#it's not enough he still succumbs to a force too powerful for him to ever fight

[all-seeing-ifer]

Found a new thing that bothers me about a hole in the world this time which is that they try and do this thing where Fred's insisting she can fight back against her infection and find a solution and she's determined not to be the "damsel in distress" (her words not mine). Which hypothetically I think is actually kind of an interesting character beat like the idea of a character who is so determined to fight and be a survivor and beat this thing bc they've always been able to pull themself through shit before but ends up succumbing to what essentially amounts to a terminal illness they have no way to fight is compelling and emotionally charged. But it just ends up ringing sooooo hollow bc Fred was pretty much always the damsel in distress anyway she never got to be active and solve problems and be a hero in her own right outside of occasional moments like the jasmine arc and other than that she mostly got reduced to a plot device for other people's character arcs.

Like I know I'm being a little hater about it all but I do think there is actually a version of this episode that works as a genuine and compelling tragedy but it would require the show to a) write Fred a lot better before this point and b) imo to develop fred and wesley's relationship outside of them being part of several annoying love triangles and wes being sad bc he thinks fred doesn't like him back. And idk. it's a shame that we couldn't get that

[blkkizzat]

'SINS OF THE FATHER'

PRIEST!NANAMI X READER

✟ the liturgy: (summary) Even the most pious of men succumb to temptation and Father Kento is no exception... especially when it comes to you. (Priest!Nanami POV) ✟ the confession: (tw) dark themes, sacrilege, adultery, blasphemy, jealously, exhibitionism, blackmail/manipulation, heavy biblical references, cunnalingus, fingering, riding dick, shoe fucking, blow jobs, panty sniffing, olfactophilia, dacryphilia, lightly suggested altarboy!yuji (aged-up) x reader, oil tycoon!gojo x reader, suggested mentions of reader x other jjk men, corruption, masturbation and angst as you are literally tormenting this poor priest (lol). ✟ the sins: (wc) 4.1k ✟ the opening rites:(a/n) i grew up catholic (got confirmed too) and went to catholic school but haven't stepped inside a church in literal years. i was honestly surprised how many bible references came so easily from pure memory while writing this.

Sanctified conviction radiates off Father Kento as he approaches the inordinately adorned wood carved pulpit with authority to address his congregation. 

Despite the uncomfortable Summer heat there is no lack of attendance, a sea of familiar faces packed into the small town chapel. The buzzing song of cicadas and soft oscillation of the large fan circulating humid air through the church are the only sounds heard as the masses eagerly await his homily.

You were among them of course. 

Sitting front and center– a small saccharine smile graced your lips while your doe-like eyes, captivated and attentive, were made even bigger as they raised to the podium to meet his own.

Bible open, Father Kento takes a full breath pause before he finally speaks, his gaze is benevolent yet his voice is firm as it projects over the congregation. 

“Dear Brothers and Sisters– Let us reflect on the gospel of First Corinthians Chapter 10 Verse 13…and The Lord says– ‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man—”

Oh but you– you were anything but common– and irregardless of any higher standing his status as a clergy member bestowed upon him he was still a man of flesh and blood.

No matter the effort exerted, Father Kento had been unable to keep his eyes from yours during the service. The magnetism of unknown and certainly unholy forces drew him to you time and again without fail.

No beauty in town rivaled yours, not with an angelic countenance that complemented your delicate features so gracefully in your every action. 

Yours was a form of divine femininity rivaling that of Venus herself. 

If that wasn’t beguiling enough, your honeyed voice and syrupy words had the ability to sway even the most feral of temperaments. Leaving those who heard it at your mercy like a gentle but deadly siren.

“—but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able—”

Is God faithful? 

Ironic how you had Father Kento questioning the very foundations of his own faith while simultaneously indoctrinating God’s dogma to his faithful parishioners.  

If you were a test he had failed. 

Many times.

Even the first man, Adam, had fallen to Eve’s allures and not even the warrior strength of Samson was able to overcome Delilah’s seductions. 

Who was he to prevail where the biblical idols had fallen?

What actual grace could God give man against the sensual temptation that he had carved from man’s own rib? 

Father Kento had felt forsaken of God’s grace ever since you had approached him after mass to quietly request the rites of confession. He should have refused when you kindly solicited him to perform them in the cooler confines of the secluded rectory over the oven-like heat of a chapel confessional box in summer. 

Led astray so effortlessly by your genial charms as you looked to him like a lamb lost and addressed him so meekly as “Father Kento”. He would have just as easily given you access to heaven then if it were in his power.

Yet it was you who had so graciously led him to the gates of Zion— which so conveniently happened to reside in the velvety depths between your thighs. 

Consequently, the only sins that were confessed in the rectory that day were the moist squelches of your peach-ripened pussy gushing around his cock and coalescing with the frenzied sounds of hot flesh slapping together in unison. 

A child of Lilth incarnate to be sure but you looked so pure and celestial, even in ecstasy.

Hair matted to the sides of your face drenched in sweat while your nimble hands clutched onto his clerical collar. Your eyes filled with such loving devotion and you rode him earnestly as if it was your life’s penance. 

Father Kento in turn gives you his absolution by taking you from behind. The swell of your plump rear rippling against his hips and shared fluids splashing onto his hard abdomen feverishly drive him closer to God than he’d ever been.

Yes, he is weak. 

But Father Kento held the conviction that not even The Vicar of Christ, the Pope himself would be able to resist the vice grip of your silken cunt as if its true purpose was never to bear life but to wring out the very essence of the soul of man. 

He’d fallen prey to a day-walking succubus on hallowed holy grounds. 

No– Father Kento was certain if this church had ever truly been blessed as a house of God you would have caught aflame the moment you graced its threshold. 

“—but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye are able to bear it’.”

Father Kento concluded the passage. Nonetheless, neither it nor any other doctrine had provided him the solace of escape and nor biblical strength did he receive to endure against his temptations.

There was no resisting you. 

There was no escaping you. 

For anyone you cast your sights on.

This is exemplified by the obvious effect you have on the young alter boy Yuji. 

Barely old enough to be called a man, the youth's entire body flinches whenever you spare a sweet glance in his direction. 

Has Yuji’s innocence already been stolen? 

Father Kento must quell the inkling of jealousy at the thought lest he stumble over his words and shame himself further.

He was a man in every sense of the word and a man of the cloth, he would not compete for your adulterous affections with his own altar boy.

Even so, Father Kento’s lip does curl in disapproval at the deep flush of guilt on Yuji’s cheeks. Yuji clumsily trips over his own feet, nearly permitting the blessed vessels for the rites of eucharist to fall to the ground.

Harlot! Have you really allowed someone other than himself to bathe in the sins of Jezebel?

Maintaining composure through his sermon, Father Kento reminds himself that an inexperienced youth is no threat. 

However it is more than likely Yuji– who normally is so oblivious in nature– had likewise become aware of the wicked exhibition of sacrilege occurring beneath the prayer cloth in your lap at the very hands of your own husband– Satoru Gojo.

“So you may ask where does that leave us as followers of Christ? Temptations lure us into doing, saying or thinking something that does not reflect who we really are as sons and daughters of God.”

Neither you nor your husband were Christ’s children so none of these ideologies applied to either of you.

Nefarious philistines the both of you– godless and immoral.

Although Father Kento was for certain your husband, Oil Tycoon, Satoru Gojo– was the only one whose deeds could put yours to shame. 

The white haired devil had descended upon the quiet small town like a thief in the night to greedily capture the first few drops of black gold that surged from the earth before it could even fall to the ground. Quickly buying up land and resources, in less than a fortnight Gojo essentially had control over the entire town– its priest included.

But as he became more wealthy, so did the town and its people. Satoru Gojo built up the town around him to match his own gluttony for opulence, taking the town and its people away from simple old time comforts and into the more complex modern age. 

Therefore the man was seen as a saintly savior, rather than the lecherous leech he truly was.

To Father Kento’s credit, if he deserved any at all– he had initially held strong in his faith. 

He was not a man tempted by the power that would come from a promotion to bishop if a larger church was built. Nor was he tempted by monetary gain. The treasures he had always held most valuable were only those to be found in God’s kingdom.

Familiar with the tricks masked by flamboyant arrays of grandior, Father Kento’s folly had been his own headstrong vainglory in being a man above the lures of temptation. Thus he failed in recognizing you as the seductive snake in sheep's clothing the cunning tycoon Gojo had sent to be his undoing.

And you had never once failed to unravel him.

Even now Father Kento struggles to keep himself together as you inconspicuously lean against your husband, your head resting gently on his shoulder while the dainty fan you are holding obscures the lower half of your face. 

What appears as an innocuous attempt to halt the perspiration rolling from your nape into your heaving bosom is merely a front to hide the sinful ‘o’ your cherry lips form.

Your chest softly heaves although your labored breaths aren’t from the humid heat shrouding the church– but the increasing warmth dampening in your loins. All which had been provoked by your husband slipping two fingers through the buttons of your thin sundress and into your pussy, lightly teasing its gooey folds. Gojo’s movements are mostly concealed by the cloth but Father Kento can make out the skillful circular motions stroking your spongy bud and causing the sporadic twitch in your knees. 

You had writhed similarly under him. You were always far too sensitive.

Fat tears would never fail to pour from your bright eyes when he would latch his mouth onto your sex. You would be his last supper if ever given the choice. If heaven had a flavor it would surely be akin to the taste of your pink candied cunt and he knew of no sweeter treat on earth.

Twas no wonder then how Father Kento easily loses all sense of self when flicking his tongue into your gaping slit. Swirling the appendage within your gummy walls he gluttonously slurps down the steady stream of your flowing nectar. 

Your mewls and cries for him are far lovelier than even the song of cherubim. Father Kento has committed them to memory and as such he knows when they reach a certain octave– your pitch so high it's practically soundless– you're nearing your nirvana.

Arriving at your peak you would thread your hands through his blonde locks and thrust your hips forward as if his mouth were salvation itself. Your manicured nails would dig into his scalp to rock his head deeper into your plump pussy. The actions would beckon his tongue to finally give you its mercy by dragging it flat up your folds to suckle and nip at your swollen clit.

You never called on God then. 

Nor your husband. 

Only Father Kento.

Coincidentally, Father Kento’s gaze locks with Gojo’s for a brief moment and Gojo’s pale lips curl into smirk. 

A fleeting look is shared before contact is broke but the message is clear: 

Satoru Gojo own’s everything in this town. 

Gojo owns your cunt. 

Your cunt owns Father Kento.

Therefore by proxy Gojo owns him.

The revelation has Father Kento showing the white of his knuckles from the intensity of his grip on the pulpit podium as you simultaneously release a silent scream brazenly cumming on your husband’s dexterous fingers in the middle of mass. 

“The time now is propitious for us all to make a journey of conversion, led by sincere faith to allow ourselves to be confronted with the Gospel. Let us confirm this commitment by sharing in The Body and The Blood of Christ.”

Proceeding with communion the altar boy Yuji stands next to Father Kento holding the tray where the blessed chalice of wine and platter of thin wafers reside as the congregation dutifully exits their rows to receive the eucharist. 

As it is the more modern way to receive communion the majority of the congregation choses to place their non-dominant palm up over the other to respectfully receive the host. Yet traditionally, the priest placed the blessed wafer directly on the tongue of the one receiving. This practice was typically only seen by the elderly, the most exceedingly pious and of course— you.

When it is your turn to approach you beam brightly as you and all your beauty seem to float before him.

“The Body of Christ.”

Father Kento raises the host before you.

“Amen.” 

You obediently replied. 

Like expected your eyes fluttered to close as your pillowy lips parted in order to accept the host directly in your mouth. 

God help him, this was the most sacred part of mass but the way your deviant tongue lulls out hot and thick with your saliva pooled on the edge and threatening to spill onto your lips has Father Kento shifting at his post.

You look just as compliant and yearning to receive as when you had been on your knees before him taking his cock in your mouth whole.

Father Kento delicately placed the host in your mouth in a similar fashion as to when he would tap the tip of his bulbous leaking cockhead onto your tongue. 

So willing to please you kiss his angry red mushroom tip to appease his cock, swirling your tongue over the tiny hole before puckering it between your lips to greedily suck any drops of pre that dribbled forth as you pumped his base.

You were a tease. 

That much was evident both then and now as you extended the tip of your tongue to caress the tip of his finger. A tiny kitten lick, but nevertheless a tingle ran through his cock in remembrance.  

“The Blood of Christ.”

Father Kento presents the wine symbolizing the blood before you. 

“Amen.”

Again you closed your eyes and allowed Father Kento to press the chalice against your parted lips. 

The very picture of amenability, you actually enjoyed when he went rougher on you as a result of your teasing. Father Kento would gather your hair into a tight grip as he not-so-gently rammed his cock past your tonsils and down your throat. 

It was unnatural and ungodly for a person to lack any semblance of a gag reflex such as you. 

In response you pressed your fingers into his thighs– not as a means of resistance, but to control your own lust as you began shamelessly humping your mound against his leg. You were always desperate to feel any small sensation against your cunt while he ravaged your mouth.

Of course, Father Kento would oblige you and in turn he is rewarded with the heavy moans that would vibrate around his cock as his oxford loafer pushed up into your soaked core. Your white lace lingerie did little to contain your juices and as such Father Kento made use of the fluids leaking from your pussy as polish to shine his shoe.

Having sipped the wine from the chalice you peer up at Father Kento as if seeking his approval. 

He gives you a small nod. 

Similar to the one he bestows upon you after his seed has filled your stomach and you lick your lips as if it was his essence and not The Blood of Christ that lingered on them.

In the beginning, he had prayed long and hard to forget those sinful images of you that would intrude unwelcomed into his mind. 

Yet you always had ways of sucking him back in. 

Such as leaving your soiled panties stuffed between his headboard. Father Kento thought he was going mad when even after changing the sheets thrice was he still plagued with your smell.

He should have burned the offensive garment as soon as it was discovered and yet he treated it with reverence as if it were a holy object of salvation. Truly an euphoric experience, on days he couldn’t have you he’d bury his nose into the fabric murmuring blasphemy as he worshiped the very scent of you while jerking his cock.

When Father Kento finally ceased trying to resist you he then had the fleeting thought he could save you. Bring you to God and away from your villainous husband. 

But you were no Mary Magdalene, there was no returning you to the flock.

You will not leave your husband who provides you wealth and security. Father Kento is not so enamored he holds illusions that extend beyond his reality. There is nothing Father Kento owns and nothing he can offer you but himself. 

The singular consolation of the tragic circumstances is that Father Kento is sure you prefer his touch. The touch of a seemingly pious man who only has desires for you.

Unlike your scoundrel of a husband who Father Kento was sure had not remained faithful to your marriage bed. Not the way most of the female townsfolk threw themselves at Satoru Gojo. If he had no qualms using you to achieve his means he certainly had none for himself. 

You were simply a pawn to be played, as was Father Kento.

“Before we depart I leave you with these words: Let every day be a new day to renew the promises of our Baptism: We renounce Satan and all his works and seductions — for sh– *ahem* HE – is the seducer. Now go forth, Brothers and Sisters and remain true in the light of God.”

The closing rites over, Father Kento has never been more relieved nor eager for the conclusion of a mass. Watching the congregation mingle in the entrance, he gives his farewell blessings to the parishioners.

A few still remained however you were nowhere to be seen. 

This was not odd, the Gojos were a busy couple, likely excusing themselves immediately to attend to more important affairs.

Or so he hoped.

“There you are, Father! Riveting service, as always.”

With a devious grin and a firm drawn-out handshake Gojo greets Father Kento. Turning to face the devil himself, Father Kento greets Satoru in turn with a strained smile and an even firmer grip. 

Yet still he is unable to show you any of the wrath you justly deserve and Father Kento’s smile is more genuine when he faces you.  

You regard Father Kento coyly as your husband’s arm tightens around your waist. Your face is flushed and it’s evident you are still weakened from the orgasm your husband gave you earlier in front of the entire congregation. 

That knowledge though is only held by the three of you, God and perhaps the altar boy Yuji.

Father Kento had never known you to be silent when cumming so the exertion of the effort you expended likely weighed heavy on you as displayed by how you are clinging to Gojo to keep from swaying on your feet. 

“Thank you. I am but a humble messenger of The Lord’s wor–.”

“– Wait. Hold that thought!”

Father Kento’s eyebrow twitches as Gojo's attention is momentarily called elsewhere. 

Every Sunday, a growing number of parishioners would seek Satoru Gojo’s greeting and recognition after service over that of their priest Father Kento. 

True to character Gojo makes an obnoxious show of charisma which leaves the last group of parishioners fawning and singing his praises as they exit.

“Forgive me, Father. Where were we? Ah– Of course! Yes, you are quite excellent in your delivery of God’s word, a true testament to your faith!”

His flattery is so obviously false in its sincerity that Father Kento is not surprised when Gojo’s sordid smirk returns. 

“But you are not only a messenger for The Lord… isn’t that right, Father Kento?” 

Father Kento warily clutches onto the large cross dangling from the rosary around his neck as Gojo continues.

“I’ll need you to spread mine as well. Haven’t you heard? I have plans to run for Mayor.”

Mayor.

The diabolical fiend truly knew no limits in his quest for control over the town. 

“I’ll need you to come over to dinner tonight to consult with the rest of my top supporters.”

Father Kento steeled himself.. 

There was nothing he could do to stop Satoru Gojo from being mayor but his infatuation with you aside, he could not walk straight into the lion's den to collude with heathens. 

It would be the final nail in his coffin, Gojo would indeed own his soul.

“Oh! Y/N is prepping a feast too… aren’t you, angel?” 

Gojo’s grip on your waist trails lower to palm the fat of your ass and you clutch on to him tighter as you nod eagerly in agreement, biting your lip as his large hands knead into your cheeks through your wispy dress. 

Your body is ever responsive to Gojo’s touch just like he trained you to be.

“I must refuse. I have duties here to attend, I couldn’t poss–”

“P-Please F-Father…”

And just like that your delicate voice cuts through his iron defenses like it were warm butter.

“…K-Kento, p-please come!”

Your request fumbles out of your lips as a cry as Gojo’s devilish fingers dip past your ass to prod at your cunt.

“You heard her Father. She wants you to come. Break bread with us, you will be among friends. Friends who know how to share, yeah? I’ll even share a piece of her cream pie for dessert.” 

That had been the final straw. Gojo had gone too far this time.

You seeking him out was one matter but he would not allow Satoru Gojo of all people to dangle you in front of him like a master would dangle a treat to a dog.

“Begone, you foul heretic. I will not tolerate your mockery of me, this church nor God any longer.”

Commanding in his tone, Father Kento extends the cross of the rosary forward to Gojo as if he were casting a malevolent curse back down to hell. 

Father Kento doesn’t have the courage to look at you though, he can’t. Not if he wants to take a triumphant stand against Satoru Gojo.

And so Father Kento closes his eyes and silently prays. 

Immediately bored at such a devout display, Gojo sighs rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright, Father. I get it. Whatever you say, jeez. It’s not like I need your support to become mayor– just thought it would be nice is all. ”

Father Kento remains silent as he listens to both of your footsteps exit the church but not before Gojo stops at the doors, his cheerful voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Heh, you know, not everyone in this town is as pious as you Father. Sheriff Fushiguro has never been one to turn down a stack of bills but I’m sure tonight he would enjoy sharing in Y/N’s creampie if you don’t.”

Father Kento’s eyes open to flash red with fury.

Having received a satisfactory enough reaction from the priest, Gojo grins wildly as your own eyes widen in shock at your husband’s words. 

Has Gojo only ever used you to manipulate him alone? 

The thought remains as Father Kento doesn’t miss the pleading gaze directed at him from over your shoulder as you are led out of the church.

Goddammit– He couldn’t let you fall into the brutish clutches of Toji Fushiguro. 

Toji may have been the sheriff but he was well-known for his oafish demeanor and greasy womanizing ways. 

NO! He mustn’t think of you any longer. 

Father Kento needs to clear his mind of you for good with prayer.

Prayer and solitude.

Deep prayer and extensive solitude was what he needed if he ever hoped to rise again to gain God’s favor. He needed to call upon The Lord’s strength one last time to remain at the parish tonight and defy Gojo’s will.

Father Kento couldn’t let the pleasures of flesh continue to manipulate the very fibers of his being in such a way. 

The rosary still in his grasp Father Kento raises his hands close in prayer as a final call for God’s mercy… and then it hits him– wafting off his fingers, overwhelming his senses and igniting every nerve in his being. 

The scent of your cunt. 

The lingering perfume of your sinful drippings spilled on your husband’s hand during mass had been transferred to his own when Gojo shook his hand and held it so firmly.

The bastard. 

The rush hits him hard and he feels dizzy as his ears begin to ring. Vertigo overtakes Father Kento as he holds the offending hand out as if he had been poisoned. 

Leaning back against a wall to gather himself, Father Kento realizes once the manic pounding coursing through his veins begins throbbing in his loins that he’s fated for damnation.

This is the moment he’d always dreaded although ironic with the simple acceptance of it he feels no despair. 

Father Kento’s conviction is finally clear as he is left with a singular truth that rang through his entire soul:

Whatever solace he would know, whatever peace he would have in this life, he would only find with his cock buried in the sweet embrace of your cunt. 

✟

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✟ the closing rites: (a/n) hell is hot and it's surely my destination after writing this. i tried to leave it a little ambiguous to whether y/n is actually in-love with nanami or just a sex-crazed slut eager to use him at the request of her husband. i don't have a pt.2 planned just fyi as this is meant to be a oneshot. although i do need to write more nanami so i will take requests for him! but fair warning i am very slow i apologize.

also shout out to the amazing art i used for the gfx ✟ art by mishwell

✟ REBLOG to be unburdened of your sins by Father Nanami but likes and comments are also appreciated!

upcoming: the nursery (yakuza!toji), please teach me! (ceo!gojo), request: teasing choso (college au), request: sukuna x blkreader, [none in any order as im at the mercy of my adhd lol]

[remlionheart]

⟡˙⋆ MDNI ⋆˙⟡

Teacher's Pet

♡༊·˚ the second installment in my euphoria x jjk drabbles. this takes place where megumi's left off, but it's still a standalone fic so it's not necessary to read both parts if u don't want to ♡ tw for drug use and slight coercion. gojo x shy fem!reader. 𐙚 praise kink girlies who have ever dreamt of an authority figure having their way with you - hi, hello, welcome, enjoy your stay 𐙚 your former teacher's house was a place where anything and everything happened. a place people came to let go of their responsibilities and lose themselves for the night. there was only one rule: no one was allowed to step foot in his bedroom... shout out to the loml @bratbby333 for literally being gojo. 3.9k words. porn with a plot. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡༊·˚

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Satoru Gojo had never been the most morally sound, neither in his personal or professional life. There were many things he was willing to turn a convenient blind eye to, secrets he was willing to keep in order to protect himself and those he deemed valuable enough. In a world predominantly made up of black and white, he was the condemning shade of silver that connected the two. Always towing the line but never really committing to either side.

With the amount of wealth and status he possessed, there was hardly anything he couldn't have - not a person or a drug or material object that was off limits to him. The entire world had always bent to his will, and he intended on keeping it that way.

His footsteps were heavy as he maneuvered through the crowd of sorcerers that were scattered about his living room.

Every weekend was the same, a hazy blend of laughter and smoke and blue lights. Girls snorting coke off of his marble countertops and couples fucking in the pool, not caring at all who saw. It was the place that people wandered to when they needed to let go of their inhibitions for the night and succumb to their own vices. "Gojo's house of debauchery" as Megumi would so endearingly name it.

He tilted back the rest of his drink while he made his way upstairs, pleased with the way bodies parted for him without him having to say a word. He was imperious, subconsciously operating with an effortlessly powerful presence anywhere he went, but especially within the domain of his lofty penthouse.

He came to an abrupt pause, noticing the door of his bedroom was cracked open. There were hardly any rules when it came to his Saturday night depravities, but the one thing that everyone knew was to not step foot into his room.

His jaw clenched, grabbing onto the door handle with every intention of having to drag someone out when the tension in his shoulders suddenly settled. A small smirk crept across his face as he closed the door behind him, his annoyance completely overruled by a new sense of perverse curiosity as he noted the way his sheets hugged the side of your hip.

"You lost sweetheart?"

Your eyes snapped open when you heard the click of the lock, your mind was racing trying to piece together where you were. You'd taken at least 4 shots too many before you'd stumbled upstairs.

The last thing you remembered was searching for a bathroom, barely being able to push your way through the crowd when Nobara noticed you. "You don't look too good," she had shouted over the music, "here, follow me." She'd forced you to drink some water while you peed and then guided you to the connecting bedroom. "You need to lay down for a little bit, 'kay?" It was the last thing you had heard before your head hit the pillow and your surroundings finally stopped spinning. You'd assumed that she'd taken you to one of his many guestrooms, but no, in her own drunken haze, she'd managed to leave you in his bed.

"Gojo-sensei," you immediately grimaced at your own formality, scrambling to correct yourself while you rolled over to face him. "I - mean, Gojo." Satoru? No, definitely not. You shook your head at the thought. "I'm sorry, let me just grab my stuff and -"

His smirk only grew at your hesitation though, a slight laugh leaving his lips as he waved a dismissive hand and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to you. "You're already here. Stay."

Your body froze when you met his stare, the low glow from the red light above his headboard emphasizing the sharpness of his face. You were surprised he even recognized you considering you hadn't seen him since graduation. Out of all of his former first-years who would so frequently pass out after overindulging, you had never been one of them.

Never, until now.

His eyes drifted along your silhouette, noting the curves that had replaced your once slender frame. The maturity that had stolen your timid teenage smile. You’d always piqued his interest, but you were now piquing something much more sinister inside him as he continued to look you up and down.

"This is new for you, hm?" He asked, looping a slender finger under his blindfold before pulling it down. "I mean, you were always a good girl, right?" Your heart stuttered in your chest when your stare caught his fully. An impossible shade of cerulean gazing back at you through thick lashes. "A bit shy from what I remember."

You shrugged, thankful for the way the lighting was covering up the heat that had migrated to your cheeks. You were better off than you were 2 hours ago but you still weren't as coherent as you should be, especially for this situation. "I was a kid back then." You finally managed.

"Seems like you're still one seeing as you couldn't handle a few shots without needing to lay down." His tone was more amused than it was scolding. "Look, it’s all about balance. If you're drinking or taking more downers than you're used to, you need an upper to counter it."

It almost felt like you were back in his classroom listening to one of his lectures, only the lesson he was about to teach you was definitely not Jujutsu High approved. He leaned over, grabbing a black Versace box from his nightstand. "If you're ever bordering on the verge of blacking out, the quickest way to regain your composure is this."

You watched him pull out a bag of white powder along with a dainty, almost doll-sized spoon, scooping out a bump before holding it to the left side of his nose while another finger covered the right. His pupils bloomed as he inhaled, letting the drug enter into his system with ease. "Come here." He instructed. 

You leaned toward him, it was almost muscle memory the way your mind and body both followed his directions with such blind obedience. A slight grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he brought another spoonful up to your face, his free hand closing one side of your nose for you. “Take a deep breath f’me.” He gave you a low nod as you complied without a second thought. “There you go, just like that.” 

Your jaw tightened, an odd sense of clarity washing over you when you looked back at him this time. The coke had managed to reel you back in, neutralizing at least some of the alcohol in your system as your body buzzed from the stimulants. Reality suddenly had a stronghold over you, reminding you that you weren’t just in your former teacher’s bed, but you were in it with him while he spoonfed you drugs.  

“Better?” he asked, cocking his head at you with the same smirk.

All you could do was nod, gradually coming to terms with the fact that you were powerless to the two opposing substances that were now working within you. Your heart rate was slowed by the alcohol but accelerated by the coke, neither one of them necessarily overpowering the other. They were instead coming in waves, almost taking turns as they flooded your thoughts and calmed your nerves. Gojo-sensei was always right, but you never imagined this would be something you’d learn from him. 

“A lot better.” You admitted, watching him set the box on the nightstand, wondering if the way he left the bag inside of it open was intentional or not. 

“Good.” He pulled at his tie, loosening it around his neck as he stripped out of his black blazer leaving him in just a white button up. “What were you doing here tonight anyway?”

Your mouth opened and then closed as you met his stare again. There was no subtle way to admit that you were still recovering from your latest breakup. That you’d come out tonight in a sad attempt to maybe, accidentally run into him.

“Oh, god,” he groaned, reading like you a fucking book. “Please don’t tell me you came here to get Takuma's attention.”

Your pupils dilated for an assortment of reasons, embarrassment churning in your stomach as you shook your head in denial. “What? No, I just wanted to get out for a few and -"

“Bullshit.” Despite the sharp edge in his tone, he was still wearing the same coy smile, his leg lightly grazing yours as he positioned himself closer to you. “You always had a thing for him. I remember the way you used to follow him around the hall like a lost puppy.” 

“That was years ago.” You countered, trying to process the fact that he’d watched you that carefully. 

“But you did, didn’t you?” His hand reached up, his slender fingers gently tangling into your hair, his voice dropping down to a pointed whisper. "I even heard you wanted him to be your first."

Your heart was racing, but it suddenly had nothing to do with the coke. Gojo-sensei had never been the most professional teacher. He was always joking with his students. Always getting into gossip that had absolutely nothing to do with him, but you never thought that his interest in his student's personal affairs extended to you considering you hardly ever had anything noteworthy going on. You sat in the back of the class. You barely spoke to anyone. You were a wallflower from hell. The fact that he remembered your crush on Ino was astonishing. The fact that he knew you wanted Ino to be your first was insanity.

His hand was still attentively drifting across the back of your neck, light fingertips gliding across your skin while his eyes roamed along your lips. You were forgetting how to breathe between the way he was looking at you and the sudden realizations that you were quickly having to come to terms with.

"You didn't actually let him take your virginity, did you?" His tone was dripping with taunting curiosity.

"He -" you faltered as his palm met the small of your back, the oxygen all but gone from the room. "He was my...first and...." You nearly choked on your own honesty, your face matching the deep red lights decorating his wall. "...only."

Satoru's body stilled, an incredulous look taking over his face before a vicious laugh erupted from him. "You're joking. So, have you ever cum then? Like, even just by yourself?”

"Of course I have." Your response was immediate. Almost too defensive to be true. "Plenty of times." You tacked on, which only made it worse.

You froze as his grip found its way around your waist, his fingertips lightly digging into your skin. "Show me then." he challenged.

Your heart felt like it was going to explode. His touch equal parts tantalizing and intimidating the closer he got to you, his hand cradled your jawline, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. "Show me how you make yourself cum when no one's around."

Your breathing came to a complete stop when he closed the already small gap between you, his hand gliding down your neck as his tongue parted your lips. His body was warm and inviting, pressing against yours with ease. "Let me see it," he continued, slipping the straps of your tank-top down your shoulders.

You were stuck somewhere between the desperate desire to pull him closer and a nagging sense of insecurity that you couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried. You weren't stupid, you knew that he was much more experienced than you. He'd probably been with plenty of beautiful women who had given him more of a show than you felt capable of giving.

He pulled away slightly, picking up on your apprehension as his eyes met yours again. "You wanna be here, right?"

You nodded back at him, an aching feeling building between your legs at how dominant yet unexpectedly gentle he was being with you. "I do, I just -" You felt your jaw clench, the coke mixing with your self-doubt causing your body to tighten up even though it was the last thing you wanted it to do. "My head is just kind of everywhere right now." You admitted sheepishly.

"Here," He shot you a small smile before leaning over to reach back into his nightstand while you stared at the ceiling, trying to relax into the softness of his bed. "Open." he said, hovering over you again.

His stare was locked firmly with yours as you lolled your tongue out for him obediently, swallowing down the yellow circular pill he'd given you. "Good girl." He praised, tracing over the side of your face with his finger. "We'll take things slow, yeah?"

You didn't know what you'd just taken. Truthfully, you didn't even care with the way he was talking to you. His voice was like silk when he leaned back into you, carefully wedging himself between your legs as he kissed you again. His movements were fluid but thoughtful. His fingers grazing along your skin softly, leaving little goosebumps in their wake.

He may have been with more people than you had, but you were gradually starting to realize that it was more of a positive than it was a negative. He was able to read you so easily, he knew exactly where and how to touch you.

You let out a faint whimper as his palm met the inside of your thigh, slipping up your skirt and moving your panties to the side. "Keep your eyes on me, okay?"

The way your bottom lip lodged between your teeth while you looked back at him with a doe-like expression made it all the harder to restrain himself, but he somehow managed to keep his resolve.

His long digits spread you apart before his middle finger slid between your folds and began drawing light but firm circles against you. He could see your timidness slowly dissipating, the Valium he had slipped you clearing doing its job as you arched your back from him and let out another whine.

You were overwhelmingly comfortable, your body completely melting under his touch. He was running uppp and downnn your clit with just the right amount of pressure, creating a heavenly amount of slick for the both of you.

"That’s it. Gettin' so wet for me." He breathed, his lips just barely ghosting yours. "Do you have any idea how perfect you look right now?"

The moan you let out was beyond your control, your vision was blurred by silver hair and blue eyes and how unbelievably good it all felt. "Gojo-sensei," you panted, your body writhing beneath him as he slid in a thick finger inside of you this time. "F - fuck."

Satoru groaned, plunging even deeper into you. He never knew how badly he needed to hear you moan out his formal name until you suddenly couldn't stop doing it. Your hips were bucking up towards him, your lips urgently crashing into his as more dazed out noises poured out of you.

"Keep going." He instructed, reeling in the way your eyes widened as he added another finger. "You're doin' so good."

You were grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, your walls clenching around him. He was hitting spots that you'd never been able to reach before. Spots that Ino had apparently neglected too. You felt yourself slipping. Your mind was racing. Your body grinding against him desperately and your voice breaking with each word you tried to get out.

"Go-jo... I'm - gon-na..." But you didn't have to say it for him to know. He slammed into you, nodding at you in encouragement as fire flickered through his steel eyes.

"Let it out." There was a fierceness to his tone that he couldn't mask anymore, his composure was crumbling right along with yours. "C’mon, let me fucking feel it.”

Watching you come undone like this was such a sharp contrast from the shy schoolgirl he once knew that used to skip class just to avoid group projects. You squirmed under him, mewling out his name like it was the only word you knew as an orgasm finally raked through your body, stealing away every last bit of hesitancy you once had.

You were staring back at him like he'd told you to, never breaking eye contact no matter how hard it was for you to keep still. Your irises bloomed with pleasure, a noise you didn't know you were capable of making escaping you as you drenched his hand.

"Good fucking girl."

He pulled out of you, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. Your lips parted without him having to say anything, sucking them clean as you continued to look back at him with the same innocent expression. He was afraid he was going to no choice but to get you pregnant if you kept this up.

"Takuma ever make you cum like that?" he asked, releasing himself from you so you could speak.

You bit back a smile as you shook your head. "No," you conceded, helping him lift your tank-top above your head. "Not like that."

"I didn't think so." He smirked, unbuttoning his own shirt while you slid out of your skirt, both of your outfits being tossed to the floor.

You felt your center throb watching him strip out of his boxers. An overwhelming sense of neediness flooded over you as you took in the intimidating masterpiece that was Gojo-sensei's body. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't imagined what it looked like a time or two when you were in his class. It was hard not to with the way girls fawned over him, but you'd managed to keep your infatuation to yourself up until now.

Seeing him stroke himself as he lined up with your entrance was prettier than any daydream you could've ever conjured up.

"Need you to focus on your breathing.” he said, rubbing his tip between your folds to wet himself with your slick. The temptation to absolutely destroy you was plaguing his mind, but he knew he needed to ease you into it. The only person you'd been with was Ino for god's sake, you deserved to be fucked properly.

You followed his lead and inhaled slowly, thankful for whatever magical relaxation pill you’d taken you as he prodded into you. It didn't take long to realize why he'd told you to breathe, his tip alone was stretching you out more than you were used to. You found yourself grabbing onto his forearm, your nails digging into his skin as a hazy whimper filled the space between you.

"It's alright, you can handle it." Your walls were smothering him, so impossibly snug and tight that he struggled to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head. "Just like that. Juuust like that."

He pressed into you carefully, harnessing all the restraint he could possibly manage while you tried but failed to hold back your whines. "God, you feel fuckin' good." He groaned. "Takin' me so well."

You were still clutching onto him, your mouth dropping open the further he went. You'd never felt this full before - this entirely enamored by someone being inside of you. You thought that you knew what you liked up until this point, but he was drawing noises and feelings out of you that you didn't even know existed.

Gojo's urge to break you was getting harder to ignore. You were so pouty and delicate and naively trusting of him. He'd been trying to keep a steady pace, watching you intently to make sure you were still comfortable, but the moment the words "deeper" and "please" left your mouth, he felt something inside him snap.

His hand laced around your throat, his thumb and index finger pressing firmly into the sides of your neck. The smirk he shot you was lethal. "Deeper? You sure that's what you want?"

It was your one and only chance to back out, but you couldn't. There was a coiling tension in your abdomen. A depraved craving coming from your core. It wasn't just that you wanted more, it was that you needed more. You could barely get out another, "please." before he was suddenly plunging into you.

His rhythm was merciless, his grip tightening around your airways turning your moans into strained gasps.

He leaned in, his hair brushing against your forehead as he watched your eyebrows knit together, your eyes locked with his once more.

"You've always been so fuckin' cute, y'know that?" His hips met yours with another damning thrust. "So good at doing what you're told."

The red lights blurred together, a mixture of stars and sedatives clouding your vision as the aching feeling between your thighs amplified. Your cunt felt like it was pulsating, that burning build suddenly breaking away from just your stomach and spreading throughout your entire body.

"Oh, fuck." He grunted. "There it is. Keep goin’.”

Your walls spasmed, drool spilling down your chin while you wriggled under his grasp. Your pelvis tilted up feverishly to meet his as you took every inch of him. You were teetering on the verge of passing out. Nearly crying from how overwhelmed your senses were when another orgasm ripped through you.

His grip loosened on you, his movements becoming more frenzied. The fucked-out look on your face coupled with the pouty, suppressed cries you let out when he removed his hand from your throat was enough to drive him over the edge too.

His lips caught yours with feral urgency, his hand tangling into your hair as a lewd warmth filled you, spilling out onto his sheets. “I want you over here again next weekend," he said in between breaths. “Got it?"

You nodded back at him, your mind humming from overstimulation as he slowly pulled out.

He took a moment before getting to his feet, admiring the mess that he'd made of you. "C'mere." He smirked, helping reposition you up to the front of the bed.

He placed a pillow under your head and brought the blanket up over your shoulders. There was no way you were making it home tonight.

He lazily slipped his pants back on, only bothering to button up half of his shirt as he ran a hand through his hair and reached for the Versace box on his nightstand. He divvied out another bump and held the spoon to his nose, inhaling sharply before turning off the light for you and venturing out of the room to see how many people were still up and about.

The music had died down for the most part, the once packed hallway now mostly empty. He rounded the corner, just about to head downstairs when he came to an abrupt pause.

"Ino." he called out, noticing the brunette wandering out of one of his guestrooms. "Didn't realize you were here."

"Oh, yeah." He shrugged, tilting back the rest of his beer. "Was just lookin' for someone, Nobara said that -" he stopped himself before he could finish his thought, shaking his head. "Y'know what, it doesn't matter. She's too needy to deal with anyway."

Gojo's eyebrow raised, an arrogant smirk cutting across his face as he played along, offering him faux words of shallow comfort. "Ah, yeah. Bet she's pretty whiney too, huh?"

"Right." Ino snorted, completely oblivious to the condescending trap he'd just walked into.

"Probably says you're not deep enough." Gojo pressed, earning another clueless drunken laugh from him. "Always so pouty."

"Exactly. Like she's never satisfied."

"Girls," he mused, adjusting the collar of his shirt from where you'd grabbed onto earlier while you were soaking him. "Sounds like she needs someone to teach her a lesson..."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney : Rapunzel

Hey! I'm back again with this series for Spooky Season! If you haven't seen my Darkside Disney Princesses before, here's the link to the master post

So, the OG Darkside Design herself, Princess Rapunzel

Ok, so I am drawing on Tangled the Series lore, as you can see, but as all my other ideas happened by twisting the original films, in this story Rapunzel’s downfall starts when Eugene fails to cut Rapunzel’s hair in the tower.

Gothel keeps her deal, lets Rapunzel heal him, and then promptly makes off into the night with Rapunzel, leaving Eugene locked up in the tower.

Gothel is determined to keep Rapunzel’s hair safely for herself this time, and so decides to make for a more secure hiding place, leagues and leagues away from Corona -- The Great Tree, the stronghold of Gothel's old master, Zhan Tiri

Rapunzel, true to her word, doesn't fight back. She follows where Gothel leads, all the while praying that her sacrifice will be worth it, that Eugene has managed to free himself and is safe somewhere.

Eugene of course, has managed to free himself, and is anything but safe as he tries desperately to avoid re-capture while doing everything he can to try and track down Gothel and Rapunzel--all while some strange black rocks continue to spread across Corona and the surrounding lands.

Unfortunately, he'll be too late if he ever does.

Gothel for years has been waiting patiently to discover the further secrets of the Sundrop flower, driven by a prophecy that said a child raised by her would reveal them in their 21st year.

For ages she tried to have child after child to fulfill this prophecy, discarding them as they failed her--until Rapunzel, a child born of the Sundrop itself.

In the canon timeline, Rapunzel fulfills this Destiny after being freed from Gothel and reuniting with her true family, discovering the secrets of the Sundrop and Moonstone and defeating Zhan Tiri...

In this darker world, Gothel, in her greed and ignorance, upon Rapunzel's 21st year, has been forcing Rapunzel to do various experiments to awaken the powers within her. The black rocks have spread to the Great Tree at this point, and so Rapunzel still gains the powers of the Moonstone, while retaining the power of the Sundrop as well. So that when at last Gothel has her chant the Decay Spell—all the healing spells are undone.

Gothel crumbles into dust before Rapunzel’s eyes. Eugene, finally having found Rapunzel’s trail, suddenly feels his wounds suddenly reopen. Pascal, having accompanied Eugene on his quest, at last succumbs to the snake bite that brought him to Rapunzel.

And Rapunzel herself, after so much pain, so much heartbreak and disillusionment, having spent so long chained to Gothel and her abuse—Rapunzel embraces the promise of the Decay Spell, the only hope for freedom she feels she has left

“Wither and decay. End this destiny. Break these earthly chains. And set the spirit free.The spirit free…”

A lone figure emerges from the husk of The Great Tree, eyes a sickly green, long hair black as night, tears forever falling down an empty, souless face. The power of the Moonstone has set the spirit free, even as the power of the Sundrop keep the body animate.

A wandering revenant, spreading decay wherever it goes, following the black rocks on and on, slowly shambling towards some unknown terrible destiny.….

And soon enough, a long locked away demon may find a new host

[littlemissmanga]

I really liked those hurt/comfort dialogue prompts so if you're taking requests, would Rex with 13 "you deserve better than me" or 23 "did they hurt you" inspire you at all? 😊

Um, YES! Absolutely!!

I do like me a good, angsty "you deserve better than me." But that feels a little too like what I did in "One Last Order, Pt. 1."

So, "did they hurt you" it is! I'm getting better at "ficlets" and managed to keep this under 2k words! Eventually, I'll be able to do shorter writing lol. I hope you don't mind!

Rating: SFW

Warnings: fisticuffs, slight violence, descriptions of desire but nothing explicit.

Did He Hurt You?

The alcohol buzzed pleasantly in your blood. Not enough to make you sloppy. Just enough to make your skin feel like a livewire.

Exactly what you were shooting for when the boys invited you to join them at 79’s. The club scene wasn’t usually your top choice for how to spend your limited free time back on Triple Zero, but it was worth it to see the men of the 501st let their hair down. Metaphorically, that is … except for Tup, who very much let his hair slip from his signature bun.

But most satisfying was seeing Rex let the weight of responsibility slip from his shoulders for the night. His laugh was a too rare thing, and you indulged in the sound every time one would slip past his lips. Even better was that you seemed to be the cause of most of them tonight.

You hadn’t intended on flirting with the stalwart captain upon being assigned to the 501st as a mechanic. But Rex had a bad habit of putting his foot in his mouth when caught off his guard. All it took was one moment of hesitation on his part and a witty quip on yours, and you were hooked on how adorably flustered you could make him.

Still, he wasn’t a captain for nothing. It didn’t take long for Rex to find his grove and give as good as he got. By now, your flirtationship was well established. The boys would often tease you about it, and you suspected they did the same to Rex. Neither of you were ignorant of the pointed looks and raised brows from Jesse or Hardcase. Shit, even Tup would let a sly comment slip by from time to time.  

No matter what, though, you and Rex insisted it was just all in good fun.

And it was. That was all it could be. Didn’t stop you from imagining what could be. Maybe. One day, after the war.

You weren’t blind — Rex was an attractive man. All the clones were. But the way he carried himself set him apart far more than his distinctive blond buzz. You could get addicted to that quiet power. And you weren’t stupid — good men like Rex didn’t come around often. Any girl would be lucky to call him hers.

You wished you could be that lucky. Too bad he was your boss. Too bad you knew nothing would ever distract him from his responsibility to the Republic.

No, that’s not right. It’s good that he’s like that. I like him because he’s like that.

“Lost in thought?” There was nothing untoward in his tone, but you could see flickers of mirth swimming in Rex’s eyes.

You had been lost. But not in thought. Lost in him. Maybe the alcohol was getting to you. Not good.

“Nah, just wandering through,” you jest. “Speaking of, I’ll be right back.”

You gingerly climb over him to exit the booth, focusing very carefully on moving your limbs without touching him. You keep that forced control with each step you take toward the restroom, determined to look as put together as possible as you head toward the restroom.

REX POV

Years of training, and he barely held himself back from grabbing your waist to help you out of the booth.

I’d be helping, the drunk part of his mind supplied.

I want to feel her against me, the more honest part admitted.

You were a bright spark of a challenge, one he needed to meet, to overcome. Or maybe not. Maybe he needed to succumb. Either way, he wanted you. He knew touching you would shock him, and yet he couldn’t help but yearn for the pain. He imagined it would feel like pleasure.

Rex tracked your movements through the crowd to the back of the room. He had switched to water long ago, letting the boys and you believe it was still spotchka in his glass. You, however, had kept pace with his troopers and, despite your best efforts — your endearing, adorable efforts — he knew you had to be feeling the punch of liquor.

Sure enough, he saw a few of your stumbles as you tried to gracefully make your way to the restroom.

Chancing a glance around the table, Rex confirmed the boys were occupied, entertaining each other with tall tales that everyone knew were fiction but indulged in anyway. He wondered if anyone would notice if he …

“Go.” Kix commanded from across the table with a wry smile. “I’ll make sure no one ends up in jail.”

Rex raises an eyebrow at the medic. “You telling me what to do now, Trooper?”

“When it comes to the wellbeing of the men of the 501st, I outrank you, Sir. Go get your girl.”

“She’s not my-”

“Yes, she is!” The chorus rang out from a few of the men at the table, pulling looks from the rest and a few from neighboring booths before everyone turned back to their conversations. With one last pointed look from Kix, Rex pushed up from the table to follow you.

His intention was just to give you a hand to walk back to the table when you were ready. But as he passed through the thick of the crowd and the back hallway where the restrooms were came into view, his blood boiled.

There you were … pressed against the wall, trying to create as much space as possible between you and the Twi’lek looming over you. The smirk on the man’s face as his eyes trailed down your body curled Rex’s stomach.

He let rage mask the tiny voice of reason calling out his hypocrisy. How often did he look at you a little too long, imagine you in less than appropriate ways? How many times has he stood a little too close to win the latest round of flirtatious teasing to better see how your eyes would grow wide, how your heart would beat under your shirt?

But she never looks scared like that when I do.

Training kept his anger cool as he moved faster, not caring how many brothers and nat-borns he pushed rudely out of the way. But it felt like he was moving through slime for how much progress he was making.

He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or your natural combativeness, but apparently you had enough. Using what he was sure was all your strength at the moment, you pushed against the man’s chest to give yourself enough room to slip past, but it was for naught. The Twi’lek caught you by the elbow and yanked you back roughly against him.

Rex was close enough now to hear your pained exclamation.

He didn’t think about the trouble that could come with hurting a civvie. Nor about how the police would likely be called if he started a brawl in the bar. Most unlike him, Rex didn’t think about anything as his fist flew over your shoulder to connect with the man’s face.

For his size, the Twi’lek didn’t put up much resistance, crumbling to the ground with the first hit. Careful not to touch you just yet, Rex moved deftly between you and the man now on the ground, looming over him menacingly while keeping you from his gaze.

“Kriffing hells! What’s your problem, asshole?” The man’s furious response was dulled by the thick blood pouring from his nose, clogging his words.

“Leave. Now.”

Whatever the man saw in Rex’s eyes must have been enough to convince him he wasn’t winning this fight. He clamored to his feet, grumbling as he went to get the last word.

“Whatever, man. She’s all yours. Frigid bitch is a waste of my time, anyway.”

Rex never felt hatred before, but the sound of someone calling you such a disgusting thing made him burn with it. There wasn’t a conscious thought behind it as Rex felt his body start to move forward on its own. But his mind didn���t seem to care.

At least, until he felt your hands curl into the back of his dress grays. It was the lightest touch, but it may as well have been a chain. Not that he minded. Anything that bound you to him was welcome.

Careful not to jostle you, he turned carefully, causing your hands to trail around his torso until they rested on his chest.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked softly. It was a stupid question. As his hands hovered over your shoulders and down your arms, he could see the skin around your elbow had marks. His marks.

Rex’s nostrils flared with the effort it took to swallow the growl that threatened to burst from this throat. He wouldn’t scare you further.

“No.” Your voice was so soft, making the lie all the more painful.

This was new territory. You were smart, confident, self-assured. You weren’t one to make yourself small. Seeing you like this was wrong, and Rex didn’t know how to make it right.

But, thank the Maker, it seemed you did. You pressed yourself forward, almost trying to mold yourself into his chest, burying your face in his shirt to block out the rest of the bar. Without letting himself think more on it, Rex brought his arms around you, wrapping you in the circle of his arms and resting a hand on the back of your head, holding you to him.

And just like that, the hatred and jealousy evaporated, replaced by something much more tender. Gentle. A warm fire burned softly in his heart at how you sought comfort from him. In him.

Stars, how he wanted to always be able to give you that.

“Do you want me to take you back to base?”

Your head shook against him. “No. Just … can you just hold me for a second?”

He tightened his arms around you as if they could actually keep you safe. “Of course, sweetheart. As long as you need.”

“Thank you.”

He huffed. Rex wanted to scold you for being silly, thanking him for something he did selfishly. Because holding you like this was a selfish act and he knew it. He shouldn’t be this possessive over you, this infatuated. Shouldn’t crave the feeling of you against him like an addict did spice.

But he couldn’t help it. And he couldn’t regret it at this moment, either. That desire kept you safe tonight.

“Nothing to thank me for.”

The two of you stayed like that for a few more moments before you took a deep, steadying breath to collect yourself enough to pull back. But you still didn’t pull away. Rather you leaned just enough to look up into his eyes.

Your own shone with unshed tears … and a bit of that spark he had come to love.

“If I had known that all it took to get into your arms was getting hit on by an asshole, I’d have come to 79’s with you all ages ago.”

It was funny. Your flirting had flustered him so much at the beginning. Now, it was the most welcome relief. In more ways than one as he could hear the sincerity in your drunken voice.

“Silly girl. All you needed to do was ask.”

[kalegrinch]

Can I have a headcanons request Rocky from Lackadaisy having a mom type of friend from a coven?

✨Lackadaisy’s Witch✨

Rocky Rickaby/Reader

1k~ words

OH MY GODS it took me SO LONG to write this fic bc I felt burnt out after my last one lmao. While this fic can be read as romantic if you really want it’s meant to be platonic. I’m not really used to writing (or even reading) platonic fanfiction if I’m being honest, and this turned out to be longer than I’d anticipated and isn’t my best work but I hope y’all like it.

SUMMARY: Your first rum-running gig with Lackadaisy and Rocky as a Healing Witch

WARNINGS: Little bit of blood and violence w/ guns but nothing too bad

=========

Rocky is always getting himself into trouble

Everyone knows that

But something everyone does not know, however, is that you are one of the most powerful healing witches in the entirety of St. Louis

AKA the one force keeping Rocky from his succumbing to his death

And no one cares more for his safety than you do

Your expert healing skills always aid him after a long time out completing odd-jobs for lackadaisy

And you've found you’ve needed to heal him more often day by day

Sometimes its internal bleeding, this one time it was pneumonia

(And there was also that ear he never let you touch with your magic)

But most commonly its bullet holes

You still remember the first time you healed him

And you still bring it up wherever he does or suggests doing something stupid by himself

Shortly after you applied to join him on his quests for The Lackadaisy he took you with him to a random abandoned house in the middle of the night

It was a mansion built in the early 1800’s that could have once been a beautiful, eloquent structure, but was now no more than an old, creaking pile of wood

It stood tall in the night sky, a silhouette in front of the pale moon

The mansion casted long shadows that stretched across the barren farm fields it resided, shadows you and Rocky currently stood in

The objective of your first mission with Rocky was to retrieve an old case of whisky that hid deep in the cellars of the manson for the Speakeasy

A rather unnerving mission for an already eerie night

Being the motherly figure you were, you had tried your absolute best to hurry the expedition up

You knew when you signed up to work with Rocky that there would be trouble everywhere

But because of the fact that you obviously could not ever get him to stop working for Mitsi you decided patrolling the missions Rocky went on was good enough

Your so called “Patrolling” seemed to come up short because right after clawing your way into the house a suspicious figure seemed to move ever so slightly in the opposite side of the house, shaded in darkness

That figure held a gun

A bullet flew straight into Rocky's chest

With no time to heal or fight, you decided fleeing was your best option for survival

Taking Rocky's falling body into your arms and heaving him onto your back, you ran through the dark night

Gunshots sang behind you, some whizzing past too close for comfort

But all you could do was run as fast as your legs allowed you with Rocky’s dead weight on your back

And no, he wasn't very heavy (Which was something that concerned you from time time)

Your legs continued to pump into the earth until you reached your car and haul Rocky into the passenger seat

Turning the engine on and stepping on the gas, you made your way past the barren farmlands of the Manson as fast as you could and into an overgrown forest

Trees and leaves and bushes and shrubs were all a mixture of brown and red and yellow bathed in nightlight as you sped past them

You hadn't realized how much time had passed until your came to a screeching halt the top of a falling cliffside at the edge of the forest

The cliff overlooked the Mississippi River, which eventually gave way to the twinkling night lights and tall gray buildings of St. Louis you had come to love

You let out a long sigh as soon as you saw the site, realizing you’d been holding a long breath since your escape from the manson

Unlike the Mississippi River and golden lights of St. Louis, you did not like the sight right beside you

The one you had forgotten since leaving the manson in your previous terror and panic

He was breathing so heavily, on the verge of unconsciousness

A paw pressed against the bullet hole, a futile attempt to stop the blood from seeping out

The red, red blood now a shade of mahogany in moonlight

Fear rushed through you

Rocky had been so nice to you

He didn't mind your witchery in a place where your people were discriminated against

He had shown you a job in a place where money was scarce and people slept hungry

He had made you laugh more times than you believe you ever did in your childhood, more times than you ever imagined you could when you first moved here and were one of those people sleeping hungry in the streets of St. Louis

Even though you were the person who took care of others, the “mother” of the Lackadaisy Speakeasy, Rocky had taken you under his wing

Holding a hand out in front of the hole, you set to work with determination

Light radiated from you, washing the car in the color of your magic

The light cascaded out of the car and into the forest

Even though you couldn't see yourself, you knew your pupils had turned your color, too

Internally you chanted your mantra as you focused all of your energy into healing Rocky, binding and knitting his skin and flesh back together at an achingly slow pace

Luckily the bullet had not hit any vital organs, straying to the left of his body

If it had, though…

You shivered

A couple of minutes later you felt that familiar satisfying feeling of healing course through you and you knew the job was done and his skin was okay again

The night had turned to dawn before you realized it, and all that was left to do was to wake Rocky and return home, tired and beaten

You took some time breathing in and out after the nights events, recollecting your thoughts and turning back to the wheel to start the car up

Rocky eventually opened his eyes as you passed over the bridge that brought you closer to home

You noticed he was awake when he shot up and grimaced, shutting his eyes and hissing as he settled back down

Even still Rocky managed a sleepy smile in your direction as he croaked a low “Get me some pancakes later, will you?” before falling into a more peaceful sleep than earlier

You finally felt relieved as you drove back to The Lackadaisy, making a mental note to scold Rocky later

Even long after the whole ordeal of your first mission with Rocky everyone in the speakeasy made remarks on your relationship with him, commenting on how you baby him around as if he was no intellectually smarter than an infant

Not that those comments offended Rocky or you

For everyone also knows Rocky’s a 22 year old going on 12

[themattress]

Sailor Moon (Toei): The Top 20 Villains

Ranked using my core tenets for villains, and done countdown style for dramatic effect.

Honorable Mention: Jadeite - The definition of a stock, cheesy "Curses! Foiled again!" supervillain, Jadeite embraced this role with style and class, providing much entertainment with his oversized ego that caused him to stubbornly repeat variations of the same failed plan over and over again until it got him run over by an airplane and then cryogenically frozen as punishment for his incompetence. He was partly responsible for Sailor Moon, Mercury and Mars' origins and coming into their own as superheroines, and for that he deserves respect.

20. Mimete - This bubbly, ditzy member of Witches 5 started out fun, but had the problem of coming directly off the heels of the more competent Eudial whom she had murdered to get the job. On top of that, she wears out her welcome, as much like Jadeite she tends to just repeat variations of the same scheme (target handsome celebrities) over and over again, and even Jadeite started out somewhat successful at it! In the end, after getting converted to energy and trapped in a computer, Mimete didn't seem like she ever justified how long we spent with her. But she makes the list purely due to her appealing design and personality.

19. The Four Spectre Sisters - Serving under Rubeus, these members of the Black Moon Clan had the dual tasks of capturing Chibiusa and conquering certain areas of Tokyo in order to weaken the defenses of Crystal Tokyo in the future. They were formidable opponents and also had distinct personalities that bounced off one another in a fun way. They rank low because Calaveras and Petz hogged too much limelight, their consecutive redemptions felt rushed, and despite staying on Earth we never see them again in any future story arc.

18. Fiore - The anime-exclusive antagonist of the Sailor Moon R movie, The Promise of the Rose, Fiore is a composite of Ail and En: an orphaned member of their species, not knowing how to properly express love, being male like Ail but in love with Mamoru like En, and corrupted by negative energy...in this case, that of Kissenean, a wicked alien flower being. Fiore only appeared in the movie so naturally he left no lasting impact whatsoever on the series. That and how derivative he is places him low on the list. However, he is still cool and charismatic enough to be considered one of the best, just as his movie is the best one.

17. Safir - Despite being pretty underplayed for much of his time in the show, Safir's final episode was impactful enough to make him a standout. Beneath the stiff, serious front he puts on, Safir reveals himself to be a confused and desperate young man who can see the self-destructive path Wiseman has led his older brother and his clan down and wants to stop it but doesn't know how because the natural solution - joining forces with Earth and the Sailor Senshi - doesn't cross his mind due to his pre-existing prejudices toward both. But in the end, he finally overcomes these prejudices and reclaims his humanity, even at the cost of his life.

16. Mistress 9 - While Mistress 9 sadly wasn't around for too long, she definitely made an impact with what little screentime she got. Fully overtaking Hotaru's body by sacrificing Chibiusa's heart, coldly killing off Kaolinite like it was nothing, tricking Usagi into giving her the power of the Holy Grail, gleefully summoning Pharaoh 90 to destroy Earth, and fighting against Hotaru's influence from within only to succumb to it and be painfully extinguished.

15. Black Lady - Another case of high quality in limited quantity, Black Lady maintained the childish gremlin side of Chibiusa's personality while carrying herself more like an adult (or at least what Chibiusa thinks an adult is like) and holding nothing back in trying to kill all who stood in her way and open up the Dark Gate so that Earth can be destroyed by the power of the Malefic Black Crystal. On the one hand, she has less agency than Mistress 9 since she's a fully brainwashed dupe of Wiseman. But on the other hand, brainwashed or not she still is Chibiusa, not some other entity possessing her, and that makes her a lot more interesting.

14. The Amazon Trio - Now in-universe, these guys are absolute failures in regards to my third core tenant of villainy. They didn't impact or influence jack-shit in the story, characters and world; their lengthy run as antagonists honestly is mostly filler. But out of universe, it's impossible for a viewer to forget them! They are so enjoyable in how they strike a balance between being endearingly comical with all their banter and mishaps, and legit dastardly, callously preying on victims in an allegory for sexual assault. And not only does this end up being fully justified and understandable when it's revealed what they really are, but their redemption is one of the most effective and memorable in the whole anime. They only rank lower because Tiger's Eye sadly hogs a lot of the screentime, even though he's arguably the least interesting of the three, plus the fact that the higher ranked villains accomplish more.

13. The Amazoness Quartet - Directly following the Amazon Trio is the Amazoness Quartet. Not only do they live up to how enjoyable their predecessors were, but they have a more consistently progressing character arc and they actually matter to the plot of the story arc! These girls would rank a lot higher if not for the absolutely bone-headed choice by Sailor Stars to not bring them back to continue their redemption arc all the way to becoming Sailor Senshi even when the finale of SuperS blatantly hinted at it! They can at least rest assured that they're not the only SuperS villain that Sailor Stars has screwed out of a higher rank...

12. Ail & En - Before the Amazoness Quartet, we had these goobers that went against the Sailor Senshi all while disguising as civilian frenemies to them. For anime-original creations, Ail and En are stunningly well-written, with the filler arc they star in feeling like a natural bridge between the canonical adaptations. They can feel love, but they don't know how to process and understand it since their view on everything has been warped by the "take whatever by force to survive" mentality their rough life has shaped, a mentality that also causes them to slowly kill the life-giving tree they're trying to save and infect themselves with negative energy. They are sympathetic villains you want to see redeemed and are glad when they are. They'd be Top 10 if only they hadn't left Earth at the end, never to be seen or spoken of again. They could've made great returning supporting characters had they stayed.

11. Kunzite - So close. Kunzite was SO CLOSE to being one of the Top 10 villains of the Sailor Moon anime. He had it all: charisma, menace, power, intellect, style, a softer side shown in his romance with Zoisite, a great backstory just waiting to get tapped into....but tragically, following Zoisite's death and Kunzite's subsequent battle with the Sailor Senshi for revenge, the anime's writers just lost the plot with Kunzite: pairing him with brainwashed Endymion just to have them childishly squabble, having him concoct dumbass plans utilizing utterly campy monsters in order to capture Sailor Moon, and brushing on absolutely none of his backstory before killing him off as an afterthought. God, such a waste of a great villain!

10. Eudial - The Death Busters' most efficient minion and among the most efficient minions in general, Eudial is a case of extremes balancing out. She's silly yet intimidating, hot tempered yet cool headed, clumsy yet competent, achieving some embarrassing failures but also some monumental successes, and she does it all with a unique gadgeteer genius style. She was the starring villain of the best stretch of episodes in S, which was also the last consistently good in the anime, and she deserved better than the lame-ass joke of a death she received.

9. Crimson Rubeus - Rubeus is very similar to Eudial in being an especially formidable redheaded foe for the Sailor Senshi, but he has three major differences that propel him higher. First is that through his selfishness and cowardice, he actually avoided personal setbacks and embarrassments, as he left the dirty work to the Spectre Sisters. Second is that he is far darker and crueler, possessing a sadistic attitude, being hell-bent on killing a child to earn favor with his boss, and having planned from the get-go to manipulate and sacrifice the Spectre Sisters so that he can get all of the glory. Third and finally is that he gets an epic resolution, fighting Sailor Moon in his spaceship and then having it explode with him still in it.

8. Queen Nehelenia - Now, if SuperS was all we had, then she and number 5 would have swapped places. Queen Nehelenia is a truly terrifying figure, cold-hearted and malicious even by the standards of this anime's villains, casting a dark pall over every scene she's in. And in the end, we see just how twisted and tragic she is, ultimately being a child who never wants to grow up so that she can stay young and beautiful and be worshipped for it forever, to the point where she condemns herself into an isolated existence trapped inside a mirror so long as she can keep her youth. But then....sigh....Sailor Stars came along. Because of the absolute butchery of the character it gave us, Nehelenia can't place any higher than this.

7. Prince Demande - Demande only falters for two reasons: one of which being that he's only a consistent presence in the last stretch of episodes in R, being barely seen or mentioned beforehand, and the other that the show pussies out of letting him meet his end as the villain he was in favor of a half-assed, overwrought "redemption". But that aside, Demande is still an excellent villain: threatening, cold-hearted, absolutely twisted in his rape-y desire for total control of Usagi, but also nuanced in his backstory and motivations regarding his planet and people, and tragic in how he has been misled by Wiseman for all his life.

6. Queen Beryl - It's the OG Big Bad of the anime! Beryl can't breach the top 5 only because the majority of her screentime is her sitting on her butt and waving her hands over her crystal ball while talking to her minions, making her pretty repetitive and easy to predict. But she still makes up for that by how developed her personality becomes over the course of the series: showcasing class, intelligence and dignity that soon crumbles to reveal the petty, entitled and ruthless tyrant she truly is, while toward the end we see that she is capable of a twisted sort of love as she pines for Endymion. When merged with her master Queen Metalia, she also engages in the anime's first and best Final Boss battle. What else can I say - she's a classic!

5. Zirconia - Queen Nehelenia's twisted mirror image runs the Dead Moon Circus, and she is honestly pretty terrible at her job....but that's part of what makes her so much fun! She is basically a campy sentai show lead villain; heck, Rita Repulsa herself voices her in the Viz dub! Watching her grumble and fret and rage and scream her way across SuperS never gets old. On top of this, she is still a legitimately detestable villain and a real threat when she needs to be, seen most clearly during the final episodes. I love Zirconia so much that I hold a soft spot for her nonsensically male Cloverway dub version! The character is just that good!

4. Nephrite - "The stars see all, the stars know all." Nephrite showed promise when he debuted, being charismatic and intellectual while also holding a repressed, simmering sense of anger. But it only took a few episodes before his shtick started to feel like an even less efficient version of what we'd been through with Jadeite, so his prospects dimmed. But then something funny happened - Nephrite changed and evolved. He adapted to the fact that what he was doing wasn't working and changed his strategies up accordingly to focus on hitting the Sailor Senshi's weaknesses. When that was met with failure, he switched things up again to focus on finding the Silver Crystal, and added to it a strategy of manipulating Naru's feelings for him that he'd learned from his prior strategy shift. All while trying to hold his cover as rich playboy Masato Sanjoin, competing with his rival Zoisite, and developing legitimate feelings of care for Naru that made him rediscover his humanity all while he technically remained a villain. By the time he tragically died protecting Naru, Nephrite had proven himself to be a radical game changer not just for villains in the anime, but for the whole anime itself.

3. Zoisite - As a kid, I hated Zoisite. He killed Nephrite, kept getting away with seizing Rainbow Crystals that the heroes tried to claim, and always fought as low and dirty as possible while being the smuggest, scummiest shithead about it, all while having the gall to whine and cry to Kunzite when things didn't go his way. All these years later, that's exactly why I adore Zoisite as a villain. He's an immature youth in way over his head because his mentor and lover is the highest ranked warrior in the Dark Kingdom - and he knows it too, which is why his insecurity and desire to prove himself manifests in this petty narcissism and ruthless cruelty. He's utterly loathsome, yet pitiful and ultimately tragic at the same time. And since he was the focal villain in the best stretch of episodes in the entire anime, there's no way he can't rank among the highest of villainy. He died a failure, but he exists a success.

2. Wiseman / Death Phantom - And here he is, the uncontested greatest Ultimate Evil in all of Sailor Moon. Wiseman at first appears as a royal advisor to Prince Demande, meaning that Demande is set up as the "new Beryl" who will make it to be the endgame foe. But it turns out you really should have suspected the character waving their hands around a crystal ball. Unlike Beryl, Wiseman is a manipulator, keeping to the shadows and presenting himself as unassuming so that he can better control his pawns, all of whom he looks down upon and intends on discarding once he gets what he wants. And what he wants is to reshape the universe as a place of nothingness, reigning over it as the supreme god: Death Phantom. Wiseman is scary as Hell and personally despicable more than any other villain, because he doesn't even have a relatable motive for what he does. He is simply a heartless monster.

1. Professor Tomoe - I tried. I tried to measure the villains in a way that might avoid this predictable choice for Number 1. But the math just all adds up in the professor's favor! S is a series that peaks about halfway through, when Sailor Moon obtains the Holy Grail and achieves Super mode, after which the head writer position switches hands and the writing quality rapidly drops off a cliff. And yet not only is Professor Tomoe unaffected by this...he arguably defies it! He only gets better as the show goes on! The fusion of a man and an extraterrestrial demon, Professor Tomoe starts out as the most unique and certainly most entertaining boss villains the anime has ever seen, being equally creepy and hilarious. The longer the show goes on, the more credible of a threat and the more comedic of a character he becomes, and we even get a lot of nuance and pathos in how affable and kind of a boss he is to his evil minions and how loving of a father he is to Hotaru as both herself and as the Dark Messiah. In the end, we have a great final battle against his evil side while his good side receives a heartwarming redemption and second chance with his daughter. He's perfect.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Hours in the Moonlight: Persevering Afterlight - 3. An Untamed Predator

Summary: You hadn’t really known what to expect from Leona, but it certainly hadn’t been too-accurate accusations about your job. But you weren’t about to back down in the face of this man, even if he reminded you of an untamed predator that seemed perhaps even more dangerous than other vampires were.

Series Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire

Word Count: 896

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

“So, you're the new Hunter and are going to be working under the birdbrain,” Leona’s voice was perfectly unimpressed as I looked back towards him, and I felt myself frown again.

Against my better judgment, the annoyed words slipped dryly from my mouth before I could stop them, “If the birdbrain is Crowley, then yes.”

It was strange. It was almost like the moment he’d written me off, my fear of him had fled, even though I still had the strong sense that he was beyond powerful and definitely not someone I wanted to go up against.

Leona’s eyebrows rose at my tone, but he sat forward nonetheless, a grin spreading across his face that had me bracing before he ever began to speak, “I wouldn’t have thought he would hire an herbivore like you to be his very own special killer.”

They were words that almost made me flinch, because they were words that didn’t even bother trying to sidestep the cold, hard truth of what my job was. I was a hunter of vampires, and that meant I was a killer.

It was an accurate, unflinching summary of what I would be doing for Crowley, and it hit hard. Because thinking it myself, and hearing it from someone else, were two wholly different things.

But the worst part was that his words were wholly unexpected. I’d already realized that he didn’t accept me as a person he needed to respect, but I hadn’t expected him to throw that, of all things, at me when he hadn’t mentioned it the night I had actually killed someone.

In fact, I hadn’t expected him to bring up my job as a vampire hunter at all. Much less on my first night of the job.

I swallowed slightly, forcing myself to ignore his jab and pretend like I was wholly unaffected by his words.

“Apparently no one else wanted the job, and I was an easy choice,” I spoke carefully, still gauging how I was going to approach dealing with this man. Something told me that just giving way to his attacks wouldn’t work, but I also wasn’t nearly aggressive enough to fully take him on. Or at least I didn’t feel like I was and an attack definitely wouldn’t be the best opening move to make in my position.

But I had dealt with vampires before, so I at least knew how to make myself look less like prey in their eyes. 

“But I wasn’t sent here to talk about how I got hired. I’m here to find out what’s going on with all of these vampires losing sight of themselves and going insane,” I crossed my arms as I eyed him, watching for some sort of reaction as I took up a businesslike position. Because if this was my job, then so be it.

That night, he’d looked like he’d wanted to help the other vampire. So, at the very least, he might have some idea of what made vampires succumb to the insanity of vampirism. In fact, if I were lucky, he might even know how to reverse it. Especially since, as I recalled, he’d almost seemed like he’d been trying to talk sense to that vampire.

Leona’s grin spread at my words, and he stood. Walking around the edge of his bed so that he was slowly coming to face me, and I felt myself tense as he grew closer.

I hadn’t realized it until I was facing him on my own, without anything else distracting me, but this man struck me as different from the other vampires I’d encountered.

The others had either been insane, crazily lusting for my blood, or more confidently cultured, like Vil. But this man… Leona, struck me as something more innately dangerous. Not insane by any means, but like an untamed predator.

“Then feel free to look around and evaluate the clan,” He was looking me directly in the eye, almost like he was challenging me as he continued. “And you can report back to your master, that head-vampire, but you won’t find anything.”

I matched his gaze, refusing to back down even though a small part of me demanded I quail under the weight of his smug stare. “That’s fine. I’ll keep tabs on you and your clan for as long as it takes.”

It was an assertion that I hadn’t planned on making by any means at the start of this night, but something told me Crowley wouldn’t let me finish with any clan until he was satisfied with what I’d found. And I preferred to deal with Crowley as little as possible anyway while I looked into this.

And the more I thought about it, the more figuring out the cause of the vampire's insanity made sense. If I could figure out the cause, then I might be able to prevent it from happening or be ready when it did come.

I’d almost expected Leona to be disappointed by my assertion, but at odds with my expectations, his grin spread, slow and smug, so that his large fangs were perfectly visible. His too-green slit-pupiled eyes seeming to glow in the dim lighting of this room as he leaned just a bit closer than he had been, calmly invading my personal space as he grinned at me in a perfectly challenging way, “Be my guest, Herbivore.”

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[cloudninetonine]

You panted, letting out shaky breaths as you fled through the dark woods.

You were tired, and cold, and oh so lost and scared. You had not but an hour ago gotten away from the villainous versions of your boys, Warriors’ clone aiding you with a sick grin. Now you were running aimlessly through the greenery, doing everything in your power to get as far away as possible whilst covering your tracks.

“Okay- okay, it’s fine, we’re all good.” You muttered frantically to yourself, trying to calm your flaring nerves.

“Ugh! Of course it’s not fine!” You yelled into the night, digging into your hair. “I’ll never find the others! I don’t even recognize this forest!”

Your back hit a boulder, sliding down its smooth edge as you crumpled to the ground, drawing your arms around your legs.

“I’ll never get back now…” You mumbled into your knees, letting the rivers run down your cheeks.

“(Name)?!” You shot up, fear coursing through your veins. Had those demons found you?

“(Name)?! Was that you just now? Where are you?!” That… none of the backwards ‘heroes’ had ever used your name to refer to you, they only ever called you ‘guide’ or something creepy like ‘prisoner’.

Was this…?

You decided to take a shot in the dark, “Y-yes?” You called out, straining your ears over the chirping crickets.

“(Name)! It is you! Stay there, keep talking!” The hero screeched back, his familiar voice as hopeful as it was panicked.

“I’m over here!” You felt yourself come undone from your turtle shell. This definitely wasn’t one of those fakes, this was real. Whichever Link this was- you unable to identify the voice’s owner due to the loud, fearful buzz still in your ears- was the real deal.

You could hear someone crashing through the undergrowth, branches and leaves alike succumbing to their tromping.

Finally, a silhouette shone darkly through the trees, and out popped the person you expected the least.

Legend.

He was breathing like mad, face red with sweat beading down his face despite the chill of the night air. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates once he locked onto you, pupils dilating.

“(Name),” He breathed, almost in rosy disbelief, “(Name) what- what are you doing here? Hylia, she- you left, we were too much and-“ Tears welled up in his eyes, his hands raising to scrub them away, only for him to look down at his palms with frustration as his efforts proved futile to the waterfalls now streaming down his cheeks.

You were rightfully confused. Legend was acting like he- like he cared about you! And everything else he was saying was absolute nonsense! None of it computed in your mind, leaving you a lost lamb in the dark. The crying in particular left you flabbergasted; Legend didn’t seem like the type to easily bare his emotions, yet here he was, openly weeping.

You went to stand, pushing your concerns to the side because it was him, someone from the original group, and that was better than anything, but a sudden rumble sent you tumbling backwards with a shrill yelp.

Beneath you the boulder and rocks beside it began to conjoin, moving up and up. You felt your shoulders and joints hit up against rock and stone alike, earning a scream of pain out of you as you felt scarlet blood start to spurt after a sharp edge cut down your leg.

You took one final roll before finally grappling something, a large, glimmering geode. With a startled gasp you realized that the rock you had rested against was actually a slumbering stone talus, and you were on top of it.

“LEGEND!” You cried, trying and failing to stand on your shaking legs, the bloodied one already beginning to throb with burning pain.

The talus trotted around the clearing, before throwing a rocky arm right at the veteran, who barely dodged the attack. You realized that Legend probably didn’t know how to beat this thing, so you forced yourself to take in a mighty breath despite your choked lungs.

“ITS ARMS! DESTROY ITS ARMS!” You shrieked, howling your terror as the beast leaned down to gather more earth for its lost appendage.

Within a split second, an explosion sounded off, knocking the behemoth off balance. It fell with a mighty crash, causing you to swing off its geode and land in the grass. You were swept up quickly by Legend, who darted away with the speed his pegasus boots gave him.

“That black stone,” you coughed, “that’s its weak spot.”

Without a word Legend whipped out a long, red staff. With only a slight buzz as a warning, the staff shot out a stream of burning flames, completely engulfing the geode on the talus’s back. Within seconds the stone melted from the intense heat, causing the monster to hunch over before imploding into a mass of rock shards.

You let out a pathetic “Yay” at the sight, feeling woozy.

You were carefully placed onto the ground, Legend hovering over you with an devastatingly haunted expression, looking like he had seen a ghost.

“Oh Din- I don’t have any potions on me because my stupid ass stormed out of camp! Fuck fuck- dammit!” He swore, pressing his blue cap to your bleeding leg. His eyes had a wild, almost desperate look to them, his whole body shaking.

“S’alright Ledge, I’m great a’ bouncin’ back.” You slurred your words, head full of fog.

“It’s been a long few days, I know you hate my guts an’ all-“ his gaze locked onto you at your words, concern doubling, “-but if you ‘ould haul me back to zeh others, that’s be fan-fucking-tastic. I’ll be fine until we’s gets der.”

“Hate you? Okay, you’re definitely delusional- fuck. But you’re also right, I’ve got to pull myself together.” He breathed in deeply before scooping you up as gingerly as possible, brushing a strand of loose hair from your face.

“Ah gee, you’s a softy now?” You giggled, causing the hair strand to fall back over your nose.

He smiled, “You know I’m only soft for you.” He whispered, beginning a fast pace back the way he came. “You’ll be fine, it’s fine, you’re back and safe now.” He muttered quickly to you, or was it to himself? You thought he sounded more like he was reassuring himself.

You found that it was too hard to think on, not with the creeping black cascading down your brain.

You slept, unaware of the terrible fate you had incurred upon yourself.

—

So like- what if after they ran from the villain chain, the first yan they encounter is Legend, who is like, the most suspicious because of he and his OG counterpart’s differences in behavior? But Player doesn’t get time to question it? Because there is a convenient boss battle below them? And they get all wobbly in the brain cells?

Just a thought, just a thought…

BB I FUCKING LOVE THIS SO MUCH OIUFGIFUGEFE OUR BOY LEGEND DOESN'T GET ENOUGH LOVE NOWADAYS

I really love your stuff for the Mess au it generally makes me so happy each time I see it

[darknessconsumesmeslowly]

The Darkness Within

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Ghost Trick FF

Prompt: Yomiel using his powers and/or creepy stasis corpse to commit crimes.

Warnings: Depiction of violence, twisted mindset.

A/N: Wrote this for @clay-cuttlefish for the ghost swap - thank you very much for the prompt! And thank you very much for organizing this ghost swap event, @fyeahghosttrick! It was super exciting and I enjoyed writing Yomiel - this gave me the opportunity to explore this awesome character a bit more. I really hope I could do your prompt and your preferences justice and hope you like it.

That being said - constructive feedback from anyone is always very much appreciated, so I can hone my skill :) Please enjoy!

I am also super excited for the release of Ghost Trick!! It's trick time!

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It had been months already. Why then did it still hurt so goddamn much? Sissel… this existence… all of it was a nightmare he was powerless to wake up from.

What good did those powers bring him if he didn’t have her by his side anymore? What sense did it have? Gods, why?

He had tried to follow her countless of times, tried to just erase his existence. His very being. And failed miserably.

Sometimes he dared to long for something as simple as… sleep - for any kind of release, really. 

As a consequence, the gods seemed to have decided unanimously for Yomiel to suffer… and he suspected he was in for an eternity.

He dropped the knife that he had held to try and cut off his own body’s hand. Not even a single drop of blood. He didn’t know why he bothered to try anymore. He had lost track of anything he did but for the day his life had been ruined… and the day he had lost her.

Those events were ingrained in his mind, just as intense as when they first unfolded, as well as the exact number of days he had suffered since. It had been them and-

A meowing interrupted his dark thoughts and he remembered. Of course. His friend still had to eat. Sissel had to eat and live… for them.

“What would I do without you, Sissel? What am I doing without you?” He looked at his friend and at nothing all at once. 

The black cat looked up at him and meowed gently.

“... Thank you, Sissel.”

He awkwardly manipulated himself to move to the door, turned the knob without feeling it and stepped out.

“Time to get some food,” ... and retain his sanity for another day… somewhat.

•••

Rats were easy to manipulate. Once he got the hang out of flying, pigeons became just as easy. 

The small animals did everything he wanted them to. He could make them move. He could make them fight. He could even make them stop breathing, but… but that was once… and it hadn't been on purpose. 

Forcing his will on other creatures so easily did something to him, but Yomiel didn’t dare thinking more about that just yet.

When he felt like losing himself, he talked to Sissel. Whenever he switched to the ghost world there was this one familiar core that would stay by his side and he was grateful for that. Then, talking wasn’t even necessary.  

Yomiel started taking over so many different cores and beings, because doing anything was better than to succumb to the hurt and suffering and pain. Sometimes he made them suffer too. Tried to let them feel what he felt, but it wasn’t ever enough. And he felt guilty for that. Each time a little less... 

They say that time would heal the pain. Whoever said that was a bloody liar and hadn’t truly felt real pain. Yomiel felt like no one did. No one felt the way he did. 

Soon Yomiel could do anything once he possessed the core of a small animal and he did try… anything. But never with cats, if he could help it.

He perfected the art of manipulating small animals and started concentrating on manipulating his own corpse better, too. He tried mimicking others in the way they walked, talked, moved. It started to look natural. Human. Was he human? Does feeling pain make you human?

•••

Why... Why were they not feeling it?

It should hurt more. Everything about this should hurt so much. Should feel like agony. They should feel the pain. The unending suffering.

A whimper escaped the person under his corpse's, his, hand.

"You... Do you feel it? Do you feel the pain?" Judging from their weakened screams, when he pushed the knife deeper into their wound, Yomiel suspected that they somehow did. Lucky them.

"P-please... I'll give you anything, please just... just let me go... I won't tell anybody, please..."

Yomiel raised the head of his body - a bit too abruptly and a bit too unnaturally, because he made his victim jump uncontrollably. Hm. Still needed to work on that...

"You don't have anything to give, except your screams and your pain..." He deepened the cut with the knife.

Feel the agonizing pain.

"When will you stop screaming, I wonder...?"

It turned out to be a very long time.

•••

When he washed the last of the blood from his hands, Yomiel just let the water drip. The sound was better to bear than the nothingness he felt whenever his body seemed to touch anything.

This existence... even the pain of others was not enough. They didn’t feel the same way he did. They didn’t suffer enough. 

Sissel... What am I supposed to do?

Yomiel wished he could cry. He wished something would change. Why was he still in this world? It didn’t make sense. He looked for a purpose. For something. It didn’t matter what, just… anything to diffuse the impossible pain and loneliness inside. The hole where once his heart was. The darkness. 

He was sinking.

A nearby phone rang repeatedly and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated that sound. When was the last time someone called him? When was the last time he needed to pick up the phone? No one ever called the dead.

Why didn't they pick up?

Yomiel paid a visit to that unfortunate neighbor that night.

•••

Yomiel had to check twice, when he switched to the ghost world again. But there was no doubt about it… there were… new cores. Objects... and people.

He didn’t feel any remorse when he seized a core. That was something he left behind a long time ago.

It took some time getting used to. People were a tad harder to control than small animals. 

Forcing his will on actual living, thinking humans did something more to him than it did with the animals. Yomiel embraced it eagerly. 

•••

The body dropped limply when Yomiel allowed his manipulated victim to let go of the throat. It was… new… exciting. 

And the best wasn’t the killing. The best was the expression of the ones acting out his every  bidding. They felt it. The remorse. The guilt. The suffering.

His newfound powers gave him a release he hadn’t imagined he would ever get. And he craved for more.

•••

“N-no, I’m sorry, love, I am not…! I don’t know what is happening! Please, oh god!” 

Yomiel made his new puppet corner their loved one. He found out that a saw was an excellent choice of weapon.

He saw the fear in the victim and the desperation in the other. 

Yes… endure the pain like I do…

The screams of both echoed through the night and it was music to Yomiel’s ears.

•••

He found lots of different ways to let the people suffer - both, the manipulated ones and their victims. He found out that there was no limit to what he could do to them. If anything, he was a perfectionist and he perfected the manipulation of people, too. And the killing of them. It became as easy as breathing was for them.

But… the thrill faded. Soon the screams sounded the same and they did suffer, but while his suffering got worse, theirs stayed the same. It was unfair. And his thoughts circled back to why. 

Every laughter, every happy face made his mood worse. Poor Sissel had to endure all of it, but still, Sissel stayed faithfully by his side. The manipulation of objects didn't even begin to challenge him.

Maybe… maybe they could start anew. But Yomiel just couldn’t let go of the events from years ago. 

It had been them and- ...and in that moment he knew what to do.

It was time that they started to get a taste of what he felt. Random strangers just didn’t cut it anymore (he had made them cut each other up too many times already). Yomiel had access to this immeasurable power. Might as well make use of it. To finally show them what they sowed.

•••

Finding the first cop was easy. Yomiel found not needing to sleep useful for once. He used the detested telephone lines, too. Anything to reach his newfound purpose. That was why he still  existed this long, after all. 

Yomiel wanted him to lose his precious someone, too. And he wanted to do it in the most painful way possible. He took his time to flesh out a perfect plan.

When the small girl started building her little contraption, it got even better than what he had imagined and gods, had he imagined lots of ways. It would be a few days more to wait, but oh was the wait worth it.

•••

The faithful day came and another body tumbled to the ground. A meaningful body.

How does it feel, Jowd?

Yomiel’s thoughts raced when he fulfilled the deed. His heart would be competing with them if it was still beating. 

This… this was it. 

With this he was sure to get what would be his only salvation. Revenge. 

One small gear set into motion. One small step at a time. One death after the other.

... He had an eternity after all.

[goldenfox3]

Because I've been randomly reading about Bleach stuff again I have some more thoughts about the Doug pulling Andy into game universe scenario re: Doug's post-GX powers. It's kind of vague what the universal forces give the power to do—yeah there's determining life or death and control of the universe, but what does that mean really? In Thousand Five I basically give Falcon the ability to do anything he wills, though this is limited by his emotional state, willpower, and physical body being strained. He has healing and shielding power there, but instead of accelerated/true healing (as it seems to be since he heals his burns to look weeks old instead of vanishing them) the Falcon in this verse would have a more "rejection" of phenomena like—you guessed it—Orihime and her Shun Shun Rikka. If he wills something, it happens. If he wills for something not to have happened, it's as if it never did. However, he is unaware that his powers reach this extent and unable to consciously use them that way—tying them to extreme emotion just like in TF.

The reason this is relevant is both to provide an explanation for how Andy avoids succumbing to his wounds after Doug pulls him over without having to involve outside medical influence/Stewart/whoever asking questions but also because I had an idea in mind for a scene between them as they grow closer. Andy isn't one to push too hard on things but I still feel like his quiet observations of deep-seated issues that Doug might prefer stay unobserved and him sliding into Doug's life like he's always been there and will always be there would scare Doug lmao. Mister unattached lone wolf and suddenly there's this guy in his space looking after him, looking like he might stay like no one else has stayed in his life before. It'd unnnerve him. They might have an argument about it. It'd mostly be Doug doing the arguing because Andy is Andy but unstoppable force meets immovable object go. The point is Doug's emotions getting volatile enough that he wishes for a brief intense moment that Andy had never come into his life and that things would go back to the familiar (cold, empty, drudging) way they were before in his post-GX life. And Andy just...disappears. one moment he's sitting there calmly bearing the brunt of Doug's increasingly agitated words and then he's just...gone. And so are the traces he was ever there. His things are gone from the spare room Doug put him up in. The vase of flowers he put on the table is gone. The curry he made earlier is absent from the table. Nothing of him remains and Doug freaks the fuck out because he didn't mean for it to actually happen.

As for where Andy went...trapped in Dark Space again? Drifting in the depths of space in a similar situation as GX Black Shadow after Deathborn was through with him? I don't want him to actually die though so probably either Dark Space or just a vague place where things go to be forgotten. Even all the people he's met in mainverse don't remember him and Doug is really losing his mind and he thought he'd enjoy the solitude and familiarity of being back on his own again but his home feels empty and sterile and he didn't realize how much he'd grown used to Andy's presence and how much he'd actually come to appreciate him being there.

Obviously at some point he misses him enough that he "rejects" this situation and resets everything again and Andy is brought back...though this time Andy comments that he thought he was finally dead this time and that he'd landed in purgatory with the black void he ended up in. Even though Andy's tone isn't accusatory at all Doug is immediately swamped with guilt and remorse and apologizes for putting him through something like that because he was too afraid to admit Andy was right. He swears to never do that again and is determined to make it up to him but he also really can't tell if Andy is even happy to be back or if he'd rather be back in his home world dead and resting in peace. And wonders if this is essentially purgatory or maybe even hell for Andy, the monotony of taking care of a random guy day in and day out with no future no dreams no goals to look forward to. So (similar to TF) he starts trying to get Andy (and himself) to discover what it is they want to live for. Discovery of the self through the (AU) other baby!!!

[iruludavare]

(( ✘ is there someone you really truly hate? ))

Truth asks || Accepting

(1/10)

          "I try not to hate anyone. I... I don't think it is a productive use of my time or energy. If someone does wrong by me or others, if someone hurts me in a way I cannot forgive... I don't want them to have the satisfaction of seeing it. Some people say the opposite to love isn't hate but indifference... and to a certain degree, I believe that. So, that's what I do. Or try to. They don't deserve to derive any pleasure from seeing anything of me— not my thoughts, not my emotions. Nothing,"

          "...I've tried not to hate him. I don't know why— by all means, I should hate him. He offered me kindness and understanding when I was most vulnerable. But he wasn't being kind or understanding. It was nothing more than a farce. To slowly chip away at my beliefs, my very core, until I was pliable enough to convince me to join his cause. Have someone who could wield Mega Evolution, or a trainer who showed promise, likely to carry out dirty work and force people into line. That's... what I think now, anyway. He had asked a few times, throughout my journey. Even as I actively stood against him after the announcement, he still kept telling me to reconsider. Thankfully, even when I was left for dead, outnumbered and fading, I never succumbed to the offer. I held my ground."

          "Part of me still hopes that even the slightest bit of his act was real— that him being a mentor of mine wasn't all just... just a massive waste of time that's only left behind memories I now have to call into question every time they surface. For a long while, I could not tell what were my own thoughts and values, and what had been influenced by him. I... still doubt myself, every now and then."

          "What's more... I cannot forgive him for his plans. To wipe the world of life, but immortalise the things that fit his twisted definition of beauty. I don't care how many times in his life he was slighted— a few bad actors does not mean the world is beyond saving or in a state of absolute disrepair. He was at the forefront of society, with enough power to make a change at a fundamental level— change the actions of those in charge and exploiting the everyday person—, but instead... he chose the most selfish option of them all. An 'ugly' one, as he would have put it. He was a coward. He became the very thing he claimed to despise and think to be the lowest form of humanity, but placed the blame on everyone else."

          "He hurt the professor. He hurt several families. He hurt me. He hurt everyone around him. For someone constantly pontificating about how people ought to give more than take... he took more than anyone else I have ever known, or ever will. I would not be surprised if investigations into his life find that he is guilty of everything he said others did. That they were never accusations, but confessions he thought could vanish if he pawned them off onto others."

          "I think... it speaks far too much about his true character when instead of killing me when he had the chance, he inflicted on me what he considers to be the most excruciating, worst form of existence— endlessly waiting for a 'beautiful' world to be built. That is why I try to not hate him. If he can see me angry, if he can see me cry, if he can hear me doubt myself... he's won. And I take no greater pleasure in doing what I know would annoy him the most— pretending he never existed."

          "...Lysandre. I hate Lysandre. I truly hate him and everything he stood for."

[miabrown007]

On Borrowed Time

The life of Paris’ Golden Boy is all shine and glamour; blindingly bright smiles, neverending parties, bargaining for just a shard of time for being happy. But that’s alright; Adrien has long given up the false hope that someone will get it. That is precisely why it’s a spectacle when she does, when she barges in like a hurricane in crimson and turns his life upside down. Heaven knows, it’s time for the wind of change. *** aka Adrien and Ladybug run into each other at a gala. then at another. and another. some would say, it’s a bonding opportunity alike moonlighting on a civilian’s balcony

gala friends Ladrien for this year's @mlbigbang, letsgoo!!

don't forget to check out the stunning illustrations @curlymakingswirlies made for this chapter! <3

On Borrowed Time (words, Teen, 1/3 chapters)

Time is of the essence, my dear, his mother always used to say, but Adrien was so young back then — just a kid trying to sneak away from his mother’s skirt in the crammed and stifling ballroom — he never really got what she meant. He had a vague understanding of it, something about time and timing being important, but he could never put a finger on the reason behind the benevolent smile on his mother’s face, and then it was too late to ask.

Now, Nathalie has her own motto.

It’s something something being punctual like clockwork and skilled in social situations like a particularly agreeable Swiss Army knife. And though Adrien can’t recite that by heart, it still holds true enough to his motherly heritage of time-themed wisdom for him to do his best to follow — even if his stomach violently contracts at the thought of the strained vivacissimo his life has to adhere to if he wants to keep up. But he understands, of course, that as the ambassador of the Gabriel brand, it's essential that everybody, all day long, like him so much. 

According to his father.

In all honesty, his father would probably be ecstatic — as ecstatic as it gets for a man who has never once smiled in the last ten years — if Adrien wasn’t just an attempt at emulating the perfection expected from him at the price of sweat and tears. (Not that it's much of a concern for Gabriel on a personal level, but, quite frankly, a crying teenager in the charity gala's bathroom is the definition of a PR disaster.) But Adrien — despite his father's valiant attempts at concealing this shortcoming — isn't perfect. 

He’s French. 

French, with all the ups and downs, all the over-the-top romanticism and rebellious streaks, all the moony-eyed, longing stares that follow her carefully — always observing, but never close enough to reach. He can’t help it, though. The way she pulls him is like a rule of nature, a crimson inevitability. Unbidden, unconscious, unparalleled, and Adrien knows no other option than to succumb to it, to her celestial power of baring his soul and making him feel Frencher than he ever thought possible. When he’s with her, he can’t help his slowly crumbling essence surging for the surface with a new force; can’t help his heart leaping to his throat as he's being reminded — in the sweetest, most torturous ways possible — that Paris is the city of love.

And Adrien, Adrien's Parisian to the core; even if his core — doesn’t matter that he wishes to wear it on his sleeve — only shines through when he’s with Ladybug. 

*** 21:00 ***

It’s ��by pure accident.’ 

The charity gala’s ballroom is gargantuan, filled to the brim by the crowd of celebrities, politicians and businessmen. They bustle around — chat under the pompous chandeliers, shake on agreements by the chocolate fondue fountain, and hover on the dance floor to the string-quartet’s beat, in what appears to be a poor substitute to rehearsed ballroom dances none of them are well-versed with. The maroon tapestry could sing odes about the Parisian elite’s secrets and illicit escapades, but it keeps them all; its discretion only rivalled by that of the catering staff and security. 

Adrien doesn’t care much about rumours either. He’s on a mission of ‘pure accident’. The sole objective is talking to her; a worthy endeavour, even if it only lasts for a minute. 

He drifts next to her at the bar, in the most casual manner he can manage. His fingers fiddle with the cufflinks of his dress shirt; his arms by his side, prim and proper, instead of reaching out and pressing a kiss against her knuckles. But he still flashes his Frenchest smile at her, because that’s not something within his control to amend. 

"Good evening, Ladybug!”

"Good evening, Adrien!" It's hard to believe, but she beams right back, as if he just made her night by this chance encounter. "It is a lovely night. You should really try the champagne," she says, her voice airy as she swirls the drink around in her own glass. 

She's making smalltalk. It's only natural. After all, right now he’s no more than an acquaintance; and she definitely doesn’t have any idea that this almost stranger finds the way fizzy drink drizzles out of her nostrils, when he makes her laugh too hard, quite charming.

"I've heard it's pretty good," Adrien nods, never one to be remiss about the rules of conversation. 

That is— 

He nibbles on his lower lip before continuing. "What I've also heard is that you have had to come alone tonight. Again."

"Ah. Yes," she hums, her smile faltering. Then she leans closer and her voice drops low as she adds in a conspiratorial tone. "Maybe you wouldn't believe it, but Chat Noir isn't the ballroom dancing kind," she tells him — the very same excuse Adrien had to feed her — and he's compelled to laugh along; if nothing more, at the dramatic irony. 

"Or so I've heard. Can't blame him too much, though. Granted, with four paws he must have two left feet." 

Ladybug laughs at the stupid joke, and oh, if that isn’t the most beautiful sound. “That’s exactly the kind of thing he’d say. I don’t believe him, though,” she muses, a fond look in her eyes as she shakes her head gently, the flyaways dancing around her face like a holy halo. “I’m sure I have enough experience for the two of us, I could teach him the basics pretty fast.”

Adrien’s breath hitches because oh, the way she says she misses him beats her laugh anytime, even if only by a hairbreadth. 

“I’m sure he’d like that,” he says, clearing his throat. Her words make his heart swell, and the bigger it gets, the easier it is for it to spur him on, to make him a little more daring than his father likes. "But since Chat Noir isn’t here tonight… Maybe I could keep you company instead of him?"

Ladybug just stares at him for a long second, eyes wide and mouth forming a little ‘o’, before life returns to her face and she looks away, her cheeks tinted pink under the scarlet of her mask. "It wouldn’t be the same, but I'd like that. I'd like that very much.”

"It's a da— deal, then," Adrien grins, toothy and giddy, trying as he might to swallow back the word ‘date’ from the tip of his tongue mid-sentence, because no. It is most definitely not a date. 

He extends his arm to lead her to the dance floor, or out of the city hall — truthfully, he doesn’t even care as long as she stays this close — but just when he does, a cold voice calls from behind his back. 

"Adrien, you have to meet Mr. Giorgio in five minutes. I hope you didn't forget about your duties!"

His shoulders sag but he hides his clenched jaw behind a million-watt smile as he turns. "Of course not, Nathalie. I'll be right there!" 

An apologetic glance at his Lady is enough for her to let go of the ball gown she has just pinched up to float to the dance floor. She wraps the gloved hand so far extended for him to take around her torso. 

"I'm sorry, Ladybug, it looks like you'll have to take me up on my offer another time," Adrien sighs. 

"It's alright, I understand!" she says, but her sour smile makes Adrien wonder if she’s choosing her words carefully, deliberately avoiding saying ‘it’s no problem’. “Have a good time!" she offers, and he can only nod, heart aching. 

He never has time. And he certainly never has a good one without her.

[read the rest of the chapter on AO3]

[misirosekisiro]

The silent Killer 3-4

Chapter 3

As the rain pelted against the windowpane outside, Dylan's skin tingled with awareness and arousal. This was his first time hosting someone at his home, let alone inviting a mysterious stranger. Despite his nerves, the sexual chemistry between them had grown increasingly intense since they left the restaurant earlier that evening. Now, sitting close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Adrian's body, Dylan struggled to maintain composure. How could something so wrong be so right?

Dylan wondered, brushing a tendril of hair behind his ear. His breath hitched when Adrian leaned closer, placing a gentle kiss on his cheekbone, followed by a whispered endearing remark. The warmth of Adrian's lips against his sensitive skin sent tremors through Dylan's core, making him weak in the knees. Unbeknownst to either party, the intensity of their connection seemed destined to spiral further beyond control.

Slowly, tender fingers caressed Dylan's face, eliciting involuntary moans from deep within his throat. As Adrian pressed closer still, their mouths sought one another, hungry for release. Lips entwined passionately, tongues tangled in a dance only heightening the desire coursing through both veins. Emboldened by this newfound freedom, they shifted closer still—their combined strength now a driving force.

Fingers deftly undid buttons and zippers, yielding smooth, bare flesh teasingly revealed. Each subtle motion spoke volumes about the hunger building between them. Gasping, they pulled apart briefly, drawing a line of saliva between their mouths. Drenched in raw, animalistic lust, Dylan surrendered himself fully to the unknown, trusting blindly in Adrian's expertise.

"Oh God, I want you..." he breathed, voice wavering as he succumbed entirely to his desires.

Adrian smiled, nodding encouragement, pressing deeper kisses down Dylan's neck until reaching the valley between his shoulder blades. He ran his tongue slowly across the skin, causing goosebumps to rise in response.

Moans escaped Dylan's lips involuntarily as the pleasure coursed through his body. Unable to hold back any longer, he reached out, grasping Adrian tightly. They both fell to the floor in sheer ecstasy, losing themselves completely in each other's arms.

Dylan clung tightly to Adrian, feeling like he was floating, carried away by the waves of pleasure crashing over him. He felt tears streaming down his face, but whether they were born of joy or sorrow, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that this was unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

Lost in the moment, Dylan hardly realized where they were anymore – trapped in a vortex of desire and oblivion. Adrian too was consumed by their shared passion, relishing in the fact that he held total sway over his prey.

His powerful frame moved confidently with grace, every movement calculated to evoke pure delight. Shifting between delicate and aggressive caresses, he ensnared Dylan even further into his web of intrigue. There was no question, no doubt; nothing mattered except giving and receiving pleasure, immersing themselves in the eroticism that enveloped them.

With renewed vigor, Dylan grabbed onto Adrian's head, pulling him closer for a scorching kiss that ignited flames within his very soul.

Adrian reciprocated eagerly, devouring Dylan's lips greedily, showing no signs of restraint. Their lips danced wildly, their teeth clicking in harmony, fueling the fire raging between them.

As if lost in the euphoria of this moment, neither thought of consequences nor stopped to ask questions about each other's past. It was as though the world outside did not exist, as their passions became intertwined, merging inextricably with one another.

Sweaty palms met feverish skin, sending jolts of electricity surging through both bodies. Nails scratched gently against muscular shoulders, marking their claim upon one another. Every fiber of being yearned to consume the other wholly, driven by an insatiable appetite for fulfillment.

Breathing heavily, Dylan began to rock back and forth, grinding his groin against Adrian's. Their rhythm matched perfectly, pushing them both towards the edge of ecstasy.

Feeling powerless yet utterly satisfied by Adrian's dominance, Dylan closed his eyes, embracing the sensation sweeping through his entire being. His hands wandered upwards along Adrian's sculpted torso, marveling at the hard planes of his abdomen and the play of muscles flexing beneath his palm.

The room echoed with the sounds of wet, passionate gasps mixed with low, husky murmurs. Adrian, ever in control, took charge of guiding their fervent exploration of one another's bodies. With firm hands, he traced exquisite patterns on Dylan's chest, making sure to pay attention to those sensitive areas that drove him wild. Meanwhile, Dylan allowed himself to simply indulge in the pleasure, allowing Adrian to dictate the pace and intensity of their encounter.

After a while of resting in each other arms. Adrian slip off the bed.

He stood facing Dylan, looking deeply into his eyes. "Stay strong," he said quietly, before turning around, removing his clothes piece by piece. His body gleamed with well-defined muscle, evidence of his dedication to fitness. Stripped down to just briefs, he returned to stand beside Dylan, offering him a glass of water. Dylan drained the glass, then set it aside. Closing his eyes, he listened intently to the beat of his own pulse. When he opened them again, Adrian was already waiting expectantly.

His gaze bore into Dylan, conveying a sense of possessiveness that both frightened and excited him.

Desire burned hotter than ever before as Adrian slowly approached Dylan, his movements impossibly fluid. Taking care not to disturb the sheets, he crawled seductively over Dylan's prone form, slithering his way up the contours of his partner's muscular physique.

His hands caressed and massaged every curve, honoring each dip and swell of Dylan's flesh. His touch was slow and deliberate, setting a tantalizing tempo that made Dylan's heart race faster.

With growing excitement, Dylan raised his arms, welcoming Adrian closer. As their skin touched, sparks flew once more, reigniting the fires of desire within them both. Dylan threw caution to the wind, opening himself up completely to whatever lay ahead.

But thing not go as Dylan thought, Adrian both hands was draw on his skin, form the chest up to his bare neck. then his touch turn to warp... his hand warp around Dylan's neck. the warp just tight and tighten until it's grip of death.

Forgetting all the lustful moments they enjoyed earlier, fear flooded Dylan's system, numbing everything else - including reason. His heart raced frantically, trying to break free from what he perceived as impending doom. In a panicked bid to escape, he tried to push Adrian away, flailing helplessly under his suffocating grasp. But Adrian remained unfazed, holding on tighter, his face unreadable as his sinister intent grew clearer by the second.

Time seemed to slow down, each tick of the clock becoming deafeningly loud in Dylan's ears. Panic seized him as comprehension dawned upon him. No, this wasn't supposed to happen! He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords refused to cooperate.

A wave of anger coursed through Dylan as adrenaline fueled his determination to fight back. Summoning every ounce of energy he possessed, he attempted to buck against Adrian's iron grip. But his efforts proved futile as his struggling was easily quashed.

Feeling hopeless and desperate, he looked directly into Adrian's penetrating stare. Something cold and dangerous radiated from Adrian’s gaze, almost as if he could see right through Dylan’s very soul. Paralyzed by terror, he found himself unable to look away from the piercing blue eyes of his captor. Dylan struggled to process the sudden change in circumstances, torn between horror and disbelief. How could things take such a drastic turn? Where had it gone wrong?

Chapter 4

Jason lay curled up in bed, unable to sleep due to the racing thoughts circling through his head. Although the moonlit room provided adequate lighting, the walls seemed to close in on him, amplifying his claustrophobia. He sighed deeply, rubbing his aching temples, wishing for relief from his inner turmoil.

Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his thoughts. Despite his best efforts, however, the images remained. Loneliness creeping across the city streets, shadows dancing with nightmares yet to materialize. His throat constricted with each breath he took, drowning in the suffocating weight of isolation. It was painful, unbearably solitary - he knew he needed something, but what?

On this desolate evening, he decided to take a stroll down to the park near his home.

The soft glow from streetlamps cast eerie reflections upon the foggy ground below. Navigating his way along the winding pathways, he noticed several couples engaged in intimate conversation. Their laughter echoed off nearby buildings, reminding him once again of the loneliness enveloping his own existence. Observing their tender displays of affection intensified his envy towards the happiness they shared, further compounding his frustration and despair.

His restless gaze shifted toward the distant trees, shrouded in darkness. As he ventured deeper into the park, his steps faltered slightly. Unbeknownst to him, danger lurked in the very shadows casting long fingers over the landscape. Dylan prowls the perimeter, scanning the area meticulously. His predatory senses honed in on his target, whose heart raced furiously within his chest. As Jason approached the playground, he paused briefly, overcome by a sudden wave of melancholy.

Unable to resist, he turned to glance behind him once more — only to find himself face-to-face with a man loitering near the entrance gate. Something about this stranger stirred unease within him, causing goosebumps to prickle his flesh. He quickly looked away, trying to dismiss the unnerving encounter.

As the man leans against the wall, appearing casual, yet sinister, his piercing black eyes meet Jason's nervous ones. Intrigued, Jason hesitates – should he confront this stranger, or flee immediately? The choice is made for him when the man breaks the intense stare, turning his attention elsewhere. Glancing once more at the figure now lost among the crowd, Jason quickens his pace towards the safety of his dwelling.

Jason's anxious heart pounds heavily within his chest, pumping blood rapidly through his veins.

The sense of urgency grows stronger as he makes his way swiftly back home. But try as he might, he can't seem to forget the shadowy figure lurking among the shades. Each footstep taken brings a renewed dread with it, heightening his fear of being pursued. Panic clutches at his throat, threatening to choke him. All too aware of the delicate balance of sanity and paranoia, he wrestles with his trepidation, knowing well that rational thought will ultimately prevail.

Regardless, Jason cannot help but wonder whether the ominous stranger harbored malevolent intentions. The prospect of having been followed fills him with terror, his breath caught somewhere deep within his chest. With trembling hands, he reaches for the door handle and attempts to enter his residence without drawing any undue attention. Once safely ensconced within the confines of his abode, he allows himself a moment to catch his breath.

He slumps into a chair, his weary body craving solace after the exhaustion brought forth by recent events.

However, instead of peace, another bout of uncertainty assails him. Fear lingers within the depths of his soul, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. Unable to escape the persistent whispers of doubt surrounding him, Jason turns to pour another glass of wine. Taking a measured sip, he finds temporary respite in the warmth coursing through his veins. This brief distraction fails to mask the growing discomfort simmering underneath the surface. His heart thuds violently against his ribcage, demanding acknowledgment of the precarious position he finds himself in.

As Jason continues sipping his wine, he cannot shake the notion that someone may be watching him. Paranoid suspicion mounts within him, coiling tightly in his gut like a venomous serpent poised to strike. The dimly lit room feels claustrophobic, mirroring the internal torment consuming him. Yet despite his overwhelming apprehension, determination fuels his resolve not to let his imagination run wild. but as long he sipping and start to feel comfort in his save home. He start to let's himself slumber in sleepness.

Sleep came easier than expected, bringing with it a semblance of peace. However, as morning light filtered through the window, he found himself awakened suddenly by the sound of a knock at his front door. Groggily, he rose from his nest of blankets, reluctantly trudged towards the entryway, and peered through the eyehole. To his surprise, there stood the same mysterious stranger from last night, now garbed in a suit.

Instinctively, Jason retreated, pressing his back against the cool wood paneling. What does this person want from me?

Jason pondered, clutching the doorknob tightly. Sweat trickled down his brow, betraying his apprehensive nature. Mustering all his courage, he slowly pulled the door open just enough to see past the threshold.

"Good morning," spoke the mystery individual, displaying a friendly smile that did little to alleviate Jason's rising anxieties. "My name is Dylan."

Dylan, playing the role of Dylan, maintains a calm exterior while internally brimming with excitement. He appears shy and introverted, keeping his voice low and his movements controlled.

"May I come inside?" he asks politely, his expression remaining neutral.

Feeling cornered, Jason hesitates before responding. He swallows hard, attempting to regain some composure amidst the surge of adrenaline flooding his system. "Why don't you tell me why you're here first?" he challenges, hoping to gain some insight into Dylan's true intentions.

Dylan smiles, revealing a set of perfectly aligned teeth. "Of course," he says smoothly. "I heard about your work as an artist and wanted to discuss potential collaborations."

Dylan lies convincingly, carefully observing Jason's reaction. He wants to learn more about this man and perhaps use him to serve his twisted purposes later on. Jason raises an eyebrow skeptically, unsure how to proceed. His intuition tells him that something isn't quite right, but still, he invites Dylan inside out of curiosity.

Inside the small apartment, decorated minimally and filled with books scattered about, Jason leads Dylan to the kitchen table where two cups await them.

Sitting opposite one another, neither speaks nor moves until Jason finally breaks the silence. "So, what kind of collaboration were you thinking of?" His voice carries a hint of skepticism mixed with curiosity. Dylan, suppressing his amusement at Jason's caution, grins widely, showing perfect white teeth.

"Well, I think our styles would mesh nicely together." Here, Dylan presents his true intention, which involves manipulation and murder. As for the actual collaboration, anything could be proposed—a joint exhibition, a project inspired by literature or philosophy.

Whatever direction it takes, I believe our combined talents will result in something truly extraordinary," Dylan explains earnestly.

Jason listens attentively, albeit warily. There is no denying the charisma radiating from Dylan, captivating anyone in close proximity. Even though Jason doubts the validity of Dylan's proposal, the idea sparks his curiosity. Perhaps working alongside such a fascinating individual could elevate his career and grant him greater recognition. After all, risk must sometimes be embraced to achieve success.

Despite his reservations, Jason decides to explore this unexpected opportunity presented by Dylan. They exchange phone numbers and agree to discuss future plans via text messages. When their discussion concludes, both individuals part ways cordially.

Dylan exits the apartment, promising to stay in touch regarding their prospective collaboration. As soon as the door closes behind him, Jason's guard drops, allowing relief to wash over him. Despite his initial misgivings, he remains hopeful that this chance meeting with Dylan might prove beneficial for his career.

With each passing day, Jason eagerly anticipates news from Dylan concerning their creative partnership. At times, he questions the wisdom of trusting a complete stranger, especially considering the eerie coincidence of their paths crossing. Nevertheless, his desire for professional growth propels him forward, ignoring these nagging concerns.

Days turn into weeks, and weeks morph into months. During this time, Jason immerses himself fully in his artwork, crafting masterpieces that capture the essence of human emotions.

The more he creates, the closer he comes to understanding the complex layers within himself. Simultaneously, he develops a strong bond with Dylan, sharing ideas and critiques, refining their unique style. Their friendship gradually evolves beyond mere collaboration into genuine camaraderie.

One evening, they gather at Jason's apartment to further discuss their joint ventures. Amidst the buzz of creativity, conversation naturally gravitates toward deeper topics - love, passion, loss, pain, and yearning.

Intrigued by these shared experiences, Jason opens up to Dylan about his own struggles with mental health issues and feelings of isolation. Surprisingly, Dylan reciprocates with similar stories, revealing hidden facets of his enigmatic persona.

They share intimate moments, divulging secrets and exploring the intricacies of life's most profound aspects. It becomes apparent that beneath the veneer of charm and wit, Dylan holds a deeply troubled soul. Although his motivations remain elusive, Jason senses a connection between them – a mutual understanding born from adversity.

Night falls upon the city, casting a soft glow across the skyline. Inside Jason's humble dwelling, candlelight flickers gently, illuminating the walls adorned with their latest works.

As the melodic strains of classical music fill the space, Jason and Dylan sit across from each other, engrossed in a game of chess. Each piece strategically maneuvers itself across the board, symbolizing the delicate dance between intellect and emotion. Throughout their match, they exchange witty banter accompanied by knowing glances, evoking a sense of camaraderie few can understand.

At the climax of the intense battle, they pause, staring deep into each other's eyes.

Sound of door knocking interrupt.

With a sudden jolt, Jason snaps back to reality, breaking away from the spellbinding gaze locked with Dylan. Both artists return to their respective pieces, lost in thought as they contemplate their next moves. Outside, the persistent knock echoes once more, urgent yet strangely familiar.

Jason glances at Dylan, whose face registers concern. In synchronicity, they rise simultaneously, walking towards the entrance. Upon opening the door,&nbsp;

their faces betray confusion and unease when confronted with the identity of the visitor. Standing on the stoop stands a police officer dressed formally in uniform, brandishing a stern look upon encountering them.

His presence sends shockwaves through the duo, leaving them momentarily speechless. Tensions soar in this silent interlude, thickening the atmosphere like molasses. The constable clears his throat, introducing himself as Detective Jones.

His authoritative tone causes Dylan and Jason to visibly shrink under his gaze. “We’ve received several reports regarding suspicious activities surrounding this residence,” he informs them gravely. “It is imperative we conduct a thorough search.”

Jason feels a wave of panic washing over him, wondering if someone had indeed seen Dylan coming and going from his place. His racing heart skips a beat. Meanwhile, Dylan remains composed, maintaining an aura of innocence. Both men nod solemnly, acquiescing to the detective's request.

Without speaking a word, they lead him into the apartment, ensuring privacy during the investigation. Once inside, they notice an array of sketchbooks littered among paint-splattered canvas, evidence of their recent collaboration. Curiosity etched onto their features, Detective Jones discreetly peruses the artworks hung on the walls, paying particular attention to those depicting figures cloaked in darkness.

Meanwhile, Jason finds himself growing anxious as memories of their earlier encounters flash through his mind.

Could Dylan really be involved in illegal activities? His uncertainty intensifies when he notices subtle changes in Dylan's behavior, giving off an air of guilt. Convinced there may be truth to the allegations, Jason starts piecing together clues from their past interactions, analyzing every detail meticulously.

Detective Jones, having examined the sketchbooks containing Dylan's intricate drawings, turns his focus to Jason's work. He studies the various portraits showcasing raw emotional depth and nuanced expressions of psychological turmoil.

Some appear abstract while others possess sharp clarity, suggesting both internal chaos and external serenity. One painting particularly catches his eye – a dark figure seemingly emerging from shadows, its eyes piercing straight through him. This piece appears to hold some significance to Jason, causing him to question whether he should pursue any further inquiry regarding Dylan's involvement.

Dylan, remaining calm despite his mounting apprehension, watches closely as Detective Jones ponders over each creation.

With unwavering determination, Jason chooses to continue supporting Dylan despite the accusations, firmly believing in their bond and trusting his friend's purported innocence.

Unbeknownst to either party, Detective Jones observes this interaction, becoming even more curious about the nature of their relationship.

As the search continues, tension escalates within the confines of Jason's modest abode. With each item scrutinized, Dylan's composure cracks slightly, revealing hints of agitation. Yet, he never loses sight of his objective – maintaining plausible deniability amidst the unfolding events.

Deep down, Detective Jones harbors lingering suspicion about Dylan's true intentions. However, he cannot ignore the possibility that this could merely be a misunderstanding or coincidental association.

Suddenly, the sound of sirens outside breaks the silence, drawing everyone's attention. As the noise grows louder, Detective Jones exclaims, "There's been another murder!" Startled, Jason and Dylan exchange worried looks, unsure how this development would impact their lives.

Moments later, two officers arrive at the building, hurriedly entering the premises. Upon learning of the incident, Detective Jones swiftly briefs them on the ongoing investigation. Gathering crucial information, the team quickly mobilizes, leaving Jason and Dylan alone once more.

Left in silence, fear settles heavily upon them, amplifying their already heightened anxieties. Unable to suppress his curiosity, Detective Jones returns one last time, probing Dylan further about his whereabouts since the start of the case. With effort, Dylan offers vague explanations, attempting to deflect any incriminating associations. But Detective Jones isn't convinced, suspecting something sinister lies beneath the surface.

Despite the grim circumstances, an unexpected bond forms between the unlikely pair. But finally detective leave.

Afterwards, silence descends upon the room, leaving Dylan and Jason alone once more. They exchange hesitant glances, neither daring to speak aloud what lies buried within their hearts.

Silence fills the void left behind by the departing investigators, only broken occasionally by the faint murmur of distant sirens. Uncertainty looms over them, casting a shadow of doubt on everything they believed to be true.

As night slowly unfolds, Dylan suggests they retreat to Jason's bedroom, offering solace in the form of companionship. Despite his initial reluctance, Jason agrees, finding comfort in the company of his closest friend. They lie side by side, resting against pillows embroidered with patterns of stars and moons.

In the dim light filtering through the window, Dylan shares a tender kiss with Jason, expressing gratitude for his support and loyalty. Deeply touched, Jason responds warmly, returning the affectionate gesture. For a fleeting moment, they forget the weight of the day's events, allowing themselves to succumb to desire.

Their lips entangle passionately, bodies yearning for one another's touch. Clothes give way to caresses, hands roaming across smooth, velvety skin, mapping out secret desires concealed beneath layers of fabric.

Breaths become shallow, pulses quicken, mirroring the rhythm of their hearts beating in tandem. Undressed, they stand naked before each other - fragile vessels brimming with love and longing. Arms wrap protectively around waistlines, fingers tracing soft curves, creating delicate impressions.

Emotions run high, teetering between trepidation and ecstatic surrender. The scent of sweat and arousal floods the senses, igniting a fervent need for physical connection. Their bodies sway together in harmony, enveloped by the heat of passion.

Lips part eagerly, hungry for each other's taste. Teeth graze gently along quivering flesh, eliciting gasps of pleasure. Sweaty palms glide over goosebumped skin, evoking shivers of delightful discomfort.

Hands reach for sensitive spots, exploring every curve and dip, savoring the sheer joy of intimate discovery. Lips meet with fervor, claiming territory previously unknown. Breasts press against hard chests, nipples aching for sustenance. Thighs slide provocatively against muscular thighs, stifling groans of aroused excitement. Fingers trace sensitive ridges, driving passions higher, deeper.

Eyes lock, burning with intensity. Desire rages wild, engulfing reason and caution.

Jason's head falls back, exposing his neck, inviting Dylan's gentle bites. In response, Dylan pushes Jason forcefully against the wall, holding him captive by sheer strength. A sense of power surges through Dylan, leaving Jason trembling beneath his control.

Their breaths sync, echoing the rhythmic pulse of life. Nerves frayed, yet sated, Jason submits completely to Dylan's mastery.

As they collapse onto the bed in a tangled heap, Jason's arm wraps tightly around Dylan's shoulder, instinctively pulling him closer. Tears well up in Dylan's eyes, an inner struggle playing out across his face. Burying his nose in Jason's hair, he whispers, "Thank you." Though unable to voice his own feelings due to exhaustion, Jason simply holds him close, hoping that his quiet reassurance will suffice.

After minutes of shared peace, Jason pulls away gently, whispering, "Get some sleep," gesturing towards the rumpled sheets beside him. Still visibly affected by their encounter, Dylan smiles wryly, replying, "Goodnight." He moves to the opposite end of the mattress, rolling onto his side to face the windowsill, his profile lit eerily by the streetlights below.

Jason watches him silently, wondering what thoughts swirl inside Dylan's mind. Is he truly capable of such horrific acts? Or was tonight just a performance, designed to deceive and misdirect?

Feeling conflicted, Jason decides to confront these questions directly. Reaching out tentatively, he places a hand on Dylan's shoulder, turning him toward him. "Can I ask you something?"

Dylan nods, feigning nonchalance. "Go ahead."

Swallowing nervously, Jason asks, "Are you...are you responsible for those deaths?"

Dylan's expression remains stoically neutral, betraying nothing. "Why do you think that?"

Jason hesitates, weighing his words carefully.

Finally, he says, "Whenever I look at your sketchbook or see you working so diligently in your studio, I can't help but wonder if there might be similar tragedies hidden somewhere among those creations..."

Dylan's brow furrows, confusion etched deeply upon his features. "What makes you say that?"

"Well..." Jason falters, uncertain how best to approach the subject. "It's just that sometimes when I look at your work, especially the ones depicting people in distress or pain, I get this strange feeling like maybe they were inspired by actual experiences."

Dylan's countenance shifts subtly, conveying a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "That's absurd! My inspiration comes purely from my imagination and observations of human behavior. There's absolutely no correlation between my artwork and any criminal activities."

His tone rings dismissive, but Jason remains skeptical. "But why would someone create such vivid images of suffering unless they knew it firsthand?"

Dylan's gaze intensifies, narrowing into a penetrating stare.

"Just because I draw morbid scenes doesn't mean I participate in them," he retorts sharply. "Your paranoia is getting the better of you, Jason."

Dylan's voice dripped with frustration. "Don't let your insecurities cloud your judgment."

Jason's heart raced, guilt consuming him. Had he crossed a line by questioning Dylan's innocence? Was he being irresponsible by even entertaining such thoughts?

Heartbroken, Jason apologized profusely, explaining that his concerns stemmed not from malicious intent, but rather from genuine concern for both himself and Dylan. "Please understand, I don't want anything bad to happen to either of us. We should stay vigilant and keep our guard up until this whole thing blows over."

Dylan seemed taken aback by Jason's earnestness, his facade crumbling ever so slightly. After a few moments of contemplation, he conceded, "Alright, fine.

I know you're concerned for me, and I appreciate that. Just remember, we're both safe here – under the same roof. And please trust me enough to believe that I wouldn't jeopardize our friendship and safety."

Jason couldn't help but feel a wave of relief wash over him. Maybe there was still hope after all. If Dylan hadn't been involved in those awful crimes, perhaps things could indeed turn out differently than expected.

They lay down, facing each other, trying to ignore the elephant in the room.

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney Princesses: Ariel

Ariel’s fall begins after the destruction of her grotto, when in this timeline, Sebastian decides actually go and tell Triton she’s about to head off to seek a deal with Ursula

Still reeling from the discovery of all of Ariel’s human objects, and pushed even further in his paranoia and fear for his daughter’s safety, Triton’s anger explodes again at this reckless act and he has Ariel locked in a tower room in the palace until she finally ‘comes to her senses’

He also takes the step of making sure Ursula never tries to meddle with any of his daughters ever again. The Nautilus necklace protects her from the magic of the Trident just enough that she survives, but is forced to flee far beyond Atlantica’s borders (per the backstory rules I’ve set for my DisneyVerse)

This act only makes Ariel’s anger towards her father that began with the destruction of her treasures grow, and without the wonder of gaining human form and her prince’s love, and the isolation of her punishment, that anger turns into deep burning resentment.

Never one to take things lying down, Ariel attempts again and again to escape her confinement, each time she’s caught stoking Triton’s ire and her own resentment. Both of their hot tempers get the better of them, driving wedges between Ariel and her friends who fail to help her, and Triton and his people, as he takes his frustration out on them.

But something has begun to stir within Ariel, fueled by the darkness and despair growing within her heart. All the royal line has some aptitude for magic, as evidenced by their ability to wield the great Trident without being overcome by it. But in most of them it stays small and unfocused, unneeded in daily life.

But now Ariel has both focus and need. Her singing voice has always been special, even among her sisters lovely voices. There’s always been something about it that people feel drawn towards, and now, now she begins to feel it’s power growing within her, feeding off her anger, her despair, her desires. And she hones it as best she can from a gift into a weapon.

And finally, one night, a guard finds himself succumbing to the beautiful song that begs him to unlock the door, and then sleep so that he does not see the princess escape…. Ariel does not stay long enough to discover that he never wakes again.

The moment she’s free, Ariel takes off into open water, determined to place as much distance between herself and her now hated father—and to find the Prince she saved, three long years ago. The memories of him have been her only real companions, and isolation has fanned what could have become True Love given the chance into an obsession, fueled by her growing Magic, a magic she does not truly know how to control.

She begins stalking the ships that cross the ocean waves, singing out to the sailors who work them, seeking her lost love, calling him to her. She does not mean to cause men to leap overboard for want of her, lured in by her song. But neither can she save all of them. Sometimes she doesn't even notice they’ve lept into the waves, too focused on seeking for the face of her prince to notice that of any other man.

The sailors who survive spread the tale of the siren that haunts the waters around the kingdom, a fiend hair as red as blood and a voice that draws men to their deaths, the ships begin to travel with supplies of cotton to cover their ears, and harpoons to put an end to any mermaid they might see.

Ariel does not care, she barely feels the nicks of the spears as the graze her, thrown by men made too clumsy to kill by her song, powerful enough now to seep in past the cotton. She is seeking Her Prince, and she will not stop until she finds him.

Meanwhile, the prince who is now a King, who was forced two years ago to give up his dreamer’s quest for the girl with the beautiful voice who saved him, and marry a suitable royal bride for the prosperity of his kingdom, now finds that kingdom threatened by the presence of a monster from the deep.

When enough men to man three ships have been lost to the deep trying to subdue it, he decides it’s time he protects his kingdom himself.

He bids farewell to his wife, who he is fond of, even if he does not love her, and their young child, who he does, and sails off into the sea to strike down this foe.

He never returns.

And the Siren who haunts their shores remains, still searching, still singing for the Prince she lost, who in her madness she did not even recognize when he lept into the waves, pulled like all others by her song. The gash on her side from his spear is the closest to a kiss they will ever share in this life…

[gaymasonjar]

Will You Meet Me In The Middle?

Chapter 1: Don’t Worry About Me

“Who wants to bend to me first?”

The thrumming under his skin felt like fire. Burning. Forcing him to Clyde’s will. Alex breathed shakily as he watched Max face off with Clyde. The smell of the hot desert sand was mixed with the strong scent of rain from the number of aliens in one location. Blue flame burst between the two aliens before Max succumbed to the power and dropped to his knees.

Successfully breaking free of Clyde, Rosa stumbled up from the line that they were all kneeling in. She whacked the alien over the head with a piece of wood. It was enough to break his concentration. Max and Clyde blasted blue fire at one another again. The collision of flame caused a tidal wave blast that knocked everyone flat on their backs.

The world was ringing and silent all at once. Blinking his eyes weakly, Alex found himself staring at a blue sky. Daylight. The sun was blinding. Inhaling sharply, coughs racked his entire body. He could feel the thick blanket wrapped around him and the desert sand underneath him. His eyes slid shut. Hands grabbed onto his shoulders. Alex opened his eyes again, squinting. 

Michael. 

“All I ever wanted to do, is to make you happy.”

He was talking but Alex couldn’t hear it. His brow furrowed. Allowing Michael to pull him up into a seated position brought up a wave of nausea. His eyes closed again, taking deep breaths to keep himself from throwing up. 

They were back on Earth. The inter-dimensional prison was destroyed.

Alex made a face when someone pulled his eyelid up. A light flashed in his eyes rapidly. 

Kyle. 

Both Valenti and Michael were still trying to talk to him. He blinked slowly, unable to focus enough to read their lips. Michael’s grip adjusted until he was holding Alex against his chest. The quick beating of Michael’s heart pulsed against the back of Alex’s shoulder. It was grounding. Alex found himself melting into the embrace, eyes slipping shut. 

“We need to get him medical attention”, Kyle told Michael as he slipped his penlight back into his pocket. “I can take him to Deep Sky. It’ll be easier than trying to explain this at the hospital.”

Michael nodded as he lifted up his fiance in his arms. Alex tucked his face against Michael’s shoulder. The alien followed Valenti to his car nearby the portal site. After laying Alex down in the backseat, he climbed in beside him. Alex tucked his face into Michael’s neck. His skin felt cold against the alien. Michael rubbed his knuckles against his stubbled cheek gently.

“Baby, can you hear me…?”

Alex hummed softly, the ringing less prominent in his ears. His eyes eventually found Michaels’. A soft smile grew on his face. Michael returned the smile before kissing Alex gently.

“You’re gonna be okay, Alex.”

Alex grabbed Michael’s wrist before he could pull away, “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I love you, so much.”

“I love you too.”

Michael looked past Alex to the doctor in the driver’s seat. “We’re ready to go.”

“Alright.”

Michael helped Alex with his seatbelt before shutting the door. Kyle sped off into the desert. It was a long drive from Roswell to Las Alamos. Around 3 hours. Kyle kept glancing up into the rearview mirror, anxiety clear. 

“What, Valenti?”

“What happened in that place? You look like you’re on death’s door, Manes.”

“Radiation”, Alex muttered against Michael’s neck.

“What?” Eyes wide, he cursed under his breath, “Shit. You were in there for a long time.”

“It just affected him”, Michael added. “The rest of us never got sick from it.”

“I just hope it’s not too different from radiation poisoning on Earth. Alien radiation…”

Alex grimaced before grabbing his churning stomach. “Ugh- Michael-”

Michael hurriedly pulled out an empty grocery bag left in the back seat and shoved it into Alex’s hands. The brunette dry-heaved violently. What little water and stomach acid he had in his system came up. Exhaustion crashed into Alex like a heavyweight. He slummed back in his seat with a groan before sleep took over. 

“Alex? Alex!”

“Is he still breathing”, Kyle demanded.

“I-” Michael placed his hand on Alex’s chest. His heart was beating. Breathing was shallow but it was still there. “He is- he doesn’t sound good.”

“He needs treatment. Medication.”

“Valenti- tell me what to do.”

“Keep him breathing until we get there. Even if that means CPR in the backseat- you keep him breathing.”

“Don’t leave me yet”, Michael whispered into Alex’s shoulder. “We still have that life to build together.”

Continue reading on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45325099/chapters/114034129