#they should make dead cells 2

[l0verseyes]

rougelikes ive been enjoying ⚔️

[prismit]

dead cells...... hard

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 12

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11

He’s got to be heading to the quarry, right? That’s where he goes on Wednesday’s after school to sell his stash, he’d told Steve so umpteen notes back. Steve’s poured over each one enough times to damn-near have the things memorized.

He’s in his car, speeding fast enough that if Hopper catches his ass, he’ll be hauled into a jail cell before he can even make it. Steve pushes his foot down on the pedal harder, trying to eke out any last bit of speed.

When he reaches his destination, Carver’s car is parked sideways across the dirt road that leads off to the quarry, blocking anyone else from entering. Steve slams on his breaks, kicking up dirt all around him, obscuring his view of the windshield.

He steps out into it, dust gritting up his eyes. The only way out is through, so he heads toward the sound of raised voices, stumbling over a raised root as he goes.

He can just barely make out the words now.

“—leave her alone, or you’re dead, do you hear me?” Carver’s not yelling, but when he comes into view, his eyes are hard, and he’s clutching at Eddie’s t-shirt with enough force that he’s holding his knees off the ground.

There’s blood on Eddie’s face, dripping down off it and staining the dirt beneath him.

Steve doesn’t think. “Hey!” he calls, rushing forward to insert himself between them, but before he can, Carver drops Eddie into an ungainly heap on the ground and spins around to face Steve.

Steve lets him; if his eyes are on him, then he’s not looking at Eddie.

“Harrington?” Carver asks, shoulders slumping like Steve’s a friendly, not one wrong move from popping him one in the nose. “What are you—”

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here before the cops show?” Steve asks, using his Team Captain voice.

Steve watches it land. Carver’s shoulder slump, and he looks over Steve’s shoulder at where he’d abandoned his car. But then Eddie spits a glob of blood onto the ground, and Carver’s face shores up into something vicious.

“He was going to ask your girlfriend out, I heard all about it from his little friend!” Carver spits, like the words hurt as they come out of his mouth. “You should thank me on hands and knees!”

“I bet you’d love him on his knees,” Eddie cuts in, words slurring worryingly together.

Carver turns back toward Eddie, face gone almost translucent in the light of the afternoon sun. “Why, you—“

“Shut up, man,” Steve says, finally looking away from Carver to where Eddie’s on his knees, partially obscured by Carver’s body.

Eddie looks up at Steve, defiant as he spits a glob of saliva and blood into the dirt again then wipes his mouth with a shaking hand.

Steve stares down at him, stomach twisting in on itself as Eddie’s glare only intensifies. There hadn’t been much in his eyes when he’d been looking at Carver, but when he’s looking at Steve? That’s rage, barely banked by what must be a killer concussion. Steve turns away from it, unable to bear it a moment longer.

“What’s the point of this?” Steve asks Carver, the exhaustion he’s starting to feel leaking into his voice.

“Chrissy doesn’t need—”

“Chrissy is an adult who doesn’t need either of us fighting her battles for her,” Steve cuts in. “Besides, they’re friends.”

Carver’s mouth curls in on itself. “She would never be friends with this f—”

“She’d kick your ass herself if she heard you talking about Munson like that.”

Carver turns his back on Eddie entirely, glaring at Steve like they’re in some sort of quick-draw stand-off in a stupid Western. Steve’s tired of this guy and all his hate, he’s tired of people he loves being hurt, tired of having to be Chrissy’s shield against the asshole in front of him, and Robin’s shoulder to cry on, and going home to an empty fucking house.

He’s just tired.

It’s a relief when Eddie stands on his own two feet, legs visibly shaking but holding his weight. Because nothing will ever stop Eddie from being Eddie, he claps like Steve and Jason are kindergartners and he’s their beleaguered teacher sent to corral them.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eddie says, grinning around the blood in his teeth. “But there’s only so much jock on jock violence I can take before I break out in hives. So, can I go?”

He throws a taunting thumb over his shoulder where his van’s parked closer to the cliff’s edge, turning to stumble toward it without another word. Carver and Steve both rush to stop him for opposing reasons.

“I’m not done with you,” Carver hisses.

Steve grabs his shoulder, yanking him hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps. “Leave it, Carver, or I’ll ruin you.”

“What the hell could you even do?” Carver demands.

Steve stares him down, dead-eyed and entirely fed up. “I can tell Chrissy what you did, and she’ll lose what little respect she had for you. Then? I’ll have a meeting with Coach and get you kicked off the team. Then, who knows, maybe I’ll plant drugs in your locker, shave your head while you’re sleeping, vandalize school property in your name. Do you really want to stick around and find out what else I can think of?”

Carver holds his gaze for another, endless second before turning away and slinking back the way he came. Steve watches until Carver starts his own car, swerved recklessly close to Steve’s own parked car, and sped away.

When he turns back, Eddie’s nowhere to be seen. He slinks toward his van, unwilling to spook the guy further if he doesn’t need to.

He’s in the driver’s seat of his van, cursing as his shaking hands fumble with the keys, missing again and again as he tries to jam it into the keyhole.

“You can’t drive,” Steve says quietly.

Eddie still jumps, dropping the keys into the well beneath his feet as he snaps his head up, eyes wide and pupils eating up his face. There’s a bruise already swelling up his eyes, and blood caked beneath his nose. He looks a downright mess.

“Here to finish what your buddy started?” Eddie asks, showing off his bloody teeth again in a grin, as if Steve can’t see him shaking.

Steve shakes his head, throat clogged with too many words to name. What comes out is, “you’re not supposed to drive with a concussion.”

Eddie, tellingly, does not argue the concussion, but his bared teeth are starting to look more like a snarl as he replies, “I’m not leaving my van here.”

Steve stares at him. He’s sweating, with injury or panic, Steve’s not sure. There’s dirt in his hair, like before Steve had arrived, Jason had him on the ground, glossy curls pressed into the dirt. Steve clenches his hands into fists the more he sees. His t-shirt is black, but there’s a rip at its hem that Steve doesn’t think was there before.

He aches to reach through the open window and touch that busted face, find the split in his lip, clear the blood from beneath his nose.

Instead, he opens the driver’s side door, feeling like absolute scum as Eddie shuffles away, eyes wide as he presses himself as far away as possible as Steve climbs in.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, voice all wobbly.

Steve bends down to pick up the keys where Eddie had dropped them. He slides the key home and Eddie’s van tick tick ticks itself to life. When Eddie’s music blares, Steve reaches across to turn the dial down, ignoring Eddie’s flinch at his movement.

“Taking you home.”

Eddie’s van is bigger then he’s used to driving, the ride bumpier as he turns around and slides carefully past his own car, his keys probably still abandoned in the driver’s seat somewhere.

Hopefully it’ll still be there when he comes back for it.

*** 

“Did Chrissy put you up to this?” Eddie asks, voice small, small, small.

Harrington’s shoulders slump, clenched fingers loosening on the steering wheel. He sighs, long and loud, perfect hair rustling with the movement.

“Robin, actually,” he replies, lips tucked up into a facsimile of a smile.

Robin, Robin, Robin, does he know a Robin? His brain’s not working, too scrambled up inside. Eddie’s entire face aches as he scrunches it up in thought before cutting that shit out. No thinking for him until some of this heals. Still, he worries against the name, until, “Buckley?” comes out of his mouth.

Harrington smiles, warmer this time. “Yeah, she saw Carver following you.”

“And went to you?” Eddie asks, voice squeaking embarrassingly on the last word.

Harrington doesn’t answer, but his hands clench tight enough against the steering wheel that his knuckles turn white.

Eddie resolves himself to shutting the fuck up for the rest of the drive.

“How do you know where I live?”

“You’re…loud, dude,” Harrington says, pulling into Eddie’s empty driveway. Harrington’s right, he is loud. It still sounds like a lie. “Is your uncle home?”

Eddie squints, busted eye bursting with pain as he asks, “how do you know I live with my uncle?”

Harrington raises his eyebrow, clearly saying “you’re loud, dude,” again without even needing to open his mouth. Eddie kind of hates him for it.

“He’s on a fishing trip,” Eddie sighs.

Without another word, Harrington turns off the engine and slides out of the van, shutting the door gently behind himself. He rounds the front of the van and Eddie sits, stupefied in his seat as Harrington pulls open the passenger side door and holds his hand out like Eddie’s some swooning maiden. Feeling flustered and frustrated in turns, Eddie slaps his hand away and steps out of his van on his own two feet, slamming the door closed behind him.

Harrington doesn’t move out of the way as Eddie storms past, their shoulders banging into each other makes Eddie’s teeth rattle painfully in his bruised skull. He only remembers he doesn’t have his keys when he’s standing in front of his front door, hand empty.

He stares down at it, betrayed.

His house keys jingle in Harrington’s hand as he steps up beside him. Without even a by your leave, he inserts the key into the hole and twists, inexplicably choosing the right key on the first try. Is Steve Harrington a mind reader?

Harrington pushes the door open and holds it open for Eddie, as if it’s not his house they’re walking into.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie demands, standing on his own front porch like a loser as Harrington bends down and takes his sneakers off.

He lines them up neatly by the wall like he’s staying in The Ritz or something and doesn’t want to stain the dingy carpet.

“Taking my shoes off?”

“No!” Eddie wails, clutching handfuls of his hair, beyond frustration and into something that feels a lot like hysteria. “What are you doing here?”

Straightening up, Harrington stares down at Eddie where he’s still standing on his own porch. He looks incredulous, as if Eddie’s the one who’d saved him from getting killed by some jock, and Eddie’s the one who followed him home after like a lost puppy.

Like Eddie’s the one that doesn’t quite fit in the trailer park, and not Steve Harrington with his squeaky white shoes and ironed polo, and luscious hair, and skin that’s all sun-kissed even as summer’s barely a memory in a little girl’s eye.

“Your uncle’s not home.”

Eddie stares, gobsmacked. What the fuck are they putting in the water in Loch Nora, Jesus Christ! “So?!”

Harrington squints at him again, his aloof cool-guy shtick finally breaking to show the judgmental mean girl barely hidden beneath. “You’re totally concussed, dude,” Steve replies, a King handing down a decree to his loyal subjects. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t like, die.”

Eddie, never one to follow anyone’s decrees but his own, immediately starts bitching. “So, what? You’re playing home invader until someone comes to relieve you?”

He nods, smiling down at Eddie like he’s a puppy who finally learned not to piss on the carpet. Fed up with being a rung lower, Eddie takes that last step up onto the stoop and brushes past Harrington into his own goddamn house.

Harrington shuts and locks the door behind him.

Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor for the first time in his life, Eddie continues further into the trailer without turning around, not stopping until he’s got the bathroom door as a barrier between his vulnerable back and the latest interloper.

The light hurts his eyes as he flicks it on. His face hurts worse, and he can see why, now. One of his eyes is well on its way to swelling shut, a deep red bleeding into purples the farther out it goes. There’s blood beneath his nose, and it’s ballooning out making him look like some old lady’s prized pug. There’s a split going straight through his lip from Carver’s class ring.

He looks like an extra in a horror movie; the guy who’s about to make the sacrifice play because he’s not going to make it. And yeah, maybe there’s a little melodrama in the thought, but Eddie’s pretty sure he deserves it at this point.

God, what a day.

As punctuation to his own thoughts, someone knocks quietly on the door. Eddie’s ribs ache as his shoulders slump, head hanging damn-near into the dirty sink.

“Eddie?” There’s a moment of silence where Eddie’s response is supposed to be. He doesn’t heed it. “Can I come in?”

Eddie groans, loud enough that it’s gotta be audible through the tissue-paper door between them. “Why?” he says–whines pitifully, really.

“I want to check your injuries.”

Eddie, against his better judgment, cracks the door open wide enough to peer through. “What’s it to you, Dr. Harrington?” he asks, that same question wrapped up in a new package. Why are you here, why do you care, what do you want from me?

Harrington just smiles, and pushes at the door with just enough force that Eddie has no choice but to back up and let his unwanted guest in.

He takes Eddie’s face in his hands, rubbing gentle fingers against each wound, murmuring soothing placations. It works enough that Eddie stands still as Harrington sanitizes and bandages each of his wounds.

“You should ice them after this, okay?”

Eddie nods dumbly because Harrington’s moved on from painfully prodding his face to running his fingers through his hair, checking every inch of his skull for bumps and bruises.

“Does it hurt anywhere else?” he asks.

Eddie hums, relaxing against his will, body slumping into the cupboard behind him as those nimble fingers have their way with him.

“My ribs, maybe,” Eddie murmurs, eyes closing as Harrington’s fingernails scrape against his scalp before he withdraws his fingers.

His eyes snap back open a second later when those same fingers yank his shirt up without asking, warm palms chasing away the chill on his skin as they skirt over his ribcage, applying gentle pressure to whatever Harrington finds. Eddie shivers involuntarily as Harrington bends down, breath puffing against his stomach.

“Wh—what are you doing?” Eddie asks, stuttering over every other word.

He’s clenched up tight enough that his whole body aches with it—spine, jaw, wrists. But then Harrington looks up at him, usually impeccable hair softened by the day and flopping gently into his face. Eddie always assumed his eyes were brown, but they look sort of gold in the shitty fluorescent light of the bathroom.

He’s never been this close to Harrington before.

“Checking your ribs,” he replies, breath puffing against Eddie’s uncovered skin with every word. “Does that hurt?”

And then he just dismisses Eddie in favor of palpitating what must be a nasty bruise. Eddie whines, inexplicably, embarrassingly, before squeaking out a tiny, “no,” when Harrington looks back up at him with his big, worried, puppy-dog eyes.

Eddie’s own words to Carver make a reappearance, flashing red in neon lights inside his empty skull—I bet you’d love him on his knees. He’s on them now, between Eddie’s spread thighs, looking at Eddie’s body with an intensity that’s skinning him alive.

His skull’s not empty now; it’s bursting with half-formed thoughts, and panicked wheezing he hopes is just internal, and through it all, the words run rampant—on his knees, on his knees, on his knees.

Steve Harrington stands up, takes a step back, and smiles at Eddie. “I think they’re just bruised,” he says, seeming not to notice Eddie’s ragged breathing. “We should ice them, too.”

And then he just…walks out of the bathroom like Eddie’s not full to bursting with thoughts and feelings he doesn’t understand. Like it wasn’t Harrington that had dropped them at his feet—on his knees.

*** 

Steve sticks his head into Eddie’s freezer and resists the urge to scream. It’s just—Eddie had been blushing when Steve had looked up from checking his ribs for cracks. Steve’s never seen him blush before, and it’s seared into his brain (the way it’d started from his ears and meandered across his cheeks before slowly spreading its splotchy hue down his neck).

For a second, it was almost like Eddie didn’t hate him.

Steve suppresses the thought. Boys shouldn’t have crushes on straight boys who hate their guts, and letting even the tiniest flutter of hope touch his heart would be stupider still. There’s his silly little notes, and there’s his pining little glances.

He doesn’t need anything else.

“Are…you okay?” Eddie’s hesitant voice comes from behind him.

Abruptly remembering his position, Steve pulls his head out of the freezer and grabs the first bag he sees: a half-full package of frozen peas. He turns to Eddie with the best smile he can manage, holding them up as explanation for the unasked What the hell are you doing? hidden beneath the bemused smile on Eddie’s lips.

“Just finding you some ice, dude,” Steve replies breezily, walking over to drop the bag into Eddie’s hand.

“Uh, thanks?” he replies, walking past Steve to close the freezer he’d left open. Steve winces. “You can like, go now.”

It’s a demand hidden beneath a polite question. Steve’s feet start moving toward the door before he remembers the lump he’d felt on the back of Eddie’s head, and the way his eyes had gone all glassy and dazed in the bathroom as Steve had patched him up.

“Unless you want to call someone else, you’re stuck with me until your uncle gets here.” Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but Steve holds up his hands palm out, forestalling his complaints. “Possible concussion, dude.”

Eddie whines, actually stamping his foot squeakily against the linoleum of the kitchen floor. Steve smiles, helplessly endeared, and hates himself for it.

“Why is it your problem if I nod off in my sleep, you don’t even like me.”

The warm feelings flee like they’d never been there at all.

Steve turns his back on Eddie’s petulant frown and stomping feet, unwilling to look him in the eye as the emotions crash through him. Just for a second, he lets his face drop.

“I like you, just fine,” Steve replies, ignoring the little scoff from Eddie in reply.

The trailer’s small and crowded with things on damn-near every surface, but it’s cozy. Steve’s imagined this moment—getting through the Munson’s front door and finally seeing what’s inside. It’s warm, a hot cup of tea, a blanket on a cold night, somewhere to feel safe in.

All Steve feels is cold.

Instead of answering Eddie’s scoff, Steve lets his own little tantrum stomps lead him over to the ratty couch. He sinks down, crossing his legs as he leans back into the cushions, and finally, finally looks at Eddie. He’s still pouting, bottom lip having split open against the pressure of his frown. Steve raises a pointed eyebrow before turning back around to stare at the black of the TV screen.

Eddie groans again, and it takes all his willpower not to turn around, not to let his shoulders curl in as he hears footsteps coming closer. But, all Eddie does is settle onto the other side of the couch and grab the remote.

It’s going to be a long night. 

PART 13

[gigabyte-flare]

Insatiable (Part 2)

Part 1

Summary: Your collages should have listened to you.

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: yandere plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Extreme violence and gore, biting, dubcon, forced breeding, gross las plagas-y things, death, mentions of un-aliving. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

A/N: Huge shout out to @chanif-art who's artwork continues to inspire me and this story. I am completely blown away with how well part 1 was received. Thank you to everyone who's liked, reblogged, commented and even simply read it. I didn't do a tag list for this one because I think well over 50 people asked and I completely lost track. Anyway, I hope this meets your expectations! I was listening to Little Girl Gone while writing this... for some reason it just fits plagas!Leon.

“Honey, I’ve changed so much since I last saw ya.”

You open your eyes, finding yourself inside Leon’s cell. You dart your head around, looking frantically when you realize you’re chained to the chair, the same chair Leon had previously been chained to. You hear Leon chuckle, a low chilling sound as he walks up from behind you, taking long, slow strides. He turns to face you, you notice the black veins sprawling his body have gotten darker, his eyes more red. He grins as he kneels down to be at eye level with you, his four canine teeth noticeably sharp. He runs his tongue along his teeth.

“There you are, sweetheart. I didn’t think you’d wake up,” Leon says with a purr. 

Your eyes are wide, taking labored deep breaths before you attempt to struggle. Leon laughs, shaking his head.

“That won’t do you any good I’m afraid, but don’t worry, I’ll get you out of those chains so we can have some play time.”

Leon stands back up, walking back behind you. You hear him break the chains apart with his bare hands. You waste no time bolting out of the chair and to the door. No matter how much you pull, the door won’t budge. You turn around to find Leon standing directly behind you. He grabs you by the waist pulling you to him. You flail your arms at him, trying to fight him off. Out of the corner of your eye you see Bryan on the other side of the clear panel holding a clipboard, taking notes.

“Bryan?! Get me out of here! I’m trapped in here with him, please! He’s going to hurt me!”

Bryan lifts his head, shaking it, “the data you’ll provide from this is too valuable to pass up I’m afraid. We need to know if he’s capable of procreating with a un-infected human and what the offspring will look like.”

“WHAT?!” you scream, “Bryan have you lost your mind?!”

Completely ignoring your pleas, Bryan continues, “remember what we agreed on, Leon. You are not to infect her with the plaga until she gives birth. After that, you can do with her as you please.”

“I remember the agreement, you fucking prick,” Leon growls next to your ear before he licks your earlobe. 

“NO I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS BRYAN, YOU LET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!” you continue to scream as you try to fight Leon off.

Leon, however, is much more powerful than you; he bites into your shoulder and makes short work of pinning you to the floor, his hands gripping your jeans and ripping them off you, leaving you with your pair of lace panties. You attempt to crawl across the floor towards Bryan, but Leon drags you back by your hips. Leon flips you over to face him, caging you with his body. He simply stares down at you, his smile wide. You watch as drool drips from his face onto your shirt, which he promptly rips apart to reveal your matching bra to him.

“Aren’t you just delicious to look at?” Leon says, licking his lips before locking his lips onto yours in a hungry kiss. 

To your horror, you’re returning his kiss, his hands grasping to both of your breasts. He pulls away after a couple minutes, sitting on his haunches as he pushes your legs apart, noting the dark spot that is now on your panties.

“Oh? You don’t want this? Then tell me why you’re so fucking wet, sweetheart?”

Leaning forward, he grabs your panties with his teeth, dragging them off you before tossing them aside. He then begins undoing the belt on his pants; before long he is pulling his hardening cock from his pants. He wastes no time climbing back on top of you, pushing himself inside you balls deep with ease. 

When the head of his cock kisses your cervix, your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out a soft moan. Leon growls, thrusting into you with an insatiable ferocity, causing you to grip his arms, scratching into them with your nails. You felt like he was fucking you for an eternity when he let’s out another growl, pressing into you as deep as he could possibly go. You feel your cunt clamp around his cock, milking his cum into your body.

Leon stares back down at you, his eyes and grin wide as he laughs maniacally.

You wake up screaming, covered in sweat and tears streaming down your face. You take deep breaths, laying your hand on your chest to ground yourself.

It was just a nightmare.

Once you get yourself calm, you climb out of bed and go into the kitchen of your apartment, making yourself coffee and some toast for breakfast. Afterwards, you get ready for work and head out the door. On your way, you decide to stop at the pharmacy. Walking the aisles, you find the feminine hygiene products, grabbing an ovulation test off the shelf and paying for it. Once you get to HQ, you trap yourself into one of the bathroom stalls, taking the test and waiting for the results. You watch in horror as a little smiley face shows up on the little screen, confirming your hypothesis.

You collect yourself before briskly walking into Bryan’s office. You don’t knock, you simply push the door open aggressively, startling both Bryan and the researcher he’s meeting with, you think his name is Pierce.

“I am not going back down there, Bryan,” you say sternly. 

Pierce shifts uncomfortably in his seat before standing up to leave, “I’ll go check on the camera feed downstairs.”

You and Bryan stare at each other as the door swings shut. Bryan rubs his eyes.

“Not this again, I’m sorry but I need you to go down there, you’re still the only one Leon talks to. Is this about what happened yesterday? I assure you, we have taken extra precautions to ensure that doesn’t happen again.”

You stomp up to Bryan’s desk, slamming the positive ovulation test onto the desk. Bryan looks down at the test before looking at you and raising an eyebrow.

“The fuck is this?” he asks.

“I’m ovulating, this is why Leon keeps saying I smell good and wants to practically throw himself on me whenever I’m down there.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Can you think of a logical explanation, then? I’m all ears.”

“This is not up for debate, you are going to continue working with Leon; that’s an order!”

Suddenly, the lights go dim before red emergency lights come on followed by a loud, screeching alarm.

“What the hell?!” Bryan exclaims, looking around confused.

You’ve never heard this alarm during your entire time at D.S.O., you rack your brain around what it could mean when suddenly, Pierce bursts into the office.

“Pierce! What the hell is going on out there?!” Bryan asks.

“Kennedy’s escaped, sir!”

Leon opens his eyes and lifts his head, looking around his cell. Deep down he was seething in rage; he had gotten so close to getting out of this chair and having his way with you. Now, his chair had reinforced steel plating welded to it and they strapped a god damn muzzle onto his face. He could see he now had two men with guns guarding the door at all times. 

Fucking beautiful.

He tested the chains again, but found they had been tightened recently, angering him even more. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and hoped he would see you today. He hated the thought of you seeing him like this, but he desperately wanted to see you and inhale your sweet, sweet scent.

Out of nowhere, an excruciating pain jolts down Leon’s spine, causing him to cry out and writhe in his chair. His four canine teeth grow sharper, his fingers turning black and now taking on a claw-like appearance and a new, sharp appendage was peaking out of his lower back. The guards turned around to look at Leon. They immediately unlock the door and come into this cell to check on him. Leon stops writhing, slumping over in his chair, pretending to be passed out. One guard stays by the door, facing away from them while the other comes over to check on Leon, checking the chains to make sure they’re in place.

Unbeknownst to the guard closest to Leon, Leon’s new tail was extending from his back, coming around from behind the guard. It was very similar to a scorpion’s tail, but instead of a barb on the end, it looked like a blade. Within an instant, Leon’s tail wraps around the guard’s neck, snapping it instantly as four claw-like appendages burst from Leon’s back, breaking the chains holding his arms in place. Hearing the other guard fall to the floor the other guard turns around only to be faced with Leon, who is now up out of his chair and walking towards him, ripping the muzzle off his face, flashing a maniacal grin at the guard. The guard goes to shoot Leon but Leon is much faster, his tail whipping forward and impaling the man in the chest before flinging him aside. 

Leon strides out of his cell, looking down the hallway to see a pair of researchers coming down the hallway. Upon seeing Leon out of his cell, they start shouting at each other and turn to run in the opposite direction. Leon smiles, breaking into a sprint. He leaps, pinning one researcher to the ground with his body while his tail grabs the other by the waist, lifting him into the air.

“Where is she?!” Leon asks with a growl to the researcher he has pinned to the floor.

“Where’s who?!” the researcher stutters.

“Don’t play dumb with me! Where is she?!”

“Up-Upstairs! In Br-Bryan’s office!”

Leon’s mouth clamps down onto the researcher's neck, ripping out his throat as his tail squeezes the other until his spine snaps, falling to the floor as Leon lets him go. At that moment, all the lights dim before red emergency lights come on. Leon breaks back into a sprint to the elevator however, it was not working no matter how many buttons he pushed. He uses his tale to rip a hole into the ceiling, leaping up into it and climbing the elevator shaft. 

Once he reaches the top, he pries the elevator door open, swinging down, landing gracefully in the hallway. People are scrambling to get away from him, bumping and tripping over each other to run down the hallway. Leon’s red eyes scan the area, however, he sees no sign of you. More guards with guns show up, firing at him. His tale whips forward, deflecting their bullets with ease as he lunges forward. He impales one operative with his tail while his hand thrusts through the chest of another, gripping the man’s still beating heart in his claws before crushing it.

“Take her and get out of here!” he hears a man yell from down the hallway.

Leon’s attention is immediately drawn to the man that yelled, immediately recognizing him as Bryan. At one time, he liked the man, a brilliant scientist. Too bad he has to die. Leon watches as Bryan pulls out a pistol, firing shots at him. Again. Leon’s tail and back claws deflect the shots as he stands face to face with Bryan, his tail whipping around and decapitating the man with ease. He brings his tail’s blade to his lips, licking off the blood as he proceeds to walk down the hallway towards the entrance of HQ. 

A researcher is leading you out the front door, shoving you through the door with his back turned to Leon. He’s about to head out himself before Leon’s tail goes straight through his chest. Leon hears the man’s death gurgles as he flings him behind him, his body falling about 20 feet away with a loud thud. 

And there you are, cowering in the entry vestibule, your eyes locked on him, looking up and down his body. Leon straightens out his posture in hopes of making himself alluring to you, his tail whipping back and forth while his back claws flex. 

“Do you actually think you can escape me?” Leon coos, watching as you press your back as hard as you can into the glass doors as he comes closer.

“You never will, my love.” he continues with a grin, licking his sharp canines.

You stumble out of the door, bolting into the street and running as fast as you can to your car.

“I will find you.”

Part 3

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd-rautha

part one of five. (part 2.) (part 3.) (part 4.)

summary:

feyd-rautha. 

there he is, strong arms spread wide, dual blades stained black, basking in the glorious aftermath of combat. at his feet, atreides soldiers. dead.

you unsheathe your blade, the dull metal grinding against its sheath.

it is kill or be killed, and you intend to live.

wc: 2k

tw: blood. death. non graphic description of gore (this is a gladiator fight). mentions of eugenics. fighting as foreplay. reader may or may not have a blood kink. knife kink??? reader is more refined than feyd but don't let it fool you she's a freak. uuuh hubris? probable inaccurate handling of dune lore, esp with the voice (forgive me for the creative liberty of assuming the mother of the kwisatz haderach should be a freak. as a treat.)

many, many years ago, the sisterhood deems you ready for the gom jabbar. you enter the room, your mother a looming shadow, hands folded in her sleeves, head bowed before a long figure cloaked in shadows.

it doesn’t sit right with you, this intrusion in your mother’s parlor. how dare that old witch make a servant out of your mother in her own house?

“kneel.”

you do. you fall to your knees. before you, a phalto green box. in it, pain. at your neck, the gom jabbar, its deadly poison whispering into your ear.

it tells you about sweet, sweet little death. it tells you the reverend mother will not put your life in danger. not when you’re the culmination of nineteen generations of careful planning.

you are to be married to a harkonnen and bear the kwisatz haderach.

so you raise your head and put your hand in the box, eyes boring into the old crone’s. you see something flash in her depthless eyes. you think of the calm before mother-storms, the stillness of the air before pounding rain. 

it’s rage.

pain shoots through your hand. fire that burns and charrs and eats away at your flesh, consuming one layer of skin after another until you’re sure it reaches the bone below. you almost scream. instead, you bite your lip until metal-blood stains your tongue. 

you will endure this pain. you will not let fear consume you — you have nothing to fear, you shall not die, not here. fear is the mind killer. pain is the mind killer. you will let it wash over you and face the eons of bene gesserit knowledge standing before you.

through gritted teeth, you ask:

“am i human enough, oh wise one?”

you were. otherwise you wouldn’t be here, years later, rotting in a harkonnen cell. 

(there are things that have been kept a secret from you. you have been raised following your mother’s footsteps in the weirding way. the reverend mother denied you a place under her tutelage with harsh words and a harsher look. you’ve caught wind of her thoughts in shimmering fragments of dreams — what has jessica done?)

it will matter, in the end, that your mother decided to give your father a son. already, you’ve seen it, behind the web of your eyelids, the lone silhouette of your brother, blood of your blood, rising, rising.

he will gather them, the fremen, from the burning sands of arrakis, and rise, blade glinting under scorching sun. lisan al gaib, they already call him, hushed whispers lost in the shifting sands of dunes. 

your hand falls to your womb, empty still. 

they were scared, the bene gesserit. the atreides line was growing too powerful, too fast. you — the promised daughter, skilled in the way, with tongue and mind sharper than your blade — are to be bred and deliver the one.

but in came paul — beloved little mouse of a younger brother. too smart, too observant, too skilled, too much. your mother’s defiance, your mother’s love for your father led her to commit the unthinkable and defy the order.

it retaliated.

you’ve been betrayed. that, you’ve seen coming. so did your father. so did your mother. even your brother felt it, in his very bones, the low thrum of wrongness. something was bound to happen. something was bound to shake you to your very core. 

something happened.

the harkonnens came. house atreides fell. you can still smell it, the stench of death, the bloodied sands beneath your feet as you struck and struck.

all must die, and so they did.

you feel it still, the blood coating your hands, your forearms, dripping from your blade, the old scar on your forearm burning righteous fury. 

they caught you, in the end. you, who willingly put a target on your back, allowing your brother and mother’s quiet escape. you, beaten down, bloodied. grinning, voice warping the harkonnen rats’ perception.

“you will not see me as i am.”

the atreides have been set up. offering arrakis has been nothing but a convenient way for the emperor to get rid of your bloodline.

you scoff; in the quiet depths of your cell, your fingers dig crescent moons in your palms.

you’ve been taught to read behind veils upon veils of lies. the truthsayer suggested the eradication of your house. painted you a threat.

being able to breed the kwisatz haderach won’t protect you.

so here you are, eldest daughter of duke leto atreides and lady jessica, older sister to paul atreides. here you are, sitting with your back pressed up against the wall. cold seeps into your marrow, reaching bone. rage simmers low in your gut. you quell it. nurse it until it becomes a living beast eager to feast.

you will need it.

your body fails you. your sight is blurry, your hands tremble. they should not. duncan would have hit the back of your head had he been there. he isn’t. (dead.) breathe in. breathe out. focus what’s left of your attention on the too small bowl of food that’s been given to you, on the glass of water. empty, both of them. 

poison isn’t a problem — not with your training, not with the constant shifting and turning of lethal molecules within you. there. prana bindu — precise alteration of the body’s vitals. you will bear your condition for a time, weakened, but alive.

you clench your fist and slam it against the wall. pain surges through you, burning through your joint. good. if fear is the mind killer, pain clears the fog clogging your brain.

here goes: you’re rotting in the cell of your hereditary enemy, malnourished and poisoned. you’ve heard the guards, their off handed comments when they thought you too drugged to understand. your cell is below an arena. you will need to fight. perhaps, they’ll pit you against your men. the atreides house, dying by its own hand. fitting. 

you’re neck-deep in trouble.

the door slides open. two guards come in, all dressed in black. harkonnens. harkonnens everywhere, and you cannot do a damned thing as they pull you up, pushing you out of your cell. they’re laughing. those bastards are laughing.

one less atreides scum in the known universe — good riddance!

you will tear into them and rip out their spine with your teeth.

they drag you in a maze of hallways, each darker than the last. you’re ascending, a catabasis of twists and turns and sliding doors. there’s a low thrum in your gut. louder and louder with each step is a pulse. a chant. a name. 

the guards press a blade in your hand and push you forward.

the door slides up. shadows part. you blink with a low hiss. light pours down on you, all-consuming, blinding. sands stretch before you, unnaturally white.

the arena.

thousands upon thousands of people gaze down at you. the voice surges forward, eons of your foremother speaking through you.

“you will not perceive me as i am.”

something trickles down your nose. blood. you’ve overdone it. the voice isn’t meant to be used against that many people, not for long.

you wipe it off.

it will have to hold for the time of this fight. the harkonnen won’t rest until the atreides are completely and utterly wiped out. deceit is your only chance at survival.

the thought makes your blood boil. 

good thing the crowd is screaming for it. they're all screaming for it. a pulse. a chant. a name.

feyd-rautha. 

there he is, strong arms spread wide, dual blades stained black, basking in the glorious aftermath of combat. at his feet, atreides soldiers. dead.

you unsheathe your blade, the dull metal grinding against its sheath.

the noise alone has him turning towards you, head tilting to the side. he’s assessing you, na-baron feyd-rautha harkonnen. he glances up. for a split second, you follow his gaze. above, looking down upon you, is baron vladimir harkonnen, gargantuan mass of flesh.

you want him to collapse. to watch as his bones break under the weight of monstrous grease. you make out the movement of his lips.

happy birthday, nephew.

he’s on you before you can react. your blade raises. steel meets steel. you clench your teeth. his strength surpasses yours. you won’t yield, not to him. but by god is the bastard strong. you’ve got your hands full with just parrying his blows, the force of them echoing in your very bones. your feet slide on the sand below. any more and you’ll lose your footing.

his blades meet yours, again and again, their serrated edge slicing the corrupt air of the arena. they slice through you, too. a vicious cut on your bare forearm has you reeling back, your blade and sheath raising to parry.

this is bad. there’s only so much you can deal with in your decrepit state. fighting to survive isn’t an option — you must kill or be killed.

.

.

.

you draw in a sharp breath.  

watchful eyes bore down upon you. bene gesserit. the reverend mother herself has come to geidi prime.

something at your side — you let your guard down. there’s a flash, a metallic clang. feyd-rautha gazes down upon you, apex predator with your death written in the greedy sands of the arena. here, you’re precious prey. 

rage grips you by the throat and has you baring your teeth.

there you are, blades intertwined with harkonnen scum, a breath away from his lips. they part in a slow, assessing grin. you feel more than you see his appraising gaze raking over you. you, unyielding, matching him blow for blow, blood drip drip dripping down. under the black sun of geidi prime, it, too, has turned a velvety black.

from above your crossed blades, you raise your head and meet his eyes — twin pools of dark, abysses made to consume you whole. time slows down. you want to drown in the marrow of him and feel the warmth of his flesh beneath yours, lost in rapturous agony. something settles in your gut, low and warm.

you call it fury.

you pivot out of the way and nick him, a thin cut splitting open the skin of his cheek. he laughs. slashes at you with deathly precision. you duck, squatting down, leg springing forth, slamming at the back of his knee. he falls. catches you by the ankle and drags you to him.

you snarl. 

“let go.”

how utterly pathetic of you. his grip falters. you hear his blades fall to the ground. you twist, pivot until you’re straddling him, blade pressed against his throat.

there you have it. internal carotid, right below the sculpted edge of his jaw. five minutes until death. five minutes, with his lifeblood coating your hands, soaking your robes, sinking down to your skin beneath.

your hand cramps on the handle of your weapon, in a mockery of rigor mortis. nervous impulse. the tip of the blade pierces tender flesh, drawing a droplet of blood. you follow its path down the column of his flesh, until it reaches the edge of his collarbone.

his hands surges forward, seizing your forearm in a vice grip, yanking you towards him. you feel his breath on your lips with his next words.

“do it.”

his voice sends a shiver down your spine. low, gravelly, it calls for blood. if you don’t spill his, yours will be drawn. yet, you do not move, eyes riveted to his face, to the vicious impatience carved in his features. if you kill him, you’ll be hunted and put down like a dog. 

he shifts under you, the nervous twitch of a beast untamed. even through the hard edges of his ritual armor, you can feel the raw power of him.

you feel his thumb trace the edge of an old scar, up, up your forearm, a flash of black teeth and then— 

pain.

there’s something in your side, serrated, razor-sharp, twisting. your hand raises to your side. warmth trickles down your fingers. his hand wraps over yours, warm, blood a silky black against the porcelain of his skin.

he watches you, twisting the blade until yours fall to the ground, bloodied hand coming up to your cheek. you lean into it. welcome him, as his thumb smears blood across the edge of your parted lips.

“you fought well, atreides.” 

he pulls out the blade.

you fall.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @jaiuneamesolitaiire

[honeytonedhottie]

extra self care routine⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍦

this 8 step self care routine is meant to be super DUPER over the top but its intended more so to make u feel like the goddess that u are and to simply pamper, and spoil urself as u should...plus you'll smell like a cupcake after 🎀

warning, LONG post ahead but thats because i tried to be thorough and clear on the steps of this 8-step routine.✨🧁

STEP ONE ; ICING UR FACE

the benefits of facial icing include more radiant skin, helps with spider lines, and blemish control. if u wanna know more about icing ur face i recommend u read this.

but typically you'll fill up a bowl with some water and ice and dunk ur face in the ice in 60 second intervals (thats how i like to do it) or you take an ice cube and run that on ur skin.

STEP TWO ; OILING UR HAIR

i personally dont recommend oiling ur hair overnight, once u apply ur hair oil into ur hair let it sit for 30 minutes - 4 hours depending on how much time u have on ur hands, but if ur gonna do the 8 step self care ritual i would assume u had some time.

use the scalp massaging tool for blood flow to ur head and MASSAGE. imagine all of ur stress seeping out of ur body. it might sound strange, but when im doing this step i imagine myself rearranging and organizing my thoughts 💀.

while ur doing this whole routine i recommend playing an affirmation tape in the background, or ur favorite playlist. 🧁

STEP THREE ; MASKS

next i'll use a spray bottle and wet my hair before going in with my hair mask, and once thats in ur hair use the claw clip to keep ur hair up and out of ur face.

now its time for the facial mask and i recommend keeping kind of an ARSENAL of masks, whether its a liquid or clay mask or sheet masks just have them on u because i usually do face masks of any sort 1-2 times a week for my LUSTROUS glow.

while u have the hair and face masks in, its a good time to do some dry brushing to remove dead skin cells and improve blood circulation. some other masks that u can do to be EXTRA are lip masks and under eye masks.

STEP FOUR ; IN THE SHOWER

wash ur hair as you would usually do, use the body scrub before using a body wash that has similar tones to the body scrub (this is called scent layering) and while in the shower i recommend to do a shower meditation.

if y'all r interested i'll make a shower meditation guide and u can record ur own voice doing the meditation so u can use it ✨

while ur in the shower make sure to be meticulous and take ur time while u wash ur body. do double cleansing so that u can ensure that you're squeaky clean.

now is also the time to shave if u like to do that and remember use a body scrub BEFORE u shave and once ur out of the shower to use a body oil to prevent ingrowns and to just have a smoother shave in general.

STEP FIVE ; OUT OF THE SHOWER

use ur body oil and ur body lotion, this kind of goes along with the before bed slugging notion which gives the SOFTEST most amazing skin in the morning so i highly recommend it.

HOT TIP FROM HONEY ; using a warmed up towel adds to the whole spa experience so i def recommend that, warming up towels/blankets/robes makes me feel so cozy and toasty ���✨

the formula for before bed slugging is (body oil + body lotion + a thick body butter/cream)

STEP SIX ; REPAIR AND REPLENISH

once your out of the shower and you’ve slugged ur body, use a leave in conditioner to repair and soothe damaged hair.

use a face milk

cuticle oil

now’s the time to use pimple patches

and things of that nature in general

this ensures that ur being absolutely meticulous and replenishing ur body the proper way. taking care of ur base so that u can make it absolutely GLOW ✨

STEP SEVEN ; FACIAL MASSAGE

use a gua sha and any other facial massage tools to help blood circulation and just be EXTRA. to sculpt ur face like the goddess you are.

facial massage stimulates blood circulation, promoting oxygen flow and nutrient delivery to the skin cells. facial massage helps to release the tension held in the facial muscles, alleviating stress lines and promoting a more youthful appearance.

AND if ur consistent with facial massage, you'll can enhance skin elasticity AND diminish fine lines.

STEP EIGHT ; YOGA AND STRETCHES

nothing feels better then massaging and stretching stiff limbs, especially if u have pains or aches in ur body. look up a follow along, super light, yoga routine or a stretching routine.

i think that a rly good stretch is the perfect way to end ur super duper over the top 8 step self care routine 💗🎀

[thenationofzaun]

Vi and Jinx's Bunny Toy

I was thinking about how bizarre it is that Vi thinks Jinx is dead, and we're meant to see this as a positive thing for her character. The way the writers explain it, Vi will never be able to give up on her family and thus will never be able to choose between Jinx and Caitlyn. So Jinx makes the choice for her and removes herself from the equation, "freeing" Vi from the burden of having Jinx in her life so she can be happy with Caitlyn. This is so unsatisfying to me for a number of reasons:

1) Caitlyn is a godawful partner and the Caitvi relationship is such an equal, abusive shitshow that there's no way I can see Vi ending up in the Kiramman's gilded cage as positive. And the implication at the end that Caitlyn suspects Jinx is alive but is going to keep this hidden from Vi so she can have Vi to herself makes it even worse.

2) The whole "Vi can never give up on her family" doesn't land because Vi as a character is extremely inconsistent in this regard. One second she's letting her girlfriend take kill shots at Jinx, the next second she's shielding Jinx from an explosion, then she's hugging Jinx in the jail cell, then she's shit-talking Jinx for refusing to fight for Piltover even though she's obviously crippled by grief after losing Isha. The extent to which Vi cares about her sister changes every 5 seconds with barely any coherency in the writing.

3) The idea that Jinx is too much of a burden on Vi and Vi would be better off if she were DEAD is............. gross to me.

4) Vi is robbed of any character development. It would be way more powerful to me if Vi accepted that Jinx has grown into her own person and has to forge her own path in life whether that includes Vi or not. Which Vi DOES in S2E5 ("Why did you come get me? You don't actually need my help. You haven't for a long time.") Vi has shown already that she IS capable of this character development! But then the writers just make her regress and now apparently she's incapable of letting her sister go her own separate way and has to be duped into thinking Jinx is dead? Bruh.

So I was thinking about all this, and I thought, the ending would work so much better for me if Jinx left some sort of message or hint for Vi to let her know she's alive, and she just needs time away from Zaun and Piltover. Remember their bunny toy? The one that a bully stole from little kid Vi and threw onto the power lines, then Vi got it back to give to Powder in S1E2, then Jinx kept it with her all throughout Season 1?

I wish Jinx had left this for Vi somewhere Vi would definitely find it. Maybe back at Vi's apartment or something. Imagine Vi goes back there to pack her things to move in with Caitlyn, and she finds her old toy sitting on her dresser. Preferrably with a note from Jinx explaining everything. This way Vi would know her sister is alive, she'd have some character development in accepting her sister has gone on her own journey, and it'd bring the bunny toy full circle all the way back to its original owner. First Vi gave it to Jinx in Season 1 to say goodbye before Vi turned herself in to Piltover, now Jinx gives it to Vi to say goodbye as she leaves Piltover behind. I would also have liked for the show to end on something Vi and Jinx related rather than Vi and Caitlyn. The sisters are the heart of the show. It should have ended with them.

[brotherblaze]

heat death —jason todd

—summary: There's an unexpected detour on your date. You have a feeling Jason would normally rather pry his teeth from his mouth than let you meet a dead boy, but tonight, he wants to make peace.

—cw: discussion of past character death, no gender mentioned for the reader.

—wc: 2,7k

—note: part 2 to this; can be read as a standalone

Sometimes, Jason has to return to Gotham for a few days.

And it’s fine—it’s not like you’re so co-dependent on him that you can’t survive without hearing from him for a couple of days. (Your cat, not so much. How long can an animal sit in front of your apartment door, waiting for someone to step through? For a long time. You find yourself thinking back to that Hachiko movie.)

But he always makes up for it in style.

When you meet him in the lobby of your building at 6:53 PM, after he gave you only three hours of notice (and the instruction to wear that red dress he likes so much), Jason Todd looks dashing. He’s dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt, the two topmost buttons undone. His hair—as if he’d decided to slick it back and then changed his mind.

Next to him, is a dark-haired woman in a long tailcoat. Kind of like the ones tacky magicians like to wear.

Jason’s face lights up when your eyes meet and your heart swells and leaps into your throat all the same. Like this is your first date again. In a way, every date with Jason Todd feels like the first again, the butterflies swarming your chest, perching briefly on a rib to then take flight again at a moment’s notice. Jason has crossed the space between you in three long steps and is pulling you into his arms. He’s warm and he smells like sandalwood and citrus.

“I’m sorry for going radio silent; I wanted to call so many times.” He presses his lips against your cheek.

“I assume Scarecrow is back in Arkham?”

“Nice and cozy in his cell. You—” he cuts himself off as he takes a step back, arms outstretched and hands hovering so close to your coat-clad arms like he’s afraid to touch you, and gives himself a moment to look you over. “Look incredible. I kind of want to go back upstairs and—”

The woman clears her throat.

Jason’s cheeks flush red. He straightens and angles himself so you can see past him. “This is Zatanna.”

“Nice to meet you.”

You accept her outstretched hand. “As in Zatanna Zatara? The Zatanna Zatara?”

“You’re a fan?” Jason asks with a wolfish smile, as if red is not still lingering on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. You almost want to jab him in the ribs. Zatanna beats you to it. “Ow.”

“What, I can’t like space and magic?”

“No, no, I didn’t say that.” He holds his hands up in mock-surrender. Silver rings glint on his fingers. “But speaking of magic, Zee is gonna take us where we need to be.”

You could ask where you’re going. But Jason is keen on keeping his tongue behind his teeth whenever he plans date activities. The most you’ll get is a vague gesture; and very carefully thought out instructions on how formal you should dress.

“If I get in trouble with Batman for this, I’m throwing you under the bus,” Zatanna says, rolling up the sleeves of her jacket.

“A: Superman cleared it and Red Tornado is on monitor duty. B: I got Two-Face to hold down the fort with B. And C—” Jason checks his watch, “we have a reservation at 8:30.”

“Okay, okay,” Zatanna says. She flexes her gloved fingers. Sparks fly. “Ready to go?” She asks the room but she’s looking at you. You nod and slide your hand into Jason’s just in case. “Great. Now, please close your eyes and remain calm.”

In your peripheral vision, Jason closes his eyes immediately—you don’t think you’ve seen him do something so voluntarily even with his family. It’s as if he trusts Zatanna completely. His hand is warm around yours and you give it a gentle squeeze. He squeezes back.

If he trusts her so implicitly, you see no reason to doubt her, and close your eyes.

The timbre of Zatanna’s voice is lovely as she casts her spell. It wraps around you like a soft cloud and for a moment you’re weightless before it places you back down just as gently. There is no vertigo, no motion of falling or flying. If only you could understand what she’s saying.

The city fades from your senses all at once. Cars aren’t honking and the aircon in the lobby isn’t blowing warm air against the back of your neck. The air doesn’t smell like flowery air freshener. 

Instead, there is birdsong and the rustle of leaves.

You blink slowly, try to reorient yourself wherever Zatanna has placed you. The room is dim. The air is warm but not overly stuffy. Trees line your view of your surroundings. A concrete path meanders through the grass. You turn to look at Zatanna, to ask where you are, but she’s nowhere to be found.

Jason—Jason is still there, next to you, your hand clutched in his. He looks you over as if he’s trying to make sure you’re okay. When he’s satisfied with whatever signs you’re displaying, he brings your knuckles up to his lips.

“Sorry. This was the less nauseating way to do it.”

“You asked a really powerful magician to drop us in the woods?”

Jason chuckles and motions towards the concrete path with the jerk of his head. “Wanna see where the yellow brick road in the floating superhero HQ in earth’s orbit leads?”

Your jaw drops. “Jason, what—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He runs his thumb along your knuckles. “Like I said: it’s been cleared and Red is keeping watch just in case.”

“So… we’re really in space?”

You shouldn’t get your hopes up. God knows you’ve been burned too many times by shitty exes promising they’d do something or be better at something. But the thing about Jason is that if he sets his mind to something, he will always want to deliver. He’d probably put some Greek hero to shame with his drive.

He nods. “And there’s a compact version of the Hubble space telescope here; it’s as good as the real thing.”

“Really?” You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Really.”

“Okay.” You take a step forward, off the grass and onto the cold concrete path. Jason is right there, his coat over his arm, offering the other to you. You shrug off your own coat and loop your arm with his. 

You fall into step. There’s no need for talking. Instead, you allow him to guide you, crane your neck when you catch a new chirp from the trees. There’s a woodpecker somewhere, hammering away at a tree.

Something catches in the corner of your eye and you nearly jump out of your skin when you realize it’s human-shaped. You collide into Jason’s body on instinct and he catches you, his arms wound around your torso to secure you in place. The blood rushing in your ears is so loud you nearly miss the words of comfort he’s whispering to you. The white-lensed eye peering from between the trees sends a shiver up your spine to the base of your skull.

Slowly, your senses return to you and you blink rapidly, attempt to turn away from that eye. Jason loosens his grip on you just enough to give you some leeway. You’re clutching his wrists in your hands, nails pressing crescent-shaped indents into his skin. Your fingers feel stiff as you pull away.

“You’re okay,” he says when you can finally hear him again. “What’s got you so spooked, hm? Tornado is in the control room, we’re alone here.” Now that his hands are free, they’re running up and down your back in an effort to soothe you.

“That.”

Jason’s expression shutters off when you point out the culprit. His jaw tenses and he swallows harshly.

You follow his gaze between the trees to get a better look at the thing you saw and oh.

It’s a hologram of Robin. You can make out the emblem on his chest if you crane your neck slightly. A yellow cape hangs from his shoulders.

That’s him, right? He was Robin.

“We don’t have to go over there,” you rush out to say. “C’mon, show me that telescope.” You turn, hand in Jason’s and try to tug him down the road.

“No, I…” Jason pauses, takes a long, even breath in and releases it slowly. He glances towards the treeline where you had been walking towards just moments ago. “We can take a small detour; we have time. I want to tell you something.” He takes your hand in his, intertwines your fingers. At some point, he has taken your coat, now draped over his on his free arm.

You walk side-by-side until you arrive at a small alcove lined with trees and planted flowers.

There are other figures besides Robin there. All holograms. All staring towards the windows, towards Earth.

“This is… everyone in the League and various other teams who’ve…” he trails off, as if he’s having a hard time forcing the word from his mouth. You squeeze his hand. Jason squeezes back. He turns, and you follow, until you’re standing so you have a view of every memorial in the alcove. 

Jason motions to a red-headed girl. She has a swimmer’s build. “That’s Tula. She was… ‘nice’ is such a lame way to put it. She taught me how to swim, y’know. B wouldn’t even let me out into Gotham at first ‘cause I didn’t know how to swim. She wanted to see more of the surface world, so she volunteered. We used to get fro-yo after lessons and go to museums and parks and observatories. She really liked those.

“That,” he places his free hand under your jaw and guides your head to look at the hologram of a man dressed entirely in blue. “That’s Ted Kord. The second Blue Beetle—more of a hobbyist superhero, actually. He was really smart; you would’ve loved to pick his brain. He had this beamgun he’d use. Wanna guess what he called it?”

“Did he name it like B names his toys?”

Jason laughs, the sound short and abrupt but filled with glee. “Oh yeah,” he says with a grin, “I told him he looked so stupid with that thing. But you also would’ve hated him for the pranks he and Booster Gold liked to pull. Everyone was fair game, even B.”

“Naturally, you two got along like a house on fire?”

“Hey, pranks were dickhead’s thing. I was the one who jacked tires to sell them.”

“So, just a little then?”

Jason motions you towards Robin’s hologram as his smile fades. He releases his hold on your hand and you want to object, but his hands find their perch on your hips as he stands behind you. As if you’re a shield he’d like to hide behind so as to not face the memory of a dead boy. He doesn’t say anything for a long while.

You take in the image of Robin.

This Jason, the hologram of a ghost standing in front of you, is skinny, lanky. Short. Two wisps of black hair at his widow’s peak curl towards each other. But… his nose is the same. Jaw a bit less filled out than your Jason’s. If you focus, you can almost place your Jason’s features onto this ghost and try to imagine a cohesive picture of what this dead boy might have looked like when he was still alive. You vaguely recall the newspaper and tabloid articles about Robin—about the change in hair and costume and height. Pictures galore. (Did those ever have close-ups of his face?) About the death of Robin. So many pictures of a smiling child clad in red and black. About Batman in the nearly two years he had no Robin at his side. No pictures of Batman; plenty of pictures of the destruction left in his wake.

You turn away from the ghost, gently pry yourself from Jason’s grip and turn around to face him. He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I crawled out of my own grave.” He says it like it’s a secret, spoken just between the two of you. Your insides drop, liquefy until all that remains is a void deep in your gut. Aching. “I was dead and then I wasn’t. I clawed my way out of my coffin and through the dirt to the surface.”

The void stems from the pit of your stomach and grows, stretches, swallows, devours the soup your liquefied organs have become and sinks into your bones. It is cold but it is not sharp.

Oh.

“You know,” he says, as you’re lounging in bed on a Sunday morning, “I died when I was 14.”

He’s casual about it. So casual that your endorphin-muddled brain almost misses it, misconstrues it as if he said he’d broken a bone. Almost.

“I got better,” he says as you sit up in a haste, his words finally registering with clarity.

“I—you what?”

“I died. And then I came back.” He leans in, presses a kiss against your temple. “I’ll go get started on breakfast.”

“No, no, wait.” You reach out, grab onto the back of his shirt as he stands. “You can’t just say that and then go make breakfast.”

Jason’s smile is soft as he untangles your fingers from his shirt and he leans down to press his lips against your knuckles. “You’re such a bloodhound when you want something. But I’m a really smart rabbit. And when I’m ready to tell you the whole story, I’ll rip off the scab and you can hunt me down and devour me.”

Oh.

This is him ripping off the scab.

“It was raining. Still can’t stand the smell of wet soil.”

Oh, so that’s why he called that night he came over. There’s a construction site not far from your apartment building where they had broken ground the day prior. It was raining. The fastest way to your apartment is a closed metal box.

“Apparently, I wandered the streets like that.” He tries to smile but all he can manage to form is a grimace. “Bruce’s ex found me. Took me in. Threw me in her dad’s magic bath water to fix me. I stayed there—with the League—for a while. Watched Damian grow up. Took care of his messes. Made messes of my own and cleaned them up.”

Jason folds his arms in front of himself, adjusts the coats slung over one arm. He doesn’t raise his eyes. When you reach out to lay a hand on his bicep, Jason stills, as if he’s a prey animal whose first instinct is to flee.

Oh.

He’s waiting for you to reject him. To sink your nails into him and pry him out of your life, uproot him like a weed and toss him out.

You tilt your head to the side.

“So? That was then. Are you running with the League right now?”

“What?” Suddenly, he finds the courage to meet your gaze.

“Y’know, I accidentally committed academic fraud. Almost didn’t graduate.”

“That’s not the same—”

“And you’re trying to find absolution by what? Trying to goad me into leaving? Didn’t I say I’m stuck to you like glitter?” You level Jason with a look. “Until the Heat Death of the universe.”

Jason’s blood thrums in his veins. His ears are ringing and his vision grows out of focus but you, you remain crystal clear, sharp like the jagged edges of broken glass. He thinks he’ll cut his hand on you if he reaches out. Still, he does, and you meet him halfway with a grip like vice. His tongue is stiff in his mouth and it takes great effort to force it soft so he can speak again.

“Heat death?” His voice cracks.

“I always thought the heat death of the universe would be something super cool like every Sun suddenly turning into a supernova at the same time. But it’s the same thing as the Big Freeze, which is obviously the lamer name and the lamer end.”

He cannot form any words.

“You,” you press a finger against his chest, then flatten your hand so your palm rests over his erratic heartbeat, “said I’m like a bloodhound when I want something. And I said we’ll find each other in every lifetime, every goddamn reincarnation. Because I want you. And in the end, we will watch the universe die together.”

Oh, he thinks.

You want him.

And just for that—he would let you devour him whole.

dividers by cafekitsune

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Goods 2

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You go through checkout in autopilot. You pay, not paying mind to the total, and a bag boy helps get the bags in your cart. You’re still trembling from the encounter at the bread shelf. You’re starting to think you imagined it. Can pregnancy hormones make you delusional? 

As you push your cart out to the lot, you feel a chafing against your thighs. Your panties are still askew. You slow as you near the car and peek around to fix them. A shiver rolls over you at the brush of fabric across your pelvis. 

What are you doing? You should march back in there and demand the surveillance footage. You should call the police and file a report. It’s not about them believing you, they’ll have to see it on the cameras, right? 

You’re kept from your moment of clarity by the buzz of your phone. Shoot. You answer as Jake’s name flashes over the screen.  

“Hey,” you wisp you as you keep hold of the cart, hovering just next to the trunk of the car, “did I forget to put something on the list?” 

“Checking in. Been there a while,” he says. You can hear him typing as he speaks. He’s always so busy, even when he’s at home. If he isn’t logged into work, he’s up to some coding of his own. You suppose he’s trying to get as much in before the baby comes. “So, you almost done?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you try not to let your voice quaver, “just packing up the bags now. How’d your meeting with Harold go?” 

“Usual. That big project we’ve been working at? Got scrapped. Starting over,” he scoffs. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jake,” you pout as you reach into your purse and fish out the car keys. You pop the trunk and angle the cart so it won’t roll away. “I think I might get that promotion though.” You lift a bag and puff out as you balance the cell between cheek and shoulder, dropping it in the trunk, “Terra’s leaving so...” 

“Babe, I told you to wait until I finished work,” he sniffs, “you okay?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t get anything too heavy. Jake, it’s fine.” 

“Mm, I feel like... like you don’t let me do enough,” he whines. 

Your lips slant. You won’t let the hormones loosen your tongue. He has every opportunity to help. He could do the shopping himself but he says he needs you to make sure he gets the right things. He could cook dinner but he burns everything. He could clean the dishes but he breaks at least one thing each time. 

“You can rub my back?” You suggest, “or my feet.” 

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees noncommittally. Right, he’ll only do that if he gets a bit of fun after. 

“Anyway, we’ll talk when I get there. I don’t want the ice cream to melt,” you lean on the cart and hold back a sigh, “love ya.” 

“Mm, huh, yeah, you too. Gareth’s calling.” 

He hangs up and leaves you listening to dead air. You drop your shoulders and shove the phone back in your purse. You shake your head and move around the basket to grab another bag. A pair of thick arms beat you to it and you step back as a man in a yellow polo smirks down at you. 

“What’s a lady like you doing all the heavy lifting for?” The man asks. 

His timbre hits you like a train off its tracks. Your pregnancy brain unfogs and you remember what you’d meant to do before the phone call. You feel the scene back in the store, the creep of his hand under your dress. That voice. It’s definitely him. 

You gape at him as he steps close, hugging a bag to his stomach, and you back away in horror. His hair is combed back on top, his sides shaved close, and his lip is trimmed with a thick mustache. Despite his clean shave, a shadow already darkens his jawline.

Your heart hammers wildly and your whole body tingles. He steps around the cart and places the bag in the trunk. You touch your stomach as you try to calm yourself.

“Get away from me,” you murmur. 

“I’m just being helpful, sweet cheeks. You should know, I’m not really the type to help an old lady cross the street or whatever shit,” he snorts and faces you. 

“Go,” you rasp hotly as your eyes tinge. “Get away!” 

“Now, don’t go shrieking like a banshee. I’m really not into the whole...” he makes a motion in front of his stomach, “baby thing, but you’re convincing me.” 

“I said--” 

“I’m not done,” he points at you, “so keep your ears open, sugar tits.” He gives a leer at your chest, “now those... that’s amazing. You gone up a cup size or were they always honkers?” 

“Ew, you--” you try to accuse him and he taps your lips, stunning you to silence. 

As he comes closer, his size is even more obvious. Everyone’s big compared to you, he’s probably about the same height as your fiance, but he seems broader. Maybe because he’s older? 

“I’m just being a good Samaritan,” he looms over you, “helping you get your shopping all away.” He grins down at you and brings up two fingers, giving them a sniff, “getting you off--” 

“You--” 

"...your feet," he finishes.

He’s quicker than you. Your voice dissolves as he has you by the neck in and instant, your keys and purse falling to the tarmac. Your top-heavy stature has you off-balance without much of a struggle and you barely keep your side from hitting the open edge of the trunk. He bends and scoops up your leg, pushing you to roll onto the groceries and land uncomfortably against the emergency kit. 

“Hey!” You cry out and he snaps the lid shut. He slaps it and gives a cackle loud enough for you can hear. You hold your stomach, terrified that you landed too hard on your side.

“I only came for milk, imagine that.” 

[wandixx]

"There is only so much you can for the dead" part 2

continuation to this, I should probably make an original title at some point

trigger warnings: graphic describtion of Danny's death

Moments of blissed, deadly stillness felt unfairly short. It was less than blink of an eye, less than a drop of darkness after he asked Team for the last time to leave and before he woke up, in exactly same state that he was when portal spat him out. He could barely perceive his limbs, and what he could, was consumed by agonising pain.

Fuck, he hated Death Days. Absolutely horrible experience.

His nerves were on fire, electricity dancing and burning across them. His veins and lungs and nostrils and ears and stomach and eyes and mouth and every little crevice of his body was filled with ectoplasm, like liquid fire and evaporated ice, drowning him at every attempted breath. He was crushed by an unimaginable weight, at the same time as his body exploded. He was just coherent enough to feel his bones breaking, cells bursting, his very molecules being rearranged and destroyed and rebuilt but not coherent enough to tell if his scream was anything louder than a whimper.

He was in the middle of the crowd that screamed louder than he could handle, as if every person who ever got to Ghost Zone used this exact moment to let out all of their anguish, hands dragging and pulling and squeezing and brushing at every inch of his skin. He was alone like no one was ever before, in silence that was deafening. He could be stomped to death any second without anyone turning his head, and so separate from everything that he could be only existing being.

He couldn’t help but wait for Death, merciless and brutal, whose twisted children invaded his bed time stories since he could understood words, whose corrupted children he was taught to hate. She was hideous and horrifying, but against everything, she was familiar and he wanted, needed, to see one intimate face in the situation that was so wrong, wrong, wrong. He waited for her to rip his last breath away so everything would stop.

If he had a scrap of himself that could feel worse, it’d cry when he felt her getting away from him, slipping between the fingers that were both tense and limp, impossible to control but possible to feel, broken and twitching. She was getting away but pain wasn’t lessening, maybe even getting worse, to the point where it was only thing that filled his brain.

And then it all stopped. No pain, not even any left over typical to how injuries worked, just a moment of weird pressure against his palm (just like the button), that soon stopped too.

He was in his human form, but in the hazmat he wore just before the accident. Something was wrong about it all. Something in his body made it feel like not his. Something in his chest was too light and too quiet and some intrusive thought made him want to claw on his rib cage until he ripped it open and realized what was missing.

Breathing seemed to easy, enough that he got lightheaded. It got a lot harder when he realized.

He couldn’t feel his core.

Before he managed to come to terms with that, there was a gentle pressure on his hand again.

And the pain returned.

*-*-*

Danny didn't wake up abruptly, with a choked scream and phantom burns. He also didn't wake up slowly, not in the nice, relaxed way at least, when the line between dream and reality is blurred beyond recognition. He woke up in pain, feeling like he wasn't even sleeping before, just… somewhere else while his body was destroying itself again for what felt like decades.

It took some effort to connect with his body after he woke up. To be able to move even a finger. Even longer, to open his eyes. Actual ages to sit up without urge to scream.

After seeing the absolute wreckage of the room, he kinda wished it took him longer. It looked like a warzone. Electrical burns on the walls and ceiling, random puddles of bubbling ectoplasm eating away anything they touched like an acid, and what little stuff there was before, was almost all broken beyond recognition, either by whatever force was doing its thing during his death day show or ecto. When he looked at it a bit more, it seemed to go in spiral around him.

It was kinda sad that the cookies went to waste like that. He was curious who brought them in though.

Thank fucking Ancients that Team listened to him and nobody was there when the whole mess was going down. They would probably join him on the other side of the veil otherwise.

He saw it all only because of his ghost enhanced in dark vision (thank Ancients he stayed in the ghost form) because apparently his Death Day shorted out both main electrical circuit and the emergency one. Thankfully, according to his ears, it only reached this and rooms next to him, instead of the whole Mountain.

Fuck. He really hoped Robin gave him some sort of back-up back-up room because otherwise he was dead. Or well, dead-er.

He rolled out of the bed, barely catching himself from smacking on the floor like a sack of potatoes. Though some would argue he didn’t catch himself if only his face didn’t fall to the floor like the sack of potatoes.

Only then he caught sight of big, ecto-green circle that embed itself into the wall right over the bed. It had familiar vibes. Really familiar…

He had to tell the Team about it yesterday.

*-*-*

M'gann was sitting on the needles, just like everyone else. Sure, Phantom asked them to forget about him and essentially ignore whatever was happening to him, but there was no way they'd actually be able to do it. Case in point, first time alarms about shorting out of the electrical circuit in the room. They run there so fast that they had door open to see what was wrong before the absolute onslaught of electricity and ectoplasm and something else turned off the alarms thirty seconds later. Truth be told, they couldn’t do much, not without risking becoming second ghostly member of the Team, they’ve been there and ready. Conner tried to come in anyway, with his invulnerability and such, but they had to drag him out when despite extensive dodging he got hit five times by the time he got two steps into the room. Also, there wasn’t really anything he could do to help.

So they just spent last almost twenty hours alternating between different things to keep themselves occupied enough to not fall asleep and distract themselves from quilt but not enough to not be able to drop it at the moments notice if it was needed. First plan was to nap in shifts if it was necessary but it quickly became apparent that sleep was impossible with how worried everyone was and when M'gann proposed to just shut down their brains with her powers, everyone got really defensive. Well, no was no. So they just sat, at the moment in awkward silence because every topic that wasn't Phantom felt too inane and every topic that was Phantom felt too… just no. No name for why, just no.

M'gann was about to get up to make another batch of peanut butter and oatmeal snacks that took few minutes to make and could be dropped at any second, when Conner practically jumped in his seat, tilting his head to hear better. Robin perked up from whatever he was doing on his wrist computer at the same time.

"Phantom left the room!” they exclaimed at the same time, jumping out of their seats.

This head start didn’t matter by the time everyone ran or flew out to the corridor, racing against clock to the room where they left Phantom. It didn’t seems so before, but now M’gann just cursed their past selves for not waiting somewhere closer. There wasn’t really any place where they could stay instead, unless they set camp right outside his door, but it still. They should be there five minutes ago, like Wally, who obviously run off.

They heard Wally speaking before they’ve seen him.

“Hey, hey calm down. It’s fine, they’ll be there in a second, just chill. They’re right after me, whatever happened, we’ll help you in just a moment, you don’t have to run. You’re barely standing. Phantom, calm down”

M’gann barely made it around the corner and she thought she had seen Kaldur actually smacking into the wall. He brushed it off.

Phantom looked beyond rough. It seemed like Wally, who had ghost’s arm across his shoulders, was only thing holding him up. His feet were firmly on the ground, not in his usual way, when he looked just a breeze away from flying, but in this fully human way, which was unsettling. His face was gray instead of his usual almost tan, eyes wide and terrified.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered, not looking at anyone in particular “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”

“Phantom, it’s fine. It’s fine, we know about the room, it’s fine,” Robin said, trying to placate him. It didn’t quite work. Ghost was on the verge of hyperventilating, which was a bit weird to see on someone for who breathing was voluntary.

“It’s not about room”

“I’m sure it’s fine anyway”

“It’s anything but. I’m sorry-”

“Shut up and tell us what happened if you’re so sure we will be pissed”

“Artemis!”

“Portal”

“What about it?”

“Portal is what killed me.”

M’gann didn’t like how the whole situation looked before, but it suddenly became much worse.

“My Death Day made another one”

[roseworth]

hi. here are my top 5 favorite comic moments ever (sort of in order, they can all be switched around sometimes depending on my mood)

"the son has not surpassed the father" (batman #645)

i cant even put into words what i like about this scene because everything about it makes me insane. its just so beautifully written and fits so well thematically and shows so much about how bruce is feeling without explicitly saying anything. so fucking good

2. "maybe he did. but my little girl is still dead." (batgirl #19)

fucking. fuck. again this moment just shows so much about how cass feels without saying it explicitly. theres a flashback to the man she murdered right after this because she sees herself in the murderer and doesnt believe she can be redeemed. itsfuck ignf. yeah. maybe he changed but she's still dead

3. "i owe you no explanations. i took the only compassionate option." (titans #12)

hoooooooly shit. i get chills every time i think about this im serious. adeline was suffering and about to die and kory killed her. kory saw herself in the suffering of someone else and KILLED HER. hard as fuck. i will refrain from going on a whole tangent about this but i feel like writers sometimes have the Good Guys kill someone and it doesnt really feel right, but this does it so well because it makes sense within the story AND for kory's character. she was right

4. "the last two bullets are for us" (green arrow #32)

this was so fucked up. can i call this a power couple moment. dinah has so much fucking kidnapping & torture trauma then she finds ollie after he was kidnapped & tortured and she goes dw babe we're gonna kill ourselves later. HELLO. i need to chew on them

5. "for all the times i will never forget. for all the things i can never forgive" (gotham city sirens #21)

everyone drop what youre doing and read gotham city sirens #20-21 right now. or read til the end of the book. gcs is mostly just an okay book but it fucking nails the ending. but this moment in particular makes me lose my mind because harley shows exactly how competent she is and gets into joker's cell in arkham with a gun when she thinks about how he hurt her. then the second she sees him she joins him again. its the ideal pre-breakup harley writing to me and this issue (this entire arc tbh) changed me

in conclusion i love my picture books 💞💞 i think more people should post their fav comic moments too because i wanna see everyone else's plsssss

also im putting honorable mentions under the cut:

"its not them" (blackest night: titans #3)

"i still dream of krypton" (supergirl woman of tomorrow #8)

"to the microscopic beings alive on his skin, this child is the entire universe" (poison ivy #6) (basically this entire issue is my favorite but i had to choose one page)

[ghcstao3]

(part 2) (cw fictional drugs, mild body horror, mild torture)

Shifters should be born, not made. That’s one of few things that science has been able to say for certain about the biology (and ethics) of the species.

Of course, this never stopped those truly motivated—for a few years now, there’s been a serum circulating black markets and cartels and terrorist rings, a dangerous, potent thing that allows for the temporary rewrite of human DNA; for just a handful of hours, this serum allows any non-shifter to gain a shifter’s abilities, often with the goal of making them stronger, deadlier when it comes to picking off their enemies.

Obviously, this serum comes with a few cons: a human cannot determine what animal a serum will give them until it is taken, and because its effects are only temporary, the substance becomes highly addictive. One taste is never enough—but after so many continuous uses, the drug’s effects change into something far more sinister. Potentially fatal; one might lose their mind if they’re lucky, or become some deformed half-thing stuck between human and animal if they’re not.

There’s a reason, scientists will say, that sometimes genetics, DNA is not to be tampered with to such extreme lengths.

But with this serum comes a rumour: somewhere out there exists a more permanent solution, a serum to completely change someone, to make a shifter. Something so strong that it can transform a person, though at a high risk of something going wrong.

This serum does exist, and certainly does hold a risk of things going wrong—the survival rate within days of injection is a measly 5%. The human body is not built to withstand the force of fundamental change, though some prevail; unfortunately, however, often enough they don’t survive long enough afterwards to meet the full potential of their new abilities.

And not necessarily because of the change itself—but rather because the people creating these abnormalities will often decide to erase their existences, once past their use and novelty. If this new creature cannot be leashed, there’s no point in keeping it, no point in allowing it to go free and revel in its newfound talents.

When Simon Riley doesn’t break the way Manuel Roba wants him to, he becomes a victim of this serum. He’s informed, in spite of his torture-induced delirium, that this injection will put him down one way or another—be it through the pain, the incompatibility with his body, or through his expired usefulness after Roba has beaten him into submission in whatever form Simon is blessed with.

The serum feels like hot, molten, infernal flame has been injected directly into Simon’s veins, searing his body from the inside out. The first wave of pain arrives in a flash, has him writhing on the ground as his muscles lock up and he’s gasping for breath to fill lungs already burned to ash. Throat closing up, bones grinding together, the ripping of flesh. He can’t scream. Can’t claw at himself until he’s bloody and raw and dead.

It just goes on.

Roba’s laughter rings through the cold, impersonal laboratory, four cement walls and a cracked floor, the reeking, cloying scent of mildew and rust and failed experiments—it’s all that Simon’s world has narrowed down to until he blacks out in his anguish.

When he wakes, everything is wrong.

Simon’s more than disoriented, though that’s hardly a surprise. But beyond that, beyond the usual aches and sores and bruises—the red of the bloodstained floor is dull, too dull, and his limbs don’t feel like his own. His brain is a fog, simultaneously exhausted and alert, and his tongue sits heavy in his mouth—Simon rolls over, sluggish, his tongue sliding languidly with gravity, picking over teeth sharper than he remembers them being.

The bars of his cell rumble open, the rattle reverberating through Simon’s body.

Wrong. All wrong, wrong, wrong.

It takes effort to lift his gaze, to meet Roba’s own where he stands in the doorway. Simon’s eyelids droop, weighed down by nothing he can discern, and all he can make out through the slits of leftover vision is that smarmy grin and those beady, oil-black eyes.

Roba grins wider when Simon stirs, shifting stiff muscles in a fool’s errand of attempting to sit up.

“I knew you would survive, English,” he says. Simon’s ear twitches. “Welcome to the first day of your new life.”

Roba’s footsteps are loud, grating in their approach. He crouches in front of Simon’s prone form, regarding him in a way Simon has been plenty subject to—always displeased in some capacity, sometimes for known reasons and sometimes not, but also plotting, envisioning the next methods he might use to drill obedience into the soldier, to rearrange his anatomy, to fuck irreparably with his head.

With a sigh Roba reaches into his breast pocket to fish something out, some antique compact with engravings on the lid that Simon is in no state to decipher. He opens it with a muted click, then holds it in front of Simon’s face with something akin to a sick glee woven into his expression.

What stares back at Simon is not human.

[icarusredwings]

Would you ever write a fic about little wade and how he encounters/copes with his chronic pain? How does Logan help?

Inspired by @bougiebutchbinch thank you anonymous asker for giving me an excuse to traumatize people :)

Bad kitty. 1/2

Tw/cw: Dead dove. Graphic descriptions of cancer pockets, drugging, attempted murder, forcible non consentual (non sexual, medical) touching, angst, hurt/ little comfort, cargiver drop, NOT SAFE for littles!!!

Summary: How is he supposed to apply topical medication to someone who doesn't want touched? Wade doesn't want help, but he NEEDS it. Logan knows he's a bad caregiver for this. He feels disgusting... maybe he is a bad kitty, but Wade needs his medication.

Coming home from walking Puppins, Logan had picked up some sandwiches for them. Kicking the door closed behind him, he shouted. "Wade! I got you that weird sub thing you like. They were out of banana peppers though so-"

He heard sniffling and a soft "Nooo" after watching Puppins go over to her bed inbetween the couch and the wall.

"Uhm... So.. there's that.." He kept talking as he took a few steps forward, confused as to what had made that noise. It sounded almost like a whimper. As if a scared ki- "Aww damn it.."

There he was, curled up tight between the couch and the wall, sitting on the dog's pillow with nothing but a blanket over his lap.

Sniffling, He currently was trying to push Puppins away from him as the pup licked his arm, wagging her bottom excitedly.

"Nnoooo! No p-Puppy- Ouch!" He whined, quickly pulling his hand to his chest, more tears flowing down his face.

Instinctivly, Logan dropped the bag on the table, gasping as he grabbed Puppins away from him. "Did she bite you!?" He asks, giving the dog a concerned look. She *was* a deadpool after all, so sometimes she did like to bite, but the way she looked just as confused as he did made him doubt that she had nipped him.

Shaking his head, He whimpered again, holding his arm as he tried to make himself as small as possible. It was very clear he was trying to be invisible.

"Okay... Hey. What's wrong?" He asks, putting her down as he tries to shoo her away from him.

Shaking his head, he held his eyes closed tight, more tears falling as if he was trying to keep in the noise, a tight lump in his throat, choking on it each time he tried to speak.

"Wade? What's wrong, bub?"

From what he could see, welts and blisters had formed in various spaces on his body, some holes, others popping upwards as tight, painful, and full looking pockets of various colors. The realization had snapped his heart.

Logan had told him he should take it easy for a while instead of willingly letting bad guys cut off his limbs, and he has to assume that this is the result of the extra cancerous cells building up.

If he wasn't already used to such smells and sights, he would probably think Wade was some sort of diseased zombie, his jaw even starting to form a crater of dead skin eating itself, or perhaps had fallen off? He wasn't sure. All he knew, It was bad.

"H-...hurt.."

The smallest voice chirped out, so high pitched and strained. So.. Pained.

"I know.. where?" Logan whispers, not wanting to scare him any, but part of him was freaked out enough at just how quick the welts were developing. These weren't here when he left, were they? No. He would have seen it. He was only gone 2 hours, max.

Then again, Wade was excellent at hiding. Perhaps he had just had enough and finally snapped, all the pain drowning out his senses to the point of needing to physically hide rather than mentally.

"Hurts." He whined again, flinching away from the dogs tongue as she tried to lick him again. She was just trying to help, though.

"No, Pup." Logan muttered, moving her once again. In all fairness, though, Wade *was* in *her* bed.

"Where does it hurt?" He asks again. Sometimes, it was like this. You had to repeat yourself multiple times until he finally understood and awnsered properly.

"Hurts!" Wade tells him again, whining as if frustrated, but the pitch in his throat said just how much it truly did hurt. And that- apparently, was a lot.

"Okay, okay- erm.. But.. where? Here?" He points to his arm as he moves away, clearly not wanting touched at the moment, but nodded.

"Hurts."

"M'kay.. here?" To his other arm.

"Hurts.."

"Alright.. there?" His leg.

Wade nods, gaining tears in his eyes the more worried Logan looks. "Hurts..."

"Uhm.. what about there?" He pointed to his head.

"Hurts....." he whispers.

"Aw man... that's a lot of hurt, bub.. uhm.. Here let me-" only being able to touch his forhead for a split second, He jolted away. "Owch!" He told him, as if telling him that it hurt.

"Fuck, kid, you're burning up."

Whining, he began to sob, his hand having accidently popped one of the bigger ones. It burned to be exposed to the air like this, burned to be touched, hurt to just exist. "..ouch..!"

The thick, hot tears that came from him had burst something because the side of his eye became bloody and slightly yellow filling the side. “Ah Shit- Wade shh… shhh, it's alright.”

Trying to rub his eyes, he cried more, whimpering loudly as he began to panic. "H-hurts!!"

"No no no! Don't-"

About to pull his hands away from him, he had touched another on his wrist, making him let out a high-pitched screech, pulling away.

"N-no!! O-ouch!! Hurts!" He scolded him, keeping himself away from Logan, not understanding why he was hurting him.

"I know.. Go ahead.. tell me." He says, Nodding softly as he stared, allowing himself to get cursed out by the hurt and scared child. Something he's worked so hard on with Wade. For him to raise his voice and tell off people who scare him even when small.

"It's ouch!! No hurt!! .... B-bad kitty!" It was obvious he was hesitant with that last word and for good reason, Logan's heart sinking as he frowned. He didn't think being called that would hurt so badly, but.. it did for some reason. One he didn't understand.

"No- Wade stop. Calm down you're going to hur-" pointing vaguely at his eye, Wade bit him, snapping at him the way Puppins did when you tried to apply cream to her underarm rashes.

"M-mean kitty! Bad!! No hurt!" He continued, getting out his frustrations only to break down again, crying as some stuff began to leak out of the corner of his eye as he pointed at Logan, giving him a proper telling off.

"Hey! Ouch! You aren't supposed to-"

"Hurts!!" He yelled at him. A final decree of anger. It was understandable why he was so hostile. He hadn't been able to process why his skin hurt so bad and all he knew is that it hurt more when someone touched him or in puppins sake, licked him.

"Okay, okay!! God! Sit there then! By yourself!" Logan growled, getting up as he walked off to the kitchen, letting out a big sigh. The bite hadn't been enough to draw blood, but he had a feeling that Wade would stab him or bite his finger off soon enough if he didn't leave him be.

Unwrapping the subs, he thought about what he could do to help him. What he usually did to help. As he went down the list, He crossed out all of the adult themed options and any that had anything to do with touching him. It only left pills and sleep.

If he could get him to go to understand, Logan could take care of his wounds and dress them. It wouldn't help long, but perhaps it would be enough for him to stop crying from the pain. He knew it hurt. He knew it would hurt more bathing him, putting ice on them, rubbing gel on them, and dressing his entire body to the point he would look like a mummy.

Or... he could... glancing down at knife in his hand, his eyes flickered back up to him. If his entire body was hurting this badly.. he could press the restart button.. logically, it was the fastest and easiest way to end his pain. He could make it quick to. Wade's done it before... took a quick visit to death.. cut off his own limbs so they could grow back fresh like damaged hair getting shaved.

He would just need a claw to the front lobe. That should do the tri-

He shook his head, Tossing the knife away as he buried his face into his hands. For fucks sake! He couldn't do that! Why would he even think of that!? Wade couldn't consent. He couldn't- he wouldn't be able to-

Groaning, he bit his tongue with his canines, trying to ground himself as he took a deep breath.

Okay, think. Think Howlett. You can do this. Think. He's not suseptible to poisons, but if he could get him asleep just for a few minutes.. maybe he could give him a big dose? Oh god, like this was any better. Who in their right mind thinks about drugging a kid in pain!? What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just-

"H-hurts.."

Jumping a bit, he must not have picked up on the fact that Wade crawled out of his hiding spot, whimpering with such scared, pained eyes. "Kitty... ouch-es..."

Wade made another whining noise and then a scream.

Letting out another sigh, he gave him a sympathetic look. "I know, Bud.. Im trying to think.. i.. I don't want to hurt you. I really don't." Picking up the knife again, he focused on cutting up his sub so at least he could try to eat. Distract him for just a few moments.

Maybe he could think of something else. He could convince Wade to hold still. To let him hurt him just a little bit in order to help. Maybe there was a kids show that portrayed help as hurting sometimes in a medical sense? Then he could understand better. Right? Wade learned much easier by animated demonstrations, like that episode of the blue dog when its orange mommy dog went away and the daddy blue dog had to put them to bed, but the kid blue dog was sad. That helped him a lot when Vanessa had to lea-

Quickly looking up, He saw Puppins once again trying to lick his sores, sniffing and whining with her tail wagging. She was trying her best to show Wade that she was trying to help, to be friendly but was shoved away. Quite hard too, making her yelp.

Gasping, Logan came to pick up the dog. "Wade!! Careful! She's little remember!?"

Though the second he raised his voice, Wade broke down yet again, holding where she licked him as it was now seeping a mixture of blood and pus down his leg.

His look softened, turning to quickly make sure her leg was okay. "No more.. leave your papa alone. He's hurting.." He tells the puppy who whined, giving him the biggest 'im sorry' eyes you could imagine from such a tiny dog.

Putting her in the bedroom, he shut the door as he got the massive box of first aid from the closet. It's more of a toolbox, really, complete with a handle.

Coming over, Logan knelt down to look over him, opening the box as he got some wipes, cream and gauze wrap.

He hated being in this situation. But this was the trials of love. And if it meant helping him be pain-free, Logan wouldn't change a thing.

The moment he saw this though, Wade screeched again, kicking the stuff away as he crawled back to the blanket. 'Hiding' under neath of it, Logan frowned. Yeah no.. He definitely wasn't going to let him help..

There was only one thing to do.

Standing, He swallowed as he took a few slow steps towards him, throwing open his claws as he stared down at the shaking, shivering hello kitty blanket. The one that was half soaked with tears, the other about to be with blood.

"Wade? I know you don't know what's about to happen... You don't have to forgive me, but this...t-This is for your own good... You'll feel better... I promise."

Shoving down the twist of his stomach and the yelling in his head telling him to stop, the ones screaming from the roof tops that this was wrong. This wasn't who he was anymore. He's spent months scrubbing his hands clean of children's blood. And here he was, seconds from staining them again.. history repeats itself.. even he knew he couldn't change that. No matter how hard he tried. This is who he was. A killer.

"Im sorry.."

A bad kitty.

[sleepy-grav3]

Glitching issue

So I was getting distracted again. I heard Masochism Tango and Stalker's Tango, wanted a yandere playlist with intense ballroom songs, that types of thing.

And then I thought of another story idea for my current hyperfixation: DCxDP

One of my favorite ships in that fandom is Dead Tired/Brain Dead, cause I love them... so much...

Anyway-

With the context of the yandere ballroom playlist, you should know where I'm going. And I read a few fics/prompts/whatever else you'd call them where it portrays a normally pretty toxic relationship but they're actually in a really healthy relationship.

There was one about mutual stalking, another with kidnapping shenanigans, one that mentioned attempted deprogramming- you get it. (don't ask me for them, I don't know what they're called and there's too much to sift through to find them, very sorry, do feel free to reblog/comment the authors of them or ones that hold some relevance)

But yeah, now I'm making a fic with a playlist as storyline inspiration. Idk the layout yet.

1 Long Chapter : 1 Song

or

Story Arc (probably short) : 1 Song

Always a 1:1 ratio, maybe a special 2 songs here and there? Not sure.

But so far!!! I have the usual: Masochism Tango and Stalker's Tango.

Got the Cell Block Tango ready. El Tango de Roxanne will be there too. I got some waltzes and looking into other types of rhythms like them. Tango, Waltz, thinking about Salsa and Swing, got a few others too

Looking into some less yandere themed songs since I can't solely do it on yandere themes. I want it to be drama filled but with some healthy doses of attraction, y'know?

Yeah, that whole thing is going on a headcannon and an idea.

Ghosts feel things more strongly, so some unhealthy things to humans are meh or minimum level things to ghosts. Because of this, Danny's a bit unhealthy in what he considers love (his vigilante life didn't help with that, especially with Vlad), but his human side keeps it more on the downlow

There's a different species of beings that are immortal in a way: The Undying. Life loves them or they're obsessed with Life. Tim is one of the only true Undying. They're as rare as true Halfas.

So... yeah. Love this little idea. Been working on it for a few hours now. And I need help. Song recommendations mostly, storyline ideas are welcome.

I'll be posting a playlist once I get it all sorted out, chronologically, and the outline of the story put up. The summary will be a genuine summary and not just some background info or a quick sentence like I usually do.

But I want a happy ending. No bittersweet, no hurt/barely any or no comfort, no fully angst-

I need some kind of betrayal for someone to go to jail TvT

Will it be Tim or Danny? Who fits best as a viewer for Cell Block Tango, just casually listening to people talk about killing (and that one framed murder).

Who's the one that lives off the thrill of getting hurt (I'm thinking more of the bdsm way, but also the "I'll only let you hurt me" type of way too? Doesn't have to be physical or verbal or even intentional... I'm making this sound worse-)

I got this one part for the Roxanne one

The yandere is "cheating", no idea if it's fake or a previous relationship, or whatever. still under planning for that.

And the "victim" is the one who's begging the yandere to not deceive them. Maybe they've been lied to a bunch of times, maybe they really don't want false hope, maybe they're fine with an open relationship as long as the yandere doesn't leave- idk, but the "victim" is the one who's pulling the strings during then.

I'm trying to think of who's the other person, the yandere, and the "victim". Who's who? Not sure. And how does it fit with the rest of the songs too... Ugh, I really should just do oneshots T^T But I can't at the moment, not with the ideas-

So yeah

Ideas? Song recommendations? Character ideas? Scene prompts????

Please?

Oh, and this post is named glitching because it broke my fucking computer. I don't have a mouse anymore. Luckily, it's touchscreen and the keyboard still works. Still annoying though

[apomaro-mellow]

Hawkins Confidential 2

Part 1

The last time Eddie had seen Steve, they’d been young and stupid and with a pup on the way. The last time he had ever heard about him was when Chrissy told him the pup had been born, healthy and beautiful. Eddie had tried not to think about either of them since then. And most days, he succeeded. He thought he’d gotten over thinking about what could have been but he couldn’t help that fragile kind of hope trying to bubble forth as he packed a light duffle and got into his truck. 

He drove and drove for hours and hours, memories coming forth without his permission as the miles spread out.

“I should make you get rid of it! You think that just because you whore around you can do whatever you want?!”, Richard Harrington jabbed a finger towards his son.

Eddie pushed between them, just barely holding his teeth back from snapping that finger off. But his fangs were bare. “You can’t fucking talk to him like that!”

“You stay out of this mutt!”

“What a piece of shit”, Eddie said to himself as he got closer and closer to his old hometown. He remembered where the Harrington estate was. He could have driven right up to it. But he needed some liquid courage before he did that. And the odds of him being allowed to rest in one of the dozens of guest rooms was slim, so he’d need a motel too.

After procuring a room, he walked down Main Street, not at all surprised to see that very little had changed in the years since he’d been gone. It was a small town, after all. With small minded people. But it was noon and the bar was in sight.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing your face around here, Munson.”

“Why Jason Carver, what a delight”, Eddie said. He’d spotted Jason across the street and hoped he could have made it into the bar unnoticed. No such luck. And of course, he had his cronies with him.

“You have some nerve.”

“You’ve said that already. All these years and you haven’t rehearsed a decent script?”

“Why the hell are you back in town?”, Jason demanded to know.

“Personal business”, Eddie looked down at his nails.

“He’s probably here to go digging for gold now that old Harrington’s dead”, one of the cronies said. If Eddie remembered right, his name was Andy. How pathetic.

“That’s right”, Jason said like he just remembered. “With him gone, you can go sniffing around Steve again.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Then I’m right. You are here for Steve.”

“He’s the only one in this town worth a visit, so sue me.”

Jason was annoying. But he wasn’t really worth Eddie’s time. He’d never been. It was just the circumstances of sharing such a small space that forced them to butt heads but as long as Eddie kept his cool-

“You and that whore are meant for each other.”

Eddie saw red, then suddenly Jason was on the ground, holding his face as more red spilled out onto the sidewalk.

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

Eddie was used to being handled by cops and being taken down to the precinct, which was sorry to say. It was even more sorry to say that he had no one to call. Chrissy came to pick Jason up and her eyes widened to see Eddie, though he knew Jason must have told her about him when he phoned her.

But she reigned in her expression as she collected her husband. Eddie wished it was easy to talk with her. He wished they had that freedom. But they had both learned to stay within their boundaries. Eddie was resigning himself to a night spent in lock up when someone came by and opened up the cell.

“Munson, you’re being released.”

Bewildered, Eddie got up, wondering if Chrissy had somehow returned. He froze mid step when he saw his benefactor. Steve looked just as beautiful as the day Eddie had left him. And he looked positively angelic in that cream colored sweater. Eddie swallowed. He hadn’t thought about what he’d say because what was there to say? Everything he came up with sounded too small to encompass everything he’d felt since the call. Since they parted, really.

Steve fixed that by stomping right up to Eddie. “You’re a complete idiot, you know that? Causing trouble the moment you return?” Only as the words left his mouth did Steve seem to realize what he said and he shrank back. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I wanted to say right out the gate. You never called back and I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Stevie”, Eddie said, the nickname falling from his lips much too easily for what they were supposed to be. He cupped Steve’s cheek and swooned from how the omega melted into it. “I missed you.”

Steve closed his eyes, savoring it before pulling back. “Come.”

Eddie followed him outside to the car and with a couple of seatbelt clicks they were on their way. 

“I’ve got a room, so you don’t need to worry about me”, he said.

“Oh, um, well that’s good. That’s good.” Steve didn’t know why he expected any different. There was no way in hell Tommy would ever allow Eddie to stay under their roof.

“So, what have you been up to?”, Steve asked.

Eddie chuckled. “Are you really trying small talk right now?”

“We haven’t spoken in years. I’m genuinely curious.”

“Nothing extravagant. I’m just about a day’s drive away. I work as a mechanic. Where are you driving us anyway?”

“Back to the house”, Steve said. “I know you have a room, but I figured you’d want to get settled some kind of way.”

“Take me to our son”, Eddie said.

Steve swallowed and Eddie put his hand on top of his on the gear shift. Steve changed their route to that of the hospital. Eddie braced himself as they got up to the room, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. A boy that was a perfect mix of him and Steve. His curls with Steve’s chesnut brown. 

“His name is Dustin”, Steve said. “And he needs an operation. You’re the only one who can help him. I know it’s a lot to ask. I know that. But my pup is my world. And he’s hanging on by a thread. He needs you, Eddie.”

“How long has he been like this?”, Eddie asked.

“He’s been in that bed for a few months. But he’s had problems before that.”

Eddie tore his eyes away from Dustin to look at Steve. “Why did it take you so long to-your father?”

“He didn’t want me to contact you. Not for anything. And Tommy only allowed it because of the conditions of my father’s will. He can’t inherit anything without an heir. If Dustin doesn’t recover then he’s going to-” Steve choked out a hiccup, suddenly overcome with what his life had become.

Eddie went over to Steve and embraced him, holding him as tight as he wished all these years. So many things missed. Birthdays, holidays, his pup’s first word, and steps, and all that came with the formative years of childhood. He was old enough that he’d be presenting in a few years. But Eddie didn’t blame Steve, he never would. The only ones to blame were the ones who held control over his life. 

“Speaking of-”

“Kindly unhand my mate, Munson.”

Steve backed away as if he were burnt and he went to Dustin’s side, avoiding Tommy’s glare. Eddie put his hands in his pockets and took in Tommy. He seemed mostly unchanged, if just puffing out his chest a bit more. He didn’t know if that came from finally attaining Steve or because the alpha above him had passed. Either way, Eddie couldn’t help himself.

“Well these tables have turned. Looks like you need my help, Hagan.”

“It’s Harrington, actually”, Tommy crossed his arms. “And I don’t need you for anything. Steve is the one still holding onto that boy. I told him that if Dustin doesn’t get better, we need another heir.”

Eddie stomped towards Tommy, about to swing when the doctor entered the room. Steve’s distress and Eddie’s irritation hung in the air. Eddie quickly pulled it back so that the doctor could explain the situation. She asked if Eddie was ready and prepared for the operation and he confirmed it. There was paperwork to be done but a tentative date was set for next week. When they finished, Steve stood, ready to take Eddie back to his motel.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”, Tommy asked, gripping Steve’s forearm tight.

“I drove him here, I need to drop him off.”

“That riff-raff can get a cab. I’m not leaving you alone around him.”

Steve scoffed and was about to protest, wrenching his arm from Tommy’s hold when Eddie cleared his throat. 

“I’ll be fine, Steve. Don’t worry about me.” He got closer to Dustin’s bedside and leaned over to kiss his forehead. He also scented him subtly, glad when he only smelled Steve’s lingering scent. “I’ll be back to visit him”, he promised before making his exit. Then he paused. “Before I head out, how’d you know where to find me? You didn’t even know I was in town yet.”

Steve swallowed. “Chrissy told me.”

Eddie smiled. Of course. He nodded towards Steve and completely ignored Tommy as he walked out. 

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

Carol was in the middle of primping when she heard the front door open.

“Honey, I’m home!”

“Welcome home, Andy”, she called back, smiling when he entered the bathroom and kissed the back of her head.

“Did you hear? Munson came back into town and decked Jason.”

Carol prided herself in knowing everything that went down in this town. But even she never imagined that man would come back after being run out all those years ago.

“Really? Does Steve know?”

Andy shrugged, rolling up his sleeves. “Don’t know. But things are probably gonna get interesting.”

“Oh I’m sure~” Carol couldn’t wait. She applied some lipstick and turned her head from right to left before giving herself a satisfied expression in the mirror.

“Meeting your girlfriends again? It’s kind of late, isn’t it?”

“Oh it’s barely eight. We’re not old fuddy-duddies you know. Valencia left you a plate in the fridge. Don’t wait up, us girls can gab.”

She kissed his cheek and then she was out the door. Ostensibly to go to Heather’s house for some wine and gossip. They did plenty of that but instead Carol drove herself to an inn. And waiting for her in one of the rooms was one Tommy Harrington.

“I heard that old thorn in your side is back”, Carol grinned.

“I don’t even wanna talk about that trash. The sooner this operation’s done, the sooner he’s outta my hair”, Tommy paced about, agitated while Carol poured them both drinks. She didn’t look at all bothered as she handed a glass of brandy to him.

“Well he is going through with the operation, isn’t he?”

“Yeah”, Tommy said before taking a large gulp. “It’s happening next week.”

Carol took a small sip from her own glass. “Then there’s nothing to worry about. He gets that pup in shape, you inherit everything Richard left for you and then you can kick Steve and his little bastard to the curb. It’ll be all yours.”

Tommy smirked. “All ours.”

Their glasses clinked conspiratorially. Tommy downed the rest of his own and Carol set hers down just in time for him to lift her up and toss her onto the bed. 

Part 3

[phantomrose96]

Hello I've now played Pikmin 3 and I'm beside myself with how Nintendo keeps doing Olimar like this.

After Olimar pays off President's whole debt (and then some) in Pikmin 2 he is... back on PNF-404 in Pikmin 3. Immediately. Like immediately. Because the President lost all their money again and he's sent Olimar and Louie back to PNF-404 again exactly the same as happens to Olimar in Pikmin 2 and this time there is absolutely an undercurrent of violence in Olimar's vlogs and logs. He WANTS bad things to happen to his boss.

But he's too polite and too composed so he's just keeping his cortisol levels down with elaborate fantasies of class revolution, and the mental countdown of how many days until he can get the FUCK off this planet and get home to his family for real. He was ship-wrecked and left for dead for 30 days in Pikmin 1 and fought and bled and killed for his own survival to make it back to his planet only to then IMMEDIATELY be sent back by his shitty awful boss to the planet for another ~30 days in Pikmin 2 (he hasn't seen his family yet) and then IMMEDIATELY is sent back in Pikmin 3 and he wants to go home. He wants to go home. His daughter sends him a message asking if he even lives with them anymore. I'm fucking beside myself.

THIS would all be... okay, at least, if Olimar actually got to go home. But No The Fuck He Doesn't. Because at the end of his mission he's kidnapped by concentrated pikmin nightmare fuel in the form of the game's final boss. Some non-corporeal omnipresent monstrosity which has kidnapped Olimar as a keepsake. A pet. A toy? Which allows Olimar just the chance to attempt an escape day after day before snatching him back and dragging him back to his eternal jail cell. The man who was just about to go home and finally see his family after 3 games.

You find his logs and he's just losing his mind, slowly. He knows he's never escaping. He's losing his will to try. He has nightmares of the pikmin turning on him. Louie's not coming back for him and the President isn't coming back for him.

Pikmin 1 is horror as Olimar is stranded alone with no one but himself to save him. His life support is damaged and he has only 30 days to repair his ship to get home, lest he die in the poisonous atmosphere of this planet. And it's horrifying but at least. At least. He had his own power to save himself. He makes progress steadily over the month. He has reason to keep his hope alive.

Pikmin 3 robs him of that. There is nothing under his own power he can do to escape the Plasm Wraith. His pikmin have all been killed. He's in an unwinnable Saw trap. And this time his life support system isn't damaged. It's the only thing worse than damaged - it's completely functional.

Given that, playing as the Koppaite trio, there is no time limit to save Olimar, I can only conclude Olimar's suit is fully functional this time. He has no food, no water, no chance to ever change out of his suit, but it keeps him alive. He's the Plasm Wraith's prisoner for as long as that suit will keep him alive. Indefinitely, maybe. Unless he could work up the nerve to remove his helmet himself and just end it...

But he doesn't. Day after day he tries to escape until he doesn't have the strength anymore. His suit forces him to sleep more and more, against his will, as a life preservation method. So he's forced to fade in and out of consciousness as this thing's prisoner. And this is forever. Until he dies.

The Koppaite trio rescuing him is pure coincidence. They were on PNF-404 for reasons completely divorced from Olimar. They should never have cared who he was or where he was. Olimar just happened to come across their warp drive key when they crashed, and he picked it up, right before the Plasm Wraith took him. They find him for the warp drive key. The Koppaite trio weren't supposed to save Olimar. No one was supposed to save Olimar.

And how. Awful. Because this time people KNOW Olimar is on PNF-404. President is back home on Hocotate and knows he's lost contact with Louie and Olimar. He could send help but he doesn't. He could COME to help but he doesn't. Olimar isn't waywardly alone this time. He's abandoned. And abandoned by the man who forced him into this danger.

And depending how well you play, and how many fruits you get as the Koppaite trio, a normal run is probably 20-30 days for them BEFORE you rescue Olimar. He was taken soon after they landed. So a month. Another month. Of Olimar stranded on this planet. Worse than ever before, as he's nothing but the mouse being played with by this world's cruelest cat. He hasn't been allowed to take off his space suit for a month... After ~30 days of Pikmin 1 and ~30 of Pikmin 2 and now ~30 of Pikmin 3. His daugher thinks he doesn't live with them anymore...

And then... okay and then... the Koppaite trio rescue him... They offer to bring him home. And Olimar's beside himself because he never thought he was getting off this planet. Someone's shown kindness to him for the first time in 3 games and it takes him by absolute surprise.

He and Louie get home.

AND THE PRESIDENT CALLS THEM IDIOTS FOR LOSING THEIR SHIP AND SENDS THEM IMMEDIATELY BACK TO GET THE SHIP

THE PLASM WRAITH IS STILL THERE AND ALIVE.

IT IS LEGALLY AND ETHICALLY ALLOWED FOR OLIMAR TO KILL HIS BOSS.