#only for them to have to die to correct his mistake

[horsechestnut]

So the whole point of The Umbrella Academy is the world is fundamentally better off without them in it. That no matter how hard they try they will never be enough to save the world, they can never have their happy endings. And that ultimately they will have to sacrifice themselves and everything they've worked for to fix their father's mistake, they will never be free of him.

Cool. Great. Got it.

[larryrickard]

i had a dream that i made little cards that say "THEY!" on them that i handed out to people at work who got my pronouns wrong, immediately after they got it wrong. and in smaller text (or on the back) it said "i don't want an apology, i want you to do better" or "don't say you're sorry, DO BETTER" and ..... i kind of want to do it. maybe i'll get some moo cards made lmao

various scenarios included:

me slamming it down on a desk in front of them.

instead i had stickers, would slowly peel one off while they watched, and stick it on it on them.

handing out a quarter sheet piece of paper based on the 'i caught being good' tags we'd get in kindergarten which said 'i got caught misgendering hallie/my coworker'. it would have their name and date on it and a giant 🙁 face. i had them as a pad of paper and would hold up a finger to say 'wait a second', dramatically pull it out of my back pocket, take my pen out of another pocket, slowly fill it out in front of them, and hand it to them while staring them in the eyes.

getting a whiteboard for the outer side of my cubicle wall that said '[days] since i was misgendred' (with a bonus by saying 'last offender: [name]'

i also dreamt that i got into trouble for it because i was making people feel bad and was 'creating a hostile work environment'. i was just like.... okay and how do you think i feel? and my boss shut up real fuckin quick. dunno if that would be the case irl but if that does happen i can only dream.

[wriokitty]

female reader ; non curse au ; established relationship ; reader lays on sukuna ; written bc i’m moving and can’t help but imagine sharing an apartment with him (i want someone to help me carry heavy boxes with flexing muscles as i take in the view)

“I can’t find the box with my bras,” you whine. It’s miserable, the look on your face. It fills Sukuna with unbridled joy as he cracks a thickly amused grin.

“Good,” he grunts in approval, “you don’t need them, anyway.”

“I do,” you glare. It takes all of three seconds before the reality dawns on you—and then he’s snickering as your glare becomes harsher. “You put it somewhere, didn’t you?” You accuse him through narrowed eyes.

“Me? I’d never.”

“I should’ve known moving in with you was a mistake,” you snap, “I’m moving back.”

“Too late. We paid for the moving truck.”

“Well, technically you paid for the moving truck,” you correct him, letting your lips stretch into a smug grin.

He scowls, rolling his eyes before slumping onto the bed with a groan. You follow him, curling up beside him as your head finds his chest and his arm tucks under your body to cocoon you closer. You inhale, he exhales, and even if your paces don’t match, your uneven breaths form a pretty solid rhythm.

“I’m gonna need my bras,” you insist.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “I’ll get the box from my trunk later. I’m tired, woman.”

“We still have to unpack—”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” he clicks his teeth in distaste. “I need rest—I did all the heavy lifting, since someone refused.”

“It’s what the man is for,” you hum cheekily.

“So then why didn’t you do it?” He raises a brow. You shoot him an unimpressed look at his smart comment, a tight lipped, sarcastic smile splaying on your lips as you let out a humorless chuckle.

“You’re right,” you nod seriously, “it’s my job to treat the lady right. Sorry you had to sprain your back with my boxes, princess,” you pat his cheek.

“The fuck are you on about?” The look of pure disgust on his face makes you break out into giggles, leaning up to kiss his jaw as he grumbles something incoherently under his breath. You hear bits and fragments of it. Something along the lines of such a handful and give me migraines that you don’t fully catch, but they manage to amuse you all the same.

“You’re pretty enough to play the part,” you hum, shifting your body to roll on top of his. You hover over him, and Sukuna lets out a dramatic grunt. You pretend—and it’s only out of the goodness of your heart—that his cheeks aren’t slightly rosy from the comment you made.

“You’re heavy,” he says (to which you gasp, offended) as he squeezes your ass (you gasp again and smack his chest this time) and shoots you a grin with no shame (you stare for just a strict second—and a strict second only—at his dimples).

“Don’t lie,” you huff, “that’s an insult to that gym regimen of yours.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” He asks smugly, mouth curving in that ridiculously annoying, yet stupidly handsome way as he adds, “bet you’re eye-fuckin’ me through that mirror as I life weights all the time.”

“I’m too busy worrying about those shaky arms giving out and leaving you to die under the weight.”

“Very funny,” he scowls, “you could pay our rent with stand up comedy alone.”

“Being my princess isn’t enough? Now you need to be my sugar-baby, too?”

“Enough,” he hisses, one hand coming to your face to keep you away as you break into a fit of laughs and try to give him a cheeky peck to the lips. “Stay away from me.”

“No, we’re roomies now.”

“We are not roommates,” he says, irritated by the idea. “That sounds like we’re fuckin’ strangers.”

“You’re right,” you nod thoughtfully, “I guess we can call it two mutually benefiting individuals that have decided to split costs to save money on a living space in an unforgivingly harsh economy—”

“You talk too much,” he mutters. And mainly just to shut you up (but maybe, perhaps, possibly for one of the mutual benefits, too), his hand grabs the back of your neck to pull you into a rough kiss. You cut yourself off by letting out a muffled gasp as his tongue presses against yours—messy, heated, and surprisingly gentle.

“Well, that was rather passionate. You know what they say about roommates,” you wiggle your brows as you pull away. He purses his lips in an agitated expression as he glares at your stubborn word choice.

“Stop callin’ me your fuckin’ roommate,” he demands.

You laugh. It’s soft—a light, airy noise. The sound bounces off the walls that are his and yours and echoes along the space between your pressed-up bodies. Along the boxes littered across the floor and the suitcases lined up in the corner. Along the clothes you insisted you needed that he hasn’t seen you wear in months as they lay in a heap on his closet floor. Along the kitchen table where you’ll have breakfast, and the living room where you’ll watch movies, and the bathroom sink where you’ll fight over space to brush your teeth.

He’ll never tell you directly (because he has dignity, of course) but he could really get used to living somewhere that houses a sound like that. A sound that makes him realize the difference between the space he lives in, and the place he calls home.

Home, he thinks to himself for a moment. Home is where your laugh echoes, ringing obnoxiously in his ear. Sukuna doesn’t think any living space will ever be the same again without it.

“Since we live together now—” you murmur, breaking him from his thoughts as you lean in to peck his lips. He hums in a rare, soft, content little sound that you don’t get to hear too often. “—I can finally decorate your plain ass apartment.”

His brows scrunch in horror as he registers your words. “Absolutely not—”

“Muah,” you cut him off with another peck to his mouth, “I’m thinking earthy tones, what about you?”

——————————

I carried like 20 something heavy ass boxes to and from my car nonstop today and every time I felt my poor arms get sore, I thought: wouldn’t it be so nice to have someone like sukuna and his four arms to do all the work while I sit and look gorgeous? He doesn’t have four arms in this fic, but that’s honestly his problem not mine. Just carry the damn boxes I’m just a girl

[worshipthecrow]

"Meeting the parents"

Summary: You received a call from your mother while you were with Sylus, your parents want to meet your boyfriend.

Content: Sylusx Female! Reader, Reader is exaggerating the situation in her head, death threats.

A/n: I introduced Sylus to my parents with the tete-a-tete function and more or less the things that happened are portrayed here, some comments were made after explaining them the whole game and stuff. English is not my first language, if you find any mistakes, let me know so I can correct them.

One, two, three breaths you took before opening the door and stepping inside with your heart pounding in your chest and cold sweat on your back, Sylus was waiting for you to return from your phone call.

His shirt half open and his lips swollen from the long kissing session would be a hot and inviting sight if it weren’t for your mother’s voice booming in your brain.

We want to meet him, you’ve been with him for how long? A year? And you still haven’t brought him home, if that was a lie don’t worry honey, my friend’s son is still single and very handsome.

Your mother’s playful tone made you frown, you exchanged a few more words and hung up the phone.

He smiled sideways at you, waiting for you to sit back on his lap to continue.

“Hey…” you didn’t let him finish when the words came out of your mouth like a suppressed cough, fast and violent “

“My parents want to meet you”

You noticed the slight change in his gaze and posture, but then he relaxed again, held out his hand for you to take, which you did without thinking because of habit, and making you sit on his lap, tangling his finger in a lock of your hair.

“When?” a simple question, you expected more, maybe nervousness, maybe that he would refuse, but there was only one question.

Why don’t you bring him tonight? I’m making pork ribs, your favorite, it would be a good time to meet him.

It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order said sweetly with a little threat.

“Tonight” you whispered, he hummed caressing the skin on your arm, nervousness didn’t let you enjoy the sweet touch.

“All right, if that’s what you want, sweetie” you let out a heavy sigh you didn’t know you were holding in.

And for the rest of the afternoon, it was you, stressed to the bone that what would happen in this inevitable disaster, someone would die, and you hoped it would be you, just to get away from this situation.

Sylus took you to your parents’ house on his motorcycle, you would have preferred to go by car, taking advantage of the traffic to get ready or to fake an emergency, but no, the way was too short and fast and now that you were in front of the door you wanted to vomit your guts on the floor.

It was he who rang the doorbell, just long enough to be heard but not annoying, the door was opened by your mother, the image was endearing, the chubby little woman greeted the two of you with a sweet smile letting you in, she still had her apron on, wet and you guessed she was washing the utensils she used to cook.

Your father was in the living room, you noticed the tiny sauce stain on his shoe, and you knew that today, of all days, would be the worst day of your life, nothing good came out of it when your father was helping your mother cook.

Your mother called everyone to the dining room, your stomach was doing somersaults, you walked stiffly to your seat, Sylus, out of habit, opened the chair for you to sit down and then sat next to you.

Your mother served your plate first, as always, the smell of the ribs, that delicious smell that always made your mouth water made you feel the worst nausea you had ever experienced in your life.

You watched her prepare your father’s dish, and the familiar fight of “one more” “no, the doctor said to watch your cholesterol” took some of the tension out of the situation, but knowing that the next dish to be served would be Sylus’ only reminded you of the chaos that was about to unfold, you prayed to any god that was willing to listen to you even though you had never been devoted to any of them.

Your mother took the plate placed two ribs and you held your breath as your mom’s voice came through your ears like the scream of a banshee.

“So, Sylus, what do you do for a living?” the smack of the mashed potatoes against the plate almost made you squeal.

“I run a family-owned business that covers a range of services and offers various products. We deliver fruit and even sell state-of-the-art technology and I work with a lot of talented individuals. If you’reinterested, I’d be happy to discuss it in more detail another time.”

You buried your fingernails in your thigh, the way your father bit into the rib meat made your heart stop for a second and the look on your mother’s face didn’t make you feel any better either, you slowly chewed the tender juicy meat, feeling it like lead in your mouth.

“And what do you do in your spare time?” your father’s piercing gaze said he wanted to give him a shot between the eyebrows, too bad that wouldn’t work, you knew it too well.

“My hobbies are very simple. I collect vynil records, play the organ, and occasionally sing. According to your daughter, my singing isn’t too bad.” The sideways smile made you blush as you shoved mashed potatoes in your mouth and avoided the zucchini from the boiled vegetables. “Do you like to sing? If so. You’re always welcome to visit my private karaoke bar.”

“Do you live with anyone? Your family?”

You bit into the carrot so hard that your teeth hurt.

“I live alone and I have a relatively flexible schedule” you blushed and drank from your pomegranate juice as your mother looked sideways at you, you knew what was going through her head. “I stay at my base most of the time. Otherwise, I’m in a hotel for business meetings or go to my private ranch when I need to unwind.”

Sylus smiled softly, and you swallowed saliva admiring how his factions softened.

“I own several beautiful horses, and one of them has grown particularly fond of your daughter. The two of them offer frolic together at the ranch. I like seeing her be carefree and happy” you held back a surprised gasp at his words, you needed to scream, preferably at your best friend, as you melted into a puddle of mush, that was too sweet, ugh. “… if I might ask, are either of you interested in shooting or racing?”

Now you wanted to scream, but out of hysteria, even though you were a wanderer hunter it’s not like your parents were too happy about it when they expected you to be something else, like a doctor, a lawyer, even a teacher, gun handling was always a constant discussion when you lived with them and expressed your desire to be a hunter.

“I have licensed facilities filled with the necessary equipment. You’re welcome to enjoy them to your heart’s content, while it might not be obvious at first glance, I’m very good at taking care of people”

You decided to concentrate on your plate, while eating, you blinked for a couple of seconds noticing something strange but ignored it in favor of continuing eating your pork ribs.

“Because of our time together, I developed new interests. I enjoy taking her to auctions and fashion shows, I like seeing her shine, And her happiness is my happiness”

Your heart stopped at the softness of voice, you wanted to cry in his arms and tell him you loved him, but that would be too dramatic at a family dinner and you could do that when you got back to his house in the N109 Zone.

“What about the future, hmm?” everyone had finished as they spoke, you felt a lump in your throat hard to swallow, what about the future indeed, you squeezed your glass as you took a swig.

“I’ll always support her with whatever she wants to do. I’ll also stand by her side without question”

The Table was silent for a few seconds while your father picked up the dirty dishes and your mother took something out of the refrigerator, you recognized the pot immediately, you had seen it so many times during birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas and New Year.

You got up and opened a drawer and took out a plate and helped your mother unmold the flan, the color of the caramel reminded you of your childhood, when on your birthday your mother made a small mold just for you, of Christmas fighting with your older brother for the last slice, which in the end you shared sitting on the floor playing on the console.

It had been so long since you had eaten your mother’s flan, that seeing it now was just a balm for your stressed heart.

You left the plate with the flan on the table carefully, your mother took the knife out of a drawer and returned to the table to cut it.

“Everything you said was very nice Sylus” your mother’s voice gave you a shiver that went all the way down your spine to the back of your neck. “But alas for you where you hurt her, I don’t want to see her cry because of you, because I swear every time you go out you are going to have to watch your back, because if I have to, I will disappear you and no one will ever find you, was I clear enough?”

The sight was hilarious, your mother, the short woman, shorter than you in fact, was threatening the leader of Onychinus with a kitchen knife shiny from the caramel for having cut the flan, with a sweet smile as she offered him the plate with the dessert.

Sylus wasn’t expecting it at all from the look of utter surprise on his face, accepting the plate with a sideways smile.

“Like crystal” he replied softly and your mother smiled again as she handed out the plates, you breathed easy that she hadn’t stabbed him, your father poured the coffee, you put sugar and milk in yours.

The rest passed relatively quietly, lighter conversations and your father constantly telling you to take care of yourself on your missions and your mother reminding you that you could always come home if you decided to quit your job.

After finishing dessert and coffee your father took you to the garage, saying he had something to show you, you followed him thinking it would be some new car he was repairing, or a modified motorcycle, but no, he sat in his folding chair and you sat next to him, nervous about leaving Sylus and your mother alone for too long, you didn’t know if she would try to stab him in the back.

“Does he treat you well?” your father looked at you with his dark eyes, the ones you had inherited, and you nodded.

“He does”

“He seems nice, and he has money” you nodded, uncomfortable about that last “I was worried, when he said he stayed in hotels, that he worked with “individuals”, I thought he would cheat on you” your heart pounded in your chest, you once had that same thought but the fact that Sylus would always answer your calls, messages no matter the time or place removed those doubts a long time ago, “but then, he started eating the zucchini off your plate when you put them aside and the looks, he looked at you like you were the moon, like you put the sun in the sky, it gave me diabetes”

And you laughed, so hard that you threw your head back as you laughed at the top of your lungs, you laughed until your stomach hurt and your father looked at you like you were insane even though he was smiling subtly.

Sylus appeared a few moments later as you were catching your breath, your cheek half numb.

“Your mother wants you to help her dry the dishes”

You got up from your chair and walked towards the door, when Sylus turned to follow you your father called him to talk to him, you looked at him and nodded, you weren’t worried, if your mother didn’t try to kill him your father wouldn’t either, you went to the kitchen and your mother greeted you with a cloth to dry the dishes and you waited.

“I like him” she said “I like that he talked about you like that, he almost doesn’t seem real” you snorted under your breath, wondering what the two of them must have said while you were gone. “Better than your exes, definitely”

You groaned, remembering that your closest group of friends from high school still called your ex from that time “evil cockroach”, and still laughed at his love misfortunes when they got to hear something about him, you were fine staying out of it, but your mean side also felt satisfaction when it turned out that his last girlfriend had dumped him.

“He has everything you like as well, music lover, animal lover, and I am relieved to know he has gun licenses, that means he will always be able to take care of you and you will have good weapons for your missions” your mother dried the flan pot and put it back in its special drawer.

“The hunters association provides us with enough guns” although you weren’t going to deny that the Harrier 700’s were your favorite.

“He’s very much in love with you” your mother evaded the subject of your job, as always, you knew her stance on your safety and the many times you had been scolded over the phone when you were in the hospital was reminder enough “tie him up”

“Mom!” you shouted, shocked, you knew she meant ‘marry him’ but with Sylus it could be very literal that matter.

“What? You would have cute babies” you covered your face in embarrassment, leaving the plate you were drying on the counter so as not to throw it on the floor “and he has nice buttocks”

“MOM!” you shouted in a high pitched voice, definitely embarrassed and your mother laughed at you, you were aware of Sylus’ attributes, but you didn’t want to discuss them with your mother.

“He hides things doesn’t he?” you nodded, calmer at the change of subject, although it wasn’t something you wanted to discuss either, you continued drying the plates and glasses. “But you know what it is?” another nod from you “Well, as long as you know it’s okay, but I don’t want to get you out of prison”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, aware of the approval your parents were giving, your mother a little too enthusiastic, your mother and you finished drying the dishes just as Sylus and your father were coming back in.

The goodbye was better than the welcome and without the stress you felt tired all at once, you wanted to go back and sleep for the next week.

With a last hug to your mother and the mortification that she gave you a condom, you rode up behind Sylus on the bike and hugged him around the waist until you returned home.

You threw yourself on the bed, ready to accomplish your desires, Sylus pulled off your pants as you grunted and tucked you under the blanket, then lay down behind you, brushing your face with something, you opened your eyes and ripped the platinum package from his fingers and threw it on the nightstand, you cursed your mother.

“Don’t even think about laughing” you said through your teeth.

“You are kinda like your mom, she’s the one in charge isn’t she?” you sighed and laid on your back.

“Yeah, my dad has a bad temper, but my mom is the one in charge, if she says do it you do it” you saw his sideways grin.

“It runs in the family I guess, you’re bossy too, Kitten” he kissed your neck and even though you wanted to get mad you couldn’t, you were tired and wanted to sleep, until…

“What did you and my mom talk about?” The kissing stopped and Sylus lay back, towering over you resting his head in his palm and his elbow on the pillow.

“Your past relationships and veiled threats disguised as funny comments, who is ‘the evil cockroach’?”

“Ugh, my chronically unfaithful ex” you shrugged “that would be a better story to tell when you meet my friends, they make it funnier”

“Oh, so I’ll meet the group too?” the comment had come out of nowhere, but if you introduced him to your parents, who you were most worried about them meeting, your friends should be easier no?

“I guess so, although I’ll have to arrange the meeting when we’re all free” you were already getting a slight headache just thinking about squaring schedules so you could set up a meeting.

“I’ll be available whenever you want” you smiled softly at him, you were too grateful that he seconded you on all the things you wanted to do, whether they were ridiculously childish or not.

“I’ll talk to them tomorrow, now I want to sleep” you turned in bed and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down and put your face in the crook of his neck, Sylus wrapped his arms around your waist as he gently stroked your back.

You drifted off to sleep, as you thought about the best way to tell your friends that you wanted them to meet your mysterious boyfriend you talked about all the time. Maybe something like…

“Hey, do you guys want to meet my boyfriend?”

Yeah, that might be nice.

[puppetwoman17]

I wonder what the batfam's reactions would be if the joker escapes wherever they sent him to, finds Tim on patrol and was like "Long time no see JJ," and then going on about how he should come home with him back to arkham and he'll help him "recover" and are trying to get to Tim's location as fast as they can while listening in on comms?

This was actually a scenario I thought of the day I found out about JJ. I feel like after what happened, Tim would do the opposite of what Jason would and has done. Instead of going to find the Joker, he would stay as far away from him or even his goons as possible. It would be like the third Robin and the Joker had no history, nothing to tie them together(which probably made Jason angry at some point).

So when he breaks out of Arkham(AGAIN, jesus), Tim, Babs, and Bruce don’t waste a minute before bringing up that Tim has another case he has to work on that is of the “upmost importance”. It’s actually just a 12 year old homicide cold case that he solved a month ago but no one has to know that. Jim knows to sweep that under the rug when RR comes by with the same exact evidence he came with a month ago.

But Lady Luck has never been on Tim’s side. The rest of the bats quickly lose track of the Joker. Babs manages to find him, but by that point, it’s too late.

Joker finds him. And he recognizes him. Underneath the new name, costume, and styled hair, Joker finds his “son”.

As you can imagine, he’s over the moon. But he’s also just as angry.

“Junior! You don’t call, you don’t text, you don’t send out an email. What’s a pop got to do to get their son to notice them?”

“I’m not your son.”

“Not with that hair you’re not. Your skin’s not how I left it at all! And what happened to that beautiful smile of yours? Did the bat ruin that too?”

Tim doesn’t take jabs about his smile well. This is why. And it gets under his skin that even after using so much foundation and concealer, the Joker can still see the remnants of smile lines along his cheeks.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Junior. You know papa doesn’t like being ignored.“

“You’re not my dad.”

“Ha! Who is then? Certainly not the old bat. Anyhow, this isn’t about him. It’s been so long, kiddo. Why don’t we stop by the old warehouse and have a chat. Maybe even pick up Mama while we’re at it.”

“Harley would rather die than go with you, and I’m not following you anywhere. Batman already has your location.”

That brushes the smile off the freak’s face. The expression he has on now is sickly reminiscent of how he was when he, Tim, and Harley played family years ago. It’s not a look he gives to other people. No one else has seen it, so they might think Tim a liar. But he can’t deny the parental disappointment in the man’s eyes.

“I know they don’t know.”

Now that. That really gets to him.

“None of your business.”

“It it, but you’re welcome to deny it. I believe it’s just the old bat, the beat up cop, and Ms. Gordon, correct? Not even the first Robin! Ha! I wonder what the second bird would think. Not to mention the girls! Oh! And we can’t forget about little old Signal.”

Tim doesn’t need him to tell him. He’s gone over the scenario so many times it drives him mad. What each of them would say. What he could do to make them think differently. What he would have to do if they found out. Where he could run to. It never gets easier.

Joker is trying to scare him. That’s the only conclusion he definitively has. And aside from his general psychotic tendencies, he genuinely believes he and Tim are family.

By the time Batman arrives with the GCPD, the Joker is tied and ready for extraction. But the villain’s smile is no less fear-inducing.

“You know I’m right, my boy,” he says as he’s take into the back of a truck.

“They’ll never look at you the same way again.”

It’s only when everything is over that Tim takes the time to look over his gear that he finds his mistake. One that the Joker knew about. One that he exploited.

When he shut off the comms, he didn’t shut them off. In his delirium over his past, instead of closing them off, he muted them. While he couldn’t hear any of their chatter, they definitely heard his. And he didn’t send Babs his acceptance to shut his comms off, something she couldn’t do without express permission.

So when he unmuted the comms, you can only imagine what he heard.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

I really love Athena’s and Odysseus’ falling out in “My Goodbye”. Because this isn’t a case where one person is completely in the wrong. Both of them have gripes with eachother and it’s clear it’s been boiling up for a while.

Athena is correct, being a warrior of the mind means you are strategic and need to make calculated decisions. Odysseus sparing the cyclops was a stupid decision. And she is right to call him out on it. She warned him about how he was straying from the warrior of the mind, mindset. And it will only result in more dead friends

But Odysseus also puts out a good point. It’s so easy to judge when she isn’t the one on the battlefield, she’s immortal, she has no concept of dying or mortality. She isn’t the one that has to kill the babies or watch her comrades die because of one mistake. What good is being her student if he is haunted by his actions

Athena tells him that she is not his friend, she was his mentor, and it’s clear she was wasting her time with him. (Petty insults here)

Odysseus comes out saying “I know what IM fighting for, you’re just fighting for notoriety.” And his big finish is “Hey if you are so wise, why are you the one who’s alone?” Basically saying that’s what her teachings left her. All alone.

This struck a nerve, and Athena went with a more cold approach, and she basically goes.

“You will regret your decisions. I was your brains. And you won’t realize it soon because you are just a man.” Basically as a way to say he is narrow sited. And then she leaves.

Now after that, she basically went no contact with Odysseus for 10 years. Which to a normal person is a long time. But to Athena, it’s more like 10 minutes. Basically to her, she just had that arguement and realizing “Ohhhh I might have been a bit too harsh.”

Odysseus meanwhile was struggling. Which she was right about. But to his defense, most of those struggles weren’t his fault. It was his crew being stupid. But even after all that. He does call out to her in his darkest hour. Showing how he does wish for her help. How he misses his friend/mentor.

This is also why her relationship with Telemachus was great, because while Odysseus was learning ruthlessness. Athena was learning empathy and compassion. In a way, her arc was the reverse of Odysseus. She realized a warrior of the mind could have emotions, could be caring but also strong. emotions Tempered their decisions.

So when Athena gave her all to save ody in god games. She appealed to mercy of Zeus. She made a passionate plea for him. Something that the old calculating and by the numbers Athena wouldn’t have done.

Athena was changed by Odysseus and Telemachus. Athena even changing her vision of the world she wants. A world of understanding.

So her meeting with Odysseus in “I can’t help but Wonder” is such a touching bittersweet moment. It’s two old friends reuniting and seeing themselves on different trajectories. But having a mutual respect for eachother. There were no apologies given, because they weren’t needed. They both had their next steps set up and they wished eachother luck.

[yandere-wishes]

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖

Synopsis: You finally realize that you and Miguel are stuck inside a comic book romance. 

Warnings: Yandere themes, angst, the reader has Stockholm syndrome but can we really blame her? 

There's something about a sleepless night that's lethal. A loaded gun aimed point blank at your head and your heart and your eyes that are too weary to recall the difference between fact and fiction. Right and wrong.

Miguel should be home soon you think as you stare at the Daily Bugle's nightly broadcast. The headlines are the same as last week's villain attack and the week before that, and the week before that. 

'SPIDERMAN REPORTED DEAD AFTER TANGLE WITH NUEVA YORK'S NEWEST VILLAIN!'

 You think this is the 18th time he's died this month. A hologram dances in front of you, some withering reporter adamant in his claim that this time. This time for sure Spiderman is dead. A Harrowing claim, one you know to be false. Your lover isn't so easy to kill, you should know on account of how many times you had tried. Back when you'd painted Miguel O'Hara as the villain in your story, back when you were so obstinate to return to a wholly ignorant life of so-called freedom. 

Miguel can't die, you refuse to believe that a man like that is subject to such a mortal thing. 

You use to try to imagine a Miguel that had grown old. You couldn't back then and still can't today. Because heroes are eternal, or so you've come to believe.  They die a hundred deaths and reawaken younger than before. Heroes aren't immortal -that's the part that makes your heart skip a beat- yet death has never had the chance to lay claim to them. Miguel is fine you're sure of it. 

There's a noise, a disturbance in the wind, the sound of thousands of coiled webs being used to sling across the air.

A sign that Spiderman has arrived.

He's here.

You can't help but smile. 

"What's the old man saying this time?" 

You turn to see Miguel, land at the edge of the rooftop. Legs limb as he staggers towards you. With a defeated moan he sits down. Close enough for you to inspect the galaxy of bruises that dance across his stunning face. 

When did you fall in love with him, again? 

"You're supposed to be dead," you say, a bitter laugh following, the peculiar words.

"I think that's the 14th time the Bugals had a spread on me dying" He chuckles, dry and humorless. 

You bite your tongue to avoid correcting him. 

"Who was it this time? Venom or Flipside?" you ask, trying to guess which of the two had been able to give the Miguel O'Hara a run for his money. 

"Just some kid, from another dimension. Mocoso already screwed up the canon once, and he's damn well trying to do it again. He used Spider Bite to send himself home, so I didn't get the chance to..." He doesn't bother finishing that sentence. Doesn't have to, you've seen worlds collapse upon themselves because a tiny imperfection had distraught the canon. You know why he does this. You know why he must do this. No one is exempt from the canon. No matter how young and naive they may be. 

How peculiar the life of superhumans are. For all the guts and glory every hero's world is only bounded by thin silk strings. Perpetually on the verge of collapse should the chosen one refuse to follow destiny's orders. 

Heroes aren't pretty, they neither sparkle nor shine. Instead, they burn with a self-lit fire that grows out of control, burning until only ashes remain. Heroes are tragedies swung across every dimension. War-torn children with blood under their fingernails and chipped teeth from one too many close calls. Heroes aren't pretty, nor beautiful, nor divine. They're mangled creatures who come alive at night, staggering across half-lit streets doing what they believe is right. 

You've tried to commit this to memory. Tried to memorize it so you wouldn't make the same mistakes as every lovesick idiot who's fallen in love with a superhero. 

But sometimes it's so hard to remember, especially when Miguel has been your only companion for months now. The only person you have to talk to. The only person who is there in the early hours of the morning when even sleep abandons you. And he's always there again at night to tuck you in before he departs to fight whoever has broken the few simple rules that the canon calls for. You've almost come to appreciate his paranoia and insistence that you stayed locked inside the penthouse. Although he's grown a bit bolder as of late. Permitting you free range of the terrace and rooftop. A sign of good faith, he'd called. Whilst you'd presume that he's come to enjoy you waiting outside to greet him when he returns from the miseries of being a golden boy. 

"I try to save everyone, I try to make sure the universe is held upright. So why the hell does everyone always treat me like I'm the villain?" His voice is raising, fangs glowing in loose rays of starlight. His hands are crossed in annoyance. You rest your hand on his arm as you snuggle closer.

Heroes and villains, what's the difference? 

That's a question the two of you have been pondering for too long now. 

Even though you doubt  Miguel truly knows who he is. It's hard to fall into the orderly boxes of 'good' and 'bad' when the fate of every universe lies on your already brittle shoulders. 

He's a hero who acts like a villain. That's what you use to call him. Back when he'd first plucked you away from your ordinary mundane life.Deeming the world too dangerous for a defenseless little civilian such as yourself. He had promised to love you, to cherish you. Back when you'd been so resistant to play the role of the hero's lover. But seeing as how no matter what nightmares he went through as Spiderman, he had still kept those two promises. You had slowly started to grow fond of him

Time and time again Miguel has made you feel like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Wings clipped and waiting for the inevitable. He's overbearing to the point where his sheer presence feels like a boulder placed on your chest. Or maybe his strings have finally found their way to your heart, coiling around the organ controlling its every beat and pulse. Yet somehow, somehow, you started to desire more and more of him.

You're in love with the hero who plays the villain. 

You're in love with the villain who bares a hero's mask. 

"You should be more careful when dealing with the other spiders. I hear they're not all as precautious as you." Your fingers trace the purpling marks on his cheek.  Sliding from one universe to another. 

You know Miguel isn't a tiny spider he's a bloodthirsty tarantula. Yet you still worry. Fear that one day he may fail to return home. 

"You shouldn't worry about me preciosa,"

"Someone has to, Miguel, you're not as indestructible as you may think."

"If I kiss you will you stop complaining?"

There's no room to answer, his lips rest on yours, forceful and sweet. Captivating, dominating, and as always overbearing. His fangs slowly sink into the back of your lips. That familiar iron taste invades your mouth once again. 

Sometimes Miguel feels like a hero, shouldering the universe's burdens, and fighting for what's right. After all, with great power comes great responsibility. This is what he wanted, he always wanted to be the hero.

But sometimes when the spider's lair is abandoned and he returns home to you, he can't help but feel like the villain. He's protecting you he knows that. Justifying it is easy when you watch dimensions wither away in violent glitching and endless screams, daily. Yet he wonders if his predecessors were ever like this. If the heroes are supposed to keep their lovers locked away. Alone yet safe. A fair trade in his mind. 

Miguel isn't quite human, half-everlasting and half-horror. 

A dangerous combination

Or at least a confusing one. 

The point is he's some sort of hero. But that also means he's some sort of villain. Even the old tales got things wrong, not every superhero is carved from porcelain and ivory. Not every villain is built from ash and rage.  

Sometimes heroes are carved from gravestone granite and glazed with poison. Sometimes their powers are self-inflicted curses that chew away at flesh and bone. sometimes the hero's halo is made of barbed wire digging into his scalp and embittering his thoughts. Sometimes heroes kill themselves before any villain gets the chance. Spitling their body apart a million times a day because destiny decided to play a cruel joke on them. Picking the weakest of all mankind to become its guardian. 

When he pulls away from the kiss, he lifts your hand to his mouth. 

His fangs sink into your finger puncturing bone as he gnaws the stress away. Blood leaks down his chin, spilling over the rooftop. He pulls your body closer. An anchor in a never-ending storm. 

You kiss his chin, looking into his eyes. Eyes that can never choose whether they wish to be human or monster. Your head instinctively finds his chest nestling into the cold metal of his suit. 

Oh, how you wish you could crack his rib cage open and crawl inside. 

Sometimes you think back to the original tales. The ones from your dimension, albeit it seems that -regardless of a few rare exceptions- the stories are consistent in every universe.  

The story always goes the same. Peter Parker falls in love with MJ or Gwen, you've come to learn that in the long run, it doesn't really matter. Spiderman saves them again and again. Until the whole world knows that Mj or Gwen are somehow connected to the masked hero. But never once does she leave his side. Rebellious blond or dotting redhead, Spiderman's lover stays regardless of how desperate and vicious the villains become when they start to learn that the story always ends in the hero's favor. 

It's every gal's dream to be the lover of a superhero. Awaiting their betrothed's triumphant return. Greeting them with amorous tidings and cherry red kisses. 

You think you're Gwen or Mary Jane. Or whoever else decided to fall in love with the troubled boy who has radioactivity coursing through his veins. The boy who was deemed a hero and thus was destroyed because of it.

Of course, there's the other part. The underlying message of the story, that parents all so conveniently 'forget' to tell their children. The disease of the otherwise perfect tale. They forget to tell you that Gwen Stacy fell to her death and Mary Jane is left abandoned, once the hero realizes that his mere presence is a curse. Stories may end in the hero's favor but much like the villain the lover is also doomed by the narrative. That's normal for any hero's lover. They always burn out to cater to the hero's ever-fuming torch of justice.

you feel broken, as you're sure they did too. An unspoken rule of being with a hero is that eventually, you start to lose your sense of self without them. It doesn't make sense when you put it like that but along the way bits and piece of you broke off. Pieces that you forgot to patch up. You've been mending by using segments of Miguel to make yourself feel whole again. It's a small miracle that you still hold a fading memory of whom you used to be before he made you his. A miracle that sweeps through the cracks of your soul. 

Heroes never need to fear death, just an eternity of pain. Losing everyone they love, over and over again. Maybe that's why Miguel's grip is so suffocatingly tight. He knows that eventually, not today and maybe not tomorrow but eventually he's going to lose you too. 

You're a comic book Juliet and he's Romeo with superpowers. Everyone knows that comic book heroes are doomed from the start. Neither you nor Miguel are exceptions. 

Maybe the two of you are doomed by the narrative.

But for tonight, as the moon slowly sinks behind the skyscrapers and the stars fade one by one. The two of you are safe in each other's arms. 

[batbux]

It's forty minutes into the latest state of the company press conference and Bruce has had to mute his mic entirely to avoid being turned into a meme AGAIN for sighing too much at his own event. For all that he's spent almost 20 years coaching his own children on not making scenes, he's really not much better. It's hot and he doesn't want to be here. His ribs hurt. He's tired. He's hungry. He's every excuse Dick or Jason have trotted out over the years.

(Tim understands company manners and can almost always be trusted to stick it out as long as he's allowed to vent his frustrations afterwards. He's recently taken to smashing ugly thrifted dishes. Stephanie and Damian have been collecting any ceramic not entirely pulverized and turning them into pavers for Alfred's garden.)

(Bruce gave up after Tim. He really only needs one kid to tag along to social events. If the kid start to outnumber him they start getting IDEAS.)

His distraction is why it takes two very rude repetitions of his name for him to take notice at the young reporter pushing his way to the front. Lucius stands, cutting off the project manager currently presenting and speaks into the mic.

"Please keep hold all questions until the end of the presentation, thank you."

"Mr. Wayne," the reporter tries again and Bruce waves away Lucius's further protests.

"Can I help you?" He asks, smiling with the full force of Brucie Wayne's charm behind it. It's been awhile since his last scandal, but if the press is inventing drama then it's less work for him.

The man holds up a photograph almost accusingly. He reeks of gotcha journalism.

Bruce squints towards him, unable to fully make out the contents of the photo. Dick may have been right when he gently suggested Bruce add glasses to his Brucie Wayne persona but that was a hill Bruce was still willing to die on. It was bad enough he had to have a prescription COWL.

"What do you have to say about the presence of your adopted son, Timothy Drake at the illegal mob in Robinson Park last Saturday?"

"Drake-Wayne," Bruce corrected because Tim hyphenated, damn it. He was the first of his children to let Bruce tag the Wayne name on and it mattered, damn it. "Wait do you mean-"

"How about reports of him kissing a man while there?"

"A blond man?" Bruce asked, finally giving up and crossing to take the photo for himself. "Oh. No, that's his boyfriend."

There was a beat of silence before Bruce realized his mistake. Just as the reporters began to squall, he dropped the blurry photo and began to speed walk off, phone suddenly in hand.

Through the podium's microphone, the gathered reporters heard one thing as Bruce evacuated the immediate vicinity.

"Tim? Don't be mad."

---

Despite Bruce's best efforts, he becomes a meme.

---

Immediately following the bombshell that Timothy Drake-Wayne had a boyfriend, social media blows up, clamoring for more information. They're ravenous for it, desperate. Tim doesn't have a personal social media presence but they stalk his professional accounts religiously. Bruce does have personal social media, but he maintains radio silence.

In the end, a Gotham based "influencer" stumbles across Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne getting donuts at Kosher Donuts and Co. Dick is personable, as always, and stops to speak with the young woman briefly.

"Yeah, Tim wasn't mad," he laughs when asked. "Just disappointed. But man, he knows how to milk it."

"Bruce is in the doghouse, huh?" she asks, full of false sympathy.

"A little bit," Dick says as Damian mumbles, "Titus would never share."

"But," Dick continued. "Tim's spun it so Bruce is on the hook for like, half a million in donations for local LGBT charities. Tim says it would hurt less if he sponsored a new shelter too, so that's something to look forward to."

"That's a lot of money! Where's it all going?"

"Oh you know," Dick says and gestures vaguely. "A lot of different programs."

"Yeah? Anything you personally want to see done with the funding?"

"Drag story time," Damian answers before Dick can. He looks intense. "But not for children. For dogs. In the shelter."

---

A day later, Tim breaks the silence. He goes live on Bruce's Instagram.

"So the problem was that Bruce thought the reporter was saying I was being unfaithful," Tim explains. "He totally forgot I wasn't out to everyone yet. Bruce was just worried because he's already told me if I break up with my boyfriend, he's not uninviting him from any future family events."

"Luckily, I was in fact just kissing my boyfriend at PRIDE. Just because people got shifty with the permits at the last second because of protestors doesn't make it an illegal mob. If you wanna hear about Wayne's and illegal mobs, talk to Dickie about his younger years. Nothing I do can compare."

[seraphicloves]

𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐢 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫

⊱✿⊰ summary: riddle's mother had many rules for him one of which: focus on studies and forget about love.

⊱✿⊰ warnings: forbidden love except its jst bc riddle is silly billy, i wanted this to be romeo and juliet coded kinda but it doesn't work that well. Omg unless i make it like reader if from the rival school and riddle loves her teheheheh ahem ignore that, reader is yuu and should be gn (correct me on mistakes but be nice or i will ignore u) mild spoilers for book one!

⊱✿⊰ notes: i have no notes bc i started rambling in the warning section uh i think im high off of oxygen. might make a part two idk confessions perhizzle??

riddle lived his life on certainty. he woke up every morning, knowing exactly what he would wear and eat. he knew who would be troublesome and what classes he would be attending. he knew everything down to each very specific detail. which led him to believe in one more certainty: he was allergic to you.

he had to be! why else would his heartbeat accelerate so quickly? why else would his hands feel all prickly and warm whenever you grabbed them because your excitment bubbled out of you. why else would his stomach feel like it was being dropped to his feet whenever you smiled at anybody else other than him? it was the only logical decision.

"uh, no riddle. you're in love." trey had commented one day, after the housewarden had finished complaining about his strange encounters with you. riddle assumed trey was joking, riddle didn't fall in love! he had studies and other important things to do, he had no time for such foolish affairs.

he felt his gaze follow your movements across the dining hall, as you dished out some tuna for grim to eat. riddle grimaced, internally cursing himself for his face heating up. stupid allergic reaction.

he just about flung his lunch tray when you spotted him, bouncing merrily over. he was going to die and you were the causation. surely there was some sort of rule you were breaking for making him feel so entirely insane. it was like being overblotted again except this times it because you were sending him to an early grave.

"hi, riddle!" you giggled, plopping down in the seat beside him. how could a magicless being trapped in the wrong world be so merry and joyful? how were you so....beautiful?

riddle clenched his fist at the sudden thought he had, accidentally squeezing the juice box he had in his hand and making the liquid come squirting out. he gasped at the sudden sticky mess, his cheeks turning as bright as the roses the queen loved so much. how dreadful.

"hello, [reader]." he said, trying to stop his voice from shaking. you didn't notice anything, thank the great seven for that. although you were still looking at him strangely for the juice mess he had created.

effortlessly you grabbed some napkins, cleaning up the table before grabbing his hand to clean the liquids on him. he froze, every nerve ending in his hand getting immediately set on fire.

abruptly riddle stood up, knocking the napkins out of your head accidentally. with a curt thanks he scurried off, walking stiffly like his muscles has suddenly turned to concrete.

with steam practically radiating off his face he marched to his room, trying to prevent the allergic reaction from taking dire affect. he had to be rid of all relations with you, he must! or else surely he would die from your close proximity or your melodic laugh or your pretty face or-

see, you were even deluding his thoughts. whatever disease you have cursed upon him was nothing less than burdensome. he needed to be rid of it, of you immediately.

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[rosewalkersjayaforever]

"Jay has a normal life unlike the others"

⚠️⚠️⚠️MAYBE BAD ENGLISH⚠️⚠️⚠️

⚠️⚠️LARGE TEXT ⚠️⚠️

Excuse me? Are you serious? Is it a normal life that he ended up, roughly speaking, in the landfill with foster (adoptive) parents "Ed and Edna"? But what about the fact that Jay found out that he was adopted in season 6, how he was roughly abused and used by the Skybound, how he was bullied by the pirate team? If Ninjago wasn't Lego, Skybound would be even darker than we imagine.

He has never met his biological mother for so many seasons, for so many years, and we will never know if he will meet her at all or not, just hunting, we don't know anything about her, only that she was a lightning master, that she was Jay's biological mother and was married to Cliff Gordon.

Yes, Jay was wrong not to tell the guys about him, but are they better? They ignored it when Jay himself said that he was adopted, but no, let's keep resentment, anger and hatred against him. They damn treated him like a madman and a stranger, you can read their faces: "Bro, shut up, go already, stop talking," Cole too, is also called a "best friend", and he betrayed him, although he should have been on his side.

Also in season 11 in the pyramid, Jay was not the only one who opened to release Aspheera, Nya helped him, but of course Jay and only he are always to blame, as if if someone else had opened, they would not blame him as well as Jay himself.

Lloyd will also have to keep quiet, he was the first to open the tombs to release all the serpentines. Everyone makes mistakes, it's important to admit and correct them or not allow them at all, but before they go through, they blame Jay for everything, well, you wanted adventures yourself, now do you want something? Let them not complain better.

Also, Jay's enemies such as Nadakhan and Unagami were not defeated in physical combat.

According to season 9, it may seem ridiculous that Jay lost his mind, does not behave the way he should, but the guys just don't know and will not understand what he went through in Nadakhan's ship, he was tortured, bullied, because of which he got injured, got trauma, no wonder fanfiction is written about this or they are posting videos for season 6. Because of Nadakhan, Jay began to be afraid of spiders, afraid of desires (wishes), afraid of pirates, whom he loved before or watching, also afraid of bridges, as shown in season 11 and the "island". In your opinion, is it normal to have such injuries (traumas)? This is not a joke or even funny.

Jay was the only ninja who went through this hell, through such cruel punishment because of the enemy, and he was the first ninja to see his friends die, for the second time in "Prime Empire", only then Lloyd in season 8 and 15. Lloyd tells everyone what he went through, but Jay doesn't, no one knows Nadakhan from ninja except Nya, although I think Nya doesn't know what he had to go through in his ship, and not just to wash the floors, do what he is told, as a cleaner, no, just no.

And before showing the pain, Jay seems to pretend that this did not happen, he continued to smile and have fun, although it was proven that he was always joking to hide his fears, also in season 9 he explained to young Wu, something like: "Sometimes a good laugh makes situations better by opening up eyes that are like everything is fine, it's good," Jay admitted it himself and he still does it, but it seems no one will understand it.

All people react differently, because we are all different humans, we have pain, suffering, loss in different ways, someone spills it out, someone keeps it to themselves, someone hides it behind a mask, laughing and joking like Jay, we will not talk about season 15 and how he fought with Jay, neither Kai or him is to blame, none of them is to blame, they just didn't understand each other, so they began to quarrel and fought, although if it were not Nya, one of them would have injured the other, or both injured each other, well, or Wu himself punished them

They reacted differently to the loss of Nya when she merged with the sea to save everyone, all the residents of the city, her friends, her teacher, her boyfriend, her Ying and brother, it's okay if someone is even depressed, we can't blame them.

Jay also lost Nya three times, first the poison of the tiger widow, then she turned into an energy cube, pushing Jay away, then merging with the sea, as Nyad did, he goes through it again, looks like his girlfriend, his love of his life and Yang leaves not for the first time, I won't anymore to write that he lost his memory and was rude to Nya, that he would always hate her in "Dragons Rising" season 2, but we hope that in future seasons she and the others will bring him back and help him regain his memory and maybe now Nya will lose Jay, who knows.

Also, everyone says and writes that Jay is the weakest and most useless of the ninjas, but let's not, remembering and everyone knows that lightning is a natural and powerful object, it can kill all people with one blow suddenly than get into lava while earthquakes or falling stones are approaching, drown under water or freeze under ice, snow, or bad weather.

Jay is holding on, he won't really kill enemies, other people, criminals or even his friends, he uses his element like electricity or current, everything, if Jay was something like a villain, he wouldn't keep his power under control, but on the contrary used it as dangerous weapons.

Jay was even someone who was on the verge of life and death too, first charging the battery, then his lungs contained amounts of salt and sea water.

From the first seasons, Jay became lightning with the help of "True potential", was fast as lightning, able to control electricity and other devices, of course, then he was made as a "stupid clown" or a "minor character", Jay is the same Jay, maybe in the next seasons the creators will prevent this, also returned as an inventor to to fix something, not only Nya or even Pixal, I just want people not to consider Jay some kind of minor annoying character who can do nothing but shoot lightning, talking, like motormouth and saying someone "stupid, cringe" jokes. I understand if you don't like this character, but calling him weak and useless is too much and yes, don't enter this includes Lloyd and the fact that he is stronger than Jay or others, it's not about him at all.

And you're also telling me that Jay has a normal life than the others?

[mooncrestedwaters]

Been thinking about Rafayel and how he shows his love (especially after his newest card trailer).

On the surface, Rafayel seems like he's an open book. He's witty, affectionate, chatty ect ect

But once you dig deeper you realise that he's that way...but only with the person he loves. He's actually quite reserved and doesn't enjoy being the center of attention, even going so far to say his job is a thing of self expression rather than something he actively strives to make money off of.

With the upcoming new 5* card of Rafayel's, I wasn't shocked that we didn't have a kiss or one where he tried to kiss us (and tbh his sweeter form of affection in wanting to cuddle us and snuggle into our neck made my tummy do flips and had me having a near breakdown from how much it made me gooey)

I feel like Rafayel is a yearner to his core, even his interviewer noted as much that he gave an air of 'romance' to him.

The best way I can describe it is; His love is like his profession and his EVOL.

Art takes time, it takes an observant eye and mind. I've grown up with artists my entire life and to make a painting is much more than slapping some acrylics onto a board and calling it a day. It takes tempering, to prepare the board, to build up layers upon the canvas to correct any mistakes without an eraser or undo button.

It's gentle, tending to the whims of the canvas to make a happy compromise of your own.

Onto his EVOL, Rafayel treats a relationship like a firepit. He wants it to have longevity, keeping himself and the fire alight. So instead of chucking a log onto the firepit he nourishes it with kindling, giving it a poke here and here to check on its status while being warmed by the flames.

Rafayel is also horrifically traumatised from previous encounters with love.

Think of it this way;

He was a Prince. Set to be throned as a King and live with his beloved forever.

He set out to find a devout follower to sacrifice their heart to him in turn found himself giving them his own heart and betraying everything because he wouldn't let a pre-destined prophecy rule himself or his beloved.

When he got his love back, in another timeline they were brainwashed and ended up killing him. The absolute agony you must go through, to be maliciously murdered and know that it's by the person you love but not their intention to do so and in your last breath you grant them mercy to die alongside you by singing them to death.

Moving onto Abysswalker Rafayel, the weight of being told you have to kill your love to resurrect your hometown, taking the love of your life on a wondrous journey to know you have to kill them in the end and instead erasing their memories of you permanently to protect them and keep them alive, rewriting a tome for their sake and thus dooming his beloved kingdom and people to be tormented for eternity of his peoples damned screams of death and agony.

Do you ever wonder if he has sat with himself and laminated over this horrifying fall from grace?

Yet he still does it, for them.

After ruminating over this; I wouldn't be as forward as the other LI either.

I think Rafayel is immaculately brave and loyal for even trying again, for still searching for his beloved over years and years.

He has his insecurities, they show when he gets bratty or needy. Quipping at his beloved for not having their sole attention on him, he's meant to be worshipped after all, doted on, praised for having put in so much effort.

Alas, his love doesn't remember, doesn't see the accumulation of sacrifices and things hes done for them.

So he hints, he prods and pokes gently and he starts having them warm up to him again. Braving a tender word here, a lovingly gentle touch there and moving up and forward until he can see that his beloved has fallen in love with him again.

Rafayel is a love that doesn't burn bright, it burns with stability, it burns with loyalty, it burns with truth and gentle care. He would never want to scorch his love.

Rafayel makes accommodations for them, weaving them into his life in any way, if that may be employing them to inviting them on little excursions. Even keeping a watchful eye over them, noticing when they're in need, hurt or just simply making his presence known as a comfortable 'You can come to me'.

He's a gentleman, a romantic...with a little edge (Rafayel audios I'm looking at you, hard)

Anyways, I should not drink copious amounts of caffeine within a short allotment of time. I hope my ramblings have been enjoyable 🤍🪽

[cinnamonest]

Pulchritudinous

Tohru Adachi x Reader

Words: 9.5k

Finally the day has come. I can write a character as a misogynist incel and know it's genuinely 100% canon. What a blessing.

for this I did a teacher! reader, therefore reader is of unspecified age but older than the main cast.

//VERY DARK, female reader, major p4 spoilers, heavy misogyny because it's Adachi how could there not be, implied stalking, near-death experience, major noncon (”have sex with me or die” scenario), threats of death and bodily harm, references to homicide, hair-pulling, choking, firearms, abduction, TV set shenanigans, Tohru likes pointing guns at people

Also I was too uncreative to think of a different slip of tongue so darling makes basically the exact same mistake Adachi makes in December lmao

Synopsis: As the homeroom teacher of the late murder victim, you’re called into the Inaba police station to answer some questions.

“Okay. Just a few questions.”

You forced a polite smile.

“Sure, go ahead.”

In truth, you felt like you were wasting your time.

You already knew most of what was going on. You already knew things that the police didn't. Sitting here was pointless, answering these questions was pointless — you could give him the truth, sure, but that presented a world of problems. It pretty much went without question that that would be a poor idea — you'd be written off as crazy, especially if it somehow didn't work when they tried to replicate your story. You couldn't risk getting fired, or worse, involuntarily committed over psychiatric concerns or something along those lines.

“Konishi was in your homeroom, right?”

You nodded. “That's correct.”

“And you've been to the Junes she worked at, right?”

“Mhm. Once a week or so.”

“Was she ever working while you were there?”

“I recall seeing her there once or twice.”

Yes, it was such a waste of time it felt frustrating. There was nothing you could say — well, nothing you could reasonably say — that would actually be of any help, as much as you wish there was.

“You were one of the last people to see her alive, right? The school said she came into your classroom right before she left.”

You nodded again. “Yes, she forgot to turn something in earlier the same day, so she came back to give it to me. It was only for a few seconds.”

“Did she say anything about where she was going?”

“Not that I recall. I just assumed she was headed home, or to work.”

“Did she seem to be behaving oddly?”

“Well, ah…” you thought back to the day, hit with a twinge of pain at the recollection. “She did seem like she was in a hurry. But not particularly.”

He wrote a few things down, pen scratching at the notepad.

You fidgeted in place, awkwardly clasping your hands together. “Sorry… I know those answers aren't very helpful.”

“No, no, it’s appreciated,” he assured you, albeit seemingly distracted by his task. You gave a weak smile in acknowledgement.

You hadn't intended to become involved in any of this. Hell, you just wanted a nice, quiet life as a teacher, away from the big cities, a small, quaint school. That was it, that was all you'd asked for — a place where you thought life would be slow and peaceful.

Serial murders were not the sort of thing that was supposed to happen in towns like these.

And even then, at this point you wished the murders themselves were the worst part of it all. You never wanted to be exposed to it all, wished you never slipped into that TV. You wanted a normal life, fully within the realm of reality. Not things that defied reality, things that made you pinch your flesh until the bruises were so numerous you knew you weren't dreaming.

Those kids had saved you then, sure, but now you bore the burden of knowing. Having to be aware of such a thing, the way it weighed on your mind, the endless confusion and disbelief as you still struggled to accept it, having to see those kids’ faces in class each day, having them awkwardly come up to you in town outside of school — a routine by now, wherein they assured you that they were working hard on “the case,” and of course, in awkward roundabout ways, always seeking assurance that you hadn't said a word to anyone else.

You took a deep breath, clearing your mind of such thoughts, turning your attention back to Adachi.

He was trying his best, you told yourself, even if you often felt like he was perhaps not particularly well-suited for police detective work. That dopey smile, that scatterbrained nature, it didn’t seem quite aligned to most people’s idea of a cop — someone who was supposed to be stern, observant, competent.

As for you, well, you'd felt pity for him, between seeing him barked at by Dojima day in and day out, and the general stress the man seemed to be under. You'd gone out of your way to try and be nice to him, even greeted him in public when you saw him — which, given the small world that was Inaba, was fairly often.

You'd been called in for questioning a total of three times, counting today. The first two had been at more convenient hours of the day, whereas today, the detective asked you rather last-minute if you could come in right then and there — inconvenient, sure, but when you considered that it was ultimately for the sake of the poor murdered girl, you couldn't bring yourself to reject coming. Besides, you were the one that found her, it was only natural that you'd be questioned extensively.

Still, there was an issue, one you had noticed as soon as he’d started questioning.

“I don't mean to be rude, but, uh…” You gave your best attempt to be polite, “didn't we… go over most of these questions before?”

He stopped writing. His eyes widened for a moment, but then, they closed as he gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head in a sheepish gesture.

“Well, ah, I may or may not have misplaced the notes from last time… I was hoping you wouldn't notice… haha.”

You did not like the knowledge that this man was responsible for public safety.

Still, out of awkward politeness, you waved your hand dismissively, maintaining the pleasant, not-too-exaggerated smile plastered to your face. “Oh, no worries.”

He looked down to the ground, turning his head a bit to the side wistfully.

“Well, now that you say that, more importantly…”

He trailed off. You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head in curiosity.

He turned his head back towards you, giving you another sheepish smile.

“…To tell you the truth… there's, ah, something else I wanted to ask you about.”

There was something off about the tone with which he spoke those words, an audible indicator that whatever the subject matter he referred to was, would be something uncomfortable, unpleasant, rather than an inquiry of a neutral nature.

You blinked a few times, taken aback by the unexpected shift in atmosphere.

“Oh, uh, okay. What is it?”

There was a moment of pause, as if hesitant. He leaned back against the seat cushions, holding his hand out in an explanatory gesture.

“Well, you know, I'm a pretty observant guy, and the higher-ups have me keeping tabs on various people involved… I tend to notice and remember details, take in everything around me, you know, stuff that goes right over most people's heads.” He paused and, catching the confusion on your face, added, “just to preface. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea.”

Yes, something was off. There was a tension in the atmosphere, anticipation making you increasingly uneasy.

But still… polite. You had to be polite. He was a good guy at heart, even if awkward.

“Oh, I'm sure it's fine.” You closed your eyes for a moment as you waved your hand again. “Don't worry, I'm not sensitive or anything.”

He seemed to take that reassuringly, as his posture seemed to relax, but still hesitated a moment more before leaning forward, coming to slouch over with his elbows resting on his thighs, resting his head against one hand.

“…What's a teacher doing hanging out with a bunch of teenage boys so much?”

You hadn't been expecting any one question in particular, nor even had the slightest idea of what he could possibly want to know, but nonetheless, the question he asked was so out of bounds of normality and social appropriateness that it blindsided you completely, leaving you to sit there completely still, slack-jawed and blinking. Still, you forced a smile as you replied.

“…Ah, I… what?”

He smiled as well, seemingly oblivious to your awkward unease.

“Narukami and his friends, I mean.” He tilted his head, gazing off to the side, seemingly trying to present the matter in a nonchalant manner. "I, ah, couldn’t help but notice I saw them talking to you outside of school several times, in all sorts of places.”

“…Narukami?” You tilted your head. “A-ah, well, those kids all… go to Yasogami. So, they're all my students…”

Your thoughts shifted to the kids — your own students, the ones who saved you on that day not long ago at all. And with the thought of them, everything else, all the memories and disbelief and bewilderment, the things you'd tried to push out of your mind for the sake of your own sanity, came rushing back. Your body went stiff.

But of course, you could never even begin to tell Adachi the truth. As much as you wanted to help, you'd be written off as crazy within seconds — saying people could enter an alternate dimension by stepping inside the TV screen was not exactly within the bounds of sanity.

Besides, you still weren't even certain how all that stuff worked, having decided to rid your mind of it and not ask any questions. Even if he was willing to humor you enough to experiment with your claims, what if it didn't work for him? You could envision it now, putting his hand on the TV screen, only for nothing to happen, and the horrible embarrassment to follow.

Then again, the alternative could be even worse — if it did work, what kind of Pandora’s Box would you be opening? Would you be putting people at risk? He was, in the nicest way you could put it, a bit of a dimwit, and you wouldn’t want him doing something rash and getting himself hurt trying to go in.

No, it wasn't even worth entertaining the thought. You clasped your hands together, looking down at the ground, coming up with an explanation on the spot.

“And ever since Konishi was…” You shook your head, pausing for a moment before you continued. “…A lot of those kids have been talking to the faculty… they need someone for comfort… counseling. It's been hard on them. Hanamura and Narukami just happened to come to me.”

“Right, right.”

The phrasing itself was assurance, but somehow, his response didn’t sound entirely convincing, as if insincere, and pressed you to stammer out whatever further defense you could find.

“A-and, ah, Narukami himself is still getting adjusted to living out here and all. He's… from the city, you know.”

“Ah, aha, that makes sense.” He kept up the awkward smile. “I was worried for a minute there… that you were one of those kinds of teachers.”

You blinked, eyes going wide open as the response came out of your mouth on instinct, without any real thought, simply the obvious thing to say to such a statement. “No, no, nothing like that, I…”

You trailed off, not even sure how to continue. The sort-of-accusation hit you with total bewilderment, felt completely unexpected. In what world was that an appropriate thing to ever say to someone, especially with so little evidence? Why would his mind even go to such a trail of thought? It was only the sort of conclusion you could imagine some kind of perverse deviant drawing, and you couldn't imagine him as someone like that.

But you refrained from any strong negative reaction, outwardly at least.

You liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just one of those people that had difficulty understanding social conventions and standards of appropriateness — you'd had students like that in the past, and you liked to think you were a particularly empathetic and understanding person when it came to things of that nature.

“Ah, well, don’t worry, I get it now. Sorry about that… now I feel a little dumb for having asked, hah…”

"Oh, it's, ah, it's fine."

Your response was equally awkward. You knew your discomfort had to be palpable.

He flashed you an awkward smile, but it only lasted a mere second.

And then—

“Well, guess that's it for questioning.”

With those words, he reached over to the small table beside the couch, and turned the light off, leaving the room only dimly lit by lights in the outside hallway, coming in through the half-open door. He then stood up, the dated leather of the couch on his side of the table making a slight sound at the moment.

“A-ah, um, what are—”

Your jaw clamped shut as he quickly ventured around the table and sat down next to you — directly next to you, your thighs touching each other’s. You went rigid, hands clasped together on your lap tightening their grip on each other.

“Don’t worry, I had a feeling you weren’t that sort,” he said, a much lower, more hushed voice. “Still, you should really be more careful… it'd be easy for someone to get the wrong idea.”

Your mouth felt dry. You sensed that the pause was intentional, giving you room to say something in return, yet the utterly bizarre and off-putting shift of the conversation, combined with the sudden proximity and invasion of your personal space, left you silent, slack-jawed, and thus, he filled the silence when you didn’t respond.

“…Speaking of, you're getting kinda up there, age-wise, you know. Kinda surprising you're all by yourself.”

He leaned back against the couch. Alarm bells sounded in your head. You didn't want to be rude, you didn't want to risk overreacting — maybe you had the wrong idea, maybe you were misunderstanding, and then it would look really bad on your part if you acted on that misunderstanding, maybe he wasn't aware of how it was coming off, the possibilities of what was happening flew through your mind all at once. You sat still, but stiff.

He didn't seem to notice.

“You really should start thinking about your future.”

You felt every nerve ending in your body ignite with the discomfort and alarm of unfamiliarity as his arm wrapped around the back side of the couch, coming to touch the back of your neck, forearm resting on your shoulder. The casual hold around you grew tighter, his arm pushing you inward towards him.

“You know, ‘cause most women your age are getting into serious rela—”

You moved on pure reflex.

Your body sprang back in the opposite direction, feet scrambling against the tile. Your hands reflexively pushed outward, shoving against him, and you found yourself tumbling off the couch and falling flat onto the floor, grunting as your tailbone hit the harsh surface.

For a moment, the pain that it sent up your spine consumed your attention, distracting you for a few seconds as you winced, pulling yourself to sit upright.

And then, you processed what you'd done. Your head snapped back upwards to look at him. “A-ah, I…”

He looked caught off-guard, momentarily wide-eyed with the sudden startle, having been moved slightly to the side by the force of your push.

And then, his face fell.

His eyes went half-lidded, smile disappearing. A total shift in expression, to one you had never seen the young officer wear before — one you wouldn't have thought his face was capable of.

His voice dropped low, a flat and empty tone.

“…You too, huh.”

You blinked rapidly, heart only beating harder and faster at the feeling of dread and alarm that began to rise up in your stomach. You pushed yourself backwards, hands pushing at the ground to move your body away from him.

“What… what do you—”

“And here I thought you were such a sweet girl.” His voice interrupted yours as he took a step forward, a cold dramaticism to his tone. “So nice… you really seemed to get me.”

You blinked in bewilderment, cold dread beginning to bloom in your gut. You barely knew the man, having only spoken to him a handful of times, most of which were about the case, and a few passing words when you ran into each other in town.

He stopped once he reached you, his shadow looming over your sprawled form. His eyes narrowed.

“But no, you're just another snobby little bitch, aren't you.” His nose wrinkled with his expression of disgust. “Think you're too good for me, don't you?”

You scrambled up to your feet, stumbling on unsteady legs. You pulled your hands up to your chest, curling them into fists, a defensive reflex. Confusion and panic rapidly began to take over, you could feel your heart beginning to pound heavy and fast as the reality of the situation settled in.

“No, no I—” you swallowed, shaking your head in an instinctive reaction to the sudden hostility. “I didn’t mean to—I was just startled, don’t…”

You found yourself trailing off, unable to summon coherent words through your alarm.

He looked you up and down, expression of apathetic disdain unwavering.

“And to think I gave you a chance.” He sighed. “Thought you'd be different from those two.”

You blinked. Something about those words hit you like a punch to the stomach, but you couldn't tell why. Like a siren going off in your head, a chill that ran through your blood, your gut instincts unmistakably commanding you to get away — and you would, except for the fact that, as you realized with the sense of alarm in your chest growing exponentially, he stood between you and the only exit from the room.

“What… what do you mean those—”

Your words cut off.

Time itself came to a standstill. You stood, motionless as a corpse, as a chill pierced your chest. A deep, profound sensation of cold that spread out from your heart, into your blood. You were certain you could physically feel the ice spread out through your veins, to every cell in your being, an all-consuming cold.

You realized that, as he said those words, his gaze shifted over to the side. Your eyes followed his line of sight.

He was looking at the TV, tucked away on a stand in the corner of the room.

Why was he looking at the TV?

You could feel your pulse in your chest. You could feel your pulse in your neck. You could feel it in your head, your fingertips, the way the blood began to rush through your body, the way your heart began to pound, an electrifying sensation setting every nerve in your body alight.

The direction of his gaze, his words, the sudden shift in demeanor so drastic it felt as if he’d swapped places with a different person entirely— it made the hairs on your body stand on end, goosebumps spreading across your skin, and a deep, unnerving sense of nauseous dread as your frantic thoughts began to align. Your muscles went tense, shoulders bunching up.

Words came out between your lips, words you heard more than you spoke, as if your mouth moved on its own. A low murmur, just barely above a whisper.

“…Did…”

You took a step backwards. Your body twitched, shivered.

“…Did you…?”

Silence hung in the air.

You would expect someone in his position to look shocked, panicked, regardless of the truth of the matter. To rush to their own defense, to immediate respond.

But he did not.

There was a few seconds of pause. For just a moment, his eyebrows raised, but his expression was otherwise neutral.

And then, the officer's eyes fell half-lidded, and ever so slowly, the corners of his mouth pulled upward.

Something inhuman stared down at you, a malicious, sinister grin spread across his face, stretched just far enough to look inhuman, uncanny.

Your heart began to speed up. Your voice grew louder, but it audibly wavered with panic.

“You… you put them in there?”

That time, it was his turn for his eyes to go wide, an eerie smile slowly spreading across his face. He tilted his head, the motion seeming almost mechanical.

“Oh…?”

A jolt of panic ran through your veins as you caught your mistake. Your hands instinctively darted to cover your mouth, but it was too late. He took ominously slow steps towards you, each one making a harsh clack as his soles made contact with the tile.

“’Put them in there…?’ What an odd choice of words…” His voice grew lower, deeper, eyes still plastered wide open. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you know some things you have no business knowing.”

You took a step back.

He took a step forward.

“How might that be…? Those kids, maybe?” He cast his gaze over to the TV once more. “I had a feeling something like that might be going on, with you talking to them so much.”

Then, his eyes slowly turned back towards you.

He kept smiling. The same expression, yet so far removed from the cheerful, dopey one you were so used to, the face almost didn't register with your recognition, as if you were looking at a different person.

And then, it grew so much it made his eyes narrow, from mere malicious amusement, to sadistic glee.

“…Intentionally withholding information from the police is a pretty serious offense, you know. ‘Obstruction of justice.’ It’s a felony.”

Your stomach churned, you felt nauseous, muscles tense with the urge to move, but forced still by lack of option. You could only move back further, further away from both him and your only way away from him.

“What… what about the other people that went in? Was that you, too?”

His face fell, almost comically, shifting from eerie to unamused, as if your question was so exasperating it made him drop the intimidating act.

“…God, you are really, really stupid, you know that?” He sighed, shoulders falling. “You just realized that saying too much is a bad idea, and then you immediately do it again?” He shook his head, letting it fall downward with mock exasperation. “Geez, lady.”

But then, you saw his expression perk up with amusement once more.

“But, guess that means I was right… you are collaborating with those brats. I had a feeling.”

Your heart pounded harder still. You kept stumbling back as he crept ever closer, torturously slowly. You held your hands up to your chest in a natural, reflexive instinct of defense, shrinking back.

“…You’re not… saying you didn’t… do it…?”

He shrugged.

“Don't see much of a point in that now.”

He wasn't denying it.

But the simple fact itself was not what made every hair on your body stand up. It was a slow buildup of dread, blooming in your chest, and as the thoughts processed, it was those words, more than any others thus far, that made your blood run cold.

He didn't care if you knew.

He didn't see you being a threat. He wasn't worried about you telling anyone.

Then—

You felt cold. Time seemed to slow down. You were hyper-aware of every muscle, every nerve, you could feel the blood rushing through your body.

“Guess we were both hiding something,” he said in a low tone, taking another step, forcing you further back.

And then, the inevitable happened, causing your blood to run colder still, the fear in your system amplified tenfold in a single second.

Your back hit the corner.

You pressed into it as hard as you could out of instinct to get away, as if it would give way if you did.

But it did not. You were trapped, a little animal cornered by its hunter.

“Ah… ah…” Your breathing grew ragged. Your body trembled, your eyes began to water. “I… Adachi-san…”

The only light was that which came in through the hall, hitting his back, casting a shadow over his face, only the whites of his eyes and grinning teeth standing out — nightmarish, something that could only be recognized as sadistic ecstasy. Pure, unadulterated malice.

He was going to throw you in. He was going to throw you in there and you’d die. The image ran through your mind, so quickly retrieved now that it was irreparably burned into your brain, the shape caught up in the wires, a black outline in the early morning light, how you’d told yourself you were just seeing things, that your brain was spooked from the news of the prior murder, before the rising sun made the image undeniable.

The way you’d squinted and facial recognition hit your body like a punch to the stomach, taking the breath out of your lungs, how you felt the horror slowly rise up into your chest like ice cold water filling your body, how you’d dropped your phone and struggled to dial the police from how hard your hands trembled.

It would be you. You’d be strung up on the wires, dangling by your limbs in a manner almost graceful if not for the entrenchment in death.

You could tell that he could see it all playing out on your face, the thoughts and realizations and terror, by the way his smile split at the line, whites of his teeth standing out in the darkness.

“Well then.”

You didn't have time to move. Before you could even react, he had the collar of your shirt in his hand, twisting the fabric, pulling you upward.

You stumbled around, only the balls of your feet able to even touch the ground. “Wait, wait, stop— I’m sorry—”

“What was that?” He said, voice mocking, cynical. “You said you were sorry?”

You nodded profusely. You weren't thinking too much about it — your only instinct was that trying to appease him might save you.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to— I was just startled, I wasn't trying to push you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

You spoke so fast your words slurred together, your voice was shrill and cracking. Tears began to pour down your cheeks. Your body shivered beyond your control, a fear unlike anything you'd known in your life.

There was no movement, no harsh dragging and jerking and inevitable pushing you might have expected.

“…Hm.”

You could only make out the shape and colors of his face, unable to see his exact expression through the blur of your tears. But his voice was hesitant, pensive, as if the blood-pumping rush of the moment were brought to a sudden stop.

Your heels connected to the ground as he lowered you, but he didn't let go of the fistful of your shirt. His other hand reached up, and although you winced in anticipation, all he did was wipe at your eyes with his sleeve. Trembling, teeth chattering, you slowly turned your head up to look at him, his face now so much closer than it had ever been.

The smile was smaller, fainter, but still present nonetheless.

“…You know what? I like you, Little Miss Teacher.”

He reached up to grab your jaw, a harsh and painful grip.

“Look at you, apologizing like that… so meek.” He leaned his face closer to yours, lowering his voice to a husky murmur. “You seem like you know your place, recognize your mistakes…” His voice lowered to bitter mutter as he finished, “instead of doubling down on being a bitch.”

He pulled your head to tilt further upward, forcing a degree of eye contact no matter which way you looked. He spoke lower, quieter.

“Self-awareness is a good trait to have.”

You couldn't bring yourself to speak. Your throat was strained, your mind ran blank. You could only stare with wide eyes, fighting every instinct to claw at his hands, what little rationality you had left telling you it would only worsen your situation.

“But I still think you're a little full of yourself.” His fingernails pushed into the flesh of your face. “You could use some humility.”

You whimpered, a pitiful little sound. You could see his smile grow as it met his ears.

He let go.

You crumpled to the ground, knees hitting the surface painfully, hands pressing to the floor to keep you from toppling over entirely.

He took a few slow, nonchalant steps back towards the center of the room, pausing as he reached a small table close to the door, turning back towards you and leaning against it.

“Hey, how ‘bout I give you a chance to redeem yourself?” He titled his head. “If you can prove you're sorry, I think I can let this slide.”

He reached one hand over to the opposite hip. Before you could even make out in the dark what he pulled out from underneath the veil of his suit jacket, the recognition hit as he extended his arm back out to point the object at you, and a heart-stopping, unmistakable click.

“Go on. I'm waiting.”

You trembled, reaching one hand to clutch to your chest again. “What… what do you want me to do…?”

His face turned unamused once more, voice equally so as he gave a blunt, low-voiced reply.

“You’re not that stupid.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your throat. You swallowed, looking down.

For a moment, you hesitated. Your mind scrambled for reasons why he couldn’t kill you. He couldn't — right? Your blood would get on the floor, he wouldn't have the ability to clean it out well enough, right?

But no one else knew you were here. No one would know to look here. If he cleaned it up and threw your body in, that would be the end of it.

There was no other option.

Your trembling hands reached down to your outfit — a cardigan, a button-up and a pencil skirt, the general standard for your profession — and slipped the outermost layer off. After a moment of uncertain hesitation, you resolved to simply throw it into the floor. Then, you began unfastening the first button at the top of your shirt, struggling with how hard you shivered.

“You wear that to school?” His words broke the momentary silence. “In front of a bunch of teenagers?”

You clenched your jaw. You didn't think it was in any way inappropriate. “I… it’s not bad…”

“Wonder how that's even allowed,” he continued, as if you hadn’t spoken. “You get off to high school boys staring at you, is that it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, shaking your head. “N-no, I've never—”

“God, you are that kind of teacher after all. Haha!” He laughed aloud, reaching his other palm upon to his face. “I knew you were. I could tell just by watching you walking out the school gates every day… always talking to that brat.” He shook his head, then sighed. “No wonder girls these days are such whores, with role models like that.”

You stopped mid-motion, hands clenching at your shirt as the meaning of his words registered. Images flashed through your mind, all the unique and loveable young girls in your class, and of her. Even in your dread, you found spiteful anger bubbling up in your chest, voice coming out weak and wavering, but defiant nonetheless.

“Don't… don't say things like that, you—”

“Did I tell you to stop?” His head snapped back in your direction, nose wrinkling with an expression of disgust.

You winced, mouth snapping shut. With tears prickling at your eyes, you continued.

Your jaw was clenched, face growing warm as you undid the last button, hesitating for a moment before you let it fall off your shoulders, weakly tossing it to the floor as well before going for the zipper on the side of the skirt, shaky fingers pulling it downward.

“So mechanical about it…” He sighed, disappointed. “If you're not gonna even try and make this part entertaining, the least you can do is hurry it up.” He gave the pistol a light shake to emphasize. “C'mon.”

You bit your lip, forcing your pace faster. The skirt hit the ground, and you pulled your tights off your legs so quickly that one side split open as you did. Your feet pulled out of your shoes, tile cold against your bare soles.

Then, you hesitated. Embarrassment washed over you as you looked down at all that was left.

Your eyes darted up to the man pointing the gun at you once more. He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head with that cocky smirk on his face, nudging the pistol in the direction of the pile of clothing now by your side.

You closed your eyes and reached your hands behind your back, elastic material snapping as you undid the clasp. You pulled the waistband around your hips downward, and tossed both to the side.

The air was cold against your skin. Goosebumps covered your body, far more for from fear than the chill.

You reached a hand up over your chest, pressing your legs together, trying to find some semblance of dignity.

“Aw, shy? That's adorable.” He chuckled. Snide grin unfaltering, he reached his other hand up, gesturing with a finger for you to come forward. The other arm didn't move, deadly weapon still pointed directly at you.

You tried, but your body wouldn't move. The instinct to stay away was too strong, an inherent gut reaction bred into your brain by who knew how many millions of years of survival of your species.

Prey animals didn't run right into the gaping maw of their predators.

But you had to. You had to.

You took a deep breath, and forced one of your legs to move forward. Then another, forming a forward momentum that you just had to keep going, more a matter of letting your weight glide forward and catching it again and again, rather than forcing each step individually. You kept your gaze at the ground. If you looked up, you knew you'd freeze again, and you didn't know if you had the willpower to force movement from stillness again.

You stopped when his legs were visibly right before you. Your heart was pounding, beating so fiercely you could physically see the pulsating of your wrist moving with the flow of blood.

“There, see?” He reached forward, placing his hand atop your head. “You know your place after all.”

Even through the overwhelming sensation of heavy dread, the burn of humiliated fury made its way through. You clamped your jaw harshly, teeth grinding, but not letting that anger lead you to any foolish action.

You inhaled sharply, closing your eyes as his hands then brushed against your shoulder. The touch was cold, leaving a trail of sensation as his hand trailed down your arm, the electrifying feeling lasting on each spot even after it was touched. You winced at the gentle clack sound as the gun was set down on the table’s surface.

And then, you went tense, inhaling a sharp breath as his hands harshly grabbed at your arm and your neck, roughly turning you around and pushing your upper body downward. Your feet stumbled to steady your stance, and your hands reached out to the nearby wall. The panic in your chest felt as if some accumulating bubble of emotion had burst, the intense chill of suddenly rushing through your body, leaving you unable to do anything but stand there — a bitter helplessness, a burning fury at your own pathetic weakness beneath the terror.

“Oh, and hey,” his fingers dug painfully into your arm, “feel free to scream or whatever. I made sure to pick a night no one else would be here.”

You stiffened. Even in your fear and panic and confusion, you managed to make the words out well enough to infer the implication. You turned your head over your shoulder to the best of your ability.

“You—you… planned…?”

“Mm?” He raised an eyebrow. “Obviously. I needed the station to be empty in case you made me kill you, y’know?” He said it nonchalantly, as if it were a trivial matter. “But hey, it was only insurance, just in case… I knew I probably wouldn’t need it. You seemed like you’d be good for me.”

He pulled harshly at the fistful of your hair.

“And whaddya know, I was right. Third time's the charm… or whatever that saying is.”

Bitterness welled in your chest. Your head hung heavily against his hold, pulling at your scalp.

“Now…”

You winced and yelped as he turned you around and your face hit the table, pain radiating from the spot of impact. Your immediate reflex was to put your hands on the table and push upward, but his hand in your hair kept you shoved downward, with an added hand pressing your back into an arch.

You didn't get any moments of mental preparation, much less physical. No sooner had you grunted in pain from the impact than you felt the sudden harsh burning sear of friction to the most sensitive flesh, your body being forced apart by sudden intrusion. You inhaled a sharp, gasping breath, instinctively trying to lurch forward away from the sting, but his hands easily pulled you back, pushing further inside of you until you felt the fabric at the front of his thighs meet the back of yours, hips pressed up against your ass.

“God, fuck.” You heard his voice from behind you, spoken more like a harsh whisper of breath. “…’s warm…”

He pulled back. You gasped and whimpered at the sensation of flesh dragging against your insides, onto to squeal, body jolting as he slammed back inside in one swift motion. Twice, a third time, each making you go tense, shivering, walls spasming.

“M-Maybe you're not such a slut after all…” he murmured. “You feel good.”

You said nothing, unable to summon any words, merely letting out a miserable little sound as the rough motions continued, pressing your forehead to the flat surface below as tears fell down your face and a soft string of under-the-breath curses made their way to your ears.

And then, the motion came to a halt.

“But you're so noisy… listening to you squealing like that is giving me a headache.”

A moment of pause, heavy tension, deliberately drawn out. You felt the faintest shift of muscle against your backside as he turned his upper body over in the direction of the television.

You grunted as he pulled out, leaving your hole twitching. His arms wrapped around you waist, lifting you just enough that your feet left the ground, somewhat awkwardly making a few steps over to where the screen sat in its place on the stand. Your heart felt as if it were going to burst out of your chest, a cold rush ran through your body.

His hand reached up, taking a fistful of your hair once more.

“And you know what else…”

He came to a halt, sheathing himself back inside of you with a harshness that made your jaw clench in pain, taking a few heaving breaths before practically growling into your ear.

“You're not afraid enough.”

Your own breath was ragged, more panic than you'd ever felt in your life causing your heart to pound like it never had before. “No, no please don't—don’t—”

And then, taking a fistful of your hair in his hand once more, he shoved your upper half through the screen.

Out of pure logical instinct, you tensed and squeezed your eyes shut as to brace yourself for brute impact, for shattering glass that would cut your scalp and scrape your arms.

But instead, there was a sudden void. All the noises of your scuffling movements and the low hum of the air ventilation system in the station was suddenly gone, replaced by only hollow quiet, only broken by the low, eerie groan of the atmosphere itself.

Your arms reached out, desperately seeking something to grab, to hold, to push back on, but you felt nothing, limbs merely frantically flailing into the yellow void.

You squealed, but that time, it echoed around you, surrounded by a thick, heavy fog. You could make out the deep yellow atmosphere around you, but you were being jerked back and forth so harshly, and the tears in your eyes and the fog itself so deeply blurring your vision, to the point it was impossible to make out anything.

You couldn't hear him anymore — but even so, you could still feel him pounding into your body.

He tilted you forward. You felt his arm, having pushed through the screen, latch onto the back of your shirt to keep you from falling. Your feet left the ground, your weight shifting from being mostly on the other side, to most of it falling forward on the side of your upper half. You were entirely suspended by his strength.

If he were to let go, you'd fall in completely.

You shrieked. A high-pitched wail that echoed all around you, a sound of pure terror. Your hands reached out in an attempt to push yourself back, but found nothing, merely flailing in the air.

And then, you were jerked backwards.

Your squealing continued until he slapped his hand over your mouth.

You could hear it again, the slapping of skin on skin. Your body was fully back in the real world. Your back hit his chest.

“Was that the sound you were making the whole time your head was in there?” There was mirth in his voice, laughing out the words themselves. “You wanna go back in? Kinda nice in there, isn’t it?”

“No, no!” You shook your head rapidly. “D-don’t, please, I don't want—”

“You could go all the way in, you know.” He pulled on your hair harshly as he jerked his hips forward and came to a halt, holding you still, pain shooting through your scalp. “It would be so easy,” he hissed into your ear. “All it would take is one little push.”

You gasped for breath, unable to respond beyond shaking your head further.

“You haven't been on the Midnight Channel, either,” he added. “Those little brats wouldn't know to come looking for you ‘till it was too late.”

He chuckled, a deranged, low sort — and then went quiet. His torso leaned further forward, face brushing against the side of your neck in a gesture that, in any other context, could have been affectionate. Still sheathed inside your body, he slowly rolled his hips again, a long-drawn out movement, savoring the feeling. Your face scrunched up with uninhibited despair as he spoke again, through labored breaths, as he began to speed up the pace again.

“…But you know what? I don't need the TV to kill you.”

Then, his voice lowered. The playful mockery vanished, something far darker that had been bubbling beneath the surface finally broke through — a low growling voice, a deep, furious malice.

“Stupid fucking woman. I could snap your neck. I could put my hands—”

His hand reached up—

“—On your throat and just—”

It squeezed hard. You jolted and gagged as your airway was cut off.

“I could kill you with my bare hands, right here. Is that what you want?”

You didn't give a verbal response, merely shaking your head rapidly, animal-like whines of fear coming out of your throat.

But that wasn't enough. You heard a low, growl-like sound in your ear, and his voice came out equally so, almost inhuman.

“I said, is that what you fucking want?!”

“No! No, please, Adachi-san, please don't—”

Tears, snot and saliva coated your face. You shook your head, whimpers fragmented by each harsh, rapid thrust that shoved your body forward, each jerk of his arms that pulled you back, and muffled by your asphyxiation.

You could feel his breath on your ear as he continued.

“Then you want me to keep fucking you, don't you?”

It was obvious, of course, that that was what he meant — the only alternative to death. You nodded, choking out your words.

“Yes, please…”

He didn’t respond immediately, moving fast enough that he had to take a few heavy, ragged breaths before hissing the words into your ear through clenched teeth.

“Then beg for it.” His fingers curled further, nails digging into your flesh — yet lightening the pressure on your throat, allowing you to breathe, even if only with heaving effort. “I wanna hear how good you can beg for me.”

You whimpered, mouth hanging open as you tried and failed to summon any words, emotion and stimulus so overwhelming it hindered your ability to even think. His cock stretched you apart, the circumstantial fear causing you to clamp down so hard that he was practically constantly pushing inward with force, rather than your body pulling him in as it might have done with someone you were willingly allowing to do these things to you. Each movement drug against your insides with coarse, burning friction.

He huffed in impatience.

“C’mon. Do it—”

He snapped his hips forward especially harsh, ramming your whole body forward with the force.

“—Like your life depends on it.”

The jerking motion snapped you out of the momentary stupor. Your voice trembled.

“Ah, ah, Adachi-s-san, please, I—”

“Oh, come on. Is that how you call your lover?”

Your brain scrambled to rectify the matter, but he was such a near-stranger to you, you couldn't remember. Maybe he'd said it once, but even as you desperately tried to recall, you couldn't.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I don't… I don't know your…”

There was a pause. You heard the soft, disdainful tch from his mouth.

“Tohru.”

You swallowed.

“T-Tohru…” You squeezed your eyes shut, words coming out uneasy, blatantly forced and foreign. “Please, Tohru, don’t… d-don’t stop, don’t…”

It must have been good enough, as you felt his fingers dig into your hips harder, felt his body shudder against yours.

“Heh… haha…” The amusement in his voice made a bitter burning swell in your chest. “You get off to this, don't you?”

Your mouth opened to protest, to say no.

But you stopped short, a throaty whine coming out of your mouth. Your priority was survival.

You nodded your head.

“’Course you do,” he mumbled, voice growing increasingly husky and laden with labored breaths. He jerked your hair again, pulling you even further towards him, ensuring his chest was firmly pressed to your back. “Little whore… it's always the girls that look so wholesome that are into the freakiest shit, huh."

You could hear the strain in his voice as it began to waver. He leaned in closer, breath hot on your ear.

"This was probably what you wanted, wasn't it? The whole hard-to-get shtick is fun for you, isn't it?"

Once more, you ignored any emotions or knee-jerk reaction of such an accusation, repressed the bitter fury, merely nodded your head. "Mhm, mm..." Your lip trembled, tears leaking out and trailing down your cheeks.

His hips moved faster and faster still, the movement growing frenzied and erratic.

“Of course you’d turn— turn out to be such, such a slut… I knew you’d want it, I knew you—shit—”

He came to a sudden halt, one final jerking pull of your hips to meet his, sheathed fully inside. You felt his cock twitch inside your body.

And then, everything was still.

With the sudden end of the slapping of skin on skin that had reverberated around the room, there was a sudden void of quiet, near silence, barring ragged breathing. You kept perfectly still, the shock and emotion that still coursed through your body so intense, you didn’t even shiver.

Your mind felt as if in a fog, a heavy daze that left you feeling cold and numb, everything felt far away, not real, distant. You kept still, staring forward.

It wasn’t until you felt him slide out of your body, releasing his hold, that you snapped out of the daze, stumbling forward, falling to your knees, legs far too weakened and stiff to support you.

For a moment, you kept your gaze at the ground. You tried to let your mind slip back into the stupor, desperate for some sense of escape, to savor the few precious seconds you could let yourself be anywhere but here, that you could shut him and the reality before you out, that you could delay facing having to look at him again.

But it was only the briefest of seconds before the light from down the hall was cut off again by the shadow looming over you. You began to shiver, chest heaving with breaths that burned your lungs.

Slowly, with eyes and expression blank with the remnant shock and daze, pathetically curled up on the floor, you turned your head upward.

“…Congratulations, Miss Teacher.” You could see the smile once more, the whites of his teeth practically glowing against the shadow, the cruel mockery in his voice crawling under your skin. “You’re way too meek. I've decided killing you would be no fun. Aren't you happy?”

Each gasp for breath burned in your throat, your chest. The words didn’t register immediately — several quiet seconds passed as you slumped over, staring up at him in a dazed stupor, body shivering with aftershock and weariness.

“Th-then… I…” you swallowed, body trembling beyond your control. “I can… go…?”

His eyebrows raised, a momentary look of surprise.

“Huh? Oh, no, no, you—” he cut off with a small bout of laughs, holding his palm to his face and tilting his head upward as if you'd just said the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. “Ahaha, don't tell me you actually thought I was just going to let you leave? That's—” He cut off with another laugh.

Your heart felt as if it sank. You felt cold.

And then, he went quiet. He slowly turned his gaze back to you, voice growing lower, quieter, a dramatic ominousness exuding from his body with his words.

“What kind of protector of the public would I be if I just let such a suspicious person walk right out of here?” Hands on his hips and eyes closed, he tilted his head downward and sighed, slowly shaking it back and forth in a mock gesture of exasperation. “You withheld information from the police, regarding a murder at that, and you seem to have knowledge of the killer’s M.O…. that’s what we call a ‘person of interest’ in cases like this, you know.”

And then, despite his momentary attempt at mock seriousness, his restraint seemed to crumble away as the corners of his mouth turned upward, malicious glee breaking through the act. His eyes opened just enough to look at you, narrowed by the grin spreading across his face once more.

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to remain in police custody for the foreseeable future.”

You curled in further on yourself, shoulders hunching up, hands curling into fists before you brought them up to your chest in a meek, defensive instinct. Your throat felt dry. You felt your heartbeat pounding in your throat.

The way the smile on his face curled further made it clear the despair showed on your face. He chuckled.

“Well, c’mon. Put some clothes on.” He tilted his head in the direction of where they sat on the floor. “You can't walk out there naked.”

Your eyes widened. The words gave you a sinking feeling in your stomach. “…Out… there…?”

He sighed.

“God, you really are dense. Did you not get that? I’m taking you home.”

You didn’t really know what you expected, as the conclusion from his earlier words was obvious, yet hearing him say it so directly made another surge of panic course through your body. Instinctively, and perhaps against better judgement, you shook your head.

“But, but I can’t— I don’t want—”

“…Oh?” His eyes narrowed, unamused and dark expression on his face. “Well, if you don't wanna come with me, then…”

His eyes trailed back over to the television.

Even as exhaustion wore over your body, fear still gripped at your chest, and your answer came on instinct.

“N-no, I'll go with you, I'll…” You swallowed, squeezing your teary eyes shut for a moment before looking back up at him. Your body was shivering. Your next words came out in a hushed, high-pitched whimper, audibly verging on tears. “…I'll go…”

The smile returned to his face.

“Good girl.”

The words made you shudder, revulsion and disgust a twisting feeling in your gut.

After a brief pause, he gestured to your clothes again.

You looked over, but the fear kept you frozen. After a few still seconds, realizing you weren’t moving, he sighed, walking over himself, grabbing the bundle in a few swift motions before throwing the loose pile over to you. You swallowed, hands shaking and dropping the pieces more than once as you forced yourself to put them on, little by little, albeit now dusty, wrinkled and disheveled. You kept your gaze to the floor as you did, but you felt his piercing gaze on you all the same.

And the moment you fastened the last button, with no hesitation, you felt his hand latch onto the back of the collar of your shirt, harshly pulling you upright.

“Come on. Don’t try that stalling shit.” His voice was now impatient, irritated.

You stumbled on shaky legs, forced to grasp onto him to steady yourself. “I, I’m not—” you swallowed. “…Sorry…”

He didn’t respond for a moment, merely wrapping his hand around your upper arm in a tight, bruising grip, jerking you forward harshly. You stumbled as you were rapidly dragged forward, quickly exiting the room, out into the hall.

“And don’t worry,” he spoke again, “I’ve got a nice little closet to keep you in ‘til I can work something better out. Won’t that be nice?”

You didn’t respond, until you felt a sudden harsh squeeze in the grip on your arm. You closed your eyes and nodded. “I, yes…”

He seemed satisfied with the answer, continuing on, “Besides, being a cop has it's advantages. I can get more handcuffs, monitoring devices… it'll work out just fine. And hey, if you're really good, maybe I’ll hurt you a little less, yeah?”

You bit your lip.

It was all happening too fast to sink in, your mind struggled to process. You were leaving, he was taking you, you had to get away, but you had no way to get away, it wasn’t real it wasn’t happening it wasn’t right—

He halted as you reached the front of the police station. The sudden stop made you stumble forward in your momentum, clinging to him to steady yourself once again. You looked up at him in fearful confusion, and he cast another heinous grin down at you.

“Now, I’m not gonna cuff you just yet, ‘case we run into someone, that would give people the wrong idea and all… but don't think about trying to run or scream or some other stupid shit, either. I dunno if you’re dumb enough to think you could outrun me, but…”

He reached his hand over so that the edge of his jacket was brushed back, unveiling the same gun from before that had since been holstered back to his belt.

“Personally, I'm pretty content with the holes you already have… but I'd still be happy to blow a few more into your legs, if need be.” He tilted his head. “And that river down at the edge of town’s real nice and deep, if you decide to go screaming and drag some poor bastard into this. Got that?”

You lip trembled. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded.

“Good, good. Now…”

He pulled you forward again, the stride bringing you close enough to the front that the automatic doors slid apart. The cool, humid air hit your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, right. One more thing.” He cleared his throat, turned to you with that godawful grin of cruel amusement, and in a mocking, dramatized voice, said, “you have the right to remain silent, miss.”

Your chest burned with fury. Tears welled in your eyes, your face pitifully contorting with bitter anger.

It was the reaction he wanted. He laughed once more, holding the hand that wasn’t gripping your arm up to his face.

“Ah, that’s adorable. You’re fun to mess with, you know… that’s good.”

With that, he drug you forward again, out through the door.

Your shoulders jerked with a silent sob. Your fingers curled into a fist, and your lip quivered as you spoke in a hushed, but hissing tone, filled with fear and hatred.

“You're a murderer.”

You got only a sigh in response.

“Yeah yeah, sure, whatever.”

With an iron grip on your arm, the police detective led you out into the rural streets, the night air freezing against your bare skin. You followed with stumbling footsteps, legs trembling in trepidation. Unable to do anything but follow.

You realized, as the last strands of hope in your chest faded away, that even if there was someone out there, they might not even see you, with the visibility so low.

Likewise, you turned your head back towards the station, but within just a short distance, it was already completely obscured by the fog.

[schrodingers-monster]

I will die on the hill that Odysseus not killing Polyphemus was the correct choice actually. As clearly stated, to kill Polyphemus when he was unconscious would’ve trapped Odysseus and his men in the cave so he couldn’t have done it then, and afterwards it was revealed that there were more cyclops. although they left after Polyphemus said “nobody“ hurt him it would be reasonable to assume they would come back and aid Polyphemus if they heard the sound of fighting. That is of course not even mentioning the potential of losing more men to Polyphemus. After all he was a huge threat and they only managed to blind him once he was unconscious.

simply put, continuing to fight Polyphemus instead of retreating would be tactically what I’d call a really fucking bad decision. The only reason for odysseus to continue to fight would be for vengeance. They didn’t have to fear retribution when Polyphemus had no way to identify them visually and no names. So then why did Athena want Odysseus to kill him?

Because Polyphemus is Poseidon’s son and Athena and Poseidon fucking hate each other (see the naming of Athens and the creation of Medusa).

One could arguably say that the incident could actually be blamed on Athena, as before she talked to Odysseus it seemed like he was going to just take the sheep and leave but immediately after their conversation when emotions were running very high was when he told Polyphemus his name, status, and nation.

Was this incredibly fucking stupid of Odysseus? Yes. That was the mistake Odysseus made, not sparing Polyphemus.

that being said, Odysseus handled the entire incident very well other than that one mistake and I think it can be forgiven seeing as how he literally just watched one of his closest friends who he’d known since childhood be killed right in front of him. odysseus managed to hold it together long enough to formulate a plan to incapacitate Polyphemus, secure the sheep, and escape.

I would argue that Athena disrupted the delicate balance of remaining functional and making intelligent decisions by deciding to pursue her rivalry with Poseidon (and of course framed it as Odysseus being soft and stupid if he not only chose to prioritize the lives of those under his command over vengeance but also follow his very newly dead best friends last wishes for peace and mercy) over supporting Odysseus or even just leaving him alone right before they were out of the gauntlet and he was able to allow himself to break down

TLDR: killing Polyphemus made no sense tactically, Odysseus’s mistake was telling him his name and that was mostly Athena‘s fault anyway

[goose-duck]

Creepypasta incorrect quotes ⭐

~~~~~~

Nina: spirit Halloween opened up early and my poor money decisions are always open so I bought a bunch of stuff

~~~~~~

Jeff: so...are we the best or the worst?

Toby: yes, sir.

~~~~~~

Jeff: he doesn't have eyeballs bro- he probably doesn't have balls either...

~~~~~~

Nina: he's ugly, I love him

~~~~~~

Y/N: There's just something abt his lack of a mouth and being less fluffy that makes me want him

Toby: he can't scream

Y/N: perfect

~~~~~~

Jeff: best friends!!

Y/N: nooOOOOO!!!!

~~~~~~

EJ: I learn from the mistakes of people who take my advice

~~~~~~

Y/N: heading into work~

*explosion*

Y/N: or maybe not-

~~~~~~

Nina: so romantic~

Jeff: *screaming*

Nina: romance <3

~~~~~~

Y/N: Jack, why am I in this room?

EJ: am I responsible for you moving from room to room now?

Y/N: yes.

EJ: then stay in that room.

~~~~~~

Toby: it's an elevator

Masky: this is a ladder, Toby.

Toby: imagination ✨

Hoodie: just because you put a sign that says "elevator" doesn't mean it's actually an elevator.

Toby: imagination ✨

~~~~~~

Y/N: but not me, because no one can get mad at me

Jane: I feel like in an hour we're all gonna be mad at you for something

~~~~~~

Toby: I made a house, what did you make?

Sally: a balloon

Toby: wonderful

~~~~~~

Jeff: just don't be blind

EJ: wow, you've cured me

~~~~~~

Toby: someone please take me off this fucking planet

~~~~~~

Y/N: Don't look at ceilings when ur tired. Never know what you'll see.

Toby: context, please

Y/N: Thought I had a fucking ceiling fan but it was just the balloons that I refuse to take down from my 13th birthday. I can't tell if I'm tired or stupid but I think either way it's correct.

Toby: it's probably both

Y/N: Exactly- It scared the shit outta me too-I saw it and was so fucking scared that I might have a ceiling fan in my room-

Toby: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA A FAN! ITS ON THE CEILING!!

Y/N: Y/N, Weakness: ceiling fans that may or may not be there

Toby: strength: walking in high heels, weakness: imaginary ceiling fans

~~~~~~

Hoodie: it's just a deer or something

Masky: bro, that is not a deer

~~~~~~

Jeff: *sees a spider* I should have just bombed the house the last time I saw one of you fuckers

~~~~~~

EJ: I'm doing good...im doing great...i have a headache.....

~~~~~~

Jeff: this is like when I threatened to steal your skin and bones and stuff

~~~~~~

Jeff: it's like if a heat stroke were a room

Y/N: me

Jeff: no, you're like if a heat stroke were a person

Y/N: oh

~~~~~~

Y/N: tree tops

Jeff: crispy

Nina: crispy tree tops?

Jane: why are they crispy?

EJ: why is everyone talking about trees??

~~~~~~

Jane: I'm moving the pumpkins, sorry, Toby

Toby: nooo, my life's work...

~~~~~~

Toby: would you be more offended if I got a mug of milk or orange juice?

Masky: milk.

~~~~~~

Jeff: they're all safety scissors, I don't think I can possibly be unsafe with them

*pile of about 10 safety scissors*

~~~~~~

LJ: I took some of his teeth and coloured them like candy corns

~~~~~~

Jeff: I'll steal ur hair, I'll take ur eyebrows and I'll steal ur skin too

Toby: please, that's all I have

Jeff: U have bones, mucles, veins, blood, cartilage and organs that I could take too

Toby: no thanks

~~~~~~

Hoodie: Masky is this big *puts his fingers together*

~~~~~~

Jeff: what are you doing dude?

Y/N: hugging? I think??

Jeff: it's weird...

Y/N: yeah, let's never do that again

~~~~~~

Y/N: die.

Toby: :0

Y/N: in a nice way..?

~~~~~~

Nina: I'm sure there's someone in Fabio who's named Russia

Jane: what?

Nina: yup.

~~~~~~

Jeff: I hit myself in the face with an eye!

EJ: give it to me!

~~~~~~

Ben: what the rational number?

~~~~~~

Toby: I think I failed at life...

~~~~~~

*Jeff and Toby leave the room*

Masky: well, that was a headache

Hoodie: which one?

EJ: both.

~~~~~~

*Jeff walks by*

Jane: look at him, he's greasy

~~~~~~

Y/N: why are you only offended when Jeff says something?

EJ: because it's Jeff

~~~~~~

Toby: well how's this right?

Jeff: because I'm here!

~~~~~~

Jane: I'm going to Halifax

Jeff: Hali-fuck you

~~~~~~

Sally: I saw a girl and she was young

Y/N: you're young

Sally: I'm 8

Y/N: exactly, young.

Sally: so you're a grandma?

~~~~~~

Toby: fellas, if you need me, I'll be living inside this cabinet

~~~~~~

Y/N: I'm afraid of togetherness

[kinzis-writing]

Three Years | George Weasley

Kinzi's 25 days of Christmas: Blogmas Day 2.

Summary: In which Y/N and George have been together for three years, and it takes a mistake for him to take the next step of their relationship.

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem! Reader

Warning(s): mentions of wizard war, mentions of death (not major character and not specified),

This could have ended way better, also the fact that this imagine is shorter than I like as well. I am doing my best at making my Blogmas posts as long as possible, but sometimes it takes me hours to plan the plot of these short stories out. I am a perfectionist, so that is why I never re-read and edit any mistakes because I am afraid of wanting to go back and change the whole story. *Fred did not die in the war*

Three years, it has been three years since George had grown a pair and asked Y/N to be his girlfriend. Since then, there had been many events happen in the course of their relationship. They had moved past the awkwardness of the beginning of the relationship, they had gone through their firsts that every relationship goes through, and everything in between.

Their relationship had survived the second wizard war but had challenges. Seeing as Fred had to be taken care of because of an accident and then George getting hurt before then. It was a hectic and stressful time for the couple, but now everything was back to normal. Well, normal as everything could be after losing some of the nicest people.

Christmas was tomorrow and Fred and George had many customers in and out of the joke shop. Whether it was for Christmas gifts or something before going home for a Christmas prank. They had many customers a day and George had found it hard to be able to see Y/N during the holiday season. The joke shop was closing early and they would stay closed until after Christmas because they all knew the wrath of Molly if they did not show up on time or if they left early.

On Christmas day, Molly was having dinner at the newly built burrow and told everyone that dinner was at 5 o'clock sharp. That morning, George had gotten up to wrap the present for Y/N that he had spent a decent amount of money only to find it missing from the place that he had put it.

"Hey, Fred." George called knocking on his bedroom door and walking in, "have you seen-" He stopped when he noticed Fred's girlfriend wearing the necklace and earring set that he bought specifically for Y/N. The reason he had picked them out was because he had seen her looking at them and she refused to buy them because of the price they costed. “Found them.” He mumbled to himself, his eyes not leaving the necklace.

He was sure that there had to be some sort of mix up. His twin would not steal his girlfriend’s gift on purpose. Instead of getting angry, George did what he believed was right, found Fred and asked him what he thought he was doing.

“I’m sorry,” Fred mumbled when he noticed the distressed look on George’s face. “I grabbed the wrong gift and before I could correct it she was so happy.” He trailed off making George groan. “You could give Y/N the gift I bought for Angela.” He suggested.

George thought about it for a moment, they had hidden their gifts in the same place. Meaning it was an easy mix up and he knew that Fred was telling the truth about grabbing the wrong box. Fred had planned on getting Angela a promise ring, and that gift would work if George hadn’t already given Y/N one of those almost a year ago.

“I’ll come up with something.” George mumbled before leaving his twin to himself. He had less than four hours to come up with the perfect gift for his girlfriend and he was determined to find it.

Four hours had flown by and by the time George and Fred joined everyone at the burrow, Y/N was already there. It wasn’t a shock to the twin, seeing as she was early to everything.

“You’re lucky you aren’t a minute later.” Y/N spoke as she walked up and greeted George from where she had been helping Molly. She had gotten there early knowing that it would be hectic if she didn't. "Molly has be waiting for you guys to arrive."

George gave her a quick kiss before going and putting their gifts under the tree. He wasn't sure how Y/N would like his gift, but he had come up with something... sentimental. Angelina had gone into the kitchen to see what the girls were up to, while Fred and George joined their brothers and Harry by the fire.

"I doubt that Ron even got me something." Hermione stated to Y/N who was setting the Table for Molly. "He's still so awkward about some things."

Y/N let out a small laugh, "I think that's just Ron." Y/N was a year between each group. Fred and George were a year older than her, and she was a year older than the golden trio, while being two years older than Ginny. "Hi, Angie." She greeted with a smile her eyes flickering to the earrings and necklace the girl was wearing. "I love your jewelry set! I wanted to buy the same one, but I didn't want to pay that price."

Angiela gave the younger girl a small smile, "Thank you, Fred got it for me." she replied before going over to greet Molly.

Dinner had come and gone within an hour and Molly had the kitchen cleaning itself. The family gathered around the fireplace as they got ready to open presents. Y/N was sitting on the floor, between George's legs as he sat on the couch. She was chatting with Hermione as they were talking about the after-holiday plans and if anything had to change.

"I think I am going to move." Y/N told Hermione as the girl played with the necklace she always wore. "The place I live at is getting worse and the landlord won't fix it."

Pretty soon the presents were being handed out by the Weasley's and everyone gathered knowing the Christmas tradition at the Weasley's house. Y/N had gotten George the thing he had been wanting for a while and he was beyond excited to receive the gift. It was unexpected and it made him nervous about her opening her gift.

"Can you go upstairs?" George asked Y/N as he noticed Molly hand her the gift that he had gotten her. "I would prefer you not open it in front of everyone." he mumbled quietly as the couple stood up and snuck off.

The pair in the room that they assumed was Ginny's for when she came back home just due to the looks of the room and so on. "There was a mix up of gifts this morning," George started as Y/N went to open her gift. "Fred gave Angela yours and-" He stopped talking when he noticed Y/N's reaction to what was in the box.

Wide eyes stared down at the little jewelry box, you would assume it would hold something that you could wear. Yet, it was nothing close to that. The key laid flatly in the velvet box, and y/n did not know what to think. "What Are-What are you asking?" she asked scared to assume.

Maybe this was a sign that she could come and go as she pleases instead of knocking, or maybe it was exactly what she thought it was. "Will you move in with us, well me?" He asked carefully. "I know it's not expensive and like I said, Fred gave Angela yours by mistake and-"

His sentence was interrupted by Y/N stepping forward and wrapping her arms around the boy she had loved for four years, even though they had only been together for three. "It's perfect." She assured to ease his nerves at the fact that his gift was something he already had, or just the price of making a copy of the key. "You didn't have to get me anything."

George shrugged, "I figured it was time to take the next step, it just took a push from Fred." he spoke softly to the girl he knew he was so lucky to have.

"Well, you just saved me the stress of apartment hunting." She replied back as she grabbed the key out of the box and handed him the box back, knowing that it probably belonged to Fred's other gift. "I love you so much, you know that right?"

"Of course, love." George nodded with a smile on his face. "I love you as well." With that Y/N leaned forward and caught the Weasley's lips between hers. They kissed for a moment before pulling away, George with a cheeky grin, "I could have proposed instead."

Y/N's smile grew at the thought of eventually marrying George and becoming a Weasley herself. "That sounds like a plan for next year." She winked before kissing him one more time and leaving the room, him trailing behind her.

"Are you saying you'd rather live with me, instead of marrying me right now!?" He asked not knowing how to take the information if she were to confirm.

"I have to live with you first to see if we're compatible." She told him with a shrug, but she was joking. Regardless of what happened she knew that she would love him.

"What does that mean?"

I hated the way I ended this, but Blogmas day 2 is complete! I have been working on Blogmas, requests, and my Mattheo series so I have been busy. This is on top of having to study for my finals so.

[brokenpieces-72]

Hi, how are you? I was thinking that it would be really cool to have a medic who’s a phoenix with healing tears and maybe can be a combat medic who can “die” on the field only to be reborn again as a chick for a little while then become an adult again. I hope you like it. ❤️

Hi, I’m doing well thank you for asking. Hunter honestly deserves a break from time to time and I’m gonna try to write this character as male, because I don’t have many guys. Sorry this took so long, I honestly wasn't sure how to start, and then I decided on another start and then I had two in the same place. So yeah.

Nix

CoD Hybrid AU | Navigation

The most annoying thing about your condition is how often you have to deal with resets. A lot of your human regiments took your immortality and healing benefits for granted and often forgot, oh yeah you can still die. At the same time, being on a hybrid team meant most of them have healing factors so your tears didn’t do much.

When you returned for your new placement after getting shot down in the field you found a pleasant surprise. Section Chief Laswell, who you knew by reputation. She was there to give you information on your new station, which you were very pleased with. A couple of humans but mainly hybrids. As a combat medic you could be valuable when it came to injuries that the healing factors couldn’t handle.

This is what you had studied for, your research and work targeted towards hybrids and their autonomy and anatomy. The night before you shipped out you went over each file, twice. Not a single one was the same as the last. A dragon with one wing? If there’s one thing you sadly could heal with was limbs removed to that degree. A wraith was certainly a new one. The research that could be don-no! No. You had to be respectful, and you refused to treat anyone like an experiment. If you wanted to learn more you could do it via observation.

Arriving to base you were met with Captain Price, and the medic, Hunter. They both shook your hand, as you introduced yourself. You noted the shoulder weight on Price, to compensate for the missing wing. Maybe an improvement could be made, but that was something to discuss later on. For the most part you would be in combat, fighting and taking care of injuries on the field. Of course to make your fellow medic’s life easier you came with small dropper vials of your tears.

You would be working with Hunter the closest, who was more than happy to make you feel comfortable. You were escorted to the med bay where there were a few occupied cots and Hunter guided you through each of them. It was the same as any other first day on base, despite your experience. You only correct Hunter when they make obvious mistakes, knowing they were testing your skills. Hunter brought you to a cot with a man who may be one of the tallest you’ve met, passed out on the cot.

“And can you tell me what happened to this patient?” You asked Hunter before they could ask you. Hunter appreciated the playful challenge in your eyes.

“This is one of our KorTac transfers. He’s a Percht hybrid, and he’s recovering from a rampage.”

“Interesting. It happens often?” You asked.

“That he passes out at the end or that he goes on a rampage?” Hunter asked. You gave them a look, that reminded Hunter of their training days. “He passes out after every rampage, but doesn’t always go into one. For the most part his size and skills get him through the field well enough.”

“That must make it easier.” You commented. Hunter nodded.

“How long is the recovery period?” You asked, this time an actual question.

“Depends on various factors.” Hunter said. You assumed as much. Still, quite intriguing. “Once he wakes up though, I have to do routine physicals on each of the hybrids, if you don’t mind assisting.”

“Much more detailed look than any file will provide, I’m sure.” You said.

When Konig wakes up, he is still given a few hours to rest to work off a nasty headache, but he allows you to assist with his check up. You make small chat with him, but it’s clear that headache remains potent. Once you take some measurements and check scars and injuries he’s sent on his way. Decent enough guy.

Horangi is called in next, and as a haetae he’s equally intriguing. At first glance anyone would take it for a tiger hybrid but you’ve already read his file. He’s compliant but a little reserved. Still gives you casual respect, noting you definitely weren’t human. Though your features aren’t very obvious to anyone. Horangi gives you a nod out of courtesy and leaves once his health information is written down.

Price steps in, and when his shirt comes off you see the shoulder weight much more clearly. You can only imagine the amount of force it would take to rip his wing off let alone remove it from the socket completely. You asked the captain if the counter weight was even enough for proper balance. He admits it could be improved but at the same time he’s gotten used to it, and changes could make it a little difficult. You still offered to help him with finding him a better solution and he accepted.

A new pair of wings comes in, and shakes your hand almost immediately, recognizing you as a new face. Kyle commented on your warm hands, which were pleasantly toasty. Yeah you got that a lot. Kyle was curious about you though, noting you didn’t show any wings yourself, despite being a Phoenix. It’s a little more complicated than that, but he doesn’t pry anymore than you are comfortable with.

Johnny takes the seat and makes a few jests towards Hunter, who rolled their eyes. You aren’t afraid to make some comments of your own, which makes Johnny more relaxed around you. Good, you didn’t want to wrestle with a werewolf if you could avoid it. If you could avoid injury that was preferable.

When Simon steps in you feel it first, like there is death close by, simply waiting like a parent at a doctor’s office. You’d read up on Simon before coming to the base and you’d hardly heard of wraiths let alone seen one in person. Right off the bat you ask if questions are okay, and Simon prefers they’re kept to a minimum. You have most of your information from the files, so you simply ask him how he prefers his tea. Simon certainly feels a bit more at ease. You’ve seen plenty of cases in your time, you knew how to make people comfortable.

Next is Rodolfo, who is mostly human. His cadejos are very charming, and you get to give them some belly rubs. Easy, calm and relaxed conversation between you two. He and Hunter seem to be close.

Alejandro comes in and okay dang that’s some muscle. A nagual, a guardian. And Rudy’s husband. Proud of it too. You can understand why.

Finally, you meet the youngest which is Spirit. You offer to leave so she can be examined properly, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Hunter ensures she stays covered for the most part and you look away out of respect. Spirit is very excited to lift her shirt, to show you her ribs. Except you find a normal physique. Hunter still encourages her to keep it up, as they continue to examine them. A jackalope hybrid, with a wendigo form. Antlers are a little chipped but healthy enough. She’s sent on her way afterwards.

“Coffee?” You suggested to Hunter.

“Please.” They said.

“Seriously how do you fall out of a helicopter?” You asked Gaz on the roof. Gaz chuckled, shaking his head.

“Very talented my friend.” Gaz told him.

“Yes but when you have wings.” You said.

“Speaking of wings,” Kyle said. “Mind if I ask about yours?”

“How do you mean?” You asked.

“Well they told us you were a Phoenix. Guess I figured you’d have wings, you’re pretty rare specimen.” Gaz explained.

“Oh right. Ha…” you trailed off.

“If it’s a sensitive topic I get it.” Gaz said, you brushed it off.

“No no… I honestly don’t know why.” You said. “I remember being jealous of harpies like you though.”

Gaz’s wings puffed up a little. You smiled, enjoying the short time of peace and quiet. Gaz said, “I’m flattered.”

The team waited with baited breath at the clouded battlefield, waiting for you to return. Hunter stood near by, a stretcher ready to be loaded onto the helicopter. As soon as your silhouette was visible, carrying a barely conscious Rodolfo on your shoulder. You were in no better state, gritting your teeth and ignoring the blood you had. Alejandro and Hunter closed the distance between you and the rest of the team, Alejandro taking Rudy and Hunter catching you as you stumble from the weight being lifted.

As Hunter helps you to the helicopter, the propellers already starting up, you handed her a vial of clear liquid. "For Rudy. It will make his recovery...faster."

Hunter lowered your hand, focusing on getting you inside, and getting home. Rudy was laid on the stretcher, and hoisted in while Price gave you a hand, hauling you up and taking you to a seat. Hunter worked on Rudy first, taking the vial you'd offered. Admittedly Hunter almost didn't believe you, but given Rudy's condition, it was better to take the shot.

You watched, eyes growing tired and your vision blurring. Hunter was a brilliant medic. The eye dropper was used on Rudy's wounds, and healed over quickly. Poor guy would still need to rest as your tears couldn't do much for head injuries unless they were bleeding. You panted in your seat, before stealing a glance down. There were blood stains on your clothes, but you ignore them. You could use a break.

When Price tried to call Hunter over to give you attention, you put a hand on his arm. "I'm good."

"You're going to bleed out." Price argued. You just nodded. Yeah, you were.

"I'll be fine." You insisted. "Please Captain. Been needing a break."

"Hunter?" Price called, seemingly ignoring your wishes. "Just patch 'em up."

Hunter obliged. You weren't going to be leaving anytime soon. Sometimes for you it was easier to just hit the reset button. At least you had some good company, company that valued you for more than just your tears. You rest your head back, fighting to stay awake. Gritting your teeth you warmed your hand up, a soft warm glow appearing on your palm. The hand went to your wounds clotting them, before Hunter could get the bandages out.

“Damn it Nix!” They barked at you. You chuckled through your pain, as they batted your hand away and started to wrap you in gauze. “I could help you more if you would just let me.”

“I know… I know…” you said.

You were helped out of the helicopter by Simon, where you saw the rest of the team waiting. Johnny had a smile on his face until he saw you. Spirit’s face was covered by her hand in shock. Gaz rushed over immediately, taking your other arm to take the weight off Hunter but you shake your head. You were far enough.

“Set me down.” You breathed. Hunter looked at you, hating this part. “I’ll be fine.”

Hunter reluctantly lowered you to the ground, while Kyle stepped back. You turned your head to the side, seeing a sunset. Beautiful. Always beautiful. You overhear Spirit asking what was going on. Her concern was sweet. A deep breath and you shut your eyes. Another good ending.

The team looked on as your body burst into flames. Spirit gasped, eyes wide watching you burn. Johnny held her back, looking on as if it were just another campfire. Price folded his arms, wing going around Kyle on instinct. It wasn’t a pleasant sight, seeing someone they had come to care about, burning in front of them. Luckily it was also quick. Your body became a pile of ash.

“I hate it when he does that.” Hunter commented.

“It’s his choice.” Price reminded them. Doesn’t mean Hunter had to like it.

“What… what happened?” Spirit asked confused. She hadn’t seen you reset before, you’d only been back on the team for a short while, having been called to other assignments. Johnny let Spirit go, while Kyle approached the ashes.

“I’ll show you.” He said, gesturing for Spirit to approach. The jackalope came over seeing the pile of ash start to shift. “Come on you bald chicken, come on out.”

Your beak poked out of the ash your head following with it. Spirit gasped while Kyle smiled. You felt his finger stroke your head. You let out a happy chittering sound. “There he is.”

“I’ll get a blanket.” Hunter said.

The best part of your rebirth is probably the pampering. You already asked Kyle to show Spirit what to do before the mission. Kyle was fine with playing nursemaid, and giving Spirit some extra education.

“He remembers everything? Even though he died?” She asked while you were looking back at her in your blanket nest.

“Everything.” Kyle told her. “Only thing that changes is his age. He grows quickly from hatchling, and then it’s a matter of shifting back to human. By that point he’s an adult.”

“Never seen a phoenix before.” Spirit commented, resting her head on the table. You leaned over and nibbled at her nose, making her giggle. You got gentle strokes to beak as a reward.

It didn't take too long for you to get your feathers back. It let you take off, enough for some branching and practice, but not much distance yet. Spirit helped you by letting you ride on her antlers around the base. She was very careful, doing constant check ins to make sure you didn't fall off. If you weren't on Spirit's antlers you were riding somebody's shoulder. Except Simon's.

You don't feel safe around Simon in such a vulnerable state. If you had your human form, you would be fine. Simon is also fine with this. You're a phoenix, they're not very comfortable around undead, and technically speaking he is undead. Your skills against thralls and vampires were enough to satisfy him. Johnny is often in the same room anyways, so having a wolf as a mediator even with just his presence put you more at ease.

Hunter keeps you close as well. It's been a while since your last regeneration, so they take advantage to study you and any changes you might have in behaviour and personality. You don't mind, they don't needles to you except for any vaccinations they deem necessary. The other medics find your presence a treat, getting to greet you, and admire the beautiful warm colours of your feathers coming in.

Once you're able to fly a bit better, you often start to wake up Hunter. It's getting colder and the heating unit on base isn't exactly perfect, so some areas on the base are still chilly. You give off enough body heat that Hunter can pull on a hoodie, put you in the large packet, and have a couple minutes to warm up before getting their coffee. Sometimes Hunter puts the hoodie around your nest to heat it up over night.

Once Hunter has their morning coffee, you take off to wake the others. You land in front of Simon's door and let out a small cry. Simon doesn't always sleep, but rather he tries to relax in his room. Once there is movement, you move on to the next one. If Johnny isn't in Simon's room or outside after a full moon, you find him next. There's only so many places Johnny can be a full wolf inside, and the cold doesn't bother him, but Simon will open his door for you so you can nestle up next to him before letting off some extra heat. You may or may not nudge him with your beak, hey! No rolling over! Come on!

You're not quite heavy enough, and your talons can't grip the handle or knobs properly. First time you woke Simon he suggested he help you with your wake up calls. You didn;t object, and saw it as a trust excerise, since Johnny will help you if he's sharing a room with Simon for the night.

Alright, Kyle is next. Sometimes he's already awake or he's with the captain. Simon lets you in, and you fly over. Kyle is a harpy and therefore has some bird tendencies, include his wings covering his face a bit when he sleeps. You find an opening easily enough to wake him. Once your hear a soft morning from him you're able to get him out of bed. You let him wake up on his own, before heading out of the room and on to the next one.

Spirit is a typical teenager, and will try to ignore you like Johnny. That is if she doesn't try to curl up with you like a plushie. You land, wake her, and as soon as she reaches for you, you're off again. Spirit tends to get dressed and showered before eating breakfast anyways. You leave her to it.

You don't go to Konig if he's had a rampage the day before. He needs rest and he's unconscious. After the red mist he can make you aren't about to bother him. Konig is a gentle giant sure, you ride his shoulder any time the medics are uneasy around him to make them feel safe. You don't want to try to force him awake if you don't have to, and usually his rampages land him in the medbay anyways. Today you could wake him, and its the same as most, but you don't have to warm him up much. You get a warm greeting from him though as he drags himself out of bed.

You don't like waking up Horangi. Why? Because sometimes he's a jerk. More than once you've gone in to wake him, found his bed empty and are met with a haetae looking at you like Lucifer looks at a cornered mouse in Cinderella. You've taken to just letting out a call outside his door. One time you did this and Horangi opened the door ready to pounce and spook you. You retreated and let out a cry at him. Horangi was pretty smug, right up until he saw Simon close by, staring him down. Yeah, he stopped after that.

Alejandro and Rodolfo share a room, so not as much work. You can let out a call from hallway and they'll take a couple minutes. The two warm each other up, no issues there. You've gone in before and landed behind Alejandro, pecking at his back to wake him. Didn't work, he nearly rolled on top of you. If you hadn't cried out when you did, jolting him awake, you might have had some bent feathers. You go inside today though, as Rudy's injuries are still a little rough. It can take longer for him to fall asleep, and Alejandro struggles with sleep as a part of it. You're able to hop on to the bed, hop on to Rudy and land between them. You nudge Rudy first, who gives you some pets to get himself moving. Rudy then wakes the colonel, and you're on to the last one.

Price sleeps well enough but sometimes you find him sleeping on his desk or sitting next to his bed going over some files. Workaholic. Simon tries to scold him about it but well, it's not really scolding. More just commenting. Simon cracks open the door and you poke your head in. WOO! He's sleeping! You almost don't want to wake him. But you have to. The advantage here is that you can wamr up with him, because as a dragon hybrid he's pretty warm. You can nestle with him for a bit, giving him a couple miniutes before you wake him. Price groaned once you were comfortable. He saw you, and got out of bed, picking you up, and holding you to his core, where his body was the hottest.

Kyle takes you up to the roof anytime he relaxes up there. All he has to do is find you call "Nix". You know where you're going, and you'll fly over immediately. You get to relax with him outside and sometimes go for a flight yourself, with Kyle watching or joining you. It gives you a chance to brush up on your hunting skills. Mice and rats weren't uncommon to find. Spirit comes out with you guys as well, laying back and staring up at you while you fly over head.

Another life another cycle. It can feel tedious, and one day you'll probably end up doing something else. For now you have good people, and safe space. It took time to find this, to build it. You weren't about to walk away from it. If only it could have been that easy.

You had gone with the team to an outpost, a temporary set up for a mission. You still weren't shifting, not that you couldn't but it wasn't an ideal form. If you did shift to human it would be very young and very vulnerable. You didn't want to reset before you had to, and a kid was an easy target. A juvenile phoenix? That would require more stopping power.

"Wheels up at 0500 tomorrow. Prep your gear, eat, rest up, and we move out." The captain ordered. You made a chirping sound to get his attention once the team dispersed. Price offered his arm for you, giving you a chance to fly over and land on him. You inch up to his good shoulder nuzzle the back of his ear befoire looking at him expectantly. The Captain recognized that look. You were very expressive for a bird.

"Nix you'll be staying behind." He told you. You squawked in protest, your feathers puffing. The captain sighed. "Nix, you'll provide overwatch with Gaz."

You wanted to do more, but without a human form, you had some limitations. At least as overwatch you could still do some work as a medic. Price got to work prepping his gear with you close by, either perched somewhere or on his shoulder. If you noticed someone looking for something, you brought it to them. You noticed Simon was tense and you already knew why. The location of the mission had some heavy memories for him. Hell even Price wasn't sure about coming. You noticed the scope to his rifle was missing as he was assembling the weapon. It was under the bench. You flew over to him, your bright colours catching his eye. Simon watched as you retrieved the missing piece and flapped up, onto the bench. The scope was in your talons as you out a soft chirp. Simon took the scope and you nudged his leg. Your tears could heal a lot, but emotional and mental wounds? Not so much.

"Thanks Nix. Stay safe yeah?" He told you. You stay safe? You were more worried about him.

Downside of being a phoenix - well you already know the downsides - everyone wants a phoenix. Hybrid trafficking is a thing as well, with some sick tickets enjoying the idea of having hybrids for pets. A phoenix has extra benefits, with healing tears. There has been entire debates and conferences on phoenix tears and whether it should be allowed to be bought and sold in pharmaceuticals. As for your feathers that's a whole other issue and has long since been deemed illegal to traffick real ones. Not that poachers would care.

The mission had been going fine, you were keeping an eye out for wounded human soldiers from above. It was like watching a maze being solved by multiple lines, and just as chaotic. Kyle had been called to the ground to assist a team, leaving you to take care of another wounded soldier. As soon as you landed next to him, you were grabbed. You didn't have an ear piece so no one heard your distress. The next thing you know, you're uncermoniously stuffed in a bag, and dragged off.

When you awoke you were in a bird cage which you would never stop finding humiliating. This wasn't the furst time either, but you were more irritated by the fact that it had happened when you were trying to help someone. That being said you know better than to thrash against your cage, knowing they would try to restrain you further to preserve your feathers. To make matters worse you recognized the voice of the person who had caught you.

Valeria stood there staring at you. You tilted your head at her, remaining calm and avoiding too focused of a gaze. Gorgon hybrids were familiar enough to you. You could avoid mind control well enough, including hers. The question was if she recognized you as well. You were younger than when she previously saw you, and it was at a distance.

"Did you check for a tag?" She asked. The two men who'd caught you shared a look, and she sighed face palming. You weren't sure whether to pity them or laugh at them for such a rookie mistake. You did have a tag on you, Price had insisted on it. The way she went off on the two of them, holy crap. The fact she didn't turn them to stone right then and there was surprising.

"Out. I'll deal with you later." She hissed at them. That wasn't even a pun. Her attention was back on you, and you puffed up your feathers. The way she was staring at you was... kind of odd. If anything she seemed to be admiring you. I mean what was there to be disgusted by? You couldn't help but detect something else behind her eyes. The snakes didn't seem bothered by you.

"You could give me so much." Valeria commented. Fuck, not what you ever wanted to hear in this situation. You squawked in warning at her, almost challenging her to try something. She just smirked. "If only Graves were here, I might just set you on him. Maybe you could get him to shift gears."

She sighed seeing you bristle. "But you're with that pack of misfits... hmph... I'll take advantage of what time I have before they come to collect you."

As soon as you saw a few figures approaching with gloves, you started to thrash. Not again. You wouldn't let this happen again.

"Nix... Nix can you hear me?"

You were a pitiful sight. A number of feathers had been plcked from you, and your eyes were dry and sore.

"Can you hear me... try to move if you can..."

That voice. Spirit. You heard a couple more but they were further away. You tried to force your eyes open, but all you felt was still air on them. There was a crack of light but not enough to make out anything.

"Hunter.... he needs help!"

"Shit... come on Nix don't make me do this the easy way... really hate doing that... stay with us."

Tired... you were just tired and sore. You can feel gloves again, and you try to scratch back with your talons.

"Hold him down..."

"Yep." You felt leather holding your legs.

"Gently."

"I'm trying."

Something is laid next to you, you feel the edge brush against you. very gently you're awkwardly placed into something soft. You thrash at first, your mind still alert, but the voices assure you everything will be okay. It was all going to be okay... sleep... you wanted... sleep...

Hunter wasted no time getting you back to the med bay, getting you fixed up. They hadn't hesitated to break some things, and extracting your tears was done with little care for your well being. You felt something cover your head and you relaxed, realizing it was over.

Sleep returned to you while Hunter did their best to fix you up. As always, a remarkable job was done. You were placed in Spirit's room in a warm nest made of blankets and a hoodie. Recovery would be slow but you didn't need a reset. Not this time. You didn't want one either. When you woke back up you heard the team talking.

"His wings were broken, his eyes are dry and primary feathers were removed..." Kyle said, repeating the information Hunter had given them.

"Literal no fly list." Spirit commented.

"Having his eyes bandaged for now is the safest, so he'll need extra assistance around base." Hunter mentioned. "If he chooses to stay on base during the recovery period."

"I hate to mention it, but if Nix were to reset...

"No." Hunter said immediately. "I'm not about to do a reset."

"Could... someone else do it?" Spirit asked, her tone hesitant.

"I'm the only one with the training to do it, if anyone else does it on the team, it could be considered... no." Hunter trailed off before putting their foot down. Hippocratic oaths didn't cover phoenixes, and Hunter was strongly against being the reason you reset.

"Nix will still recover." Simon spoke up. "Just extra time."

"That settles it." Price said, before anybody could object. Not that anyone would. You fell back asleep hearing that.

The next time you awoke, you felt large hands take hold of you. You stayed calm, feeling yourself pressed to a warm chest. You were carried out of the bedroom and into a more communal space. The bandages remained over your eyes. You knew it would be while until you could see properly again.

"Hunter wants to give you some eye drops." You heard Price say softly. You let out a soft cooing sound, showing your appreciation. The team had to put in extra effort to help you recover, and they were choosing to do so. You heard Price and Hunter talking quietly, with Spirit asking if she could help.

"Keep your eyes shut, I'll tell you when to open them." Spirit said while Hunter instructed her on how to apply the eye drops. When the bandage was removed, you couldn't register much light. Hunter was doing this to protect your eyes. Gentle, latex fingers took off your bandages. Spirit asked you to open one eye and the drops were applied. It was a welcome relief until you could produce more natural tears. The other eye was treated and a new bandage was applied. This would take some time before you could see again.

Once Spirit said you were finished, Price took you to get fed, letting you locate the food yourself. You heard Kyle come into the room. You replied to his entrance with a friendly chirp. After you filled up on spices and fruit extracts Price picked you back up.

Price laid back and placed you on his chest where his heat was the strongest. The warmth was a great comfort, and you nestled in. You told yourself, when you could properly shift to a human state, you would thank him, and apologize for being so reckless. In maybe a week or so you would be around Spirit's age, and by the end of the month you would be an adult. By that point you should have your feathers back, and be able to see properly.

For now, you rested against the captains warm chest, trying to rest again. Those sickos had left their mark though. It wasn't long before you started to fidget and needed to be woken up again. Kyle woke you, taking you off Price's hands so he could get to work on his reports. You let out a startled tweet, your feathers puffing again.

"I got ya Nix. You're safe here." Kyle assured you. If only could see it for yourself.

Your blindfold stayed on until you could shift to an adult. It had come with some difficulties, and you shifted to human a few times before if only to make navigation a little easier. Spirit spent plenty of time with you, helping you walk around. Hunter insisted on a human state to get better adjusted to walking around with assistance.

Despite Hunter's intentions, König would pick you up and take you to whereever you need to go. You weren't much heavier than Spirit anyways. Horangi's antics against you stopped as soon as he learned what had happened. You didn't know at the time, but if he overheard someone making comments about your vision, he made the room foggy with his clouds and caused them to stumble around. The cadejos are great seeing eye dogs, and Rudy showed you how they can guide you around. May have led to you bumping into a wall or two, from the cadejos passing through them. Alejandro worked with Hunter and Price to find tasks you could do on base with your young age and impairment. You found you could still navigate the medbay with little issue, but sharp items were kept out of reach.

The biggest issue was your nightmares. More than once you would wake up to complete darkness and cold sweat. You didn't cry out, not wanting to bother anyone else. Except Spirit doesn't work that way, nor does Ghost. Ghost on more than one occasion has walked in on you, checking to see how you're doing. Spirit could hear your small noises of distress as well.

One night, Spirit knocked on your door. You allowed her entry from your bed, and she offered to take you for a walk or get a snack. Each time you accepted her invitation. Spirit didn't pry or bother you with questions. You got the impression she'd been through this before, or something similar. After half an hour or so you were led back to your room and could sleep the rest of the night.

Then came a night where Ghost came to your room. He announced himself calmly, and you were helped out of bed. The bandages would be coming off the next day. You were relieved to finally see again. The nightmares didn't subside though. Ghost made sure you had tea and something to eat before he decided to lay it all down.

"They did a number on you." Ghost stated.

"Yep." You said calmly.

"Sick fuckers." Ghost commented. "You made it out alive."

"I got myself caught, and put myself in that situation." You said.

"You did." Ghost agreed. Great talk Ghost, very inspiring.

"Should've stayed behind. I'm living with my mistakes." You reminded him.

"Same." Ghost said sipping his own mug. You turned towards his voice. "If all you do is beat yourself up about your mistakes, you're just gonna turn purple. You've got scars, we all do. That's what happens when you make choices."

"I know." You said. You'd been around for a long while. This isn't the first time you'd dealt with something like that.

"I'd fucking hope so, you're older than me." Simon pointed out. "But if you know, then you know when to fucking say something."

"I do. Once the bandages come off, I'll be attending therapy. Not sure if they can help but it's worth trying." You told Ghost. Ghost looked at you while you finished your midnight tea.

"Good." He said.

You sat on the bed, a full adult. Spirit instructed you to shield your eyes with your hand while the cotton pads were removed from each side.

"Okay... open slowly." Spirit said. You did, wincing a bit. "Well?"

You stared at your hand. "Five right?"

Spirit's face lit up as she confirmed it. Finally you could get back to work again. Of course Hunter wouldn't let you. Instead it was a mental health day, and it was doctor's orders so no getting out of it. The team left you alone and you returned to your room, sitting on your bed. You know what comes next, and you know it could mean you leaving the base and the team. It was important though.

You dialed the number you found online. A receptionist answered. "Hello, how can I help you today?"

"Hi, I'd like to set up a consultation with a therapist."

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