch it or not. It won’t be your fault then, just mine.”

Tim shook his head, “no. We…. Jay it makes more sense for your side to live. Sacrificing yourself I get, but… the only way you have any chance to get out is Bruce and Lucius. We’re just kids over here, and they’re gonna kill us the second Bruce die-“ he stopped himself from finishing his sentence, having to take a deep breath to keep himself from completely breaking down. “But… I don’t want Damian to not grow up. I don’t want Steph to not see Cass again, I don’t want… I don’t want to-“ It was all he could say before sobbing.

“Tim,” Jason’s voice cracked. “There’s not enough time left…” Jason didn’t even realize he was talking, his lips moved without thinking. “E-either way one of us is dead. You don’t even have to choose anything! All of the balls are in your…are in your court, so no matter what… it’s me who has to decide…”

The gravity of it caught up to Jason in that moment. It really was up to him no matter what. Tim could throw whatever he wanted, but he had to either fight for his life or die for his brothers’. Tim was right. Unfortunately, there were more rational adults with more skills on his side. If there was any chance of getting out before the games ended it was with Lucius and Tiffany’s tech skills to override the locks, Selina’s stealth to steal a weapon, Kate’s martial arts skill, and Bruce’s planning. But that would mean…

Jason looked up and saw Steph smiling comfortingly and tears streaming down her face, Alfred standing dignified with Damian uncharacteristically vulnerable leaning up against his leg, refusing to look at the court. Tim was hugging the ball to his chest tightly, the only thing he could do at the moment, trying his best to keep from crying.

The clock was ticking down, now at ten seconds. Jason had to make up his mind quickly. He found Bruce’s eyes and quietly asked what to do. Bruce looked away and down at his hand in his lap clutching onto his wife’s. A small gesture that told Jason what he would do if the roles were reversed.

Jason turned to Tim and gave him a single nod. He had made his decision. Tim threw the ball up in the air and time seemed to freeze. All eyes were on the second Robin, watching his every moment. They saw his feet move to become more center with the ball, directly in its path.

There was the sound of the ball making impact. Jason closed his eyes and waited, the familiar feeling creeping up in him that death was about to come. Jason hated that the last image Tim would ever have of him would be of him shaking and terrified, but no matter what he did he could not manage to muster up a smile onto his face.

“It’s gonna be okay-“

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

No final words were granted. No goodbyes were given. One by one, the sound of bodies dropping to the floor echoed in the tiny gym. The former Robin’s eyes had shut tight with the first gun shot, not wanting to see his brother mutilated before him. He could feel his brother’s brain matter coating his hands and the blood soaking into his shirt but as long as his eyes were shut, everything was fine. As long as his eyes were closed his family was alive. As long as he didn’t look, almost all of his siblings were still standing.

He didn’t cry as he stood there. He couldn’t if he tried as his grip of reality started to pull away from him. This was his nightmare, his absolute nightmare. The former Robin couldn’t think of a worse scenario for him to be in. It was just up to him and his brother to choose the fates of his family. There was no way this was happening. Kidnapping almost his whole family to play children’s games to the death?! That’s completely insane. It may have been Gotham but-

Scarecrow.

It had to of been. He had to be under the influence of fear toxin. There’s no other way. It was the only thing that made any sense. It was all of his worst fears wrapped up into one. A high dose of fear toxin.

“This isn’t real,” he said out loud. “This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.” He repeated this over and over and over again, each time somehow shutting his eyes tighter and tighter, refusing to open them. He knew this couldn’t have been true, the timeline of events was too coherent to be a hallucination, but he could manifest it into being fake if he tried hard enough. He could make it true. He could make it so his brothers were alive. If he just repeated this, it would-

“It’s going to be alright,” a man’s voice said, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be alright.”

Jason snapped out of his trance to see the rubber ball still in his hands. There was the clear sign of skull and brain coating the outside of it, the last remainder he had of Tim. The transparent do-not-cross wall was already dividing the court, but Jason could not bring himself to look through it and instead stared down at the ball in his hand.

“I-I caught it…” Jason stated, holding it up to Bruce beside him. “I caught it.”

Bruce nodded, jaw tensed, swallowing a lump in his throat. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Jason looked right through Bruce. “I caught it…” he breathed out and lowered his arms. “I caught it…”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but instead wrapped his arms around his son and pulled him in tight. Jason did not hug him back. He didn’t seem to have noticed at all that he had moved. The ball in his hands was the only thing grounding him to reality as it was a fact that he caught the ball. He saved Bruce, Selena, Tiffany, Kate, and Lucius.

He caught the ball.

“I caught it,” Jason was still repeating over and over as Bruce gripped him tighter. “I caught it.”

“Thank God you did!” Ed Nigma scoffed, limping down the stands. “I was worried you were about to do something stupid.”

Jason didn’t hear him. His chin was resting on his adopted dad’s shoulder. The ball was pressing in under Bruce’s ribcage but similar to the last living Robin, he didn’t notice anything other than Jason’s grip on this world slipping away as he kept stating how he saved his life. Bruce was already numb from the moment he turned around and saw his oldest son had been shot in the head. His daughter, father, and other two sons shared the same fate.

Jason still hadn’t cried nor stopped repeating himself. It might have been better if he did either. Bruce didn’t know what to do or how best to comfort him. It was Bruce’s fault he was like this. Bruce purposefully tagged himself out, not so Tim would have a chance, but so he didn’t have to make the final decision.

“I… I caught the ball,” Jason finally differed slightly from his script. “I caught the ball.”

“It’s going to be okay, Jason,” Bruce comforted. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bruce wished his voice wasn’t so monotone. It might have helped if he has some emotion, angry or sad, or anything. But Bruce pushed down all of his pain, all of his feelings. He didn’t allow himself to grieve, not yet. Not only was it unproductive, but he knew once he started crying he would never be able to stop. He had to focus on what he had, and all he had was four people outside this game presumably trying to break them out, a wife who he loved deeply, his one living cousin, one of his oldest friends and his loyal daughter, and one surviving son right in front of him who was unable to cope with the decision he made and would haunt him forever.

“You did nothing wrong,” Bruce repeated. “It’s going to be okay. You did nothing wrong.”

Bruce didn’t know how long they stood there repeating themselves over and over, each one not interrupting the other.

Eventually, a gentle hand was placed on Bruce’s back. “Sweetheart,” Selina consoled, “we should probably go before they kick us out.”

Bruce did not make a conscious effort to let go of Jason, but he found himself walking towards the gym door all the same, one arm wrapped around his son to guide him.

Jason was still clutching the rubber ball in his hand when the voice announcement came on overhead. “No taking game items outside of the playing field. I repeat. No taking game items outside the playing field.”

Selina unwrapped herself from Bruce’s side, stopping Bruce from taking a step out the door. “Jason,” Selina cautioned gently.

Jason looked through her and held up the rubber ball just like he did minutes earlier to Bruce. “I caught it.”

Selina smiled as warmly as she could. “I know. I know you did. We have to leave it behind now. Is that alright?”

Jason’s eyes went to the ball where a fragment of Tim’s skull was practically glued to it with now dried blood. “I…caught the ball…”

Selina reached out carefully and placed her hands as best as she could so she didn’t touch any gore on it. “I’m going to take this from you. Can I do that?”

Jason watched his own hands unwrap themselves from the ball and have it settle in Selina’s hands.

“Thank you, Jason,” Selina thanked before going back to the stands and gently placing it down on the bleachers so it didn’t make a sound.

“Y-yeah…” Jason mumbled, still holding his hands out as though nothing had been taken from him.

Bruce rubbed Jason’s arm for comfort and continued walking down the hallway once Selina was next to him again. The only sound down the hallway was Jason’s mutters of catching a ball getting quieter and quieter.

“B-B-Bruce?” Jason asked as they neared the corridor to the kindergarten classroom.

“Yes?” Bruce responded.

“I…I think I’m done,” Jason admitted. “Yeah, I don’t want to play any more games. I’m gonna… I just want to go home.”

Bruce stopped in the hallway and turned to be in front of him with Selina stopping a step behind Bruce. Bruce suddenly did not see a 19 year old Jason Todd standing in front of him, but rather the 12 year old Boy Wonder who just wanted to do good in the world. He didn’t know what else to do other than kneeling down to his knee and grabbing Jason’s arms. Bruce couldn’t think of what to say, but somehow the words came out of him. “You made a hard choice back there, Jay. No one would deny that. There was no right or wrong decision, only one that-.”

“They probably felt how I did…” Jason muttered.

Bruce felt his heart shatter as Jason’s eyes finally focused on him. “I…I made them watch the clock tick down to their deaths. They didn’t deserve that.” Bruce froze, finally understanding what Jason had been trying to tell him. He watched as Jason’s eyes shifted away from reality once more and stared off into the abyss. “I caught the ball…” Jason began repeating again.

The first tear fell out of Bruce’s eyes without him knowing. They were silently streaming down his face, knowing for a fact that this was his fault. He left the decision up to Jason. This was Bruce’s doing. And he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Dragon Pt.2

Pairing(s): Daenerys Targaryen x Assassin!Reader, implied Daario x Daenerys Targaryen

Warnings: gore, blood, rampage, slight fluff, killing

Words:5535

Summary: Daenerys is good on her promise to make you more than a bloodthirsty assassin. She truly molds you into a dragon.

Part 1

Requested by many of you but in particular @alexkolax since they gave me the prompt ����😊

In a short amount of time, your life had changed considerably. You were now considered one of Daenerys Targaryen’s most trusted member of her small court. Drogon may have been considered Daenerys’ ‘winged shadow’ but you were her actual shadow personified. She made sure to keep you close to her at all times not just for protection but also her genuine fondness of your company.

Growing to know the Silver Queen who was once your bounty, you’d admit you felt the same fondness.

No one would deny the utter beauty of Daenerys, but it was her authentic warmth that initially broke through your mountain high walls you built around yourself. They’d been a necessary growing up with four brothers. You built those walls so that nothing may break them down. Reinforced with your blood and nightmares.

As a child you had never known such kindness in a person. The people you saw on a daily basis were always less than kind and had ulterior motives up their sleeves.

Your own father murdered your mother after your birth. She was seen as defected since she gave birth to a girl. Up until then, she’d gifted your father with strong, healthy boys that were more than willing to carry on their father’s brutality.

He should have killed you right then and there. Despite all of your father’s flaws, he never killed children. Orphan them, yes, but he wouldn’t outright murder them like he had so many others. So he was stuck with you and subjected you to the same training all your other brothers had undergone prior to your existence.

Under their strict tutelage, you learned how to walk before crawling; such was the fury of their instructions that you aimed to do everything perfectly the first time to not receive their retribution. You couldn’t afford to mess up. Throughout your childhood, you aimed to prove to your family that you were just as good as them. And in all honesty, you were. You were the one to receive the best jobs; customers asked for you specifically.

Rage often fueled their actions, ultimately making them blind to reason. Such was the folly of men. You however were level headed. Anger was an inherited trait in you that you were always able to keep at bay until you needed it. You had full control of it and coexisted with it.

Happily you used the violence that festered in your soul to protect her, any means necessary.

You yourself had located the heart of the Sons of the Harpy swarm that was like a plague in Meereen. You’d earned the respect of the older men in her service that day when you slew the handful that had been surrounding you, Daenerys and Missandei. There had been doubt in you whether or not you could hold them off. They were coming from all sides and angles, relentless attempts to try and harm either of them resulted in a loss of a life or limbs.

Drogon was the true savior of the day. Dany took her rightful place atop of Drogon’s back, but not before she pulled you up with her.

Due to your occupation, you didn’t tend to feel the sensation of fear. It was trained out of you by your eldest brother Nakillos.

Being on top of an actual dragon?

You had never known a fear of heights until Drogon took off into the sky

Dany. . . Well you had Dany to thank for saving you. She revealed that she wasn’t just tenderness and warmth, but a force to be reckoned with. When the Dothraki horde accosted the two of you, you knew that you couldn’t slay all of them and get you and Dany to safety. She held your hand though and reassured you that everything would be alright.

She took things under control from then on. And what could you say? You admired the authority that shadowed her sweet features and she truly spoke like someone who had royal blood coarsing through them.

Not once did you regret leaving your old life behind to vow your fealty to Daenerys.

For the first time in your life you actually felt worthy of something. The deadly skills you had in your itinerary could be used for a proper cause instead of mindless hunger for more victims and gold. A monster that would never be satisfied. You cared not for your own happiness or that of anyone else.

Dare you even entertain the prospect that Dany brought so much light and meaning into your life. She had you feeling sorry for your past self that she didn’t know true joy until Daenerys Targaryen offered you her bloody hand.

When thee slave masters threatened to take Meereen from her control, you were right next to Grey Worm in a prompt execution.

First you happily forced them to watch their fleets be burned by her three children. Then you retrieve the specially made dagger Dany had gifted you and dragged it across Yezzan zo Qaggaz's throat. You may have been a little too happy about eliminating her enemies. The hot blood that splashed from their necks and onto your skin livened your own blood. Never had a kill been so delicious.

This was in tribute to your Silver Goddess.

Out of habit you presented the heads of the Slave Masters to her. Her face beamed with approval and delight at your morbid gifts. Even Grey Worm had turned his face away when you started severing head from necks. It was dirty work and not a pretty sight, but something inside of you made you do it. After presenting her with the head of the man who had hired you to kill her, you unconsciously made it a habit of giving her the heads of her enemies.

You promise her to do the same of her enemies in Westeros which had her cupping your cheek in the greatest show of adoration that had you weak kneed. You could tell she wanted to do more than just hold your face, but this was all she allowed herself. Other times when she was proud of you, Daenerys would toy with the Targaryen sigil that was chained around your neck. You never took it off.

The time for Westeros was coming. All she needed was a proper fleet of ships to carry her and the rest of her loyalists. It would be the first time her Dothraki horde had ever been on the water. They remained outside of the city for now along with Daario Naharis and his band of Second Sons.

The relationship between Dany and Daario was an unspoken one but you understood the truth of Daario's longing looks as you had taken his place by Dany's side. While he may have pleasure to offer her, she still preferred you as her personal sworn sword. Maybe it helped that you were also a woman. Either way it made you feel smug that you were superior to both Daario and Jorah in that manner. She didn't even trust Tyrion Lannister as much as she trusted your opinions.

Her council was in the middle of discussing how to build up their fleet and the options that lay in front of her.

You stand by her cushioned seat. Her council room was one of comfortable familiarity with plush chairs and couches. Wine was offered by those who willingly serve her.

Next to her sat Missandei who may as well have been the Westerosi version of a lady in waiting. You liked the former slave girl. She was kind like her queen and incredibly intuitive. Possessing great knowledge of diplomacy and the workings of Essos, Missandei was a great asset to Daenerys.

Across from the three of you were the men: Daario, Grey Worm, Tyrion, and Westeros' own master of whispers: Varys.

When first encountering the dwarf and eunuch, you had nearly killed both on the spot once you learned of their origins. To you, their presence was a threat to your queen and one you would quickly eliminate. They proved themselves to Daenerys and that was enough for you.

Talk of politics always bored you to tears as you stood there, form rigid and still as you took your job very seriously.

The way Tyrion and Varys droned on though about funds and potential allies made your mind drift and your eyes fell on the large window that looked out to the city. Such boredom brought you back to when you and your brothers were called upon your father to report your monthly body count and profit.

Garros, your father and the head of your clan of assassins, hated to give you praise and would spend the rest of the conference scolding your brothers. Why was a woman doing better than them?

Outside you watch the flight of her dragons as they lazily drift through the sky above the great city of Meereen. Since being released from their prison, Rhaegal and Viserion had grown in size but didn't make the mistake like their brother Drogon of eating the flock that belonged to the city. They took their hunting party far away from the city, following their large brother as he showed them better hunting grounds.

Drogon, while still unpredictable, became more docile toward Daenerys. A new bond had been established since she had officially ridden him .

A touch to your arm jolts you back into attention.

Dany only laughs at your abrupt alertness. They men were standing to leave, giving pleasantries to one another and a nod toward you. You stiffly nod back to them and watch them leave.

"Seems like I wasn't the only one bored from their talk." Missandei chuckles and pours a glass of wine for you, your signal that it was okay to relax with them now.

Gratefully you take it from her tan hands and take a sip while sitting between them. That's where they liked you. Since saving Missandei, you had gained her absolute trust. She would even call you 'my friend' when addressing you now. You'd never had a friend before. It was nice.

"I've never been able to follow political discussions." you sigh and let both of them lean against your shoulders. When the men were gone, all three of you were able to be yourselves. You knew it was hard being a woman with immense power. You couldn't let your guard down as any sign of weakness would be taken as an opportunity for those of the opposite gender. Daenerys constantly had to put up a strong front in order to maintain her power.

Dany nods in agreement, the side of her temple presses against your shoulder as she really gets comfortable next to you. Your stomach always flutters when she does such things like that. "Yes, it's not making me look forward to ruling the Seven Kingdoms."

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." You say, a phrase you'd once heard your father say to Nakillos.

Her hand finds your's and gives it a squeeze. She looks up at you from under her long, dark eyelashes. "The crown is not so much a burden, not with the two of you with me."

You and Missandei smile for the both of you were all to happy to serve her.

Missandei gets up and puts her glass on the table. "Well, I must get going."

"Yes, can't keep Grey Worm waiting." Dany teases her causing the poor girl to duck her head in a blush. You giggle, actually giggle, at the obviousness of her affection for the Unsullied commander.

Flustered, she leaves without confirming Daenerys' words to be true.

Still gazing from where Missandei had fled, you smile and shake your head. "I'm happy for her."

Dany's hand hadn't left your's. Instead, her small fingers weave between your own and you feel your own blush creeping up your neck. Every touch from her was scalding. In a good way. "Me too."

Defenses lowering, you close your eyes and concentrate on the gentle rhythm of Dany’s breathing. Everything she did was mesmerizing to you and damnit if you were intoxicated on the way she makes you feel.

These moments were rare where it was just the two of you. Only once when everyone left could you allow yourself to be vulnerable. You allowed yourself these small, insignificant little moments.

At least you tried telling yourself they were insignificant. Always coming up with realistic excuses to avoid the truth that you struggled to face head on.

You like how her hands fit perfectly into your own.

You like the soft, content sighs she lets out every now and then.

You even like how drowsy you got as comfort warms you.

How had you lived for so long without this feeling? It was downright nourishing to every cell in your body.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

Her question has your eyes popping open immediately and a quiet sort of panic seizes you. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked you to stay in her room for the night. Whether it was for comfort or. . . Something else. . . You always ran. You were a coward in that respect. Unable to face what you really desired and fighting the truth of your situation.

Again she looks up at you with those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes of hers. How could anyone be as gorgeous as she was? You didn’t even envy her beauty. Your own beauty had never mattered. You didn’t care what you looked like.

“Your Grace-“

She lifts her head from your shoulder with a scowl that knits her brows together. You hate when that expression is aimed toward you.. The last thing you wished was to displease her. “I told you, you don’t have to do that when it’s just the two of us.” Her hand leaves your’s and it goes up to the three-headed dragon pendant that had its home on your collarbone.

Since she released you, you’re on your feet and taking a step away from the couch. Pressing your lips in a straight line, you take her in. A storm of emotions plays out on her round face. “Dany,” you say softly and watch her become a puddle from you using her nickname “I don’t think that would be proper. I can go get Daari-“

You don’t finish as she stands. “Never mind. You’re dismissed.” She hastily says while turning her back to you. Her meticulous braids having held up all through her tenuous day. You’d spotted the red tips of her ears when she’d turned away from you. You hate yourself for doing that to her.

But her affections were misplaced, you were unworthy of her love.

For that’s how you both felt. You knew. You knew you were hopelessly in love with her. And Daenerys, for some odd reason, returned it tenfold. She showed you in every way possible. Daario was an infrequent guest in her bed now, had been for weeks now. Only on the nights when you turned down her offer did you spy Daario the following morning leaving her room.

Being the ever obedient servant, bow and practically leap at the opportunity to run to the door.

What a coward you were.

You stay on the other side for a while, back pressed against the council room.

You hated yourself as your cheeks burn along with your eyes. You wanted to cry, how pathetic was that? You hadn’t cried since you were a baby.

Highly sensitive ears pickup the approaching echo of footsteps. Hastily, you rub your eyes with your arm and look up to find Daario offering you a sympathetic gaze.

He inclines his head toward where he came from. “Let’s grab a drink, you and I. Yeah?”

Arrogant prick he may be, but you had to admit that you actually liked the Tyroshi. He had a charm to him, you’d give him that.

You nod. “Okay.”

“Oh just give into it already!” Daario slaps you on thee back enthusiastically once you were three drinks down. “You’re a pretty girl, she’s gorgeous, the two of you would have plenty of fun! And of course you can add me into the mix every so often.”

You snort out a laugh and shake your head. “You make it sound so easy. I’m a creature that is not used to things like love and sex. I’m not even used to physical contact but with her, she can do whatever she wants to me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Except fuck you apparently.”

Your face burns again and you know it’s not just from the drinks he poured down your throat. “I’m. . . I’m not pretty.”

“Yes you are. In a scary way. It’s sexy!”

The anxious feeling that was growing in your burst when he said that. You laugh exuberantly and Daario follows suit.

Then came back his more compassionate side that humbled him. “I only know a fraction of your past and what you’ve suffered.” When you shoot him a dubious look, Daario explains “Oh come now, even I know of you and your family. I’ve even met one of your brothers. Real twat he was.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. They’re all twats.” You comment making him chuckle in agreement.

“Comparing you from how you were when you first came here. . . I know you’re capable of love. I would have called you a monster back then. Before I got to see a peek of the real you.” You wouldn’t have considered Daario as astute as he was.

Maybe you could even consider him a friend like Missandei.

You ignore the smile that wanted freedom to be expressed on your lips. Instead you bring another drink to your lips.

“You sell yourself short. Enjoy in the pleasure our queen can give you. If it’s me you’re really worried about, don’t worry; what you and Dany have is more than lust.”

Now you were the one to roll your eyes at his ridiculousness. It was an endearing ridiculousness though. But if he could see the devotion you and Dany showed for one another, then everyone else could too. Tyrion, Varys, Missandei and maybe even Grey Worm.

“Love is the death of duty.” You murmur, eyes going dark from your turmoil. “She is my weakness. I can’t have weaknesses. You understand, right?”

Daario sighs not out of exasperation but out of melancholy. “Oh (y/n). They really did a number on you, didn’t they? No, love is what makes you stronger. It’s the fuel you reach for when you have nothing else left in the world. It’s a powerful weapon if you know how to wield it.”

You thought about what he told you long into the night until you went to bed. Your sleep was always dreamless. Preferred over having to endure more grief during unconsciousness.

Due to drinking so much the previous night, you slept far longer than you normally did. You woke up to Missandei shaking you.

Her eyes are wild, desperate even with tears unshed in her brown eyes. “She’s missing. Dany is missing.”

Your mind went blank for a moment. Her words float around in your brain before fully understanding what was going on.

Then you merely saw red. “Show me.” You knew there had to be a last known location. Security for Daenerys was of utmost importance to all of her council. It was impossible for her to go missing out of the blue.

You didn’t bother to change out of the clothes you wore the previous day. Missandei led you to her private chambers where the rest of her small council was congregated.

On her pillows was the bloody head of a lamb. Poor thing’s tongue was sticking out from the corner of its mouth. Dark eyes still open and staring blindly.

Your blood ran cold.

This was not a random abduction. It was deliberate. You knew exactly who did this.

The head of a lamb was your eldest brother’s signature. What a narcissistic dick.

You couldn’t breathe, merely staring wide eyed at it. No one had ever seen your face in such a state. It confirmed Tyrion’s worry. Powerful enemies had their queen.

Only Daario caught your gaze and really understood. He nods as you slip out the door. Missandei moves to go after you but Daario holds her back and whispers in her ear.

Furrowing her brows, Missandei watches helplessly as you make the long way ought of the pyramid and into the city. To get the answers you want, you had to go to the harbor. That’s where all rumors blossomed. Where you would get the most information.

A demon had overcome you and was now in control of your body. The only thing on your mind was finding the culprits that took your queen from under your nose. You blame yourself for not taking up her offer. Your brother would have never been able to take her if you were present.

It had to be Nakillos. If he wasn’t still in the city then he was close. You had to be quick and follow his scent.

The harbor master, while initially denying anyone with the description you gave, gave in once you showed him the savagery of your interrogation process. He only had two fingers left on his right hand before he finally caved in and told you all of what he knew. Nakillos and two other men had indeed been through the harbor.

You followed all hints. Anyone who refused to give you the information you craved was tortured until they submit to your will. You didn’t know what the members of Dany’s small council was doing, but you didn’t waste anytime in your rampage. You knew how the unsavory underworld of Essos worked. Knew all the ins and outs of even Meereen. How else could you possibly have found the nest that belonged to Sons of the Harpy.

A blood lust like this hadn’t risen in you since slaying the slave masters.

You went on a rampage as you scoured Meereen for Dany. Driven by pure rage.

By the end of the day, you’d found where your brother was staying as well several of his lackeys. You’d learned that your father had died a few months ago leaving Nakillos as sole heir to his empire which he took great advantage of.

He’d always resented you as he had been the one to bear the brunt of your father’s resentment since he was the eldest. Your father was not easy on him when you brought back better reports than him. And when you step into his makeshift lair, you see that he hasn’t changed one bit.

His face was the spitting image of your father, if not a bit younger than you last remember.

Gagged and in chains was Daenerys he glared daggers at him, unaware of the affiliation you had with this scum of the earth. They had taken over an entire building for this confrontation.

When she spots you, her lavender eyes glimmer with hope.

Nakillos leans forward with a terrible smirk. “Happy for you to finally join us.” His eyes scanned your body, drinking in the red stains on not just your clothes but also the skin of your arms. You hadn’t bothered to clean yourself up.

“I believe you have something of mine, brother.” Your words are clipped revealing the level of your patience which was none.

Dany’s eyes widen, shooting toward Nakillos whose grin only broadens.

He stands up, towering at almost seven feet. Anyone else would be scared, intimidated even. Never you though. Each step he takes toward you is a heavy thud.

“You’ve grown soft, (y/n).” He comments with a tilt of his chin. “It was quite easy to find news about you and your whereabouts. Not to mention that you’re now in league with the Targaryen cunt.”

You internally bristle at that snide remark but keep your features a void canvas. It pissed your brothers off the most when you didn’t react to their taunts.

That hadn’t changed either. His lip pulls up in a snarl.

His weapons are strung to not just his back but his hips as well. All assassins had a great arsenal of weapons no matter what the occasion.

His men seemed to close in on you so you were now stuck in a circle with your brother. Daenerys muffles words that were covered by the strip of fabric that wrapped around her head and blocked her mouth.

“You’re a fool to come here all by yourself.” Nakillos spits out while reaching behind his back to retrieve a blade from the sheath across his shoulder blades. “I’ll do what our father could never do: end you.”

In a monotone voice, you reply “You can try. Like you have so many times before.” Your own blade easily slipped from your sleeve to your hand. You too had quite the instruments hung off of your belt; some already stained with a crimson substance.

He’d been a bastard to you all your life. You would not mourn killing him.

On light feet, you sped forward; catching him off guard. Nakillos raises his arm, sword coming up to his defense. But your other hand though also wield a blade that he hadn’t seen until the last second.

You were able to slice a large chunk of his thigh and side before he slides away and begins his own onslaught.

Nakillos always favored in throwing his weight around. He did it with your three other brothers and yourself.

All of them lacked the speed and dexterity you had.

You lean way too back in an attempt to avoid the tip of his blade. Forced to complete a flip to guarantee your survival, you’re quick to block another blow from his sword. While you were confident in your own skills, Nakillos wasn’t your father’s heir for no reason.

Each of his offensive moves screamed of Garros. Like you were fighting your father instead of your brother.

He sliced at your shins then tried to slice your belly open in an upward strike with his right hand. Garros had trained all his children to use both hands with equal efficiency. It was one of the best ways to fight.

Even though it meant getting your ankle cut, you swiftly kick him in the face. Ignoring the searing pain that shot through your system. You clench your back molars to the point that they may crack under the pressure.

Nakillos is sent spiraling to the ground but he doesn’t so much as flinch. Blood trickles from his nose that he ignores to dodge you.

It was clear the both of you were equal in hand to hand combat.

You knew you had the upper hand though. Because you were fighting for her. For your Silver Goddess.

You let that quiet anger in you out of it’s cage. It stretched it’s legs before making your vision and thoughts go black.

You fed it with the blood of your brother.

Remembering every single time he was cruel to you. How he smashed your head into the ground and broke your arm when you were ten and one. Nakillos reveled in smacking you around. He even went so far as to have you train an entire day with glass in your boots.

Not realizing you were screaming until the fog in your brain cleared, you saw the damage you did already. His arms were cut up and there was a deep gash to his side that he held onto. The hand around his wound was already dripping with red.

Your own knuckles were covered in cuts varying from deep to superficial. That was the only area on your body he’d been able to scratch.

It made him furious. He let out a roar and charged. You wait until the last minute to fall off to the side and trip him with your foot.

When he fell face first into the floor, you leapt atop of his back and tried to stab deep into his spine. Nakillos however had enough strength and speed to flip himself over from underneath you.

He headbutts you right in the face.

Stars fill your vision as you tumble back. Your head was warm as you force yourself to regain your composure. In that time, Nakillos takes a swing at you that makes a large gash from shoulder to shoulder.

You feel the back of your head bounce off of the ground. At least your vision cleared for you to watch Nakillos sinks one knee on either side of your body.

He’s laughing a bit hysterically at your dazed eyes. “Did you really think it would end with me?” Nakillos smacks you across the face with the back of his hand as you struggle under him. “Even if you kill me, the others will come after you and your silver haired bitch.”

“Then I will do to them what I will do to you: I’ll kill them and present their heads to my queen on a gold platter.” You spit blood right into his eye and stab your blade into his cheek.

He howls, a horrible noise as he flings himself from you. His hands trembling to his face. The handle of your knife stuck straight out.

You didn’t waste time. Ripping a metal wire garrote from your belt, you swiftly loop it around his neck as you dance behind him. He gags before a horrible wet noise rakes from his throat. You tighten your grip and pull.

Nakillos kicks and fights against the sharp wire that was cutting into his neck. His fingers desperately dug at his muscular neck.

The others didn’t move, only watched in horror. They weren’t allowed to move due to Garros’ stupid code. One did not interrupt a fight. No matter who was winning or losing.

You grit your teeth as you viciously jerk back. It cut into arteries and veins alike producing a spray of blood to spring forth. His body is still jerking until you give the garrote one last twist.

Then all movement stopped.

Letting his body fall to the ground, you take a moment to finally get a proper breath. When you open your eyes back up they find Dany’s. Her face surprised you.

Instead of being in horror like everyone else, her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were flushed. Daenerys was breathing laboriously. Her pupils were blown out from the scene.

You take up your blade once more and get to the messy task of cutting into Nakillos’ neck; severing skin, muscle, bone and tendon. They left you to your macabre work although you didn’t miss the low murmurs.

Forced to switch out blades three times, you finally were able to lodge his head free. His skin was slippery from the red loss of his life.

You go to Dany who is smiling at you.

“Sorry I don’t have a gold plate for this one, but I hope you’ll accept it.” you get down on your knees and offer it up to her.

Her eyes were starting to fill with tears as she smiles happily down at you. Dany’s fingers brush against your stick ones when she moves to take the head from you. She tosses it aside and with both of her bloody hands on either side of your face, she kisses you.

You don’t fight back. Not this time. Daario was right. Why were you fighting? Because of fear? That was stupid.

Her lips were deliciously soft despite their hungry claim on your mouth.

Someone off in the distance clears their throat and you turn around in annoyance.

“You’ve killed your brother.”

“Clearly.” You scoff.

“Do you know what that means?” Another intervenes.

The first man takes back the conversation. “By right you are now leader of Garros’ clan. You defeated the eldest fair and square. All his money and land belong to you as well as his men.”

You wave them all off. “Split it amongst yourselves and my other brothers. I don’t care.” Quick hands already had Dany’s gag off and her bounds cut. “Just as long as none of you step foot in Meereen again.” Flicking up deadly eyes, they nod and don’t fight you as you leave to go back home.

There was arguing in the council room when you and Daenerys returned. Both of you had been quite the sight walking through the streets.

Daario was off to the side, watching them all with a bored expression before he noticed you and Dany. His eyes widen at the both of you drenched in blood but he smiled.

“We’re wasting time-“

“Where is (y/)?!”

“Are the Harpies resurfacing again?!”

Daenerys clears her throat loudly and everyone turns around. “Hello, sorry for the trouble but as you can see I am fine.”

Tyrion gawks. “The. . . The blood. . .”

“Not mine.” She’s all smiles as she brings you to her side. “But (y/n) and I will be requiring a bath. Together.” Daenerys looks at you with hopeful eyes.

This time you don’t say no.

[idylls-of-the-divine-romance]

Your thoughts on demons?

Thank you for the ask <3

Absolutely real. Demons and The Adversary are absolutely real and absolutely have an affect on our lives. We see this 2 ways in particular in the Gospels and the Letters. In the gospel accounts we see demonic possession, which is something I do believe happens (my friend's mother, tho she doesn't like that word). In the letters however, this is not what is discussed. Rather in both the gospels and the letters there is another demonic influence: oppressive political powers.

Paul speaks of "powers and authorities" behind political entities (because "flesh and blood" are not our enemies). Jesus says the the hour of his arrest belongs to "you (the religio-political leaders) and the powers of darkness (the demonic forces behind them)". This revelation has completely changed the way I think of demons and politics, because I am not firmly convinced that spirituality and politics cannot be separated. But that when we see a nation that worships sex and money and (military/national) power, we are seeing a nation that is being energized by dark spiritual powers. Not that the demons conquered the government or something, that's not what I'm saying. Rather that those in power (and, sometimes, us as citizens) have unknowingly allied themselves with a dark spiritual reality, whether or not they even believe in one.

The list I've arrived at for recognizing a nation allied with demons (which I and the Bible term "Babylon") is: slavery; nationalism; oneness at the cost of diversity; the murder of the innocent; oppression of the immigrant, women, children (esp orphans), and the poor; extreme opulence for a select group of people; idolatry of money, sex, and power.

So, yeah, I unfortunately live in Babylon. We all do. This is why we "exiles scattered across the world" must pray for our nations.

I've talked before about the "horror of abandonment" and how it's not that God abandoned us, but that we abandoned God. Demons are a good example of this. Nations and individuals come under the influence of dark spiritual powers when they separate themselves from God's love and light. When the people built Babylon and elevated themselves to the roll of gods, Yahweh scattered them and handed them over to the rebel spiritual beings. When Saul continuously and arrogantly and cowardly (I really don't like Saul lol) disobeyed and disregarded Yahweh's instruction, Yahweh allowed him to be afflicted by an injurious spirit (whether this is a demon, rebel spirit, or not is actually complicated and I'm on the fence but the point stands). When the nation of Israel left Yahweh, their God, to marry foreign women, worship the gods of other nations, and enter into alliance with them, they were conquered by Babylon, the archetype of the city aligned with dark spiritual powers.

I am not sure if the Family of God cannot be possessed or not (I've seen people say that but I've yet to come to a thought on it) but I am positive that the longer you stay away from Jesus, the more you open yourself to that influence.

That said I also agree with C.S. Lewis that one can go too far in the recognition of dark spiritual powers. Yes demons are real; no we should not be terrified of them, nor should we be speculating about their names and whatnot (yes, people do this T-T). But we should be aware of their influence in the world, and firmly stand against it.

This was a lot so summary:

Demons and The Enemy are real and have power.

They are rebel spiritual beings and have rebelled quite often in Scripture, usually alongside a human rebellion (Gen 3; Gen 6; Gen 11; Ps 82).

The only power and influence they have is that which 1) God allows them and 2) we allow them. And thus we should not fear them. Rather we should "resist the accuser and he will flee".

Basically all of our countries have given themselves over to the worship of demons, though in the subtle forms of sex, money, and power. Thus it is our job to "seek the shalom (peace; wholeness; well-being) of Babylon" but also to call out the nations for their crimes against God and humanity.

One day all the nations will come to worship King Jesus and all spiritual powers will be destroyed and those humans who, in the end, chose to align themselves with them will be cast into Outer Darkness.

[theskeletonprior]

I left my awful soul-sucking job so my writing commissions are now open! Looking for a brainrot cure? Got a story that won't write itself? There's a way. Drop me a line! I'm especially good at nailing character voices, hurt/comfort, polyamory, and subtle moments of intimacy. While I don’t mind writing intimate scenes, I don’t accept graphic NSFW requests, non-con, or underage. When in doubt, just check in with me first! You can message me here on Tumblr, or email me at theskeletonprior@gmail.com. The hellsite, as I'm sure you know, does eat asks and such sometimes, so if you don't hear back, don't be afraid to reach out again!

Price List (CAD)

1000 words for $20 1500 words for $35 2000 words for $45 Pro rate for writers these days is $0.08 per word, so my commission rates are an absolute steal. Our dollar is also a little bit trash here in the land of maple syrup and poutine or whatever, so if you happen to trade in eagle bux, even better for you! My commissions help me pay for things like sertraline, funding for my ongoing effort to be reunited with my beloved husband, the occasional good meal, and resources for my work as a professional Dungeon Master (I can't believe that one either). So hire a dead guy, and help support a queer creative. I also donate any tips to Gaza Funds.

If you’re looking for a longer work, feel free shoot me an email at theskeletonprior@gmail.com and we’ll chat. Words are what I do.

Work Samples

You can read all my Tav Tales to date here on AO3, but here are some of the highlights.

To Live in Infamy (2k Durgetash)

The morning, Enver is lucky enough to have pants on. The Slayer snaps his chains as it comes screaming into the daylight, barrelling out of the bed. The force of Infamy’s awakening sends Enver rolling onto the floor, narrowly missing being crushed by the bedframe. He’s tangled in their sheets, and already lamenting that they’ll need to be replaced. This silk had come all the way from Waterdeep. That’s his first thought, even with his heart pounding in his ears. He struggles to free himself, but the Slayer isn’t coming for him. There’s the acrid smell of half-cast sorcery, and then the screaming starts. When something warm and wet splashes onto him, soaking through the sheets, Enver hopes it’s blood. The crunching of bones and the smell of bright copper gives him a little hope that it’s not something worse. It wouldn’t be the first time a would be assassin emptied their stomach or their bowels in terror before the Slayer. Enver unrolls himself at last, leaning back on his elbows to enjoy the show, even as the blood—and thank goodness it is blood—soaks through his nice sheets. The mess quite nearly defies description.

Callus (2k Tav/Astarion/Halsin)

“Oh, my dear, what a miserable turn of events.” Astarion kisses Lukan’s hair gently. “I could probably catch up with him, you know. Plenty of good alleyways in this end of town to drag him into, get him acquainted with my nice new boots. Sturdy enough to kick a man entirely to death.” “You got new boots?” Lukan can’t help a watery smile, desperate to redirect the conversation. He doesn’t want Thindulion killed. It had been bad enough to bury his mother, and as much as he wants to hate his father for abandoning them, he hates the thought of being orphaned even more. And now he knows he has a sister, and he couldn’t put her through that. “That’s beside the point,” Astarion says. “I’m asking if a little spot of patricide might cheer you up.” Lukan shakes his head. “It’s not like that,” he says. He wants to try to make light, to play along with Astarion’s flippant turn of phrase, but it’s just too heavy. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “I might have another idea, in that case,” Astarion tells him. “Why don’t you have a sit on the bed, get those boots off, and I’ll be back, having done precisely no murders, I promise.”

In the Spider’s Parlor (3.5k Tav/Kar'niss)

She peers over her shoulder at him and then rolls her head, exposing more of her neck. Suddenly his need, that wretched appetite, is not as hideous as it has been, he feels no disgust for what he wants, for the curse that makes him want it. There’s only this moment. He nips lightly, slipping his arms around her, embracing the warmth. He reaches out with his forelegs, feeling her, holding her securely as he had done that first time. He’s heard the sound she makes when letting blood, and now he knows it for what it is. Pleasure. His purr rumbles low in his chest, but he never bites, lapping softly at the thin rivulet of blood that wells from where he’s nipped her, one delectable drop at a time. Solinore reaches up, one hand tangling in his hair, relaxing in his grip. “What you ask of me, is yours,” Kar’niss says, applying pressure to the nick he’d made to stop what little bleeding he’d caused. “You sure?” she asks, playfully. “I could ask for another ride on your back. Or…” He knows what that smirk implies. “What you ask of me,” he says again, “is yours.”

[idle-daydreams]

The Gilded Cage

Tw: Yandere themes, stalking, obsession, mentions of murder, horror

[A.N: I feel like I made Poe mildly OC in this? Idk, the original Poe said that a woman's death was the most poetic topic in the world; I wanted to channel a bit of that... uniqueness into this Poe]

Poe had never thought he would fall in love. Love was for other people; it had never quite seemed the right genre for him. 

But then he'd met you. Perusing the books in the mystery section in the local library, with an intent look on your face that had enraptured him. His heart had skipped a beat; he’d let out a strangled yelp that drew your attention. He would have melted into the shadows, too nervous to speak, but you’d spoken to him first, asking him about an obscure volume by Daphne du Maurier. And he had fallen hard.

For days, he’d thought about you. Dreamed of you in various scenarios, placing you as characters in his novels. Sometimes you’d be a rich heiress, other times a penniless orphan. Sometimes you’d be the detective, other times, the victim, lying serenely on a pale bed, eyes closed as though asleep. The words flowed from his pen, blossoming flowery descriptions of the memory etched into his mind - your melancholic beauty, your subdued grace, the softness of your voice, the kindness of your demeanour.

But then, his thoughts had started to wander. Who were you, really? You weren’t a figment of his imagination, a phantom conjured up in his mind. You were a real person, with a real name and a real life. What was your job? What did you like to do in your spare time? Did you think of Poe, did you even remember him? Or did you have a lover who occupied your thoughts?

The thought refused to leave his mind. He had to know you, know all about you, so that he could immortalize you in his writing. What was the point of a writer, except to exalt his muse upon the highest pedestal possible? That was only what Poe was doing... or so he justified it to himself.

He began to visit the library daily, lingering around all day in the hopes of catching sight of you. After a week, his efforts were rewarded: you came back to return the book you’d borrowed.

Poe watched from behind a shelf as you lingered through the aisle, tracing your fingers across the books’ spines. How delicate your fingers were, how soft your touch! How lucky were those pages which had the good fortune of being caressed by you! And you had good taste - the books you picked were by solid mystery writers with a firm grasp on their craft.

He followed you from the library to your home, his heart pounding so loudly in his ears that he was sure you could hear it from the distance. You lived in a small apartment building not far from the library itself. Poe did not dare follow you inside, but watched as the lights on the topmost floor went on, your silhouette dancing across the curtains. Excitement flushed across his skin as he imagined himself with you, sequestered from the world in your cozy little apartment.

From there it was all too easy to find out everything else about you. Your name, age, phone number, your place of work. You didn’t have much social media, a fact that both pleased and annoyed him, because while it meant that you were more likely to be a wallflower, it also meant fewer pictures for him to gaze upon. He resorted to secretly taking pictures of you while you were out about your day. You were a homebody with few friends; you liked animals and mystery books. You would visit a cafe two streets from your home every Friday evening and order the same drink; you had a few chosen places for take-out, your favourite items on each menu memorized by Poe.

But his obsession refused to abate. These were just things about you; they were not who you were. You remained as ethereal, as untouchable as you had the first day he’d seen you. He would gaze feverishly, obsessively at the pictures of you, the ones he’d save on his phone,  or printed out and pinned to the walls of his home. Taking in the light in your eyes, the pout of your lips, the flush in your cheeks, wondering what thoughts lay behind them, what mystery and wonderment. His writings began to annoy him. What was the point of the caricatures he’d wrought on the pages, mere shadows in the brilliance of your image? He needed you.

“Poe,” Ranpo stopped by his house one day. “Poe, you should stop.”

Poe blinked uncomprehendingly at his friend. “What do you mean?” he said.

“I know that you’re in love. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Rage flared in Poe’s heart. For a minute he was tempted to strike Ranpo for daring to dash his hopes. But then the sensibility of his friend’s words struck him. Ranpo was right; he was on the path of doing something foolish. He’d neglected to approach you, to make his feelings for you clear, thereby leaving your heart wide open for another. Just because you weren’t a social butterfly didn’t mean you didn’t want to be in a relationship. That you weren’t looking for someone to share your life with.

That person could well be Poe.

The thought frightened and excited him. Sure, he had imagined being with you countless times; he’d filled entire notebooks with every detail of your imaginary lives together. But at the same time, the thought of approaching you filled him with dread. Poe was socially awkward in the best of circumstances, and could barely strike up a conversation with ordinary people. Talking to you? Getting you to fall in love with him? The idea was ridiculous, laughable! Why would you even look at him, a shy, graceless little mouse of a man? Karl was more charming and suave than Poe.

But if he didn’t make a move soon, you would be someone else’s. There was already a co-worker of yours that he felt was getting too close, laughing and talking to you as you made your way to your car every day after work. Poe seethed silently as he observed the two of you, wishing death and destruction upon the man even as he begged you to turn away, to look at Poe instead. Couldn’t you feel him? Couldn’t you feel his love, his yearning, even from the distance? Why couldn’t you laugh and smile at him, instead of wasting your time on some brainless twat that didn’t deserve even the ground you walked on?

Poe drew himself up with a deep breath. As usual, Ranpo was right. If Poe continued on the way he was doing right now, he would end up regretting it. He had to do something, even if it was... unconventional.

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

It had been a long day. You exhaled as reached your landing, eager to be home. That was when the small parcel sitting by your front door caught your eye.

You frowned as you picked it up. It was addressed to you, your name and address typewritten neatly on the side, though there was no postmark. Through the packaging, it felt like a book - a slim one, with a hard cover. Your frown deepened. You didn’t remember ordering any books recently.

Turning it over in your hands, you entered your apartment. In your preoccupation, you didn’t notice the faint glint from the roof of the building on the other side of the street, a glint that quickly disappeared and could have been attributed to the gleam of the setting sun. Your eyes were fixed upon the parcel as you unwrapped it, trying to remember if it was a late delivery or a mistaken one. A faint warning popped into your mind of something more sinister was pushed aside by a sense of surprise as the object inside finally came into view.

It was a book. Its cover was simple, a subdued navy blue with the title inlaid in gold. “ ‘The Gilded Cage’,” you read out, running your fingers over the words.

There was nothing else. No author, no name of the printing press, no printing date. You looked at the back cover (blank), then again at the front, a vague uneasiness creeping into your mind. Wondering if it was a very new release, you opened the book to the first page, the first chapter, the first few words:

This is all for you, my love.

There was a brilliant flash of golden light.

You screamed. The book fell from your nerveless fingers as you backed away, blinded for an instant. As the light faded, you realized with a start that you were no longer in your apartment.

Instead, you stood in a large, colonial style drawing-room. It was night, and the crescent moon was visible through the massive bay windows at the far end of the room.  Cream-coloured sofas stood around a mahogany coffee-table, a beautifully woven carpet covering the polished hardwood floor. The embers of a dying fire lay in the fire-place, an ormolu clock ticking away on the mantelpiece above. 

“Er, hello?” you squeaked into the silence. “What happened? What’s going on?”

You looked around, heart pounding. You didn’t recognize this place, nor could you explain the loss of time. The only explanation that made sense was that you’d slipped and hit your head, and were currently experiencing a concussion.

But a concussion didn’t explain just how real everything felt. The chill in the air, the red-gold gleam of the embers, the faint rustle of the trees outside moving in the breeze. You pinched yourself hard, wincing at the pain.

That was when the book caught your eye. The one which you hadn’t ordered, yet had been sitting oh-so-innocently outside your apartment. It lay open at your feet, and the pages inside were clearly empty. With trembling hands you picked it up. The cover was now blank.

An awful apprehension began to bubble in the pit of your stomach.

“Hello?” You tried again, looking around. “Is anyone there?”

Was it just your imagination, or was there a faint voice? You looked around, noticing the open door behind you for the first time. The space beyond lay dark, a gaping maw that gave no hint of what lay beyond. Fighting the scream that crawled up your throat, you backed away towards the windows.

But as you drew closer, you realized that this offered little protection. For the house appeared to stand in them middle of nowhere, the trees the only shield between it and the vast nothingness of the outside.

A whimper escaped your lips. You retreated instead to the fireplace, eyes darting all around in an attempt to find an escape. It had to be a nightmare, some kind of hallucination. Your gaze was drawn to the book yet again. It had to be the source of the problem. Someone had to have put some poison inside, some kind of a hallucinogenic powder that worked by being absorbed through the skin. You opened it again - and that was when the writing caught your eye. It was on the very first page, a few lines in a spidery scrawl.

‘This is all for you, my love,’ the writing said. ‘I have been waiting for you for so long, I simply couldn’t wait any more. I know that you must be frightened, but rest assured that this is only a temporary measure while I prepare our new home.’

You frowned. That was... unexpected.

‘I do so wish that things had been different,’ the writing continued. ‘But I find myself quite tongue-tied in your presence. At the moment I can only sing odes to your beauty in my heart, and wax eloquent about your grace and loveliness only in the written word. But I promise you, I love you. I love you with all my heart and soul.

‘But driven as I am by my own passions, I am also bound by the limits of my ability, and so I must tell you this: there are several murderers loose in the world that you currently inhabit. You are safe from them so long as you stay in this house. Leave, and you would be at their mercy (as they not only outnumber you, but are also exceptional in cruelty and cunning).’

Dread curdled in your stomach. An ability. You had heard of them, of course, the supernatural powers that some people were born with. Ability-users were said to be dangerous, more so because one could never tell them apart from ordinary people. You’d certainly never met one in your life.

And yet, unless there had been a colossal mix-up, one such user was professing his love for you.

There was a soft thud. Your eyes darted once again to the windows. Was it your imagination, or was there a pair of eyes faintly visible in the darkness? A shudder passed through your frame, and you quickly turned back to the book.

‘But you must understand, my dear, that I do not wish to hurt you. I could never live with myself if something were to happen to you, which is why you must do as I tell you. You must love me. I promise you, I will make you happy. I will give you what you want, make every dream of yours come true, be whatever you want me to be - but you must love me. Please. I cannot live without you. Your presence haunts my dreams and my waking hours; scarcely a minute passes that I can keep myself of thinking of you. Your name graces my lips as though it were a prayer, a mantra chanted by a fanatic at the altar of your being. Please, please, I am begging you, love me. If you will not, I will have no choice but to keep you trapped in this book. Not because I desire your distress (quite the opposite), but because as long as you are in there, I can make things so that you are ultimately safe. I can make it so that you will never leave me. For I cannot bear to have you taken from me. I will not have you taken from me. Please, my love, you must understand, no one will love you as much as I. So please, learn to love me.

‘Or else you will stay in this cage forever.’

[rjthirsty]

Major IkePri Spoilers!!

.CW: fictional child abuse and reference to SA

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I wish I could draw just so I can share how utterly ridiculous I see the previous king. (By the way, my phone auto'd "penis" for previous, and I thought that was suitting).

Here you have this dude who was supposedly so awesome that Corline (sp? Jin's mother) not only thought he was the best candidate for king but fell so in love with him that she still loved him even after she was exiled by nobility. But there is nothing at all to like about him. Not a single person has something nice to say except Sariel.

So I just see the king standing next to this murderous orphan that he sort of kidnapped, brought to the palace, groomed, decided killing was not a job he should be doing and instead told him to take care of his 7 other kids he never spoke to while he's out there kidnapping women and raping others...

So, they're standing there, yeah?

And behind him is all the fucked up things his real kids he abandoned had to live through, like good twin (not going into all that abuse), or having your mother throwing things at you calling you a monster, or literally being forced to replace her dying son or be killed, or being the child of rape, or being the child of rape, or nearly dying from poverty, or nearly dying from poverty. Yes, I said each of those twice because it applies twice.

And the king looks at this black haired kid and says, "Am I a good person?" And young Sariel, who thinks having something to eat each day is just the best thing ever! Not realizing he is now fulfilling the role of a father to 7 boys only slightly younger than him, his eyes glittery and wide with wonder at how kind this shit stain can be eagerly agrees.

Anyways, I just finished the current event stories and always hate how Sariel idolizes the former king. And this time, they got Jin in on it with him wondering if he was nicer to his asshole father if he would not have ended up so terrible. THAT FUCKING GUILT, YO.

Jin, dude, the man was already a rapist and worse by then. You should know that at your 32 years of age, child you did no wrong by avoiding him.

[skeletwinsauaskbox]

Undyne Sirenne-Thalassa

ATK 50 DEF 20

The heroine that NEVER gives up.

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Lesbian

Age: 23

Height: 5'9" (almost 5'10")

Species: Fish monster, undine hybrid

Family: Gerson (substitute family), Asgore (substitute family, trainer), Svear Sirenne and Kaiyak Thalassa (parents, deceased)

Debut: Chapter 15 ("No Drive, No Entry")

Personality:

Bold

Brave

Determined

Strong-willed

Loyal

Outgoing

Passionate

Free-spirited

Heroic

Energetic

Active

Confident

Empathetic

Friendly

Affectionate

Perseverant

Idealistic yet cynical

Gullible

Stubborn

Hot-headed

Temperamental

Unpredictable

Aggressive

Choleric

Violent

Impulsive

Magic Abilities:

Magic spears

Magic swords

Green magic (soul freezing and healing)

Somehow setting fire to everything despite not having fire magic. How?

Resurrecting herself after hitting 0 HP (it only works once and for a short period of time)

Excessive determination

Skills:

Combat

Athleticism

Swimming

Cooking (debatable)

Music (playing the piano, also a good singer)

Causing destruction wherever she goes

First aid

Strong empathy and people skills

Tracking

Stealth

Likes:

Combat and violence

Anime

Protecting those she cares about

Kind people

Justice

People who give it their all despite setbacks

Rough physical affection

Horror movies

Martial arts

Cool weapons

Kittens

Dogs

Ghosts

Collecting eyepatches

Freedom and equality

Hot and spicy food

Dislikes:

Cold food

Putting others in harm's way

Bad animation

Laziness

Criminals (especially those that commit murder and... other things)

Asgore's poor mental health

Seafood

Disloyal people

Humans

Fears:

Failing to protect those she cares about

Bubblegum

Trivia:

Her eye is gone. Legitimately gone. She lost it in the same incident that killed her parents. It's not pretty under the eye patch.

She can play the piano well, just roughly.

Oddly relates to typical martial art films.

Grew up as an orphan. Mostly just looks to Gerson and Asgore as her caretakers.

She dyes her hair black sometimes, but her hair is naturally red.

Lives life like it's fiction, yet doesn't actually know that her life is literally fiction to us.

Believes in the supernatural. Mainly because she literally lives right next door to ghosts.

Still believes in the Boogeyman and heavily fortified her house to keep him from coming in.

Since she's a fish monster, she can breathe underwater. She can also swim extremely well, and is one of the fastest swimmers in the underground.

Has high emotional intelligence, surprisingly. She's good at figuring out people. She considers it part of her job to not only care for her subject's physical wellbeing, but also mental wellbeing.

Can detect signs of depression and anxiety in people. It's like an instinct to her. (Yes, that also meant she knew what Alphys was really thinking about doing when they first met. More on that later.)

Has the hyperactive-impulsive type of ADHD. Not diagnosed, but she's aware of it. She doesn't suffer from it, though. She enjoys every freaking minute of it.

One of the few characters who genuinely loves herself and has really good mental health.

She has a condition where she can potentially produce her own determination if she's, well, determined enough. Since determination is still a relatively recent discovery by the time Frisk falls down, her condition hasn't been studied at all. Though we don't know what the future holds...

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - True Evil 2/4

part1 part2 part3 part 4

*

Hero considered themself as a simple person: when there was a mystery, answers had to be found. For answers to be found, you had to ask those who were hiding something. It was clear that Villain would not talk to them, but there was one obvious solution left. Sighing, they pulled out their phone and sent a text to Superhero.

The next morning, they entered the elite training room, forcing their lips to smile. They hated this place. Superhero, under the pretext that Hero couldn’t be hurt by his laser beams, never stopped training when they were there. It was true that Hero’s powers technically protected them, but being so close to something so deadly was nothing pleasant, and if they were immune to lasers, they weren’t to wreckage.

Superhero was already in here. He was kicking a brick construction in a corner. After two or three tries, it all crumbled. Superhero shook his head.

“Too slow. Too weak,” he mumbled for himself.

Hero cleared their throat. Superhero turned his head and beamed at them.

“Ah, it’s you! I’m happy to see you.”

“You are?”

Superhero chuckled and took them by the shoulder:

“I want to apologize for the last time. I was a little too direct. A leader-”

His gaze became unfocused:

“A good leader has to give positive vibes. You have to forgive me. As you know, my week has been complicated. In a life of battles, sometimes you forget yourself.”

It was true that Superhero made the news nearly every day. He rarely rested and took down Supervillains once a week. He wasn’t at the top of the agency for nothing. Hero, who maybe had to fight five or six times since they’d begun the job, nodded:

“I understand.”

Superhero looked at them from top to toe and made a wan smile in answer.

“I wanted to ask about Villain,” said Hero.

Their boss shook his head with a slight frown, grasping their shoulder with a little more strength:

“Can’t you make an investigation by yourself? See, this is what worries me. You can’t cry for help every time you meet an obstacle. Do the work yourself. Now, forgive me, I have to train.”

“I made it, sir. To begin with, Villain is an orphan, left at birth. No one knows about their family.”

“Now, it that an excuse for villainy? You of all people should know-”

“The thing is, sir, I have a rather clear idea about Villain’s background. What I don’t know is what they have done, except for some petty robberies. Their file mentions murders, but I can’t find concrete proof anywhere.”

“Seek harder.”

“With all due respect sir, that’s what I’m doing. I’ve looked into the history, and you helped writing this… file.”

The last word was pronounced through clenched teeth. The pressure on their shoulder had just become painful. It didn’t last long, though. Superhero let them go, their gaze unfocused. Hero stepped back hastily, massaging their shoulder.

“Sir?”

“You-”

He stopped. Hero glanced at the door behind them. It wasn’t far, but they couldn’t dream of getting out without being caught. They couldn’t compete with someone with super speed. Hero pushed back that thought – come on, it was their boss – and tried to keep their professional-looking face when Superhero smiled at them again, with a grin as small and forced as theirs.

“You were right to come to me. Maybe I should have told you first. We could have avoided all of this. Let’s go in my office.”

Hero followed him to the stairs. They had never gone up there. It was usually a place reserved for important people, superheroes or at least top-ranked heroes. They always imagined a really fancy place. It was…a bit of a disappointment, to tell the truth. The corridor itself was empty and cold, without tables or chairs. Superhero’s place was a small, cramped room, with an old office that occupied most of the space and an old, closed cupboard. There was no decoration, nothing on the gray, thick walls. Two stools were the only sitting accommodations. Hero stayed up, looking at the place with confusion, while their chief went to the cupboard (not without difficulty) to pick up a little box. He pulled out of it what looked like a pair of earbuds, and put one of them on.

“Do you know what it is?”

“No, sir.”

“They are from a friend I saved once from – no matter. They allow reliving the memories of the one who wears it. It’s very useful for interrogations.”

“I don’t understand-”

“I know you don’t. Villain is a cold-blooded killer, Hero, since they were a child. And I know more than anyone since I’ve seen them do it.”

Hero recoiled. Their boss noticed and had a grim smile.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to relive that, but then, you’re right. I shouldn’t spare myself if it hides the truth.”

Then his voice dropped into a growl:

“Take it. Take it and read my mind if it takes that to convince you.”

Hero looked into the pale red eyes that stared at him.

I’m immune to lasers. I’m immune to lasers. I’m not immune if he crushes my spine if he fires me if- no. Stop it.

They put the Not-Earbuds on.

*

Next part here

Check the These Two Dorks Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with this Hero and Villain. This is how they met and now they’re roommates.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[allzelemonz]

The O’Driscoll Golden Boy: Colm O’Driscoll X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader is referred to as ‘feller’ and ‘boy’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut, murder, implied mutilation, references to castration Warnings: Power dynamics, power imbalance, oral sex, face fucking, deep throating, praise, abuse/unhealthy relationship, marking, possessive behavior, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, facial, humiliation, slight aftercare, hints of fluff if you really squint, homophobia, period-typical heavy homophobia Summary: Colm’s golden boy made a little mistake. The boss doesn’t like that.

Every job always goes smoothly. Every job. Not once have you ever messed up. Not like this. Riding with the O’Driscolls has always been fun so long as Colm is pleased, and Colm is always pleased with you. Pleased enough to drag you into his bed and show you what being the golden boy really means. But tonight… tonight you won’t even be making it back to camp, let alone your boss’s cabin and that big warm bed he’s had these past few weeks.

No, tonight you got caught.

Frankly you should consider yourself very lucky to be breathing.

Sheriff nearly broke your arm hog tying you though, probably shouldn’t be happy about that. He acts like he’s some god when he and his deputies get you in a cell. Something about a bounty having just been raised. Your head’s too fogged from getting hit and your arm hurts far too much to care anyway. Last poster you saw had upwards of a thousand, but that was about a big job further out West. Who knows which state you’re even in at this rate.

Then one of them says it. “Colm O’Driscoll’s golden boy!”

It’s a sneer, mocking and provoking, as they all turn to look at you. You’ve sat down on the floor of the cell, nowhere else to sit and your feet and legs are tired from running. You almost want to stand just so they’re not looking down on you, but in the end you find yourself much too tired to care.

“Should hang ‘em ourselves.” One of the deputies says. “Heard he’s done some sick shit.”

Of course you have. Colm asked you to after all. That’s your job. Whatever Colm wants.

Another deputy pulls a paper from the wall, tossing it on the table and letting it glide and spin. Your bounty poster, you assume. Terrible drawings really, they always are. It frankly surprises you anyone ever gets found.

“Wanted for murder, horse theft…”

You tune out the list of crimes, knowing all of them won’t even be listed on the little space. If they actually wrote everything out there wouldn’t be much room left to put your name and bounty, let alone a picture. It does leave out a lot of details though, important details in your opinion.

“He the one what did those robberies up along the forest, killed those families?”

Yes. You are. They had money, more than they needed. At first you asked nicely, then you didn’t. Business is business and it got you a nice reward from your boss.

“Couple damn orphans came outta that string.”

They’re fine. You even took them into town and gave them some bread and cheese. Boys wanted to shoot them too, you’re a saint in comparison.

“An’ he’s runnin’ with Colm O’Driscoll.” One of them glares at you. “Bet some a’ his charges could trickle down.”

Sure they could. You’ve helped Colm with plenty of things you’ve never seen yourself charged with. Not that you want to recall any of that or have it formally charged. You only kept your mouth shut about it all because you’re smart enough to be deadly loyal when it comes to Colm. You’d never say no to his orders or his requests. That would be stupid.

“I heard he got sodomy in the next state over too.”

Oh, that was a fun clash with the law. Colm fucking you in a back alley in some big city only for a lawman to find you, add charges for you but not Colm. Bullshit really, but it was such a good time that you recall it with fondness. You got rewarded for getting away when you got back to camp after all.

“Love ta see ‘em hang.”

If it would get them to shut up, you might opt for it. You’re starting to get a headache from all the hitting and incessant discussion of your crimes. Your guns aren’t that far away. If they just happened to drink a little more of that whiskey they pulled out to celebrate, got nice and distracted, you might be able to swipe them.

“It’s a three-thousand dollar bounty.” The sheriff snaps. “We’re takin’ ‘em ta the city.”

A trip to the city, a poorly guarded jail car, easy target. If not that, then easy lock picking. But you know the boys that got away will run back to camp with their tails between their legs, tell Colm all that happened, and seeing as Colm had said plenty of dirty things in your ear before you left, he will be a little upset that you didn’t come back like you always do. Cash in hand, happy to take the reward Colm is so desperate to give you. You used to think that’s all it was, the boss giving his best, his golden boy, a reward for doing well on a job. But Colm slips up in his facade sometimes, enough to see he doesn’t just want to fuck his golden boy.

There have been times where you’ve woken up, pretended to sleep, while Colm presses very uncharacteristically sweet kisses all over your face. There’s the occasional exchange before a shootout where he steps in front of you as if you need protecting. Little things a cruel outlaw might do when in love with his dear golden boy. Not that Colm would ever admit anything like that. No, he’ll hide it and let out his frustrations about not being able to act sweet by fucking you senseless under the guise of rewards.

And you have been well aware of this for years now. Not that you’d ever bring it up.

“Could at least let some widows an’ orphans rest a little easy…” One of the deputies says with a slur to his voice. “Hard ta shoot folk without no hands.”

A few of them laugh and you find yourself looking at your hands. You are quite attached to your hands, both in the literal and figurative sense. Though you can think of a few ways to pull a trigger without them, you’d still rather keep them.

“I’d rather castrate ‘em.”

That gets more laughter. It’s an idiotic joke in itself. Once again, you’re quite attached to your dick and would like to keep it and its friends. But, just like the shooting, there are other ways you can think of to get around the loss of an appendage. Colm hardly touches it half the time anyway. Still would rather keep it though.

“Who’s ta say he ain’t cause us some problems.” Another laughs. “Could give ‘em a good beatin’.”

At the rate they’ve gotten themselves drunk, you would like to see them try. One of the deputies stumbles past the others. They watch as he takes out the keys, snickering and giving light cheers as he glares down at you. The second that door opens it will become very easy to take his gun and shoot the drunken fools. Though it is tempting to only disarm a few, maybe pay them their own threats before finishing them off.

But then the large front door to the sheriff’s office opens and several men flood inside. All thankfully featuring green somewhere on their bodies. The drunk lawmen drop to the ground as the boys shoot out their legs. They cry and whimper until blows land on their heads and the boys tell them to shut up. The man by your cell sputters as he tries for his gun, the same one that recommended hanging you. A hole forms in his head and he falls, keys dropping to the floor. Of course it’s Colm that stands with his gun raised, an irritated look across his features.

One of the boys scrambles for the keys, unlocking the door as you stand. You walk out and stop yourself in front of Colm like the obedient dog you have become in his presence. Very slowly, he runs his hand over your chest until his fingers curl tightly into your shirt. He tugs you closer, glaring and angry in having to rescue his dear golden boy.

“Anythin’ ya wanna say, boy?”

You shake your head, knowing better than to say what needs to be said in front of the boys. Not that they don’t know, but that you’d rather hang than look as pathetic as you let yourself become in Colm’s hands.

“They treat ya nice?” He asks, his grip on your shirt loosening ever so slightly.

Your eyes trace over the men, finding the familiar faces that laughed about torture. “Sheriff’s fine, not those two.”

Colm follows your gaze. “Any recommendations?” He releases you, turning to look at the men cowing on the ground. “Boys deserve a little fun since we came all this way.”

And those men very much taste their own words. Colm doesn’t think you deserve to see such a fun little party, so he drags you outside by the collar. But the screams, they sound much better than the laughs.

“Ya wanna explain yerself, boy?” Colm seethes, throwing you roughly against the stone wall that makes up the side of the sheriff’s office.

It’s too dark to see his face. Too late for people to be out and about, even with the screaming. This town is small, surrounded by gangs, no one would be so stupid to leave their home right now.

You stumble a bit, settling yourself against the wall, knowing very well Colm wants you where he puts you. “Can’t explain it, boss. The detonator should have worked.”

His hand winds into your hair, pulling you towards him. The pain shoots through your scalp, a good half of it running down to your dick knowing Colm’s habits. In the dim light of a lantern you can now see his face with the proximity. Perhaps his habits won’t be holding up, he looks rather displeased.

“And why is that?” He asks and you can practically feel the mocking in his voice.

He knows. He must know you messed up. His golden boy made a mistake, something that’s never happened before. You’re not entirely sure how he’ll react to it. But maybe you can talk your way out.

“Seamus probably.” You say as smoothly as you can with the grimace on your face Colm’s rough tugging brings on. “He’s the one that wired things.”

Faster than you can blink, Colm shoves your head back into the wall. The impact with the stone does nothing for your headache, even makes you see stars a little. Your vision is double and shaky as Colm grips harshly onto your cheek to make you look at him, his other hand still gripping at your hair. For a few seconds you see two of his angry face, but as he speaks it settles into one.

“I ain’t a fool, boy.” He hisses. “Ya messed up, lost me a lotta money.”

You groan as his hand tightens in your hair, the stinging not bringing any more pleasure and solely burning through your scalp.

“Here I thought you was perfect.”

That almost stings more than your head. Colm’s praises always keep you going and disappointing him is not something you ever want to do again.

“‘m sorry, boss.” You rasp. “I-I…”

Colm presses his nails into your skin, deep enough to leave marks across your face. “Shut yer damn mouth, pretty boy.”

You nod slightly in his grip, only unable to keep yourself from whimpering at the fresh pain. You can feel something trickle, something wet. By the momentary smirk on Colm’s face, you guess he’s drawn blood, perhaps even done enough to leave scars. Scars embedded into your cheek, Colm’s nails forever digging into your skin.

“Get on yer knees now, boy.”

His grip releases, pain no longer focusing where his hands were and now spreading back to your head as you drop to your knees. You land rough, not wanting to make Colm any more upset, not wanting to disappoint him again. With somewhat hungry eyes, you watch as he unfastens his pants. He pushes his gunbelt up, situating things around as he pulls out his dick. Long and thin, achingly hard, everything you remember. But you’ve never been on your knees before, never had your face so close.

“Fuckin’s a reward, pretty boy.” He grunts, pressing his dick to your lips. “Ya haven’t been very good.”

You don’t dare move without his order. There have been times where he’s thrown you out of his bed for being too eager, made you sit on the floor while he dealt with himself. But that was when he was happy with you, when his dear golden boy hadn’t made any mistakes. You fear what he might do if you make even a single move of your own. So you sit on your knees, taking in the musky scent of the thing you’re supposed to put in your mouth. You wouldn’t particularly describe Colm as a clean man.

He drags his tip along your chin and up to your cheek. You’d give anything for a bit more light to see his face but you’d likely die on the spot if anyone saw you like this. For a moment it stings and you know it’s rubbing over one of Colm’s marks on your cheek, the one his thumb made by your eye. You make a note to clean yourself thoroughly after this. As much as you want to please Colm, to hear his praises, you don’t want some infection from his unwashed dick rubbing into a cut on your face. He seems to enjoy doing though, and for a moment you shutter at the thought of what he would be doing if you had something as large as a stab wound instead.

Then his hand returns to your hair, tugging roughly enough to snap you out of any thought and make your focus turn entirely on him. He tilts your head back and you provide no resistance. Every step of the way, he guides your head. Pressing softly to your lips and urging you down onto him, you open your mouth without question. As he slides through your mouth you taste every inch on him. He certainly hasn’t bathed in a while and you could guess that from his hair, but this really sells it. He tastes like sweat and dirt and dried pomade. And as he forces himself all the way in, hitting the back of your throat as tears form in your eyes, your nose is pressed against an even more foul bunch of pubic hair. It smells like the rest of him, but it’s not nearly as pleasurable as a normal musk might be with the unkempt hairs tickling your nose. For a few seconds he simply sits in your mouth, his dick fully enveloped. You struggle not to panic. You’ve always known he was long, loved it when it hits you so well deep inside where most men could never imagine fucking, but now that he’s shoved himself down your throat you’re not quite as keen.

You can hardly hear his words with how much your head pounds. “Be a good boy an’ sit still.”

Then he moves. You have air for all of a second before he rams himself back in and your throat closes slightly around his tip. It chokes you but it must be the feeling he’s chasing because he does it again and again. At this rate you feel much more like a simple dark, wet hole than a golden boy. But Colm keeps you eager with praises.

“Look at chu, pretty boy.” He mutters. “Such a good boy, always makin’ the boss feel good.”

Of course you do. Colm ordered you to after all. That’s your job. Whatever Colm wants.

“Shit, yer such a pretty thing.”

His hand still grips your hair as he forces your movements, fucking your mouth roughly. But his praises come with another hand, soft as he combs through your hair. Two sides of a coin, just like always, reward or punishment.

“Feel so damn good, boy.” He huffs, his hips starting to become erratic. “Always so good fer me, my golden boy.”

With that you can feel the tightness of your pants, but you don’t dare do a thing about it. Not without the boss’s permission, not without Colm’s smile and hungry eyes.

“Sit pretty fer me now.” He orders, pulling back.

His hands leave your hair, his dick slipping from your mouth. It takes a lot of control to stay upright, to not keel over and gasp for breath. Instead you stay as he left you, sputtering coughs and little gasps as your eyes fix on him. He works himself fast, his hand moving roughly against sensitive skin slicked by its time fucking into your throat. You close your eyes when he grunts, feeling warm streaks across your face a second later. As Colm hums to himself, you keep still. You feel the air around you shift as he kneels down in front of you. His lips press against yours, kiss slicked by his cum on your lips. He holds you still, his hand gripping that same spot in your hair with the same roughness as he kisses you deeply. Faintly, you feel something else against your skin. It rubs over your eyes and over your cheek. When Colm pulls back from his kissing you open your eyes.

He holds a rag in hand, running it over the cuts he made to keep them somewhat clean for the moment. His face holds a focus, but nothing else. No anger, no gentleness, simply focus as he wipes his cum off of some of your face. Not all, just what’s necessary, just your eyes and injuries. Then he tosses the rag to the ground, his other hand still tightly holding you in place by the hair. His eyes look over you, tracing along where you can feel the now cooling bits of him still on your skin. You take a sharp inhale as his free hand grips roughly onto your straining dick. His eyes bore into yours, anger now clear on his face.

“No more mistakes, pretty boy.” He warns. “I much prefer fuckin’ ya normal.”

You give him a small nod. “Yes, sir.”

He squeezes your dick. “My golden boy don’t make mistakes, do he?”

“No, sir.” You gasp out.

“An’ he’s gonna make that money back so I can fuck ‘em senseless, ain’t he?” His hand kneads down into your dick, giving it much needed friction.

“Fuck…” You groan. “Y-Yes, sir.”

He removes his hand, the other tugging tightly at your hair to make you focus on his face again. “Take them boys ‘n get me my money, pretty boy.”

You hold back a whimper from the lack of contact. “Yes, sir.”

He tugs again. “No cleanin’ up either, ya deserve what ya got.”

Then he releases you, standing as you fall on your hands and knees to the ground. You breathe heavily as he walks away, catching your breath and gaining your senses. You have blood drying along cuts from Colm’s nails, cum drying on your skin and likely your hair as well, no fit state to face a bunch of the boys. But of course you do. Colm told you to after all. That’s your job. Whatever Colm wants.

[weebsinstash]

So hey while we're talking about overbearing yandere figures that may either be romantic or platonic or even parental based on your preference, you wanna know who would REALLY be impossible to escape from? Bruce Wayne

He's literally already got like what, 6 or 7 kids he's adopted and taken under his wing for varying reasons, his own little Batfamily living with him in his house as he works through varying types and levels of trauma. God forbid you meet him in some sort of "your parents were murdered and you're basically another Robin he adopted" scenario because i imagine he never. Let's you really age out of that. Like you may stop being a sidekick and a crime fighter but like, leaving the Manor, the family, him? That's too dangerous. What if an old nemesis of yours comes back, or someone targets you to get to him? It's safer if you stay home and all your siblings just care for you so much 🥺

You just get absolutely NO privacy because you know that entire mansion is just bugged literally everywhere, you're in your room on your phone browsing the web, fucking Bruce is down in the cave on the Batcomputer watching your browsing history (and god imagine if he even, like, imposes some basic ass borderline purity culture kind of shit on you and keeps you away from like, adult stuff, or really just anything he thinks will be a bad influence)

You somehow manage to slip away from him (already unlikely) and he probably has you or a possession of yours microchipped. And then there's a matter of not just having to slip away from him, but also Dick, Barbara, fuck you think JASON is going to watch you set out on those harsh streets? Alfred alone can put your ass in some kind of time out, that special Pennyworth sleepy time tea he likes to give you for anxiety is a lil too sleepy if you kwim. Bruce and the rest are off doing hero shit that you refuse to do anymore "because that's gay, you guys cripple people for stealing from the gas station, what does your moral absolutism actually accomplish if you actively facilitate half the crimes you 'solve'" and you're just like chilling with Alfred at the dinner table and you look up, "I think I want to get a job and move out" and he's lending you an ear and some dry wit and advice while you two drink tea and before you know it he's practically got to catch your forehead from slamming against the table, you pass out so hard, and then there's oh so loyal Alfred on the phone, "Master Wayne, I believe there's a certain talking-to that needs to be had whenever you return to the manor--"

I just can't even imagine the scope of surveillance you would be under after earning a spot in the heart of the world's greatest detective like, arguably the most GOATed member of the Justice League and he isn't even fucking magic. And you finally get away from him, the Batfamily, all of em, and you know who you get to deal with THEN? His buddy Clark. Have fun so much as hiding in a building or wearing a disguise from the fucking alien with XRAY VISION who can "fly faster than a speeding bullet", who can basically think and process thoughts as equally fast

And also just, lmaoooo good luck having sex or bringing a boy or someone home when you have like 4 protective brothers, a loyal hound, like 3 sisters, a stepmom, two of them if Selina is over, a borderline black ops butler, and the unhinged controlling billionaire orphan who binds them all together

[digenerate-trash]

(I keep thinking about yandere Bailey vs the teachers. Probably OOC because neither yan Bailey nor yan Sirris would be this straightforward, but I won’t get better at writing subterfuge if I don’t try writing subterfuge.)

Sirris opened the door to the science classroom and waved Bailey inside. “Good evening, Bailey. Would you remind me which of the orphans in your care you called this conference about?” He sat down at his desk and offered the opposite chair to Bailey.

Bailey sat down on the opposite side of Sirris’s desk. “You have a kid of your own. An initiate at the temple, right?”

To his credit, Sirris didn’t flinch, “I thought we were here to talk about one of your charges, not mine. What are you implying?”

“It would be a shame if the little one learned the truth about you. You covered your tracks well, but not well enough. People who are willing to talk,” Bailey placed a sheet of paper with names and photos on the desk.

Sirris looked at it and smiled, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. But it certainly would be easy to pay someone to say whatever nonsense you want with all of the money you take each week.”

Bailey knew that Sirris was bluffing. He saw Sirris’s shoulder tense when Sirris looked at that paper. But Bailey didn’t want to put time into this when he had a much easier way to break Sirris. He’d been polite and Sirris hadn’t yielded. It was time to go for the jugular. “From Danube Street to Wolf Street. Stays at the temple from 6 am to 7 am. Then Wolf Street to Oxford Street. School from 7 am to 4:40 pm. Oxford Street back to the temple on Wolf Street. Stays there from 4:40 pm to 11 pm, except on Fridays, then it’s Oxford Street to Elk Street from 4 pm to 8 pm and Elk Street to the temple on Wolf Street from 8 pm to 11 pm.”

”What?” Oh, Bailey loved how Sirris’s face blanched further with every word out of Bailey’s mouth.

“Why, I would have thought that you could recognize your own child’s schedule. Especially since it’s shockingly consistent,” Bailey said with fake politeness. Truly it had been ridiculously easy for his henchmen to learn Sydney’s schedule. The temple initiate even took the same route each day. “Why, it would be so easy for someone to memorize the routine and just take ‘em off the street. Maybe someone wouldn’t even need to take. That idiot would probably walk right into a van if asked. Did you never teach your only child about stranger danger? Honestly you’re incredibly lucky that nothing has happened. Robbery. Kidnapping. Assault. Murder. I’ve heard that those chastity devices the temple hands out-”

“Enough!” Sirris cut Bailey off, “What the hell do you want?”

“I want you keep your filthy hands off of what’s mine. They don’t even need to transfer to another class. Just never lay a finger on them again. You don’t touch mine and I won’t touch yours.”

“Deal, Sirris spat out.

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” Bailey stood back up and walked to the door. Before closing the door, he added one last threat, “And Sirris, if go back on your word, I will know.”

(Much thanks to the dol wiki on miraheze for Sydney’s schedule. Sydney didn’t fall asleep at the temple at all while being monitored by Bailey’s goons. Good job, Sydney.)

I'm bursting with love over this???? You liked my yan series so much your writing your own stuff for it?????

I love this I'm absoloutly cryin

Please God. I love this stuff so much. Still feel free to give me yan suggestions and all that kinda stuff. I love you anon!!