#it's at least like an urban legend or something

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 87 (Ghost Night at the Salty Paws Saloon)

Though rare for bars to welcome ghosts with discounted prices, the Salty Paws Saloon in Fisherman's Wharf wanted to embrace any form of sim who dared spend simoleons at their middling establishment.

Their new Ghost Night was an experiment promoted in the Ambrosia Society's final newsletter, and Heather and Conrad had come on a mission of their own.

"You really think it's possible the man you met outside the historical museum could be here?" wondered Heather. "At Ghost Night?"

Conrad shrugged. "I haven't seen or heard trace of him since that night, and without his name I don't know how to find him. Besides, you're the one who suggested he might be a ghost."

"Yeah, but I was kidding."

Brindleton Bay had little in the way of nightlife. The Calico Lounge and Yacht Club down the road was where higher society danced and socialized, but spending the night surrounded by ghosts in a dive bar was just fine for Heather and Conrad.

In the early days of their relationship, when Ash was still a baby, they'd come here after watching seals at the pier. They'd share a basket of fries and maybe watch a sportsball game or two on the big screen. It was even where Ash learned to pull himself up to stand, and would always be a sentimental place for them.

Now with busy careers, two kids, and the added stress Conrad tried to keep to himself, it had been too long since they'd been out together. Considering their laid-back dating style, it was unsurprising they'd chosen such an untraditional night out.

Conrad pulled out his phone so they could mug for a selfie. "After everything we've seen with the Ambrosia Society newsletters, are you not just a little curious?"

"Of course I am. I want you to find an answer to at least one mystery taking up space in your mind. You're so stressed lately with work, the kids, and now with George Brindleton, closing the book on something would be good. And I want to help you, like always. It's just...What are you going to do if you find out the old man is a ghost?"

"Find out what he wants, I guess? His unfinished business."

They were both a little hungry, but the food at the Salty Paw was usually terrible, so they settled for sharing a bowl of chips from seats at the bar. The place filled first with human patrons, but as the night wore on, several ethereal beings floated into the pub.

One took a seat at the empty barstool to Heather's right. He gave them both respectful nods, and they returned the polite greeting, unsure what to say next. What sort of small talk were you supposed to make with a ghost?

But this man took an immediate interest in Heather, taking care of the small talk on his own. "Good evening, miss. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My friends call me Felix Psyded, Esquire. Lawyer, entrepreneur, and founder of the University of Britechester."

Conrad smirked. "They call you all that? I think I remember reading urban legends about you when I was in college."

"I've read them. None are true. I haven't stayed haunting the halls of my own university. I've been trying to visit as many places as I could."

"As a ghost?"

Felix turned up his nose at Conrad's surprise. "And what do your friends call you?"

"My friends call me Conrad. Pretty much everyone else calls me Sargent Gordon."

"Well, Sargent, what brings you out to pay full price for drinks on a night for sims in my predicament? Are you here to remember lost souls in the spirit of the day? Maybe a war hero?"

"My fiancee, Heather, and I are on a date tonight."

"And we're looking for someone. He might be a ghost. If he is...maybe you know him?"

The ethereal lawyer nodded warmly. "Miss Heather, I've been a ghost for many years and I've met many like me. What's his name?"

"That's the thing, we don't know it. He said he's lived in Brindleton Bay all his life, came out of the museum and offered to show Conrad around the lighthouse after hours."

"It's hard to get far without a name, and I haven't spent that much time here over the years. What does he look like?"

"Well, he's not...translucent," said Conrad. "He's elderly, tanned skin, wavy hair, mustache...I met him once outside the historical museum but I haven't seen him since. I haven't been able to get out to Deadgrass Isle much lately, either, but no one at the museum knows him, and I'm starting to think if he's not a ghost, I imagined him completely."

Felix sniffed. "Sounds very generic. Maybe it is all in your head."

"Forget it. I don't see him here, anyway."

"I'm not saying I couldn't help you. I've become a bit of a ghost historian in the many, many years since I expired."

"Why haven't you crossed over?" asked Heather. "Do you have unfinished business?"

"I most certainly do! Today is the anniversary of my death - I died all the way back in 1915, before this day was even known as Remembrance Day. And I came here to drink myself into a stupor so I can forget how I died far too soon."

"Your unfinished business is to just drink your pain away every year?"

"No, Sargent. I pine for the life I could have lived! I had just opened the University of Britechester with a ribbon-cutting ceremony and the linguistics professor told a very good joke. I laughed harder than I intended. You might say I became hysterical - very unbecoming in my day - and the next thing I knew, the Grim Reaper himself was offering to help me cross over. I told him thank you, but no thank you. Even if I couldn't live as a human, I wasn't going anywhere."

"That's a terrible reason to die, because something was funny," said Heather, as she and Conrad both took a drink of their cream colas in perfect sync. But Conrad finished his in a single gulp, and Heather noticed.

Felix sighed. "That's not even the saddest part. When I died, I lost my love. She remarried another man and had a family and all but forgot me, while I spent her years on earth unable to move on. She's spending her afterlife with her husband, and I can't say I blame her..."

"That's rough," acknowledged Conrad. "I'm sorry."

"I would be willing to keep helping you, if you can point me in the direction of someone who's here for the Ambrosia Society. I've heard the Watcher's put an end to emotional deaths, and I can laugh as hard as I like without keeling over a second time! I was hoping to finally meet someone who can make ambrosia."

Heather smiled. "I could do that. I've learned how! I haven't made it yet, but we have the ingredients. We took the society up on their challenge for our own reasons, but we could always get more ingredients later. Will you help us figure out the identity of the old man at the museum if I make you some ambrosia?"

"I would be honoured to help you, Miss Heather. Though I do have one more imposition to place on you. Would you allow me to stay in your home tonight? Brindleton Bay has little in the way of empty rooms, and I would only ask for a humble sofa to rest."

Conrad wavered. His phone beeped and he checked the call display, cringing when he recognized the San Myshuno area code in the unlisted number.

"Is that work?" asked Heather. "Do you need to answer that?"

Ximena had finally returned the call he'd placed yesterday in frustration, but she'd waited until the evening, when he was more likely to be with his family. He put the phone back in his pocket. Ximena would have to wait, and Rafa, too. Wherever he was.

"It's not work. It's an unlisted number, probably just spam." He turned to their new ghostly acquaintance with a frown. "Listen, we've got kids at home, Mr. Psyded."

"Esquire. Felix Psyded, Esquire," complained the apparition. "And I'm very good with children. I'd like to have one or two of my own someday, should I get to live again."

Heather and Conrad stood to speak quietly. "Ash and Lavender will both be in bed by the time we get home," she reasoned.

"And when the kids wake up in the morning?"

"Maybe...maybe meeting a real ghost is how I can start talking to Ash about life and death. He's so smart - too smart for his own good sometimes, I think. But if he learns about ambrosia and death flowers now, maybe one day if he ever hears about the curse, it'll all be easier to talk about."

Felix poked his head in with interest. "Who's curse?"

Conrad snapped his head back. "Just a minute, Felix Psyded, Esquire."

"You're not having a very good night. Are you, Sargent?"

"I did notice you kept giving moon eyes to my fiancee."

"Both of you, stop! We'd be happy to have you over tonight, Mr. Psyded. Esquire. But please don't get off on the wrong foot with Conrad or come home and scare our kids."

"You have my word, I won't possess a single piece of furniture!"

They spent a few more hours meeting several ghosts who made their way to the bar for cheap drinks, hoping against hope that the man from the museum might eventually turn up. But after midnight, they gave up waiting and settled their tab, bringing a giggling Felix with them.

"I'm so excited, I'm vibrating. Can you hear me?"

But Heather and Conrad were quieter. She knew something was bothering him, and she wanted to know what it was. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: I didn't initially set out to schedule this post on Remembrance Day. This is just where the last week of Reaper Rewards stuff fit in my existing storyline, but how fitting, in a way. 🌺

NOTE 2: On one hand, Conrad should be romancing her extra hard considering he's lying, but if he tries over-romancing unflirty Heather she'll know something's up even more strongly. So they get a dive bar date night to fulfill the last tasks of the Reaper Rewards challenge.

[doolallymagpie]

did i just write "charles kincaid chugged a gallon of milk after the first mackie test, in the tradition of indy 500 winners"?

yes, yes i did

[severalowls]

So in Ireland (possibly the entire EU) there is a regulation stipulating that in order to sell potato crisps as "hand cooked", which often carries a luxury price point, a very specific part of the process has to be done manually (iirc, dipping the potato slices into boiling oil), while the rest can be largely handled by machines and mostly automated.

According to somebody involved in production line design many years ago, one of the major crispmongers of Ireland was interested in how they could save having a guy whose sole job it was to hand-operate the conveyor that conveys the sliced potatos into boiling oil and then back out of the boiling oil and back onto the automated bit that does the seasoning and packaging and so on, which would be an all-day mind-numbing job, but more importantly they'd have to pay the guy and companies hate that.

So these regulations are enforced by regular factory audits, where somebody from the regulatory body shows up with a clipboard (or these days, an ipad) and checks that everything is operating at acceptable standards and required processes are being adhered to. Which works, but factories can often... Plan for audit days.

So the compromise the designer came up with was that the oil conveyor would have a hand-crank. But that it didn't do anything. The entire machine was automated. Except for audit days, where they could have one of the engineers stand there and look really busy turning the crank.

[jayladfanpage]

Saw a post saying that Cassandra Cain would hate Jason Todd and I'm sorry but. Are we talking about the same Cass Cain? Are we?

I understand the sentiment of "Cass would be outraged by Jason's morals" (when we're talking New Earth, at least,) that makes sense. I do think she would hate his ideals. Not Jason himself, though.

Cassandra knows death. Literally the thing that motivates her to be a hero is that, because of her ability to read body language, she experienced death after her first kill. She didn't just watch that man die, she died with him. She knows exactly what Jason felt like when he died, she knows how much it fundamentally changes somebody. I think she wouldn't understand how Jason changed for the worse, but she, out of everyone in the Bats, would actually, genuinely be able to see the boy Jason used to be when looking at Red Hood without separating Hood and Robin in her mind. Your death isn't something you ever forget.

Also, not only does she know the pain Jason went through when he died, she knows the grief Bruce went through, and is still going through when she finds out about Jason's death.

Obviously, everyone loves this scene (Batgirl (2000) #7) because it perfectly encapsulates both Cass' and Bruce's ideas of what makes a vigilante/hero. But there's a second layer to this, which is that Cass, who speaks in body language, feels Bruce's grief. In this scene, Cass isn't just shocked to learn that a Robin died, she's mourning Jason just as much as Bruce is. She can feel all of his regrets, all of his pain, all of his guilt. Cassandra would never be able to look at Red Hood without remembering what Bruce felt, what she felt, when he died.

Lastly, while Cass' morals aren't as much about "second chances" as Bruce's morals are, she is still desperate to save people. And Jason's main thing is that Bruce (and Dick, I'll make a meta post about Brothers in Blood at some point) can't save him. Saving Jason Todd goes directly against Bruce and Cassandra's morals, but another thing that Bruce and Cass have in common is how unwilling they are to give up. Everybody will be saved, or they'll both die trying to make it so. "Everybody" includes Jason, who's always worn his heart on his sleeve, who most likely wouldn't even try to hide his emotions/body language from Cass, because he never bothers to hide his pain, is always begging to be saved, just in a way that Batman can't fix. Jason doesn't just need help, he wants it. So Cass would never hate him, because she sees that Jason wants to be fixed, wants to change the man that he is, but feels like he can't do that until Joker dies, as seen here:

(Urban Legends (2020) #6)

And I think Cass would see that and would do everything she could to save Jason from himself without killing Joker. She could never hate Jason, not when she so fundamentally understands him and his struggle to believe he could ever be a good person. She knows his guilt doesn't absolve him just like her guilt doesn't absolve her, but Bruce gave her a chance to be a hero when he saw that she'd changed, became a better person. And I think she would go her entire life trying to give Jason the chance to change, too.

[lovecuprite]

a/n: slow intro with a fair bit of dialogue & little plot twist at the end? + if you don't like gunplay, i promise this is not the one for you, don't read it wc: 5.7k

the rest of kinktober here + (toji art credit) + special tag @risararelywrites <3

As the night crept on, the thrill of the scare park hung thick in the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and muffled shrieks from other visitors. You walked arm-in-arm with Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru, revelling in the pulse of adrenaline that shot through you whenever an actor lunged from the darkness. Together, you’d gone through nearly every haunted house in the park, each one more elaborate than the last. 

But now, as you drifted toward the edge of the grounds, the lively sounds began to fade, swallowed up by the sight of a lone haunted house standing apart from the others—a grim silhouette shrouded in eerie, rolling fog.

This house looked different. It was darker, older, with an unsettling aura that seemed to thicken the air around it. Unlike the other exhibits, there were no bright lights, no cheering guides or costumed actors welcoming you in, just an open doorway that hinted at cracked wood, grimy windows, and shadows that seemed to hang around and watch.

"Why isn’t anyone going in?" you murmured, stopping to stare at the building. "Did they close it for the night?"

Shoko glanced at Suguru, exchanging a look that sent a tiny ripple of unease through you. “No, it’s open. Just not exactly popular,” she replied, her voice low.

“Not popular?” You smirked, letting the hint of a challenge seep in. “Is it really that bad?”

“Depends who you ask,” Satoru replied, his usual playful tone missing as he stared at the house. “People don’t go in alone.”

“It’s a scare park.” You scoffed, waving off his warning. “How scary could it actually be?”

Suguru placed a hand on your shoulder, a rare seriousness in his eyes. “This one’s different. People say there’s something… wrong with it. Nobody wants to find out for sure.”

“Wrong?” you echoed, crossing your arms. “How, exactly?”

“Some say there’s a man who hides in there,” Shoko murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “They don’t know if he’s some rogue actor or just… some crazy man. But he’s armed. Supposedly, he sneaks around pretending to be part of the act.”

You looked at the house again, half-amused, half-spooked. “So you’re telling me there’s a real psycho in there hiding out? Right.”

Your friends exchanged wary glances, their usual bravado notably absent, which only deepened your curiosity. “You’re serious? This is over some urban legend?”

“It’s not a legend,” Shoko muttered, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone creeping out of the fog. “People say they’ve seen him covered in blood. They say he blends right in until it’s too late.”

“Staff avoid it too,” Satoru added, his tone unusually flat. “So if you’re thinking about going in, maybe reconsider.”

A thrill shot through you, half defiance, half intrigue. The house loomed ahead, daring you. “So you all think he’s in there tonight?”

Suguru’s hand tightened on your shoulder. “It’s not worth finding out. There are plenty of other places we can check out.”

But the challenge tugged at you, almost tauntingly. You took a step forward, drawing exasperated sighs from your friends.

"Are you actually going in there?"

"This is a hard no for me," Shoko insisted.

“Come on, we’re not kidding around,” Suguru said, his expression sombre.

You gave them a shrug and a smile. “I’ll just peek in, five minutes, that’s all.”

Shoko crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. “Right, nothing bad ever happens in ‘just five minutes.’”

“Remember, if he’s in there, we’re not coming to save you.” Satoru jokes as he rolls his eyes.

"Noted," you replied, dancing around him with a grin. "If anything happens, at least I'll have a story."

But as you moved toward the darkened doorway, the memories of the warnings hounded you, and crossing the threshold, a small voice whispered, maybe they're right.

Inside, the shadows clung to the walls, warping and shifting with every flicker of the dim yellowing light bulbs. The air was heavy, still, as though the house itself was holding its breath, waiting. With each cautious step, the floor remained eerily silent-no familiar creaks, no whispers from other thrill-seekers echoing from somewhere in the darkness. The quiet was suffocating.

"It's just another haunted house," you whispered, trying to break the silence. But even your voice seemed to be swallowed up by the shadows.

You reached the edge of a dusty, darkened room when a soft dragging sound cut through the quiet. You whirled around, your heart hammering, but the hallway behind you was empty. The moment you began to steady your breath, a low rumbling chuckle echoed through the room, crawling down your spine.

"Didn't think anyone would wander in alone," a voice drawled from the shadows, smooth and dripping with dark amusement. "You've got guts.”

Your breath caught as a figure began to take form: a tall, wide man whose eyes glinted in the poor light. He moved like a shadow off the wall, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips as he took another step forward, the faint glow illuminating a pistol in his hand, his finger lazily resting near the trigger.

You swallowed hard and forced a grin, hoping to mask your unease. "Are… are you part of the show?"

He chuckled, his eyes raking over you with dangerous curiosity. "I'm part of an experience," he told you, that taunting smile twisting. "But not the kind you paid for.”

Your heart was racing as he closed in; his eyes were razor-sharp and predatory. He didn't hurry-if anything, he drew out the fear across your features. The pistol glinted in his hand, but his gaze stayed fixed on you, like he was reading every flicker of emotion.

He moved forward with a nearly lazy step; his head fell to the side as his smile grew, watching you inch backward. "So, you thought this was just another haunted house?" he asked, the tiniest thread of dark thrill weaved in. "Guess it's too late to warn you some rumours are worth listening to.

Your back hit the wall, and his eyes lit up with a spark of satisfaction. He leaned in closer, pressing the gun against his temple as he did so, an intense gaze and a chilling gleam in his eye. "You've got that look-the one which says you're curious. Brave, maybe a little too much so." He paused, smirk deepening. "So, how brave are you feeling now?”

You clenched your jaw and wouldn't flinch. "Maybe I am not as easy to scare as you think," you muttered, though your own voice quivered ever so slightly. "Oh?" His smirk whittled just a little sharper, a flash of mirth dancing in his eyes. "Then let us see.”

He let go of your wrist, only to trail the gun’s barrel along your jawline, his eyes drinking in every flinch, every shiver. He seemed to delight in drawing out the silence, each second weighted with his slow, deliberate movements. And in that quiet, somehow, the unspoken threat felt far more sinister.

As he studied you, his gaze lingered, savouring the fear that glinted in your eyes. “I have all night to see what it takes to break you,” he murmured, his voice almost playful. “And something tells me, this is going to be fun.”

The glint in his eyes held a dark promise, and you knew, too late, that you’d wandered into a trap—the kind that left you wondering just who, exactly, was meant to be scared.

You swallowed, struggling to hold his gaze, fighting the instinct to look away. But he had you cornered, and he knew it—knew you were trapped in his snare, just like he’d intended. The glint in his eye sharpened as he watched, a spark of twisted satisfaction lighting up his face as he took in every flicker of fear.

The man’s grin stretched wider, dark and mocking, as he watched you. With a slow, deliberate motion, he lowered the gun, tracing the cold barrel down your jawline, his eyes studying every inch of your face with a predatory intensity. The silence between you pressed in, suffocating and tense, somehow worse than any threat he could have made.

“You’re trembling now,” he whispered, voice dipped in dark humour. “But it makes me wonder…” He tilted his head, a false look of innocence softening his gaze even as his smirk stayed razor-sharp. “Is it fear making you shake? Or is it something… else?”

Your breath caught, a barely perceptible hitch that he didn’t miss. His smirk grew, as though he’d stumbled on a private joke, something only he was in on. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re the kind who gets a thrill out of all this?” he mocked, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, as if he were sharing a secret with you. “The type who’d never admit it, but… can’t help the way their heart races anyway.”

You tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you off so easily. With a nudge from the gun, he forced your chin up, his gaze locking with yours. “I see you,” he continued, inching closer, his warm breath fanning across your skin. “People like you walk in here alone, pretending it’s just for the thrill.” He leaned in, his voice lowering to a near murmur against your ear. “But maybe you wanted more.”

His words sent a shiver through you, mingling fear with something you didn’t want to acknowledge. He leaned back, watching your reaction, fingers brushing the side of your face in a touch that was disturbingly gentle. “Maybe that’s why you’re here,” he said, a rough laugh slipping from his lips. “I doubt someone like you would admit it, though.”

Your mind raced, and your voice caught in your throat, a knot of indignation and fear keeping you silent. He noticed, smirking like he’d already won. “Right on the mark, aren’t I?” he murmured, his hand resting on your cheek. “It’s always the innocent ones—scare the easiest, break the fastest.”

Your heart pounded, and though you willed yourself to pull away, your body seemed frozen under his touch. He held your gaze, thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “Just say it,” he teased, leaning close again. His thumb pressed lightly against your throat, tracing the beat of your pulse. “You didn’t come in here just for the scare, did you?”

The mocking smile he wore softened slightly, his voice lowering to a nearly intimate whisper. “I can feel it—the way you’re responding. The thrill, the nerves, the part of you that’s not sure if you want to run… or stay.”

You hated the way he seemed to read you, hated that he saw through the mask you wore to the part of you he’d awakened, a part tinged with something reckless and dangerous. He bent down further, enjoying how he had you at his mercy. "That's it, isn't it?" he mumbled, "It's a game-this line between predator and prey." His voice dropped to a purr. “Between fear… and whatever this is.”

You tried to steady your breath as he studied every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the touch feather-light but charged, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“How much would you actually enjoy being pushed?” he wondered aloud, eyes glinting. “Maybe you’d even beg for it. Maybe you’d even like not having control.”

A thrill of panic mingled with something darker, something that made your heart beat faster. He could see it, knew the effect he was having, and the satisfaction on his face only grew. “Just admit it,” he murmured, his tone insistent, his thumb grazing your jawline. “Admit how much you’re enjoying this.”

His fingertips lingered on your hip, a reassuring touch that was highly unsettling, as if he were daring you to let those words pass your lips out loud. "Come on," he seduced, the devilish glint dancing in his eyes. "I promise I won't bite… unless you're asking.

His hand slid around to the small of your back, pulling you against him. The heat of his body reminded you just how close he was, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted. His voice dropped to a near-growl. “Last chance to back out.” His lips ghosted over your earlobe. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…”

His grip tightened, teeth grazing your ear, and then he pulled back, his gaze sharp as he slipped the gun into his waistband. His eyes were fixed upon yours with such intensity and something so akin to hunger; it sent the shiver down your spine. "So," he breathed, his voice low, with just a hint of challenge. "Ready to play?

Your heartbeat pounded against your rib cage, each thud a resonating drum in the silence between you. His words, his touch, the heat radiating off his body, it threatened to overwhelm you, drowning out every rational thought. You knew you should tell him to stop, should put space between you, but something kept you frozen there, curiosity mixing with the thrill of the unknown.

"I… I don't.", you stuttered, all but a whisper, while shallow breaths betrayed you, even in protest.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk edging toward a full grin. “You don’t what?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “Don’t want me to stop… or don’t know if you should?”

Closer still, he leaned in until his nose brushed against yours, his gaze burrowing into yours with an intensity that made your knees feel weak. “I think you want this more than you’ll admit,” he murmured. His hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head, exposing your neck. “Just say the word,” he whispered, his lips hovering over yours. “I’ll give you everything you’ve been too afraid to ask for.”

He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, a playful nip that he soothed with his tongue, his voice softening to a near-coax. “Come on, sweetheart,” he breathed, every word a slow, dangerous promise. “Let yourself stop fighting it.”

"Okay," you whispered, just barely audible, the last shred of resistance dissolving as his lips claimed yours-hard and demanding. The kiss bruised with its possessiveness-he took your mouth with such hunger that robbed your breath, his tongue delving deep inside to consume you. His hand tangles in the strands of your hair, keeping you firmly in place, the other roaming along your body, mapping out every curve.

But the next instant, he pushed you away, and you tumbled backward, falling against a stack of old props that tumbled with you, a flicker of fear crossing your features. He saw it.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he mocked, stalking toward you on lean legs with a predator's ease. "Scared off so soon?"

His eyes shone with a feral light, a cruel smirk playing about his lips. "I thought you wanted to play."

He leaned over you, grasping at your chin roughly to force you to look up at him. "Maybe you're not as brave as you thought," he sneered. "Or maybe", the tone darker, "you just need a little more incentive."

His hand had gone to his waistband, drawing out his gun. He pressed the cold metal against your lips, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that chilled you to the bone.

"Open up, sweetheart," he ordered in his voice, a thick coating of mockery. "Let's see if you're as good with that mouth as I think you are." A hand twisted in your hair yanking your head back to bare the line of your neck. "Or maybe," he mused, "I should just shut you up completely."

He traced the gun along your jaw, down your throat, stopping at the hollow at the bottom of your neck. His eyes never once strayed from yours as he watched for the effects, feeding off your growing fear. "What's it gonna be, baby? Want to play nice, or should I get rough with you?"

He leaned closer, his eyes glinting with sadistic glee as he savoured the tension. "Tick tock," he murmured, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Time's running out, and my patience is wearing thin. Choose wisely, baby—it might just save your life."

A wicked grin spread across his face as he saw you open your mouth, lips parting just enough for the barrel of the gun to slide between them, the cold metal pressing against your tongue. "That’s it," he purred. "Good girl."

He pushed the gun deeper, savouring the sight of you as the taste of metal filled your mouth. "Suck," he commanded, his voice thick with lust as he watched you obey, your lips stretched around the barrel, tongue swirling over the smooth surface. His hand in your hair tightened, and he let out a low, satisfied groan.

"Fuck, that’s hot," he breathed, his hips pressing forward as he ground against you. "You’re a natural at this, aren’t you? I bet you'd look even better with your lips wrapped around something else."

He watched with rapt attention as you continued, cheeks hollowing, mouth working the gun with an obedient rhythm. His gaze darkened as he took in the sight of you, debasing yourself at his command.

Finally, he withdrew the gun, a string of saliva briefly connecting it to your lips. "Kiss it," he growled, voice low and commanding. "Show me how much you want it."

You pressed your lips against the barrel, kissing it softly, your eyes flickering up to meet his gaze, exactly as he demanded. Seeing you so submissive, so compliant, sent a rush of satisfaction through him.

"Atta girl," he murmured approvingly, his voice a soft purr of pleasure.

He pulled the gun away, resting it on the side as he freed his cock from his pants, stroking it slowly, teasingly, as you knelt before him. He smirked down at you, his eyes glinting with dark promise. "Put that pretty mouth to work, baby. Show me what you can do."

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, guiding your head towards his cock, the musky scent of him filling your nostrils. His other hand gripped the base of his shaft, slapping the head against your lips, leaving a smear of pre-cum.

He pushed forward, forcing the head of his cock past your lips, groaning as your warm mouth enveloped him. "Fuck, that's it," he growled, his hips rocking gently, pushing deeper.

He groaned as your lips stretched around his thick, veiny shaft, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head. His cock was long and hard, the skin smooth and hot against your tongue. The musky, masculine taste of him filled your mouth as you took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked.

Saliva dripped down your chin as you bobbed your head, your hand coming up to grip the base, stroking what you couldn't fit in your mouth. He tasted of sweat and arousal, the flavour heady and intoxicating on your tongue.

Lewd, wet sounds filled the air as you slurped and sucked, your nose buried in his pubic hair, breathing in his scent. His balls were heavy and full, bouncing against your chin as you worked him over.

"Fuck, just like that," he grunted, his grip on your hair tightening, his hips snapping forward, fucking your face with shallow thrusts. "Take it all, baby.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he hit the back of your throat, your gag reflex working overtime, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you relaxed your throat, letting him slide deeper, taking him to the hilt.

He threw his head back with a groan, his abs clenching, his thighs trembling as you swallowed around him, your throat fluttering around his sensitive flesh.

"Goddamn, you're a natural," he panted, his voice strained with pleasure.

The click of the safety being disengaged sent a jolt of fear through you, even as you continued to suck him off. The cold metal of the gun brushed against your cheek, a stark contrast to the heat of his cock in your mouth.

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending vibrations through his shaft. "You like that, don't you, baby? The danger, the thrill. It gets you hot, doesn't it?" He pressed the gun to your temple, the barrel cold against your skin as he fucked your face harder, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper down your throat.

"Bet you're soaking wet right now," He groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he neared his peak. "Fuck, I'm close," he grunted, his hips stuttering, his cock throbbing in your mouth.

He pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, his cock slick with your saliva. "Not yet, baby," he growled, his voice low and guttural. "I'm not done with you."

He grabbed your arm, hauling you to your feet, spinning you around and shoving you so you were bent over the wooden table. The rough wood scraped against your skin, the edge digging into your hips as he kicked your legs apart, exposing you to his gaze.

He flipped up your skirt, tearing your panties away with a sharp rip. His fingers dipped between your folds, teasing your entrance, circling your clit. 

"Fuck, look at you," he purred, his hand coming down hard on your ass, making you yelp. "Already so wet for me. Yeah, you’re not innocent at all, are you?” He leaned down, his breath hot against your skin as he spat directly onto your pussy, the warm liquid trickling between your folds before he licked a stripe along your slit.

He dove in, his tongue delving deep into your folds, lapping at your juices. He teased your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, flicking the sensitive bud with rapid strokes. The hand holding the gun rested against your ass as the other held one of your thighs, exposing you completely to his hungry mouth.

He alternated between long, slow licks and quick, darting flicks, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. He growled against your flesh, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine. His nose rubbed your clit as he buried his face deeper, his tongue probing your entrance.

He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to stroke your G-spot as he continued to eat you out. He added a third finger, stretching you, filling you, as his tongue swirled around your clit.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he groaned, his words muffled against your pussy. "So sweet and wet for me. I could eat this cunt all day."

He sealed his lips around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive nub. His fingers pumped in and out of you, the wet squelching sounds obscene in the quiet room.

His cock throbbed, rock hard and leaking pre-cum as he feasted on your pussy. The taste of you, the feel of your wetness coating his tongue, the sounds of your moans and whimpers—it all drove him wild with lust.

He fucked his fingers harder into you, curling them just right to hit that spot that made you see stars. His tongue flicked rapidly over your clit as he sucked, nibbled, licked every inch of your sopping folds.

He pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. His eyes dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you, spread out and desperate for him.

"Mmm, you're so fucking wet," he purred, his voice low and dangerous. "I could eat this pretty pussy all night long."

He trailed the gun along your inner thigh, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. "But first, I think I need to prep you a little. Get you nice and ready for me."

He teasingly ran the barrel of the gun along your folds, the cold metal sending a jolt of sensation through you. "What do you think, baby? Think you can handle this?"

You looked over your shoulder at him, stealing a glance as his eyes gleamed in the moonlight, a faint nod of your head as you wanted it.

"I don't know," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "Can you?"

He circled your clit with the tip of the gun, the metal cool against your heated flesh. Your hips twitched, seeking more pressure, more friction.

"Look at you, so desperate for it," he purred, his free hand coming down on your ass in a sharp slap. "Even with a gun to your cunt, you're still begging for it."

“Tell me-” he says as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, “Use those words.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatened to spill from your lips. His touch, his words, they were driving you crazy with need. You wanted him, all of him, and you didn't care how twisted it was.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "Please, I need it. I need you."

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "That's more like it”

He trailed the cold metal of the gun along your slit, teasing your entrance, circling it slowly. You could feel the heat of him, the weight of his gaze on your body as he watched you squirm

He pressed the tip of the gun against your entrance, the metal cool and unyielding. Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as he applied just the slightest bit of pressure.

He pressed the tip of the gun inside you, the cold metal sliding in teasingly slow. You gasped, your body tensing at the unfamiliar sensation. He went deeper, inch by torturous inch, stretching you, filling you in a way you'd never experienced before.

"Fuck, look at you taking it," he groaned, his voice low and approving. "Such a good girl, so eager for me."

He worked the gun in and out, fucking you with it, the metal gliding along your walls, hitting spots you didn't know existed. Your pussy clenched around it, trying to adjust to the intrusion, the friction.

He pushed the gun deeper, the metal sliding in with a slick sound, your wetness easing the way. You whimpered, your body trembling as he filled you, stretched you, claimed you in the most primal way possible.

He pulled it out slowly, the metal dragging along your folds, teasing your entrance, before pushing it back in.

He twisted the gun, the barrel rubbing against your sensitive walls, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. Your pussy clenched around it, trying to adjust to the intrusion, the friction.

The wet, obscene sounds of the gun pumping in and out of your pussy filled the air, mixing with your moans and whimpers. He angled it just right, hitting that spot deep inside that made your toes curl, your eyes roll back in your head.

He pulled the gun out suddenly, leaving you empty and aching. You whimpered at the loss, your body craving more.

"Patience, baby," he purred as he tossed the gun to the side. "We're just getting started."

He lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

He pushed inside you slowly, inch by throbbing inch, stretching you, filling you. Your pussy clenched around him, trying to adjust to his size, his heat. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as he sank deeper.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his voice strained with pleasure. "Feels so good wrapped around my cock."

He bottomed out as his massive frame engulfed you as he leaned over your back, his balls heavy and full against you as he remained deep inside you. He stayed there for a moment, letting you feel every inch.

Then he started to move, his hips rocking, his cock sliding in and out of your slick heat. He set a slow, deep rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt.

Your pussy fluttered around him, your walls clinging to his shaft, trying to keep him inside. He grunted with each thrust, his fingers digging into your skin with a pressure that you know will leave marks.

He wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you back against him, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper. His other hand slid up your body, coming to rest at your throat. Not squeezing yet, just a gentle reminder of his control, his dominance.

"That's it, baby," he growled in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Take it. Take my cock like the good girl you are."

He fucked you harder, faster, his grip on your throat tightening just a fraction. The dual sensations of pleasure and pressure, of being filled and controlled, sent waves of heat coursing through your body.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he panted, his hips pistoning, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Gonna fill you up with my cum. Pump you full until it's leaking out of you."

His fingers tightened around your throat, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your heart race, your pussy clench around him. He was so close, his cock throbbing inside you, his body tensing.

His grip tightened on your throat, his fingers pressing just hard enough to make your pulse flutter beneath them. His other arm cinched around your waist, pulling you back harder, his hips slamming into you with bruising force.

"Fuck, gonna come," he grunted, his voice strained and guttural.

He pounded into you relentlessly, his cock stretching you, claiming you, branding you from the inside out. His balls slapped against your clit with each brutal thrust, the wet, obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air.

His hand on your throat squeezed again, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your head swim, your vision blur. The dual sensations of pleasure and pressure, of being filled and controlled, pushed you closer to the edge.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles as he fucked you harder, deeper, his cock pounding into your pussy like a jackhammer. The added stimulation was too much, sending you careening over the edge into a mind-blowing orgasm.

Your pussy clamped down around him, fluttering and clenching, milking his cock for all it was worth. Your body shook and trembled, your moans echoing off the walls as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

He groaned, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering as your pussy worked him over. "Fuck, yes, come for me," he growled, his fingers pinching your clit, prolonging your climax.

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he emptied himself inside you. His thick cum filled you, painting your walls white, marking you as his.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight pinning you to the table, his breath coming in harsh pants against your neck. For a moment, you both just lay there, basking in the afterglow, your bodies still joined, your hearts beating in sync.

He rolled his hips, his semi-hard cock still buried inside you, drawing out your pleasure. He pulled out slowly, a groan escaping him as your walls clung to him, trying to keep him inside.

He watched, transfixed, as his cum leaked out of your pussy, dripping down your thighs. The sight of you, so thoroughly used, so marked by him, sent a fresh wave of arousal through him.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "So fucking beautiful, covered in my cum."

He leaned down, pressing soft, teasing kisses along your spine as you lay there, trying to catch your breath. His hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves and dips, the marks he'd left on your skin.

"You did so well, baby," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear.

He nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing. “Come on, up, lemme get a look at you.”

He helped you up, his hands steady on your hips as you wobbled on shaky legs. He turned you around to face him, his eyes dark and hungry as they roamed over your body, taking in the marks he'd left, the cum still dripping down your thighs.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he growled, his hands cupping your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "I could look at you like this all day."

He kissed you then, hard and deep, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you, tasting himself on your lips. He pulled back, his eyes searching yours, a question in them.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks as he helps you redress, along with himself.

"No," you breathe, your voice hoarse and trembling. "It was... intense, but not painful."

You lean into his touch, savouring the warmth of his hands on your face, the solidness of his body against yours. Despite the darkness of what just transpired, there's a strange comfort in his presence, a sense of belonging.

“The gun-” you begin before he chuckles and interrupts you as he approaches the gun and picks it up, “Looks pretty real, huh? Feels it too.”

You laugh a little at that, “Yeah, it definitely felt it.”

“I’ll have to thank your friends for getting me such a good prop” He says, “And for arranging this whole place…You think they’re waiting outside?”

“God no, Shoko made it very clear yesterday that she wouldn’t wait around whilst I came in here to get fucked by my boyfriend. They’ll be long gone, we can call a cab.”

“Cab it is.” He smirks as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

taglist:

@l0v3m3-p13as3 @hishearttohave @williamafton26 @kentochronicles

@jays-adventure3 @nctislifue @eeveedvck @needtoloveoutloud @yowumi

@sweetpo1son @betelgeuse420 @yuhig-blog @psychedellyc @char-35

@kaeyeahsworld @sukunadckrider @ladyackermanisdead @szired

© lovecuprite ↣ do not copy or translate any of my works

[pathfinderyderss]

So hello! I'm sitting here stewing over the Watcher news. Like. I too, firmly believe in creators getting paid. But like, also, they have to create content people WANT to watch. I don't watch any of Steven Lim's stuff.

A lot of people have talked about it but, there's something so viscerally infuriating about watching someone eat, which is basically half of my paycheck or more on a single dish. I don't like it! I don't watch it. And the fact that they've confirmed that at least a portion of their content is going to be that moving forward means that that would be the content I'm paying for.

And I won't do it. I will go back and watch podcasts. I actually stopped listening to most of their content in favor of other channels at this point, like I swapped over a lot of the content to Simon Whistlers channels (shout out to him and his writing team) because it covers a lot of the topics that Watcher covered, but it greater detail and with the same-ish bias.

Sure. Creatives deserve to be paid for their work. But when you're asking your community, which is barely getting by, suffering record inflation and a housing crisis "please pay for our videos" the answer for a lot of them is going to be "no" because they can't afford it or don't think that the content you make is worth it.

You can make it about the righteousness of paying creators if you want, but realize, most of these people are supporting creators. I'm subscribed to about five patreons which are about the cost of Watcher. I do not value Watchers content more than these others creators I'm subscribed to currently, and will not cancel one of those subscriptions for this. And that's fine. One third of their content being unpalatable (haha) to me means it isn't worth that money.

So I'll unsubscribe. I'll watch other content and be on with it.

Edit: I'm home now and can add links for alternatives.

Decoding the Unknown > Historical Mysteries Channel, goes over things like The Bermuda Triangle, Jersey Devil, Urban Legends, etc.

The Casual Criminalist > What it says on the tin, True Crime Show, thoughtfully researched and abstains from unnecessary gore

Into the Shadows > Darker Social/Historical Topics

Biographics > Also what it says on the tin, Biographies of different people, spans all throughout history

Highlight History > Look into a variety of historical topics, unfortunately, does not have a gameshow-like element, but informative

[five-rivers]

green is for envy, black is for trigger

A long BNHA oneshot!

.

So, they didn't realize at first what it meant when the teachers announced that Deku was going to UA.  Hell, they didn't really get what it meant when it was just Bakugou that was going.  Not that any of them, least of all Hideo, actually thought Bakugou would get in.  The whole thing was a pipe dream.  Only forty kids from the whole of Japan got into the hero course every year, and even if Bakugou was great at a lot of stuff, those were still long odds.

But Deku?

Deku, who had to have how his own name could be pronounced literally spelled out for him?  Who broke down into tears whenever someone made a joke?  That noodle-armed wimp with a death wish?  Useless, quirkless Deku?

Not a goddamn chance.  Not even with a miracle.

But Deku did get decent grades.  Not as good as Bakugou, but the fact that a genetic throwback got passing grades at all was kind of freakish on its own.  Shinozaki used to joke that it was because he was having special ‘tutoring sessions’ with the teachers, but both the teachers and Bakugou were so uptight about stuff like that.  It was a joke.  A kind of creepy joke, and Hideo was sort of glad when Shinozaki knocked it off, but still. 

Anyway, inasmuch as Hideo thought about it at all, he assumed Deku got into one of the other courses.  Although he only really knew about those because of the sports festival and Bakugou nerding out.  Support and business or something like that.  They probably only took Deku because they needed to meet some kind of pity quota.  Hideo's dad was always talking about stuff like that at dinner.  Mostly about mutant quirks, but Hideo figured it applied to deals like Deku, too.

But life went on, and no matter how ticked off Bakugou was about his glory being snatched or whatever, everyone else had entrance exams too.  There would be time to complain about it later, or not.  Hideo kinda figured Bakugou would eventually appreciate the stress relief beating up Deku would bring even through high school.  He'd heard the hero course was tough.  He certainly took advantage of it now.  Enough that Hideo felt sort of bad about it, now and again.  

The swan dive dare had been a little messed up.  Sure, quirkless people usually killed themselves eventually, but let them do it at their own pace.  

Hideo sort of envisioned him, Bakugou, Shinozaki, and Kanemaru hanging out together on weekends, dragging along whatever new friends they'd managed to make at their new schools.  It'd be fun, hearing about Bakugou's glamorous life as a hero student, and Kanemaru's adventures at the local rich kid school.  

What happened was Kanemaru drifting away, and Bakugou dropping all three of them like a hot potato. 

It was–  Well, for the first few weeks, he'd been mad.  They hadn't been best friends or any sappy crap like that, but it was annoying to realize you'd been tolerated rather than appreciated.  But then he'd heard that UA had been attacked, he'd gotten some new friends, and Kanemaru started hanging out again when he figured out all the cigarette hookups at his fancy school were trash.  

And he was sort of looking forward to seeing people try to beat Bakugou up on national television.  

So there was that.  

But what he'd seen instead–

There was no way.  There was just no way.  

But there it was, on national television.  

Deku.

Useless, quirkless Deku.  In the sports festival.  In the third event.  

With a quirk.  

It had to be some kind of trick.  That's what he thought at first.  But it'd have to be one hell of a trick to fake a whole quirk like thag out of nowhere, and there was no way Deku was that smart.  

Maybe he'd been replaced or something.  Hideo had heard of people with body snatching quirks.  But, then, that'd be two quirks, and whatever urban legends said, Hideo wasn't dumb enough to believe in the quirk boogieman.  

Could he have been faking being quirkless?  The very thought made Hideo nauseous.  No.  No way.  Not a chance.  No one with power would tolerate that.  

There had to be another explanation.  

His phone was buzzing.  The group chat was going wild.  

He scanned through the messages.  Shinozaki was disgusting, but he had good ideas, sometimes, and Kanemaru got rumors from his rich kid friends that took much longer to reach Gungan High, and their other friends were more of the same, but maybe one of them could see what Hideo himself was missing.  

His eyes stopped on one of Shinozaki's texts.  

i bet its trigger

where would deku eve  get trigger, Hideo typed.  

idk but its not like you can but a quirk on the street

Theres a guy in my class whose quirk makez every1 atoung him sing in tune, wrote Kanemaru, maybe its like that

with strength like tgat?  r u serious rn noone like that ia gonna work for a quirkless deku unless he has more money than god its trigger ffs

But whered he get it?? asked Hideo.  And would it even worj on a omeone Quiklessm?m

u cab get trigger cheap if yu know where to look

And how the hell did Shinozaki know that?  He and Hideo weren't exactly squeaky clean, with the cigarettes and all, but trigger was something else.  Like heroin was before the dawn of quirks.  

deku prolly just has some bs weak asf quirk that hes juicing

That nauseous feeling came back, and this time, Hideo was able to identify the emotion fueling it as mostly anger.  Red, hot, roiling anger.  

It wasn't enough that Deku stole a spot at UA from someone who'd live past twenty, but he'd taken a hero spot?  And he'd done it with drugs like the cheater he was?

If Hideo had been allowed to take trigger during his entrance exams, he'd have gotten into a hero school, too!  Hell, maybe even UA, if Deku could do it.  Hideo, after all, had a quirk that could be used even without trigger!

weve dot tobdon somethin

*got to do

It only took a minute for Shinozaki to reply lik what??

idk tellthe police if it's a druf thing right? Or just tell ua

He flicked away from the chat and, hands still shaking with rage, started looking up how to file a police report.  

.

“And you think your former classmate is using trigger because…?”

“Because he didn't have a quirk like that before!” said Hideo, frustrated.  No one was listening to them.  

“UA's got a pretty great training program,” said the police officer at the desk, a bored-looking woman with fish scales around her eyes and ears.  She reached over to a small spray bottle and spritzed herself.  “Pick any one of those hero kids and you'll probably hear the same thing.”

“You don't get it,” said Hideo.  “We all thought he was quirkless.”

“Well, clearly not,” said the woman.

“Yeah, but don't you think that's a little suspicious, that he never used his quirk at all before, and now he comes out with that?”

“Yeah,” said Kanemaru, who was ridiculously intimidated by the police station for a rich guy.  Shinozaki hadn't even come, claiming he was too high to be anywhere near a police station.  “What he said.  Deku never used his quirk at school or anything.”

The woman raised a scaly eyebrow.  “Did it occur to you that your classmate was simply following the law against public quirk use?  Or that he didn't want to use a quirk that broke his bones.  Quirk counselor probably told him not to use it.”

“He never went to the quirk counselor at our school.”

“You know private counselors are a thing right?  I'd be seeing a specialist for a quirk like that.”  She leaned back in her chair and looked up at them.  “Do you really think a school full of heroes wouldn't notice something like that?  Save yourselves some stress and go home.”

“But–”

“Seriously.  Go home.”

.

“Any luck?” asked Shinozaki, whose eyes were indeed bloodshot.  

“No,” said Hideo.  

“And we haven't heard back from the school, either,” said Kanemaru mournfully.

“Figures,” said Shinozaki.  “The police suck.”  He twirled a blunt between his fingers, then lengthened them to offer it to Hideo.  “Want a hit.”

“No,” said Hideo, wrinkling his nose against the rancid smell.  

“Yes,” said Kanemaru, snatching it.  “God, that sucked.  What do we do now?”

“I don't know,” said Hideo.  “We've got to get some kind of proof, otherwise the police won't take us seriously.”

“We could follow him,” suggested Kanemaru.  

“Hell, no,” said Shinozaki.  “You remember what chasing him was like in middle school.”

“We caught him whenever we wanted to,” said Kanemaru.  

“Hell, yeah, we did.  But he always knew when we were following him, and if he's pulling this off, he's not using where anyone can see.”

“What then?” demanded Hideo, frustrated.  “Break into his house?  Find his stash?”

Shinozaki snorted.  “When his mom works from home?  Putting Deku in jail isn't much good if we're there, too.”

“How the hell do you know Deku's mom works from home?” asked Hideo.

“Unlike you, I listened to Bakugou's ranting.  She's a programmer or something dumb like that.”

Kanemaru perked up.  “Maybe we could ask Bakugou!” 

“After he ditched us?  If he hasn't done anything yet, he's not gonna.  Give me back my weed already, Kanemaru.”

Reluctantly, Kanemaru returned the blunt.  

“There is one way, though,” said Shinozaki as he took another hit.  “It'd be real risky, though, and it'd cost ya.”

“Yeah?” asked Hideo.  “What's that?”

“Well,” said Shinozaki, “someone with a habit has a different reaction to someone taking trigger for the first time.  We get that on camera, and it's all over for him.”

“I thought we couldn't follow him,” said Kanemaru. 

“I'm not talking about following him, moron.  I'm talking about an ambush.  The freak still has to go home sometime, doesn't he?”

“Wait,” said Hideo.  “You want us to, what, pin down someone high on trigger, shoot him up with even more, and then just stand around filming him?  Who's the moron here, exactly?  Where would we even get trigger?  It's not like weed or tobacco.  We can't bribe a college student to go into a trigger dispensary.”

“The trigger's the easy part,” said Shinozaki.  “So long as Kanemaru can cough up the money.  I know a guy.”

“I'm not fighting a guy on trigger!” said Kanemaru, shaking his head.  “That's worse than roids!  And he's got to be doing those, too, right?  And he's got combat training or whatever, right?”

“Freaking chill already.  Quirk or not, it's still crybaby Deku.  No one's asking you to fight him, anyway.  What’re you going to do?  Pop out your eyes at him?”

“It's not like your quirk is much better,” said Hideo, trying to channel the police officer's cool skepticism.  “I'm not fighting anyone alone.”  According to his dad, that was the height of stupidity.  You always brought backup.  

“How is it that I'm the highest one here and the only one that can think?  We aren't fighting anyone.”

“You know someone who takes hits or something, too?”

“No, idiot.  I'm talking about your after school book club.  How'd you think they'll react to someone who's basically quirkless putting one over on people with natural talent?”

Hideo's spine had gone as stiff as a board.  “How the hell do you know about that?”  Even his parents didn't know about that!  Not that his parents knew anything.  

“I listen, duh.  To spell it all out, my proposal is that moneybags here gives me cash to get the trigger, then our literature lover can get his meta friends riled up and ready to do the delivery, and we stand well clear with cameras rolling.”

“I don't know…” said Hideo.  He was totally behind liberation philosophy, people should be allowed to use their quirks to their fullest extent, but he was pretty sure that the people most likely to help with this kind of thing were the radical hierarchists, and they skeeved Hideo out.   

“You never know anything,” complained Shinozaki.  “And you say that I'm not civic-minded.  Whatever.  Something awful's going to happen, and neandertoe there will be right in the middle of it and you'll come crawling back to me and my plan.”

.

Hosu was burning.  

Hosu was burning, and Stain had almost killed another hero.

Hosu was burning, Stain had almost killed another hero, and right in the middle of Stain's insane motive rant video was Deku.  

Hideo picked up his phone and called Shinozaki.  

.

Izuku wasn't so far removed from who he'd been in junior high that he couldn't tell when he was being followed.  However, unlike when he'd been in junior high, there was more than one reason to follow him.  In junior high, the only people that followed him were bullies, teenaged and otherwise, looking for a soft target.  

But now?  It could be anything from sports festival enthusiasts to the police (he had just broken a bunch of quirk use laws) to one of the villains he'd whirlpooled at the USJ, out for revenge.  

The only people he was sure weren't following him were Kacchan and All Might.  Kacchan, because stealth was one of the few things he was definitively bad at, and All Might, because being stalked by the number one hero had a very distinctive feeling, and this wasn't it.  Besides, the figures he saw ducking out of his line of sight didn't have All Might's proportions, and he was almost a hundred percent sure that All Might only came in two shapes.

But they hadn't done any units on stealth or counterespionage in class, yet, so all Izuku had to draw on in terms of solution to his problems were his hit-and-miss strategies from junior high.  He couldn't even call for help, because the fight with Stain had trashed his phone.  He was hoping he could convince his mom to replace it with a mid-range hero model, but he hadn't quite managed yet. 

So, his plan was as follows:

Play dumb as long as possible.  If he started running, so would they.  The closer he got to home before they closed in, the better.  

Keep an eye out for patrolling heroes, policemen, or even convenience stores with sufficiently intimidating cashiers.  He didn't think there were any suitable ones at the moment.  The conbini closest to Izuku's house was staffed by a jerk who always tried to steal Izuku's change from now until midnight, but he might still come across one. 

In case of being cut off, don't run randomly if there's another choice.  Running randomly let the pursuers pick the route.  Izuku knew paths, shortcuts, and hazards only people familiar with the area would know.  He should take advantage of that. 

Get home and call for help.  Failing that, get to Kacchan's.  If it was just bullies, they'd give up.  If it was a more sinister group…

An unusually large group of older teens turned onto the road in front of Izuku, all wearing hoodies and oversized medical masks.  Izuku promptly turned off the road, jogging through an alley and briskly striding onward.  

If he wasn't already in trouble over the fight with Stain, he might have decided to use Full Cowl to jump his way home… except, what would he do if he accidentally ran into a person and hurt them, or broke someone's windows or something like that?  

Maybe, if he went to the park, then cut through the thrift store in that one basement…  No, if there were as many people following him as he thought, they'd be able to cover all the exits, even there.   On the other hand, if the nicer person was at the counter, he might let Izuku use his phone. 

He wished there was somewhere he could just hide until the people following him gave up, some building or business he could duck into, but that would require people who were actually willing to intervene in a beating, and most of the people around here… weren't.  Some of them would call the police or hero hotline, but (with a few notable exceptions, none of whom lived or worked in Musutafu or its suburbs) even the best heroes couldn't just appear as soon as they were called.  That's why they patrolled. 

Speaking of patrols, finding one of those would also be good.  But Izuku's mental timetable put the nearest one a mile east, if Kamui Woods was his usual amount late and not extra late, which was also possible.  Kamui Woods was pretty popular, so he got stopped by fans regularly.  He didn't usually come this way, anyway.  The main villain hotspot in the area was the train station.  

Mount Lady sometimes did surprise patrols, to boost her image, but Izuku hadn't figured out the pattern of those yet, if there was one, and he didn't have his phone to check if she was doing one today. 

Although, if he had his phone, he could just call…  Who would he call?  Not his mom, most people who were okay with beating Izuku up wouldn't hesitate to beat uo his mom, too.  Kacchan was still at his internship for another day, and wouldn't have picked up the phone for Izuku, anyway.  He wasn’t sure where most of his other classmates lived.  All Might would come get him if he called, and All Might wasn't busy as All Might - he had a car - but Izuku really didn't want to bother him.  Calling the police, well, they wouldn't do anything unless he was actively getting beaten up, which looped right back around to the time thing.  

Izuku had always thought it was remarkable, how fast you could get the crap kicked out of you if enough feet were willing to do the kicking.  

At this point, Izuku had counted six sets of willing feet.  Or two, if they both had shapeshifting quirks.  He shouldn't rule something like that out.  

But he had the sinking feeling that there were more than two.  Or six, for that matter.  A lot more.  

He cut through the ground floor of an apartment building, ignoring how the doorman swore at him.  He went out the service entrance.  He wasn't too far from home, now.  

But before he'd gone another street, he'd picked up another tail.  Or regained one.  He wasn’t sure.  

Whoever or whatever was behind this was much more organized than the bullies and muggers who went after him in high school.  He was- well, he'd already been scared, but now he was concerned, too, and that was a different kind of emotion entirely.  Sort of.  Probably.  

When he got home, he'd call All Might.  All of the really bad organizations who'd want to target Izuku would be connected to All Might anyway.  

After this next corner, he just had to go one more block, and then–

Oh.  

Somehow, Izuku hadn’t considered that the people following him might already know where he lived, and be waiting there.  

He hesitated for only a minute as his brain registered a group too large for him to take on even with One for All.  

There wasn't anyone for him to protect here but himself.  

He ran.  

New plan: Evade capture.  Acquire a phone.  Call the emergency line.  Use One for All only if he was backed into a corner; he didn't think the police would be amused by a second quirk use incident less than a week after the first.  

Hands reached out towards him.  He ducked away from several, and almost ran into another, tipped with sharp claws.  They raked over his arm, barely avoiding drawing blood.  The owner of the hand laughed, and another person kicked at Izuku's ankles.  

Izuku jumped over the feet, and he flipped the next person who tried to grab him.  He could hear the crowd - and it was a big enough group to call it a crowd - jeering and calling out to him.  It was nothing really identifying, unfortunately.  They were calling him Deku, quirkless, and a fake, but the groups of people who would know to call him those things included both former classmates and incredibly serious villains.  

The sidewalk underneath Izuku's feet crumbled, and his heart leapt into his throat - Shigaraki?  No.  Both the pattern of destruction and its products were different.  Shigaraki powdered things.  The concrete here was still in recognizable chunks.  

He caught himself with his other foot, adjusted for the new terrain, and kept running.  A volley of dark beams forced him to swerve and duck and turn onto another street.  He thought there was a conbini up ahead– no, that was the next street down, but that apartment building left its ground floor open–

The broken concrete under his feet started to twitch and levitate.  He changed direction again, now running on the street itself.  There were hardly any cars here, even on a normal day.  Today, the streets were dead, otherwise he'd try waving one down.  How had they managed that?  Bribery?  Stolen construction and detour signs?  He used his backpack to shield himself when the levitating chunks of concrete pelted him, then dropped it as he was strafed by a spurt of fire.  

He hissed as he patted out his sleeves, then reflexively punched the next masked face that appeared in his vision.  His muscles and tendons in that arm pulsed with pain, still not entirely recovered from their ordeals in both the sports festival and the fight with Stain.  He switched tactics for the next person who tried to grab him, sweeping their feet.

There were some really cool quirks on display here, but they all felt rather… unpolished.  Unpracticed.  It kind of pointed away from these people being career villains.  But then, so did their ages.  Some of these people were adults, but not many. 

That didn't mean they weren't working for worse villains. 

A pop of compressed air went off to his left, and a pair of wires went shooting after him.  They had tasers, too?  

Something slammed into the ground around him, creating deep circular indentations.�� Telekinesis?  An invisible giant?  No, gravity manipulation.  Izuku stumbled and was forced to use One for All just to get back up, and then he was hit over the back of the head with something.  

He lashed out, caught flesh, and struggled away from the grip.  But he'd lost what little lead he'd had on the main body of the pack.  They were circling, now, cutting off escape routes.  Could he use One for All and Full Cowling to get up on a roof?  Not without fighting people with wall-crawling quirks.  Still, that was fewer people than he was dealing with now.  He tensed, getting ready to jump, and was suddenly hit with extreme vertigo, intense enough to drop him to his knees. 

When it passed, he looked up to see a foot coming towards his face.  He wasn't able to dodge.  

The only good thing about the next few minutes was that One for All kept them from pinning him.  He was hit with dozens of quirks and dozens of feet.  He pushed them off, but he didn't have a good idea of how much of One for All was too much for a person to handle without serious injury. 

But then someone - someone with at least a mild strength quirk - got hold of his right arm and twisted. 

The world went wobbly, and the next thing Izuku knew, he was on the ground, restrained by a truly painful submission hold and multiple quirks, including the vertigo and gravity quirks. 

“Come on, bring it over!”  The movement in the crowd became more purposeful.  

Left hand, pinky finger.  Letting it heal naturally if Recovery Girl wouldn't help would suck, but not as much as letting these people do what they wanted to him, he was sure.  He flicked his finger and the wind pressure pushed back the nearest members of the crowd, sending them toppling into one another.  Izuku staggered to his feet, still dizzy.  Up was the only way out, but he wasn't sure he could aim–

Something sharp sunk into his right bicep, and he punched the person holding it.  Which, ow, his pinky.  

He pulled the sharp thing out of his arm, which wasn't the best first aid decision he could have made but he was still learning.  A hypodermic needle? 

A minute later, the needle fell from Izuku's nerveless fingers.  It didn't fall far.  When had he fallen down again?  

There was a burning sensation spreading down his arm and across his shoulders.  It started as a surface-level itch, but then it went more and deeper, and–

Izuku had thought he knew pain.  Shattering three of his four limbs in one go at the entrance exam, breaking his legs at the USJ, repeatedly breaking his fingers at the sports festival– He hadn’t done those things for fun.  He thought he knew burning, too, from ten years as Kacchan's punching bag.

This was different.  This wasn't just his skin burning, melting, his blood was on fire, his bones.  He was cracking open with every beat of his too-fast heart, something terrible trying to get out.  

This was agony, all the way down to his soul.  

.

Hideo was feeling pretty good about things, actually.  Elated, almost, like on a good roller coaster ride.  Yeah, there were risks, but this was kind of like hero work, wasn't it?  Giving the bad guy a beatdown and exposing him for the whole world to see.  

As soon as they got the needle in him, everyone stepped off, giving Deku room for his freak out and Hideo and the others a clear shot at the action with their phones.  

“Crap,” said Shinozaki.  “Crap, crap, crap.”

“What?” asked Hideo, distracted by how Deku was writhing on the ground.  It almost looked like he was fighting himself.  Freak.

“It's not like I got him the good stuff that goes down smooth, but that's not–  If he's a user, he shouldn't–  That's not what he should be acting like!”

Hideo's good mood vanished fast.  “Wait, you mean he wasn't on trigger…?”

“It's fine, it's fine, we just can't post this anywhere, we've got to stay quiet, it's not like he'll be able to identify us–  We didn't touch him.”

But that wasn't the imminent problem, was it, if Deku had a quirk like that?  If he had a quirk like that, and they'd just given him a shot of trigger?  A quirk booster?  

“Uh, um, guys?” said Kanemaru.  “When you say don't post it…”

“Yeah,” said Shinozaki, backing away, “I mean don't post it anywhere, forget that it happened.  Never speak of it again.  All that good stuff.”

“But I, um, I sort of… livestreaming.  I'm livestreaming.”

“You idiot–”

“Hey!  Hey!  Get away from my friend, you creeps!”

.

Ochako flopped down on her bed, doing her best impression of bonelessness.  Her internship with Gunhead had gone great, but she was so frickin’ tired.  She was glad it ended half a day before everyone else's - except for those guys who got caught up in Hosu, she guessed.  Iida was still in the hospital, but apparently Deku had gone home last night. 

She sighed.  She'd text him, but he'd emailed everyone saying his phone broke, so that was out.  So… she'd probably just scroll through the internet… it was a peanut butter and crackers for dinner sort of night…

Her phone rang.  She frowned at the number, but answered.  

“Uraraka!  Dieu merci, I was not sure you would answer!”

Ochako sat up.  “Aoyama?  What's wrong?”

“It is Midoriya!  I have found this, this livestream, of a bunch of gangsters chasing him through the streets.  And I call the police, but they do not get there so fast, and all our classmates, they are on their internships, and he must be near home–”

“Send me the link,” said Ochako, slamming her feet into her shoes and grabbing the can of pepper spray her mom had gotten her when she first started to live alone.  “Jiro and Mineta should still be in town, too, they got internships with local heroes.”  Who else was still around?  Ochako knew about Jiro, because she'd considered interning with Death Arms, too, and she remembered where Mineta was going, because he'd been gross about it, but there had to be others still around.  “You call them, okay?”

“Oui, Uraraka, I am sorry I cannot help more–”

“It's fine, it's fine,” said Ochako, jogging down the stairs outside her apartment.  She didn't remember where Aoyama was having his internship.  “The police, they're sending a hero, right?”

“I do not know.  They did not say, only that it would take time, that they have to confirm, that they do not know where this is, this video.”

She reached the bottom of the stairs.  “Okay, okay, I've got to go now, but you'll send the link to the video?”

“Oui, it is sent.  Be careful, Uraraka.”

“I will.  Bye.”

She hung up, then, and quickly navigated to the link Aoyama had sent her.  She swallowed back the anger she felt when she saw masked and hooded adults grappling a clearly-injured Deku, and started scanning the video for landmarks and street signs.  There had to be something. 

She rewound slowly, slowly.  The street signs were too small and blurry in the video, she couldn't read them.  

Wait.  

She scrolled forward.  That apartment building had its name on the front in huge kana.  She plugged the name into her maps app.  It wasn't too far from here.  If she ran– 

She was moving before she finished the thought.  She knew where it was, where Deku was.  

What she'd do when she got there… she wasn't sure.  There were at least thirty guys in the video.  But people who did stuff like this were ultimately cowards.  Sometimes, if they knew someone was watching them, if they knew someone saw what they were doing, they'd stop.  That's how Ochako's parents stopped a yakuza beating, once.  They'd just gone out with a broom, a baseball bat, and a phone connected to the police. 

… there had been a lot fewer of them, too, though, if she remembered correctly.  

It didn't matter.  If she had to use her quirk, she'd use it.  It'd be her first public quirk use citation, and if that meant she was suspended or expelled… it didn't matter.  What kind of hero would she be, if she didn't do her best to help a friend? 

She turned the last corner and saw the knot of villains.  She couldn't see Izuku from here, but he was visible on the livestream clearly enough.  

She dialed the emergency line.  “I'm on Obi Street, near the Millenium Building,” she said, once the operator had answered.  “There's a group of thirty villains beating up a student.”

“How do you know they're villains, ma'am?”

“They're using their quirks.” 

“Understood, I'm sending your location to the nearest hero.  Please find a place to shelter until they arrive.  Do not approach the villains, and stay on the line.”

Normally, Ochako would have followed instructions.  Honest.  But the villains moved strangely, and it was Deku.  He was basically her best friend, especially since Sakura back home stopped talking to her for stupid reasons.  

“Hey!  Hey!  Get away from my friend, you creeps!”

“Ma'am--" said the operator, but Ochako wasn't interested.  

Some of the villains turned towards her.  Others, apparently, hadn't heard her.  

“Who the hell're you?” demanded one of them, who was clearly used to using his mass to loom.  Joke was on him.  It didn't matter how much mass he had when she could use her quirk to negate it.  “Some kind of pervert slut who gets off taking it from subhuman freaks?”

Ochako didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't.  “I have the police on the phone, so you'd better get lost!”

“Ma'am, please–”

“You think those fascist pigs scare us?  We're part of the new revolution, the–”

The big man stumbled and looked back.  The other villains jostled into each other, disorganized, and for the first time since looking at the livestream, Ochako saw Deku.  

He looked terrible.  Of course he looked terrible.  He was being beaten by a small mob.  He was bruised and bloodied and panting.  

His tongue was black.  

There was something else black, too.  Something like a gnarled, black root, growing from Deku's tattered sleeve and wrapping around the villain's ankle. 

“No,” said Deku, except it didn't sound very much like him at all.  

A thick, opaque fog exploded into being.  And then the screaming started.  

.

Hands gathered Izuku up.  Not gentle, exactly, but careful.  Not hurting.  They pulled him through the dark where lights flickered, uncertainly, like memories.  He opened his eyes and saw their faces, glowing, like fires that refused to be extinguished.  He knew them, but he didn't.  They could have been his, but they weren’t. 

“Ninth,” theh said, they whispered, they chanted.  There was power, there, burning and immense, and behind that power was purpose, but it was distorted, warped and shredded around the edges.  

This was not how this moment was supposed to go.  

There should have been triumph.  This should have been sacred.  A sharing of memories, a meeting of minds, a point of convergence, of singularity.  

How dare they?

How dare they–

–trap them - poison this - forget history - throw away this peace - hurt the boy - call them useless - touch Toshi's child - young Midoriya - say those things to Uraraka?

Uraraka was here?

Hush.  

Or–

Listen.  

Feel this.  Every strength they ever had.  Every memory that could aid their task.  Every skill, every scrap of knowledge, every quirk, every second of every year spent running-hiding-fighting.  All of it, brought together and finally expressed.  

They knew about trigger.  They had seen it, in all its gruesome forms.  Its purpose was to strengthen quirks, but the side effects - bodies twisted, quirks out of control, brains working at a fraction of their normal capacity.

One for All was a quirk.  A strange quirk, a difficult to understand quirk, but still a quirk, and everything within it was part of a quirk, and every thought they had happened in the brains of their Eighth and Ninth.  

At the moment, they were insane.  And they knew it.  And they didn't care.  

The purpose of One for All was to stop All for One, but that kind of specificity was a human foible, not something so easily encoded in the core of a quirk.  The end to which it put itself was the very destruction of evil and the eternal rebirth of hope.  Its favorite means was violence.  

“What are you talking about?”

Izuku tilted his head to one side.  Had he been talking?  Mumbling?  Muttering?  He should probably work on that.  But it didn't seem to matter so much when Blackwhip and Fifth were whispering to him the secrets of how to use rage to rip an enemy limb from limb, and Danger Sense hovered around him like a protective halo, Hikage watching his back.  

They were so, so, angry that it had spilled back over into serenity, like an overflow error on a computer.  

A fist came flying for him out of the swirling vapors of Smokescreen.  As soon as it brushed his cheek, Gear Shift grudgingly reversed its momentum.  Second did not approve of their current stronghold, but that did not mean he would permit an attack.

There was a snap, and then a scream, the man– no, the boy.  He couldn't be more than a year out of high school, if that.  The boy grasped at his broken wrist, howling.  

Izuku hadn't even done anything.  It was his own fault.  

Smokescreen whispered of an attempted escape, and Blackwhip dragged her back.  They weren't done with them yet.  

He didn't want to kill them or anything.  They just wanted to hurt them a little.  Ten years of quirklessness… twice.  And four lifetimes on the other side, running from people who thought meta powers were curses, or a symptom of a disease.   It was the same kind of bigotry, just reversed.  

There was just so much pain.  It hurt so much.  In his chest, in their head, in their hearts.  

Maybe if these little monsters felt some of it, they wouldn't do it again.  Maybe some of it would go away.  

.

Hideo stumbled through fog bank after fog bank, and started to wonder if he should call his mom.  He didn't always get on with his parents, but, if he was going to die…

There was a sort of scraping sound.  Then, footsteps.  They had to be close, close enough to touch.  The heavy fog dampened sound eerily.  Hideo froze, hardly daring to breathe. 

“Stop it!  Stay back!  How are you still moving?”

“Your vertigo quirk has its weaknesses, although it's useful for combat otherwise.  I'd ask you why you aren't trying to be a hero, but it's clear the problem is temperament.  Or, well, your entire personality, to be quite honest.”

There was a thump, a cracking sound and a shriek.  

“Stop!  Stop!  What do you want?  I can– my family has money.  Connections.  We can get you anything you want!  Just stop!”

“There is nothing we want more than you never doing anything like this again.”

The voice sounded like Deku's, but the cadence was all wrong.  Deku was a meek, shivering, stuttering nerd, and Hideo would have sworn that he'd stay that way, no matter what drugs they gave him.  

“I won't!  I won't!”

“It's nice of you to offer, but the only way people like you stop is of they're forced to stop, or if they're made to regret what they've done.  A lot.  All the time.”

“No, no, please!  No!”

There was an ugly cracking noise, and then a wet thump.

“Pathetic.”

Oh, god.  Oh, god, what kind of quirk was this, even?  There was no way Deku had a quirk like this all this time. 

A horrible thought came to him then.  What if it wasn't Deku?  Body-snatching quirks were a thing.  Hell, Bakugou had been targeted by one of those guys just last year.  And Deku had no friends, basically no family.  Who would notice when he started acting different?  Other than them, apparently. 

That was actually kind of sad.  Hideo would probably have had more pity to spare for Deku, though, if he wasn't using it all on himself. 

There hadn't been any sounds over there for a while, now.  Maybe it was safe to move again? 

“Hello, Hidaka Hideo,” said Deku's voice, right in his ear.  “It's been a long time.”

.

Kyoka wasn't entirely sure what was going on.  She had only been on the phone with Aoyama for a few confused seconds before the large-scale villain attack alarm went off, and what Death Arms said to her just after hadn't helped matters.  

Midoriya?  Taking trigger?  That didn't make any sense at all.  He was friends with Iida.  Totally straightedge.  

But apparently, he'd been given trigger.  As in, drugged, by a gang trying to beat him up.   Which, honestly, made even less sense.  Giving trigger to a guy you were fighting with…  It was like throwing a pair of brass knuckles to a guy you just hit, and daring them to do one better.  It was stupid. 

It was also on video, so Kyoka had to admit that some people were just that dumb, as unbelievable as that sounded. 

Whatever the Mensa squad's original goal had been, the result was… this.  A fat, billowing cloud that occasionally sprouted writhing black tentacles and faint but disturbing screams.  She didn't know what kind of quirks could combine to make something like this, and she didn't care.  She wasn't Midoriya.  The villains must have gotten spooked by Midoriya's quirk or something.  She just had to hope that they hadn't gotten spooked because Midoriya had broken all the bones in his body.  

What had happened at the sports festival had been… hard to watch.  

“Alright,” said Death Arms, “before we go in there, let's get some things down.  Earphone Jack, this Midoriya is your classmate?”

“Yeah,” said Kyoka.  

“He's not going to be himself, jumped up on trigger.  Don't try to get near him, or any of these villains.  He won't listen to reason, and I'll bet that these guys've been taking trigger, too, for a quirk effect like this. You're going to be flanked the whole time by these two,” he said, nodding towards a pair of sidekicks.  “The only reason we're bringing you with us is because we need someone who can navigate in all that crap, not for fighting.  Understood?”

Kyoka nodded.  “Understood.”

“Everyone else, go for restraint over injury, where possible.  We don't know if there are civilians other than Midoriya caught up in this.”

He spent another couple of seconds arranging the marching order, but then he finally gave them the order to move in.  

Inside the cloud, the air was cool, and drier than Kyoka had expected.  Not like fog, more like smoke.  Somehow, the screaming she'd heard on the outside was quieter in here as well.  Must be some quirk…  

“Group of three, that way,” she said, pointing.  

They took care of the villains quickly.  They didn't seem much older than Kyoka, and their quirk control was much worse.  They were tied up in class-C restraints in seconds.  

“We're going to have to carry them back out,” said Death Arms with a grimace.  “We can't just leave them here.”

“Oh, thank god,” said one of the villains.  “You guys are actual heroes!”

“As opposed to what?” asked Death Arms, gruffly.  

“The punk is probably talking about me.”

Kyoka jumped and turned.  Whoever that was, they'd managed to sneak up on them while making no sound at all.  Not even breathing.

The man was bald, wearing leather, and the same sort of rugged as Death Arms.  He also sort of… faded into the smoky clouds around him, almost as if he were made of them.  Even accounting for mutations, his smile was a bit too wide, his eyes a little too blank. 

The black, lashing tentacles around him, however, looked very real, especially when they scraped along the already-battered asphalt near his cloudy feet.  

“And who're you?” asked Death Arms, readying his fists.”

“They should have stayed away from our kid,” said the man without moving his mouth.  Then, in Midoriya's voice,  “It hurts! “

“Where-” started Death Arms, but the man was opening his mouth, wrist and wider.  Too wide.  Inside was a perfectly black hole. 

A faint rushing noise was the only warning before a dozen of those black tentacles came pouring out of the man's mouth.  They jostled and grabbed and wrapped around, and by the time Kyoka got her wits about her again, she and the rest of the heroes had been deposited outside the cloud. 

Death Arms looked shaken.  “I think we might need backup for this one.”

.

Ochako caught another glimpse of yellow gloves and a fluttering cape.  It was a hero.  It had to be, even if Ochako didn't recognize her.  Now, if only Ochako could get her attention…

She pushed through another bank of smoke.  The smoke was… weird.  When it first appeared, it looked like it was coming from Deku, but that couldn't be right.  He had a strength enhancement.  Like All Might.  But then, those black root things weren't a normal part of Deku's quirk, either.  

Maybe it was like Tsuyu's quirk.  She had a lot of different things she could do, and you normally wouldn't describe it as a jumping quirk instead of a frog mutation, but it did let her jump high.  She just… wasn't sure why Deku would do that.  Unless he didn't know?  

Ugh, all these things could wait until later, when her friend wasn't in trouble. 

“Miss Hero!” she tried again.  “Please wait!”

And this time, to Ochako's surprise, she did.  

She was tall - but not as tall as Ochako first thought.  She was floating above the ground, and the way the smoke clung to her…

“It's yours, then, the smoke?” asked Ochako, a little out of breath.  

“Not exactly,” she said, in a voice as thin as the smoke. 

A partner, then?  “The person they were beating up was my friend, do you know where he is?  Is he safe?”

The hero inclined her head, and then dissolved, the smoke that made up her body tearing away from itself.  The clouds behind her patted as well, revealing a large crater, and–

“Deku!”

She hopped down into the crater, avoiding broken electrical cables and gushing pipes.  

Deku looked even worse than he had minutes ago.  Red and green sparks danced over his body, and his skin was a ghostly gray.  He was shaking, and clutching at the ground, raw fingertips digging deep grooves into the remaining concrete.  

But before she could get to him, smoke swirled out of his body, and two more figures coalesced out of it.  A slender white-haired man in a t-shirt and loose pants, and a shorter, younger man in a long, high-collared coat that reminded Ochako of Best Jeanist's costume. 

“Wait a moment,” said the white-haired one.  

“Why?” demanded Ochako.  “Who are you people?”

“It's people like this that give my brother so much power,” said the man, which answered nothing. “They could use their abilities to help, but instead they act out of jealousy and envy.”

“Unless there's been a big change recently,” said the other man, “that dosage of Japanese trigger lasts for three minutes, maximum.”

Ochako looked down at her dead phone.  How long had it been?

“Wait a moment,” repeated the white-haired man.  “There is still justice to be done, there are still things to be made right.”

“I'm sure you're tough.  Are you tougher than concrete?” asked the other man.  “We don't remember that.”

“Wait a moment.  I wish my brother were here, so I could pound his stupid face in.”

“We really, really don't.”

“Uh,” said Ochako.  Were these guys, like, all there?  “There are villains here who tried to hurt him, so–”

“Wait a moment,” said the white-haired man.  He sounded frustrated.  “Wait a moment.  They are being discouraged.”

“Vehemently.”

“Wait a moment.  He won't remember this.  Tell him we will speak again.”

“We'll try, anyway.”

Ochako looked between the two of them.  Maybe she could run by them… Were their bodies even solid? 

Deku shuddered, and the force behind the movement sent more cracks through the concrete, deepened the crater.  Ochako threw up her arm to protect her eyes from dust. 

When she lowered her arms again, the figures of the two men were dissipating back into smoke, and the smoke itself was wisping away.  Deku was lying still, now, eyes closed, breathing heavily.  Ochako checked him carefully for quirk effects, but didn't see any, and approached. 

“Deku?”

He didn't respond.  According to the first aid course she'd taken to boost her chances of being accepted at UA, she shouldn't move him unless there was imminent danger, in case of broken bones or neck injuries.  The pipes and wires… that situation would probably hold for a while longer.  The villains…

She climbed back out of the crater and looked around.  She could see both sides of the street, now, even if it was hazy.  The glass in most of the nearby windows was broken.  The street itself and the sidewalks were gravel.  One streetlight had been knocked over.  

And scattered all over were the prone forms of the villains.  They didn't look like they were moving.  Ochako stared at the nearest one, frightened, until she saw that they were still breathing.  So she should stay with Deku until first responders got there.  Hopefully, that would be soon.

Her phone chirped as it came back to life, whatever quirk effect keeping it inoperable disappearing with the smoke. She looked down at it, briefly.  It was an older model, and usually took a minute or longer to turn back on all the way. 

She scanned the street again, squinting to see through the thinning smoke, and, oh thank goodness.  That was Death Arms, wasn't it?  And Jiro!  She waved frantically.  

This whole thing had lasted only a few minutes, but it had felt like forever. 

.

In other news, the large-scale disruption in residential Musutafu today occurred when a group of thirty-two villains chased down and injected a UA student with trigger.  The villains were mostly high school and college students with otherwise clean records.  According to Musutafu PD, the villains believed the student was somehow using trigger to fake having a quirk.  A statement released by UA with the permission of the student's guardian not only refutes those claims, but includes select medical data from the student's most recent hospital visit, only days before.  These records show no evidence of the student having ever taken any form of performance enhancing drug.  The student was the only civilian injured in the event, and is recovering at an undisclosed location.  The police are investigating the possibility of classifying the incident as a hate crime.  Now, Ms. Long with the weather–

.

Izuku pried his eyes open blearily.  His head was pounding, his bones ached,  and his mouth tasted like he'd licked Dagobah Beach.  Before he'd cleaned it up.  Where was he and what was he doing there?  

He blinked a few times.  Actually, that ceiling looked familiar…

“Ah!” said Recovery Girl, who was suddenly in his field of vision.  “You're awake.”

Before Izuku could ask what had happened, she was running through a cognitive test.  Despite his confusion, he answered her questions as best he could, and she didn't seem disappointed, so he must have gotten a good grade.  Was that something you could get on a cognitive test?

“What is the last thing you remember before waking up here?” she asked, finally.  

“Uh, um,” said Izuku.  “I used one of the gyms at the school… here, I mean… for physical therapy stuff.  Then sat in on one of the support classes - that was really cool - then, um, the train… and I was walking home…  Was I hit by a car?” he guessed.  

Recovery Girl sighed.  “You were attacked by villains and injected with trigger.  Trigger heavily cut with other drugs, no less.”

“What?!” said Izuku trying to sit up.  Recovery Girl pushed him back down.  

“The villains were all captured.  They won't be doing anything like that again.”  She set a bowl of broth down on the table attached to Izuku's bed.  

“But did I– What did I–?”  Even if he didn't remember anything, trigger made people do all sorts of weird stuff.  And One for All wasn't an ordinary quirk.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Recovery Girl.  “You focus on recovering your stamina, so we can do something about all those microfractures you have.”

“I thought– I thought you said you wouldn't treat me anymore,” said Izuku, bewildered.  

“I never–” Recovery Girl stopped, pressed her lips together.  “What I meant to say, at the end of the sports festival, is that I won't be able to heal you with my quirk if you keep getting injuries like that.  There's a limit to what can be healed, even with quirks, as you well know.”

Izuku thought back to All Might's wound, and shuddered.  Which.  Ow.  

“If you can keep that down,” said Recovery Girl, nodding to the broth, “I'll see about letting some of your visitors in.”

“Like Mom?  And, um, All Might?” guessed Izuku.

“Your mother is here already,” said Recovery Girl, nodding at the green-haired lump in the neighboring bed.  “Just got her to take a nap herself, after she spent all night fretting.  But, yes, All Might isn’t above using his position to get to the top of your visitor list.  Although he isn't the only one on it.  All your classmates called in from their internships, and I had to ban that girl from the support course.  I won’t have untested support equipment around my patients, no matter what the medical applications are.  Uraraka and Jiro from your class were also here earlier…”

Izuku listened as she bustled around the medical wing and continued to chatter about his visitors and well-wishers, and felt… warm.  Later, he was sure there would be consequences beyond missing memories, sore muscles, and broken bones, but for now… it was nice to know he had people who cared.  He didn't think he'd ever get tired of that. 

With a shaky hand, he picked up the soup spoon and started on the broth. 

.

“Mr. Hidaka,” said the lawyer, more to Hideo's father than Hideo, even if the lawyer was technically representing Hideo, “I'm afraid to say that the government's case is ironclad.  Between the livestream video, the messages to the other defendants, being found at the scene of the crime, the evidence of quirk use…  The best we can hope for is the young villain diversion program, but that's only possible if you plead guilty and implicate any other co-conspirators.  Otherwise, you're old enough to be charged as an adult, and even if they don't do that, juvenile villain facilities aren't great places to be.”

“But Deku–” started Hideo.  

“Hideo,” growled his father.  

“I was attacked–”

“Hideo, shut up.  You'll take the guilty plea and hope you get it in before any of rhe cretins you call friends.  And if you say anything about this Midoriya boy again…”

Hideo swallowed and nodded.  Goddamned Deku.  How come he got everything good, and Hideo was in here?  It wasn't fair.  It wasn't fair.  Goddamned Deku.  

But what was he supposed to do?  He wasn't an actual villain.  He just wanted things to be right. 

“Fine,” he said.  “I'll do it.”

“Great!” said the lawyer, gathering his papers.  “I just have to talk to the prosecuter.”

Goddamn Deku.  Why couldn't Hideo have his life?

[soleminisanction]

I think my least favorite internet criticism of Meghan Fitzmartin is the idea that she "just wanted to push her ship," meaning Tim/Bernard. Because honestly? I think that's straight-up bullshit.

Having read the Urban Legends stories, the Pride Special reprint, Tim Drake: Robin and Young Justice Dark Crisis, plus what interviews and social media she's been doing as these comics came out, there is zero evidence to me to back that statement up. If that were true, the Urban Legends stories probably would've been more about bringing Bernard back and re-establishing him as a character. Y'know, building up their relationship.

But it wasn't about their relationship. It was about Tim and his feelings, his internal conflict, what he needed. That's what Fitzmartin even said in the interviews after, that she, "felt like this was something Tim needed." And that's true going into TD:R too -- yeah, Bernard is there and their relationship is a prominent subplot, but he gets about as much page time as Darcy and Detective Williams, and the focus is always on Tim's ongoing story and his developing relationships with all the people around him.

That's why I like that they went with Bernard as his "closet key." Not because I'm super devoted to the pairing or anything -- I truly could take or leave the arrangement -- but because they're tolerably cute together and, more importantly, dating a civilian supporting character comes with far less baggage than establishing a relationship with a fellow hero. By their very nature, superhero stories are more heavily weighted towards the hero characters than their civilian support, that's just a fact, and, with rare exception, civilian love interests tend to act more as sounding boards to develop and reflect the leads. Making Tim's first boyfriend an old civilian friend means the story could be about Tim's personal character growth, internal conflict, and explorations of his sexuality.

I genuinely think that's the only reason Fitzmartin went with Bernard. She only had around 30 pages to tell that Urban Legends story (and I guarantee you, she was assigned that page count before writing), so bringing back a previous civilian friend meant she didn't have to try to establish a whole new relationship on top of introducing a villain faction and telling a superhero-based investigation story. And for whatever reason, Bernard was the most popular of Tim's civilian buddies to rare-pair him with before this all happened. (Just check AO3: Prior to the release of the Urban Legends stories, Tim/Bernard had ~42 fics, Sebastian Ives got 4, and Danny Temple had 1.)

When Meghan Fitzmartin says that she went back, read Tim's old stories, and felt he needed to come out of the closet, I believe her. And I'm happy she felt that way and was allowed to act on those feelings because it's something I felt too, reading those stories. Those feelings that had nothing to do with "ships" or even with characters like Kon or Dick and everything to do with Tim and who he is as a person.

To sweep all that away as "she just wants to push her preferred ship" just feels so... dismissive and rude.

[singingcicadas]

Megatron's Opposite Day

"I free slaves"

This is Soundwave binding Ratbat but seeing as Megatron did the same thing to Pentius by putting his spark into Trypticon and reformatted Rumble and Frenzy into cassettes against their will I think he approves a lot of this practice

Megatron on Optimus and humans, after his defeat in All Hail Megatron ⬇️

he really salty

"I implant ideology" aka brainwashing

Decepticon cause = Megatron. nuff said.

"I liberate cities" says the person who let Nyon burn to make a point

Cities are too small, think bigger

Holding New York hostage.

"Like Autobots, they believe in the sanctity of life" which he doesn't. Kudos for being honest.

Allowing troops to do free-rein massacre is a reward for conquest. Nothing like some easy murder for de-stressing.

The Simanzi massacre which halved the Cybertronian population is off-screen so it doesn't deserve its own pic

"The revolution"

"We only feel good when we stand with a blade in one hand and a throat in another" "Let's make the entire face of the planet into our new gladiator arena"

What nice, confidence-inspiring revolutionaries. I'm sure they'll rule the population with benevolence after they've killed all the Necessary People with Necessary Violence. Final interpretation of what constitutes as Necessary is reserved for the sole discretion of Megatron, ofc.

Good goals.

Sentinel might be an absolute asshole but at least he's got one thing right: they're literally a gang of thugs who gets high off murder.

"The people are my utmost concern"

'The people': ................

"Battling for freedom"

Freedom of what? Function? Autonomy?

Religion?

the ability to choose whether to fight? on which side to fight?

Idk why they used the word "pogrom" for this, it's way too specific

Anyways it doesn't matter, they won't be missed.

Good for Bumblebee for calling him out. Screenshotted this just to appreciate Megatron's bitchy face ⬇️

Other urban legends:

"Megatron loves Cybertron" let's just burrrrn it

He did fight to save Cybertron in Chaos Theory but also made it pretty clear why he did it. It's not out of the goodness of his heart or any sentimental reasons like that. It's an ego/dominance thing.

Plus his wording when he's trying to convince Optimus to let him go with the Lost Light: "I broke the planet. And that, Optimus, is why I owe it to you - to everyone - to find a replacement."

Replacement.

In other words: I made a mess and can't be bothered to clean it up, so I want to get away from it and find somewhere new to start clean.

I don't think Optimus appreciates the favour.

"Megatron tore down a corrupt government" which is true, just too bad that he's worse

He's also, um, a closeted Zeta admirer?

"Megatron advocates equality" ???

Megatron x dictatorship is literally his OTP. They were inseparable for four million years. A lot of people died trying.

"Megatron cares about the Decepticons" no he doesn't. Not his troops nor its cause.

Like for one thing he treats them with complete scorn

Admits that the most useful thing about keeping Starscream around is that he can bully underlings into line

Wants to use the humans' nuke to get rid of his troops and reformat them into peaceful drones after they outlive their use because they were "too ruthless" for his perfect peaceful society

Has zero scruples about fighting Deceptigod, just affronted that his own soldiers are being used against him

And basically just drops the Decepticons like a bag of vermin after he surrenders. He never once mentions them of his own accord, other than to insist he has nothing to do with them. Even his surrender speech is something Optimus makes him do as exchange b/c he wants to go on parole. He wasn't planning on making a public address otherwise, he was just going to leave them hanging.

Looking at the publication timeline, Megatron started out as an established Evil McEvilson-type villain similar to how he is in G1 and it's not until Chaos Theory in 2011 that JRo really gave him a sympathetic backstory that drew his characterization away from the bloodthirsty pugno ergo sum warlord into someone who once held ideals about societal reform and remains convinced of his own moral supremacy throughout the 4 mill years of death and war, adding worldbuilding such as Functionism/oppression/government corruption as justification for the beginning of the Decepticon movement. But because the start of the Decepticons was already written in Megatron Origins and every evil thing he'd done up till Chaos Theory can't be retracted and they had to keep Megatron as a villain until his story was no longer central to the Autobot-Decepticon war line, and JRo didn't try to downplay the atrocities he'd committed (some of the most sadistically disturbing things Megatron did were exclusively in MTMTE flashbacks), but rather tried to distance him from them and placed the focus on the juxtapositions to emphasize change, this as a whole just resulted in Evil McEvilson getting turned into Hyper McHypocrite.

[celaenaeiln]

What are some of your favorite Dick Grayson moments?

Please and Thank You 😃

My favorites will always be Dick being the canonical center of the DC universe 😌

Dark Crisis Issue #1

The greatest hope and the leader of the ages

Nightwing (2016) Issue #49

The Brave and Bold (2007) Issue #15

"And no one doubts that you're the best one to strategize a counterattack."

"Next to Superman, Dick Grayson is the one guy alive that every other crimefighter trusts."

JLA/Titans Issue #2

"--Founders of the original Teen Titans--"

Titans (2003) Issue #23

"It's a natural thing when Nightwing shows up. None of us are conscious of it, really--but we all look to him for orders."

Nightwing (2016) Issue #9

"You vouching for someone is worth its weight in gold. It was true in my world, and it's true in this one. In fact, of everyone I've met here, you're the least changed from the version I knew. Always confident, always kind, always cool. Dick Grayson--the multiuniversal constant."

JLA (1997) Issue #73

"It was sad at first. We were discussing the work--this work...and I asked him if he ever felt pride." "He didn't....then he stopped for a second and said...'The only time I ever feel pride is when I look at Nightwing. Sometimes I think he's the only thing I ever did right.'"

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #22

"We have a shorthand I don't share with any of the others, save for maybe Alfred. He's always been the one keeping me centered. Grounded."

"Dick's the beating heart of this family we've created, whether he realizes it or not."

Titans (2003) Issue #6

JLA (1997) Issue #71

Nemesis - The Impostors Issue #3

Batman!Dick - he's so freaking cool!!!

He's so amazing and cool and extraordinary and over competent. He's what everyone looks up to. He's collectively placed on a pedal so high by every hero and anti-hero in that everyone wants to be him or be acknowledged by him. People have died in his footsteps. Even the Titans, his own friends, hero-worship, look up to him as the peak of excellence and goodness.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #50

Roy

World's Finest: Teen Titans Issue #5

Titans (2016) Annual 1

The paragon of rightness and justice of the world - Superman - thinks dick is the best thing to ever come into existence.

Whenever you read a comic, there's always some character that goes "Nightwing!" when something happens and another responds "Dude, he's Nightwing. He'll be fine. He always is." That's the amount of confidence heroes have in him to always succeed and excel.

Like Kon said - when he shows up, people automatically fall in line. It's like second-nature to just follow him.

Dick has that Charisma, the leadership, and the strength to hold the entire community together and as a result the world. He's proven it, he's done it. Whenever the Justice League evaporates in any situation - because this isn't the first time the JL have died/gone missing - everyone turns to Nightwing for order and direction.

Truly, he's the greatest.

[lolahauri]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Take All of Me

Ship: Statue of Ares/Reader (Fornite Kneeling Statue from Tiktok)

Type: Smut, GN/M, One Shot, Porn with Plot. (MDNI)

Contains: Sex with a God, Deep Throating, Rough Oral Sex, No Penetration, Mild Dubcon, Power Dynamic, Size Kink, Statue Comes (to life)

Words: 1.8k

Requested?: Kinda...

You were walking through a crowded pine forest, not exactly sure where you were going anymore, but it was too late to turn around now. You’ve been searching for the mythical Statue of Ares, said to bless any warrior lucky enough to find him. Was is it even real? You wanted to believe so. Despite the amount of men and women alike who’d vanished trying to find him, you wanted to believe. You couldn’t explain it, but you felt an almost magnetic draw to the god. 

But it’d been three days at this point, trudging through the mud and grass, looking for any sign of the shrine. It was believed that leading to his statue, a path of torches would lead directly to him, lit purely from the energy of his warriors spirit. 

~

You were breathing heavily, exhausted but trying to maintain your speed. Things were looking hopeless though, the sun had already set for the third time, you were running low on rations, and you were pretty sure you were just walking in circles now. Maybe this was a mistake, a delusion you should have never fed into. You were going to die like the hundreds before you, alone in the woods, looking for an urban legend. This was just how it was meant to end, i suppose...

“Shit!” you yelped and gasped out loud, nearly landing face-first into the ground, just barely catching yourself by your forearms. You couldn’t see what you tripped over just yet, but you didn’t have to wonder for long.

Your eyes widened in disbelief as you saw sparks of orange and yellow light flickering from the forest floor. As you got onto your knees, you couldn’t believe it. Is this some kind of hallucination? Were you about to die soon? Hopefully it happens quickly. 

Two parallel rows of torches flickered and danced wildly, now creating a lit path right in front of you. It seemed to be leading to a clearing about 50 feet ahead. You stood up, legs shaking and heart racing. Stumbling down the path and into the clearing, any thoughts occupying your mind seemed to vanish, a new energy was taking you over. A strong, warm energy. 

The clearing was just in front of you now, a circular patch of untouched grass, surrounded by elderly trees and lit torches. Despite it being the middle of the night, it was almost light over there, you would’ve thought the sun was just beginning to set if you hadn’t seen what the rest of the woods looked like. 

Fireflies were dancing in the air as you stepped foot into the secret area. Your nerves were beginning to settle now, but your body still trembled. You could see the statues figure now, the outline of a tall, muscular spartan soldier becoming more clear. 

~

You could feel your heart pounding through your entire body as you got closer, just a few meters away from him. You were embarrassed to think so, but he was honestly gorgeous. He had to be at least 7 feet tall standing up, with a set of six-pack abs, and a body that looked like it was hand-crafted by the universe herself. 

Standing right in front of his legs now, you carefully reached forward to place a hand on his torso, not really sure what you were supposed to do now. But you immediately jumped back as the statue began to emit crackling sounds. 

Did you really just break the fucking statue?

You tried your hardest to stay calm, praying you didn’t just do what you thought you did. This must be normal right? You barely touched it… 

Pieces of stone were chipping off as the ground shook. Looking closer though, you realized the statue wasn’t just crumbling, it was uncovering something. Well, more like uncovering some one… 

Chunks of rock were flying off now, just narrowly passing by you. The light tan color of his skin much more visible. Ares started to stand, cracking the remaining stone that encased his toned body, letting it pile onto the ground below him. 

You looked up in awe, so entranced that you didn’t even realize he was looking right at you now. A smug grin was spread across his strong face as he gazed down at your small frame. You were somewhat snapped out of your trance as his deep, booming voice spoke out to you.

“Ah, so you’ve found me.” he stretched his limbs, sore from the thousands of years he was trapped, “I never thought I'd see the day…” 

Your words were trapped in your throat, distracted again by his large chest, which was just above your eye-level. A warm tingling sensation flooded your body as you heard him chuckle above you. He was amused, but not surprised, by your lingering stares. 

“Um…” was the most you could manage to get out at this point, lower stomach becoming hot. You hoped he would carry this conversation instead.

Unfortunately for you, he knew exactly what was going through your mind. Not that he minded at all, he knew he was gorgeous, he never expected a mere human like you to be anything but awestruck by him and his presence. 

“I take it you’re nervous, aren’t you?” he laughed again as he saw your cheeks turn pink, “Don’t worry, young warrior, just hand me the offering and i will give you what you were searching for.” 

Your stomach dropped and your blood ran cold after hearing this. “Wait, what? What offering? I never heard anyone mention that!” This can’t be happening… 

Your mouth was hung open as your eyes darted around the area in a panic, you had no idea what to do. You’d come all this way just to learn you couldn’t receive the blessing? This must just be some kind of horrible nightmare, right?

“Well?” he was leaning over slightly, looking you in the face.

“I, um, I don’t have an offering…” shame washed over you as you attempted to make eye contact. “I swear, my lord, I had no idea that was necessary! I would’ve brought something if I knew!”

He raised an eyebrow at your remarks, leaning back upwards. “Very well, then. You should get on your way back home then, soldier.” 

“Wait!” you pleaded, grabbing his forearm as he began to turn away “Please, Ares my lord, I’ll do anything!”

He was a bit shocked by your actions, looking down at you in surprise. But as he saw that desperate look in your eyes, an idea came to him. “Hm, anything, you say?” a mischievous smile covered his face.

“Yes! Anything, really.” you nodded quickly, not knowing what he was really implying. 

He thought about it for a moment longer, before deciding that he knew exactly what you could offer him instead. “Alright... On your knees, then.”

“Wait, what?” you thought to yourself, heat pooling in your core. Did you hear that right? He smirked at your expression, he kind of liked how shy you were being, as if you weren’t just eye-fucking him a few minutes prior. 

“You said you would do anything, did you not?” his hands trailed to his skirt after seeing you nod your head, loosening it and letting it drop to his feet. “Go ahead, then. Give it all you got.”

You could feel yourself getting wet already as you looked at his cock. It was fully erect, at least 9 inches, and thick. You looked up at him one more time, seeing from his expression that he was waiting for you to do something already. 

You slowly knelt down, sitting high up on your knees, your face just inches away from his throbbing cock. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his tip, bringing up a hand to start stroking his shaft.

He sighed above you, “Don’t tease, now.” 

You nodded, squeezing your thighs together to relieve some of the aching pressure building up. Quickly putting the first few inches in your mouth, you swirled your tongue around his tip and bobbed your head, trying to adjust to the first couple inches before you dared to go further. 

Ares’ head was thrown back a bit, deep groans flowing past his lips. He can’t deny how much it riles him up seeing how small you look from this angle, struggling to take his massive cock.

You pushed further down, allowing yourself to take in over half of his length. As it began to hit the back of your tongue, you tried hard not to gag, eyes watering a bit as you continued to suck, jerking off what you couldn’t fit in your mouth yet. 

“You’re doing so well, dear. Keep going for me.” his tone was more gentle than before. He weaved his large fingers through the strands of your hair as he pushed your head down even further. 

Your hands gripped onto his thick thighs tightly. It probably shouldn’t have even been possible, but you were now throating his entire length. It stuffed every bit of your mouth, causing drool to spill down your chin. Your eyes were flowing with tears from the way he was making you choke, but you loved it. 

He kept his hand behind your head, fully taking control. He was completely fucking your throat now, his other hand cupping the side of your face as he slid himself in and out of you. 

What was happening now was truly pornographic. Mascara was running down your cheeks, and all that could be heard now was your gargled moans. You looked up at him through your lashes, admiring his chiseled form. He locked eyes with you briefly, groaning loudly at the scene below. 

Though you honestly didn’t want to stop, your jaw was becoming painfully sore. But thankfully for you, he could feel himself steadily reaching his climax.

Soon enough, his hips stuttered a bit. Giving a few more pumps, he shoved himself all the way back down your throat as he painted it white with his cum. You gagged hard at the feeling of him harshly stuffing you full, a mildly salty taste coating your mouth. He kept in place for a moment, coming down from his high. 

You were gasping for breathe when he finally pulled out, swallowing any leftover cum in the process. You wiped your spit-covered mouth with your shirt sleeve and attempted to get off the ground. Noticing you were shaky and stumbling as you tried to stand, Ares picked you up by waist and set you down on a nearby log. You still looked dazed and totally cock drunk.

He chuckled at the sight, “You did amazing, dear. Here,” - he handed you a brown satchel. It was filled with little bottles of sparkling blue liquid - “you earned it.”

[brittle-doughie]

Well since you missed it, I’m gonna tell you my ask again and I hope you actually see it this time. Again, it’s a long one so it might need to be split up into multiple parts. (It also contains cannibalism so CW) Here’s an Idea for a Y/N Cookie Run fic. Y/N is a viscous, cannibalistic cookie with a sadistic, psychotic, and murderous, yet also elegant, (they not like an animal), personality. They are based of the Bloody Mary cocktail (but their name is, like, Tomato Juice Cookie because alcohol isn’t allowed to be mentioned in the word of Cookie run) and their design motif is based of of the Bloody Mary urban legend with a hint of evil spirits and vampirism. They are extremely strong in both physical strength and magic, so powerful that even the ancient cookies and Cookies of Darkness are at least somewhat intimidated by them, and are able to brainwash other cookies with their magic into becoming cannibals just like them (although a bit more brutal and messy because it entertains Y/N) and do their bidding. Y/N often likes to play with (aka torcher) their “food” before preparing and eating it.

Y/N part of the juice bar gang (which they have also hypnotized). They live in a huge, luxurious, yet somewhat decrepit old mansion, which they lure other cookies into before they torcher and consume them. Y/N’s other hobbies include painting and cooking (which is how they “prepare” their victims, they are quite sophisticated).

They used to be a witch (called Mary, of course) who ate children even after said act was considered taboo in the witch community. They were eventually were executed for their crimes via beheading. Before they died, they used their magic to come back as a cookie were they decided that “if I’m only allowed to feed on cookies and not human children, so be it😏”

I know it’s pretty long, you’ll probably have to split it into multiple parts. I hope you actually notice this one this time.

this ask was inspired by multiple Cookie Run cannibalism fanfics.

Tale of the Mansion

There lives a tale of a lonesome cookie, living in the hallways of the abandoned, yet glorious mansion on the hill. They say that on certain nights, you’ll hear the humming of this cookie on one of their nightly strolls, it is advised that you do not listen intently or you might find yourself being drawn to it.

The victim will feel their legs moving on their own before they realized, no hope to stop it now. Their mind will be entranced from this cookie’s elegant humming, a tune that non can resist. Fortunately for this cookie, this is what exactly they wanted to happen. It never hurts to have a companion on your walks, right?

Yet the legend tales that any cookie that follows this humming are not expected to return. Many cookies in the village keep their doors and windows closed for this reason, it wasn’t rare for this mysterious cookie to walk into town as an alternate path in their nightly stroll.

“Y/N Cookie (or Tomato Juice Cookie)…” was all one victim muttered before they followed them one night, this is all the village knew of their mysterious, yet terrifying visitor.

Maybe you do make it. You get to see the mansion in all of its pristine glory, the floors and tables looking freshly cleaned despite being abandoned for a long time. This cookie will ask you to sit and help yourself to the prepared food made for any visitors of their mansion. Do not worry if any of the food has an..odd texture to it, that’s just your mind letting you know that you’re quite hungry!

Do enjoy a refreshment from one of the mansion staff, Sparkling Cookie. He serves you a glass of sparkling refreshment as he leaned close to pour it into the cup, showing something…off with his eyes. They look…empty, don’t you think?

But don’t dwell on that for too long, it’s time for the entertainment as your host snaps their fingers and out comes Mint Choco Cookie playing a tune on their violin, it helps to calm your nerves from any sort of suspicious feeling! Just enough for you to not notice his empty eyes too…

Still anxious? Have no worry. The mansion’s green thumb, Herb Cookie, is here to help with that by smelling his plants! Doesn’t the fresh smell of recently planted greens help to settle you down? Good, because he won’t stop until you are! There’s nothing to worry about, you’re in the care of such a generous and wonderful host! They promise there’s nothing to be afraid of!

You excuse yourself to the restroom, which is directed to you down the hall. You slowly make your way over, getting unnerved by any small sound the mansion made.

A door creaking catches your eye, an ominous red light pouring out of the crack….

You’re tempted to go in, curiosity mixed with fear as you slowly poked your head into the room, it looked like a simple bedroom…curiosity eats at you and you enter the room fully….

You’ll come to regret it seconds later….

The paintings were the first thing you noticed. They painted many different cookies, some with normal expressions like a smile or a resting face. Others…painted more fearful and pained expressions, their heads looked like they were…removed from their bodies….It may have been the room light, but you swore the paintings dripped a little from their frames, as if it was…strawberry jam…

The numerous items like a spellbook, a witch hat, pitchforks, even a sort of..bathtub with a…substance nearly at the top.

The large painting above the painting. It was not a cookie featured in it, but rather…a witch. They oddly bared a resemblance to your host from earlier…

“Looks like another found out, huh? You really should’ve just went to do your business.”

You jump at the shockingly casual voice from behind you. Leaning at the doorway was Vampire Cookie, as he gently tip his glass of juice around and around.

“Y/N Cookie doesn’t like cookies that poke their eyes where they don’t belong. Good for them, just means dinner is server sooner then later…”

Vampire Cookie opens his eyes, revealing the same empty look as the others. You now could see Herb, Sparkling, and Mint Choco at the doorway too, their pinprick white irises creepily glowing in the dark. You step back away from them, asking what Vampire meant by that….

“You’ll see…or rather what you’ll don’t see..

You suddenly felt a sharp jab to your neck. A voice from behind you calls.

“A shame it had to end this way for you. I promise your dough won’t go to waste. Enjoy your rest here, because you won’t be waking up anytime soon…”

Your vision fades to black as you collapse, the many eyes at the doorway looking at you as the world plunged to darkness….

….

….

Another missing cookie reported in the village.

All the residents could do was honor their memory with a burial without a body and warn others with the tale of the mansion on the hill.

Whatever you do, do not listen to the humming to the forest or in the village late at night. For it will be a night that will never dawn for you…

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Kinktober Day 6 (Dubcon)

Harry Warden x Reader (NSFW)

(773 Words)

Summary: Whatever happens in the mines, stays in the mines

Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, EXTREMELY dubious consent (like seriously), dead dove do not eat, descriptions of violence, guilt, confusing and shameful feelings, reader is a little delirious from the mining fumes, fear play (kinda), penetrative sex, Harry Warden being scary, coming on clothes, pickaxe threats

Notes: this one was a little tough to write, but I’m proud of how it turned out :) I’m starting to near the “oh man, I’m running out of inspo” phase, but fuck it we ball, we’ll push through LMAO enjoy the fic!!!

-

There was no time to catch your breath. You weren’t sure how long you’ve been running and you didn’t know where you could even go. These mines were like a labyrinth. The air became lighter the further down you ran. Exhaustion and gradual decrease of oxygen quality makes for a deadly duo, but you couldn’t think about that now. All your friends were dead- at least, that’s what you’ve begun to accept. Reaching another dead end in front of you, the heavy footsteps of the murderous miner pounded in the distance.

Back against the wall, you sink to your feet, feeling utterly helpless. Around the corner of the darkened mineshaft, Harry Warden- the urban legend of the town, stalks into view.

As he creeps closer, his bloodied pickaxe comes into view. You remember just an hour ago, how it swung into skulls of your peers. The screams ring out in your brain. The image of the light leaving their eyes as blood and organs pool around you is forever etched in your memory.

You feel yourself being lifted off your feet, the collar of your shirt crumpled between his gloved hands. You can’t see anything at all behind the vacant, blacked out eyes of his dust mask. The wind is knocked out of you as he slams you against the jagged walls of the tunnel. You’re forced to deeply inhale the noxious fumes of the mine, making your brain go hazy as the miner’s hands grip onto your waist, traveling under your shirt.

You let out a soft gasp that weren’t entirely sure was out of fear or arousal. You’ve been running in these mines for so long, you didn’t know what to feel anymore. On one hand, you felt scared, alone, traumatized- definitely in need of some therapy after a situation as dire as this, wanting nothing more than to push him off you and run out of the tunnels. On the other hand, you were feeling utterly amorous as you allowed yourself to get felt up and groped by a pickaxe-wielding maniac, morbidly curious to see how far you were willing to go.

Your brain was running itself completely ragged. You didn’t know what you wanted anymore. Maybe the poor air quality and fumes were messing with your head- scrambling the terror and confusion and adrenaline and lust that were fighting over how your body should be reacting.

You could hear heavy grunts and muffled breathing through his mask. He was impossibly close to you, the heat of each other making the already compact mining tunnels feel like a pressure cooker. The unintentional (or was it?) friction from one another distracted you from your thoughts. It didn’t feel right to enjoy this, especially after witnessing something so violent and grotesque, but that didn’t matter once Harry Warden unzipped his pants, freeing his aching cock.

As you felt your pants being forced down, you attempt to push off the walls, but are met with his pickaxe- dripping with that fresh crimson, to the side of your neck.

You stare at him, terrified, yet exceedingly desperate. “I don’t want to die.” You whisper.

Harry reels back, swinging the pickaxe. You violently flinch, shrieking in terror as the pickaxe is wedged into the wall beside you. Before giving you any time to settle from the fear, Harry Warden pushes himself inside you, dripping and eager.

You wail in ecstasy as his cock pumps into you so quickly. You grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself. The strangled groans from inside his mask burrow their way into your mind, mingling with the screams and pleading from your friends being violently murdered. It scared you to know how aroused you were. Your friends were dead and here you were, getting fucked stupid by the man who killed them. And you liked it.

Your orgasm crashes into you, powerfully and unexpectedly. You shudder around the miner, who sloppily continues to thrust into you, not far behind in his own release. You could now add cum to the blood and dust that stained your clothes as he shoots his load onto you.

Your tainted clothes were the least of your problems now compared to your tainted mind. The thought of what just happened finally begins to sink it. You weren’t scared or disgusted, but were more so scared and disgusted at the fact that you didn’t feel like that at all. You didn’t know what would happen next, but there was one thing that you would continue to tell yourself for as long as you had left to live: Whatever happens in the mines, stays in the mines.

[bionicboxes]

DBD Swap AU - Unknown and Hillbilly's Survivor designs!

More Info Below the cut

The premise of this particular swap AU is to make the minimal amount of changes to the killer and survivors backstories required to change their role, since people usually make quite drastic changes. Unknown is one of the killers that deviates most, while Hillbilly is one of the ones that deviates least. Their stories are as follows:

Hillbilly: Stays the same up until Max kills his mother. As she's dying he realizes the Consequences of these actions and runs out of the house before the police catch up, blindly hoping that maybe, just maybe, if he just keeps running, he can leave here and never come back. In a way, he's right, since the Entity promptly snatches him up. As the officer arrives (that slips in Ms. Thompson's blood), Max is already long gone, and they're never able to find him.

Max is a name picked in a rush when he had nothing else to introduce himself as to the other survivors, part of him still processing what he did and part of him still clinging to the idea of a world where his parents loved him enough for him to be his father's 'Jr.' Over time, the other survivors allow him to feel loved and allow him to feel that he is, in fact, not doomed to be a monster, and therefore becomes highly protective of the others. He thus will never tell any of them about his past or murdering his parents as he's terrified of losing the trust and love of the first people to ever treat him with anything other than cruelty.

Unknown: The one that deviates the most (so far), but it was necessary to include it. Based on the theory that Unknown becomes an amalgamation of all the theories about it, except the theories are all about Unknown as a benevolent force. Picture:

Someone is lost in the woods, panicking. They sense a presence, neither good nor bad, completely neutral, as its not yet been bestowed with intentions. Seeking comfort, the person imagines the presence they feel as something friendly; A guardian angel, perhaps, or maybe just someone who can help them find their way out of the forest. Only then does a figure appear out of the darkness, a Man that's not quite Human, unnerving yet... comforting. The figure guides the person out of the woods, disappearing by the time they turn around.

This spawns all sorts of rumors as to what they experienced; Perhaps an angel? maybe the ghost of a man who died lost in the woods trying to help them avoid the same fate? maybe it was simply a figment of their imagination, or maybe it was just a normal man on a stroll who happened to come across them and lend them aid. Regardless, it appears when people who need help think of it, and one day, a survivor within the Entity's realm, lost within the infinite woods, remembers an old urban legend, the story of a man who helps the lost be found. And a figure appears. Or something like that!

[childrenofcain-if]

Happy Spooky Season, Axel! This might be a little unusual but with the spirit of Halloween coming up, how would the ROs react to MC being a werewolf?

Maybe it can happen in a camping trip, similar to The Quarry? Maybe not separately bcuz I would love to see how they handle it as a group, but I won't complain with individual reactions either. Do whatever would be more comfortable, dear Author. Happy Halloween in advance!

rural connecticut had a way of making everyone feel a little uneasy. perhaps it was the countless urban legends people told around it, perhaps it was the way that the state was where the nation’s first witch trials occurred—three decades before they happened infamously in salem, massachusetts.

the air was crisp with the sort of chill that lingered in your bones but didn’t quite feel threatening yet. the fire crackled softly as you stoked it, watching the flames flicker against the growing dusk. everyone was scattered around the camp, still settling into the space.

D was busy doing what they did best—getting under C’s skin with sarcastic jabs, teasing them about the way they kept folding and refolding the map as if it would magically change the directions. M, ever the stoic one, was trying to ignore them, but you could see the slight twitch of their lip, an indication that D was close to getting on their last nerve.

V was standing beside you, hands in their pockets, looking vaguely amused by the whole scene. W, on the other hand, just shook their head and smiled, the picture of someone used to D’s antics by now. it was a strange mix, this group—too many strong personalities in one place—but it worked. everyone knew their role, how far to push, when to back off. at least most of the time.

D had started flicking small rocks at C’s back and making loud, obnoxious comments about how they were overpacking again. “C, honestly, it’s a camping trip, not a three-week expedition. You don’t need an entire suitcase for a weekend.”

C shot D a venomous look from over their shoulder, folding the map they’d been fussing over with a little more force than necessary. “keep it up, and you’ll be sleeping outside the tent tonight.”

“i’d love that, thanks,” D fired back, their smirk relentless.

you fed the fire another branch, staring into the flames as V leaned closer.

“you’re quiet,” they said, voice so soft that it was almost drowned out by D’s exaggerated laugh in the background.

you shrugged. “just thinking about all the coursework i still have waiting for me when we get back. feels like i should be doing something instead of sitting here.”

V smiled, the kind that crinkled the corners of their warm brown eyes. “it’s a holiday. you’re supposed to be relaxing. the work will still be there when you get back.”

M wandered over, looking unusually tense. “you lot heard about the wild predators around here lately?”

you glanced up, the firelight reflecting in M’s eyes, giving their worry an edge.

“what do you mean?” V asked, straightening up.

M ran a hand through their hair. “there have been some sightings—wolves, maybe coyotes—attacking other animals around these parts. i was checking for some news around the area and it showed up on my phone.”

D chimed in before anyone could respond. “oh, come on, your highness. it’s connecticut. we’re not in the middle of the appalachian region or yellowstone. we’ll be fine. plus, this place was ranked one of the best camping spots in the state. we’re practically in a five-star resort.” their grin was wide and mischievous, but you noticed the slight edge to it, a crack in the usual rodomontade.

W, usually the voice of reason when M couldn’t be, spoke up next. “we’ll stick together either way. there’s strength in numbers. we’ve got a fire, flashlights, and C brought a hunting rifle. if anything comes near us, we’ll handle it.” they squeezed M’s shoulder reassuringly.

but M’s worry lingered in the air, a quiet tension settling over the group despite W’s calm reassurance. you noticed it—the way M kept glancing at the treeline, how they kept rubbing their arms like the air had turned cold with every passing minute.

you had nodded in agreement with W, trying to push away the strange feeling that had settled over you. It was probably nothing. this was just camping—people did it all the time. and yet, something about the stillness of the woods, the way the sun was sinking so fast behind the trees, left you uneasy.

as the sun sank lower and the sky shifted from blue to deep indigo, you all gathered around the fire for dinner. D had somehow managed to snag a pack of white claws, and C cracked open a can of pepsi, glaring at D as if it was their fault no one had thought to bring more non-alcoholic options.

the fire felt like a buffer between you and the world, the flickering light casting shadows over the campsite. the mood was light, despite the earlier worries. cheeriness spilled out from the group in bursts, warming the cool night air. but as the conversation started to smooth out more, a sound rose up from the woods behind you—a long, eerie howl, distant but unmistakable.

it came from far off at first, just a faint sound on the wind, but it was enough to make everyone pause, the laughter dying in your throats. V’s eyes darted toward the tree line, and M’s face went pale.

“that’s probably just—” D started, but their voice faltered, betraying the nervousness beneath the joke. “i mean, it’s probably some sort of a mating call, right?”

no one answered.

then, another howl. closer this time. too close.

W stood up, their face pale, hands clenching nervously. “we should probably—”

“i’m getting the rifle,” C interrupted, standing abruptly. their face was tight, their jaw set, as if they were angry more than scared. “whatever’s out there, i’ll scare it off.”

“we should all go with you,” M said quickly, grabbing their flashlight. “like W said, strength in numbers, right?”

everyone nodded, uneasy but moving in unison, as if drawn by the same invisible thread. you grabbed your flashlight, the cold metal heavy in your palm, and followed as C led the way into the woods.

the flashlights carved weak paths through the dark, illuminating only fragments of the trees and underbrush. every step felt wrong, like the forest had swallowed you whole. you could hear the rustle of leaves, the crunch of dead branches, but no animals. no insects. it was too quiet, and the silence buzzed in your ears.

“where are all the animals?” M whispered, their voice barely more than a breath.

and then, just as you turned to respond, there was a sound—a low, guttural growl, so deep it seemed to shake the ground beneath your feet.

it came from behind you.

you froze, heart slamming against your ribs. the others turned in slow motion, flashlights swinging wildly through the dark, their beams landing on a pair of glowing yellow eyes. the creature was huge, hulking, its fur bristling in the cold air, muscles rippling beneath its skin. it wasn’t a coyote. it wasn’t even a wolf, not really. it was something else, something too large, too wild, too impossible.

“shit! C, get your fucking rifle no—” D exclaimed, but the creature was already moving. in one fluid motion, it lunged toward your group, its teeth bared and its claws extended.

without thinking, you shoved W out of the way, just as the creature’s jaws snapped inches from their face. before you could react, you felt the searing pain of teeth sinking into your arm, claws ripping through your skin as the creature dragged you backward into the underbrush.

the world seemed to wobble around you, the flashlight slipping from your grasp as you screamed, thrashing against the weight of it. the burning, tearing pain spread like wildfire through your body, but the more you fought, the deeper its teeth sunk into your skin.

“shoot it! C, shoot it!” V’s voice cracked, desperate, as they, D, and M scrambled to pull you free.

there was a crack—a gunshot—and the creature jerked back, snarling in pain. C had fired, the rifle smoking in their hands. the beast staggered, blood dripping from its shoulder, before it let go of you and fled into the night, vanishing into the trees as quickly as it had appeared.

you were left on the ground, panting, clutching your arm as the pain pulsed in waves, so sharp and overwhelming you could barely breathe. blood soaked through your shirt and jacket, your vision swimming in and out of focus as the others rushed to your side, their voices a blur of panic and urgency.

“oh shit, oh fuck,” W rambled, dropping down beside you, their eyes filling with tears and panic. “hold on, we’ll need to get you to a hospital. now.”

nobody argued. they packed up the camp in minutes, the fire doused, gear thrown haphazardly into the car. you were half-conscious by the time they bundled you into the backseat, your arm throbbing in time with your heartbeat, every movement sending fresh spikes of pain through your body. you could feel the blood seeping through the makeshift bandages they’d wrapped around your arm, could hear D’s voice, low and tight, muttering curses under their breath as they sped toward the nearest hospital and probably broke many speed limits.

but beneath the pain, beneath the terror, there was something else. a heat. something wild and feral curling low in your chest, spreading through your veins, something you couldn’t name but felt terrifyingly real.

***

the fever started small. just a dull, persistent heat behind your eyes that made you squint against the light of the hospital room. at first, you thought it was something else, something ordinary—a delayed reaction to the bite. the doctors had warned about infection. C had been furious, pacing the length of the small room with that same tight look they always got when they were trying not to say something filled with rage. they were pissed, but more at themselves than anyone else. they’d been the one to insist on bringing the rifle, after all. M kept a hand on your forehead, their fingers cool against your overheated skin, and whispered reassurances, half to you and half to themselves.

“it’s probably rabies,” M had said, voice low and steady like they were trying to convince themselves more than you. “you’ve got the shots. it’ll be fine.”

W and V exchanged a glance over your bed. you didn’t miss it, the way their eyes flicked toward each other, something unspoken passing between them. you’d noticed it before, during those first few days when they’d both taken turns sitting with you. they weren’t saying it out loud, but you could tell—they didn’t think this was just rabies. and part of you, the rational part that had clung to M’s words, didn’t think it was either. but you weren’t ready to ask.

the fever crawled through your body, starting in your chest and spreading to your limbs like fire under your skin. it wasn’t normal. you knew it wasn’t, but there was no explanation that made sense. the doctors couldn’t find anything except for signs of a violent infection. but that didn’t explain the dreams, the way your senses had started to shift in ways you couldn’t fully articulate.

at night, when the fever hit its peak, you’d wake up drenched in sweat, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were trying to break free from your ribcage. your skin felt like it was too tight, like something inside you was pressing outward, demanding to be let free. there were flashes of something more—brief moments where your senses sharpened, where you could hear footsteps down the hall or smell something faint, metallic. but those moments came and went, and you told yourself it was just your mind playing tricks.

M and C were the ones to step in with the rational explanations, repeating the same things over and over until you almost believed them.

“it’s just an infection,” they said. “you were bitten by a wild animal, after all.”

D, though, tried to lift your spirits, as they always did. they’d show up with bags of sweets, grinning, trying to make you laugh even when your head was throbbing and your skin was burning up.

“maybe it’s not rabies,” they’d joked once, tossing a gummy bear into the air and catching it with a quick snap of their teeth. “maybe you’ve been cursed. like some old angry spirit or whatever. we should get a shaman.”

that had gotten a weak laugh out of you, but it had been hollow, thin. there was no shaking the feeling that something was wrong, that whatever had bitten you had left more than just physical wounds.

but eventually, after days of burning and aching, the fever broke. your body cooled, the heat fading into a dull memory, and the doctors were quick to say that you’d recovered. you’d survived the infection. but you knew better.

when they discharged you, your friends were there waiting, trying to make light of the fact that you looked half-dead. you could see it in their eyes—the way they studied your gaunt face, your hollow cheeks, the way your skin clung too tight to your bones like you’d been starved for weeks instead of days. D had tried to joke about it, something light-hearted about your diet, but no one had laughed. not really.

you didn’t say much. you couldn’t. because something in you had changed during those fevered days, something you couldn’t put into words. and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had happened wasn’t over yet.

***

the first full moon passed without you realizing it. you’d felt strange for days—restless, anxious in a way that didn’t make sense. there was this pull, this quiet urging in your chest, like something was trying to guide you somewhere. but you couldn’t pinpoint it, couldn’t find the source.

then one night, after a long day of feeling like your skin didn’t quite fit, you found yourself wandering through the campus. it wasn’t intentional—you didn’t decide to go out, but your feet carried you across the quad, past buildings and students, and toward the woods on the outskirts of the grounds. it was like something was calling you there, something you couldn’t ignore.

the woods were quiet, eerily so. the usual sounds of campus life—the chatter of students, the distant hum of traffic—faded into the background as you entered the trees. you didn’t know why you were there, but your body did. and then the pain started.

it began as a dull ache in your limbs, like the kind you used to get during growth spurts when you were younger, but sharper, more insistent. then it spread, climbing up your spine and into your chest until every breath felt like you were inhaling fire. you dropped to your knees, gasping, clutching at the ground as your body twisted and contorted in ways that was decidedly inhuman.

your bones cracked, loud in the stillness of the woods, like twigs snapping underfoot. your muscles shifted, stretched, and you could feel your skin pulling, stretching over something much bigger than you. it was agony, every nerve ending on fire, your mind screaming in protest as your body changed. you tried to hold on to something, some shred of yourself, but it slipped away as the beast took hold.

your hands, once familiar, turned into something else—claws, long and sharp. you felt your teeth elongate, your jaw stretching into something animalistic. your senses exploded, everything around you suddenly too loud, too bright, too overwhelming. you could smell the earth, the dampness in the air, the faint metallic scent of blood from somewhere in the distance. the hunger hit you next, sharp and undeniable, driving you forward.

you didn’t think. you couldn’t. your mind was gone, lost to the beast moving on autopilot. all that mattered was that you were starving. you ran, your new body moving faster than you’d ever imagined possible, every muscle coiled and ready to spring.

there were livestock near the edge of the woods—sheep, maybe, or cattle. you couldn’t tell. it didn’t matter. you didn’t care. all you knew was the hunger, the need to kill, to tear something apart. you leapt over the fence, your claws finding purchase in the soft flesh of a sheep. it struggled, bleating in terror, but it was no match for the strength coursing through you. you tore into it, your teeth sinking deep into its neck, blood hot and thick in your mouth.

you didn’t stop until the animal was still, its blood staining the ground, the scent of it filling your nostrils. by the time the moon began to sink below the horizon, you had lost track of time, of how many animals had fallen to your claws. your body felt heavy, exhausted, but the hunger had been sated, at least for now.

***

when you woke the next morning, you were back in your bed with the window of your room open. naked. covered in blood and mud, leaves clinging to your skin like some reminder of the night before. you stared at the ceiling, your heart pounding, your chest heaving with every breath. you didn’t remember getting back. you didn’t remember much at all.

the memories of the night were fragmented—flashes of pain, of running, of blood. you didn’t know what had happened. you didn’t want to. but the evidence was there, on your skin, in the way your muscles ached, in the taste of blood still lingering in your mouth.

you couldn’t tell anyone. how could you? you didn’t even know what had happened. and you didn’t want to freak anyone out. so you kept it to yourself, burying the truth deep inside, hoping that whatever had happened would go away. that it had been a one-time thing.

but deep down, you knew it wouldn’t.

***

it was subtle at first, like a creeping shadow that you didn’t even notice was there until it had fully swallowed the light around you. you started to look tired all the time—bags under your eyes, your face pale and drawn, as if sleep didn’t offer the relief it was supposed to. the first person to notice was M, of course. M was always the one to notice. they didn’t say anything at first, just offered quiet glances whenever they caught you staring blankly off into space or saw you rubbing at your temples as if that would shake the lingering headache you couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“you okay?” they asked one evening. the two of you were studying in the library, the lamplight casting long shadows on the dark wood of the table.

you forced a smile, shrugging like it was nothing. “yeah, just tired.”

but the truth was, you weren’t just tired. you were exhausted—bone-deep, soul-deep tired in a way that made you feel hollow. your body was fighting something, that much was clear. but fighting what? you didn’t know. you told yourself it was the aftereffects of the fever, that maybe you hadn’t fully recovered yet. but even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t true.

then the cuts and scratches started showing up.

you’d wake up in the mornings and find a fresh gash on your forearm, or a thin, red line across your cheek that hadn’t been there the night before. they were never deep, never serious, but they were constant. every week it seemed like there was something new—an unexplained bruise on your ribs, a scratch across your neck. at first, you brushed it off. maybe you were thrashing in your sleep, scratching yourself without realizing it. but then C saw them.

“what the hell happened to your face?” C asked one morning, frowning as they reached out to touch a thin scratch running down your jawline. “did you fall or something?”

you shook your head, pulling back before their fingers could graze the raw skin. “i don’t know. it was just there when i woke up.”

C’s eyes narrowed, concern creeping into their voice. “you sure you’re okay? you’ve been… off, lately.”

you wanted to brush it off, to tell them you were fine. but the truth was, you weren’t fine, and you had no idea why.

“i don’t know what’s going on,” you admitted quietly, and it felt like the first real thing you’d said in days.

C sighed, running a hand through their hair. “maybe you should see a doctor again. this… this isn’t normal.”

you nodded, though the idea of seeing another doctor made your stomach turn. what were you supposed to say? that you were waking up with scratches and bruises and no memory of how you got them? that something felt wrong inside you, like you were losing control of yourself? no. they’d throw you in the loony bin faster than you could say “stop.”

but it wasn’t just the tiredness or the scratches. it was the way your body had started craving things, strange things. like meat.

you’d never been picky before, but now, every time you sat down to eat, all you could think about was meat. not just any meat, though. it had to be rare. blood-red, almost raw. the first time it happened, you’d been out with your friends, grabbing dinner at some burger joint near campus. you ordered your usual, but when the burger came, perfectly cooked with a slight char, the sight of it turned your stomach.

“you gonna eat that?” D asked, eyeing your untouched plate. “or are you saving it for later?”

you frowned, pushing the plate away.

“it’s overcooked,” you muttered, even though you knew it wasn’t. it just wasn’t what you wanted.

W raised an eyebrow, glancing at your plate. “it’s medium-rare.”

“yeah, well, it’s not rare enough.”

C snorted. “you want it raw or something, starkid?”

you didn’t respond, because the answer, disturbingly, was yes. you didn’t want it cooked at all. you wanted the blood. the thought made you feel sick, but it also made your mouth water in a way that scared you.

from that night on, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. every time you sat down to a meal, you found yourself staring at the meat on your plate, wondering what it would taste like if it hadn’t been cooked at all. you started ordering steaks rare, almost raw, the blood pooling on the plate, and when you ate, it was like nothing had ever tasted so good.

“you’re getting weird,” D said one night, watching you tear into a steak that was practically still mooing. “like, seriously. are you okay?”

you glared at them, your fork clutched tightly in your hand. “i’m fine, D.”

D raised their hands in surrender, chuckling nervously. “alright, jeez. just checking.”

but you weren’t fine, and D knew it. they weren’t the only one. everyone had started to notice. it wasn’t just the way you looked—paler, thinner, with dark circles under your eyes and fresh cuts on your skin every other week. it was the way you acted. you were on edge all the time, your temper shorter than it had ever been. the smallest things set you off.

one afternoon, D asked you a simple question—reminding you about an assignment for one of your classes that was due the next day—and you snapped at them, yelling about how you didn’t need them hovering over you all the time. the words came out before you could stop them, and the look on D’s face—hurt, confused—was enough to make your stomach twist with guilt. but you couldn’t take it back. the anger had bubbled up out of nowhere, hot and irrational, and once it was out, you couldn’t control it.

“i was just trying to help because you asked me to remind you of it a month ago,” D said quietly, staring at you like they didn’t recognize the person standing in front of them.

you wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck in your throat. instead, you just muttered something under your breath and walked away, leaving D standing there, hurt and confused.

after that, things got worse. you started pulling away from everyone, isolating yourself without even meaning to. it was like you couldn’t stand to be around them anymore, like their presence irritated you in ways it never had before. every little thing set you off—the way M asked if you were feeling okay, the way W smiled at you with that concerned, worrying look in their eyes, the way C hovered like they were waiting for you to explode.

you didn’t want to explode. you didn’t want to be angry all the time. but you couldn’t help it. it was like something inside you was constantly simmering, waiting for a reason to boil over. and the worst part was, you didn’t know why.

***

it was V who finally brought it up, one night after you’d barely spoken to anyone all day. they found you sitting in the common room of your suite, staring blankly at the TV which wasn’t even turned on, your mind a mess of half-formed thoughts and simmering frustration.

“hey,” V said quietly, sitting down beside you. “you’ve been… different lately.”

you didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the TV, hoping they’d drop it. but V wasn’t like that when it came to their friends. they weren’t going to drop it.

“i mean it,” they said with all the firmness they could muster. “we’re all worried about you. you’ve been acting strange. D’s scared to talk to you now, after what happened last week. C’s been trying to keep it together, but even they don’t know what to say anymore.”

you swallowed hard, still not looking at them.

“i don’t know what’s going on,” you whispered. it was the truth, and saying it out loud felt like admitting defeat.

V sighed, their hand resting lightly on your arm. “maybe you should let us help. we all want to. you don’t have to go through this alone.”

but that was the thing, wasn’t it? you didn’t even know what ‘this’ was. how could you ask for help when you couldn’t explain it, couldn’t even make sense of it yourself?

“i’ll be fine,” you said, pulling away from them. “i just need some space.”

V didn’t push anymore. but you could see the worry in their eyes, the way they wanted to say more but didn’t. instead, they just nodded, standing up and giving you a small, sad smile.

“alright,” they said. “but if you ever want to talk…”

you didn’t respond, and they left, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your guilt, and the growing fear that whatever was happening to you, it wasn’t going to stop.

***

your friends decided to keep an eye on you after that, though they tried not to make it obvious. you noticed it in the way C watched you out of the corner of their eye during study sessions, the way W lingered after class to ask how you were doing, the way D, despite your outburst, kept showing up with snacks and stupid jokes, trying to make you smile.

but none of it helped. because the truth was, you didn’t know what was going on, and that terrified you more than anything else. you didn’t want to be around them, didn’t want to hurt them, didn’t want them to see what you were becoming. so you did what you always did—you pulled away. you stopped answering texts, made excuses to avoid hanging out, buried yourself in your coursework.

what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

***

the night of the next full moon came quietly, as if it was trying not to disturb anyone. but the air held something heavy, something ominous, that felt like it was waiting just beneath the surface of things.

the group hadn’t planned to spend the night together—it was a tuesday, after all—but V had been restless all day, pacing their room, chewing on their nails, staring at their phone like it held all the answers to the questions swirling in their mind. something didn’t feel right. it had been gnawing at them since morning, a nagging anxiety that wouldn’t let go. and then, just after sunset, they’d gone to check on you, only to find your room empty.

you’d disappeared again.

their heart raced as they dialed W’s number, each ring on the other end making their throat tighten. W picked up on the second ring, sounding out of breath. “V? What’s wrong?”

“it’s... it’s them. they’re gone again, W. i think something’s wrong. i don’t know, i—” V’s voice cracked, panic bleeding through. “we have to find them. i have a really bad feeling about this.”

W didn’t hesitate. “i’m on my way. call the others.”

V nodded, even though W couldn’t see them, their fingers already flying over the screen to call M, then C, then D. within minutes, the group had assembled, all of them tense, worried. they didn’t need to explain why they were worried—everyone knew. the last time you’d disappeared in the middle of the night, you’d come back with fresh cuts and bruises, looking like you’d crawled through hell and didn’t remember any of it.

they couldn’t let it happen again. not tonight.

the group spread out, flashlights slicing through the darkness as they searched the familiar haunts around campus. the woods near the edge of campus were always a good place to start—isolated, quiet, and easy to disappear into. but as they ventured deeper, the silence began to settle over them, thick and unnerving. no wind, no birds, no rustling leaves. just the sound of their own footsteps crunching on the forest floor.

a dreadful sense of deja vu hit them all at once.

“i don’t like this,” D muttered, keeping their voice low, as if speaking too loud might make something worse happen. “it’s too quiet.”

M, who’d been leading the way, stopped in their tracks, holding up a hand. “did you hear that?”

everyone froze, straining their ears. for a second, nothing. and then, faintly, the unmistakable sound of chewing—wet, visceral, like something tearing through flesh.

V’s stomach churned. “we need to move. now.”

they followed the sound, their footsteps quickening, hearts pounding in their chests as the chewing grew louder, more grotesque. and then, as they turned the corner of a clearing, they saw it.

a massive creature, hunched over the carcass of a bull, its fur matted with blood. the moonlight glinted off its golden, beastly eyes as it tore into the animal with sharp, deadly teeth. it resembled the same creature they’d saw during their ill-fated camping trip. its muscles rippled under its coarse fur, claws like knives glinting as it gripped the bull’s body. and then it stopped, its head snapping up, eyes locking onto the group.

they didn’t have time to react, didn’t even have time to scream, before the creature snarled, baring its teeth.

V took a step back, heart slamming against their ribcage. “did... did it follow us?”

but W, standing frozen beside them, didn’t answer. they were too focused on the beast’s eyes, those glowing golden eyes, which seemed to flicker with something—recognition? for the briefest moment, the beast hesitated, its snarl faltering, the wild fury in its gaze dimming. it stared at them, unmoving, like it was trying to remember something it had once known but had long since forgotten.

“what’s it doing?” D whispered, their voice barely audible.

the creature’s breath came out in ragged, heavy pants, steam rising in the cold night air. for a moment, it seemed almost human, that look in its eyes. then, with a sudden jerk, it turned and bolted, vanishing into the darkness of the woods, leaving behind the bloody remains of the bull.

“we need to follow it,” W said, their voice trembling but certain.

“what?” C snapped, still staring after the creature. “are you insane? that thing will kill us.”

W shook their head. “it didn’t, though. it recognized us. i’m telling you, something’s amiss here. it’s not the same creature from our camping trip.”

for a second, no one moved. they were all too stunned to process what had just happened. but then V nodded, their face pallid but determined. “W’s right. it didn’t attack. it... it hesitated.”

C opened their mouth to argue but then closed it again, sighing heavily. “fine. let’s go. but if that thing turns on us..."

“it won’t,” D spoke up firmly, though their hands shook as they gripped the flashlight tighter. “i... i think W has a point.”

they followed the werewolf’s trail, moving quickly through the dense trees, their breath visible in the cold night air. the deeper they went into the woods, the darker it became, the flashlights barely cutting through the gloom. hours seemed to pass as they searched, the group growing more and more exhausted. but none of them would give up. they couldn’t. not after what they’d seen.

just as the first hint of sunlight began to break through the trees, M stopped, pointing ahead. “there. look.”

lying on the forest floor, half-hidden by a tangle of leaves and branches, was you. naked, covered in blood and dirt, shivering uncontrollably. you were mumbling something under your breath, your voice hoarse and broken, words slurring into nonsense.

V was the first to reach you, dropping to their knees beside your trembling body.

“oh my god,” they whispered, brushing the matted hair away from your face. “you’re freezing.”

C was right behind them, shrugging off their coat and immediately wrapping it around your bare shoulders, trying to cover the worst of the cuts and bruises on your pallid skin. they crouched beside you, their expression a mix of anger, fear, and helplessness.

“you idiot,” C muttered, their voice rough, almost choked. “what the hell happened to you?”

you didn’t answer properly, your lips trembling as you mumbled something incoherent, your body curling in on itself. you couldn’t stop shaking, your eyes unfocused, glazed over, like you were still caught somewhere between the transformation and waking.

W knelt down on your other side, handing C the scarf they’d brought with them.

“here,” they said softly, “wrap this around their neck.”

C took the scarf, wrapping it carefully around you, their hands surprisingly gentle despite the frustration etched into their face.

“you’re gonna be okay,” D muttered, though you could hear the doubt in their voice.

W leaned in closer, slipping their arms under you and pulling you against them, ignoring the blood and dirt smearing onto their own clothes.

“shh,” they whispered, their voice soft and soothing as they held you close. “it’s okay. we’re here. you’re safe now.”

you whimpered, the sound low and pitiful, like an animal in pain, your body still trembling uncontrollably as they held you.

“hey, hey,” W murmured, rocking you gently, their fingers brushing through your hair in an attempt to calm you. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

the rest of the group stood around you, their faces concerned and drawn, their eyes wide with fear and confusion. no one knew what to say. no one knew how to explain what had just happened.

M stood off to the side, their arms wrapped tightly around themself as they watched you, their expression unreadable.

“what do we do now?” they asked quietly, their voice trembling.

“we get them back to the suite,” V said, standing up and glancing around at the others. “they need help. medical help.”

“no hospitals,” C said sharply, standing up as well. “we can’t explain this. we just... we just need to get them somewhere safe.”

D nodded, though their eyes were filled with worry. “i agree, C. but we also can’t leave them like this.”

C sighed and closed their eyes for a few seconds. “we’ll take it one step at a time.”

together, they lifted you, supporting your weight between them as they made their way back through the woods. the sun was fully up now, but none of them noticed. they were too focused on getting you back, on making sure you were okay.

as they walked, V kept whispering to you, their voice soft and reassuring, though you weren’t sure if you could hear them.

“you’re gonna be alright,” they kept saying, over and over like a hymn. “we’re gonna figure this out. we’re not gonna let you go through this alone.”

but deep down, none of them could really tell what would come up next.

[calehenituse-brainrot]

Symphony

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

With blood, sweat, and tears.

tw: gore and cannibalism

Sometimes, Ron sees how anyone could think of his young master as a God, because who in their right mind would dare to challenge a God but another one of their own? 

Rosalyn's magic circle appeared on the island's surface, glowing red and magnificent as ever, covering the split trunk of the majestic tree like a dome, and right then, Cale descended from the sky like a God, his shirt torn at where his heart was and showed an ugly, distorted scar. Dried blood stains his pale skin and his shirt, and he looks absolutely awful.

"Human!" Raon cried out in relief. "What happened, human?! Where is [Name]?"

They all came to Cale, crowding him and immediately ready to abide by every order that drips from his lips. Cale pointed at the form of the ancient God, of vines and sticks imbued with divinity. "With that thing. He's planning to bring [Name] to the split trunk where he will most likely seal and fuse her with the island."

"What exactly is it?" Beacrox asked quietly, more to himself than to Cale.

But surprisingly enough, Cale turned to him and provided a vague answer, "If my guess is right... It could be her father."

"Her father?" Ron echoed, his eyes widening. "What does that--?"

"What are your orders?" Ron cuts off his son, frowning as he looks at his master. There was no time to sit down and explain the past nor to get a clear perspective on this situation. There are people with magical powers and Whales could turn to Whales. This was the least surprising thing.

When Cale finally spoke, his voice came out commanding and it immediately caused everyone to stood their ground. "[Name] is connected to the vines of that god. There could be a big possibility that she could still be freed from it. We will try to take her from that beast without doing much damage, but that's the best possible scenario. The worst would be destroying that island and the thing that sits atop of it."

Cale, Rosalyn, and Choi Han should have sustained a fatal injury from having the vines penetrating their heart and the moment it was taken out, they should have bled out to death, but they didn't. Instead, the open wound closed and healed quickly. Cale was pretty sure it was because the god's vines were actively healing you, and because your hearts had been connected with the very same vines, Cale, Choi Han, and Rosalyn's wounds were immediately healed.

It meant you wouldn't immediately die upon being detached from the god's vines.

You have a chance for survival.

"Your Highness, when it comes to it, please arrange for your men to do everything they can to destroy that island," Cale said to Withira. "The ancient God that resides in the island has grown weaker with that tree gone and could only focus on keeping the form they have now and keeping [Name] alive."

Withira's eyes widened, a chill running down her spine. There was something mind-boggling about the fact that the island that her predecessors had agreed to let be was going to be destroyed in her hands. She had lived with so many urban stories surrounding this island and now she was going to have it destroyed under her command.

Cale stared at the older woman. "Could you do it?" 

Withira glanced at the island, feeling the weight of the order. Despite how little the island's influence was to the Whale tribe's reign, Withira had grown up hearing all sorts of stories about it. It had become a small legend within their community and was consistently being passed down to calves. However, seeing the ragged looks of Cale and his company, how they looked at her almost desperately for her aid -- Withira couldn't possibly turn their request away just because she held a bit of a sentimental value to that island.

Withira nodded with a determined frown. "Please leave it to me."

Withira jumped back to the water, morphing into her whale form the moment she hit the water. Cale watched as she swam to the island and her men began to crash into the floating island, causing strong tremors to the island, trying their best to tilt the island and make sure it would break into smaller pieces.

Cale turned to Ron and Beacrox along with the kittens. "You will be responsible for evacuating [Name] to a safe distance. The moment we managed to bring her on top of this ship, head back to the continent without us if we took to long."

Ron bowed his head. "Understood, Young Master-nim."

"Raon," Cale called out to the dragon, smiling. Raon's eyes widened and glimmered before he was quickly beside Cale.

The Black Dragon sees something in his human's brown eyes. For months, Cale had been depressed. His light brown eyes would always reflect affection towards him and the others, but Raon sees so clearly that something in him must have died with you when Cale stepped back into the bedroom that day to inform them all of your death. 

Now, it's back alive. His eyes glimmered under the bright sun and the blue sky, determination and hope filling his face. His human looks filled with spirit.

"We'll be bringing [Name] home," Cale said to the dragon, and when he said that, Raon heard how much Cale meant it. To himself or Raon, the Black Dragon wasn't sure. Cale smiled endearingly, "Are you ready?"

Raon nodded, smiling brightly. "Yes!"

Wind gathered around Cale's feet and he flew back to the island, Raon flying beside him and heading towards the ancient god that was fighting Choi Han. The wind has never felt so suffocating and yet so freeing to Cale. He flew with the determination that he would not come back without you and he recognized that he might be so desperate that he could screw all of this up and he would never be able to see you again. You're so close to him, so close that he could hold you once more.

Choi Han was slicing every single branch that came after him and every single one grew rapidly as if it was the head of a Hydra. Rosalyn's magic circle was constantly shooting out fire after fire toward the lump of branches that was carrying you, her eyes rapidly looking through every nook and cranny of the beast to see if there was any indication of a weak spot that wasn't anywhere near where you were. Her keen eyes seemed to be moving at a speed that Cale himself couldn't comprehend, analyzing every weakness she could take advantage of.

'Give me something!' Rosalyn thought, her teeth gritting in restlessness as she looked for an opening within the god's physical form, watching it drag itself along with you on top back to the hollowed gigantic tree in the middle of the island. It felt like once it reached the tree, they would lose you forever. Rosalyn wasn't going to sit around and see whether her assumptions are true or not.

The god's physical form was similar to the silhouette of an octopus crawling on land, dragging his body along the ground with you on its back. When one of the "tendrils" of the god was raised and showed the tiniest opening under it, Rosalyn conjured another magic circle and aimed it towards that opening, blowing up that bit of the arm and watched with a horrified expression as that part of the god's form was blown up to bits and rotten dead bodies spilled out to the ground. The smell of rotten and burnt corpses immediately filled her senses and she gagged, feeling like her gut was going to come up to her throat at the horrid smell.

Choi Han paused for a moment and looked down at the branches that he had cut down, his face pale as he realized the multiple faces etched onto them.

"Cale-nim!" Choi Han yelled to Cale who was up in the air with Raon. "It's not wood! They're dead bodies!"

Cale could see the dozens of rotten bodies that were on the ground and how they seemed to melt into the ground, turning into mounds of vegetation and leaving the scent of rotten bodies despite how they have turned into plants.  

'No wonder you weren't able to control them,' the priestess said with disgust. 'That god's form is made up of his worshippers. It could also be why they could still survive for so long despite all their followers being dead.'

It made sense now why the graves were empty. The god had fused all the physical bodies of his late followers to form his new physical form. It was perhaps his last attempt to earn some sense of recognition as a deity before being forgotten forever, or at least until the beliefs of enough people began to manifest him again. 

Cale flew down next to Rosalyn and Choi Han immediately followed to listen to their orders. Cale looked at the vegetation by his feet and he pitied them, to know that the god these people have loved dearly was able to do this, to disrupt the peace of dead people and desecrate their resting place, without feeling an ounce of hesitancy for their selfish reason. This god did not deserve worship.

"Your orders?" Rosalyn asked, beads of sweat falling down her temple as she panted.

"Destroy the island," Cale said with a frown. "We'll be wasting our time if we only work on killing that god physically. Leave nothing behind. That god could move because this island preserved their images. A god is no good when they have nothing."

"Raon," Cale turned to the Black Dragon. "Relay my words to Her Highness Withira: We plan to destroy this island for good. We need the Whale tribe to make sure every piece sinks or destroyed."

Without many words other than an affirmative "I got it", Raon took off to search for Withira. Cale turned to Choi Han and Rosalyn, placing his hands on their shoulders. "Our job is to separate [Name] from that god. Choi Han, you will be our offense. Miss Rosalyn, our defense."

"Yes!" Both nodded, determined frowns on their faces.

Cale offered his hand to Rosalyn and Rosalyn grinned, jumping into Cale's arms before wind gathered around his feet and they flew off while Choi Han easily scaled the god's form, heading towards where you were. Cale stepped next to where you were laying and set Rosalyn down. The god began to let out a deafening scream, pausing on moving around and the branches began to thrash as if disgusted and angry they were on top of him.

"Han!" Cale yelled and Choi Han brought his sword to immediately slice the vines that were connected to your heart. Upon being broken off from you, the god's form suddenly began to morph and formed hands to grab at their ankles.

Choi Han cut down the hands and grabbed Rosalyn before jumping off from the god meanwhile Cale grabbed you, hugging you close to him before he mustered all his energy to summon the wind to his feet, and Choi Han led themselves back to where Ron was waiting.

Ron didn't wait for Cale to step onto the boat. He extended his arms out to hold your warm body, his breath shaky as he finally had you in his arms. There was a moment where he simply held you, his head tilted to lean to yours. For the first time in his life full of blood and violence, Ron uttered a prayer of relief that no blood was shed.

Thank God.

Ron let his lips curl down into a small smile, setting you down gently on the floorboards before he took off his coat and handing it to Beacrox to fold so Ron could check on your vitals. Beacrox slipped Ron's folded suit jacket under your head, both of them watching the vines connected to your heart shrivel up into what looked like the bones of an arm, a radius and an ulna hanging by while the rest of the hand and fingers must be inside your chest.

Cale assumed it had been one of the corpses' arm that had been morphed into vines.

Once Cale deemed that you were safe, he flew towards where Withira was and watched as the whales around the island began to slam themselves into the floating island, causing the god to scream and begin to have their form thrash all around the island and stab at the whales. 

"MY DAUGHTER!" the god screamed, their voice similar to your father's voice that Cale had heard, confirming his suspicions. 

"GIVE ME BACK MY DAUGHTER!" the god continued to scream, their voice loud enough to disrupt the wind and water similar to what a shock wave does, pushing them all back as thousands of voices began to cry and scream along. It sounded like hell

"Pull back!" Withira screamed out to her people, her hands covering her ears.

'Do you think I can do this without dying?' Cale thought to the Fire of Destruction, dark clouds gathering on top of the floating island while the god was thrashing around. The dark clouds that were gathering were more than usual, menacing and bundled up in thick lumps that seemed closer to reach.

'If you do, it'll be one hell of a story to tell,' the Fire of Destruction says with a small chuckle as Cale takes a deep breath, and blood begins to drip from his nostrils.

"Human?" Raon called, alarmed at the sheer amount of power that seemed to be emanating from Cale's small body.

Rosalyn looked up at Cale in the air before she realized her hair was standing up, red tresses rising into the air as if she was electrocuted. She looked around, seeing that everyone was looking at each other in confusion as they looked at each other's hair.

"We have to get away!" Rosalyn screamed, alarming everyone. "We have to get away or we'll get hit by the lightning!"

Withira looked up at Cale before she turned around, looking back at her men. "Let's go!"

Archie began to swim away, dragging the boat behind him. Raon flew up to where Cale was, seeing that he wasn't only bleeding from his nose but his mouth and ears as well. "Human!"

"Raon," Cale says, his arms slowly extending toward the dark cloud. "You'll have my back, won't you?"

Raon stared at Cale with his big eyes, almost tearing up. His voice shakes when he begins to speak, "Y-Yes, you can count on me! I am the M-Mighty Raon Miru!"

"Good." 

For a moment, the sky was a serene expanse canvas of a bleak gray, filled with Cale's dark thunderclouds. A speckle of red float near the island. Cale looking down towards the life that moves underneath his space and it seemed like everything was in slow motion. He sees Withira, crying out for her whales, Jack swimming away from the island, the life that stood at the boat he pulls, and the plethora of life in the sea that swam around from a safe distance.

The air stilled around him as he exhaled.

The quiet before the storm.

They first saw the hundreds of jagged streaks of rosegold split the sky open, each one a bolt that was a testament to Cale's raw, incandescent Ancient Power. Each bolt struck down and began to dance together in wild, erratic patterns, crisscrossing the firmament continuously, one after another. For a moment it seemed like the sun had approached them, their eyes blinded and burned by them.

A symphony of chaos began almost immediately. Thunderous roars erupt, screams that were so primal tearing through the heavens as if the Earth was begging for mercy. The air became alive and they felt it by the way their skin prickles and their hairs rising. The god below the dancing flashes screamed, seeking help from their daughter, from their fellow divine beings, and was unfortunately turned away the moment his voice drowned between the roars of a mere human's power.

The kittens hid by your shoulders as you lay still on the boat, wanting to protect you despite their fears. It was the first time they saw Cale use an enormous amount of power to this extent and they feared over the fact that they could lose him in exchange for you. Archie positioned his body to rise from the water's surface and let his body be hit by the shock wave, protecting the people on the boat. Ron held you down to the floorboards to make sure you wouldn't slip away.

Cale felt the first raindrop fall before it came heavy and fast, the accumulation of water vapor in his clouds. He coughs up blood, his heart squeezing in his chest and Cale almost feels like falling. He could faintly hear Raon's cries and the way the Dragon was cuddling up to his chest. Cale hugs the small dragon, his eyes nearly closing. Both of them were drenched in the heavy rain.

"Human, stop!" Raon cried out. "T-that's too much!"

Cale's eyes were barely open but he managed to look down, seeing how the island was mostly black, singed off. The smell of rotten corpses reminded him of his previous world. He felt his ear becoming wet. His vision was blurring.

He bit his tongue.

'Cale, stop!' The Fire of Destruction called out, but Cale did not heed the orders of the voices. 

Each raindrop fell, illuminated by the constant flashes of the prettiest rosegold, glistening like diamonds before they hit the waters. His powers sway together in a disorganized ballet, the sky being his canvas to show off his untamed Ancient Power. His powers were the textbook definition of how the power of nature's beauty and destruction could coexist. He was terrifying and mesmerizing.

Soon, as suddenly as it all began, the storm moved on. The lighting fades, the thunder finally retreats, and the sky falls silent once more. Cale's eyes finally closed and he couldn't even slip into a fall because Raon was by his side, holding onto him and immediately teleporting both of them back to the ship, where they all await him.

Withira looked towards the ship, her ears still ringing. She looked back to where the island used to be, seeing only bits of the island floating around along with heaps of rotten corpses. She has never seen Cale's powers to this extent. The memory of those hundreds of flashes of lightning lingers in her head, etched into her mind like a series of vivid, electrifying dreams. 

In the aftermath, the clouds finally scattered and the sky returned to its tranquil blue.

"Check if anything of that beast survives," Withira says to one of her men before she turned back into a human and jumped into the boat to check on everyone. She sees that you and Cale were laid down on the floorboards, Cale's face and his sides drenched in blood. "Are they okay?" 

"She's okay," Ron says softly, checking your vitals once more to make sure he's not hallucinating from adrenaline. He looked at Beacrox who was checking on Cale and Beacrox nodded. "He's fine... Surprisingly."

Rosalyn kneeled beside Ron, holding your hand and lifting it to her lips. She closed her eyes before tears slowly gathered in her eyes as she recalled the harsh life you had to endure, fueled with relief that you're now here and alive. "I'm so glad..."

Choi Han smiled, sitting criss-crossed next to Cale's body as Archie began to swim back towards the continent. Raon curled himself under Cale's arm, closing his eyes and bumping his nose into Cale's palm. For the first time in months, everyone felt lighter. The breeze of the ocean, the sea spraying at them, and the sounds of the whales swimming back have never felt so freeing.

Rosalyn looked down before she let out a soft laugh. "I think... I think this is the first time we have the two of them knocked out like this."

Choi Han looked at her in confusion before he laughed, realizing that she was right. Usually, when Cale was unconscious due to overexerting himself, you'll take over and lead, and vice versa. Now, with both of you unable to lead them, they all feel a bit aimless.

"I'm glad I have my sister back," Rosalyn whispered, sighing as she laid down next to you on the floorboards, holding your hand.

Beacrox let a small smile slip, closing his eyes and finding himself feeling the same as the great Archmage.

You stood in a space, feeling the wind blowing your hair while the image of your father standing a few feet away from you. He looked older than you recalled he was supposed to be. His hair was longer, the wrinkles on his face deeper, and his eyes seemed to reflect the melancholy of someone who had lost everything.

"Why are you here?" You asked him softly, tilting your head. This was supposed to be your memories and you don't recall seeing your father age like this because he had gone missing the day your mother's funeral was held.

"I... don't know," your father mumbled. "I just wanted to see you one more time. Try again."

You stilled once you finally recognized his voice. It finally clicked why the voice sounded so familiar. "You... You're the voice that's been talking to me for months."

"I am," your father confirmed.

"H-How?!" You exclaimed, coming up to him and nearly falling to your knees when you could touch him. "I-I can touch you."

Your father reached for you, his arms wrapped tightly around you. For so long, you have been wandering in some transcendental realm and watching your life play out over and over again as if it were some kind of sickening exposure therapy to all the things that have happened to your life. John had faded a long time ago and you have been alone without being able to feel any warmth at all. This warmth came from someone who had attributed to your suffering, and dear God, it feels so relieving.

"I'm getting weaker," your father murmured. "It's time for me to retire."

You placed your hands on his shoulders, pushing him away to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"You've gained so many people who knows and loves you," he continued, cupping your cheeks before you slapped his hands away. "You're perfect."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" You spat at him, looking at him with wide eyes. 

"You have to continue this for me, [Name]," he continued on, looking at you expectantly. "There are so many memories of people within me. They can't just die with me. They need to go on."

"What are you saying?" You asked him, confused and slightly flabbergasted at his words. Memories? He was dying?

"When I came to this world, I was confused," he began. "Just like you. I don't age and I... I don't know. Those people, they started believing I was something divine."

"You tricked those people," you concluded with your face pale. 

Your father shakes his head. "I did not! They chose me!"

"And now I choose you," he murmured, his hand coming up and he pushed his hand through your chest and you let out a gag, shocked at how he could easily pierce through your chest. To make matters worse, you can physically feel him grasping at your heart and you hated how you could suddenly feel your heart pumping your blood.

You let out a strangled groan, something intangible from your father's hands streaming into your heart. Your heart was beginning a violent drum, each throb was a jolt that physically hurt you, aches that radiated to your ribs and the rhythm made you grimace with every pulse. There is no reprieve, no steady cadence to catch—just relentless, piercing strikes. Your heart was beating like a dancer that steps on broken glass with every step, agony with every breath.

Your world blurs, your sight and hearing fading into a haze of pain. Each pulse of your heart echoes throughout your body like a hammer blow that reverberates into your bones, shaking your core. The only thing that left your lips was the language of endless torment, each beat a cry, and each pause a breathless gasp.

Your heartbeat was a relentless reminder of your mortal state. Pain blossoms with each irregular thump, spreading through the chest like wildfire. You are not born for this divinity. You are not meant for this.

Yet, in this painful symphony, there is a desperate, fierce will—a heart that, despite the pain, refuses to surrender, fighting on with every agonizing beat. 

"You don't have any fucking right--!"

You let out a shrill scream, grabbing at your father's wrinkly face and dug your nails into his skin. He screamed loudly, the sound ringing your ears. You almost gag when your finger dug into his eyeball before you solidified your courage and immediately push your hands further, letting out a pained scream when you could feel his eye sockets, his blood dripping to your hands and going down into your arm. 

He grasped at your heart, squeezing it painfully and your screams echoed through the empty space. You pulled yourself away from him, screaming as you feel each vein and tendon of your heart being ripped from its place, and before you knew it, you lay on your back, a bleeding, gaping hole in your chest where your heart was supposed to be. Without the heart that has been pulsing torment into your body, you could finally breathe properly. 

Your father opens his mouth, his cheeks ripping before he swallows your heart whole into him. He swallowed it down in a painful gulp, seemingly waiting for something and when that something did not come, he looked betrayed. Furious.

Before you could get up, your father pinned you down and his hands clawed at your chest, your skin ripping under his sharp nails and you cried out, feeling your skin ripped layer by layer until your ribs showed. "Bare yourself to me! Give unto me!"

You reached out to his face again, nails digging into his skin and ripping his face, the same way he had ripped your chest open. You dug your fingers into where his eye socket was, making sure your grip was strong and ripped him away as hard as you can off of you. He rolled around like an animal kicked and you used the moment to stand up again.

Without your heart, you feel alive.

You panted, watching his form lunge at you, his eyes crazed. You ducked almost immediately and took a step to the side, grabbing his arm and immediately twisting it with your whole body. Once he was down, you placed your heel into his neck, stomping on it until you could hear a horrifying crack. You keep his neck under your heel as you twist his arm with a force that makes the sky shudder. The pain in his eyes is a mirror of the anguish he had inflicted on you. 

You twist it until you could hear the crack, screaming out as you moved your heel to his shoulder, keeping his shoulder in place while you began to pull at his arm until it was torn off of his shoulder. You threw away the arm, panting as the blood fell onto your face and your eyes, mingling with your sweat and tears. 

The god shook, letting out a pained scream as he held onto his shoulder. He slowly got up, watching you stumble after using most of your energy to tear his arm apart. He watched you, realizing that standing before him was a human that was the epitome of resilience.

You panted, your chest left a bleeding, gaping hole. Your chest was ripped by his nails, raw as your flesh bled and some of the tissues dangled. Some of your ribs showed, your flesh hanging onto it. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with hatred and betrayal.

When he finally approached you, there was something that changed. You did not dance around his claws and blows. You let yourself be maimed. Your nails grasp at whatever you can of him, scratching and tearing at his skin like an animal that had been cornered. Your bodies twist and writhe, a brutal dance of rage and betrayal. Your nails find purchase in his flesh, tearing through the divine facade to the vulnerable core beneath. Each rip is a catharsis, a reclamation of every piece of your spirit that he tried to rob of you. He retaliates, his hands gripping you, rending skin and sinew in a desperate bid to subdue you.

A god cannot subdue you, much less your father.

He was no longer both in your eyes.

You could feel it. His powers wane with every shuddering breath, every wound you inflict. Pain and spite fuel you -- fuck love, fuck faith, and fuck these fucking gods. Each slash of your nails is a declaration that you will no longer be bound to the past, to what doesn't matter, to these fucking people.

You finally toppled on top of him, your nails brutally digging into his chest. His screams of torment did not deter your goal. In fact, it is the symphony of your triumph. You ripped every layer of his flesh and once you felt his ribs, you grabbed one after another and broke it with brute strength. His beating heart lay bare before you and you grinned.

"H-hell..." He muttered, laying helplessly there as you grasped at his heart. "T-this is hell..."

You stayed quiet, tearing his chest open with one hand and the other ripping his heart out.

You sat on top of the corpse of the man you knew once as your father, holding his heart in your hands.

Your nails dug into it and once you tore it open, you found a single dianthus flower, withered and its petals bathed in blood.