#not to mention BEYOND DANGEROUS YOU FUCKERS

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

@ Oscar, because fuck mclaren & fuck the FIA for handing his teammate that win:

[rowretro]

If your requests are open, can I get hard yandere Jake or Ni-Ki where they punish reader for escaping and staying with one of their friends?

𝕺𝖍 𝖒𝖞 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌…

✧warnings: Yandere themes, toxic themes, mentions of blood, manipulation(?), shirtless-ish riki, somewhat gore, mentions of sex

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"Oh my sweet little y/n... I knew you were stupid but for you to be this stupid?!..." Riki tutted, a mocking pout on his lips, his shirt drenched with the blood of someone you called a friend. He barely knew you, yet he befriended you just because he knew you were in the danger of Riki. Your stupid self just had to believe Riki wouldn't know that the motherfucker would be keeping you in his house.

He was pissed. No he was beyond pissed, words can not explain how bad of a decision she made. Riki wasn't too into murdering people or ripping them apart, but for her? god a little blood on his hands was nothing let alone stabbing a dagger with her name encrypted into this so called friend of hers? heck he could even leave the body out because not even a family member was there to want him.

"Oh well... he lived a miserable life anyway.... this was your fault y/n. You know better than to trust a strangers word over mine. Fuck the fact you trusted another man. went into his house. wore his shirt. AND FUCKING LEFT ME?!" He finally yelled causing her to flinch, he stabbed him crazily as you screamed for him to stop, tears streaming down her cheeks. "STOP CRYING FOR HIM!" he screamed, slapping her painfully on her cheek.

he knelt down before her dark eyes, peircing into her as he groaned, he threw off his shirt "Mother fucker got his filthy blood all over my comfortable t-shirt. The one you should be wearing right now." he sharply said. The man was pissed. He slapped her yet again, ripping off the T-shirt she wore as she carried her and dropped her in the bathtub.

He didn't care that it was hurting her, he turned the tap on as he applied soap to the sponge and aggressively rubbed on her skin. "I know you wouldn't sleep with him. But you still hugged him. You still went in his house and sat on his rubbish sofa. Fuck imagine all the germs in that shithole you went to." He spat as he chucked the sponge at her and yanked her hair. "Clean yourself up and go to bed." He simply said before leaving the restroom.

"Oh no... I hurt my poor y/n oh sweetie... You need to know what you did is awful... you need to feel the pain I did... but I won't make it hurt as much as you hurt me because I love you... you can tell me anything.... did you have sex with this fucker?! is that why you're wearing his ugly shirt?!!!" Riki asked, as She stared in horror, and disgust. Riki chuckled

That very night, was the first time Riki hurt her, though it hurt him more to hurt her. He stepped out of the shower, smiling as he saw Y/n sitting on his bed, wearing his sweater, how it fell just off of her shoulder, her tears gone as she reached out to hug him, she just needed comfort... and she accepted her fate.

"So cute, I know you won't do something like that with some low life... awww my sweet innocent y/nie, so vulnerable and gullible, sweetheart, he's a pervert, he lied to you, he did this so he can use your precious body. You know I've never done and never will do that you know why? because I love you..." Riki explained as he cradled her in his arms.

He palnted soft kisses on her face "Oh my poor darling y/n... don't ever leave me... I can't live without you!" He said as Y/n placed a soft kiss on his plump lips, giving into his toxic love. She can't help it though... isn't it a good thing that he'd even kill for her?.... so many men have only hurt her, humiliated her or wanted to hook up with her but Riki... Riki loves her...

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[ang3lc]

someone ordered enemies to lovers w johnny?

cw: mentions of blood, enemies to lovers, johnny x reader

The alley is hot, air thick with the smell of blood. The concrete is hard beneath your back, and for a moment, the world is a blur. The sharp pain in your side makes you grunt as you push yourself upright, your breath ragged and uneven. You force your eyes to focus, the realization sinking in like ice down your spine: you’re alive, but barely.

The street ahead is dark, lit only by the faint glow of a flickering streetlight. Screams and gunshots in the distance, your shoulder and stomach searing with fresh wounds, but the bigger problem lies next to you.

Johnny.

He’s lying there, sprawled out on the pavement, his arm leaking blood with each pulse of his heart. He’s still breathing, shallow and slow, but the blood pooling underneath him makes your stomach churn.

“Johnny,” you crawl to him, shaking his shoulder with as much force as you can muster. "Get up. Now."

There’s no response. Just the sound of his labored breathing.

You shake him harder and his eyes flutter open, squinting against the dim light. For a moment, he just stares at you, dazed, blinking like he can’t quite figure out where he is.

“M... Miss me, lass?” His voice is rough, hoarse, and it comes out as a low rasp, but there’s that damned smirk plastered on his face, even with blood streaking across his brow.

“Sonovabitch... You’re lucky you’re alive,” you snap, ignoring the tremor in your voice as you push yourself to your feet, your body aching all over. You try to ignore the sting in your side. "We need to move. Now."

Johnny groans as he pushes himself to a kneel. "That fucker... Graves..." He winces, glancing down at the mangled mess of his right arm, his face contorting with the effort of not showing how badly it’s hurting.

You stare at him, your patience thinning with every second. You need to get moving, you need to get out of the open before the Shadows close in. "Either you move or I’ll drag you. Your choice."

Johnny mutters something under his breath, but after a moment, he moves toward you, gritting his teeth. "I’m startin' to think I’d be better off if you just left." His voice has that typical dry edge to it, even through the pain.

“Shut it, Johnny. Move."

You maneuver through the streets of Las Almas. The cracks in the cobblestone were filled with the blood of families, executed at the hands of the Shadows before being washed away by the rain, forgotten eternally.

Every crackle from their radios sent you and Johnny into a new wave of hell. Every step dragged you further into bloodshed, but you have to keep going. You don’t have the luxury of slowing down.

Johnny lags behind you, still careful, but stiff. You can hear the way he breathes through his teeth with every step. The back of your mind nags at you to turn around, to check if he’s still able to keep up. Lord knows he's worse off than you.

You reach a narrow street corner, your eyes scanning the horizon. Empty. Quiet. But you can feel the presence of danger lingering just beyond your senses.

“We cannae keep movin' like this,” Johnny mutters behind you, his voice strained, but low. He’s limping now, holding his bloody arm against his side, trying to hold himself together. “We’re gonnae need to patch up. Y'cannae keep pushin'.”

You don’t stop, don't look at him. “We don’t have time to rest.”

Johnny’s voice gets quieter, almost frustrated. “A'hm nae askin’ for a nap, a'hm sayin' we cannae keep goin'. We’ll be dead before w'can even think abo' regroupin'.”

You bite your lip, but you know he’s right. But the thought of stopping—of being in this hell hole any longer—fills you with unease. The Shadows were dogs with bones. But you’re both barely alive, and Johnny’s not moving fast. You glance at him from the corner of your eye.

“Fine,” you finally say, exhaling sharply. “There’s a house up ahead. We’ll check it out.” You don’t look back at him as you move forward.

Johnny doesn’t respond. You don’t need him to. You’re both on autopilot at this point, surviving on instinct and sheer willpower. Every second you spend talking, every second wasted, is a second closer to being found.

When you reach the house, you push the door open quietly, scanning the interior for any signs of life or danger. It’s trashed. Whoever was here either left in a hurry, or didn't live long enough to. That gives you a brief moment of reprieve.

You set up a quick perimeter, making sure there’s no immediate threat, then turn your attention back to Johnny, who’s now leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath. His arm hangs limply at his side, blood soaking through his blue shirt.

“Sit,” you order, already moving toward him. “You’re not bleeding out on my watch. ”

Johnny grins, despite the pain. "So, now ye're the medic, hmm?" He tilts his head back, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. "How the mighty 'ave fallen."

“Shut up,” you snap, ripping the fabric of a curtain to fashion into a tourniquet. “This isn’t a joke, Soap.”

You settle next to him on the floor, fabric in hand. Johnny’s smile fades, replaced with something else, whatever it is doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "What 'appened tae 'Johnny'?."

"Not calling you Johnny when you need to focus." Your hands move quickly, expertly tying the tourniquet around his arm, your face inches from his as you work. The closeness between you both is suffocating, but you ignore the tension in the air. You can't afford to think about him like that, not now.

“Hold still,” you mumble, adjusting the fabric. His face tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, letting you work.

"You’re gonna make it," you say quietly, more to yourself than to him, as you finish the tourniquet. You avoid looking at him, but you can feel his gaze on you, heavy and lingering.

Johnny’s voice cuts through the tension, softer than usual, but there's a thread of something almost vulnerable in it. "Y'ken, for all the shite w'give each other, we’re nae half bad at this."

You glance up at him, and for a heartbeat, everything goes still. His words hit deeper than they should, and your pulse quickens. In that moment, it’s as if you see him—really see him—for the first time. Not the cocky bastard you’ve been stuck with, but something else. Something raw.

Your mouth opens, a sharp retort ready on the tip of your tongue, but the words get stuck. It’s hard to push him away now. Harder than it should be.

Before you can speak, Johnny shifts slightly, his eyes locking with yours. For a fraction of a second, his eyes flick to your lips, his breath hitches when you look at his. The air between you thickens, and you both know that this moment—whatever it is—feels too real, too raw to ignore.

Then, the sharp crack of gunfire shatters the quiet, snapping you both back into motion. Instinct takes over, and before you can process it—knives gripped, bodies tense, eyes scanning.

You exchange a glance, but no words pass. Just the unsaid, the understanding, as the tension between you simmers under the surface.

"Focus," you murmur, voice low, controlled, your eyes scanning the room for any movement. It's as much a command to yourself as it is to him.

Johnny's grin reappears, but it's not the same one. It's darker, tinged with something more real. His usual cocky bravado is gone, replaced by a genuine confidence, something that echoes in the air between you. "Aye, we finish this. Later, yeah?"

Your nod is slow, deliberate. The weight of his words lingers longer than it should. You can’t afford to entertain what’s brewing between you, not with your lives on the line. But there's an understanding now—a silent agreement, even if it's just for this moment.

You push the thought down, burying it beneath the instinct to survive. You turn, heading for the door, your movements swift and purposeful. Johnny falls in beside you, and for the first time, you both move together, in sync.

And as you step into the night, side by side, the air between you carries something new. Whatever it was, it’s gone for now. But neither of you is quite the same as you were a few minutes ago.

And that, in hindsight, might be the most dangerous thing of all.

mlist | @eleu22

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: swearing, brief mentions of terror, domestic!Simon, intimacy in the shower, hand job, vaginal fingering, brief oral sex (female receiving), non-penetrative sex, the mask comes off

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Part Fourteen of Ink & Needle

Simon doesn't see you again for two weeks. Amelia intervenes. Simon removes his mask in front of you.

Chapter Thirteen // Chapter Fifteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Repetition.

Fingers counting bottles. Counting colors. Counting labels.

White paper. Blank spaces. Pencil. Graphite tip.

Breaking. Breaking. Over. Over. Over, again.

Blue ink. Red ink. Black.

Simon counts the little rows, falling deeper into distraction. It’s a way to quiet his mind, to turn off the fucking noise that’s buzzing there in the back like an annoyingly curious bee. But all this inventory counting isn’t working. Nothing is keeping his thoughts at bay.

A week has passed. An entire fucking week and your absence is a festering wound. Simon isn’t taking it personally. Really. He isn’t. But fuck he misses you. Part of him blames himself, insisting that your distance has to do with something he did. It’s not entirely far from the truth. While Simon hasn’t exactly lied to you, he has omitted crucial information.

British Intelligence may very well be coming to call, but Simon doesn’t know that information explicitly. The situation is precarious. Delicate. The information Simon shifted through with Price, Kyle, and Johnny unnerved him.

Kit Walsh is not your local nationalist prick who spouts shit off in chatrooms or on social media for influencers to stitch. Kit Walsh moved beyond that. Beyond walking in to corner stores or a school or a church for innocent people to understand his lead-drenched wrath. Beyond a week or two of media frenzy. Beyond mugshots and a jury sentence.

This man moves between. One minute he’s supplying arms to opposing sides in another country to destabilize a region, and then turns around to whisper in some politician’s ear to convince them to “intercede” on the behalf of “global peace.”

He pushes weapons, pushes people, pushes drugs.

But he’s not a businessman. That’s just a front for his true intentions. Kit Walsh thinks on global levels and how he intends to make the world into his image. He takes his time. He observes and then moves.

It makes the man more dangerous because he also understands that acts at the local level are just as or even more powerful than the global ones. Nothing is more terrifying than when your own neighbor turns their words of hate into hateful actions.

Kit Walsh knows this.

Which is why Simon didn’t give a fuck when he received all those injuries. He thought he took the fucker out for good. That Walsh was a burnt-up corpse. Simon rarely considers any of his scars to be marks of pride. Yet the ones he received when he shoved his knife into Walsh’s chest were ones he didn’t mind having.

But none of that matters now.

Walsh is alive. And he might have fucking blown the back of Lord Archibald Williams’ head off. For what? Simon doesn’t fucking know. Price didn’t know either which means that British Intelligence likely doesn’t.

And you don’t need to know any of that. Why burden you? Why put any of these worries and issues on your plate when they might not land there at all? Why exhaust you further?

When you brought up Archie, Simon panicked, knowing you were already tired—already stressed. It’s not right that this happened to your friend, but Simon truly believes there isn’t anything to particularly worry about at the moment. That is reason enough not to dump this on you.

Simon’s fingers hover above the lid of an ink bottle. He pauses there, thinking, forgetting the number he just uttered.

Lost count. Starts over.

Blue ink. Red ink. Black.

“Fuck!” shouts Simon, his tatted knuckles turning white as the pencil clenched in his fist snaps in half.

Simon stares at the broken pencil. At the fractured graphite.

Sighing heavily, Simon drops the clipboard and steps away from the storage cabinets. He’s fucking distracted, and it’s not only because of the shit he read in Price’s file. Simon hasn’t seen you—hasn’t touched you in almost a week. Somehow, the separation is difficult, more frustrating than Simon previously thought.

He went three years without knowing your touch. But a week is now too much?

Simon clenches his fists. Releases them. Inhales deeply through his nostrils and exhales slowly through his mouth. He repeats until there isn’t any tension in his limbs and his mind quiets. Using the silence, Simon takes notes of the aches and pains. The leg that always gives him trouble isn’t hurting much today, but that might be a different story tomorrow. Everything else is dull and fine, better than it has been.

Checking his scheduling book, Simon pulls up the name of the next client, retrieving the sketches and preparing the stencil. This is work he knows. This is work that’s natural to him. Safe and secure. When the client arrives, Simon shifts into work mode, slipping into his professional mask, dipping into his creativity.

For these few hours, Simon doesn’t think about you at all and he certainly doesn’t think about Walsh. He’s only thinking about the tattoo and the client and the goddamn inventory sheet that looks ready to slip right off the desk.

But when Simon’s client leaves, and he is left in an empty shop with a snoozing Bravo, thoughts of you come roaring back to the forefront of his mind. There really is no reason to worry. It’s not like Simon is only receiving radio silence from you. You just haven’t been with him. That’s all.

The two of you have talked. Well—not extensively. It’s only been flashes of conversation, brief texts and even shorter phone calls. It is the tiredness and exhaustion that Simon hears in your voice every time he speaks with you that worries him. He knows why you’re staying away, and it’s not because of him. At least, that is what you tell him.

Yet Simon cannot help but linger in those spaces, questioning whether or not he somehow messed up. That he didn’t do enough. Worse, it’s not fair to you to think this way. You have been clear about why you’re not around, but it still chews at him. Simon stills wants to see you, to hold you close even if it’s for a fleeting moment.

He knows there is a baby. He knows you have responsibilities to your friend. He knows and yet Simon is fucking selfish because he wants—no. Needs to breathe you in even if it is just the sweet scent of your skin.

But evening comes as Simon closes up shop for the night, and there is not a text or call from you.

There are none the next day or the day after that.

By Sunday morning, Simon is boiling from the inside out, gripping his phone like a goddamn lunatic.

He hasn’t heard from you, and the few calls and texts he’s sent have gone unanswered. If he were his old self, he’d have already gone to your place demanding to see you. But things have changed for him in some respects. Simon is trying hard not to fall into old habits and behaviors when it comes to you.

Simon has failed on several occasions, but he’s trying to be better. He’s trying to be better for you.

The decision he makes is like pulled teeth. Necessary sometimes but fucking painful without the proper numbing. Simon does not go to your place. Every step he takes in the opposite direction of Amelia’s home are dull razors against the skin. He forces himself to leash Bravo, to go to Dancing Faun, to sit down on his usual fucking stool and pretend that everything is fine.

Routine is good. Routine is comfortable.

Simon is going to leave it—leave you—and give you some needed space. There is a newborn in Amelia’s house, and the last thing Simon needs to do is to barge in and step all over that dynamic just because he hasn’t seen you in a few days.

“Look who it is,” chuckles Ben, the owner of Dancing Faun. He sets down a newly polished pint glass. “Thought you forgot about me.”

Simon grins behind the balaclava, the familiar face a much-needed welcome. “You’re forgettable. But your wife?” Simon whistles and settles on his usual stool.

Ben guffaws and wags a finger in Simon’s direction. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’d leave me in an instant if you asked.”

“Better ask her then,” replies Simon, pretending to get up.

“Oi. Sit down,” mumbles Ben, shaking his polishing rag in Simon’s direction. “Cheeky bastard.”

Ben leaves and returns with Simon’s usual full English and tea. The two of them chat, Ben forgetting not to talk politics on Sunday while Simon listens and shakes his head, knowing the big guy does it on purpose to mess with him. After breakfast, Simon starts with a pint of dark amber ale, moving on to a second as the first customers begin to trickle in.

For a few hours, Simon forgets about the outside world. He watches a rugby match. Drinks a third beer. Considers whether he should switch over to whiskey. It’s just like all his other Sundays since retirement.

Routine is good. Routine is comfortable.

Simon lifts the pint glass to his mouth, downing the last of his third drink. He sets it down on the bar top, unsuspecting of the coming intrusion.

Reality is such a fickle thing. Sometimes it is a clawing, creeping blob that lurks in the corner of a dark room. Sometimes, it is an abrupt shaking, as if hands are on you, imploring you to look.

“Amelia!”

Simon’s stomach flips at the sound of Ben’s voice calling out to the older woman. Glancing away from the television, Simon turns, seeking you. Hope expands in his chest like an inflating balloon. Sparks pop off in his head with the belief that you will enter in behind Amelia. That you will walk through the door and Simon can finally see you again.

But you’re not here.

You’re not with her.

It’s just Amelia.

Her cheeks are rosy from the November cold, and her coat swallows her up.

“I have photos of the grandbaby,” she says, voice cheery as she removes her leather gloves and stuffs them in her coat pockets.

Ben’s smile widens. “Congratulations.”

Several patrons around the pub hold up their drinks in salute, echoing Ben’s initial statement. Without taking off her coat, Amelia travels from person to person, her wire rimmed glasses hanging on the tip of her nose as she scrolls through photos on her phone. She lingers with each person, telling the same story, showing the same pictures.

Simon patiently waits because that’s all he can do. Inside, he’s boiling in an agonizing twisting of alertness that pulls every muscle in his body taut with tension.

Is she doing this on purpose to mess with him? Did he really fuck up and this is her version of punishment?

When Amelia finally approaches Simon, some of that tension evaporates. Her smile is genuine. Soothing. She’s not upset with him. If anything, Amelia is relieved to see him.

“Morning, Simon,” she sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly.

“Morning,” he replies, not recognizing the gruffness in his voice. Simon swallows, tapping the side of his empty glass with a single finger.

Amelia holds up her phone. “Interested in seeing pictures of my grandbaby?”

Fucking hell, he can’t say no to her.

Simon only nods because he cannot trust his voice. Is he fracturing? What the bloody hell is wrong with him? Is it this distance? Does Simon truly miss you so much that it’s causing him to slip?

Amelia settles herself on the stool next to Simon. Bravo’s head doesn’t even lift in greeting. The German Shepard is out, completely relaxed and dozing on the floor. With phone clutched in one hand, Amelia begins to scroll through multiple pictures. Most of them are just of the baby asleep or cradled in someone’s arms.

“Her name is Lillian,” says Amelia, smiling fondly. “Named after Archie’s younger sister. Poor thing didn’t even get to see the age of three.”

The mention of Archie’s name twists Simon’s stomach. The file, its contents, and the conversation he had with Price, Johnny, and Kyle comes creeping back, wanting to sink its claws in.

“This,” and Amelia brings her phone a bit closer. “Is the day we brought her back.” Amelia hums softly. “So rosy cheeked.”

Simon grunts in agreement. It’s not the kindest response but it’s not because he doesn’t agree. Lillian is cute. She is rosy cheeked. Simon is good with kids and he likes them. But he just wants to know what is happening with you.

Amelia slides her finger across the phone’s screen only to reveal a glimpse of a possible answer to all of his questions.

This picture is one of you. In your arms, you are holding Lillian. This wasn’t taken at the hospital. This is at Amelia’s home on the sofa. Simon recognizes the fucking fabric. You’re smiling down at the girl as if she’s the most perfect thing you’ve ever seen.

At first, Simon’s mind is steady. Resolute.

But then, it drifts. Keeps floating. Floating further away until Simon is imagining that you are not holding Amelia’s grandchild at all. You are holding your child. The one you might have with him.

The thought—this image of you—is sudden and fierce. Simon cannot shake it. His mind fixates on this future as if it’s a completely plausible thing. It sticks to him like honey. Like tar. No fingers can dig in and scrape it away. No cleaning solution could scrub it off. There is no box or hole or wasteland that Simon can hurdle this idea into in the hope that he might forget it.

It has bloomed. Flowered. Roots sinking between the soft folds of his brain.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

“She needs a break,” says Amelia, her tone drifting to a far-off place, pulling Simon from his wayward dreaming.

She is looking down at her phone. She is looking at the photo of you. Amelia glances up at Simon, her features softening into gentle sadness. “That’s really why I came. Hoped you’d be here.” She shrugs.

“Here I am,” replies Simon.

Amelia nods. “Here you are,” she echoes.

Locking her phone, Amelia exchanges it for the gloves in her pockets. Simon glances over at Ben and lightly moves his empty glass in the man’s direction. He comes over and retrieves the glass.

“She’s working herself to the bone. Doing everything for Evie and I when it’s not necessary.” Amelia taps her gloves against her open palm. “And she’s too stubborn to hand the reigns over to me. The woman needs a break. Away from all of us.”

Simon understands. You’re too selfless to step aside. You need to be forced or prompted. Amelia knows this too which is why she came searching for him. Hearing that you’re overworking yourself displeases him, but he’s also bloody fucking happy that he can have you to himself for a bit.

“For how long?” asks Simon, smothering the hopefulness that wants to burst forth.

Amelia frowns in thought. “A few days. Maybe a week. If she accepts that.”

Oh, you’ll accept. Simon will see to it.

“Another drink?” Ben meanders over from the other side of the bar.

Simon shakes his head. “Paying out, Ben.”

Amelia smirks and slips on her gloves as Simon hands off what’s owed. The tension and confusion from earlier are now raw energy, pumping through his loins like electricity. The entire walk to Amelia’s is easy, all the aches and pains in his body suddenly silent as if they too are excited to see you.

When Simon enters Amelia’s home, he finds you sitting on the floor in the living room. You’re surrounded by piles of laundry. Closest to Simon are small stacks of papers. They’re scattered off to the side in some sort of organized chaos that he can’t figure out. Your laptop is open in front of you resting on an ottoman. You’re reading emails while folding laundry.

Bravo stands to the right of Simon but doesn’t move in. He’s waiting for Simon’s command but even he can feel the dog’s excitement to greet you.

You haven’t noticed Simon yet but he certainly notices you. While he’d love to stop and just bask in your beauty, there are so many other things catching his attention that give life to what Amelia was telling him.

Tiredness covers you like a weighted blanket. You’re slouched forward, each movement accompanied by a sigh and a delay that Simon doesn’t like. His gaze focuses and it is then that he sees the slight tremble in your hands as you smooth the top of a folded towel.

Behind Simon, Amelia shuts the front door. The sound of it closing jostles you. Your head snaps in his direction.

“Simon.”

It is a relief. A surprise.

The exhaustion in your voice is cold and palpable like butter right out of the fridge. You’re ready to fall over. Simon doesn’t need to guess because when you attempt to stand, you wobble a bit, reaching out to steady yourself on the sofa.

Amelia is right. You are overworking yourself.

It takes Simon three strides to get to you. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he lightly presses, indicating that you should sit back down. Without protest, you follow his silent command, and Simon sinks to your level.

“What is all this?” he asks, keeping his tone calm.

Beneath the mask, Simon is furious. Not with you but with himself. He should have listened to his instinct. He should have given in to those old impulses. If he had, he could be helping you right now and perhaps you wouldn’t be so goddamn tired.

The sigh you release if heavy like a boulder. It presses on Simon’s chest. His hand on your shoulder shifts, cradling the side of your throat, his thumb brushing against your jawline. You don’t say anything. You’re too defeated—too exhausted.

Bravo cannot reach you with Simon in the way. The German Shepard opts for the ottoman, resting his head on it, ears drooping slightly.

“Simon is going to take you for a bit.” Amelia’s voice drifts over Simon’s shoulder and your eyes widen as you glance at the woman.

“But—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” snaps Amelia. “You’re doing far too much. Let us help.”

That’s a fucking understatement.

Simon presents his other hand and you take it. His hand on your neck slips away to reach behind you to help you guide you to your feet.

 “Go pack a bag,” murmurs Simon, his palm splaying wide across your lower back. “You’re staying with me.”

Your lips part as if to form a protest but Simon isn’t having that. He arches a single eyebrow, daring you to question what he’s told you to do.

Your mouth snaps shut.

Simon leans in. “Good girl,” he whispers.

This time when your lips part, it is with surprise. You blink, a bit stunned, and then a flood of warmth rushes up your neck and cheeks, your gaze dropping to the floor, face turning away in embarrassment.

Your reaction is something. It is something other than tiredness. Other than exhaustion and weakness. This is a piece of you he’s seen before and wants to see again. You shouldn’t be shoving it away to take care of others.

Against his chest is your flattened palm. Your fingers curl inward as your embarrassed demeanor turns into observance. You’re staring at the laundry, upper body twisting back and forth as you look for something.

“What is it?” prompts Simon, following your movements as if he can read your mind and know what it is you’re searching for.

Reaching down, you toss a few unfolded pieces of laundry aside to reveal your phone. Retrieving it, you glance down at the screen.

“Shit,” you mutter. It doesn’t light up. Your phone is dead. No wonder you haven’t been answering him.

“We’ll worry about that later.” Simon nods toward the stairs. “Go.”

Back at his flat, Simon takes your packed bag and drops it off in the bedroom. You stand in the space between the living room and kitchen, lingering with your hands clasped in front of you.

“Sit. I’ll make us something.” Simon gestures toward the couch and you slowly unfurl, nearly falling into the sofa once you get there.

Simon rummages around in his pantry and fridge, knowing that it’s best to find a snack for you to munch on while he cooks dinner. When is the last time you ate a real meal or fucking slept? Would you even admit the truth to him?

He eventually brings you tea and a variety of crisps. Your “thank you” is slightly slurred like you’re close to falling into the lands of Morpheus. Bravo curls up next to you, one paw touching your thigh while the rest of his body reclines away.

Simon stays in the kitchen. When he emerges to bring you food, he finds you asleep, grasping one of the bags of crisps against your chest. The opened end is facing Bravo and the poor dog is having an existential crisis on whether or not he should stick his face in or leave the bag be.

He should let you sleep, but Simon also knows you need to fucking eat something.

Gently, Simon places your plates on the coffee table. He removes the bag of crisps from your arms before rousing you. The meal is devoured. Tea is had. Simon throws on a movie, and you snuggle up to him, sinking into his warmth.

 This is how it should be. With you in his arms.

Twenty minutes in and you’re asleep again. Simon doesn’t care at all. You are here. You are close. You are safe. Like this, Simon can protect you. He can take care of you. Simon finishes the movie by himself, deciding that only after he’ll carry you to bed.

As he shifts to lift you, you awaken slightly, arms sliding around his neck to snuggle closer. Simon turns his face into you, breathes you in, allowing your scent to fill his lungs. You’re drifting off again as he adjusts his grip and stands. His bad leg wants to give out but Simon bites back the quick flare of pain.

Fuck that. Simon is stronger than that.

In the bedroom, Simon bends at the knees, thighs straining as he tosses back the covers on one side of the bed. Sliding you underneath, he tucks you in. You turn over to face the opposite direction, arms curling around his pillow like it’s him. He watches as you bring it closer, nostrils flaring as if you’re inhaling him too.

Simon changes into more comfortable clothing before sliding in next to you.

For him, his sleep is absent of dreams.

There are no shadows or fire. No memory. Just blankness. Nothing.

He wakes early, well before the time he actually needs to open up the shop for customers. Simon doesn’t want to. He’d like to stay in bed all day with you, but he also knows that trying to rearrange today’s schedule just for a bit of personal gratification is a fucking rude thing to do.

Simon stretches, all the joints in his body popping as Bravo’s head appears above the end of the bed. The dog tilts his head and Simon gestures toward the door. Bravo takes off, heading outside to go guard the place from squirrels.

Shifting to the edge of the bed, Simon rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. More popping but the stiffness quickly recedes.  Glancing behind him, Simon finds you still asleep. Things have changed though. The bedding is twisted around your body and you’ve removed some clothes in the night.

He cannot help himself. Simon’s gaze glides over all the exposed skin. The itch to reach out and run just his fingertips across the curve of your hip is unbearable. Simon has to clench his hands into fists just to stop himself from touching you.

Pushing off from the bed, Simon enters the bathroom, seeking a hot shower. All his clothes including his mask go on the floor. He is aching between his legs, all the blood in his body rushing happily to his quickly swelling cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters, stepping under the water.

Wrapping his hand around the base, Simon begins to stroke. The small bit of underwear he kept as a token is still tucked away in his dresser, but he doesn’t need it. Not anymore. He now has the memory of you, and the fact that you are currently in his bed. It’s enough to drive that pulsing desire higher.

Simon rests his forearm against the shower wall. He leans forward, his forehead coming into contact with that arm. He’s so fucking busy stroking his cock, that he doesn’t hear the opening of the bathroom door.

He doesn’t hear it close.

Nor does he hear the shower door.

It isn’t until your hand slides over his that Simon realizes what’s happening.

Your other hand rests against his back, splaying wide, moving up and down in gentle passes.

“Let me,” you murmur and Simon releases himself, only for you take his place, stroking him perfectly in utter pleasure.

A shiver rattles up his spine. You’re not looking at his face. You stand off to his right, face lightly pressed against the right side of his upper back near his shoulder. Lips move against skin, leaving kisses behind. You give Simon these small gifts with each stroke of your hand along his shaft.

Do you know that your mouth and hand on his back are caressing his scars? Do you know? Because Simon does, and it make him feel unworthy. Those are no longer earned marks but ones of failure.

But it’s not like you know that.

Over the scars is ink. Black ink. Perhaps you feel their lines and ridges under the tattoos. Perhaps you don’t. Yet Simon knows, and he doesn’t hate the touch. Other people he’s fucked have touched them, commented on them, tried to even sexualize them.

You’re not touching the scars. You are but you aren’t. You’re touching him. Touching Simon.

With a gentle twist of your wrist, you glide down his cock and circle the head with your thumb. Simon groans, leaning into your hold. He imagines you sinking to your knees and taking him into your mouth. He imagines you spreading your legs wide in open invitation. Of him sliding into you, watching himself disappear into your welcoming body.

Your pace increases slightly, just enough to drag Simon toward his end.

He bursts, his release marking the wall, but Simon is already grabbing your wrist, twisting around to face you.

You’re fast. Already, you have one hand thrown over your eyes, a playful smile plastered on your face.

Simon doesn’t care. Not really. The mask is just habit.

Gently, Simon guides your hand away from your face and yet you still keep your eyes closed.

“Don’t want to look at me?” he asks teasingly.

You giggle. “Feels a bit wrong.”

Simon smirks and then grabs your shoulders, turning you around to face the shower wall. He leans down, pressing his lips to your ear. “Your turn.”

Your hands go out to steady yourself as Simon slides his hand between your legs. He moans softly at the contact. You’re already wet for him, and it’s not because of the water. You’re fucking aroused. Needy. All Simon can think about is fucking you with his fingers before he fucks you with his tongue.

Simon wants to give you more but that has to wait. When he takes you like that, he needs to have all of you. Without interruptions. Without distractions. That’s how he wanted it to be three years ago at Riot Room. He wanted to take you home and fuck you on and over every surface in his flat. He wanted to make you scream his name until your voice went hoarse.

He circles your clit with his thumb a few times before testing with a finger. It slides right in and Simon feels the gentle flutter of your pussy adjusting to him. With his other hand, Simon slides it up your body to grab the front of your throat, holding you still. He presses his lips to the top of your head, not caring that the water is close to running into his eyes.

Simon begins to thrust and swirl, inserting a second finger quickly, wanting to feel how you’ll stretch for him. You whimper when his thumb makes another pass over your clit. It is sweet and Simon grins against your scalp, drinking in your little sounds.

But you are also reaching for him, left hand dropping from the wall to move behind you, palming his cock back to hardness even as Simon’s fingers fuck your pussy. You rock back, indicating what you want.

Simon nearly loses it right then.

He nearly snaps.

All he has to do is arch your hips a bit, maybe bend slightly at the knee. He’d fucking slide right in. He could fuck you right here against the shower wall, watch you whimper and beg, pinned between two hard surfaces.

You arch your back. Rub against him. His cock slides against the spot where your cunt and his fingers meet.

A vision of you clawing at the shower wall as he fucks you senseless clouds his mind. It infiltrates. Digs its feet in.

Simon nearly gives in right then as you orgasm, squeezing around his fingers. He nearly breaks the promise to himself.

But he somehow controls himself. Instead of giving in, Simon removes his hand from between your legs and twists his fingers in your hair, tugging to arch your back and bend you enough so he can reach that gorgeous fucking mouth.

His lips come down on yours and you moan against him. Simon’s hand at your throat eases, slips away, trailing over breast and waist and hip before stabilizing on your lower stomach. With this support, Simon slides his cock between your legs.

He does not penetrate, just rocks back and forth. With your thighs pressed together, and the slickness of your orgasm freshly coating your sex, he can pretend he’s inside you. Simon knows it isn’t enough but it’ll have to do for now.

The hand on your stomach sinks lower, shifting to your pelvis. His fingers find your clit. You’re already so sensitive from the previous orgasm that the second takes moments to come to life. Simon savors it, allows it to feed his own movements until he cannot contain his own. Pressing on your pelvis, Simon keeps you in place as finishes, his cock soaking in your juices.

The water is growing cold and Simon is fucking smug.

Slowly, he eases his cock from between your thighs, perfectly content with what just transpired. But his cum is fucking everywhere. It’s literally dripping from your sex.

“Fuck,” murmurs Simon, gently wiping some of that away with water.

That’s something the two of you need to fucking discuss. The first time the two of you had sex, there was a condom. This time, Simon doesn’t want there to be any barriers, but that cannot fucking happen without birth control. You might not be on it, and if that’s the case, the two of you will have to figure something else out.

You press into him. “Simon,” you groan, lips parting in wanton need.

A growl leaves his throat as he gives you what he wants. He nips and sucks on your bottom lip before drawing away, leaving you to face the shower wall. Simon shuts off the water and lightly tugs on your hand.

“Come on.”

He tugs on your hand again but you don’t move. Frowning, Simon grabs your shoulders and forces you to turn.

He blinks and then bursts out laughing. “What are you doing?” Your eyes are closed and your mouth is a thin line. “You can look at me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Simon chuckles, releasing your shoulders. He places one hand flat against the shower wall. Leaning in, Simon drops his voice to low purr. “Think I’m monstrous?”

With his words come the pebbling of your skin. He watches in real time as it fans out across your body. He grins in triumph.

“The very worst,” you reply softly.

Pushing off from the wall, Simon stands tall, shoulders squared, chest forward. “Look at me,” he says, and this time it’s a command.

You suck in a breath before one eye opens. It’s more of a squint but then you open the other, blinking a few times.

For some stupid fucking reason, Simon is a bit nervous. He’s never been nervous like this. Not when it comes to his face.

At first, your eyes widen, and Simon’s chest clenches tight as if a ribbon is twisted around his ribcage. Then, your brow softens, and your mouth forms the most gorgeous smile he’s ever seen. Your hands instantly reach toward his face in eagerness only to pause just before making contact.

The retreat is shallow. You’re asking permission.

“It’s okay,” murmurs Simon, because it is.

You close this distance and Simon turns his face into your soft hands. Your thumbs stroke over his cheeks. Your fingers trace his brow and nose. Every touch is exploratory and gentle, but fucking bliss.

“Hiding all this from me?” you tease. “You’ve been holding out on me, Simon.”

He chuckles, happiness vibrating in his chest. Clasping your hands with his own, Simon brings them down to his chest. In one motion, the two of you are coming together, lips meeting. This is all softness. All tenderness.

Simon draws back, licks his lips. “Will you go away with me?”

“On a trip?”

He nods, stealing one more kiss before continuing. “Next weekend? I can move a few things around.”

“I’m not sure,” you say slowly.

“If you say no I’m telling Amelia.”

You laugh, almost snort, and shake your head. “Fine. Where to?”

“It’s a surprise,” whispers Simon.

You pull back slightly, an amused expression on your face. Simon grins and steps out of the shower, bringing you with him. With towel in hand, Simon soaks up the droplets on his skin. He never takes his eyes off you as you dry yourself. The moment you’re done, Simon snags the towel from you and tosses it to the side.

“Come here,” he growls, needing you all over again.

You playfully bat at his hands but it’s all for show. You easily give in to him, allowing Simon to drag you onto the bed. He sighs as he pushes your legs wide, settling between them to drape one over each of his shoulders.

Dragging you to his mouth, Simon forgoes all teasing and closes the distance. Your back arches off the bed, hands flying to his head as his tongue penetrates your pussy.

It is morning.

He’s simply enjoying his breakfast.

And Simon won’t leave the table until he’s finished his meal.

taglist:

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[feveredbcnes]

Contd Thread II @heartxshaped-bruises

"'m gettin' a bit worried," he expressed his concern to Rafe, hovering awkwardly behind the oldest Dolan whilst he tinkered away under the bonnet of a truck. He seemed too occupied with the vehicle to notice how much the other was fretting, only pausing long enough to cast him a brief glance. The message was clear; leave me alone. After an hour of waiting in the junkyard for Rachel to appear - the sun slowly disappearing beyond the horizon - he started to wonder whether he'd forgotten a key piece of information. Like his friend had an appointment somewhere, or he was out of town for some reason that quite clearly entered the void inside Reynardine's mind. It was a miracle he remembered what day it was, sometimes. But this was different. He always paid attention to what Rachel had to say, so he would have put the pieces together and come to a solid conclusion for his absence. Rafe was no help, evidenced by the long sigh that escaped Reynardine as he turned to leave. "...I'll go find him-" his words were cut off by a mumbled response, mentioning something about his younger brother taking his own bike and leaving the junkyard. That was a start, at least. Better than nothing.

There were plenty of weird circumstances Reynardine found himself in over the years, but sniffing out his best friend was right up there. He felt like a bloodhound, leaving the junkyard and tracing Rachel's whereabouts by picking up his familiar aroma. A combination of petrol, old leather, and citrus -- well, that last one was technically artificially made from the deodorant he wore, but it was still recognisable as him. The first time Reynardine was bombarded with the scents during their reunion, he ended up having a sneezing fit. It was so strong. But he was quick to make a joke about being allergic to Rachel, brushing off the reaction. Now he was completely used to it. And within ten minutes, he was led towards the crumpled heap that was his best friend, fighting a losing battle with a bike beyond repair. Once he established that Rachel was conscious and in no real danger, Reynardine allowed himself to laugh during their fumbled attempt to bring him to a comfortable stand.

When his friend tried to pull away, determined to hobble home, Reynardine rolled his eyes. Stubborn idiot. The alcohol on his breath was certainly a deciding factor in his refusal to behave. “Listen, asshole. ’m gonna carry you home whether you like it or not. You’re not in any condition to get there yourself.” He shot the youngest Dolan a warning look, daring him to try. The pained groan as Rachel tried to place his injured foot down was more than enough proof. "See? Hold onto me, lembo!" Placing his arm around his friend's waist, he kept a secure hold as they coordinated themselves to begin their slow journey back towards the junkyard. The bright lights were like an oasis that appeared as a hallucination, tempting them towards it but never quite getting there. A litany of curses and gentle reassurances were given. Every now and then, they paused to reshuffle and give Rachel a small break.

"...Grow a beard? I don't think you ever hit puberty, did you?" He teased, before pausing as Rachel hissed in pain. A concerned expression appeared as he steadied himself to take more of his friend's weight, holding on tighter as he tucked himself in closer. "Careful, man. Take your time--hey! Fucker," he laughed loudly at the casual jab at his height, lightly butting his head against Rachel's in retaliation. But he rightfully deserved it; tit for tat. What was their friendship but back and forth insults? If anybody overheard their daily conversations, they'd be convinced they were having an argument. Even if they did fight, it never lasted long before they were ribbing into each other again.

"This isn't workin', dude." Reynardine eventually piped up after they paused for the millionth time. It was too much strain on Rachel's ankle, and Reynardine was growing more worried every time he cried out. "I think the best thing to do is give you a piggy-back," he suggested, knowing that it'll be much quicker and less painful for the both of them. Giving no room for his friend to disagree, Reynardine moved to crouch down slightly -- enough for Rachel to clamber onto his back without further injury. "Koala me, bitch!"

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

tw: suggestive, illegal businesses, gang!AU, rich kid!Chan, smoking, mentions of weapons and shady deals, cursing, slight manhandling, Wonwoo is mean as fuck (and a tad bit violent), Chan is kinda.....fruity, inspired by this tweet

"He's such a fucking brat, I swear to God."

"I am not going to deal with his attitude anymore, I need to protect whatever sanity I have left!"

Seungcheol rubs his temples in annoyance as he listens to the complaints of his subordinates, anger bubbling dangerously in his chest.

"Do any of you realize that this is the goddamn son of the corporate head of Lee enterprises?" The leader grits his teeth, "If we get him to speak, it's game over for these fuckers."

"Boss, he's insufferable!" Mingyu protests, "There's no fucking way he'll speak!"

"I second that." Vernon supports the previous statement.

"Let me try, then."

The three men turn their attention to the only person who remained silent this whole time - Wonwoo.

"What makes you think you can get him to talk?" Mingyu raises a questioning eyebrow.

"I have my ways," Wonwoo puffs out a cloud of smoke, tapping the cigarette with his pointer finger.

"Go ahead then," Seungcheol speaks and Wonwoo walks towards the other room.

"Jeon."

"What now?"

"The gun. Leave it here."

"....Fine." Wonwoo sighs and takes out his weapon from behind his back, putting it on the small table.

"You better not get too rough with him, bro." Vernon warns.

"No promises."

"Oh my God, y'all are so fucking funny!" Chan wheezes from his chair, his pearly whites flashing under the dingy lamp.

Wonwoo takes a drag from his cigarette, silently watching the young man laughing his heart out and making fun of his fellow gangsters.

"Like, the other two were so quick to run with their tails between their legs, soooo easy to annoy them!"

Wonwoo takes another drag from the cigarette.

"You're way too silent though, sitting there all cool and scary looking with your cig," the younger man cranes his neck, hands fiddling with the ties around his wrists.

Wonwoo throws his cigarette on the ground, snuffing it out under his boot and he gets up from the chair, walking towards the captive.

"Oh so you actually can react- Whoa!" Chan yells when Wonwoo flattens the sole of his boot on his chest, kicking him down on the ground with a loud thud.

"What the fu-"

"You had your fun, pretty boy," Wonwoo licks his bottom lip, "Now you better start talking about your daddy's dirty dealings - before you get into more trouble."

"Ooh, so tough and scary," Chan chuckles, but it's short-lived, as he feels a sharp sting on the back of his head.

"You don't want to mess with my temper, kid." Wonwoo glares at the rich kid, one hand deeply rooted into his blue hair, the other fisting his silk necktie.

"That just makes me wanna mess around with you, big guy."

The older man pulls the tie harder than before and slots his thigh between Chan's legs, completely overpowering him.

"Oh, you're really tough and scary!"

"You're so fucking lucky I didn't bring my gun with me, boy." Wonwoo growls, voice dropping several octaves, "Otherwise things would have gotten really tough and scary."

The last sentence sends a chill down Chan's spine and straight between his legs. No one has ever treated him so...lowly.

And it turns him on beyond comprehension.

"That...was so fucking hot," Chan admits with a loud exhale, feeling his dress pants tighten around his crotch, "What's your name, hot guy?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me!"

"Wonwoo."

"H-Huh?"

"My fucking name, you idiot," Wonwoo clicks his tongue in annoyance.

"Mmm, hot name for a hot guy like you." Chan flashes a sultry grin.

"Stop fucking around, kid." The gangster grips the collar of the boy's shirt, accidentally ripping the top two buttons open.

"Take it easy now, will ya?"

"I'm not your fucking daddy, you rich little bitchboy," Wonwoo grips Chan's jaw, "So start talking before I bruise up your pretty face."

"No need for that, Wonwoo."

"Oh?"

"I'll just spit up everything I know!"

"What's with the sudden change of heart?"

"Just hoping to strike a good deal with you."

"Do you really think you're in a place to strike deals?"

"For the info I can provide? Definitely."

Wonwoo stops for a few seconds and he pulls Chan back up, the chair he's tied to back in its previous stance.

"Start speaking up."

"I didn't even say my terms!"

"Have you even thought of any?"

"Well...." Chan licks his lips seductively.

"I can definitely think of a few things."

[bridges-to-ashes]

What's your problem with him anyway? The pointless attitude isn't making him trust you, that's for sure

He ain't acting like a good leader, plain and simple. Not even trying to be a bitch about it, that's just how things are from my perspective.

He's got no real control over his people - example being yours truly - and struggles to provide for them and hasn't demonstrated much of anything to make up for that fact either. He keeps people in the dark to a dangerous and honestly reckless extent, like Edwin, and expects silent obedience without having earned it, at which he gets pissy when he and his presumed methods - 'cause again, ain't nobody got a clue what the man is doing - get called into question. You ask for a tidbit of info and you get a finger wagging and a how-dare-ya-just-trust-'im. He even has some damn brilliant people on his hands that I'm providing and refuses to use them for god knows what reason. He sure won't mention anything about that.

And you know what's worst? He ain't even acting like he's got a clue. He ain't even reassuring people. He ain't giving me or the kid anything beyond "I'll fix it" and expects cheers for it, no timeline, no plans, no nothing, no fucks given for all I can tell. From how he's acting, the worst thing about losing Edwin for 'im is losing an asset, 'cause who the fuck cares if that's a damn person rotting away while he shrugs and steals some fucker's car with the help of a fucking child who should be staying out of this hell.

I'll let ya know how long it'll take for him to get all huffy and "just trust me" this time. I'm getting fucking tired of this and even moreso of being treated like I'm fucking crazy for being frustrated.

[demon-blood-youths]

An Officer's Corruption - Part Thirty-three

Hello everyone! This is Deamon-mun with part 33 for my dear friend @the-silver-peahen-residence

If you're curious, here are the previous parts and plus, an OVA, a spin-off to the drabble series.

||Chapters so far|| 1-30|| ((Click here))

||OVA Chapters 1-7|| ((Written by my amazing friend demon mun and me)) (Click here))

Part Thirty one

Part Thirty two

----- Warning -----

Drugs Implied

----- Drabble Summary ---

Oblivion explains the situation to Aizawa and Principal Nezu regarding Yuuka. After that, Oblivion gets a message and starts to move things. What would happen? Read to find out!

------

---- Oblivion's room ----

Where should she start? Maybe she should start at the beginning.

"I was assigned to Yuuka Nanako like weeks ago. I would say a month." Oblivion said. "She has been staying here for a few months. Then I was told by Warden Luna and her staff that she needs shots to keep her quirk under control. At first, I need to settle and get to know my charge. We talked and then-"

"Did she said anything that stands out to you?" Nezu asked.

"Yes. Something about traitors." Oblivion recalls the conversation.

"As the many others that see that. My quirk is not that dangerous..it's just others think it is without knowing much about it. But lets not have another fight again because of this."

"We talked about our quirks. Yuuka notes that my quirk is dangerous as hers?"

"What's your quirk?" Nezu asked.

"Electricity..." Oblivion stated. "Though it can be lighting. Same thing, I guess. She also mentions..."

"I bet your quirk is just as deadly as others and yet your working for the police. I mean, you have a quirk too and it's just as dangerous. Why bother even helping the damn police if they might stab you in the back?"

"She asked why do I bother helping police if they might stab me in the back?"

----- UA, Japan -----

Aizawa takes a breath, hearing that. Nezu nods. "And what did you say?"

"I said not all of them are bad but she told me that I was too blind to see it. From her reaction, I have a feeling that she was betrayed by the people she is trying to help. It's not surprising given what I know so far. Then she says that I'm too soft because they...I guess Yuuka refers to the staff are just doing this to get everyone to be good."

"Think about it. They got these prisons all over and bad fuckers still get out. What's the point of having these buildings when it don't go any good. And another thing, why are you even bothering. You are just as dangerous as a few others and here you are helping these pigs for it. Why are you worried they might end up doing something to you-"

"She's upset that the bad people are out, impiling that good people are locked up in jail. Of course, that is not my intention. I want to help her to go on a good path. But she doesn't believe it. She thinks of everyone who imprison are traitors."

Aziawa narrows his eyes at this really hard. He never thought Yuuka would feel that way. He knew that Yuuka had gone through horrible. It doesn't an excuse of what she did. She crossed a line. He thought getting help for her trauma would help.

"Then one day...I was told that it was time for her shot."

"A shot?" Nezu and Aizawa asked.

"Yes. From one of the guards, I was told that the incidents involving Yuuka's quirk..it was given a rule we were to give her a shot that numbs it. I don't want to give her the shot but if we don't do it, they have other officers do it. Something about what the mayor said." Oblivion said.

"It makes sense but..." Nezu trails off.

"This wasn't what we were told!" Aizawa said now upset. "That would mess with her quirk, wouldn't it?"

"I was getting to that part. At first, I thought it was some sort of agent that kept Yuuka's quirk under control either if the quirk is beyond her control or due to her emotions. Or maybe decrease the potency of the poison so the effects won't be lethal. So I volunteered to give the shot to her since the previous officer was almost poisoned when she tried. Due to my quirk, Yuuka would risk electrocuting herself if I was touched or thawed."

"Then...what happened?" Aizawa asked.

----- Oblivion's office ----

"I went to Yuuka and inform her that I will give her something by showing the shot to her. Yuuka reacted badly to the point where she felt threatened and is ready to attack me. I tried to explain that I wasn't informed about till the guards informed me." She remembers how Yuuka reacted.

"Oh yeah right!? All the damn fucking cops gives me that damn shot! It makes me itchy and feels sick! I hate it and it messes with my quirk! Just stay away from me with that!"

"She told me that it made her irritated and sick where it messes with her quirk." Oblivion tells them. "Yuuka got more upset to the point she activates her quirk and tries to throw a purple flame at me. Then the collar around her neck beeps, alerting the guards to go inside and restrain her. One of them injected her with a shot and she fainted after that. She sounded distraught when she tried to fight them...." Oblivion said.

-----

Aizawa has no words. Yuuka was forced against her will to take these shots. "We gave our reports and they pretend not to notice why Yuuka doesn't react well to needles?!" He scowls as he is now angry.

"Miss Seon. Can you tell what are the contents within this shot." Nezu asked.

"Yes. I had a friend who works in the medical field especially the pharmacy explains this to me as she run them through a diagnostic. For word for word she told me, that the shot disturbs her. It is messing with her quirk. Both mentally and physically. Messing with someone’s quirk can do some longstanding damage to someone that will take time.” Oblivion said, hearing no response from the other line. No doubt, they are upset as she can heard.

"Damn it..." Aizawa utters. "Then my friend informs me about her history a bit. She was once a person who helped others until she was used by other people and tried to control her gift. It didn't work since it ended up poisoning them and sooner or later...she became dangerous and unstable as she was tricked in consuming drugs." Oblivion said. "the amount in that shot is too much for her to consume and her quirk is saving her or rather keeping her safe. The shot is already hurting her. So my friend is coming up with an alternative to help her with her quirk without the serious effects." Oblivion takes a pause before continuing.

"But then my conversation was interrupted. I was alerted to Yuuka's cell where the guards were ordered to give her another shot."

"They what?!" Aizawa growled as he can't believe this. Oblivion sighs. "Yes. Because of that, Yuuka conjured a huge pile of purple goo to keep her away from the guards. It was bad that we had to set up a quartine zone, barring anyone including the guards and me from entering. We have to wait till Yuuka calms down." Oblivion said. "This leads me to dig into Yuuka even deeper."

"And that's when you came to Officer Narong, yes?" Nezu asked.

"Correct." Oblivion answered. "Narong and his friend informed me about the reports and everything regarding Yuuka from UA to her kidnapping and aftermath when she was founded. So we decided that Narong goes to UA in search of answers and honestly....I need to heard it from you if you guys knew."

"We did know that Yuuka was sent to a place where she would get treatment...but...not like what you described..." Aizawa said. Nezu sighs, "It's true. But as for me, the Public Safely Hero Commission told me in truth that she would sent to America for treatment but in a prison that acts as a rehabilitation center."

Oblivion frowns, hearing this. No doubt, the commission must have pulled the wool over their eyes, intending to know what was best for the situation. "Right now...thanks to you, we got some leads the kidnapping and the drug bust happening in our country are related. Port Mafia is it?"

"Indeed it is," Nezu said. "Three of their members have been arrested and processed. Plus, Yuuka was being held in a building that is in Yokohama. So we need to confirm if our suspicions are true."

"Then that's what I'm planning to do. I know one of the wardens holding them. I might get a visitation."

"Is that so? I wish you good luck in your endeavors then." Nezu said.

"Wait...hold on. You said...Yuuka tried to kill herself. Can you tell me what happened?" Aizawa sounded concerned. Oblivion knew that it's about to come up so she prepared herself for this. "It's....I don't want to upset you any further..." Oblivion speaks. "But if you want to know...she thinks....the drugs were still inside of her. She was about to stab...her own throat."

Silence fills the other line. No doubt, they're shocked."I had to knock her out with a shock." She said.

"Are you hurt?"

"Just my hand but it's already healed." Oblivion tells them. "For now, Yuuka is held in the medic ward for observation 24/7. And...." Oblivion looks at the text she receives. What the?

Hey Tae, I know you said to give you a update on Yuuka so I'm giving you one. I think things have gotten worse. The Hero Public Safety Commission has rejected a request we given to stop the shots and medicine Yuuka is taking. However, they only made it worse by doubling the strength of it along with the medicine she's taking. I..I don't know how to tell you think but she's getting worse.

I can't explain what happened tonight but she ended up freaking out. She got sick and was bleeding from her nose. I don't know if it's due to the doubled strength but it has to be. I didn't know they would double the shot that it's making her see things. I am going to still do everything to try to stop these shots and the medicine before they end up maybe ruining her quirk or worse kill her. I don't know much but I need to get more info from the doctor those guys gave us when giving us Yuu. That or get other doctors to help us because this asshole clearly is 'following orders' even if it's hurting Yuuka. Don't worry Tae, she is alright now and stable. I will tell you more when you return to work.

Luna.

"What the fu-" Oblivion reads this. Shit. Shit. "Um...sorry! I have to go!" She needs to get to Warden Osamu fast.

------ Northern State Pentiatary -----

"Ugh..." The hellhound stirs awake and looks up to see a ceiling. "Where...am I?"

"Rise and shine."

A voice made his eyes look towards the sound of the voice. A young man with a bob cut wearing rounded glasses. He is wearing a doctor's coat. Also, there are machinery passing around. Small bots cleaning things up. A drone tending to the curtains and several animatronics doing aid and stitches, closing up the injuries.

"Where am I?"

"The Medical Ward." Said Cobin, "You can call me Dr. Razor although...medical isn't my first choice but hey...I got the robots doing that. Anyway! You remember how you got here?"

Ryunosuke frowns, "That guard..."

"You mean Officer Knack?" He said. "You know you're one of the lucky few."

"Lucky?" Ryunosuke repeated. Cobin nods, "Uh-huh. Apparently, he likes you enough that you're worth more than killing."

"Am I supposed to be thankful?" Ryunosuke frowns. Cobin shrugs, "Hey. You asked me. But if you want to know, you really caused a huge commotion in Area E. You kill some of the prisoners. Not that care, sooner or later they get their karma but it could add some years into your future sentence." He said. "Usually, you might get killed but Matt hasn't killed you. That's saying something."

"And why's that?"

"In his own words? He thinks you're cute?" Cobin smirks. Ryunosuke widens his eyes, "C-CUTE?!" That bastard thinks of him as cute?! How....Ryunosuke doesn't know the words to describe it. He dares to humiliate me because of that reason?!

"Yep! I mean...he even comments on the way you smile while you're killing other inmates left to right. Plus he thinks of you as some kind of poodle due to your hair. Some kind of spaniel?? Yeah...those are his exact words." Cobin nods to himself, recalling Matt's words.

"A poodle?!" Ryunosuke said. That bastard!! He is going to take revenge no doubt. He just needs to find out how.

"Based on your answers, it seems you're okay. It seems like the healing potions from those healers help a lot." Cobin commented. "Anyway...the guards will take you back to a solitary cell." He said, turning around and checking his vitals. Without looking, Ryunosuke takes something from the medical tray and sips inside his pocket.

"So...ready to go?"

"Yes..please..." Ryunosuke looks more than ready to leave.

"Great! Let's get you inside."

---- Meanwhile at Area F ----

Chuya is being led by Sid and Moose to the visitation area. The visitation area is heavily guarded and it is usually Non-Contact Visits. A visitation area where there is a window between the inmate and the visitor. They have to talk to each other by phone.

Chuuya is relieved to see the person that is going to be his lawyer.

"Finally." Chuuya sat down and picked up the phone. "It's about time.''

Sid dismisses Moose right away and tells him to return to his area. Moose grunts, acknowledging the order, and leaves. Sid watches over the inmate talking to his lawyer.

"Tell me...do you have any acknowledgment of the drugs on your vessel."

"Hell no! Just some skin care products and weaponry." Chuuya exclaimed. "I wasn't even aware of it. We were doing business with the organization but they screw us!" Said Chuuya. Now he got to wonder how did his Boss pull this off. "Anyway? Who sent you anyway?"

"I am not allowed to diverge on that information to you. Talk to your employer about that." The lawyer stated. Chuuya frowns, "And what about my friends?"

"Right now...the Akutagawa siblings. One of them is in solitary confinement for killing the other prisoners or so I heard."

"What?" Damnit Ryunosuke what did you do?

"The other sibling is going to meet with us." Said the lawyer. "And we need all of you to get your story straight."

"Sure. They both didn't know about the drugs." Said Chuuya. "They mentioned that the drugs are deadly or something?"

"Despite so, you have no acknowledge of them, yes?"

'Yes. Got no idea."

"Weapons?"

"Legal." Said Chuuya. "We got a permit for it."

"Hmm-hmmm...the skin care products?"

"Got no idea! Probably legal." Chuuya sighed. The lawyer nods. "And it is said here that you beat one of the officers so badly that he needs surgery."

"Hey! I was caught by surprise. He didn't identify himself as police so it's self-defense! Hell, his friends came over and pull their guns at me, identifying themselves as police! Also, they didn't read my Miranda rights!" Chuuya complained. The lawyer nods, "I see. I see. That is crucial, I put that here."

"Also....the tariffs...you know the people who check the cargo! We're okay to go!"

"The police might say that you brided them." The lawyer points out.

"Hell no...the people we traded with say it's okay and it will get accepted as long as we follow instructions. We didn't bribe the inspectors or know anything about it.." Chuuya answered. The lawyer nods, "Good, good. That's what I need to hear."

"Anything else?" The lawyer asked. Chuuya grumbles. Sid can't help but listen to the conversation between Chuuya and the lawyer.

----- Area D -----

Jason had to take a breath after being given notice that Gin's lawyer would be here soon. Of course, he needs to steel himself regarding last timme. He just needs to focus on his work.

"Gin...you will have a visitor soon." He stated as he stands by her cell.

"A visitor?" Gin asked. Jason nods. "Yeah...you have a lawyer." He said. "I can get you something to eat before you leave for your lawyer."

"Understood. Thank you, Jason."

Hearing her say his name like that makes his ears perk a little and the wolf inside of him wag his tail. N-no, no! Get it together, Woofhess.

"It's Officer Woofhees to you!" Jason frowns. Gin chuckles, "Of course, my apologies, Officer...Woof...hees."

"Let's get going!" Jason said, ushering her to get up and get going. Gin smiles behind her mask as she follows him.

--------- Dazai's office --------

Dazai hears the lawyers are here for Port Mafia. Of course, only two out of three are allowed to see their lawyers. Ryunosuke Akutagawa unfortunately has to be in confinement due to safety reasons.

Oh well. Nothing he can do. He expected the Port Mafia would have lawyers ready. Dazia lets out a yawn before he gets a call. Hmmm? He answers.

"Hello~!" Dazai answers. "This is Warden Osamu."

"Hello? Warden Dazai...this is....Officer Seon."

The familar voice of Tae Seon made his eyes lit up.

"My wonderful niece!" Dazai chirps.

----- Oblivion's home -----

"Hi, uncle...Dazai." Oblivion sighs.

"How can I help you?! It's been a while! Oh! Are you planning to visit me and zap me to death with lots of love."

"Uhhh...not exactly. Sorry to bother you at a time like this. There's something I need from you. A favor."

"Ohhh...Tae! No need for that! You can ask me for anything free of charge!" Dazai laughs.

"It's a serious situation." Oblivion sighed.

"Does it involve the drug case?"

"Yes and no."

"Hm?"

"It involves a certain inmate under my care. I think I need to explain from the beginning." Then for the past several minutes, Oblivion explains the situation of Yuuka Nanako to Dazai. From the shots, the reports involving kidnapping, the aftermath, and outbursts. Then it follows by vigilante activities where she is arrested and sent to her prison for 'treatment'. After that, she gathers friends to help to go to UA to gather more information.

"Apparently...the school wasn't aware of Yuuka's except for the principal. Only to the point where she was sent here to America for treatment at a prison facility but nothing about getting needles. The Public Hero Commission sent Yuuka there and now they're going to double the dosage."

"I see. And I have to guess the Port Mafia has something to do with this? Since I can guess Nanako was founded in Yokohama which is the stronghold for the Mafia."

"Correct. However..."

"Yes. Port Mafia has no interest in drugs but chemical weapons." Dazai hums. "And you're here to confirm that with one of them to see if they knew about the case involving Yuuka Nanako? Most likely if they knew the perpetrators?"

As always...Uncle Dazai figures it out. "Correct." Oblivion answered.

"Well..I got some good news and bad news!" Dazai smiles, "First off good news, one of the members who are arrested and being held here is an executive so he might have the information you need."

"The bad news?"

"He has already met with his lawyer and sooner or later, he might post bail along with his two minions." Dazai chuckles. Oblivion curses.

"Buuuuut~ I can make quick arrangements. So just come here and I will set up the meeting between the Mafia executive and you. All you need to do is offer him a deal free of charge and get his cooperation. Who knows! You can say that you offer a plea deal for him and his friends. So here is what you need to do, Little Tae. Just follow my instructions."

"Of course, I will listen."

------ Area F ------

"Thank you for answering my questions, Mr. Nakahara." Said the lawyer, packing up things. "I will be back soon and request bail for you at the time being. Please do not stir any trouble while I make the arrangements."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Sid hears her phone vibrating and answers, "Hello? Warden?" Sid receives her next orders.

"Of course. Understood." Sid said as the lawyer leaves. Chuuya sighs and gets up. "Hey, Officer! We're done."

"Of course," Sid said. "Let's head back."

Within the hallways, Sid goes to inform him while escorting him back to the hallway. "Also...you will receive another visitation." She tells him. Chuuya raises a brow, "Huh? Who's going to visit me?"

"Someone interested in your case."

"Don't I need my lawyer for that?" Chuuya asked.

"We will be off the record. This one is not the one you're being charged with. It's a separate case that might benefit you that you might or not be aware of."

"Okaaay?" Chuuya looks hesitant about this.

"Right now, it would be in your best interest to cooperate for now, Nakahara." Said Sid. Chuuya can't help but laugh at this. "Is that some kind of threat, lady?"

"No. Like I said, it's beneficial for you to cooperate. You might find the deal intriguing being offered to you. You just need to hear the visitor out and answer their questions truthfully."

"Is this the police officer who tried to jump me from behind? Because I ain't answering to that asshole."

"No. Someone else that is working on another case."

"Can you tell what's the other case?"

"I haven't asked for that information but soon. Please cooperate. This is coming from the Warden himself."

Chuuya growls, "Listen lady. I won't do as you ask because you or the Warden said so unless you tell me!"

"Hmmm...then don't take it." Sid said it.

"Wait what?! I didn't say I won't take it!" Chuuya yelled.

"Then what's the problem?" Asked Sid. Chuuya grits his teeth, "I'm just saying!"

"Saying??"

"If I do this, then you better give me something in return!!" Chuuya asked. Sid hums, "Alright...what would you like? Some certain accommodations., perhaps?"

Chuuya needs to think. "How about....a date?" That was the first thing that came to mind. Sid then fully turns around to face him. "A date?"

"Y-yeah!" Chuuya's grin returns, "Yeah a date! How about it? If you say yes, I will do it. If not, you can forget about it." Heh. She's an officer, she would get in trouble for this as there is no way she would say-

"Alright. Deal."

Chuuya blinks. If not twice. "W-what?"

"I said I accept your deal if you cooperate." She said. Chuuya stammers, "T-that's not the problem! You just said yes! You are supposed to say no!"

"Was I supposed to?" She muses. Chuuya's cheeks puff as he flushes red at this. "How about this? If you go, I will cooperate in going on this date?"

Chuuya wonders if Officer Casper knows what the date is. Or is she just messing with her! Chuuya's eyes become imaginary swirls as he doesn't know what to do or how to deal with this. No, no, no! He can't get worked up for this.

If he say yes, it would spell trouble.

If he refuses, then it makes him an idiot, and she thinks he's chickenshit. No, no! All he needs to play it smart! He can just say that he doesn't know anything and it would be fine! Yeah, that's right! If he can play dumb then it makes Sid dumb. She has to uphold her deal.

"Fine!" Chuuya said it. "I will do it!"

"Very well," Sid said. "Let's take you back to your cell." He said as Chuuya grumbled, following after her. But inside his mind, he is smirking non-stop.

---

To be continued....

[honeysmokedham]

TITTLE: Psych WHEN: June 25th LOCATION: Mrs. P's Car / The wife's house / The Zoo PARTIES: @mortemoppetere @honeysmokedham SUMMARY: Taken place right after Dead Bear Walking, this is the thrilling conclusion to the question, did the bear do it? CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

Nora made sure to force Emilio to stop and look at the penguins before they made their way back to Mrs. P’s car. Mrs. P jumped when the duo got themselves back into her minivan, and Nora relayed where they needed to go. The mini van started going, the heavy metal Mrs. P had been jamming to a soft accompaniment to the car’s engine. First thing was first, Nora slumped in her seat, feet pressed against Mrs. P’s seat as she pulled out her phone and googled French to English translation. It took a few guesses of how to spell the word, but Nora knew which one was the correct one when she got there. “That asshat.” Nora jolted up in her seat, turning to face Emilio. “He called me a bitch, can you believe that? Misogyny and a streaker? Name a worse duo.”

Phone tucked safely back in her pocket, and body not safely buckled into the car, Nora was looking at Emilio. “What’s your deal with him?” Nora asked, unsure which words would express ‘hey why didn’t you want me to bully him?’ properly. A thought struck her too late, after she asked the question. What if that was one of his one-night stands? Nora knew Emilio fucked. Emilio himself had mentioned that multiple times. It didn’t mean Nora wanted to hear about it. What if she was just pulling out a bag of worms, she didn’t want the answer to.

“Fucker knows my name too.” Nora slumped back into the seat. “Do you think I can blackmail him so he doesn’t turn me in?” With each taste of the world she wanted to live in, Nora hated Eleanor Beatrice Pine more and more. What the self-centered youth obviously didn’t realize was that Kaden had no clue about her famous beginnings or her missing personage. “Do you think illusions are captured on video? I’ve never checked. I could make an illusion of him naked at the zoo. Mutually assured destruction.” 

—

The penguins were weird. Emilio spent a moment staring at them as Nora dragged him to their enclosure, eyes narrowed as they waddled around on the ice. Strangely, he was almost disappointed when Nora pulled him away, but they had work to do. The woman in the minivan seemed less than pleased to see them, but Emilio tuned her out as he settled into the backseat beside Nora, leaning against the back of it with a sigh. He’d say that had been a close one, but… He wasn’t sure it was over yet. Kaden had to know what Nora was now, and Emilio hadn’t yet determined what exactly he’d do with that information. He didn’t like the not knowing.

Nora’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced over. “Next time, call him a pinche pendejo.” It’d be fine for her to insult a ranger in a language he didn’t speak, probably. Better than her insulting him in English, in any case. At her question, he glanced up towards Mrs. P driving the van. Rather than respond verbally, he pulled out his phone, typing out a text and sending it to her: “Ranger.” 

She was worried about Kaden turning her in and, truthfully, Emilio had no idea if the fear was one she should carry. He didn’t know much about Kaden beyond the obvious; that was part of the problem. “I have a video of him petting a cart like it is an animal,” he told her with a shrug. “I don’t think you need more than this. But I’m not sure you need it at all. I’m not worried about him turning you in.” He was more worried about Kaden killing her than anything. He remembered their conversation about bugbears, remembered how Kaden had specified that he went after ‘dangerous’ beasts only to list everything Nora did as ‘dangerous.’ Was it enough for Kaden to justify killing her? Emilio didn’t really want to find out. 

—

“Pinche pendejo” Nora’s phone was in her hand in an instant as she typed out the words. Once again trying to get it right based on phonetics took a while, but she got there. Pleased with the results that came up in google translate, Nora nodded. “I will call him that. Pinche pendejo.” She repeated the words just for extra measure, to make sure she wouldn’t forget them. Nora was about to close her phone when a text from Emilio popped up, because low and behold he answered her question via text. Nora had thought it odd before the word Ranger. displayed across the screen.

Nora looked up at Emilio, then back down at her phone, then back up at him. “Well, if that’s what the r” Nora glanced at Mrs. P, swallowing the word back into her throat and skipping past it. “Have to offer, then what do I have to be scared about?” At least she wasn’t finding out about an explicit sex life. Learning that she was probably about to be hunted was much more tolerable. Nora considered everything she’d said to Kaden for a moment, turning over words and memories in her mind. “Well, he probably hates me by now anyway, with the whole BB thing. I threw coffee at him the first time we met.” Yeah, those had been good times. She’d do it again. Twice over, now that she knew he was a ranger.

 “Why was he petting a cart?” Was that some sort of ranger thing? Or just one of the weird things the French-Canadian got up to? “I guess you’re right. Turning me in is probably off the table.” There was a weird feeling of calm about Nora. She’d come face to face with someone specifically born to kill her, and she’d left both encounters with no clue. If he’d actually made a move against her, well, it would have surprised her. Once again Nora was reminded of Emilio’s annoying habit of being right. Watch out for rangers. They could be anywhere. Well fuck. Well pinche? “Hey Mimi, how do I say fuck in Spanish?” 

—

In spite of the tension he felt following the interaction with Kaden, Emilio couldn’t help but smile softly to himself as Nora repeated the curse words. Most people, when he spoke, didn’t listen very well. They assumed he knew very little in regards to whatever it was he was talking about, figured his opinion was worth nothing. Nora was different. When he told her something, even something as simple as an insult to throw towards someone who was getting on her nerves, she heard every word. She paid attention, she thought he was right. And that felt nice. It made him feel a little more comfortable in himself, in a strange way.

“Don’t underestimate someone just because they seem dumb,” he replied with a shrug. “Anyone can put on an act. Or be dumb in some areas, and smart in others.” Maybe Kaden was easy to bully online, but there was every chance that he was deadly when he had a silver blade in his hand. In fact, Emilio had no doubt that this was the case. He might have only seen Kaden in action in a barfight against other hunters so far, but the skill had been obvious. Not to mention the fact that Kaden was a hunter in his thirties — this, in and of itself, spoke of his ability. Most hunters didn’t see thirty for a damn good reason. “Try not to give him an excuse to hate you more right now. Okay? I’m trying to figure out what kind of a…” He trailed off, glancing to the front seat again. “Person he is. When I do, I’ll let you know.” If Kaden was like his cousins, Nora was probably safe to bully him. If he was like Rhett or Owen, she should definitely avoid it. 

Huffing a quiet laugh, he shrugged. “Eh. Think he said he was high or something. I’ll tell you about it later.” No need to get into the existence of hallucinogenic frogs in the presence of an audience. Even if she probably didn’t need the ammo against Kaden to keep him from turning her in, she might like to have it for other reasons. “Depends on the context. And where you’re from. Chingar if you’re talking about sleeping with someone. Chingados or chingado if you mean, ah… Something bad is happening? That’s in Mexicano Spanish.” He paused for a moment, considering. “I could teach you Spanish, you know. If you want to know it.”

—

“I don’t underestimate him because he’s dumb,” Nora mumbled, despite knowing that was exactly what she was doing. “I underestimate because he’s the town fool. If he’s so,” Nora side-eyed Mrs. P.. God, checking her language was so lame. Why couldn’t everyone just know about the supernatural world? Nora let out a little sigh. “If he’s so good at his job, maybe people would take him seriously. Even the other cops don’t respect him.” That last part was an assumption, but she felt very positive that her assumption was correct. “And they are literal pigs.” 

“Okay.” It was reluctant, but it was there. An agreement to not give Kaden more reason to hate her. "Unless he says something super stupid. I can't be held accountable when dealing with idiots." There was always a loophole, and since Kaden was the mega idiot extraordinaire supreme this one would see her out of the whole situation. there was more Nora could say about him. Such as she could tell Emilio what kind of person he was. That person would be sad and easy to make fun of, but Nora decided she'd gone in on Kaden enough today, and the man wasn't even here to hear her best material. 

"Mrs. P, you're really harshing my vibe," Nora informed the terrified driver, who let out a soft sob at the comment. Was the car moving faster? Nora didn't care. She wanted to hear the story of high Kaden now, but she knew she was being denied the tale thanks to the listening ears of the current company. And furthermore, Nora hated that when she asked Emilio how to say fuck his first thought sleeping with someone and not the curse word. "So like, chingado someone wants me dead?" 

Then Emilio was offering to teach her Spanish and there was a small warmth in her chest. All her life, she'd been allowed to learn an abundance of things. She knew ballet, sign language, sewing, the cello, and various other things. But those had all been skills taught to her by someone paid an extraordinarnant amount of money to teach her those things. It was nice to be taught by someone who didn't have to. After all, Nora had forced her way into Axis, had tricked her way into being trained how to wield a knife and become a private investor. And now he was offering to teach her Spanish like it was nothing. "I would like that," Nora informed Emilio, another soft nod of her head.

Mrs. P. put the car in park, and the trio found themselves parked outside an unassuming home. It was nice, compared to the dumps the two of them lived in, but it was definitely the kind of place Mrs. P. would live with her hoard of kids. "I'm going in the back, distract her." Nora informed Emilio, leaping out of the van. With a running start Nora scaled the fence and was gone into the ex-polar bear trainer's back yard. 

—

“Fool means dumb,” Emilio said, but there was a hint of uncertainty to the statement, as if it was more of a question. Nora seemed to be implying that the two phrases meant different things; Emilio trusted that she wouldn’t make fun of him for not entirely understanding her, just as he trusted that she’d make fun of just about anyone else for doing the same. For whatever reason, she seemed to only mock Emilio when he was in on the joke. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn an exception for himself, but he was glad for it. “I don’t think he’s a real cop,” he added. “His job sounds made up. Animal control officer. I bet they don’t even let him have a gun.” And in America, that was really saying something. They let grocery clerks have guns at work here.

He relaxed a little as Nora agreed, clenching his jaw at her loophole but not arguing with it. He couldn’t ask her to change who she was, after all. If Kaden did something stupid and Nora made fun of him for it, Emilio would just have to make sure he was watching her back in case retaliation came in the form of something a little sharper than words. “It’s only until I figure out if he’s going to…” He glanced at Mrs. P warily, “arrest you for it.” He hoped the emphasis on the word would clue Nora in to the fact that by arrest, he meant turn you into a taxidermy bear on the wall. He liked to think the two of them understood each other well enough to get the point across. “If I find out he’s safe, you can make fun of him any time you want.” Though the idea of Kaden being safe seemed far-fetched. Finding two rangers who didn’t hunt anymore in Alex and Andy was already an anomaly. Three? That felt impossible. Hunters didn’t tend to retire, and Emilio knew firsthand how they were trained. Most didn’t make exceptions. 

It was hard not to agree with Nora’s comment towards Mrs. P, though not for the same reasons. Emilio felt the need to grill Nora on her interactions with Kaden thus far, to determine whether today was the first time he’d sensed her as a bugbear or if he’d potentially known for a while now. But he couldn’t do that with an audience, even if Mrs. P seemed far too terrified to ever tell anyone what she overheard here. “Sí,” he confirmed, offering Nora a small nod. “Exactly like that.” Her pronunciation wasn’t terrible, he noted with a pleasant warmth in his chest. 

The warmth only grew when she said she’d like it if he taught her. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how good of a teacher he’d be. He’d taught his daughter to speak, but that was different than teaching an adult a new language. Still, Emilio wanted to try it. Nora was smart — she’d learn quick. And if she picked it up, they could avoid situations like this one, where they couldn’t say what they meant. He doubted Mrs. P spoke a word of Spanish, after all. “We can start working on it whenever you’re ready. Call this the first lesson. It’s an important one, anyway.” Knowing different curses was, in Emilio’s opinion, the most important part of learning any language. 

With the car parked, Emilio scooted to the door, offering Nora a small nod. There was no argument from him as she scampered to the back of the house; he made his way to the front instead, a little slower but no less determined. Ringing the bell, he leaned against the wall and waited, listening to the sounds inside the house as someone made their way to the front.

A woman answered the door. She was tall, but shorter than Emilio, with blonde hair and dark eyes. “Afternoon,” Emilio greeted as she eyed him suspiciously. “I’m with Axis Investigations. The zoo has hired us to take a second look at your husband’s death.” 

“What’s there to look at?” The woman asked with a scoff. “That beast killed him, just like I always told him it would.” The response told him a lot already, allowing him to shift his approach. He offered her a tight smile.

“Just covering the bases,” he told her. “Can I come in, or would you feel more comfortable talking out here?”

The woman looked him up and down, lip curling slightly. “I don’t want you in my house,” she said decisively. “We can talk out here.” It was the answer he’d been hoping for. Talking out here instead of inside would give Nora free reign of the house without any worry of being caught. She could learn more that way. 

Emilio nodded, taking a step back so the woman could join him on the porch. “Mind if we take a seat on your swing here? I’m not so good at standing.” The woman rolled her eyes, but motioned for Emilio to go ahead. He placed himself on the swing close to the window, blocking her view of the inside of the house. Hopefully, Nora was already inside rummaging around.

—

"Yeah, but it's like squares and rectangles. Not every dumbass is the town fool, but every town fool is dumb." Unwilling to have idle hands, Nora started working her short hair into pigtails. Easier to keep the strands out of her face while breaking and entering. "Some dumb people know how to keep their stupidity to themselves." She pulled a cap out of her jacket of many pockets, a snake curled in the interior, sleeping off the daylight. "Sorry little buddy." She gently placed the snake back into her pocket before equipping the cap. Nora had painted a custom design on her breaking-and-entering hat. It read "Better to be a faggot than a fascist" which was a quote from her new favorite superhero. Hobie, aka Spider-Punk. Cass had introduced her to him, and Nora knew she wouldn't need another superhero again. Her only wish was that he got more material. Maybe she'd have to make her own. She'd also painted a little version of spider-punk next to the phrase, rocking out on his guitar. "You're right, they probably think anyone who wants to be a pretend cop isn't ready for a gun. Pigs practicing gun control. Who would have thought." Nora added the last bit with a roll of her eyes. 

"Arrest me?" Nora knew he meant kill her. It was obvious. Why would a hunter arrest a monster? Especially when that monster could make all the other inmates' lives a living hell. Nora slapped an overdramatic hand over her heart. "Little old me?" The drama sounded weird in her monotone voice, but she really wanted Emilio to know she wasn't worried about Kaden. There wasn't a single cell in her body that thought he was capable of hurting her in anyway. If he ended up being a fierce hunter and killing her, then she'd give him his dues, but she couldn't picture it. Besides, if she was wrong she wouldn't even need to admit she was wrong. She'd be dead. It was a win-win. Kinda. 

Nora knew hunters were a stressor for Emilio. He'd given her the lecture to watch out for them often enough that she could give herself the speech if she was so inclined. He'd glared at her across the room in Axis after seeing her post particularly incriminating things, accompanying his disappointment with a heavy sigh. On one hand, it was nice to know there was someone who had her back. Someone who cared that she made it out alive. It was nice to know there was someone in her corner, someone rooting for her and caring about her well-being. On the other hand, Kaden was Kaden. Could he really do anything? 

"I'm ready as soon as we save the oso." Nora was going to have to thank Metzli for getting her to google the word bear in Spanish. Now, Nora knew she was going to get a good grade in being the best student Emilio ever had, something that was both normal to want and possible to achieve. She shoved the cap further down her eyes as if she thought there might be cameras ready to capture her appearance at any moment. "I'll meet you back here in fifteen. Be ready, pinche pendejo"

There was a scent of blood in the back. Nora tracked to the edge of the backyard, but it was coming from next door. Nora considered climbing the fence to see what was up over there, but Emilio was distracting the wife now. If she wasted her window of opportunity, they'd have to come up with a new way to get her into the house. The back door was unlocked. An unforgivable sin. Maybe Nora could find it within her to forgive her since her husband just died. But only if she hadn't been the one to kill him. With disappointment, she tucked her lock picks back in her pocket and let herself in. Nora was careful to slowly shut the door, listening to the voices drifting from the front of the house to confirm Emilio had started his interrogation. Luckily for her, the backdoor let her into the kitchen. Fridge first, it's what the universe wanted. Nora shoved snacks into her pocket, and with her free hand, she started snapping pictures with her phone. There were a lot of pictures of the couple looking madly in love. Gross. Nora moved around the kitchen, a few bills were piled on the table where it looked like she'd been opening mail when they got there. Either Nora was very lucky, or very good at being a private investigator. She didn't know, and she didn't question it. Nora snapped some more photos. 

As Nora moved further into the house, she came across plenty of bouquets set up for condolences. It seemed the trainer had been loved. Nora snapped a photo of each card she could find. Every now and then, she would stop to see if she could smell anything weird. Nothing. It smelled like a house that had been lived in, the flowers from the mourners, and the new food she had shoved into her pockets. There wasn't even a ghost haunting the place to have a friendly chat. Nora kept her march throughout the rooms, snapping as many pictures as she could to bring back to Emilio. One of the rooms she searched had a window pointing to the patio, she could see Emilio sitting on the porch swing. Nora spent a second trying to make eye contact with him to flip him off, before delving deeper into the house. 

The next room Nora entered was the office, the computer sat open on a website for grieving widows of animal attacks. Was that really such a common way to go they made themselves a website? Nora snapped a picture. Would someone who murdered her husband, one who was already deemed innocent by the police, take the time to join such a community? Nora looked at the account's posts and saw that she'd made a few posts seeking help for her grief. Snap. As Nora was moving the mouse around, taking pictures of different emails, she accidentally knocked a pen off the table. It clattered into the trash can. Nora groaned, bending over to pick it up. Better not to get caught snooping because of a misplaced pen. To her delight, the pen wasn't the only inhabitant of the trashcan, ripped-up pictures of Nanook were in there too. Oh. So she was mad, mad at the polar bear. Snap. Was this enough? Was this going to be enough? Nora hoped so, because she could hear the closing of a door. 

Damn. Seemed like Emilio hadn't been able to charm more time out of the wife, or someone else was in the house. Nora stood at the office door for a second, debating if she wanted to risk making it back to a door. Without any idea if it was the wife or someone else, she didn't want to risk walking down the hallway. The window it was. Nora shoved it open, and landed in a bed of flowers. She hoped those weren't prized. Nora shut the window, then ran towards the van. Half way, she remembered the smell in the back yard.  Nora switched course, following that scent of blood she'd sniffed out earlier. The fence on the other side looked like it had been pushed out. Grass was still bent and intended from previous weight. Snap. A decroative rock was placed over the spot Nora was smelling. She pushed it aside, to find stained grass. Well that was suspicious. Why would his wife kill him in their neighbors yard? Snap. Nora put the rock back, running back to the van. 

Panting, Nora slid the van door open and waited for Emilio. She didn't give him a chance to speak. "I'm going first." Then she let out a slew of words discribing everything she saw and working through every picture she took. When she was done, she took a deep breath. "I don't know why she would kill him in her neighbors yard. Isn't that harder to hide? What did you find out?"

—

“I see.” Emilio made a note of this, giving Nora an appreciative nod. It made sense, he guessed; there was overlap, but it wasn’t a complete circle. There were exceptions, but Kaden wasn’t one of them. At least, not according to Nora. It felt a little mean for Emilio to agree with her given the fact that he did genuinely think Kaden was an all right guy, but until he knew for certain that the ranger had no plans of killing his assistant, he saw no reason to say as much. Even if he did decide that Kaden wasn’t a threat, he was sure the Frenchman had dealt with far worse than a kid bullying him online. It wasn’t worth stepping in unless Nora stepped over a line, and Emilio didn’t think she was. She wasn’t cruel. Not on purpose, at least. 

He watched Nora pull a hat from her pocket, reading the text with an amused glint in his eye. Good for her. He didn’t understand the reference, of course, or the strange cartoon drawn next to it, but he liked the sentiment. “Eh, they probably won’t give a gun to anyone with an accent,” he replied with a shrug. “Wouldn’t let him arrest you, though.” By which he meant wouldn’t let him kill you. Emilio had only ever hurt another hunter once, and there were days where his hands still shook from the weight of the knife he’d put in his uncle’s gut. Still, he’d do it again for Nora in a heartbeat. Without hesitation. She deserved someone who would do that for her. He wasn’t sure she’d ever had it before.

She knew how to say bear, at least. Emilio flashed her a fond smile. “Bueno,” he said, reaching out briefly to put a hand on her arm before pulling away. It wasn’t something anyone had ever done for him. Positive reinforcement wasn’t how he was raised. Doing things right was expected, and no one would praise you for doing what was expected of you. But he wanted to be better than that now the same way he wanted to be the sort of man who made sure things needed killing before he killed them. He didn’t want to make the same mistakes over and over again, didn’t want to live his whole life without changing or growing. Desperately, he wanted to be more than he was. He wasn’t sure he was capable of it. A brief pat on the arm and a single word of encouragement couldn’t undo everything he’d done wrong, but it was what he had now. Maybe he’d have more tomorrow. “Fifteen,” he agreed with a nod. “Ten cuidado. Be careful.” 

It was easy to settle onto the porch, trusting that Nora could handle the house. They’d done this before a time or two. Sometimes, the roles were reversed — there were people better distracted by a twenty year old girl than a surly detective, people who might be put on guard by Emilio who would relax for Nora. Today, though, he thought their roles were perfect. Nora could easily sneak through the woman’s house while Emilio was better suited to determine if her grief was legitimate, though Nora wouldn’t know why this was the case. 

There was certainly something familiar about the way the woman carried herself, he noted as she joined him on the porch, a level of anger and irritation that Emilio had seen in himself. Already, he found himself doubting the initial theory that she was responsible for her husband’s death. He motioned for her to sit, and she sniffed as she did so. She shot him a glare, folding her hands in her lap.

“I don’t know what that place wants to know,” she said, spitting out the words like they were a curse. “They’re more worried about their bear than they are my husband’s death.”

Emilio almost told her that this wasn’t true, but… She didn’t want to hear that, did she? He looked at her carefully, eyes stuttering to a stop on her hands. She was still wearing her wedding band. Her fingers twisted at it absently, and his own ring felt heavier in response. “They’re worried about the truth,” he responded. “Whatever that is.”

“And what are you worried about, Detective?” The word was aimed at him like a weapon, but Emilio hadn’t been afraid of projectiles since he was a child. He shrugged, tearing his eyes away from her ring with some difficulty. They landed on his instead, on the way he’d started fiddling with it without meaning to. He felt her eyes on it, too, wondered if it was the source of her anger, if there was some jealousy in the assumption that the ring matching the one on his finger was on the hand of someone who loved him going about their day. He’d understand if there was. He’d felt that grief himself, knew the envy that existed towards people who weren’t grieving when grief was the only thing you had.

“I want you to be able to know what happened.”

“It won’t change anything.”

“No. But you’ll know. And it’s better to know. You’d spend your whole life wondering, if you didn’t.” He paused for a moment. His eyes darted to the window just in time to see Nora flipping him off. He fought the urge to give away her position by rolling his eyes, turning back to the wife instead. “My wife died,” he told her. “Two years ago.” She opened her mouth, and he shook his head. “Don’t say you’re sorry. We both know it doesn’t mean anything, don’t we?” Closing her mouth again, she nodded.

“And do you… Know what happened to her?”

“I do,” he nodded, thinking of the blood on the living room floor, the way he still saw it when he closed his eyes. “I know.”

“Does it help?”

He paused for a moment, considering. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t know if she’d care for his answer. “It hurts,” he said, “but I’m glad I know it. If I didn’t… For me, there’s nothing worse than a question without an answer. It’s why I do this. Why I help other people find those answers. I’m doing this for the place your husband worked, because they hired me. But more than that, I’m doing it for him. He loved it, didn’t he? The bear.”

She laughed. It was a brittle thing, no humor to it. “Sometimes, I think he loved it more than he loved me. We never had children. I think I was always worried that, if we did, he’d love the damn bear more.”

“He’s gone now,” Emilio said bluntly, and she flinched. “But the bear he loved isn’t. And if he were alive, I think he’d want to make sure it didn’t suffer for something it didn’t do. I think… He wouldn’t want his legacy to be this. He’d want more. For you, for the bear. I think he’d want more.”

She nodded again, bringing a hand up to rub at her eyes. “What — What did you want to ask me? About him, about the bear. I’ll answer your questions now. I’m sorry I was rude before. I’m just… I’m so angry. About all of it. It seems so senseless.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you are. And finding answers won’t stop that.”

“What does?”

“Someone said time. I don’t know if that’s true. Maybe I haven’t had enough of it yet.” He smiled faintly, shaking his head. “I don’t have any questions anymore. But I’d like to get your phone number, if that’s okay. I can tell you what I find when I find it.”

Nodding, the woman pulled out her phone. Emilio exchanged numbers with her, then stood. There was a glint from the window next door, and he turned his head just in time to see the blinds fall shut. “Nosy neighbors?” 

The wife rolled her eyes. “Terrible ones, really. We’ve had nothing but problems with them since we moved in. They keep ‘offering’ to buy the place, but it feels like more of a demand. My husband told me he thinks they want to bulldoze our lot so they can add on to theirs. They’ll have this place over my dead body, though. I’m not leaving now that he’s gone. The house is what I have left.”

Emilio filed the information away with a nod, offering a platitude of, “You have a lot more than that. It was nice speaking with you. I appreciate you taking the time.”

“I appreciate you sharing your story,” she replied. “I hope you get your time.”

“And I hope you get yours.” 

With one last nod, he departed, making his way back to the van and meeting Nora on the way. Nora immediately launched into a description of everything she’d found out, and Emilio found he agreed with her assessment. He opened Mrs. P’s van, ushering for Nora to get inside and climbing in after her, cracking the window to light up a cigarette. Mrs. P looked upset, but didn’t comment. 

“She didn’t kill him,” Emilio confirmed. “She mentioned a problem with the neighbors. Property dispute. That, plus the blood you found…” he trailed off, taking a drag of the cigarette and releasing the smoke with a sigh. “I think we’ve solved our case, kid.”

—

From the moment Emilio declared they had solved their case, everything snowballed in a blur of action. Mrs. P cried the whole way back to the zoo where the two of them, Emilio doing all the talking while Nora nodded aggressively behind him in a show of support while being equally surprised at the explanation, explained what had happened. The wife and Nanook were in the clear for the murder of Mr. Trainer. It hadn't even been the butler in the library with a crowbar, or whatever. It had been the next-door neighbor. Don't covet thy neighbor or whatever, because if you do, you'll bash him over the head while arguing over property lines. Emilio had put it together through all the pieces of information picked up along the way, cementing Nora's opinion of him being the smartest person in town.

The zoo listened to the evidence and looked at the pictures. Then the police were called. The police scoffed at them, then listened to the evidence and looked at the pictures. A process that took too long for the forward nature of the situation, in Nora's opinion. Eventually, Axis Investigations, the only people doing any sort of leg work in the case, were dismissed from the meeting. Nora supposed it was because the cops were embarrassed that they were caught out, once again, being lazy, good for nothing, wastes of space and money. After a while, you think they'd get used to being publically humiliated. Nora made to stare down the tallest one, whose hand never left his sidearm the whole time. Nora just knew he had a problem with people questioning his authority. Nora's eyes bore into him until the moment the office door was shut behind them, and the choice was taken from her. If there was a window to the office, she would have switched to glaring at him from there. What would he do? Arrest her? She'd like to see him try. 

"Come on, Mimi. We're going to go look at bears." The day was young, kind of, and there were still so many different types of bears at the zoo. The duo wandered around the zoo for a good bit, looking at bears. They also looked at animals that were not bears, but those were less exciting in Nora's opinion. Eventually, they circled back to looking at the penguins. A park bench was perfectly placed to look at the silly guys flopping in and out of the water, while also giving a view of the polar bear habitat. For whatever reason, Emilio seemed to really like the penguins. To each their own. She'd made him look at bears, she could look at penguins for a bit. It was cute when they gave each other rocks. 

Nora settled on the park bench, pulled out her phone, and started texting. It was important to her that she told the Allgoods all about how she saved a polar bear at work today. Van was always talking about how her job was the worst and Janice was always ruining everything. Nora wanted to share how she had the best job. At the same time, she was trying to convince Emilio that they should steal some penguins. "We can take two of them, so they don't get lonely," Nora was absently saying. She didn't think it would work, especially since he'd already told her no polar bears in the crypt. "They can be named Pingüino y Pingüina." True to his word, Emilio had already started feeding her words in Spanish. Words that she was determined to work into her everyday vocabulary to make sure she remembered. 

Movement in the polar bear habitat made her give up the good fight. The gate to the back area was opening, and a trainer clad in khakis started putting out some food. Dropping the phone back into her pocket, Nora ran to the railings just in time to see Nanook being released from his captivity and put back out in his home. "Finally." Nora let out a relieved breath. The zoo and police had actually listened. They had actually managed to save the bear. Nora stood pressed against the railing for a good while, watching as Nanook meandered around his enclosure before moving about what had to be his regular routine. Nora could feel the corners of her mouth tugging into a smile. "You did that," Nora told Emilio, pointing at that bear. "You saved his life. Thank you." Because even though Nanook wasn't a bugbear, and even though she couldn't talk to bears, it was comforting to know that polar bears could be safe in this town. 

Nora grabbed Emilio, dragging him to the edge of the polar bear enclosure and positioning him where she could see Nanook behind him. A light feeling coursed inside her and warmed her up. Jobs had never mattered to her. Being a model. Being an influencer. Being a student. Those were all things she'd been forced into doing. Jobs that people had told her would make her important, so she should care about them. Something something, don't you want to contribute to society? Make a name for yourself? None of that shit could compare to the feeling of successfully solving this case. They had just saved Nanook's life. Emilio was really on to something about this private investigation business. "Hey can you take a picture of us with the polar bear," Nora asked a random woman who had been nearby. The woman agreed, "Smile." Nora instructed, standing next to Emilio. Her own features only managing the small uptick of her lips. 

The woman, not new to the age of social media, took a few options for them before giving the phone back and moving on her way. Nora looked through the options and sent her favorite one to Mimi, not caring if he wanted a copy or not. "Come on. We better get back before Mrs. P. passes out of dehydration." Nora informed her mentor, stretching. It had been a good day's work, and now she was ready for a good day's sleep. Plus she still had to get her two hours of training in for the day. "She's been crying all day. That can't be good for her, you know." 

—

It went pretty well, as far as things could be expected. The zoo staff, who had wanted an alternative answer all along, were happy to accept the truth of the matter. It was easy enough to make the jump that, after killing the trainer, the neighbor had used the dead man’s keycard to get back into the zoo and plant the body in the bear’s enclosure. It was a half-decent body disposal plan, though Emilio suspected he’d been banking on the bear eating the corpse rather than being blamed for the death when it was found. 

The police, of course, were less willing to accept a less straightforward answer. There was less paperwork involved with an animal attack than there was with a murder, and cops didn’t particularly like being proven wrong. They liked it less when they were proven wrong by a smug immigrant and a kid whose name he refused to disclose, but even they couldn’t argue with the evidence Axis had provided. He wondered if Kaden had anything to do with it, if he’d insisted his coworkers at least hear the private detectives out before they’d headed out to the zoo. He wouldn’t have been surprised; he might not trust Kaden at this moment, but he’d seen how much the ranger wanted the bear saved.

By the time Axis was ‘excused’ from the meeting, Emilio was confident that the bear would live on to bear another day. And Nora seemed pleased, which was a definite plus. Emilio let her drag him to the different bear habitats, listened to her talk about them. There was a lot in the zoo; more than he’d been expecting. By the time they finally settled down on a bench with a good view of both the still-empty polar bear enclosure and the penguins he’d found himself fascinated by, his leg ached enough that he knew he’d pay for it later. But it was worth it, he thought. Nora was in a good mood, and Emilio would have been lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed the adventure through the zoo, too. 

Just maybe not enough to bend to the ‘steal a pair of penguins’ plan.

“I don’t think we have any place cold enough,” he insisted, still staring into the penguins’ enclosure as they flopped around. One of them was leading a chick up a hill so they could slide down it from the top. Emilio found it hard to look away. “And I don’t think they’d be happy in my bathtub. Pretty sure there’s mold in there. Look how much room they have here, kid. How are we going to give them all that?” Some things, he thought, were better off away from him. Penguins. Kids. 

Nora shifted beside him, and Emilio craned his neck to look back at her. He spotted what had captured her attention immediately. The trainer in the bear’s cage. The door opening. The investigation was finished now, and they’d come out on top. The police hadn’t been able to disprove their evidence, and the right person would be stuck in a cage while the innocent bear would go back to its life. Emilio smiled faintly. “We did that,” he corrected Nora, patting her arm fondly. “Couldn’t have done it without you, kid.” If not for her, he wouldn’t have taken the case to begin with. And he was glad she’d talked him into it. He rarely got to feel good after a case. In Wicked’s Rest, most of them were doom and gloom, telling people he’d found their missing loved ones in pieces or providing them with evidence of some affair that would win them their divorce hearing. This was different. This felt good. He could stand to feel good a little more often.

He followed Nora over to the edge of the glass, let her rope him into a photo session. He even managed a small smile for the picture, and it was genuine. Today was a good day, a win on the scoreboard for Axis Investigations. There was nothing wrong with enjoying those when they found them.

Looking down at his phone as it dinged, he saved the photo Nora sent him and nodded. “Yeah, all right,” he agreed. Shoving a hand into his pocket, he emerged with a wallet. “She gave me this,” he informed Nora. “Saw a gift shop on my way in. Let’s swing by, get her a t-shirt. Think they had stuffed bears, too. Might help you brighten up that crypt of yours.” Knocking his shoulder into hers, he started that way. Something to remember the day by, he thought, wouldn’t be a bad thing. Not at all.

[unpopularly-opinionated]

Okay so over the past two days I've rewatched/watched Alien 1-4 and boy was it ever a decline. For context, I've only seen Alien and Aliens prior to this, as well as one of the prequels, though I can't recall which one, but I'm not including those because I haven't watched/rewatched them yet.

Spoilers below for Alien 3 and Alien Resurrection, in case you haven't seen them, because I have thoughts.

Alien is perfect, of course. It still holds up really well and I'm still beyond happy that I was able to watch it in theaters many years ago as opposed to just on TV. It's definitely worth seeing in a theater IMO.

Aliens I've always had bad memories of, and while I was certainly reminded of why, it actually wasn't nearly as bad as I remembered it being. I think the character's name is "Hudson", or the guy who famously says "Game over, man! It's game over!" Anyways, he's why I had such bad memories of this movie. I find him incredibly annoying BUT the last time I saw this movie was probably a decade ago so while I still find it annoying, I'm able to look past it and overall find the rest of the movie enjoyable.

Alien 3 was uh... well let me just say that my initial reaction was WTF because of the "choice" they made at the beginning of the film to axe every character who survived from Aliens, aside from Ripley, and including Newt who was like so pivotal to the previous movie. I was so baffled this I had to google it and I see that it primarily wasn't their fault that they had to make this choice because I guess the actress who played Newt didn't actually want to be an actress, but I don't know, I think they could've managed to handle it a bit better than they did. It was just insanely jarring to go straight from saving her in Aliens to "btw she died off-screen between movies". This colored my opinion of the movie at first, but ultimately this movie wasn't so bad all things considered. The next movie definitely makes this one seem near-perfect by comparison.

Alien Resurrection is just bad. It's just so so bad. If I hadn't caught a glimpse of Joss Whedon's name in the credits at the beginning, I could've still guessed it a mile off. Ironically, even though Alien 3 actually had Ripley fuck a dude, this movie was way more unnecessarily sexualised than that one. Not to mention the fact that they went with the whole angle that the aliens are now Clone Ripley's children which makes sexualising the two infinitely worse.

There's also the fact that this movie just flat out does not make sense and is contrived as hell. They barely attempt to explain how Ripley is even in this movie to begin with after she died in Alien 3, giving us a one-off line about how they "scraped blood samples" that they found in the prison and used that to clone her, utilizing Alien DNA, which is how they wound up with 7 other failed attempts that all looked semi-Alien-like whereas our Ripley is #8 and looks normal.

Except this I could buy into. Is it contrived? Absolutely. But whatever, this world has synthetic androids and pseudo-supercomputers so whatever, I can buy that they have cloning too. But what I couldn't buy was that somehow by cloning her they also managed to clone the Queen alien that was lying dormant in Ripley's body back in Alien 3? I'm sorry, what? If you can do that why do you even need Ripley, an active threat to your plans?

There's also the plot contrivance of why they didn't immediately kill her off once she'd served her purpose. They had the Queen at that point, and the subject of terminating her comes up twice but we never actually get given an answer as to why they keep her alive. They even go as far as to call out the fact that she's an active danger to their project. Given that Joss Whedon was writing this, I'd have at least expected some kind of creepy doctor who wanted to fuck his Riply science experiment or something. Anything to even attempt to justify her continued existence.

Also I'm sorry these fuckers have been researching, reproducing and raising these aliens and not one of them thought that maybe they should make their cages acid proof?

Overall, just a terrible movie. Sucks too because I guess it leads nowhere? You're telling me they ran out of the tried-and-true method of "somehow the Aliens have returned" when the ship full of them crashed on Earth? Nah. Also I LOL'd at the ending because I'm sorry, is Earth uninhabited? I don't think so. But there they went crashing a fucking massive spaceship into it with no concerns and we just roll credits.

Anyways, guess I'll start Prometheus and Covenant tomorrow.

[themisfitsedge]

Saleos: Be Your Own Legacy Part 1

No one ever mentions just how infuriating the touch of your own hair can be when gently brushing across your cheek. An unwelcome intruder that you can’t see but can feel testing the limits of your sanity every second until you finally dismiss it, offhandedly or with the prejudice of one of Alternia’s finest motherfucking clowns.

Something in your face twitches at the thought, itching to swipe it away with the flick of a wrist. But of course, that would require more...control then you had at the moment. Your little cocoon wouldn’t release you anytime soon, but oh when it does more then one itch will be scratched and more then one of those fuckers would have to answer to you.

But for now you’ll play their game, wrapped tightly in off white ‘sheets’ and surrounded by walls of pristine ‘pillows’. Well pristine if you don’t count the waters stains and molded corners sagging across the room, accented by faded splatters of...something along the walls. Of course, you were there before this newest patch formed, it’s slowly bloating form the only change in the monotony of this place. 

Though you suppose once upon a time it’s walls must have been near lustrous, the pinnacle of the medical practice to all who walked it’s halls. But now only the dregs of society and their screams added sound into these walls, enraged or in pain, it didn’t matter...Now it was just a prison.

A small chuckle escapes your lips at the thought. It seemed to...dramatic. Though the reality was even more so. You hate to admit your own limitations, admit that your own body was more of a prison then this place. Neither would let you leave and neither would let you live. Not until you left this hellhole and finished it already. 

Death was the only way out. Though, it wasn’t yours that would change anything. It never did. 

But even when you’d first started this cycle, after you’d made sure the tyrant’s body was long dead and buried, something kept pushing at the back of your mind. Pulling you back to where it all ended, where it all began. The same thing that brought you back time and time again, no matter what you’d done or how it all ended. It had taken you far to long to realize that something had changed. Something beyond what was known. At least by you. 

A part of you wondered if Chymes had known the whole time that this would happen. That everything they had fought for would have been for nothing. Even now his essence poisoned the life you lived and left you scrambling for purchase with each new breath. 

It was because of him you were here. His followers seeping into the crevasses of society like the spores in the corner crept between the creases of these padded walls. 

You’d almost been impressed when they found you. A meek little olive worming her way in and whispering you sweet nothings until you let your guard down at the right moment. But when they brought you here you were less enthused. It wasn’t that you had thought less of them, no, despicable as they were you knew that respecting their planning was what would keep you even headed.

They new they couldn’t kill you. It would be pointless. But to leave you here was to keep you contained, to keep you monitored, to make sure you could never be a threat to his plan.

Gozrath was smart like that. 

It almost hurts to grin now, the thin slit across your lip from biting it the night before is being pulled dangerously tight as you began to rock back and forth, increasing slowly over and over until you slam you head backwards. You begin screaming your lungs out,  throwing yourself forward, and falling to your side, eyes locking onto the camera with a daring glance. 

You knew they were watching, maybe not closely this time, but they were always watching. It was almost like a game to see just how long they could keep their eyes on you before they broke you again and again. Would the time in between your little episodes increase? Decrease? Or maybe you’d finally lose it, lost so deep in the dark corners of your mind that you sat there, shattered beyond comprehension. That’s what they wanted to see. But you’d never give it to them. But oh they would get a show.

What they don’t see is more important though. What they don’t see is the way the fabric is peeling away from the wall. What they don’t see is the thick padding of the walls coming slowly undone. What they don’t see is how the thin but sturdy metal juts out from the staples that keep the padded walls together. But you do.

What they don’t see is that as you twist and contort your body in ways the mundane would have cringed at, you flail your legs wildly as a distraction as you wrench yourself this way and that. Slamming yourself against the walls over and over as you peel back the wall centimeter by centimeter before contorting awkwardly as you rip the staple out with your teeth and hide it in your gums. Rust blood spills from the split in your lip, only to disguise your movements. 

It’s only when you’re body has given out and your panting on the floor that you turn your head to wipe the blood on your shoulder, it’s smear darkening the fabric and burning the open wound. But it doesn’t matter as you drop the thickened metal down the neckline in one motion. It would only take a little while before it wormed it’s way down and pierced the cloth before finding it’s way into your hand. You would take it then and be patient. You were good at that. Reincarnation does that to a person.

You chuckle. At least the itch was gone.

[musingsposts]

it's practically confirmed that libby will have a corruption arc, but i just wanted to list down some of the ways it was foreshadowed in the book:

"they were binary stars, trapped in each other's gravitational field and easily diminished without the other's opposing force."

she is the opposing force to nico's. she is the only one who can really challenge him and equal his strength. it's mentioned so often in the book that i will be truly disappointed if we don't see an actual fight between them no holds barred to settle the score or to prove just how equally matched they are.

"do you worry much about your soul, rhodes?"

"always. constantly... it terrifies me how easily i can watch it corrupt."

*ominous sounds*

uhmmm, yeah. so....

"whatever corruption of herself she might become next, it was all within arm's reach...

this

could

all

be

mine."

just like the other five, she has it in her to consider what she wants and her ability to get it. it was just often overlooked because she is libby - she is moral, she will do what is right and she will not take advantage of her power for selfish reasons.

if you think about it, it can be so simple for her, if she only chooses to. but she never really acted on them because it's not her. she's the group's moral compass for a reason. her power is beyond comprehension for the most of them, except nico. and she has been drifting from this idea of her always being careful and fearful. the night with tristan and parisa was the chance she'd been waiting for to wipe the slate clean. it was the opportunity to delineate two different versions of libby - the then and the now. one day these thoughts may be enough to push her and make her fully utilize her powers to serve herself. some truly villain vibes if you ask me.

"the day she woke up and realized she could make her own world would be a dangerous one, but it was so unlikely it hardly kept callum up at night."

callum repeatedly rejected the thought of libby as a threat to him or to anyone because of her sense of morality. but this passage is almost like a book version of chekov's gun. "you see this holstered dangerous weapon of mass destruction? yeah, don't worry about it."

so yeah, we should definitely worry about it.

"the problem with you, rhodes, is that you refuse to see yourself as dangerous."

from the start, libby's the one who has the habit of making herself small and nonthreatening for others' sake. one way to develop her character is to ask: "what if she suddenly doesn't care?"

"you're a fire hazard, rhodes. so stop apologizing and just let the fucker burn."

this is a weird argument but most characters with a certain affinity for fire are the villains (sky high even addressed this stereotype with warren peace lol) i don't want to generalize, but yeah, that's what we can have with libby.

"whatever libby was now, she was powerful with possibility."

and if this is isn't foreshadowing that she is going to have an interesting plotline...

but as much as this interests me, i seriously hope that she will still be redeemed eventually. especially since she started off and was loved by the readers as a good person. so geniunely good that parisa did not see how she could use her and constantly pissing callum off with her anxiety because she just always wants do what is right.

what i mean to say is to let this corruption arc be just a part of her overarching hero's journey. that would be nice.

[chuuyrr]

can i request a baby fushiguro where older!fushiguro is being attacked by a group of people who want to take her powers?

scarlet witch! fushiguro! reader gets attacked and saved by dad! gojo

jujutsu kaisen x reader

masterlist of the series

warning(s): anime/manga spoilers for jjk and the scarlet witch in general, mentions of violence and injuries, strong language, fluff at the end

thank you so much for requesting and for being patient dear anon, enjoy reading <3

if it's one thing that gojo's worried asides from you falling in love and dating, it was the bad people. raising you, gojo had to keep a keen eye on you. he would prevent you from exhibiting your wiggly-woos especially when it was really unnecessary because he didn't want to attract unwanted attention. people could manipulate you and use you for your dangerous gift. (please, during those times, the zenins were already trying to take you from him).

now, that you were a teenager. gojo's job to keep you safe had become easier since you were no longer a baby. instead, you had a mature and open mind, plus you had gotten better in controlling your wiggly-woos unlike when you were little but that doesn't mean you were safe already.

you were on your way towards the meeting place that gojo had asked you to come, since you just had finished classes. while you were walking, you sensed multiple presences that weren't far from you and for some reason, you could feel an immense energy that was very similar to the 'cube' that the curses used to seal gojo in the past.

alerted by their presence, you immediately changed your route and went from walking to running. for some reason, they were able to catch up to you despite your speed. just when you were about to take another turn—you bumped right into them. a scream escaped your lips, feeling your energy painfully get taken away from you. you immediately reacted, sending in projectiles of psionics at their way which momentarily stopped them from taking your power.

"wow! she really is the scarlet witch! her energy is much stronger than those sorcerers." you felt dread wash over your body. they weren't just after you and your powers, they knew exactly who and what you were.

you weren't a bad fighter, but these group of people that were after you were skilled. they seemed to know your weakness and for the first time, you were overpowered. with a bleeding head, broken arm and several wounds, you had no choice but to flee by feet. they were able to take large amounts of your power, thus weakening you to the point you couldn't use it to teleport. shooting your psionics was useless since they would just absorb it with their tool of sort.

frightened, you immediately dialed gojo as you picked up your legs as fast as you could with a group of people hot on your tail. fortunately, gojo picks up his calls very quick especially when it was his precious kikufuku calling.

"kikufuku! where are you, baby?" gojo asked.

"daddy, help me! i'm being attacked! they want my powers." you cried.

gojo immediately hung up and tracked your location by sensing your 'cursed energy'. when he got to you and saw you bleeding all over, gojo wasted no time beating up the group of people that dared hurt his precious baby. you watched, slightly scared at your father's aggressive and swift attacks. the breaking of their bones and screams rang in your ears that all you could do was helplessly cover your ears and clutched your open wounds.

"you fuckers dare lay a filthy hand on my daughter?!"

gojo was beyond furious.

"this is for hurting her."

once gojo had taken care of them, he left them in their own pool of blood and broke the tool they used to absorb your chaos magic. you felt your strength return right after, but you were still pretty shaken up from the situation to stand on your feet.

"you're okay, it's okay. i'm here now." gojo picked you up in his arms, coddling you in his embrace as you broke down into tears, clutching onto him.

"i was so scared.." you felt like a baby all over again as you cried. "they know who i am, dad. they wanted my powers."

"i know, i know, baby. don't worry, i'm here. this won't happen ever again." gojo reassured you, pressing a kiss on your forehead before taking you to shoko to get you patched up. "let's get you patched up, okay?"

"mhm." you nodded, still a crying mess.

once you were all patched up and discharged by your auntie ieiri, gojo took you home and pampered you. ordering you your favorite take-out food and put on a movie for the two of you watch to calm your nerves after that incident. gojo stayed by your side until you had eaten and fell asleep with your head on his shoulder.

gojo did his research on the group of people that attacked you earlier and once he successfully tracked rest of them with the help of your auntie shoko and uncle nanami along with his connections, let's just say he paid those people a visit and made sure you will never get chased after like that again.

anyone who dares to hurt you will have to deal with him. your safety and well-being is of utmost importance <3

it does scare him, however, that people like them have learned your existence and knew your weaknesses. gojo became more careful and a little bit strict after that. whenever you were out on your own, gojo would instruct you to be careful, cautious of your surroundings and trained you.

you might be the powerful, scarlet witch, the harbinger of chaos and all that but slip ups happen. you were still vulnerable to danger no matter how powerful you may be (and gojo can attest to that because he still got sealed in the past despite being the strongest).

[lilakeels]

Fools and Gold (Huggy Wuggy x GN!Reader)

Good evening/morning to all of you! I apologize for not being on Tumblr for a while, school and my own personal life has been getting in the way of my writing! Of course, I will try to never have such a long hiatus ever again and I hope you all will forgive me.

Content Warnings: Yandereish Behavior, Blood, (Pre Mentioned) Panic Attacks, H U G S, Claustrophobia(?), Broken Bones, Gore, Cursing, Y/N dies lmao.

My Brain: Alright you're gonna write something with your favorite comfort character, lets make something cute and cuddly since you like him so much.

Me:

My Brain: What the Fuck are you doing

Screaming. That's the only you've been able to hear for who knows how long. A small shiver wracked through your body. One leg crushed under one of the large wooden crates, who knows what was in these fuckers, whatever was in them however had practically cut off all circulation to your leg. Your cramped position didn't help either, slouched over, head thrown back, and both legs feeling numb. However, being trapped between at least four boxes did give you an advantage, the image of stealth. The cons, however, was that you couldn't feel anything at this point, sure you can the warm crimson fluid spreading down your face and legs, yes you could feel the box that laid over your right leg. You couldn't however feel the pain that should be raking across your skin, a low throb had taken its place. The blood leaking from your own body was slowly becoming its own comfort, it was just so warm.

Tears slowly started to dribble down your bloodied cheeks, this all felt so wrong! You shouldn't have been here in the first place! You should be enjoying your day with your friends, getting pizza, I don't know anything but this! Murderous "toys," one of your best friends getting ripped apart right in front of you, you let out a small whimper at the thought, shakingly raising your hand to trace your face instinctively. You shouldn't be thinking about this right now, you just need to focus on not dying. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea. Maybe after this, you can go see your family again. It feels like you haven't talked to your mom in ages, but maybe that was for the best. Let us think about your dad instead shall we?

Unaware of the upcoming danger, you continued to think of your dad wondering how he was doing and such. However something had made you pause, something was wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck had raised along with your anxiety. What was wrong? Your inward questions were soon realized almost instantly. It wasn't dead quiet anymore, the faint sound of something slinking carelessly around your prison.

You froze almost instantly the blood that was still left in your body running cold. No! You instinctively scooted as far back into your small hiding space. They were going to find you! They were going to kill you! Oh god! Oh god! Your breath only quickened as the sound was quickly gone, you knew better, whatever the fuck was beyond these crates knew you were here. They were toying with you, mocking you from beyond these wooden boxes.

Your eyes had widened as you felt a little shake to the crate directly in front of you. Instinctively scooting further back almost into a fetus position, the pain was returning you could feel the pain coursing through your leg (which was still trapped) and torso. Everything fucking hurt. You had to quickly choke back a sob, tears strolling down your face. Maybe if you just stayed quiet whatever was out there would become disinterested and leave you alone. You knew that was wishful thinking, your death was inevitable at this point. You just wished you had more time.

A small squeak escaped your mouth as the large crate in front of you was yanked effortlessly away a low screech echoed as it skidded across the floor. Although your observation was soon cut short as the crate above it had collapsed on top of you. A scream ripped from your throat as the crate flung your body forward and your leg was once again bent at an unnatural angle. Tears dripped down your face and landed on the cold tiled floor. Your thoughts were racing, you didn't want to die! Your face was suddenly slammed into the floor causing you to scream instinctively cause, holy shit it fucking hurt.

You couldn't revel in your pain for much longer before you could feel the crate get practically shoved off of you, a loud shrill noise echoing from behind you, it almost sounded excited. Small sobs wracked your body as you were pushed onto your back to go face to face with your perpetrator only to be horrified with what you saw, a Huggy Wuggy doll, if you could even call it a doll. The blue-furred thing was way larger than it's smaller and much cuter counterpart, but what unnerved you the most was the thin and very sharp teeth layered throughout its open jaw.

A small gasp left your mouth and you slammed your hand into its face, trying to get those dead-ass eyes away from you! It let out a small squeak of surprise however it pushed its face closer causing silivia to drip onto your cheek. Panic once again began to set in, "Please-" The creature let out another excited squeal before grabbing your face. You froze almost instantly, the familiar scent of copper flooding your senses, the scent of blood.

Shivers and shakes increased as the dark crimson liquid was smeared across your face as it removed its paws off your face. What the fuck. It didn't stop there either, oh no, it just got worse. The thing let out another excited squeal before wrapping its squiggly arms around your body and shoving you basically into its chest in a makeshift hug, and boy did your body not like that. Your fight or flight response was practically screaming at you to get away, at least do something. However, it was too late as you already felt the needle-thin teeth sinking into your flesh. Goodbye I guess...

(Yeah no that ending was so rushed lmao)

[chiwhorei]

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬

paring: kenny ackerman x fem!reader

genre: apocalypse!au, smut, dark content, 18+ mdni [cross-posted to Ao3]

word count: 3k

overview: kenny *i-wouldn’t-fuck-you-if-it-was-the-end-of-the-world* ackerman; but it is and you do . . . and you’ll probably do it again. or, if you read beyond the cut and wind up in hell that is legally not my fault.

tags: dymph does sacrilege once again, post-apocalypse au, blood, violence, zombies (only mentions of gore nothing specific), somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, degradation, smoking, insertion, sloppy oral, big age gap aka kenny is a nasty old man and reader is a sweet little virgin.

a.notes: happy *fucking* easter. this is for the smut pile’s apocalypse collab so go give everyone’s pieces a read, everyone has worked so incredibly hard. this is dedicated to @pleasantanathema​, who was both my beta reader and emotional support while stringing this together. here’s to the old man fuckery, cheers.

hymn: the seven deadly virtues - camelot

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man. -Luke 21:36

                                      * * *

Wet.

A sticky kind of wet. Clinging on like thick clay, splattered across your neck— gore and sinew wrapped in a noose. Shades of decaying reds and browns are all you see these days. 

The seeping, molding kind of wet.

The smell is suffocating, the toll of death deep in your bones. You keep moving, you have to. One foot in front of the other, fingers fretting with the cross hanging between your collarbones. Counting your Hail Mary’s distracts from the ache in your soles and the burning feeling that you’re rotting away.

It was slow at first. The end of the world, the crashing, clattering end felt like a slow decent to hell. Pieces of the modern world falling away, the promise of tomorrow, the assurance of a cure. You refused to believe the dead could walk the earth until they were stumbling straight towards you. 

All of us, you think, are rotting away.

“Pick up the pace, kid. Are you trying to end up like the rest of those fuckers?” His voice rings from a few feet in front of you. The brush under your feet is dry, leaves crunching loudly with every weary step forward. 

Kenny always likes to remind you of your naïveté, insults about your rose tinted glasses barked crudely from around a cigarette. Your youth, your optimism, your beliefs-- useless traits in his opinion. What good is God in a world like this.

“Friends. They were our friends.” Your words come out in a whimper, the tone further irritating the man ahead of you.

He stops, turning around to catch your eyes, gaze piercing through the night like a knife. All that’s left of your composure is used to keep from crashing right into his chest.

“Ain’t no more room for friends in this world, baby doll,” a long pointer finger lifts your chin, the slightest touch still bruising, “thinkin’ like that is what’s going to get ya killed.”

Rose tinted glasses, cracked and splattered with blood, fall off and are lost to a world that no longer exists. Kenny let’s up and turns, pulling you farther into the thick brush. You could swear you feel the lenses as they splinter under your shoe.

                                      * * *

Kenny is a vile man. He knows his name isn’t on a reservation list at the Pearly Gates, he’s aware that a sinner lives on borrowed time. 

Nowadays, everyone is living on borrowed time. Even you.

You, he thinks, looking back to where you stumble over a tree branch, far to good for a world like this.

He can’t help but laugh, the absolute absurdity of his current situation. Escaping death by the skin of his teeth, watching any familiar faces burning in the remnants of a camp he couldn’t really call home. People that fought to the bone, melting or devoured or both.

And then there was you, standing in front of the flames, tears falling down the apples of your cheeks, stiff in shock and horror. He remembers the way your lips moved, mumbling a quiet prayer instead of trying to run. Stupid little thing.

It’s not the earth the meek inherit; it’s the dirt.

Was it pity that made Kenny pull you away from an infernal gravesite all those months ago? He’s never the hero of any story. No, it must have been something else.

Maybe it was the way you looked up with teary eyes, silently begging for help. Unwittingly making a deal with the devil. His teeth grind at the memory, the vision of how beautiful you look so completely helpless. 

Kenny leads and you follow, he hunts and you flitch at the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. The small squeak and proceeding thumb of meat as it hits the ground never fails to make you sick. When he’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting something else.

The sounds of death are all the same.

Some days you’re lucky, coming across abandoned hideouts or deserted cars. Snagging whatever hasn’t already been picked over; some ammo, the occasional can of peaches or pack of cigarettes. Kenny laughs dryly everytime, chucking the carton into his bag. Always the cigarettes, never the lighter. Most days, not so much.

Every night, you fall asleep to the flicker of a campfire, lulled by the steady sound of Kenny’s knife as it scrapes against a piece of wood. He’s always the last asleep. The woods are a dangerous place, the possibility of monsters circle at every moment. Under the veil of night, anything could happen. And it does.

He wipes his mouth, settling back into the harsh ground below him with a pleased hum. Your whimpers have settled back into a light snore. 

Kenny is a vile man, and you’re too concerned with the lifeless villain in the shadows that you forget about the one sitting on the other side of the fire.

Three months of waking up to aching limbs and misplaced panties can’t be a coincidence, can it?

                                      * * *

“Well ain’t this something.” Kenny pulls on the door, swinging it open with a loud creek. Your neck strains to look up at dark wood and steepled roof, the tall building hidden by dense forest, you two must be the first people to step inside in months. 

“A church.” You’d find comfort within these walls if you weren’t so positive that God had abandoned this world.

Statues of the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph are empty behind their stone eyes, shadowed with an unsettling shade of red from the stained-glass windows. The moment is a time capsule, a vision of the congregation of saints bathed in blood.

A chill runs down your back, counting every vertebrae.

You push down the unsettling foreboding, focusing back on the instincts to survive instead of lingering on a religion that you can no longer make sense of.

“Hey kid, over here.” You pick up the pace, quickening footsteps away from holy symbolism and towards Kenny’s voice. You walk into the closest room off a dark hallway and find him leaning against the doorframe. The rooms are getting darker with the vanishing sun, but you make out shelves of cans and boxes, food, blankets, clothes.

“I bet they used this as a food pantry,” Your comment was probably an obvious assumption, but Kenny just hums in response, “there’s enough here to last up months.” 

Good samaritans in the first life are a saving grace is this one. Your cynicism lifts from heavy shoulders for just a moment. The lines between luck and divine intervention are fuzzy at best.

“I saw a well right outside too. Water’s probably cold as ice but it’s better than anything we’ve come across yet.” Kenny’s voice is even, but you swear he cracks a smile.

He was right, the water is cold enough to shatter your bones like ice. You shiver and chatter, teeth threatening to crack, but the feeling of being clean has you dumping bucket after bucket over your head. The grime and grit of your reality running down to seep into the grass below.

There’s no home to run to after the world ends, but water and food is more than you could imagine in recent months. Shuffling through boxes of donated clothes, you find a shirt big enough to sleep in. The fabric smells like moth-balls and dust, but the feeling of clean cotton against your skin is heavenly. 

You find Kenny in the clerical office, rummaging through the priests desk. The sun is replaced with a flight of candles, for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like death is standing right behind you.

“Would you look at that,” Kenny pulls a cigar from the desk, bringing it up to his nose for inspection, “Looks like father had his own little habit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his comment, rounding towards the large leather chair he’s settled into.

“Smoking kills you know.” You lean against the desk next to him. Your bare legs brush against his knee, the heat from your skin makes his mouth water.

“I think there’s more pressing concerns than tobacco, kid.”

There’s something different about tonight, even more than just the four walls and roof around you. There’s something about Kenny and the way his stare has followed you all night. You can feel a cord pulling taught, fraying in the middle before it snaps.

“Asshole.”

The plush of Kenny’s bottom lip is close enough to your cunt to be disastrous.  Friendly banter becomes laughing and swatting at his chest like a teenager. Communion wine and tension pulling you into him. The loneliness of this life becomes more apparent the closer he is to touching your skin. When did the man in front of you make your heart race so fast? 

Maybe you’ve always felt this way.

You feel it, the ghosts of last night, the night before. The ghosts of weeks or maybe even months. The familiarity of a touch you weren’t quite awake for. 

Ass arching off from where it sticks to the cherry wood, you want to feel it again. The laving of tongue and mouth against you. The devouring of your most intimate planes of skin, places no one else has ever touched before, places you were saving for your future husband.

The kiss as hot as hell.

“Awe, c’mon now,” His nose nudges against your clit, the movement pulling another cry from your throat to bounce against the high ceiling, “that’s not my name.”

“I’ve been tracing it into this precious cunt of yours every night,” each word is more unhinged than the last, no longer worried about the doe in his sights running away, “Do I need to spell it out for you again?”

There’s nowhere to run, pressed in between his canines.

Dreams of calloused fingers and a wandering mouth are now cementing as memories. The feeling of rough facial hair. The sounds of desperate moans and how they shake against you. 

The way his tongue curls like a signature. 

His mouth is flush against you again, sucking at your aching clit for only a moment before moving his attention to long lashes against your clenching hole.

“You must remember. You were moaning it so sweetly,” he nips at your puffy lips before drawing back. His chin is sheened in your arousal, slick refracting off the dimly lit space between you, flickering candles outline his features with a dance of orange shadows. Kenny’s eyes hold you captive, giving you one more chance to answer.

“What’s my name, kid?”

His tongue breaches you, a set of large, familiar hands keep your legs spread wide atop the desk. 

You remember— of course you do. You remember everything. The name stuck in your head like a broken record. The name you call for in a sleepy haze as your body is dragged into orgasm.

The name that’s spelled against you like a promise.

“K-Kenny please.”

That’s all that he needs, the only thing, if he’s being honest, that he’s ever needed.

“There’s my sweet little girl. Finally using your manners.” Two fingers come up to swipe against your pussy, stopping right before your clit and collecting slick to bring up to your eye line for inspection. You jump when the warm digits drag against your bottom lip, a silent prompt for your mouth to fall open.

Kenny sticks his fingers in, the intent to make you gag is clear but you take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Your tongue swirls around the intrusion, running against each joint and suckling loudly. The sound is wet and lewd, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth makes his head spin.

Your destruction, he decides, will be beautiful. 

Kenny’s fingers release with a wet pop. He runs callouses down from your cheek, over the curve of your tits and down your abdomen. Two fingers stop at your pubic bone to trace lightly against the skin in random patterns. 

“Your body is just as agreeable when you’re awake.” His words drip in sin, reminding you exactly how familiar he is with you. All of you.

Both thumbs come down to spread your lips, Kenny can’t help but take a moment-- just a beat-- to stare at your swollen, glossy clit and the quiver of your little hole. Your skin is soft, completely untouched by anyone else. He laid claim to almost every inch before you begged him to.

He sinks from the leather chair, kneeling in front of you. You’re the body and blood as far as a sinner like Kenny is concerned.

There’s a plea stuck in your throat. You want to beg him to slow down, it’s too much all at once, but you know if you cried out-- all you would do is beg him for more.

His tongue is long and flat against you, every swipe is punctuated with a growl. The rumbling from his chest is thrown against your clit like a current through cold water. Sharp, shocking, terrifying.

“Kenny, I- I want,” He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the hood. There’s no words in any language that make sense to you. There’s nothing but his name. 

“Kenny ah, I need, I don’t know how t—”

Your dangling over a fire, trying desperately to jerk away from the lick of the flames. 

“I know, kid, I know exactly what you need.” his breath is heavy and warm in fans across your skin. You're dripping down the sides of his face and onto the cleric’s desk. Kenny is covered in you, open mouthed kisses against the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The tangy taste of your pussy mixing with the wine still on his tongue. 

If he spent forever between your thighs, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

“Such a sweet little thing, you’re insatiable.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glazing over with a distinct look of teary submission. It’s so new to you, but grinding upwards and catching your clit against his chin seems like second nature.

The primal need for release is much stronger than any prayer of abstinence. 

“What would your little prayer circle think if they knew you spread your legs for a dirty old fucker like me?” Kenny coos against the apex of your thighs. His words knock on the hollow space behind your breastbone.

Your family and friends, the priest from St. Mary’s who baptized you, old man Jaeger from next door— all buried or burned to ash or so much worse.

Anyone you’ve ever loved is dead, maybe that’s why Kenny is still around.

There’s nothing that can hold you back anymore, the control you claw at slips from your fingers like watery silk. There’s no escaping the roughness of his stubble and an evil, serpent tongue.

“Kenny!”

You cum with a shattering cry, the sound ringing so loud in your ears you swear any enemy of the living in a 10 mile radius could hear you. In reality, what escapes is little more than a broken snivel. 

It hurts, muscles aching from the exertion of trying to keep from falling apart. Your body is a hairpin trigger, the comedown feels more like withdrawal.

“There’s my girl, my good little girl.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, doting while you fall back to earth. It’s a strange feeling, you’ve never found comfort in Kenny before, he isn’t the shoulder you go to lean on. 

But tonight he’s the chin you buck into.

The aftershocks run across your naked skin, already missing the feeling of his touch as he settles back into the cracked leather chair. 

His cock presses into the denim confines uncomfortably, the ache can wait though. Whether this is his last night alive or has all the time in the world-- he’s going to savor the glistening prize nestled between your thighs. Kenny’s fingers find the cigar where it lies next to your knee, bringing it up to examine while you squirm at the cold night air against your wet cunt.

“No one will ever make you feel as good as I do,” both legs kick out, falling to dangle on either side of his knees in surprise as the cigar comes down to trace your outer lips. He presses the tuck inwards, pulling out slightly so you cry out. The harsh texture of the wrapper mixes with the most minimal of stimulation, causing tears to clump in your waterline. 

“Why don’t you think of a way to repay me, hmm?”

You push past the heaviness in your muscles, sitting up to meet his incredulous stare. Kenny sticks the cigar between his teeth, striking a match from the desk drawer to light the cap. The cigar is stale, cheap tobacco. But every drag now tastes like you.

“I- I could try to--” Words are left unspoken on your tongue, even now, the intonation is poison in your throat. 

You expect Kenny to laugh at your bashfulness, instead, two fingers come up to curl around the Rosary around your neck. He drags you forward, exhaling smoke into your parted, quivering lips. You try your best not to choke. 

He pulls the cigar away, ashing it carelessly on the floor.

“Use your words, kid, tell me what you want.” His words are sleazy but his voice is soft around the edges. Prompting you to shuffle onto his lap. His free hand rests in the small of your back to keep you steady.

“I want--” Fuck, your voice feels like it’ll fail, you take a moment to breathe, “I want you to fuck me, Kenny.” 

Your plea is rushed, so quick to hit his ears he almost misses it. There’s no hiding anymore, there’s nowhere else in this world but the private quarters of a long-dead clergy member. The space between you and Kenny is foggy and tense, only inches between lips.

There’s no more penance in this world, no more time to sit and atone for his sins with prayer. The soft, syrupy feeling of your cunt wrapping around his cock is a slice of heaven, cut out and stolen right from the sky. 

“I thought you’d never ask, doll face.” 

✞ all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[charmixpower]

On Nebula as the main villain in s4

I've mentioned this a few times and thought I should sit down and hammer out some logistics

If I wanna keep the Black Circle (and I do with my new headcanons, them fuckers are terrifying), I need to deal with the revenge plot line, and I need a reason for the Winx to be trying to get though to her. So, Nebula's revenge being a bad idea but make it an actual bad idea. Instead of "all revenge bad" it's more like "all consuming revenge bad". Nebula in her rage and desire to get revenge releases the Wizards of the Black Circle from their imprisonment to kill them, they kick her fucking ass, and go back to what they were doing before this. The Winx are pulling their hair out in frustration

The Wizards of the Black Circle are final boss™ villains (so they're lack of motivation doesn't need to be explained) they can only be confronted when Nebula/Vengeance fairies prioritizes their lives over revenge. Essentially their being dangerously reckless and making bad decisions, and need to be talked down into accepting help for their revenge

The Wizards could be cut out and have the vengeance faries just be taking their revenge wrongfully on the wrong people, aka the humans, and that would be a strong plot line on its own. Misdirected revenge just makes you the evil one, cycle of violence, and so on

Nebula is queen, she just is. Morgana might of been queen as some point but it was before they were imprisoned and Nebula calls the shots now...mostly because Morgana was about as interesting as block of wood

I wanna let them all handle their own fairy of Vengeance in pairs. So like Diana and Flora get the boss battle they deserve with another girl on support for her.

I think the Major fairies are Enchantix fairies attached to an outside power source that boots their powers beyond Enchantix and changes their form slightly to not have sparkly wings. They're actually taking a short cut to a form close to Nymphix like this

Morgana and Roxy aren't related bc it's dumb and also Morgana is such an awful person in canon?? Like the way she treats everyone around her, wow

Bloom and Roxy yelling at Nebula for having the audacity to ask them to join the Vengeance against humans

Bloom dragging Nebula bloodied, to look at all of the human lives she ruined with her bullshit. Making Nebula go "are we the baddies?" To her fellow faries of Vengeance

Queen is a political position instead of a hereditary one, but a princess can be chosen before the current ruler steps down making them the rightful heir

Basically Nebula is so blinded by sadness and rage that she doesn't realize she's walking to her own death, and the Winx try their best to save her from herself because they all understand on such a deep level

I have no clue who Aurora's opposite is but she's low key a coward, so someone like Aisha, or Tecna who doesn't hesitate would be best for fighting her

Tir-nan-og is a death trap. It's the Faries traps to protect against the wizards, combined with the wizards traps. The Winx spend at least a full episode trying to navigate this hell scape

Sophix and Lovix are granted by Diana and Aurora letting the Winx tap into their power sources (Diana's flower and Aurora's ice), because the Wizards fucked up their powers and they need something to fight with

Diana's beef is deforestation, Aurora's beef is global warming. Nebula's beef is people existing, and Morgana is there

Sibylla is around but she doesn't have much of a purpose to play...maybe she's the rightful queen that Nebula out stripped during war time, that would make sense

The season ends with the Winx, and Earth fairies launching a full scale attack on the Fairy hunters, making sure they can never harm anyone ever again. And Nebula allows Roxy to have the final blow against Orgon, instead of throwing a shit fit and accidentally allowing him to escape like she would have in the beginning of the series

It would probably be structured like s2 with a surprising amount of down time because the Faries are busy with the Wizards, and the Wizards are busy doing....whatever they do in the sewers. Mostly to allow the "adult hood is scary help me" plot lines to breathe