#this post brought to you by getting thrown out of a fic every time a protagonist has less than perfect grades

[candidateofloyalty]

In my mind the Persona trilogy protagonists are all top of their class but their methods and attitudes towards it vary wildly, so like Kotone was a decent student before coming to Tatsumi Port Island but then Mitsuru makes a comment about grades early on and Kotone dedicates herself to becoming top of the class without apparently trying just out of spite. She'll invite the group to Tartarus saying it's to train whoever isn't on the main fighting force but then she spends the whole time listening to audiobooks and vaguely waving her spear at shadows.

Makoto I think has mastered the art of putting in as little effort as possible for a grade. Does one class's homework in another class so he doesn't have to do it at home; half the time this is the period before the homework is due. He knows how to pad an essay and make it look like you're just being thorough about your research, netting you bonus points for less thought. It would be infuriating if he ever called anyone's attention to his scores but he's just coasting along.

Yu is a nerd. This kid organizes study sessions with his friends and takes notes in class and no one thinks twice about his grades because obviously.

Ren wanted to give off that impression when he first arrived at Shujin, visibly studying in the library and all, but he very quickly stops caring about that again now that he has friends and his reputation doesn't matter to him. What he also has is an excellent memory for trivia and a knack for bullshitting. He reads a book about shogi to try to impress Hifumi and two months later he finds a way to make a shogi analogy while explaining something in class that obscures the fact that he's parroting what the teacher just said. (This also drives Akechi crazy, because Akechi will painstakingly decide his stance through research and then Ren will go "well I don't know about that exact thing, but" and then somehow have an angle that Akechi didn't know about. Someday Ren will chain himself through three different fun facts and only hold back from a fourth when Akechi "jokingly" threatens to throttle him.)

[idyllic-affections]

little colt.

summary. xianyun cannot help but take in another child. perhaps, in the future, they may become a disciple of hers.

trigger & content warnings. none applicable.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff, found family-ish. xianyun & child!reader. 2k words. they/them pronouns for reader. prev | next.

author's thoughts. bird mom propaganda RAHHHHHH btw if you find a typo no you didn't i'm sleepy but i wanted to post this........

       Cloud Retainer has taken on many disciples in her time, and she has loved each and every one as if they were her own.

       It was, therefore, quite unlikely that she woukd cease to take on disciples anytime within the forseeable future. Her love was extensive, far beyond what most mortals would be able to comprehend, and her capacity for intimate and tight bonds was even moreso. She has taken on many disciples over the years, and she has loved them all like her own children.

       Perhaps it could be attributed to her adeptal instincts; she can recall many a time during which her fellow adepti, upon bonding closely with another being, became exceedingly protective of them. It was only natural—adepti lived for so long and were often affected by their more nonhuman instincts. It wouldn't be improbable to imagine that the need to bond with other beings would grow strong over so many years.

       ...Then again, it could always simply be attributed to her. In her mind, there was little need for any such justification like 'instincts.' She could scoff at the idea—she was no mere animal. 'Instincts' could not begin to fully explain the depth of her love and care; it was surely infinitely more complicated than the mere maternal urges that a simple crane, a wild animal, might have. She was infinitely more intricate and convoluted than an uncomplicated bird.

       (That, however, did not change the fact that she did tend to have bird-like habits. Preening, nesting in her own way... She preferred not to bring attention to that fact, however.)

       Regardless of the reason, the truth was that she was lonely, even if she vehemently denied it whenever someone brought up the idea. Mt. Aocang was... quiet, dreadfully so without the constant presence of Ganyu or Shenhe or any of her other disciples. She enjoyed the silence to an extent, but she could only entertain herself for so long without another being to share her knowledge with. Liyue Harbor was far more lively. Loud and chaotic at times, perhaps, but far less lonely than the empty nest that her adeptal abode had become.

       Maybe that was why she was so immediately invested in the little one who had accidentially bumped into her and was now apologizing profusely.

       "I'm— I'm so sorry, miss! I wasn't watching where I was going! I really didn't mean it, I..."

       'What a swift little thing,' she couldn't help but muse. She'd hardly even spotted them rushing her way before they tumbled into her legs. Their body weight wasn't even enough to make her stumble—if anything, they were the one that ended up getting thrown off balance. It was cute how small they were compared to her, really; it reminded her of Shenhe when she was a child, or even her current disciple, Shuyu.

       Ah... but she shouldn't be so quick to think fondly of them. No, surely this little one had parents of their own—a life of their own—to return to. She did not even know their name. No. Bonds should not be so quick to form.

       With elegant, poised grace akin to a gentle breeze rustling a tree's leaves, she knelt down, the motion putting an end to their sheepish yet hurried apologies. Glossy, innocent eyes stared up at her—even kneeling, Xianyun was still a bit taller than they were—with an amount of awe that would've made her feathers puff out in pride had she been in her illuminated beast form. She was not one to grow embarrassed at admiration, after all.

       "Where are your caregivers, child?"

       "Oh. Um." Their brows furrowed slightly. "...I don't know, actually."

       "Ah, are you lost? Come, then. One— Ahem. I shall reuinte you with them. I am certain they must be quite frantic in your absence."

       Before she could rise and offer her clawed hand to them, they urgently shook their head.

       "Oh, no! It's not like that, miss. Even if it was, I wouldn't want to trouble you at all! I would find my way back!" they insisted politely, waving their hands in front of their body as if to dismiss her concerns (though, Xianyun hardly thought it would be "troubling"; she was a bit surprised that they felt it so, or perhaps they were really just trying to be polite). It was then that she noticed the little wooden chick held carefully in one of their hands, but she did not yet have the opportunity to inquire about it. "I've been on my own for as long as I can remember, that's all."

       Oh?

       Oh.

       "Hm. Is that so?"

       "Uh-huh."

       "In that case, child, I—"

       A man rounding the corner and immediately prevented her from finishing her sentence. He was very clearly furious, approaching the child with such fervent determination that Xianyun could not help but wonder what nature of a troublemaker she must have encountered. Though... she really did not see them that way, which only made her infintely more curious about rhe situation at hand.

       Their expression seemed to fall.

       "You, kid!" he shouted, stopping just a foot or two away from them. "You can't just go around stealing whatever you please! Who raised you?!"

       "No, I..." They could not meet his gaze. "I was gonna bring back more mora to make up for it when I could, I just—!"

       "Don't give me excuses. I want the toy you've stolen returned, you understand? Hand it over!"

       Xianyun sighed, adjusting her glasses.

       "Enough," she said, rising to her feet. "How much mora will suffice? For reparations, of course."

       "Rep— reparations?" the man stuttered, then sighed. "No, no... look. You're the mom? Just teach your kid not to go around stealing. The toy's not worth much, but a kid who starts stealing this young will take far more important things in the future. So, teach 'em not to do it."

       Hiding behind Xianyun's legs, they couldn't help but stare upwards in wonderment. His attitude flipped completely when faced with a woman so much taller than he was, and with an air surrounding her that demanded such an impossible amount of respect. They honestly could not blame him for such an attitude change; they would too, they thought, if they were faced with someone like her.

       "Very well. You have my apologies on their behalf." She turned on her heel, holding out her hand to them. "Let us go, little colt."

       Colt?

       Bewildered but nonetheless beyond awestruck with this strange yet kind woman, they nodded, wordlessly placing their freehand in hers. Her sharp, hooked nails dug slightly into their skin; somehow, though, they couldn't be bothered to care. It didn't hurt much. On the contrary, it was oddly comforting.

       The walk was silent for a few moments, but then, Xianyun's voice demanded their attention:

       "You should pay quite the mind to your behavior in the future. Theivery is a significant offense in a land such as this—a land that regards contracts with the highest of respect. Had I withheld my intervention, it may very well have ended far worse."

       "I really didn't mean to," they whispered, little tears building up in the corners of their eyes. Even though she was someone they had only just met a few moments ago, disappointing her seemed... unbearable. Angering her would have been more tolerable. "Um... steal, that is. I didn't mean it. I just thought it looked really cool. I left whatever mora I had on me to pay for it, and I was going to try and get more so I could pay him the right amount... I swear I wasn't going to just run away with it..."

       She hummed. "Regardless of your intent, I will see to it that you do not do such a thing again."

       "Hu— huh? You will?"

       She scoffed. "Of course. Surely you did not expect me to abandon you on the side of the street again? As an elder, it is only right that I watch over little ones such as yourself, and little ones should not be cruelly left to fend for themselves."

       The tears on their lashes had dried by now. They even offered her a smile, giggling as they said, "Elder? I don't think you're old."

       "Oh? And what, pray tell, has led you to such a bold conclusion, hm?"

       "Well... you! You look very young, miss! I think elder women are very pretty too, but you look... young pretty? Um... what's the word again..?"

       "Youthful, perhaps?"

       "Yeah! Youthful!"

       As they rambled on animatedly, clutching the wooden bird to their chest, Xianyun's lips quirked upwards into an amused smile.

       It, of course, went unnoticed by them.

                       — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       In the few days that had passed since Xianyun welcomed little [Name]—they had bashfully introduced themselves to her in the middle of their rambling once they recalled that she didn't even know their name, and she returned the sentiment with greater confidence—into her home, she had put together a few simple toys for them to amuse themselves with.

       She was an inventor at heart. Even though these designs were not entirely her own, she made them hers with unique additions and more efficient features... of course, all while doing her best to keep the toys simple. They were for a child, after all. Mechanics, Xianyun's mechanics, were complicated enough for adults to understand as it was—a child would surely have even less of a capacity to grasp something too complicated, and her efforts would therefore have been wasted.

       ...But oh, how terribly wrong she now understood herself to be.

       Quietly and motionlessly, as to avoid drawing their attention, she watched with the growing warmth of fondness and excitement in her chest as the young one she took in meticulously pried open the toys she handcrafted.

       They were humming to themselves, gingerly laying out the parts in an organized manner so that nothing got lost or mixed. She was beyond impressed with the careful thought they had blatantly put into keeping track of everything; Xianyun was certain that most children would lose a small part or two, but as she surveyed their layout, she noted that every single piece—big or small, hard to overlook or easy to lose—was accounted for.

       Childish forgetfulness wasn't an inherently bad thing. In fact, it was quite amusing and endearing to those such as herself who had lived for so many millennia.

       However, she was infinitely more endeared by their sheer mindfulness.

       Their sharp gasp snapped her from her internal musings.

       "Oh— Miss... Miss Xianyun! I'm sorry, I—" They stumbled over their words, and they froze up somewhat. It was as if they wanted to hide what they had done but ultimately decided against it; she had clearly already spotted them, and they did not want to risk mixing up all the parts. "Miss Xianyun, I'm so sorry, I— I wasn't trying to destroy them, I just—"

       "—wanted to understand their internal workings, yes?"

       Their eyes went wide with that same wonderment they had displayed towards her a few days prior. "How... how did you know?"

       She almost laughed at their cluelessness. "You have taken them apart with the care and delicacy quite unusual for one of your age. This, one surmises, is only because you sought to sate your curiosity regarding these simple mechanisms and their internal functions."

       The grace with which she carried herself never failed to leave them in astonished silence. Xianyun hummed, sweeping them up into her arms as if they weighed no more than a feather (her utter, raw strength was another astounding feat in their young mind; she was so unimaginably admirable in a multiplicity of ways to them). Then, with steady caution, she kneeled to the floor and situated them comfortably in her lap.

       "Allow one to introduce you, little colt, to the basics of mechanics."

       Xianyun, they concluded, was an odd but genuinely kind woman.

       Though her manner of speech was sometimes strange and formal, and her grace seemed otherworldly in its nature, and her strength was assuredly not a feat that just anyone could achieve...

       She was tender. She was kind. She cared.

       Perhaps the world was not always so kind, but despite that knowledge, they had never felt safer than where they were now.

please consder reblogging with a kind tag or comment, it helps me out quite a lot! mama xianyun series taglist: @zeldadou, @starryshinyskies, @soleillunne, @lillonvia, @nervocat, @dragon-type-nuggetz, @starlit-dianthus. contact me non-anonymously to be added.

[simpingforheros]

Bring Me To Life

Pairing: Arkham Knight!Jason Todd x Female! Reader

Summary: Destroy the Batman and get his companion back? Jason almost didn't believe Slade until... Warnings: Usage of female pronouns, Nudity (NO smut), Swearing, Character Death, Angst, Resurrection, Infantization ( I didn't know how to better describe this), Unhealthy relationship dynamics, Kinda Dark/Obsessive! Jason, Mentions Electroshock therapy, Implied Brainwashing, Slade being a creep, Mentions of Drug Abuse, Mentions of Child Neglect, Mentions of Child Homelessness and unsafe situations, SPOILERS for Death in the Family (Comic 1988) and Arkham Knight.

Author's Note: Hiya Everyone, This is the first fanfic I've written in a while and the christianing fic for this account. I may start a casual little series with this, but I don't know yet. Also any comic and game inaccuracies are either because I forgot or I adjusted it to fit the story.

Also while this post is mostly safe for work, MINORS DNF AND PLEASE READ WARNINGS. I DO NOT AUTHORIZE ANYONE TO STEAL MY WORK OR REPOST IT ON OTHER SITES.

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It was supposed to be him...

Those dark nights he had spent alone on the streets as a child didn't seem so bad looking back on it. Jason understood struggle even when he had lived with his parents who spent grocery money on alcohol and drugs. Living on the streets didn't feel so much worse, especially since he had... "Jason, Mr. Accetta gave me some scraps from dinner rush today! There's even a whole pizza in here!"

Her. His one friend had since he was thrown into this harsh world. She was the only person he knew at the time to never stop smiling or finding a positive outlook on things. He couldn't even remember when they met, but he could hardly remember them being apart.

Whether he was stealing or fighting, she was there as a faithful lookout or a willing accomplice. She taught him how to take tires off of cars like her granddad taught her and he taught her how to throw a punch like his dad used to throw. An unstoppable duo who ran the alley as well as two 11-year-olds could.

The harsh winter nights they spent crowding together were his favorite memories from that time. Even with the bite of Gotham's winds at their toes, his partner would never falter to talk about anything and everything as he listened. She would talk about her dead grandparents a lot and all the stories she had with them before they passed away, but his mind couldn't recall them at all. He just remembers the constant dream that she told him every night.

"One day, Jay, I'm gonna have enough money and get an apartment in Old Gotham..." Jason's nose turns up as he listens to his friend as he bites on his food. "Why Old Gotham? Isn't it just falling apart?"

She giggles as she pulls the oversized coat closer to her shivering body. The jacket was from a relative but the fabric lost those memories as its fibers were now bones. She still had it even after she left the streets...

"Because it's the most beautiful place in the world...I will get an apartment someday and you and I will live there. We can even get like a cat or something."

The familiar burn on Jason's face blooms as he asks, "Why would you want me there?"

"Because it wouldn't be my dream home unless you're there with me."

He wouldn't find out until a few years later that her grandparents used to live in Old Gotham until her grandfather died and her grandmother had to move as she would unknowingly follow her husband not even a year later...

Those nights in the streets melted into nights spent in the warmth of Wayne manor. As the two thieves became kings after a faithful night with the Batmobile, Jason was brought into the world of crime fighting along with his closest friend. As they trained and donned their capes, She would show a new side of herself to Jason. The overly happy young girl from the streets became an anxious teenager as he became angerier.

"Jason..." Her voice woke him up in the darkest of nights. His body ached from the nightly fights from the previous day as he turned to see a familiar sight.

A now 14-year-old Y/N standing in the crack of the door. Her fidgeting figure indicated all he needed to know before he raised his blanket as she scurried to get in the bed. This was a ritual that started when they moved in. Both would grow anxious at night as they went from the open streets to a large, confining manor. Alfred almost had given up on trying to scold the teens as they were found sharing a bed more times than being separated.

As she curled into his side as much as she could without hurting him, he could practically hear her mind tinkering as her E/C eyes stared into his chest.

There wasn't the need to discuss what was on her mind. At least not right now. She was concerned about the growing tension between Bruce and Jason. He was becoming reckless and Bruce was having none of it with her often getting dragged into the middle of the fights.

He hated that he never tried more...

It shouldn't have surprised him when all the conflict had finally caused a break in the family. Especially when Jason began looking for his birth mother. Y/N tried to be supportive of him as he investigated his leads. Those leads eventually led to Jason reuniting with Bruce as he investigated a possible arms trade in Lebanon. The reconciliation and the prospect of finding his mother left him blind to any form of common sense, but what kind of common sense could a fifteen-year-old make in the life they lived?

He should have listened to her concerns when they finally found Sheila Haywood, his real mother. Y/N had a bad feeling from the start but he dismissed her worries. Jason had no clue that the night he was supposed to meet with Sheila was gonna end up being one of the worst nights of his life....

"Jason, maybe you should wait for Bruce to be here so he can come with you." She suggested softly.

His eyes roll as he adjusts his costume. "Because it's none of his business. I'm just meeting with my mom and talking out some stuff..."

He didn't tell her about the blackmailing he witnessed earlier that day between his mother and the Joker. But, he would find out later that she already knew about it through Bruce.

Her hand reaches for his shoulder and pulls him around to face her. "I'm serious. You shouldn't meet with a woman you barely know in some fucking warehouse in the middle of nowhere!"

Jason can remember the hurt he felt when he heard her snap at him, Oh, how angry he got with her when all she wanted was to protect him. He remembers yelling at her the worst thing he thought he could say to her.

Why the fuck did he ever say that to her?

"I'm sorry your parents didn't want anything to fucking do with you, but I'm not gonna let your bitter ass ruin my shot to be with mine."

He remembers the hurt that filled her eyes and the string of regret pooling in his gut. With a fake smile on her face and tears pooling in her eyes, Y/N says softly,

"Okay...I'm sorry," The sharp sting in his neck as she pressed the vial of sedatives Bruce gave her into his veins. "I'm sorry to do this, Jason, but Bruce said you wouldn't go down that easily."

Jason couldn't remember what he said after the spark of betrayal hit him, but he hated himself that the last time he saw those eyes they were clouded with the tears he caused....

"Y/N! Please talk to me!" Jason begs into the coms as he rod on the back of the motorbike with Bruce.

He should have known. Her instincts are never wrong and he doubted her.

When Bruce found him unconscious and told him about how Joker was involved in all of this, Jason should have known that it was all a trap. His mother wasn't a poor blackmailed soul, she was a conniving bitch who profitted.

He also should have known that Y/N was gonna go meet with Sheila instead of him. Where the Joker was waiting for her.

"Y/N, please. Please be okay...." He begged to the coms as he can only think about what he said to her the last time they spoke.

"J...Jason...."

"Y/N!" Relief washed over him like a wave as he heard her voice. Her broken pained moaned of his voice made him sick as he tried to at least rationalized that at least she was alive. "Don't worry, honey. We know where you are and we're coming to help you."

He didn't know that she was laying battered and broken against the locked door as she stared at the bomb that was ticking away on the wall. Her labored breaths blocked out the ticking on the comms as she whispers out.

00:12

"Do you remember the apartment?..."

"What apartment? The one you talked about in the alley? Why are you-?"

She interupts him, he can hear the familiar curl of her smile in her pained voice as she whispered,

"I wanted it to have a window facing the east end...the stars always looked pretty over there..."

00:10

"Y/N, what are you-"

"I wanted one of those Tabby-looking cats like the ones we saw in the alleyway outside of Mr. Accetta's restaurant...Name it Frank after that old Italian fucker...I was hoping we could go back and actually buy dinner in that restaurant someday..."

00:08

"Are you okay? Why are you talking like this? We are almost there. I can see the building! We are almost here. I'M COMING TO SAVE YOU."

Jason's desperation was palpable as he heard his beloved talk like she was on her deathbed. His panic causes Bruce to drive faster as the Batcycle inches closer to the warehouse. "Jason"

00:04

"Jason, I love you...I have since I was 13..." She admits as her voice trembles. "I used to dream we would become the family we always wanted with each other...Thank you for being in my life and I'm sorry I let you down..."

00:03

"Y/N, I -"

00:02

"Wait!"

00:01

"Goodbye, Jason..."

.

.

.

It should have been him who died that night... It was supposed to be him. NOT HER.

Jason blamed himself for her death as soon as he helped pull her broken corpse out of the rubble. He tried to convince himself that it wasn't her. This wasn't his Batgirl. Not his best friend who would run around the manor with him or help him pickpocket pedo freaks on the street. This broken little girl that was in his adoptive father's arms wasn't his first love. She was a bright, kind light who protected her loved ones, not this broken shell who wore her skin...

But, it was her...

He blamed Bruce for it too. He was the one gave her the orders to keep Jason away from the warehouse. He had to have known that she was gonna go instead. Bruce should have known she was because she wanted to be wrong about Sheila so Jason could be happy...

He also blamed the Joker. He wanted that Clown dead... His opportunity presents itself after he tracks Joker down to an abandoned wing of Arkham trying to flee from blowing up a children's hospital.

Blinded by his rage and bloodlust, Jason went in alone and without any communication. Y/N would scold him in her grave as he fell for the trap, sealing him in a cycle of hell for a year.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"What if I could?"

"Do what?"

"Bring her back. Would you be willing to work for Crane if I could bring back the little Batgirl?"

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He knew it was bullshit.

Bringing back someone from the dead was impossible.

Jason would have been satisfied if his pseudo-partner/ prisoner, Deathstroke, just told him that he would be able to kill the Batman and wipe the hell hole that is Gotham off the face of the earth. He already dedicated a full year after his escape from Arkham to building his army.

His only regret during this time was not killing Joker himself. Even after all the torture and pain that clown did to him, he regretted not bashing the Joker's skull in after their last encounter as Slade helped him escape. It wouldn't have mattered to him at the time that Slade would have killed him because it wouldn't have been revenge for his own torture.

it would have been for Y/N. For the hell she faced that night. After a few months in Arkham, Jason almost accepted his torture as punishment for not dying that day for her because he experienced everything she felt. Every day he experienced everything she had to feel those short agonizing hours for an entire year. She must have been so scared and Jason couldn't save her.

The only thing that kept him from giving up was the memories he had of her and the burning hatred for those who caused her light to be snuffed out too soon.

He just wanted to feel that warmth again...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"If you can do that, then I'll burn the whole world to the ground for that fucking lunatic."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Please Jason. Let us help you!" Barbara Gordan begged from her cell as Jason snaps at her.

"THERE IS NO HELPING! I CAN FIX IT!"

Jason was manic. His men were being tugged around like dog toys by Batman and Slade had left him hours ago to attend some matter he didn't care to ask about. His time was running thin and he knows he needs to end this soon. It didn't help that those he didn't want involved are here as well like Barbara.

"Sir..." A militia soldier says as he nervously walks into the room. HIs men were already aware how stupid it was to come near him when he's in a crazed anger. Jason's head whipped at him like a feral man as he grits out.

"What is it?"

"Deathstroke is here...and he uh..."

Impatience reaches a boiling point as Jason raises his gun and shoots the militia solider in the head as Barbara shrieks. The red puddle of death fills the sterile room with lead as Deathstroke walts in. Jason turns his back towards him as places his helmet back into place.

"My, what a mess you made." Deathstroke mockingly scolds. The hidden smirk almost causes Jason to snap again.

"Where have you been? Batman is out there taking down my tanks faster than my men can repair them. You told m-!"

The Arkham Knight's monologue was intruppted as he turns to scold Slade by his heart dropping to his stomach at the sight before him. He swore that if he didn't hear Barbara's gasp and the whisper of fate's name, he would have woken up back in that dreaded wing of Arkham Asylum.

Slade chuckles as he rattles the chain in his hand as he says coyly, "What? Am I not allowed to go fetch your payment?"

Standing behind Deathstroke was a naked woman. Her tangled up (H/C) hair ran down her shoulders as her wide innocent eyes shined through the now white tendrils framing her face. Her body seemed more mature but all muscle mass she had was faded. Her face seemed aged but he recognized the curve of her nose and those lips he imagined smiling at him through his darkest moments.

"Y/N?" He helplessly calls out to her as he feels himself pulled towards her like a magnet.

If it wasn't for the stark white streak and gnarly, painful-looking scars on her body, Jason would have thought this was Scarecrow's fear toxin. It couldn't be possible, right? She was dead. He knew she was because he held her body. He felt how cold she was and watched how her lifeless eyes looked up to the ash ridden sky.

Those eyes now looked at him with no familiarity, but a childlike wonder as she naively smiles at him.

"How?" Was all the Arkham Knight could muster as he reaches to grab her. To pull her into his arms and never let her leave.

Deathstroke grabs the collar that was wrapped around her neck and yanks her back behind him as she chokes on her breath. He chuckles as he looks back into Jason's voiceless mask.

"The Lazarus Pit brought back her body." He explains as he hauntingly twirls the chain in his hand. "Of course, after you agreed to work with Crane, I brought her back immediately. Unfortunately, the poor thing suffered from Pit Madness."

A cruel smirk appears on Deathstrokes lips as he pushes the girl's hair back to reveal circular scars on her temples. Jason felt rage bubbling up in his throat as he recognized what those scars were.

Prolonged Electroshock Therapy

"You sick!" Before Jason could throw a punch, Slade places his gun on Y/N's forehead as he chuckles. The woman didn't even sense the danger as she continued to observe everyone with a curious eye. Jason immediately backs off as Slade continues.

"Of course. Her treatment did cause her to be cured of the madness but at the cost of her memories. She barely remembers how to take care of herself so you make it like that. Especially when you want to fuck her."

Jason was thankful for his mask as he would have killed him from his glare. To imply that she was just a potential fucktoy made him itch to bury this man in the deepest bowels of hell. As he quietly glares at him, Slade finally offers him the chain. The Arkham Knight accepts the chain as the assassin warns him,

"Now since you got your payment. You better keep your end of the deal..." His voice becomes threatening as he says.

"Because I can easily kill her just as I brought her back.'"

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AN: I was gonna write more, but I got exhausted so this is all I got. Let me know if it's a vibe or not.

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@simpingforheros fanfic. I DO NOT AUTHORIZE THE COPYING, STEALING, OR REPOSTING OF MY WORKS ON OTHER WEBSITES WITHOUT CREDIT.

[vixstarria]

Kinktober Day 14 - Bathing

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

Disclaimer: This one is more "preface to a potential fic, as I try to figure out whether I can or want to write anything related to bathing" than anything remotely sexy. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. 🤷‍♀️ Early Act 2.

He hadn’t seen her since the morning.

They were done for the day. Ordinarily, she would have barged into his tent long ago, asking him whether he wanted a little snack, or sharing tidbits of camp gossip or other information. Or perhaps demanding some inane favour, or simply trying to drag him out to join the others around the fire. The absence of her voice was palpable. Where in the hells was she..?

It wasn’t that he missed her - he simply needed to check on her, in case… …Just in case.

Only a few of their group stayed at their camp near Last Light, the others having gone to the inn. She must have been there.

He found Lae’zel and Shadowheart sharing some grog in the common area of the inn, both looking more vexed than usual.

“Asmodea is holding up the bathing chamber,” said Lae’zel, without waiting for Astarion to voice the reason for his presence. “She’s been in there for over an hour. Go get her out.”

“She will take even longer with him in there too,” complained Shadowheart.

“I will knock the door down if you take too long,” Lae’zel called out after Astarion as he turned and walked in the direction of the bathing room.

The door was locked, no sound coming from behind it. Astarion knocked, cautiously.

“No,” sounded her voice.

“It’s me, darling,” he called out.

A silence held a few moments longer, but was quickly followed by the sound of the latch trembling, as though someone was shaking it, followed by annoyed swearing from deeper within the room, something about working on her spell precision. At last, he heard the latch flying open. Astarion entered the room.

“Lock the door behind you,” she drawled.

He observed the scene before him.

Steam filled the air - something that shouldn’t have been possible. The water had to be heated in massive kettles before it was brought to the bath - if she’d truly been in there for over an hour, there is no way it could have retained its heat this long.

Asmodea luxuriated in a massive tub, her head lying back against an edge, a towel under it. Her legs, crossed at the ankles, were thrown onto the rim. Vapour continued to rise from the water.

She ignored him, keeping her eyes shut, as he approached. For once, her face was clear of the colourful nonsense she usually painted on it, he noticed. She looked… strangely young and innocent without it, he thought.

She opened her eyes and peered at him from beneath her lashes.

“I am told you are hogging the amenities,” he said.

She only snorted and closed her eyes again.

“After the stunt I pulled today, I deserve it,” she said, and stretched lazily, with a satisfied sigh. “I haven’t had a hot bath in so long… When is the last time you had a hot bath, Astarion?”

As a matter of fact, he remembered his last hot bath clear as day. Some years back, Cazador had loaned him to some Upper City parasite. The man had told him to “wash his stink off” and left him alone in a gorgeous suite with functional hot water plumbing. On his return, he’d only stuck his tongue down Astarion’s throat once, before breaking down and blubbering about his wife cheating on him with a rival for the rest of the evening, until he finally drank himself into a stupor and passed out. …Not a bad night, overall.

“It’s been longer than I’d like,” said Astarion, approaching the tub and running his hand up an exposed shin. “How is the water still warm, anyway?”

“I have my secrets and tricks,” she said with a smile. A flame appeared in her palm, at a flick of her wrist. Another gesture and it was gone.

Astarion hummed and dipped one of his hands into the water, briefly, before hastily withdrawing it.

“Are you trying to boil yourself?! Is one of your secrets that you’re a fire mephit in disguise..?”

She only grinned at him, and shifted in the tub.

“You get used to it,” she said. “Now shut up and get in.”

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Rest Well Reign Strong

Cannibal King!König is so stuck in my head right now it's not fair. Now you all have to endure my brainrot. Either way, this is just a really short fic establishing new life in the cannibal colony. Have fun, reader!

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, cannibalism

Wordcount: 1.4k

Art from This Post

Story below the Cut

Reign Well Reign Strong

It had been a few days since the cannibal king (as you called him) took you under his wing, and honestly, as begrudgingly as you were to admit it, life had drastically improved. It wasn’t anywhere near what you had before that damned helicopter ride, but you no longer lived in constant fear. Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. Fear was still laced through every part of your day. It was a inescapable fact of life now. But it was a different type of fear now. You were no longer afraid of dying, but you were afraid of the cannibal group that had taken you in.

You learned quickly to avoid eating whatever meat they brought you, and the shrouded king caught on faster than you expected. He didn’t seem to understand your aversion to human flesh in the slightest, mind you, but he was respectful at least. Instead, he tried to (shockingly gently) urge you to eat and, in turn, live. You had taken to drinking the boiled teas they made and feasted on the berries they foraged. They seemed to be just as fond of blueberries as you were.

However, though you were now taken care of, you loathed your captor.

He was a giant of a man, immense in size and weight paradoxically juxtaposed to his silent steps through the forest. The golden skull on his mask was a symbol of the aspect he embodied, death following his every move. The antlers on his shroud wove up above his head to make his ruling crown.

When you closed your eyes, the memories of the body being ripped in half replayed over and over in your mind. The sheer amount of brute strength he possessed horrified you to the core. Even in the army you’d never seen a man half as strong. It wouldn't take much for him to tear you limb from limb. You'd seen the man pick up a small boulder and launch it over fifty yards to crush an intruder. The ease at which he did so still horrified you.

You shuddered, drawing the attention of your king.

He shuffled closer, gently taking you into his arms and holding you close. You cringed in his grasp, sick of the smell of his sweat and the blood that permanently wreathed his form. He didn’t seem to understand, but how could he? You both spoke entirely different languages. It was a wonder he spared you at all at this rate. Surely he was getting sick of not being able to understand you?

Or did he take you for a different reason? You tried not to think of why a man would kidnap you and take you into his home without a second thought. It chilled you to the bone to think of his reasoning. You just prayed you'd never find out.

He was a cruel man. He tied you to him with a leash of leather and dragged you along behind him wherever he went, barking at the others to keep them from grabbing at you. He never let you out of his sight, no matter the circumstance. It was humiliating, and worst of all was that you were getting used to it. Yet, despite how hardened he was to your pleas, he had become your protector.

The other men and women had tried to grab at you, tried to tear you apart the first time you’d tried to escape. You were lucky he found you quickly to fend them off. You still thought about how one of the men had grappled you to the ground, had screamed in your face so his spittle coated your cheeks, lunged to bite down on your jugular before he was thrown off. You watched as your king took the man off you as though he was scruffing a cat before slamming him into the earth. With a single grunt, he slammed his fist right through the man's skull. A splinter of his skull hit the orbit of your eye before bouncing off into the sopping red dirt below. Then your king picked you up, kissed your forehead through his mask, then brought you into his arms and returned you to his hut. All night, he cleaned out your wounds with his dirty fingers. 

Now, whenever he went out with his people, he kept you tucked to his side and barked at anyone who dared stumble within arms reach of you. Occasionally, as he did with one mad man, he’d take his club and slam it into the back of their head. The man’s blood splattered over your feet as he fell into the earth.

That night you cried.

You tried to be quiet about it, but your king was soon roused and by your side.

“Go away,” you sniffed, knowing full well he couldn’t hope to understand you.

He said something, snuffed and tried to get closer but you shoved him back again.

“Go away!” you screamed.

He looked down to where you’d shoved his hairy chest and back at you. Under the torch light, his eyes looked watery.

You scrambled back and curled into the pile of furs, whimpering and sobbing as you did. You hated him, you truly did. He was an emblem of everything you hated in this land, and yet when he wrapped another fur around your shoulders you found yourself crumbling into his side.

“I hate you,” you sobbed as you beat his chest with your fist, “I hate you so much.”

He grunted, almost as if to say, ‘I know’.

“Why did you take me?” you cried and struggled against him, “I don’t want to live anymore. Just… Just kill me.”

The man held you tighter to him.

Why? You didn’t understand. He didn’t make any sense. He could have killed you at any point, and instead he chose to force you to live. You hated him, and yet…

He grabbed your wrists with one enormous hand. You stilled, afraid he might snap your wrists in anger, but he did no such thing. Instead, his grip softened further. He delicately turned over one hand and unwound your fingers. In your palm, he placed a small mound of bruised blueberries.

You looked at them carefully. Lit only by the skull braziers he’d lit that night for you, the blueberries looked like coagulated blood and flesh. When you brought them to your mouth, they were tart and sweet. These were the best thing you’d had since coming to the island. You wept again for what you had lost.

You king took you into his arms in a hug. It was so soft, so pure, you could hardly believe you were hugging a monster. It was almost as though he actually did care about you. He rubbed your back and rocked you both, soothing you until you fell asleep that night.

For the first time since crashing, your belly was full when you slept.

—

The next morning was different than usual.

Normally, the king of the cannibals would wake early and take you with him to investigate the camp, ensuring nothing had passed overnight. He would check in on the young mothers and play with their small children, then he’d go to the men and check their bodies for wounds from the previous night’s trifles. If he found any, he would gently wrap them in cloth and send them on their way to an old cannibal with big round eyes like an owl. He seemed to get along with your king, and they would laugh as the elder applied soaked poultices to the wounds.

Mornings were full and bright, spent with the clan around a campfire and eating and cheering.

Today was unlike any other, because the king slept soundly.

You had never woken before him, and when you peeked out the window, you saw that the others were already well on their way to getting through their morning. When you turned back though, the king was sleeping soundly.

You walked over to take a look at him. Strangely, he seemed to have slept in his golden mask and shroud. You snorted at the sight, wondering just what he could be wearing that mask for. There was nobody but you here. Or maybe, it was because you were here that he wore the mask. Either way, it surely couldn’t be comfortable. You could see that the fabric around his mouth was coated with shiny drool. If he wasn’t such a monster, you might have thought it an endearing sight. As it was, it only exacerbated his cannibalistic nature.

You shivered in the morning dawn. It was summer when you landed, and though only days had passed, the leaves on the trees were already turning with the winds. Outside, you could see the dew rising off the rolling grass in a cloud of thick fog, crouching near the tree trunks and slithering up the branches to greet the milky yellow sun.

Inside the log cabin, your king was tangled among the skins. He looked at ease with the world. Peaceful, even. How such a horrific man could inflict such cruelty and bloodshed was beyond you. He was so soft, so inviting, and… Well, how could you resist enjoying this soft morning with him?

You nestled into the blankets beside him. Even if it wouldn’t be long until he woke, you might be able to find some brief rest from this green hell.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[mishasminion360]

How Do You Do It?

Jack Daniels x fem!reader

Warnings: Mild language; words said in anger; stress-induced anxiety; mild angst; self-doubt; but lots of fluff, I swear.

Summary: Being a new mother and a homemaker are two difficult jobs to juggle at the same time, and even more of a challenge when your husband is constantly away. When Jack returns from his latest assignment to find you overtaxed and irritable, he decides to make it up to you by spending a day in your shoes.

A/N: What a busy summer/early fall. So much has changed in such a short time. Change is weird sometimes and brings a lot of stress. Had my first-ever panic attack. Zero stars; do not recommend. But even the stressful, scary parts of our lives can be inspiring. This fic is proof of that 😝

P.S. As you can see I began this fic in the fall of 2023 and look how late I’m posting it! I’m sorry for the long hiatus, folks, but believe me when I say it was necessary.

How is it that your husband is the secret agent, but the weight of the world always feels like it’s been thrust upon your shoulders?

The day you found out you were expecting was one of the happiest of your life. You and Jack had been over the moon and spent the entire adventure of pregnancy fantasizing about all the joys of parenthood that would arrive along with your bundle of joy. You weren’t kidding yourselves; you knew that a baby brought big changes and more than a few challenges. You just weren’t aware of just how high those hurdles would be until you were thrown into the race.

The roles of wife, homemaker, and now mother all seem to merge into one monstrous, never-ending task; and your duties seemed all the more daunting when you were left to fulfill them alone.

Jack is nothing short of attentive and dedicated when he’s at home. The problem is that “home” is usually the last place one will find him. As of late, his job with the Statesmen pulls and pushes him this way and that into parts unknown where he’s embroiled in espionage for some indeterminate period, leaving you with a house to maintain, meals to prepare, clothes to launder, and a colicky infant to soothe.

You’re trapped inside a pressure cooker and the temperature is nearing critical.

***

“Baby Shark” is on its 25th iteration, every “doo doo doo” is like a bat to the back of your head. You dance topless in the living room with your wailing son clutched to your naked chest. You’d tossed your t-shirt into the wash twenty minutes ago, covered—like the two before it—in your baby boy’s milky vomit.

Your sanity is a mere thread, frayed, delicate, and seconds away from completely unraveling. Your head is pounding and back aching, and you’re trying to convince yourself that the flush of heat you feel just beneath your skin is not a fever. You can’t afford to be sick now. Not when you are all your son has; when you are all you have.

“Daddy’s home, darlin’!”

The sound of his voice, the familiar clip-clop of his boots on the hardwood floor, should fill you with after hardly having heard it for a solid week. Instead, it has your already tepid body simmering with frustration.

“Hey there, Mama Mare.” The affectionate term oozes from between his grinning lips with all the smooth, sweet ease of honey. “Give this ol’ cowboy some sugar. He missed you.”

His lips are on yours and then detaching themselves before your mouth can even register it’d just been in contact with another; far quicker and more careless than the long overdue reunion kiss you’d been anticipating. The brief little smooch held about as much passion as a handshake.

“There’s my little cowpoke!”

Jack lifts his squalling son from your arms and little John’s cries instantly cease. Of course they do. Of freaking course.

“Well, now, you didn’t have to get all dressed up on my account, honeybee.”

You snap to attention after possibly having fallen asleep on your feet for a split second to see that Jack’s devilish gaze has zeroed in on your bared tits.

“You certainly know how to welcome a fella home.”

While he’s busy ogling your non-seductive nudity, your own eyes have locked onto the trail of muddy prints stretching from the front door, each filthy footfall a perfect imprint of the sole of Jack’s boots. Yet another mess you’ll have to clean up; another chore added to the already heavy burden you’re shouldering.

“How’s about after dinner we mosey on upstairs, put this little buckaroo to bed, then I show you just how much I missed you?”

You don’t even know how to respond to him right now, so you don’t. You simply turn your back and walk away, seething in a silent rage as you stomp your way upstairs to put on the thickest, ugliest sweatshirt you can find that leaves everything up to the imagination.

John starts to wail once again, but that’s Jack’s problem now. You have about a million other tasks to accomplish—make that a million and one, thanks to his filthy freaking boots.

You slip into the master bath and toss back a couple of Advil for your pounding headache and by the time you re-emerge, Jack is pacing around your bed, hands on his hips and a pensive scowl on his face.

You take a deep breath through your nose and the words tumble from your lips in a sigh. “I haven’t started dinner yet. Give me just a few minutes and I can—“

“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” he blurts. “‘Cause you gave me a look back there that reminded me of an angry steer about to trample a rodeo clown.”

“Just forget it,” you mutter, brushing past him toward the door. His hand wraps around your wrist before you can cross the threshold.

“I ain’t forgettin’ nothin’,” he drawls as he turns you to face him. “Sugar, what’s wrong? No use lyin’ because I can tell somethin’s stuck in your craw.”

Oh, it’s stuck alright. Like a bug in a windshield.

“Jesus, Jack,” you sigh. “Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve had a total of five non-consecutive hours of sleep this week. Or it could be the fact that the house is a mess or that I’m down to my last pair of clean underwear. All the chores have been put on hold so I could tend to our son while you’ve been off playing ‘secret agent man’ in God only knows where.”

His mustache twitches and his jaw ticks.

“Honeybee, why didn’t you tell me you’ve been strugglin’? I would have—“

“Because I shouldn’t have to tell you!” you snap. “You should know me well enough by now to tell when I’m not okay! You should already have some inkling of how hard it is to raise a child and that the process usually goes much smoother when both parents are involved. But I guess I’m just a fool for assuming. Getting shot at is far less hazardous to your health than changing a dirty diaper after all.”

When the red finally clears from your vision you see that Jack’s has become clouded with a look you’d only bore witness to once and concluded that you never wanted to see again. His mirthful brown eyes dulled by a deeply rooted pain planted long ago by a cruel twist of fate. He’d been robbed of his first chance to be a husband and father and you’d just accused him of squandering his second.

“Sugar, I’m….I’m sorry.”

Shit. It’s not fair. You have been miserable for an entire week and you can’t stand to see him miserable for even a millisecond.

“No, I’m sorry,” you insist, voice and legs quivering. You lower yourself to the bed before exhaustion and gravity get the better of you. “I’m just so tired. Tired and frustrated.”

He drops to the bed beside you and pulls you into one of his signature hugs you’ve missed so much. The tightest of embraces that only he can give.

“I know you’re working hard to provide for our family,” you sob. “I know that but still I….I feel so alone, Jack.”

Before even a single southern-drenched syllable can leave his mouth, a sharp wail blasts from the baby monitor and your body reacts instinctively and urgently. You shoot up and out of Jack’s arms like a rocket.

“Let me check on him and then I’ll start dinner,” you say with a sniffle.

“I’ll get him, darlin’,” Jack insists, gently grasping you by the wrist and halting your minimal progress toward the door.

“But he probably needs—“

“I will get him.”

His hands are on your shoulders now—firm yet gentle—and grounding, comforting.

“Please, let me take care of my boy so you can take care of you, honeybee. And then, later, I’d like to take care of you, too. If you’ll let me.”

You can only muster a nod before he’s striding out of the room. Taking advantage of the first minute you’ve had to yourself in a week, you slip into the shower and let the warm spray unclench every muscle coiled tight with stress.

By the time you emerge, John is sleeping peacefully and a pizza’s been ordered. Jack dotes on you the entire evening, giving your aching feet a rub down with his skillful hands and cuddling you close as you both zone out to some ridiculous reality TV. His mere presence is a balm to your weary soul.

Whenever the baby cries in the middle of the night and your body moves on instinct Jack stills you, urges you back to the mattress, and takes on the challenge himself. It’s the best night’s sleep you’ve had in you can’t remember how long.

***

And surprisingly enough, you don’t manage to sleep any later than 9 a.m. The smell of extra greasy bacon lures you from bed, a siren’s call to your stomach.

John bounces in his high chair, babbling around a mouthful of mashed banana, most of which appears to have ended up on his face, shirt, and chubby little fists. Jack is an even more astonishing sight than your messy son, strutting about the kitchen in your frilly apron topping his off-white Henley and faded Wranglers.

“Well, good mornin’, sugar,” he cries, grabbing your hips to tug you in for a kiss. “Though I wasn’t expectin’ to see you up so soon.”

“How did you expect me to stay asleep when something smells incredible?”

“That would be my famous chocolate chip, peanut butter, and banana flapjacks.”

In true Southern gentlemanly fashion, he pulls out a chair and eases you into it before setting a towering stack of syrup-soaked pancakes before you, coffee and bacon following suit.

“Better eat quick now, darlin’,” Jack urges as he takes a seat with his plate. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”

As if you could forget. That laundry is begging for attention, the house hasn’t had a good dusting in you can’t recall how long, and Johnny already needs a bath—

“I made you an appointment for noon.”

Your train of thought instantly stalls on the tracks.

“Appointment?”

Jack grins over the brim of his steaming mug.

“Honey, you need a break. Figured you might enjoy yourself a little spa day.”

You can hardly believe your ears.

“Spa day?”

“Yes, ma’am. Massage, mud baths, whatever the heck they do with seaweed, the whole nine yards,” he explains proudly. “I even called up your buddy from work and asked if she’d like to join you. And it’s all on me.”

“But Jack, what about John? And the house, the laundry, the cooking?”

“Gimme some credit, sugar,” he chuckles. “I think I can keep the homestead standin’ and our baby boy breathin’ for a day. Besides, it’s high time I start puttin’ in my fair share of help around here, isn’t it?”

You’re not sure if you want to thank him or burst into tears. Maybe both.

“You do so much, honeybee,” he says warmly, voice as smooth, rich, and sweet as the syrup sluiced atop your pancakes. “You move mountains every day to make this house a home. How’s about lettin’ someone do somethin’ for you for a change?”

You scarf down the rest of your pancakes before kissing him with sticky lips and racing up the stairs to get ready for your big day out.

***

You feel rejuvenated and refreshed. Brand fucking new. A far cry from the husk of a woman who’d left the house this morning. Wrapped in seaweed and slathered with mud you’d been returned to the earth and reborn at full strength, like a phoenix risen from the ash.

You'd been reunited with an inner strength and power you'd all but forgotten. And thank God for that, because you're going to need every bit of it to face the chaos you come walking back into upon your return home.

You can hear John’s piercing wails before you’ve cut the engine and opened the driver’s side door. You can smell the smoke before you've even reached the front steps.

Inside all hell has broken loose. Gray tendrils of smoke slither through the air, teasing the detector into screaming its warning. Your baby boy is giving it some stiff competition with his own cries as Jack struggles to bounce him on one arm while he tries to fan away the smoke with the other. Both gestures prove futile.

“It’s okay, buckeroo. You’re okay. Don’t cry. Please, please don’t cry.”

Jack looks so frazzled. The situation is far from funny so the last thing you should do is laugh at his expense. But dammit if you don’t anyway.

“Do you need some help there, cowboy?”

His frantic eyes find you through the haze and pierce you with a desperate, wordless plea. You take the inconsolable infant from your husband’s arm and soothe him into silence as Jack does the same to the smoke alarm.

“There now, Johnny. See? Everything’s okay. Daddy made the bad sound stop.”

“He just stopped cryin’ for you. Just like that.”

Something in his eyes burns. Something in his voice cracks.

“I couldn't bring him any kind of comfort. He didn't….want nothin’ to do with me.”

Your weary cowpoke sags into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and buries his face in his hands with an exasperated sigh.

“You were right, darlin’. I'm useless.”

You settle John into his high chair with a teething ring to distract him before turning your attention to your distressed husband.

“To be fair, I never said you were useless.”

“You may as well have,” he sighs. “And if you weren’t thinkin’ it before you’ll be thinkin’ it now.”

You smirk. “Rough day?”

“Oh darlin’, you don’t even know the half of it.”

He begins to recount the day’s challenges, his voice raising in pitch as goes from describing one hurdle to the next. He almost seems on the verge of tears.

“And I got so distracted while tryin’ to get our fussy boy to eat his dinner that I failed to hear the timer and let ours burn. Hence the fiasco you came home to. And when John started bellowing for his supper I was in the middle of the laundry and I forgot to separate the colorful items from the rest, so my new red jockeys turned our bathroom towels pink and….and I just failed so miserably today, sugar. I’m so sorry.”

You laugh, unable to help it. It’s all you can do at this point. “Welcome to my world, sweetheart.”

“How on Earth do you do it, sugar?”

If you’re being honest, you ask yourself that question at least once a day, and not always with the same emotional connotation behind it.

“There’s just something inside of me that encourages me to power through the difficulties. A force, a reminder.”

“An iron will for damn sure,” he scoffs.

“No, that’s not it,” you chuckle. “It’s love, Jack. For you and our boy. That’s what keeps me going.”

He looks at your have cradling his own, a gesture of both dominance and comfort. In this moment he believes that he is made of inferiority.

“I love you both to the moon and back, yet I can’t even do a load of laundry.”

“Jack you do enough. I have not, do not, and never will doubt your love for me and John,” you reassure him. “Acts of service just happen to be my particular love language, not yours.”

“Then what is mine?”

You lift his hands and kiss both sets of his knuckles. “Words of affirmation.”

His acts of service are for the world, but his words are just for you.

“But ain’t actions supposed to speak louder?”

“For others, maybe,” you shrug. “But that’s only because no one else speaks as loudly as you.”

@grimeylady @rav3n-pascal22 @mamacitapascal @insomniamama1 @pedrosbisch @emmaispunk @lv7867 @reonlouw @hawaiianmelodies @heythere-mel @healingstardust @delorena @pedropasxal @caesaryoulater @fangirling-alert @fromthedeskoftheraven @axshadows @dragon-scales88 @spacepastel-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @hauntedmama @mswarriorbabe80 @horton-hears-a-honk @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @a-trial-run-on-paper @oonajaeadira @dhadiirah @felicisimor @practicalghost @luz-introvertida @amneris21 @hb8301 @tanzthompson @littlemisspascal @dobbyjen @supernaturalgirl20 @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @trickstersp8 @neganwifey25-blog @twistedboxy @emiemiemiii @energeticspookyshark @thevoiceinyourheadx @pedr0swh0r3 @anamiad00msday @secretwriterpp @wannab-urs @pedrostories

[slytherizz]

In the Shadow of Us - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

Summary: Sebastian Sallow has spent the past 5 years rotting in Azkaban.

The only thing keeping him sane; the hate he has for the woman who put him there and the man beyond the wall. Now that same witch, the one he'd once loved, needs Sebastian's help.

Theophilus Harlow has escaped Azkaban. To earn his freedom and get revenge on the man responsible for creating his sister's curse, Sebastian and the Auror must track down the man beyond the wall before he tears the Wizarding World apart.

Tags: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Smut

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, explicit language, angst, seriously angst, Hurt/Comfort

You can find the entire fic on AO3

I can't believe I finally finished my long fic. It's honestly so bittersweet that it's over. I don't know what to do with myself so I thought I'd post the first chapter here.

Part 1 'Whatever it Takes' is not necessary to read Part 2 'In the Shadow of Us'.

Chapter 1

Sebastian listened to the waves crash against the rocky cliffs below, the storms that surrounded the cursed slice of land in the middle of the sea never seemed to rest. The only signs of life, if you could call it life, were the clanking of chains and the muttering from those who’d already lost their minds. The air was always damp, and condensation clung to the walls of his cell. He watched as the water dribbled down from the barred window onto his half rotten mattress on the floor. Sebastian had spent his first month dragging it around to every corner to try and find somewhere it would stay dry but after years, he had given up trying.

He could feel them approaching, feel the coldness, the emptiness. It felt as though a black hole had dragged his soul from his body, as floating rags of a dementor came into view through the bars. A skeletal hand of flesh stretched over bone, clinking along one of the bars. Sebastian brought the blanket he had around his bare feet to starve off the chill, crunching himself into the corner to get as far away as he could. It never worked but he still tried. Every time.

All he could feel was the darkness in his soul rising like water, ready to fill his lungs and drown him. As the tattered robes that hid the monstrous face peered in through the gaps, Sebastian knew there was no point in fighting it, any happiness he had had been lost years ago.

The curse struck her directly in the chest, and she crumpled to the ground screaming in agony. The curse licked at her as she clawed at her skin. Guttural wails of pain echoed off the walls. She was convulsing, so viciously he thought she may swallow her tongue and choke. She was pleading for it to stop; for him to stop.

She was above him, her head thrown back in a raspy gasp of pleasure. She was writhing above him, coming undone under his touch as she was brought to climax. How he’d kissed her, hands fisting possessively into her hair. She’d stroked his cheeks as they came down from their shared ecstasy, her eyes burning into Sebastian. The last time he’d had her, right before she’d turned him in. At the time he’d thought was love. Now he knew it was goodbye.

Sebastian’s throat was raw as he gulped down breaths, the world was slowly coming back into focus. He’d buried his fingernails so far into his palms he could feel the sting where he’d broken the skin. His head was spinning.

“You alright, mate?” rasped a voice from the other side of the wall. Sebastian let out a groan in response and the faceless man behind the wall chuckled. A tinny hollow sound, of a man who knew the hell that Sebastien had just experienced all too well.

“Peachy,” Sebastian groaned, sinking his head back into the mattress. His heart was beating wildly, and his breathing was laboured. He felt cold and empty. He didn’t know at what point she had decided he was too cursed, too broken. But he’d stopped hoping one of them would come for him. Sebastian knew there was nothing left for him outside of these walls.

Sebastian had spent the last five years in Azkaban alongside the voice beyond the wall. Sometimes he wondered if he’d lost his mind and the voice was just in his head. But at some point, he’d stopped caring and the lines became blurred, somewhere between reality and a nightmare.

There was no way to survive in a place like this. It was designed to break, and drag every joy, happiness, pride, comfort out of your soul until there was nothing left. What had once been a fire within him, a passion that had kept Sebastian alive, was now cold. The only embers that burned anywhere in him anymore, keeping him from the brink of insanity was the rage. The hate that crept in. For the woman that let him tear himself apart for her, before turning him in. He traced the tattoo on his wrist. The rage was the only thing he had left, they couldn’t take that from him.

“Tell me about before we got here, mate. You know it’s the only way to keep the fire burning.”

***

Sebastian wakes with a start. His heart is pounding in his chest and his body is damp. Whether this is a cold sweat from the nightmares, or from the rain coming through the bars, he doesn’t know. The differences between the reality and dreams make no difference to him anymore. His reality is a nightmare, regardless.

“You there?” Sebastian rasps into the darkness. He needs to hear the voice, the only constant that keeps a grip on his sanity. He’s met with silence, and the crashing of waves as they beat against the dark monolith. Sebastian presses his ear to the wall, but he hears no scratching, no breathing.

Maybe the owner of the voice had died. Sebastian didn’t know whether to be terrified or jealous. Maybe the voice had been another trick of the dementors this whole time, to ignite a fire of hope in him, giving them more to feed off. Sebastian shook that idea from his head, these kinds of thoughts make people go mad in here.

Sebastian had forgotten the name of the voice long ago. It hadn’t mattered, all that mattered was the stories they told each other. The ones that kept the fire lit.

He told the voice his story of the relic, how he’d killed his uncle trying to save his sister and of the goblins that used that ancient power to curse her. He laid bare the story of the girl that left him to die after he’d torn himself apart to save her.

He knew the voice had been one of Rookwood’s men, but he had chuckled in that hollow tinny way when Sebastian told him how he’d set so many of their camps ablaze.

Sebastian knew this was not a good man beyond the wall. But Sebastian was not a good man either.

Sebastian curled up on the rotten mattress and closed his eyes. Maybe he would be back in the morning. Maybe Sebastian would die in his sleep too, it didn’t sound too bad.

***

Sebastian was sat on the iron chair in the cold windowless room in Azkaban, his hands were shackled, and the chains linked through a loop in the table. The cold metal of the chair stung his skin through the threadbare cotton of his Azkaban robes. Grey and striped, they hung off him, not much more than skin and bone. Sebastian leaned back in his chair the chains clanking and pulling taut when he tried to cross his arms, not enough give in the length. Not long enough to strangle someone, or himself.

He'd been abruptly dragged from his cell this morning, by some of the intimidating wizard guards in the prison. Or was it afternoon. The sky was always different shades of grey here, he never knew the time. Sebastian supposed that was the point.

The door clicked in front of him swinging open and in the doorway stood the last person he ever expected to see. Ever wanted to see.

“Hello Traitor. Long time, no see,” his face stretched into a cruel smile, his voice a little hoarse from disuse. Her face was blank unreadable, lips pulled into a hard line.

“Leave us,” she gestured, to the two guards flanking her. They exchanged a weary glace at each other, but her eyes never left Sebastian. He was doing his best at looking unfazed, stretching out his limbs as far as the chains would allow.

“Ma’am, we aren’t allowed to leave the prisoners alone-, “ the older of the two guards began, keeping a hand on his wand in the holster strapped to his chest, as if expecting Sebastian to strike at any moment. What exactly the man expected Sebastian to do, wandless and chained was a mystery. At least they thought him formidable enough to be capable of daring escape attempt.

“This is a Ministry matter. I have no problem speaking to your superiors. I said leave us,” Sebastian surveyed her for the first time in years. Her hair was pulled back at the temples in two soft braids, just as she had always worn it to battle. Some of the fullness of youth had left her face, where she had once been pretty, she was now striking. But her features were drawn and grave, her eyes guarded. She looked older and Sebastian wondered how his own features may have changed in return.

The pristine scarlet of her robes was the only drop of colour in a lifeless room. Scarlet robes, a gold badge adorned on her chest and a wand holster strapped to her arm. The marks of an Auror. Sebastian let out a low chuckle. Of course, she would have become an Auror whilst he had rotted behind bars.

With a scowl the accompanying guards shared a nervous glace to each other, obviously recognising the malice on Sebastian’s face. She levelled them with a hard look of authority, and they reluctantly shuffled out of the interrogation room, bolting her inside, regarding him as though he were some sort of wild animal that they had just fed, like he could pounce at any moment.

“Sallow,” she acknowledged him for the first time. Her voice sounded the same, but it was colder than he was used to. She took the seat opposite, seeming a lot less worried than the guards had been about proximity to a convicted murderer.

“I presume this isn’t a social call to see an old friend,” Sebastian said, as casually as if he was receiving her for tea. He lounged back in his chair, ignoring the biting chill of the iron into his skin.

“No,” she regarded him, taking note of his relaxed posture, his careful words. She was cautious and assessing, she had none of the fire that Sebastian knew her to have. She may try to hide it behind pristine robes and authority, but Sebastian knew it was there, lurking behind guarded eyes.

“The Ministry needs your help.”

Sebastian laughed a low hollow sound and bit out, “Why the fuck would I ever help you?”

“Because it will buy you your freedom, Sallow,” her voice had a professional, clinical edge, containing none of the fire that he knew her to have. He was laughing a little hysterically now, and briefly thought he must look a bit insane. Good, he thought, let her think that I’ve gone mad, let her think about me and what she’s done. The sound seemed to set his former friend on edge, and she dropped the mask of authority for a moment. Despite her unease he purred. At least he knew he could still get under her skin.

“What would I do with freedom?”, he chortled bitterly, “I have nothing to go back to. No family. No friends. You made certain of that last one. Inside or outside is irrelevant. And you’re the last person I would help.”

“Fine. If not for freedom, for revenge. On the men who cursed your sister.”

“Goblins cursed my sister,” he seethed through his teeth. He hadn’t heard her name aloud in years. Sebastian couldn’t even tell the man beyond the wall. Couldn’t bring himself to say it. He only heard it in his in the waking nightmares the dementors brought. Even all these years later, the mention Anne still put him on edge. Especially from her traitorous mouth.

“No, they didn’t. It was Victor Rookwood. Rookwood is dead but I know you’re familiar with Theophilus Harlow. You’ve shared a wall with him for the last five years. I’m sure you’ve noticed his…absence,” only for a second Sebastian saw something flicker in her, the ghost of that old fire he knew so well. But as quickly as it was there it was gone “Harlow was Rookwood’s right hand man. Particularly for his skills in curse development. He created the curse that Rookwood used on Anne- “

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” Sebastian spat, sitting forward abruptly in his chair and the chained groaned. She didn’t flinch.

“‘Children should be seen and not heard’ Rookwood said those same words to me the night he tried to take my life-”

“You’re fucking lying,” he bit out. Goblins cursed his sister. And she had cursed him.

“Sebastian,” she sighed exasperatedly “just listen to me. Harlow is dangerous. Rookwood may have been the mastermind but Harlow…he’s a sadist. He developed curses using that ancient magic reserve far beyond my understanding. I know you studied Anne’s curse more than anyone, studied your parents work on ancient magic. With Miram and Fig gone along with their research, there’s no one in the ministry with the knowledge of how these reserves work. How Harlow might use them, again. I know you studied your parents work and as the last one to speak to Harlow. They’re willing to offer you freedom, in exchange for your cooperation in tracking him down. I know you remember it, the research. If we can’t stop him, your sister won’t be the last one to suffer.”

Sebastian was silent, and his eyes burned into her as if his gaze could cause her a fraction of the pain he’d been in for the last five years. After five years, she comes to him and has the audacity to ask for his help. There was a man once who lay waiting for her to come for him. But that man had died in Azkaban.

The silence that between them hung like death. Neither of them moved. Sebastian was used to waiting. The scarlet of her robes seemed to taunt him. He’d once envisioned himself wearing those robes. They had planned to do it together. That flicker of rage, the one which was keeping him alive was starting to grow, and the spark was starting to burn. The man behind the wall. The one that had started this. He had cursed his sister and Sebastian in the process. There were only two people to blame for the last five years. The woman across from him and the man beyond the wall. Harlow. How many times they had spoken of revenge. As they had stood on opposite sides of the wall, they now stood on opposite sides of a war. A war that Sebastian would finish.

She looked like she wanted to say something else but hesitated, her lips parted slightly before she thought better of it and pulled them back into a hard line. Finally, she sighed and got to her feet.

Just as she reached out to rap on the door, Sebastian bit out through clenched teeth. “I’ll do it.”

She froze, and turned her back to him slightly, fixing him with a cautious eye.

“But not for you. For Anne.”

[tragedy-for-sale]

Bedrock Headcannons: Commander Wolffe

Bedrock headcannons are headcannons that I regard as a fact in the personality of a character I write about. They range from small details to a huge part of a character's backstory. These headcannons are a constant underlayer in all of my fics that involve these characters.

﹄『❝ Wolffe ❞』﹃

Wolffe knew after all his men died something had to be done but he didn't know what. So, he didn't sleep much during the weeks following the events of the Maleovance because everytime he closed his eyes he saw their faces, his face, dead in space. When he started being able to sleep through the night, he found it plagued with nightmares.

When Wolffe lost his eye, Plo Koon and the three of them were on leave on Coruscant. He knew Wolffe wasn't healing as fast as he should be, so Plo actually had Wolffe moved to the temple and that is where he did most of his recovery.

Plo would take Wolffe to go walk around the temple with him and it was during those weeks that Wolffe accidentally referred to Plo as his father.

If you bring that up he'll start getting all embarrassed and ramble on about how he was on pain meds all the time and his brain was still foggy.

Wolffe was a very shy cadet and even now, he doesn't know how he ended up as a commander. When he's by himself, when he's vulnerable, it's only then he'll admit that he's far too soft for any of this. He was created for war but he isn't made for war.

Fox and Wolffe were batch mates and whenever Wolffe is on Coruscant he'll spend time helping the guard. When Wolffe was at the temple healing, Fox undertook every assignment posted there (he hated it) but his brother needed him so there he was. If this had happened later in the war, Fox wouldn't have even stopped by once.

Wolffe does refer to bacta tanks as the aquarium of death and Plo is greatly concerned.

If you ask Wolffe why he chose the BARC helmet, he'll say it's because it looks cool. But he choose it because they limit visibility and only focus on what's in front; Wolffe, after he got his cybernetic eye, found himself getting sensory overloaded from all his eye could see and register, the BARC helmet reduces that.

Ahsoka and Wolffe have been thrown together a couple times by will of Plo Koon. Ahsoka is used to Rex and Cody, who are a hundred more times sure of themselves than Wolffe. She wants to go sneak out and cause trouble, things Cody and Rex jump at the chance to do with her, but Wolffe just doesn't want to. And Ahsoka doesn't understand why not. She understsnds the pain of Cody and Rex, but not Wolffe's.

He's scared all the time. Walking to the refresher, getting food at the mess, with every breath, he shakes from how scared he is. He's anticipating something to happen, for the loud boom of their ship exploding. When he's on the bridge, he doesn't breath. The trauma he faced after the Maleovance stunned him, it took months and him attacking Sinker for them to realize just how deeply he still lived in that day. Plo blames himself for not noticing sooner. Wolffe was his child and he didn't see it, Plo never forgave himself for missing all of Wolffe's pain.

He started to become cold and off putting really after he lost his eye, he'd never felt worse. Plo did everything he could to help Wolffe, but the only way for Wolffe to move on from all the horrors he'd faced recently, was to bury his old self. He might've been the type to joke, but now he's too scared to laugh because all that pain would come running back.

Wolffe is mortified of hugs because the last time he hugged someone, Plo Koon, he started crying; Plo brought him hot chocolate. (He was on a lot of pain killers and sleep deprived)

﹄『❝ Wolffe ❞』﹃

[manygeese]

okay fifteen people liked my prev post about a valgrace sleeping beauty au so I finished the thing (besides the epilogue but we’ll GET there okay???) I decided to just do the version where Leo and Jason knew each other before bc I like it 🤗 here’s the first chapter. Once I post the rest of the fic it’ll be under the “#valgrace sleeping beauty au” tag on my account. author’s note and tags at the end

Edit: part two is out

Chapter One

Once upon a time, in a far away land, lived a king and a queen. For many years had they longed for a child and finally, their wish was granted. A son was born, and they named him Leo.

A great celebration was thrown for all of the kingdom’s citizens to attend, so that they could all honor the infant prince’s birth. It is on that happy day that our story begins.

Three fairies held positions as guests of honor.

“All rise for the three good fairies: Annabeth the Wise, Hazel the Magical, and Piper the Charming,” the herald announced after the sound of trumpets ceased.

The three fairies flew forward, towards the baby’s cradle in front of his parents’ thrones. Annabeth and Piper bowed to King Hephaestus and Queen Esperanza, politely greeting them with, “Your Majesties”, though Hazel bent down to coo at the child. Annabeth elbowed her discreetly and she hastily curtsied.

Annabeth stepped ahead of the other two, clearing her throat and getting ready to address the court. “Each of us shall give the boy one gift. No more, no less,” she informed, leaning down to bless the baby, “Little Prince, I give you the gift of ingenuity. May you work quickly in the forges, may you be smart and inventive, and may you go on to create wonderful things.”

The king and queen shared a smile as the second fairy walked towards the bassinet. Hazel grinned at the baby, talking to him more than she was to the court. “Tiny Prince, my gift is one of joy. May you be funny and cheerful, may all around you find happiness in you, and may you always find the bright side of every situation.”

Just as the third fairy, Piper, went to give her gift to the prince, the door to the castle burst open and in poured a thick green mist. People began coughing as the fog spread through the halls. The smoke gathered in the middle of the throne room, just behind the three good fairies, and rose up to reveal a dark shadow of a woman.

“Gaea!” The three fairies recognized the evil witch, the sneer on her face telling them she was up to no good.

“What do you want here, you-“ Piper started, bolder than the others, but she was cut off by Annabeth’s hand pushing her backwards, away from the sinister figure.

Gaea chuckled, though it was more of a growl than a laugh. “What a crowd, your majesties. The whole kingdom in attendance, yet you neglected to invite me?” She shook her head disapprovingly.

Hazel crossed her arms defiantly, moving in front of the baby. “You weren’t wanted.”

The witch placed an affronted hand on her chest. “Not wanted? Oh, how embarrassing, I had hoped it was just a matter of forgetfulness. Very well. I suspect I shall be on my way.”

The king and queen looked disbelievingly at the witch’s solemn face. “You aren’t offended?” The king furrowed his brow.

Gaea looked back to the monarchs over her shoulder, smiling. “Why, of course not, your majesty,” she crooned. “And to show that I bear no ill will, I shall bestow a gift to the prince as well.”

Annabeth and Piper moved to shelter the baby from the wicked woman. She huffed at them and shoved them out of the way.

“Listen well, all of you!” Gaea brought her staff down upon the floor, letting out a crack like that of thunder. The mist condensed into an orb, showing all the guests a vision. “The prince shall indeed grow up well-beloved and clever,” she sneered, the mist changing to show the child all grown up, “but before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday, he shall burn himself on the flames of the forge-“ she swirled her staff, showing the older prince reaching towards a rabid fire, “-and die!”

The queen’s eyes widened as she gasped, running to the cradle to take the baby.

“Seize her!” The king ordered, standing at the queen’s side and pulling her close. Both had horrified, sorrowful looks on their faces, a stark contrast to the joyful smiles they had held earlier in the day.

Gaea laughed an evil laugh, rejoicing in the shock that took the room hostage. She dissipated in the green mist before any guards could apprehend her.

All was quiet- a horrid, angry quiet- for a moment, before Annabeth stepped forward once again to comfort the distraught couple. “Don’t give up, your majesties,” she began, the king and queen looking towards her, “for Piper still has her gift to give.”

The queen’s eyes lit up. Looking to Piper, she asked, “You can undo the curse?”

Piper shook her head quickly, putting up two hands and backing away. “No, my queen.”

“Gaea’s much too powerful for that,” Hazel explained.

“But I can help!” Piper insisted.

At the king and queen’s nod of approval, Piper took the child from their desperate arms.

“Sweet Prince,” she cooed,

“If through this wicked witch’s trick,

A flame should your finger lick,

a ray of hope there may be in this

The gift I give at thee.

Not in death, but just in sleep

the fateful prophecy you’ll keep,

and from this slumber you shall wake

when true love’s kiss the spell shall break.”

At that, the celebration ended, the king dismissing all the guests, including the fairies.

~*~

Days later, the king ordered the forges be shut down on the prince’s birthday, to prevent the possibility of the boy being burnt and the curse, fulfilled.

The fairies didn’t see the logic in this. “It’s no use,” Piper reasoned as they had tea, “it’s going to happen one way or another.”

“They just want to protect their child. That’s the use,” Hazel argued.

Annabeth shook her head. “Their only hope is to find his true love, and it’s a little inappropriate to start courting people at the ripe age of two weeks old. So they take comfort in what they think they can do, when really there’s nothing to be done.”

The next day, they were called into an audience with the king and queen in the throne room. Once they had arrived, they bowed to the royal couple like they had at the celebration, the three fairies waited eagerly for the news.

“We are grateful for all you have done for our child,” Queen Esperanza started, “but we’re afraid we’re going to have to ask for more assistance.”

The king nodded. “We’ve decided the only other way we can prevent the prince from fulfilling-“ he choked, as if he was about to cry, “-the curse, is to keep him away from the forge, or at least to keep it from being too important to him.”

Annabeth took a deep breath, keep in eye contact with the king. “What role would we play in this plan?”

The queen smiled melancholily down at the baby, who she was holding. She looked up to address Annabeth’s question. “When Leo is older, old enough to form interests and hobbies, he will stay with us for only part of the time and you the other. This way, he can still be close with his family, but we can keep him away from the forge.” She looked skeptical of the plan, like she knew she couldn’t do anything to change her child’s fate, but as though she felt she had to try.

“And this will, hopefully, discourage him from going down to the forges on his sixteenth birthday?” Hazel asked, wanting to know if she was following their thought process.

“In theory,” the queen confirmed.

Annabeth felt it was the least she could do. After all, her gift of ingenuity may have caused the boy to be drawn to the forges by nature. If she did her best to counteract this, maybe she could redeem herself in the eyes of… well, herself.

Hazel agreed enthusiastically to the plan. She thought, maybe if she hadn’t been as standoffish to Gaea, maybe she would have left the boy alone. It was her duty to obey the King and Queen, as well as a pleasure.

Piper relented. She had a sinking feeling that the plan would do nothing, just like the order the king had put out about the forges. Gaea would have her way, her curse fulfilled, no matter what they did. But if Annabeth and Hazel thought it good, or at least worth a try, she would agree. It certainly wouldn’t harm the child, would it?

~*~

Author’s Note

Please do not execute me via firing squad 🕺🕺🕺 Thank you to everybody who interacting with my previous post asking if anybody had any interest in this 👍 this is for YALL 🫵 Also to my wonderful bestie @scentednightdonut who gave me feedback :) literally the first person I told about this after having it rattling around in my brain for a week or two. Thank youuuuuuu!!! Also thank GOD for the sleeping beauty script on the Disney princess wiki because a bit of the dialogue is inspired by that and helps with the pacing.

Here are the people who reblogged my previous post so I think that means they wanted to be tagged (let me know if you want me to remove them, again, please do not execute me via firing squad):

@queenjunothegreat

@acetheta

What’s Next: Leo and Jason meet at a fancy party 🎉

[evenmoreofadisaster]

Click here for the link to the chapter :)

Edit: I’d hold off on reading this chapter until the issue with ao3 is resolved (´∀｀)

Edit 2: I've posted a copy of the fic under the cut, for those who still want to read it :)

The Fast and the Furriest

Running errands with Splinter was definitely not what One had planned for the day. Yet, somehow, the rat had managed to abduct One to a dirty place called ‘Walmart’ across the city, which had to be the farthest possible route to a grocery store EVER. As if the surprise journey wasn’t horrifying enough, One was practically forced to witness Splinter squeeze into skin-tight jeans and an ugly tie-dye shirt too snug for the fat around his tummy. The only way One could avoid the displeasing sight was to turn around and put on a disguise of his own. 

Unlike Splinter’s bold choice of wardrobe, the rat had brought a loose hoodie for One to wear, blue and way too bright to be an effective disguise. 

The long and unpleasant trip took half of the day, at least. One was stealthy enough to smuggle every item on Splinter’s prolonged list without getting caught by security, but the rodent didn’t seem to care. If One didn’t know any better, he’d think the unwarranted detour was Splinter’s annoying way of genuinely trying to spend time with him. But the slider is far too clever to be fooled by the rat’s fake pleasantries. 

By the time One returns to the lair, both of his arms are burdened from wrist to shoulder with the majority of his and Splinter’s “purchases”. The rat himself carries a single bag into the kitchen. 

“Boys!” the rodent calls as he places the items carefully onto the counter. One follows Splinter into the room and drops the remaining plastic bags next to the essentials. 

“What’s this?” Two’s voice pierces through the near-silent air. When he looks up, One catches his brother’s scrutinizing eye from the entryway, where the living room blends into the kitchen. One matches his twin’s glare with a steady look that reflects the slider’s incredible tolerance for his brother’s temper. 

The stare-off is promptly disrupted when the orange one walks in between them on his way to the counter. “Oh, sweet!” The younger turtle exclaims as he begins taking the grocery items out of the ripped bags. “You got stuff for dinner.” 

Splinter helps with putting the items in their proper place. “Yes, Blue is a natural at… acquiring our necessities.”

One breaks eye contact with Two and forces a prideful smirk towards the rat and his “son”, ignoring the small portion of his ego that triumphs over the compliment. “Yeah, did you know you can get onions for free if you just take them without paying?”

“Aw, that’s great,” Orange coos. 

Two scoffs from the other end of the kitchen as he trots inside. “Spirits, I wonder why that could be,” he declares, then grabs One tightly by the arm, “— and sidebar,” the softshell mutters and pulls One aside.  

“Hey— what?” One protests. 

“What are you doing?” Two hisses. “We have a mission.”

“Hey, Raph. Catch!” Mikey shouts. One looks up, watching the orange-clad turtle toss a jar towards his older brother as Red joins him in the kitchen. 

“Woah!” The snapping turtle just barely catches the jar as it’s thrown. Just past him, the rat faces away from the boys to put some cereal away, one ear swiveled in One and Two’s direction.

One’s brows pull together tightly as he looks back at his brother, yanking his arm free to snatch Two roughly by the collar and drag him further out of earshot. If this conversation is going where One thinks it’s going, it would be much better to talk about it in the tunnels. 

“Yeah, I know,” One retorts. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Two squirms. “Frankly? Slacking,” he bites back. One drops his brother when he feels they’re far enough to not be overheard. 

Two whirls around. “Aren't you supposed to be a leader?”

“We’ve been over this,” One groans in mild annoyance. “I'm just buttering them up,” he explains. Honestly, it feels like he’s done so a hundred times. “Everything's under control.”

“It’s been weeks,” Two argues, “and we have made no discernible progress.”

“Trust me, it's all part of the plan.”

One notices the way Two’s jaw tightens in response to his excuse. One knows his brother well enough to know when he’s about to blow. “What plan?” Two snarls. “There is no plan, I don't see a plan!” Two throws his arm out, voice rising with his large gesture. “What is that over there I wonder?! NOT A PLAN!”

“Keep your voice down,” One hisses. 

“I’m not going back empty handed.”

One pauses and regards his brother for a moment, noticing his clenched fists, bared teeth, and the sharp glint in his eye. The slider counters Two’s posture, leaning back and crossing his arms coolly.

“Why are you upset?” he asks flatly. 

Two bites his cheek. “I’m not upset,” he counters. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Not taking this seriously?” One scoffs, rolling his eyes.  “Okay, you’re not in charge. I am.”

“I am simply thinking about the mission,” Two argues. “To be successful, we need–”

One cuts him off. “That’s not your job. Your job is to follow orders,” he reminds his brother blatantly, flicking him in the forehead. Two flinches back with a hiss, but One doesn’t quit there. He steps forward and jabs a finger into Two’s plastron. “When you question me, you question Dad,” he continues without missing a beat, locking his brother in a firm gaze to make sure that he receives the final part of the message, loud and clear. 

“Remember your place.”

Two’s shoulders stiffen, eyes flashing furiously but he doesn't argue. 

One backs off with a stiff sigh. Really, what does Two have to worry about? All his brother needs to do is relax and let him do his thing! But One could see that Two is having a hard time accepting that. Again. His brother is smart, but sometimes he thinks too much. 

The slider plants a hand on his hip and leans his weight on the same foot as he looks out of the tunnel, watching the Hamato family with disdain. If he could move this along faster, he would. But he needs to be careful. ‘Cause one wrong move could blow his cover and then what would he do? Start over? The likelihood of ever getting close to the Hamatos again is second to none. Especially since two of them are already suspicious of him. 

He needs to change that.

One’s keen eye zeroes in on the rat, who is the more obvious threat to his plan. These past few days, the slider has noticed Splinter’s “subtle” ways of diverting One’s attention whenever he’s about to make a move. Which makes it almost impossible for him to do anything without getting caught— which is frustrating. And the lingering mass of questions surrounding the rat is just one more reason why he needs to be dealt with. And quickly. Before he ruins everything. 

“We’ll get them,” One tells his brother, though his eyes don’t drift from Splinter. “Just play along until then.”

He can’t see Two’s face from where he’s standing, focused on the rat, but One can practically feel the tension emanating from his twin’s scales. He’s not as reassured as One would like him to be, but he knows that his brother won’t step too far out of line. And that’s good enough for now. 

The rest of the evening was smooth-sailing. In other words, boring. One had taken his difficult brother back to the group, where they were preparing for dinner. As One observed them, he decided that the best time to take care of the rat is when everyone is asleep. But first, he’d need to know what he’s getting into— or rather who he’s trying to take down. Always know your enemy.

The slider winds skillfully through the dark tunnels as he hunts for the rat’s dwelling several hours later. He had made sure to note everyone’s whereabouts beforehand so he could snoop around. He discovered Raph and Mikey to be asleep in their rooms. Splinter was on the sofa. 

It takes longer than expected, but One finally makes it to the two sliding doors. The shadows peek through a narrow slit between the doors, inviting the slider into the cryptic rat’s bedroom. 

A sour expression twists One’s face when his enhanced lenses adjust to the darkness. The slider looks around the absolute mess of a room in exasperation. 

How the hell am I supposed to find anything with all this junk?!

One’s claws twitch impatiently at his side as he debates moving forward. But with a lot of mental effort, he proceeds.

 “Eugh,” One groans in disgust when stepping by a rotting pizza box. 

As he explores the dump, One finds a modest cabinet flush against the wall to his left. There’s a sign, sloppily made, taped to one of the shelves, reading: DO NOT TOUCH. Which can only mean there’s something in there that Splinter doesn’t want anybody to see. In other words, I am going to touch everything on that shelf.  

One leaps silently over to the cabinet and rustles through the shelves, looking for something— anything that will give him a sliver of information about who Splinter could be. But after digging through the collection of items… he finds nothing. 

A terse growl erupts from the back of One’s throat. There’s nothing. Nothing. Just more junk. 

One’s hands jump to the next shelf just when something clatters to the floor, snapping his attention to the ground. He tilts his head in interest as his lenses focus on the artifact. One bends down and picks up the round object, too big to be a coin. A medal, maybe? One’s thumb brushes the surface of the object before turning it over. 

Engraved in the center of the stone is the Hidden City’s symbol. One raises an eyebrow. This is a gateway into the city. A key, they call it. The people who carry these are typically active or retired criminals. Usually thieves and smugglers, who like to pass freely in and between the Yokai and Human realms. People who have challenged the law before and aren’t afraid to risk crossing the line again. Or, even worse, the people who are paid to do it— like bounty hunters or agents of the council, who like to zap in wherever they like and snatch their victims. The slider’s brows pull together tight. If there’s one thing One detests, it's the thick-skulled thugs the government throws money at to get its self-righteous shady shit done. 

So why would the rat have a key?

One’s fist tightens around the stone. This isn’t enough. This isn’t an answer, this is just another question. He’s just going around in circles that keep spiraling deeper and darker. Who is this rat? Who does he work for? What does he want? What does he want with them? One’s claws cut into his gloves and through his skin, drawing a thin layer of blood. I don’t need more questions, I need answers. 

A dull scrape cuts One’s ears and he’s blinded by light suddenly pouring into his peripheral vision. One jumps and knocks his elbow into the shelf, then spins around quickly. The contacts quickly adjust to the brightened lighting but his nictitating membrane stays closed protectively over his eyes. The curtains open, revealing a stout shadow in the doorway. 

 “Blue.”

Splinter stands where the light bleeds into the dark of the room. One’s eyes narrow in the rat’s direction as he silently puts the key back on the shelf. 

There’s a pause. “Come with me,” Splinter says. The muscles in One’s shoulders tighten. He releases his claws from their curled fists, eyeing the rat cautiously, searching for tells. But regardless of whether or not the rat has caught onto his snooping, One steps forward and lets the old man take him wherever he wants to go.

They both stay silent as they walk. One eyes the rat, mind lingering on the key. The very same kind he saw frequently as a child, when he and his family were on the run.

There are too many unknown variables. No innocent bystander would have a key like that. But at this rate, digging up the doubtless piles of dirt on the rat will take longer than One can afford. He needs to get rid of the rat before he stops his friendly charade and becomes a threat. Besides, they can’t have any loose ends scurrying around the sewers when One finally puts this game to an end. 

One follows Splinter willingly into the garage, and checks over his shoulder to make sure that the door closes behind them. The slider keeps about three paces behind his target, watching his every move and waiting for the right moment to strike. The garage is isolated and sound proof. Two had transformed the neglected but generous space into the perfect place to work without grating One’s eardrums or burning his scales while he slept. It’s also the perfect place to exterminate a victim. He should thank his brother for his convenient engineering later.

One watches Splinter whip out Two’s keys to the tank. One remembers his brother telling him how he had just finished working on it, but needed a chance to test it out before they could use it. Personally, the whole tank idea seemed pretty useless, since One can just open up mystic portals to go wherever whenever he feels like it. Well, almost. Frustratingly enough, his weapon’s magic can only carry him so far before his heart either falters or gives out.

Before One can close in on his target, Splinter jumps up on the vehicle, using the side mirror as a foothold to reach the roof of the tank. The corner of One’s lip twitches upward in annoyance. He needs to be quicker. 

One joins Splinter on the roof of the car just as the rat finishes opening the top hatch. Splinter drops inside by the time One has the opportunity to make another move. The slider huffs, but jumps in after him. 

Okay, there’s literally nowhere to run, One thinks as he rises to his full height in the tank’s central control bay. The slider doesn’t waste another second after he stands before he leaps forward and swipes his sharp claws at the back of Splinter’s head. 

But Splinter jumps into the driver's seat impossibly quick, dodging One’s attack effortlessly. The hard-hitting miss makes One stumble forward. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, but quickly regains his footing and swipes at Splinter again, who ducks just in time to put the keys in the ignition. 

One misses— again— but he catches himself against the wall of the tank. His jaw is tight as he glares down at Splinter, who’s preoccupied with starting the vehicle. As the rat sits up, One leans off the wall and waits impatiently for Splinter to settle before going in for another attack. 

As he moves, Splinter punches him in the stomach with his tail and sends One crashing into the passenger's seat. “Ugh!” One grunts, then stubbornly climbs out of the seat as Splinter slams his foot on the gas pedal and speeds out of the garage. One flies into the rounded and sealed back hatch. 

Now in a heap on the floor, the slider gruffly and unhelpfully recalls the lecture he gave Two about how they absolutely don’t need a tank, but Two was still riding the high of his looting expedition and insisted it would come in handy. One’s current ordeal would be a great counterpoint to his brother’s outlandish claim. 

As if this assassination couldn’t have gone worse, the rat decides to butcher One’s eardrums by blaring ‘80s music on max volume. While the rodent speeds the two of them onto the streets of New York City, One scrambles to the front of the tank, but slides and crashes into the wall when Splinter makes a sharp turn. 

“What the hell?!” One cries over the ear-grating music. 

“Buckle up!” Splinter shouts, though One has a hard time hearing his orders. 

“What?!” he yells. 

The tank comes to a quick stop at a red light and Splinter grabs him roughly by the belt and forces him into a seat, buckling him up tightly in one fluid motion. As the stoplight flashes green and the traffic clears, One watches in horror as the old rat flips neon orange, ‘80’s style shades over his beady eyes and floors it. One swallows a scream as the sudden acceleration crushes him into the seat.

“Woohoo! Isn’t this fun?!” Splinter exclaims, then sends the tank flying into a 360° spin on the surprisingly open road.  

One grips the edge of his seat tight, claws tearing through the leather as if it were paper. When they continue on a straight path, the slider quickly unbuckles himself and slams his fist into the radio. The music cuts off sharply with a dying warble and soon the only thing filling the tense silence is One’s heavy breathing. 

“What is wrong with you?” One snarls. 

“Wh— rude. Didn't your alchemist teach you a good music taste?” Splinter retorts, making One pause and stare at the rat. 

“What?”

One doesn’t recall ever mentioning Draxum in the rat’s presence. He’s made every conscious effort not to, in case Splinter turned out to be one of those bounty hunters or some shit, always after his dad’s ass. Which One thinks he could be, despite his unassuming… everything.  

“Sit down!” Splinter orders before hitting the curb. 

The tank bounces, knocking One back into his seat, though the slider doesn’t take his prying eyes off the rat. “How do you know about Draxum?”

Splinter’s ear twitches, muscles going stiff. “Uh—! Who doesn't know about Draxum, really.”

In any other circumstance, One might’ve brushed right past Splinter’s awkward defense. Because, really, it’s true. Draxum’s wanted posters used to be plastered all across the Hidden City. He and Two even gifted their father a framed copy for his birthday after they noticed their dwindling numbers. But literally everything else about that statement— the way Splinter said it, the way he avoids glancing in One’s general direction— makes One call bullshit. He’s hiding something. 

One leans over the armchair, and narrows his eyes. “Who are you?”

Tell me, you old rat. I need to know. I need to know if you’re a threat to my mission. I need to know that my brother is safe.  

From where he’s sitting, One thinks he can see sweat glistening under the rodent’s fur, but Splinter doesn’t give him a good chance to wonder if that’s because he’s nervous or because of his reckless driving. 

“I am about to take a right,” is One’s only warning before Splinter suddenly swerves in that direction. 

One is thrown to the left, but catches himself on the other armrest with a grunt.

Splinter erupts into a fit of laughter and One feels his jaw tighten. “Oh, Blue! You are a riot, aren’t you?” 

The slider whips his head around and snaps fiercely, totally unamused. “Okay, what’s the point of this?! Just tell me what I want to know!”

Splinter doesn’t seem to have noticed his little outburst as his laughter still echoes obnoxiously   off of the tank’s walls. “Oh, uh. Yes. What do you want to know?” 

“Who are you?” One presses again. “What do you want with us?”

“Want with you?”

“You have two genetically mutated experiments living in that dump you call a home and you have a key to the hidden city. Why?” He demands. 

“Oh, that old thing?” Splinter pauses as he breaks at another stoplight. “Uh… I think it’s broken. What do you want with that?”

One scoffs, but he forces his voice to relax into an even tone. “Broken?” he asks flatly. Yeah, right. 

The light turns green and Splinter continues down the road in a more calm manner. 

“Yes. I am not surprised,” Splinter smiles to himself. “I learnt very quickly that my boys are very rambunctious. I had my hands full with just the two of them.” He falters, “Although… sometimes I wonder if it may have been easier if I had all of you.”

One could never guess, for the life of him, why Splinter would think that. The very thought of growing up in the sewers with this weird family makes One sick to the stomach, so he doesn’t dwell on it too much. “Probably not.”

“You remind me of Orange,” Splinter says, catching One off-guard and making him cringe. The rat’s tired eyes soften on the road. “He would ask so many questions when he was much smaller. Still does.”

The accusation leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but as much as One hates being compared to someone so small and inferior, he brushes off the jab for the sake of his mission. “Yeah? I guess it runs in the family.”

“Yes,” Splinter agrees after a moment. “I am glad you are back with our family.”

One falters. Our family. One’s stomach twists. Our family. Really, he should be thrilled that his plan is working so well, but the heavy sincerity in Splinter’s voice makes him worry that his plan is working a little too well. 

One scoffs and eyes the rat awkwardly. “Really?”

“Yes,” Splinter says simply. “You asked me before who I am. I am a father and you are my son. Even if you do not trust me, what I truly want is for you and your brother to know that you have a home with us. You are safe here.”

And One is so glad that the rat’s old eyes are fixed on the road, because he is having a very difficult time processing Splinter’s response. 

You have a home. You’re safe. 

There’s a very clear and obvious difference in the rat’s voice. There’s no more deflecting, no awkward shuffling around the truth. He’s being genuine. The thought churns the slider’s stomach.

Still, One’s suspicions aren’t so easily discarded. 

One watches Splinter for a long time before he asks, “Why am I here?”

“Oof…” Splinter winces and rubs the back of his neck. “That is… a loaded question.”

“I mean in the truck. Why did you bring me out here?” Why, if he poses no threat, did Splinter decide to drag him away from his temporary “home”, from his brother? If he’s supposed to feel safe, why isolate him?

Splinter raises an eyebrow. “Oh, can I not have a pleasant casual outing with my son?”

Oh. Well, that’s stupid. 

“That’s it?” One says flatly. He thinks back to the grocery trip earlier that day. “You wanted to ‘spend time’ with me?”

Just behind the shades, the rat’s expression turns depressing after the question, which makes One very uncomfortable for some reason. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Before One can answer, the tank comes to an abrupt stop, sending both One and Splinter forwards. 

“What? What happened?!” Splinter cries in distress, shifting the clutch around. 

One groans and pushes himself upright. “I have a pretty good idea,” he mumbles. Right as he says it, a robotic voice filters in through the speakers. 

“Shopping cart protocol activated,” the voice says. 

“Ugh, I don’t suppose you know how to fix this thing?” Splinter asks.

As One leans back, he watches Splinter rifle through the glove compartment. “No,” he replies blatantly. “Not really my domain.” 

Splinter pulls out a wrench. “Ah, then we will figure it out together.”

One doesn’t respond, but watches Splinter as he leaves the vehicle and walks around to the front, opening the hood to mess around with the engine underneath it. 

The slider thinks about his next move carefully. After some very clever detective work, One’s concluded that whatever sob story motivated the rat to adopt a couple stray turtles really doesn’t pose any kind of threat to his plan. In fact, a devoted father could become useful. 

It takes Splinter about ten seconds to realize One is still in the tank. “What are you still doing in there!?”

As lame as it may be, Splinter’s expecting him to help. Though he’d rather get his head shoved through a beehive, the slider decides to hop out and join the rat. For the sake of the mission. 

When he makes it to the front of the vehicle, One finds Splinter sticking his nose right into the engine. The slider raises a brow and peers into the interior of the hood, where Splinter is working and bashing the wrench into the tank’s engine. 

“I thought you were trying to fix this thing, not break it more,” One chimes in after a moment. 

“Yes,” Splinter says, smacking the engine again and rearing his hand back for another strike. “That is what I am doing!” 

One watches unhelpfully as Splinter continues to beat the tank’s engine into complacency. With unsurprisingly no luck, the tank remains immobile. 

“Well, well, well!” a low voice rumbles behind them. One spins around, eyes shooting up to greet their ugly guest. 

“Yeesh, that face isn’t hard to forget,” One mumbles as he immediately recognizes Experiment 00E1-Alpha 9, or as One remembers Raph referring to the sweaty pig as ‘Meat Sweats’, which he hates to admit is a much better name. 

“Oh, good! Could we catch a ride with you?” Splinter asks the large mutant. “This baby's done all she can for us,” he says mournfully as he pats the closed hood. 

Meat Sweats’s mouth twists into a smile. “But of course. I was just whipping up a meal, too. Perhaps you could join me.”

Splinter looks past him, at the food truck. “Oh, good! I was getting hungry,” he chuckles and willingly walks over to the food truck. One figures he’s probably unaware of the pig’s cannibalistic habits and the slider has no intention of warning him. 

His straying blue eyes drift up to Meat Sweats, whose crooked smile gives One goosebumps. One considers bailing… but a distant… familiar… angry voice rings down the street. Everyone looks up. 

“HEY!” 

One whips his head around, instantly spotting Two perched on the roof of a nearby building. He leaps down with Raph and Mikey beside him and advances with a burning gaze directed right at One.

One winces. Screw that. 

His brother’s wrath is a force to be reckoned with, and One has just spent much more energy than he was willing to expend handling the rat. Number Two is the very last thing he wants to deal with right now, and his brother’s furious march right towards him makes hopping into Meat Sweats’ murder van seem a lot more bearable. 

Apparently, Splinter has the same idea. “Uh-oh. That is our cue to get out of here!” he says quickly before jumping into the food truck. One turns without a word and follows Splinter inside, where he is already leaping into the front seat. 

“Blue, take the wheel!”

“Wait, what?!” Meat Sweats cries in protest after joining the pair inside. 

At the same time, One’s head swivels around. “What?”

“Go!” Splinter shouts, crouching to the floor and hitting the gas pedal with his front paws. Meat Sweats is thrown backwards as the truck launches forward. 

One grabs the back of the driver’s seat for balance, but as Splinter speeds up, the vehicle starts to swerve uncontrollably. One catches the wheel as he falls into the seat. The second he has a grip on the truck, and its direction in his firm control, his eyes light up like a kid with a new toy. He realizes now that he’s never driven a car before and it is thrilling. 

And, he’s pretty good at it. His turns are rough, but considering the speed they’re going and the fact that they haven’t crashed yet, One is pretty confident that he’s uncovered a hidden talent.

That is, until something rams into the truck's rear. 

One grunts as his upper body jerks forward. He steals a glance at the rearview mirror, and sees that his brother and his tank are right on his tail. Through the windshield, One catches Raphael yelling something to Two, who ignores him and slams another button on his console. A second after, three loud clangs reverberate in Meat Sweats’s truck, and One whips around to see three round dents hammered into the truck’s hull.

“Ohoho, so that’s how you wanna play it?” He taunts his brother in spirit right before he yanks the emergency brake and stops the truck completely. The two vehicles collide instantly, with the tank rear-ending the food truck. One faintly hears more shouting from the tank, which swerves but doesn’t stop. Though they’ve crashed, the tank’s strength and speed keeps both vehicles racing across Brooklyn Bridge. 

“My truck!” Meat Sweats wails.

“What are you doing?!” Splinter shouts over the sound of screeching rubber as One jumps out of his seat. 

The slider unsheathes his ōdachi weapon and draws a wide circle in the air, making a portal that he can step into and onto the roof of the truck so that Two can see him. 

“Is that the best you can do?!” One goads his brother, flashing his sharp canines in a toothy grin, which earns a muffled shriek of outrage from his brother.

“You pretentious, self-obsessed, WRITHING LITTLE MAGGOT!” Two barks loudly enough for One to hear. His brother’s next course of action is to pull a lever, which releases metal appendages that reach up and shoot at One.  

The slider veers out of the way and cuts effortlessly through the appendages. When the path is clear for him to cross, One leaps onto the hood of the tank and flourishes his ōdachi. He gives Two an obnoxious grin before stabbing his weapon through the metal, killing the engine. He tugs the sword free and swings it back in an arc to rest on his shoulder. As soon as he does, the portal he cut into the back of the truck blinks to life. 

As the tank sputters and dies, One steps back coolly into the portal that takes him into the truck so he can rejoin Splinter at the front. The slider smirks as he leans against the emergency break to unlock it. “Floor it,” he commands. 

Splinter cackles and pushes into the gas pedal. The food truck surges forwards as it regains its own speed. 

“Wait— argh!” Meat Sweats cries as he flies back through One’s portal and out on the road. Oops.

One and Splinter only get a few leagues further down the bridge before something suddenly thuds against the truck and pulls, sending it into a spin back towards the tank. 

“Hey!” Splinter shouts and One grunts, holding on tight.

When the truck finally stops, One has a clear view of the scene at the tank through the truck’s windshield.

Two stands on the smoking hood with a massive cannon aiming over his shoulder and into Meat Sweat’s face. The tank’s final appendage holds the larger mutant tightly in place as he cowers from the giant weapon. 

“Bring them to me.”

Meat Sweats raises his hands and One barely has the time to make an escape before two tentacles shoot at the truck and punch through its sides. They snatch up One and Splinter and pull them out, dropping them unceremoniously just outside of the tank. 

“Ow!” One hisses.

“Take the rotten lot,” the mutant sneers, although One catches beads of sweat rolling down his jaw. “I’ve had it with them.”

“Two!” Mikey cries behind the softshell. He flicks his kusari-fundo and One follows the trail of its cord behind him as the end unlatches from around the truck. He narrows his eyes.  

As he faces forwards, One sees his brother hold his position a moment longer before his shoulder twitches and he powers down his weapon.

“Get out of my sight,” he hisses and Meat Sweats scrambles back. He glares at Two then the rest of the group.

“Blasted turtles.” The mutant chef snorts and turns, retreating to his vehicle. “I’ll just get takeaway!”

They all listen to the sound of his tires screeching off into the city. After a brief pause, Two turns around.

“I wasn’t going to kill him,” Two huffs. 

“Oh, really?” Mikey replies, unconvinced. 

“It was set to stun.” Two grumbles. “It would be idiotic to murder my own experiment.” 

“What?” Raph says. 

Two ignores the last statement and swivels his head around. His brother’s sharpened gaze falls on One and the fire in his eyes blazes. He snarls and steps down from the tank.

“YOU.”

One sighs and stands, but doesn’t have long before Two reaches him. 

“You’re DEAD!” Two lunges at his brother. One grunts as his shell hits the asphalt roughly. He fights Two off with a hiss, swatting at him and kicking. Two fights back with just as much fire, managing to grab One’s right arm and press his knee into his plastron. 

For the most part, One lets his brother push him down, generously allowing the softshell to beat him up a bit, since he’s down an arm. One waits patiently for the moment when Two’s grip lets up. As soon as that opportunity presents itself, One takes advantage and flips them around, swinging Two towards him and shifting out of the way just in time to shove him into the asphalt with a knee pressed into his back, careful to steer clear of the sharp spikes raised along the spine of Two’s shell. Two grunts.

One holds his brother down with one arm as he squirms. “Okay, you need to relax!”  

Two yelps and flails his arm. “You took my tech!” He barks. “It’s still in beta and you ruined it! How could you do that!?”

“It’s fine! It’ll survive a scratch or two.”

“It’ll take weeks to find a replacement!”

“You’ll find it.”

Two throws his elbow back and One has to dodge the sharp point of its armor. “What if you got your stupid arm blown off, idiot!” Two seethes.

One pushes back and Two gets a gentle face full of dirt. “Oho, you’re lecturing me about losing a limb?”

Two growls. “Don’t start–”

“Which one of us is the one who nearly died in that accident? Oh right, it was you.” One pokes at the folded fabric covering Two’s stub. “So don’t you dare scold me about my lack of self-preservation.”

Two shoves against One with a warning hiss. One hisses back. 

While the boys are busy with their squabble, Splinter walks by and takes a good look at the tank, which has stopped smoking. “Excellent job, Purple. This is a sweet ride.”

Both boys freeze. For a second One and Two stare incredulously at Splinter. When he looks at his brother, One sees Two’s eyes blown open wide, completely speechless. It’s an expression One hasn’t seen since Draxum last applauded Two’s skillset forever ago. One’s eyes jump back to Splinter, who is gazing approvingly at the tank.

What? That thing?  

One scoffs, muttering, “It’s not that great…” as he pushes off his brother, who’s still too stunned to comment.

“What was that? Is everyone okay?” Raph asks, joining them on the bridge.

Splinter faces his son. “Yes, we are okay,” he assures. 

Red glances uneasily at One before he looks at Splinter. “Okay… good.”

Mikey jumps up next to him, crouched low enough to rub his cheek on Splinter’s. “I’m glad you're okay, Dad,” he churs. Splinter smiles softly and pats his head. “Now, let’s go home!”

As everyone piles into the tank, One falls behind to watch what Splinter considers to be their family. He watches stiffly as Two opens the hood and excitedly shows Splinter what appears to be a backup engine. Something cold and greedy writhes restlessly under his scales. 

His thoughts are interrupted before he can dwell on them too much.

“One!” Raph calls. One shifts his gaze to the snapping turtle as he finishes ushering Mikey into the tank. “You comin’ brother?”

One adjusts his sword and climbs into the tank.

[beskarthief]

Chapter 7 of the Star Wars fic "Order 65". The rest can be found here.

 Riyo had assumed, wrongly, that her new protection detail would enjoy a trip to a clone bar. It had become a routine of hers to visit every few weeks; learning names and hearing concerns, raising questions as to what bills the clones would find most helpful. Because they needed a lot of help. 

 The Empire was discarding them faster than she had anticipated, as though this had always been part of the plan. And, maybe, it had been. Few senators outside of her inner circle seemed to mind. They were made to be expandable, afterall. 

 Except they weren’t, and Riyo found it infuriating that everyone kept treating them like they were.

 So she did what little she could to help. Bringing updates on the Senate’s rulings and lending an ear to their own news. And, most importantly, to what lay within the news.

 “Oh yeah, I always get the most boring postings.” a clone called Drixx was telling her as he rattled off a list. Riyo made careful note of each one even as her eyes scanned the periphery for watchful gazes. 

 Her own guards she had left outside, but the two Coruscant Guard assigned to her had followed her in. It had felt more suspicious to ask them not to, and she had thought they might enjoy the break. But instead they were garnering more suspicious looks than her hushed conversation with Drixx was.

 “Is there something I should know?” Riyo asked the clone quietly once he’d finished, and he paused, looking at her for a moment as though trying to judge whether or not she was being serious.

 “They’re Fox’s Corries.” he said at last, apparently deciding that she was. “You’ve been coming in here nearly every month and you still don’t know that?”

 Fox. She made a mental note of what must be the Commander’s name. 

 “Are they different in some way?”

 Drixx’s expression hardened and he rubbed at the ragged scar on the inside of his left hand the way he tended to when he was thinking. Eventually he threw one final dirty look towards the two Coruscant Guard standing awkwardly at the edge of the bar. 

 “Just be careful, Senator. Some clones are more like droids than you’d think.”

 Riyo didn’t let any emotion cross her face even as Drixx melted back into the crowd. She knew how much the clones hated being compared to droids, so to hear one of them say that about a brother meant something must have happened. She wondered what they could have done to deserve it. The list wasn’t long.

 She didn’t ask anyone else about it the rest of the night, even as she flitted from gathering to gathering and continued her usual line of questioning. She knew that if Drixx didn’t want to talk about it, it wasn’t something to be brought up lightly. But it was hard to think about anything else. She had known from the beginning what being assigned a Coruscant Guard detail was. A veiled threat. Eyes to watch her. A way for Palpatine to inform her that he was well aware of what she was doing.

 But now it felt less like a concealed knife, and more like one being pressed to her back.

 So she watched, and she waited, and she hoped that one of the clones around her would mention something in passing; some remark about why they all seemed to consider Fox’s Corries to no longer be one of them. 

 But the most she had to go off of was dirty glances thrown in their direction, a few warnings that she should be careful, and one clone very purposefully bumping into the Sergeant assigned to her protection that night. He didn’t even bother to make it seem accidental. But that offered it’s own kind of opportunity.

 “Are you alright?” Chuchi asked him once they’d left. The Sergeant - she didn’t know his name - had merely shuffled out of the way, eyes flicking to his shoes. The other clone had seemed a bit disappointed, but he had also been drunk.

 “Yes, Senator.” The clone replied quickly. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

 “Next time you can stay outside, if you prefer?”

 “That’s alright. Your safety is our priority, Ma’am.”

 “Of course. Well, I could always have Curtix accompany me.”

 “I’m honestly used to it, Ma’am. It’s okay.” He seemed to realize he’d slipped up almost immediately, though Chuchi still saw the other clone shoot him a glance from where he was walking a bit ahead of them. Clearly he had been listening. 

 “Uh, what I meant was-”

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” she said swiftly, sweetly. “I just would hate to be the reason you’re put in a difficult situation.”

 “Uh, yeah. Well, that’s very considerate of you but, really, we’re okay.” And there it was, he’d confirmed it wasn’t just him, it was all of them. His companion fell back to walk beside them.

 “Kosmo just isn’t a drinker.” he said, trying to sound casual. “He always forgets that people tend to get a little louder and more pushy after they’ve had a couple.” 

 “Yeah. Yeah, that’s all.” the sergeant - Kosmo - quickly agreed, and Chuchi could hear the gratefulness in his voice. She let it drop. Anything else would be suspicious.

 “Ah, of course. I’m the same way.” Chuchi smiled.

 They spent the rest of the return trip in silence.

[still-a-morosexual-help]

so the nightbringer website is open now and from what it says, the mc is gonna be in this game too? and it seems like romance is still gonna be involved? I wasn't expecting that honestly, I was thinking mc wouldn't be apart of this at all.

but if this is the case, does that mean that we're gonna find out what mc really is (they obviously aren't human in canon, but not everyone thinks of mc the same way so that doesn't seem like a good choice on their part) or maybe it will be whoever mc was in the past life? the only other thing I can see is mc going back in time again but that also seems like a weird thing to do.

maybe I'm overthinking what's on the website but it's just not something I even considered until this moment lmao

still v excited for the new game, I really hope that even if they do keep mc as a main part in the game, that the romance is a small part of it (or rather that it's not thrown at you in every scene lol) and that we actually get a good story on how the brothers came to the devildom and more understanding on all of the characters in general.

(sorry if this is hard to understand, I'm sick and tired hehe)

Honestly (I might be completely wrong here) I think it's gonna take place in flashbacks or something similar? Like we're gonna be skipping between the past and present. Because the opening showed Luke in it and he (as stated in S3) wasn't alive while the brothers were still angels/during the time of the fall. Plus it showed Thirteen with Diavolo but S4 heavily implied that she first visited the Devildom in S4 itself. So if this is the case then MC and the romance elements would be taking place in the present (though I wouldn't mind seeing MC interact with the brothers when they were angels again, tbh)

I think this game is what's gonna be used to introduce Michael? He's been built up since S1 but some of the things said about him makes him seem like a heavily morally grey character and exploring that in a game like OM! which is just straight up a wholesome otome game won't work because he'll have to be watered down in order to become a LI. But if they introduce him in nightbringer through flashbacks (possibly in anticipation of him appearing in the present) then they wouldn't have to worry about watering him down as much (specially because the opening hints at nightbringer being more lore and angst driven)

I would really like to know more about what the hell MC is because, like it or not, general MC does have a lot of canon facts about them that are sprinkled throughout the game (here's my post that lists all of them) and the fact that they're not fully human is one of them that is brought up as early as in Season 1 (also the time it's brought up the most clearly/directly) and then hinted at/reintroduced in the following 3 seaons (post w/ canon evidence)

(get well soon! And take a nap!!)

EDIT:

I just checked out the website and okay it actually looks really good! The quotes from each brother!!!! Also looks like it might actually jump between past and present but in the form of timetravel rather than flashbacks? Not proper timetravel where they'll manage to remember each other later but something similar to what happened in S3 maybe? Okay but the fic potential of this!!? The angst potential!!!?

MC HAS TO MAKE PACTS WITH THEM AGAIN BUT NOW THEY'RE ALL NEWLY TRAUMATISED I'M CACKLING THIS IS SO FUNNY MC WENT THROUGH SHIT TO MAKE THOSE PACTS THE FIRST TIME AROUND AND THAT WAS AFTER THE BROTHERS HAD CENTURIES? MILLENIA? TO CALM DOWN. NOW MC'S GOTTA DO IT ALL AGAIN, BE A THERAPIST ALL OVER AGAIN EXCEPT SOMEHOW EVERYTHING’S GOTTEN SO MUCH WORSE ANDKNXIDNDN someone should start paying them for this shit 😭😂💀

Okay so the format (regarding the romance) might be similar to S1? Few romantic elements sprinkled throughout but mainly focusing on the therapy and found family elements until the very end?

Also from the three brothers who mention The Fall in their quotes (Mammon, Levi and Asmo) Mammon seems to be the only one who has (at least to an extent) made peace with it?

[vixstarria]

Kinktober Day 9 - Spanking

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

Disclaimer: I've posted this before, it is a snippet from my Tav x Astarion x Halsin fic Sweat

The three lounged on a sofa in the house they had claimed for themselves. At one end, Halsin was busy with some ledgers that had been dumped on him - gods only knew why, he didn’t have a head for this kind of work. At the other, Astarion was likewise quietly busy with some novel, biding his time until the last rays of the sun hid. He would be out the door for a hunt the moment it was safe for him. Asmodea sprawled between them, her head on Astarion’s lap, her legs thrown over one of Halsin’s thighs.

Gods, but she was bored.

She regarded Halsin and the open misery written on his face as he tried to reconcile… What was it? Purchase orders of masonry and tools, against what had actually been recorded as delivered, against what had been charged.

Her bare foot slid between Halsin’s legs and pressed into his crotch, through his breeches.

“Could it be one of the missing hammers is here..?”

“Not now, my heart,” was his response.

She continued to lightly rub her foot against the bulge.

“Or is this one of the pillars..?”

“I must finish this before tomorrow,” he said, though he did not shift away from her, and had indeed begun to harden beneath her prodding.

“My, it’s erecting all by itself, why have we bothered to order any supplies at all when we have such marvels at hand?”

“You are truly testing my patience today,” he said in a low growl.

The ledger went flying across the room as she kicked it out of Halsin’s hands. The druid’s nostrils flared and he gave her a smouldering look.

“I warned you.”

She squealed as she found herself suddenly yanked by her leg down the sofa, off Astarion’s lap.

“Astarion!!” she laughed, reaching for him.

“No, no darling, you poked the bear and brought this upon yourself,” he said, unaffected, turning a page. “Now you must face the consequences.”

Halsin pulled her onto his own lap, flipping her onto her stomach, holding her down firmly with one hand, and pulling her pants down with the other.

“You brute! Just what do you think you’re doing?!” she cried out, trying not to laugh.

Halsin, though a generous, attentive and passionate lover, was not ordinarily one for such games, and getting him into a state of mind for one was a rare treat.

A loud sound resonated through the room, as a smack landed on one of her ass cheeks.

“I am teaching you a lesson.”

It could have been much harder, the druid was holding back, as per usual.

“How dare you?! Release me at once, you savage,” she cried, her voice faltering on the last word, as Halsin delivered another smack.

Astarion shifted where he lounged, now watching them through lidded eyes.

“It’s no use, you know - you’re just throwing more oil on the flames.”

Asmodea gasped as Halsin’s hand slid between her legs, stroking her.

“You’re right. Should I cease?”

She struggled and kicked but remained securely restrained by the druid, his digits now slipping inside her rapidly moistening hole.

“Absolutely not. You must remain steadfast and determined. Perhaps double down on your efforts until you see a result.”

The hand between her legs left and delivered a series of blows on her rear, the slaps now having a sting to them. Asmodea moaned between each one.

She looked at Astarion with her best round-eyed pleading face. His own book had been discarded as well.

“Star? My love? My sweet? Are you just - ah! - going to let him do this to me?!”

“There there, my love… I’ll kiss it better once he’s done with you.”

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post

[frenziedslashers]

Hey, so I saw that you had requests open for TWD stuff on your Daryl post! I LOVED that fic so much! I read it last night and oh my lord, you write for Daryl so well! It felt like I could picture him right in front of me with how well you captured him. He wasn't ooc at all!

Anyways, I was wondering if you could write a part two? Maybe Reader stays with Daryl while he is in the kingdom and they find Carol together. Maybe reader stays with her and she picks up on the signs and tells the reader to get tested to see if she's pregnant 👀 Sorta just want a fic where Daryl has a baby <3 And I feel like you could write that super well! If you are uncomfortable with this request feel free to ignore this! Thank you for the beautiful fic last night 🙏 I will be reading it again now.

Baby, It's Okay

Pt. 1; I Love You, and I Don't Say It Enough{smut}

A/N: Ahh I am so glad that people like it! I wasn't sure if people would be too into it lmao. I had the idea, but I wasn't sure haha. Glad that you think I wrote him pretty in character too! I was a bit worried lmao. Apologies if this isn't that well written. I have been struggling with words lately.

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warning: AFAB!Reader, She/her pronouns used, pregnancy,

REQUESTING INFO || TWD MASTERLIST

Carol reached over to hand you one of the apples that Ezekiel had brought for the two of you. A soft smile on her lips. "So, you and Daryl," she motioned to her own neck with a smirk. You swore you couldn't feel any hotter at the moment. Hands reaching up instinctively to feel your neck, even though you knew you wouldn't be able to feel the hickeys she was motioning to.

She only laughed softly, shaking her head with a sigh. "Don't worry, I get it. I'm just glad he has you," You chuckled softly, nodding. "Yeah, I am too. He treats me better than anyone I've ever dated in the past," "he better. Or else he'll be dealing with me." She commented and you snickered, rolling your eyes with a soft sigh. Carol had always been yours and Daryl's number-one supporter. She was always there when one of you needed advice. Though it was mostly you that went to her, Daryl would occasionally ask or wait for advice from her. She was pretty good at reading when he needed some.

"I'm glad that we found you out here. Daryl doesn't want me in The Kingdom in case they find him. He knows Negan and his men will probably come looking for me next in order to teach him a lesson." You added with pursed lips at the thought of it all. "So he thought me being here would be better. Plus, then neither of us is alone." She smiled at your words. Reaching across the table to hold your hand. "I asked to be alone here, you know?" Your smile was quick to fade at that. Looking her over cautiously, hoping that you didn't say the wrong thing. Or that you weren't intruding. "But I wouldn't ask for anyone else to break those rules than you and Daryl." You chuckled, giving her hand a light squeeze. "We're thankful, Carol. I'll try my best not to be a burden."

You tried not to get in her way for the next few days. Daryl coming to visit the both of you every night and leaving back for The Kingdom or Hilltop in the morning. Promising to return later that night. He always came back, too. You and Carol both knew he wouldn't stay long, though. He loved you, but he had to keep moving. Keep helping the groups prepare for the fight against the Saviors.

"Are you all right?" Her voice was hardly audible as you held your head in your hands. You had just thrown up again, the third time that morning. Carol frowned as she looked you over. "Honey, do you feel all right?" She asked, coming to sit beside you. When you finally processed what she was asking, you nodded. "Yeah, just feeling nauseous is all. I don't know what's going on." "Morning sickness?" You froze at those words. It couldn't be.

You shook your head, dropping your hands to look over to Carol. "What? No, it can't be, I..." You were about ready to tell her that you and Daryl had used protection, but thinking back to it. You hadn't. He'd came inside you and that was that. "I.." you stammered again, the realization of it all finally setting in. "Hun, relax, everything will be okay." She assured you. Reaching out to place her hands on top of yours once more. "But what if he doesn't..?" tears were pricking your eyes. Unable to finish the question as dread set in. "Look at me, Daryl won't be mad at you. This is just as much his fault as yours. He might be a little scared at first, but he won't be mad. He'll love you and the baby if you are pregnant. I know he will." She smiled, and you nodded. She was right.

You both sat there quietly for a moment or two before she let out a sigh of her own. "I can go into The Kingdom today. Get you a pregnancy test to make sure. No use telling him just to find out you're getting sick 'cause of stress. Don't wanna put any ideas in that head of his." She spoke and the both of you chuckled. Nodding your head while sniffling. "Thank you, Carol." "Anything for my favorite couple."

It wasn't long before you had the test in hand. Staring at it with anxious eyes as you waited for the stick to decipher your future for you. To your disfavor, it was positive too. Frowning with a sigh as you tried to rake your brain for a way to tell Daryl. How would you? Maybe you could just wait it out, and he'd notice. Or wait until you were further along to be sure you would stay pregnant and nothing would happen to the baby. God, what if something happened to it? You were so overwhelmed, holding the test in your hand while entering the house again. Staring down at it while your feet led you to where Carol last was.

"Darlin', everythin' okay? What's the matter?" your head snapped up in a panic. Wide eyes stared back at Daryl who was now standing in the kitchen with Carol. You held your breath, hoping that she would say something to get you out of this situation. But when you looked over at her she was sneaking into the other room. Neither of you expected him to be back for another few hours, so you were both surprised by his arrival.

Your mouth opened to say something, but no words came out. A tear rolling down your cheek while you stared back at your lover. You didn't know what to say without scaring him away. You had a feeling that whatever you said or did would send him out the door, never to come back. Even if you knew that he wouldn't leave you. So, when he approached you with worried eyes, you extended your arm to hand him the test.

He was quick to reach out for it. Grabbing and inspecting it. It took a moment of looking it over and finally, he read over the words on it. Finally realizing what was going on.

Daryl's worried brows relaxed as reality set in. Blinking while he stared blankly at the test. If anything, this felt worse than him pushing you to the side and bolting out the door.

"Is this.." He pursed his lips, eyes flickering up to yours and then back to the test. "Is it mine?" The fact he even asked that made you frown. Nodding your head with sad eyes. "Yes it's yours, why would you even ask that?" He only gave you a shrug in response. Trying his best to figure out how to feel about the situation. He was happy, hell. He'd never felt so excited about the thought of kids! He just wasn't prepared for it. Nor was right now the time for you two to be worrying about a baby. It was already a lot making Sure Maggie and her baby stayed safe. This would be a whole other ball game for Dixon.

"So, I'm gonna be a daddy, huh?" He asked, flashing you a half smile as if to assure you that he wasn't upset by the whole thing. You nodded, letting out a relieved sigh while sniffling, which caught his attention real quick. Though he smiled, you couldn't help but worry it was just so you wouldn't freak out. That was too late. Every bad thought you could have was already plaguing your mind. "If you want to, if you wanna leave me, I get it." It was his turn to frown. He hated that you thought he would leave you over this. It was his kid, why would he want to leave?

Daryl put the test in his pocket. Unsure what else to do with it. Living in the apocalypse he had a habit of shoving everything in his hands into his pocket. Once his hands were free he grabbed you to pull you close. Cradling the back of your head with his hand, kissing the side of your head with a hum. "Baby, it's okay. I ain't leavin' you. I just.." He pondered for the right words, and you clung onto his shirt. Trembling a little while you waited anxiously for what he would say.

"I just never thought I'd be able to be a dad. With the dead and all, plus. I just never supposed I'd be a good one." He told you, and you pulled back to look up at him. Reaching up to cup the side of his face. "Dar'," you called, and he sighed. Resting his forehead against your own. "You'd be one of the best fathers in the world. You've proved that with how you treat Judith and Carl, and how you watched over Beth... I was worried you wouldn't want it." He shrugged, smiling softly. "Well, it wasn't on my to-do list, but we can't really do anything else. I ain't leavin' you anytime soon, either. Not over no damn kid. I'll love you and them just fine." He muttered in assurance, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips and you giggled lightly. "I'm glad." He nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to your jaw. Sighing while his free hand came between the both of you to rest on your stomach. Forehead now resting on your shoulder. "Can we name 'em, Little Ass Kicker?" It was time for you to roll your eyes, sighing deeply at your lover. Which only seemed to make him smile more. "Daryl," he hummed, pulling back so his eyes met your own. "You aren't allowed to name the baby." He chuckled, sighing while pressing another kiss to your lips. "Alright, fine. You and Rick ain't no fun." And so that was that. Daryl knew about the baby, and everything was going to be all right. He would be sure of it. Or at least you hoped everything would be all right. As good as it could be in this fucked up world, anyhow.

You and Daryl had decided on keeping the baby between the two of you and Carol until the whole Negan situation was handled. Or until Daryl could find a safe place to keep you. Carol would get you the supplies you needed. Such as vitamins, and enough food to make sure you were somewhat healthy. Daryl would spend a lot more time with you, too. The further along that you got, the harder it was to get the hunter to leave your side.

Once Negan was somewhat stopped and finally imprisoned within Alexandria. You and Daryl finally told the group about what you were both expecting. It was like a weight was lifted off everyone's shoulders. Even if it was something that they would have never known until you were showing significantly. It was wonderful to hear the great news after stopping the Saviors for what you all hoped was for good.

Rick had pulled Daryl in for a hug. Smiling widely at his friend. "Never saw you as a father type," Daryl chuckled, shrugging. "Me neither." He spoke, looking over at you as you spoke with Maggie and a few of the others. Smiling and laughing as you talked about the big news. "Guess Abraham was right though, is nice thinking about settlin' down. 'Specially with 'er." Rick nodded, squeezing his friend's shoulder with a sigh. "I'm happy for you. If you two ever need anythin', you just give me a holler. Got it?" Daryl nodded, keeping his eyes on you. Smiling when you glanced over and waved at him. "Thank you, Rick." "Anything for family."

It was a little weird having Daryl at your beckon and call at all times of the day. Once he was finally able to feel the baby, you were done for. Privacy was a thing of the past and Daryl couldn't get enough of you. He had to have his eyes on you at all times. Making sure that you were safe and okay, that nothing would happen to you or your baby. He'd never forgive himself if anything happened.

When he did have to leave your side. Michonne or Carol, sometimes both of them, would be with you. Helping you and giving you the time away from your lover that you needed.

"I don't think I've ever seen him stay in Alexandria this long, he's always going on runs and doing something" Michonne stated. "Well, he's got a baby to take care of now," Carol spoke with a smile, and you chuckled, sitting back in your chair with a sigh. "Well, he's driving me crazy." You huffed, a hand resting on your stomach while you looked between the two women. "I love him, but god. He's been a lot, lately." You laughed, and they laughed with you. "Give him a break, he's just trying to do what he thinks is best for you and your guys' little one." You nodded, shrugging. "Yeah, I guess you're right." "I'm always right," Carol spoke, and the three of you laughed once more.

When Daryl came back from his hunt later that night, you were already asleep. Michonne was passed out on the couch downstairs with a book in her hand. Carol back in her own house. He smiled faintly at the woman on the couch, thanking her silently in his head and reminding himself to do so later when they were both awake. She nor Carol didn't have to stay with you, but they did, and he appreciated that more than either of the women knew.

When he made it to the room he cleaned himself up, first. Showering to get all the blood and grime off himself before climbing in bed with you. His hand instinctively came to rest on your stomach while he curled up beside you. Kissing your shoulder with a sigh. "Hey," you muttered, and he smiled. He should have known you would have woken up. "Hey," he spoke back. Both of you lay there for a moment before you spoke again. "You get anything good today?" You spoke groggily and he shrugged. "Nah, not really." He lied, but you believed him. Cozying up next to him with a hum. "Better luck next time," you muttered, and he nodded. "Yeah," he mumbled, kissing the side of your head.

Daryl didn't want to tell you that he actually did hit the jackpot out on his run today. Not only did he have a deer hanging in the garage to butcher later on. But he also found you some stuff. Some clothes for the baby, some baby food, and even a set of rings for you and him. Or at least he hoped the ring would fit you, if not he'd put it on a necklace for you. He had never asked you to marry him, and everyone already assumed that you were both married if they weren't a part of your original group. Hell, even the original group considered you both to be spouses, so why not make it official with rings? It may not actually be official, but to Daryl, and hopefully yourself, it would be.

Daryl never knew that he would ever be married to the love of his life. Let alone having a pup with them. He'd never been happier with the idea. Smiling softly at the thought of the baby being born. Being able to hold both of you. Being able to teach it how to hunt and track. He had to chew on his bottom lip to hide back the wide grin that threatened to show. Watching you sleep while rubbing your stomach. He'd never felt more normal in his life than now, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone take this away from him. Not Negan, not the dead, no one could hurt his family. Not on his watch.

Not now, not ever. He'd be sure of it, too.

You hoped that he would lay off being protective after the baby was born, and he knew it. But truth be told, Daryl knew he'd only get worse as time went on. The moment he held the little one in his arms, and realized what you both had made. How precious it was and perfect. This little bundle of joy that brought hope for the future. Your future. You'd both just have to grow to live with it because he'd never let either one of you out of his sight. Not in a million years.

"Daryl, we aren't having any more kids," you'd tell him, but Carol was right. Back when she mentioned not to tell him until you knew it was certain you were pregnant. Because even just the thought of a baby might give him ideas, and right now. The thought of having more kids with you after this one got old enough for you both to care for another baby. God, it was definitely giving him ideas.

[gvtted-ratz]

read all our tags/ratings. they r important n give u all u need 2 decide if u wanna actually read or not. do not like the tags/rating? do not read.

FEM ALIGNING/IDENTIFYING PPL (unless mutuals/friends) DNI WITH OUR MLM WORKS. fem ppl can still request tho. respect our wishes or get blocked. yes we do read/check everything. we tag appropriately/use tags that go with our posts.

want 2 request? find the rules: here!

want 2 see all the fics? find em: here!

Correct Ending

John Doe x M!It/Its!Reader

Last Edited: 27/03/23

TW: blood, horror, stalking

Requested: no

Word Count: 3,031

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes: role-reversal AU. reader is the stalker/eldritch-horror being, john doe is a gas station worker stuck in a time loop (tho his looks/odd actions r still the same). it/its used 4 reader/mention of reader having a “human male form/human male face” as well as having “sir”. he/they pronouns used 4 john doe. treat this as having some spoilers (ending 7 basically)+remember of the canon creepiness/horror aspect from the game. if u can’t handle that, this prob aint 4 u so tread with caution/dont read. distorted/glicth text have numbers beside them as they will b put in at the end with each word 2 b read easier if desired/needed.

While people think the man is creepy, you couldn’t help but l̸̩̈́̿͆̔͌́ő̶̗̠͛͊͑̍̿v̵̨͎̈̄̀̚ĕ̵̖̦͔̘͇̑͊̿̌̑̄ [1] him. It didn’t matter that they didn’t shower or seem to understand that his clothes being thrown everywhere in his home wasn’t exactly the best for their mental health. The deteriorating mental health of your beloved truly did help you in a way though. It meant that he’d need someone around and what better person to help them than you? None of those other people in Uncanny Valley can help him like you could. They’re just tiny little humans, lacking anything significant about them. You, on the other hand, can protect your lovely little gas station worker by simply existing. Changing most of your form to anything he may desire is something you keep in mind, watching, together with, seeing what they may or may not like. Of course, some things you do rather wish to keep; a more human male figure seems more appropriate to you at times when you’re with the guy. It had taken a while but after watching how other men looked, you had been able to achieve the appropriate image.

Due to the time loop, it appears that John Doe forgets about you. Every. Single. Time. You’re doing what you can to ensure he chooses the right options. You’ve been trying for so ļ̴̢̹̫̪̙̀͛̈́̓͛o̸̬͔̍͛n̶̜̽͛̾̀̕g̵̨̖̎̇̄͐̈́̇[2]. So why can’t the person just r̵̬͇̓̋e̴̹͐m̵̨̢̈́͝e̶̻̭̔̄m̸̧͚̽͊b̵̯̑̈́ē̴͔r̴̭̙̊[3]? That’s all they have to do. Remember you! It’s all you want! You want to be remembered, for all your trials and errors to be acknowledged! You distort reality for him! You’ve even given him gifts you thought he’d like; he’s accepted them every time but soon enough, those gifts get pushed aside, along with forgotten, when the new day arrives. But today there will be a change! There has to be! You’ve tried your best so you need to make this one count. It’s either the route he chooses leads to the right outcome for you both, or one that leads to one they will surely hate.

You see him on the bus, staring into space. For a human, he’s more uncanny than most. Maybe that’s what brought you to l̷̹͊͘ộ̸̊͐v̴̛̬͈͆̂̈́i̷͎̪̝̾̔̂ṉ̴̱̪̑g̸͙͛̄͌ [4] them. Then again, not seeing anything odd or weird in a place called Uncanny Valley would be wrong. He truly does fit in with the town in a way; the behaviour that is. Their looks give them more of a wild, unhygienic appearance more than anything. So many other humans stay away from the guy because of it, leading to a wide berth on the bus. It works in your favour after all; you possibly can’t go a day without watching the darling thing. To catch your interest out of all the others is an achievement in itself. Oh, they truly should be proud of themself because of that.

Seemingly sensing your staring, the yellowed eyes look towards your glassy ones. Once met, your grin widens tenfold. It seems to nearly split your face in half, showing off way more teeth than a human can possibly have. They blink at you, the black shirt they have on changing its design to an eye with a question mark as the pupil. The lips that never seem to close fully lift just slightly, more in a confused smile than a happy one. You’ll take it though, feeling warmth clouding your brain at his simple grin. You lessen your beaming when he looks away, starting to zone out again by how unfocused their eyes start to look. The warmth starts to edge away now that their attention is no longer on you. You can feel your lips fall into a straight line, feeling empty with that small amount of attention lost.

The bus stops, opening its doors to let off the passengers. John is one of the first to get off, letting you follow him from a distance, having taken the back of the line to do so. They’re heading to the gas station, working another day behind the counter. The long, messy hair of his is easy to spot in the small crowd; not to mention that they, along with a few others, are heading to place. Not many stop by thanks to the reality-shifting you do to try and keep John more or less alone. It makes time drag by slower, plus, you can watch him for longer.

You lurk about, staying hidden among the aisles to let John get comfortable in the beginning of their shift. You don’t want to appear suddenly like you have so many other times. It always seems to lead to the B̵̟͚̝̫̣̹̯̈̿̑͐ ̸̠̟̬͙̍͊́̇͆͜͠͝Ȁ̵̡̰͙͍̱̹̯͆̿ ̸̓̀̋̒̇͜D̷̰̖̥̤̣͈͕͂̒̓̽͌ ̷͉̼̦̒̈́ ̶͈̲̏͐ͅE̵̗̘̺̥̰̠̟͆̅͒̐̔̈́ ̵̙̞̭̪̙́͐͊̿͝N̷̩͋̕ͅ ̸̨͚̯̈́͑̌̀́̾̚D̸͍̩̫̈̈́̋͗̽̕ͅͅ ̷̮̩̋̋̈́͊͋̀Ĩ̸̥͈̙̦͊̅͘̚ ̷̳̱͕̻̜͚̋̊͐͝Ṇ̷̡͓̟̃̆̊̔ͅ ̷̭̬̇̆̈̈́͊G̴̤̒̐̍̈́ ̶̣̺̒̚Ș̸̲̺͇̋̈ [5]. Those were so tiring to deal with, having to revive your love over and over and over and over again. “It’ll be different this time. It’ll be better,” Your voice, though low, sounds disembodied with a static quality. You’ll win his affection this time or simply restart again until he accepts… So many endings have passed, moreover, restarting is getting tiring. You can feel your desperation taking over, leading to your hands shaking.

You grab the first thing you can get your quivering hands on, leading the object to your mouth. A tearing sound echoes in the store as your mouth widens, the skin going from your lips to your ear tearing open to reveal more teeth. The object is placed in your mouth, your jaws clamping down on it, completely as well as utterly crushing the item. You can hear glass shatter and crunch as you eat both the glass as well as pickled quail eggs. The taste combined with the texture of both floods your mouth as you try to get your mind in order. By the time you finish, there’s a puddle of juice on the floor, the jar, metal lid, and pickled eggs all having been eaten. Your hands have stopped shaking so you allow your face to go back to the human male face you’ve constructed, alongside altered, just for John.

With a clearer head, you look around the aisle. Your glassy eyes make eye contact with a horrified mother with her three kids. The children, all ranging from ages four to eight, stare at you with awe mixed with terror. The mother, on the other hand, looks like she’s about to pass out with how much panic seeps out of her. You give them a large, toothy grin, wiggling your fingers mockingly. She herds her kids away, shushing them when they try to protest. None of them will remember this by tomorrow.

Deciding your beloved has had enough time to settle into their shift, you start to approach the counter. No one is at the counter, letting you walk right up and stand before him. He’s staring off again, almost always does so when bored or understimulated. The skin at the edges of your eyes crinkle as you smile, this one not as wide as the one who had given them on the bus nor to the family in the aisle. With no answer, you reach into your pocket, pulling out your closed fist. “Hi.” Your voice, now sounding like it comes from you, carries a cheery but unhinged tone. The yellow eyes you’ve come to adore look at you, now more focused and full of attention.

“Hi,” They blink in surprise at your presence, clearly having missed it until you appeared. “How can I help you, sir?” Your closed fist hovers over the counter, your smile never wavering, as you release your gift.

“For you!” Teeth, some bloodied while others are nearly shiny clean, land on the counter with a clattering sound. John stares at them, his mouth forming a straight line despite never closing all the way. With no answer from him, together with their eyes going unfocused again, you try to smooth it over with more words you deem to be complimentary. “You smell good.” It jolts them back into reality for the moment. You can see his pupils start to expand, nearly swallowing all of the yellow. His shirt even has the eye change, the pupil on it now a heart. You know you haven’t won them over just yet but you have the seed planted in his mind now.

“Uhm… Ok…” His voice shakes, along with his hands as he drags them closer to himself. The black nails they have shine in the light, only adding to their appearance you’re fond of so much. He scoops them in his hand, putting them in the incorrectly-worn jacket’s pocket. You’re not sure if they’re genuinely happy about your gift, or absolutely horrified by the fact that they were just given teeth by a stranger, in their mind that is; you both know each other already if only he remembered you.

“What’s your name?” You lean towards him, hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly, they can see the strain in your knuckles. The smile he gives you is still small, pupils still enlarged. Quietly, as well as shakily, they point to their name tag.

“That’s definitely one of the names I’ve heard. I’m _̵͙̋̈́-̴̻͖͍̆̆-̵̧̨͆_̸̦̞̊̆-̵̢͗͝_̵̰̇̕-̷̩̭̈́͋_̴͙̺͇̦̅̃  [6] but you can call me [Redacted]!” Your hands are clutched together near your chest as you tell them this, flashing distorted and gorey images in their mind. The smile on his face seems a little more strained now, a spiral appearing on his shirt. Maybe giving them your name confused them. Then again, anyone who isn’t like you will only hear it as garbled glitching. You’re only hoping the more understandable name you’re allowing them to call you is enough.

“Are you doing anything after work?” You decide to try and go for it, hoping that maybe, just maybe he’ll say yes like he’s done a few times before. Besides, he said “No” in the previous day. So this time, now that you’re more normal, they should say yes.

“No… I’m not doing anything. Why do you ask?” He seems genuinely interested this time, leaving that fuzzy warmth to worm its way into your head. An odd gurgling noise escapes you, making their brows furrow in confusion as you suddenly leave. Behind you, just before you exist, you can hear a small “It was cute but in a creepy, stalkerish way… And a little weird… A me type of weird.” escape him. Their comments don’t sound disgusted however, they sound more like you’ve successfully gotten their curiosity paired with their attention.

It’s a few hours later that John leaves the gas station. You can feel your entire being shake with excitement, feeling the hope that his choices will lead to the correct ending; no more time-loops or reality-shifting needed. You’re quiet as you creep closer and closer to the oblivious person in front of you. You can hear their mumblings about “finally getting off work” combined with “can’t wait to sleep.”

“Hi,” You’re practically hovering behind him, staring with large pupils. Your hands are shaking as you clutch them near your stomach. You refrain from touching him in case you scare him away. An entire body shudder is an answer you receive; just faintly you can hear them swallow. “Oh… My bad. I didn’t think I’d frighten you so bad…” You give him an apologetic smile, despite not feeling sorry at all. Seeing any reaction from them only feeds your infatuation. Before he can even respond, you’re leaning in more, invading his space. “Can I come home with you? Please? We can.. We can get to know each other better! Have a relationship!” You’re coming on strong, you know you are, but you can barely hold in your desperation.

Your last sentence seems to surprise them, seeing that spiral on their shirt appear again. Maybe should reword it… “Like- Like a great friendship! Best friends!” Your hands are shaking so badly, forcing you to dig them into your gut to hide it. That doesn’t hide how your voice shakes as you trip over your words. They lick their lips, glancing away from you for a second to process your words.

“Alright… Yeah. Yeah, you can come over-” His pupils are large again, a barely-there flush slowly crawling up his neck and towards his face. Their words are cut off when the bus arrives. As soon as those eyes leave to look at the bus pulling up, you dart away. You have to make it to his apartment as fast as possible. You have to get there before they can. Ȳ̸̼̹̉̃͘Ǒ̴̯͐͛͠U̸͖̩̜͛ ̸̟̱̙͔͊H̵̑̕͜͝A̸͇̱̺͗͘V̷̨͖̗̗͒E̵̢͖̕͜ ̶̳̭̲̓T̵̮͔͖̗̈́̌O̵̙̹̹͈͌͒̓.̴̩̝̟̭͋̓ [7]

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

Unease, curiosity, and excitement waft to you from the entrance of John’s apartment. You made it just before they had, vibrating with a feeling of fear mixed with passion. Slowly, he carefully enters his apartment. The trash, including the ungodly smell of everything in the apartment, would usually turn people away but turning off your smell to some things, or even rewiring your own brain can make it smell like it’s a new sort of heavenly desert, helps you enjoy John’s scent and their unhygienic apartment.

“Anyone home..? [Redacted]? Anyone?” Hearing your name from those lips makes a wheezing sound from the build-up of emotions. The sound you’ve let escape you allows John to locate you easily in his living room. There’s a nest of both unwashed clothings paired with blankets made on the sofa.

“Hello, John!” You can feel your mouth salivate. You’re so close. So, so close. You can smell their anger, their shock. You’re confused by it but try to push on. He said you could come over! They shouldn’t be mad at you for doing just that! “It’s unfair, you know? So, very unfair!” You cry out, feeling your eyes start to water. The stress from so many time-loops, so many rejections, and constantly having to alter your looks taking its toll. “You’ve NEVER given me a chance! Never! Not ONCE.” The static garbles some words while enhancing others. “I did everything right! I did everything I thought you’d like! That you’d LOVE.” You see the person before you sweating slightly, brows furrowed in concentration. Maybe he to, is stressed from all these loops and finally feeling its effects like you. “I can be anything you want! Anything you like!” The more normal form you have shifts to a more distorted, uncanny one. Neither is your true form but the most humanoid you’ve ever been; all of it has been for them. So much energy. So much time. It’s all been put into what he wants or what they may find even remotely attractive.

Finally, you settle on the more uncanny form. You’re shaking with your stress. Sweat covers you layers, forcing your clothes to stick to your heated skin. The anxiety is creeping into your voice the longer John is silent. Your tears are so close to spilling over as you choke out your desperate question. “What’s wrong with me…? Don’t you love me?”

The silence seems to stretch on. John’s own stress seems to melt away as realization dawns on them. He blinks a few times, staring at you as everything falls into place. Maybe it’s your shaking. Or it could be the fact that you just poured your entire being into your rant but a smile makes its way onto their face. It reminds you of your own in a way. There are too many teeth, pupils dilated, together with the shaking of their entire being. “I do love you…” Their voice shakes with this declaration, breathing getting heavier. You can feel your pupils dilate and warmth flood your entire body. “Of course, I love you… But not when you pretend to be something else.” Be yourself? But that isn’t what John wants… No, it is. He’s saying it right now so they must mean it. “You don’t have to alter your appearance or your personality for me… It’ll all be fake then.” His eyes are wide, smile just as big as excitement courses through them. How could you not notice how unhinged he was? They have to be just like you! You had just pushed too fast, that was it! Made them lose interest too fast! “I remember the past loops… All of them. You’ve been trying for weeks, haven’t you?”

“Every day. I’ve been looping this every single day… Hoping! Hoping you’d say yes!” Your tears are finally rolling down your cheeks. You’re getting choked up, wanting the right answer so badly. Wanting to end the endless Ạ̶̏̐ͅ ̷̟̅̆͌̄G̷͖͌̋̓ͅ ̷̼̬̯̦̌̈́͘͠O̸̤͍͙͑́̈ͅ ̶̟͕̒̽͛N̷̡͙͉̾͆̇ ̸̧̻̮͋̆̄Ÿ̸̢̰̪́̽̕ [8] you’ve had to endure to get John to just yearn for you as you do him.

“We're just going to keep meeting like this, aren't we? It's just some endless loop…” There’s a pause as they finally make a decision. “So… We may as well see what happens then.” You feel your legs give out, the stress exploding. You grab your shirt close to your chest, sobbing in happiness on your knees. A genuine smile spreads across your face. Your entire being shakes as you feel the time loop ends. Finally. You finally achieved the Correct Ending.

A hand settles on your shoulder as John crouches down in front of you. It’s tight, grounding even. Your sobs don’t stop even when they sit in front of you. When the hand leaves, you look at him. His grin is shaking, alongside his body. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears. You don’t know why but you don’t care. You latch onto the man in front of you, gasping for air but also to get as much of his smell as you can. Your nails pierce his skin, making the wounds bleed, with how tight you hold onto them. This doesn’t bother them though as he latches onto you just like you’ve done. Their nails sinking into your own skin brings no blood. Only indents are left behind. Gentle static noises surround you both as your sobbing subsides. It’s more of a gentle buzzing as you let your form slump into John’s, letting it mould itself to his. No more time-loops or needing to shift reality to get John to love you anymore. Not when you finally have it.

KEYS:

[1] love

[2] long

[3] remember

[4] loving

[5] BAD ENDINGS

[6] _--_-_-_ 

[7] YOU HAVE TO.

[8] AGONY

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Ugh it’s really late at night where I am and I can’t sleep and it just popped into my mind that I’m low-key terrified and excited to see what you’re gonna do with the third part of your Mickey-Randy fic. Is Mickey gonna go through with killing him? How will reader react if he does? Will she find out it’s Mickey? WILL MICKEY GET WHAT HE WANTS?

You best believe the moment you post it I’m locking myself in a dark ass room and telling my boyfriend to leave me tf alone for 3-5 business days

Well! I had the past two days off and I finished up this! For those who haven’t read part one or two of this trilogy I would recc that you do! Seriously, I never thought I would love doing this so much but I did! Massive shout out to @applesontheground for going over this and betaing pre-posting! Now then, I don’t wanna waste much time, I just wanna dive in and get deep! The long awaited conclusion of this trilogy is here! Let’s get deep in the paint!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 6.5K. Mickey Altieri And Randy Meeks X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: So Much Context Needed. Threesomes. Sloppy Seconds. Cuckholding. Semi-Public Sex. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Gagging. Stalking. Murder Plot. Murder. Blood. Gore. Angst. Hurt. Comfort. Death. Grief. Vaginal Sex. Kissing. Confessions Of Feelings. Manipulation. 

—

You Need Me Like I Need You.

—

When did shit, namely, his life, get this fucking complicated? 

He used to think that sex was pretty straight forward, that he had a good handle on himself, his interests and personal sexuality, even before he brought anyone else into the equation but now all the lines are blurred and muddy. He never knew that it could all be so varied, which seems fucking stupid now. The human experience has untold and truly vast depth, of course sex, something that has existed as long as people themselves have existed, has a million different ways to explore, play with and partake in and Randy had been confronted with all that, thrown headfirst into it with almost no preparation. 

Randy has experienced impossibly high highs and some true lows, the emotional roller coaster of it all was a lot to handle but also, shamefully, addicting as hell. 

He didn’t know that there could be so much sexual enjoyment derived from such typically and previously negatively associated feeling, particularly, humiliation. He had experienced plenty of humiliation over the years and it always, well, fucking sucked but for some reason, when it cropped up again from that tape and subsequent threesomes with Mickey, it made his heart race in a different way, a much better, albeit, confusing way. 

When he first was confronted with that tape he was a mess, when you eventually pulled out what was wrong he was still a total mess, and during that first threesome, he was even more of one. Mickey was an almost intolerable asshole but he had to admit, the things he did to you, the view and picture you both provided him, undeniably hot, much better than any bargain basement dumpster porn tape he ever watched by far. He hated that every boundary he tried to lay down, like Mickey wearing a condom, was ignored. Even further, the disrespecting of said boundaries were usually encouraged by you, as you seemingly craved it too. The shared wants between you and Mickey took precedence over his comfort and boundaries, he certainly didn’t do much to dissuade you both when he let it keep happening, especially when the evidence of how hard it made him was clear as day.

And the rules Mickey did agree to? It turns out he was lying, placating Randy to gain consent and access to you to then do what he wanted in the end. The worst of the worst is that when Randy had you afterwards, totally messy and stuffed with cum, literally subjected to Mickey’s sloppy seconds. It felt so fucking good that he couldn’t bring himself to have a single negative thing to say, any complaints die on his tongue as he buries his face into your neck and himself inside you to the hilt. 

Mickey said he would pull out, Mickey was apparently a fucking liar and when Randy was on his back afterwards, sweat slick and panting, still dizzy and high off the hardest orgasm he had in recent memory, he wanted to fucking thank the guy for making him do this and see how good it was. He would never actually thank him, Mickey’s ego was already approaching the size of a supernova from this situation as it was, he is sure if he thanked him for cumming in you when he asked him not to? He cannot imagine how much worse he would become. It doesn’t matter that true the experience was fucking great, the ignoring of his consent was screwed up, thanking him further sends the wrong message. 

So Randy put up with Mickey’s comments and overall attitude, he says he puts up with, but really he enjoys it, mostly secretly, he downplays his enjoyment but that damn knowing smirk of Mickey’s makes him think he isn’t as good an actor as he wants to be. 

This has been going on for a month. 

A glorious, confusion littered, fuck centered, sweat soaked and embarrassment filled month. In the moment and with his dick in his hand it is easier to take, he gets swept up in how filthy it is, finds himself consumed with your new relationship dynamic constantly. In the quiet moments between doing other things his mind wanders to either your last hookup or what might potentially happen in the next one. 

The last one he keeps on thinking about is a rather risky semi-public hookup, it was late, rushed, in the stairwell leading up to Randy’s apartment. The sight is burned into his mind, Mickey leaning against the wall, his fingers in your hair as he leads you while you are on your knees, blowing him, right in front of Randy. It is all so striking, so clear, as if it is still happening right in front of Randy when he thinks of it, the low light, the way Mickey’s head tips back and rests against the concrete wall. A bead of sweat rolls down the column of his throat, along with the bob of his Adam's apple from a heavy swallow he took after a harsh inhale of air. He hears the quiet moan, the curse that spills out as he rocks his hips to force himself deeper into your mouth, you gag, Mickey laughs breathlessly with that half sideways smirk and then, he looks at him. Mickey’s head no longer rests and instead brown eyes meet blue and that smile grows into an outright sadistic grin as he drives forward harder, more purposefully and the moan you let around the shaft invading your mouth makes Randy ache in his jeans.

Someone speaks to him, asks him a question and it pulls him out of his head, Christ, he wasn’t listening and he is far too hard over his walk down memory lane while stuck in class still. He needs to stop, he fucking hates himself for thinking and feeling like this so often. He especially hates himself for how he couldn’t wait and ended up cumming in that same stairwell a week previous during that hookup he was just pouring over, he has to fight back the urge to cringe thinking about whatever poor sap had to clean that up.  

True, while he is caught up in his head and consumed with all of this often, filled to the brim with negativity more than he’d like to be, things with you had gotten infinitely better. Your sex life together had gotten downright incredible in his opinion, he relishes the time he can be alone just you and himself without Mickey around. It isn’t as dirty as the threesomes you have, it’s softer, sweeter, more intimate and not as intense but he thinks you both need that. He has taken Mickey’s advice to heart and his fingering and oral skills have improved leaps and bounds, he loves when he is able to pull a sound out of you that reminds him of one Mickey has made you gasp out previously.  

He wasn’t sure how long this could or would go on for, it couldn’t last forever but this didn’t have to stop anytime soon, there wasn’t any reason to rush, right? Not when it felt so good and it seemed to be actively bettering and strengthening your relationship as opposed to harming it. So the worries are shoved aside, pushed to the back of his mind, a problem for future him.

Mickey is positively elated over how this has all panned out so far. He knew this stage would be fun, he just didn’t count on how much fun it could be. He got to not only fuck you, he got to humiliate Randy while he did it, being balls deep in you while you were moaning like a total whore and your pathetic cuck of a boyfriend was jerking off to it, making eye contact with the sad little redhead in that moment? Making him truly be confronted with the sight of what he could do to you? My lord, he is sure he will never need viagra when he is fifty plus, he can just recall that memory and be good to go. 

You were just so intoxicating, he thought he had it bad for you before he got to fuck you that first night Randy pissed you off but he was so wrong, it only got worse when he got to know you in the biblical sense. Now that he knows how you sound when he has two fingers angled just right inside of you, or how you feel when you are cumming on him, his interest grew into a full on crush and became infinitely worse. He couldn’t get you out of his head, how could he push it out of his mind or forget such an experience?

You were a delight, a joy to be around, so funny, so filthy and ready, willing and open. You got him, understood him, the sexual compatibility was a massive plus of course but it was more than that. It was the hushed whispers during class of dumb jokes that make you stifle laughter, it was shared lunches, and those times where you and he would end up crashing together post threesome and wake up side by side before Randy did. He knew you felt more for him than you were saying, the moments you would hold his hand when Randy wasn’t around told him that, the way you looked at him, would brighten when seeing him, it all tattled on your true feelings. He was sure of how you felt. 

Christ, he couldn’t wait until he could have you all to himself as opposed to having to carve out these small moments whenever Randy wasn’t hanging off you like he was doing his best impression of a koala bear. 

It was so soon. Mickey could hardly contain himself. The last thing standing between you and him being together is your boyfriend that you were still holding onto for some reason. Clearly it was out of some sense of loyalty, he liked that quality about you. So it means that he has to get rid of him and then you will be able to get with him guilt free, it’s the only thing that makes sense. The single option. 

You are more than worth him doing this, uprooting and changing his whole plan, Nancy had to go. She just did, no way would she understand or be on board, she was just a means to an end really, she bankrolled him sure but it isn’t like he was attached to her. He believed in his motive, in what he wanted but now that he had you, the idea of risking going to jail wasn’t high on his list of to-do’s. Maybe he could keep a low profile, maybe he would be satisfied being with you, having you and quietly killing people to satisfy those parts of himself from time to time. If he did go through with the original plan there is still a chance it might fail. Was he willing to risk even a slight chance of being separated from you? 

He is sure that the high he would get if he could pull it off, kill and spill his guts, blame the violence of movies and not go to jail would be immense, but then that part of his life would be over, that chapter closed. No way he could keep killing. Or, maybe he could, if he could keep getting away with it after that it would be amazing, however if caught that same plea wouldn’t work twice.

Perhaps the real high could be in never, ever getting caught. 

Between that and you, he might be just fine. 

He should feel worse, shouldn’t he? The thought was on his mind as he was cleaning his knife in the sink after putting an end to Nancy, he should feel something, but he just didn’t. Honestly seeing the look of betrayal on her face was priceless, she never would have thought Mickey would do this to her. She sobbed and begged, going on about how could Mickey do this to her, she needed to avenge her “sweet baby boy-” and yeah, he wasn’t going to listen to her go on about that. He didn’t waste much time on her, didn’t linger or monologue or go on and on, he made it relatively painless and pretty quick. 

The important thing is she was gone and now he could focus on killing Randy. 

Unlike his previous and now dead partner, he wanted to make it hurt, he wanted to destroy Randy, make him unrecognisable, but he knew that might not be best. Logical thought doesn't usually win out in these situations however. He hated how Randy took you for granted, he hated how you looked at him, that you insisted on staying together, hated every time he watched you kiss or anything else, he wanted to stab the knife into his chest, pierce his heart and twist. Wanted to watch him gasp, struggle, and bleed. 

He had a good handle on Randy’s schedule because of your arrangement, he is coming back from a late class, going back to his apartment while Mickey follows far enough behind to not alert him, yet. 

Ol’ Randy was so oblivious, he was going to make this way too easy. Mickey felt his anticipation grow with every single step, every heavy footfall makes his mind run with possibility and pure excitement.

He wanted to rush him, tackle him to the ground, end it right here out in the open but that is stupid and way too risky, it still doesn’t stop how his hands itch, he craved to have his knife in his grip, to bury it in something. The urge to penetrate in a violent sense and in a sexual sense are not that different and Mickey finds it so hard to ignore either of those urges. Soon it is just right, soon Randy is unlocking the door to his apartment building and Mickey picks up the pace, he runs forward, he timed it just right, the door opens and he knocks into Randy, causing him to stumble into the building with a shocked, “Woah!” 

With him totally off balance Mickey takes the opportunity, hand gripping the collar of his shirt behind his neck, he moves him, comes forward, hauling Randy along, he bursts into the stairwell door in the lobby, that same one that you all hooked up in. He is quickly throwing him with all of his strength against the stairs. It hurts his spine, knocks the wind out of him, he groans feeling slightly dazed and when his eyes open he sees the figure clad in that all too familiar black robe and white mask and his heart drops. Eyes widen and he curses, trying to scramble back on the stairs, “Shit, fuck-”

God he loved that look. Pure and unadulterated terror, totally horrified, there was only one way to make it better, Mickey pulled the knife out, the glint of the blade in the low light flashes over his face, it made Randy’s breath catch. He tried to bolt, tried to turn to launch himself up the stairs, towards the safety of his apartment, away from his would-be attacker and that wasn’t going to happen. Mickey was on him too fast, one hand threads in short red hair and he jerks his head back, making it slam on the concrete, the sound was sickening and it made his struggle so much weaker immediately. Mickey sat on his stomach, knees on either side of him, he took in the view below him. Randy was already bleeding from his head wound, scarlet starting to stain the concrete, holding his own head up weakly, his other hand reaching out, trying to push on Mickey’s torso feebly. 

He enjoyed this immensely. He watches him for a moment before it starts, it’s like the calm before a storm, like in the summer when you can feel a thunderstorm brewing, something in the air telling you what is to come, as if you can feel the electricity threatening to crackle and break though. 

He lingers for only a moment more, he knows he is pushing it, but fuck, he has wanted this for so long and when he started he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. 

Finally the moment is just right, he raises the knife and there is zero hesitation, it comes down and comes down hard. It embeds into his shoulder first, the air is practically sucked out of Randy, eyes wide, his hand comes up to clutch near the blade but Mickey didn’t take too kindly to that. He twists it and a choked off whimper left Randy and then he yanks the knife up, pulling the blade out, the body below him moving with the force of it, back arching as the struggle to remove steel is won quickly. 

Randy is still trying to hold the wound at his shoulder but the angle is awkward and the pain is blinding, he doesn’t think anything could snap him out of the agony, his mind is running a million miles a second, synapses are firing but not connecting to anything. The urge to flee is strong but how? How can he get out, how can he get away, he is stuck, he hurts so much, what is he going to do? He thought he left all this behind in Woodsboro, he should have been more careful, he knew the threat, the risks, he should have taken that tape more seriously and realised he was being watched probably this entire time since he got said tape. 

It turns out there is one thing that can pull him out of his head and free him enough from the pain to speak, eyes come into focus as the hurt is numbed with what he is seeing. Ghostface is still seated on top of him and the fingers leave his hair, hand comes up and the mask is tugged off to reveal is pseudo sort of fuck buddy or more accurately, YOUR fuck buddy and the cucker to Randy’s cuckee’, Mickey fucking Altieri. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Randy wheezed out, a cough that sounded too wet coming out after the words left him, “Mickey?”

“Heya Randy.” He dropped the mask, gloved fingers ran through his own hair as he stared down at the body starting to struggle under him once more. It all comes to Randy at once, the cheating, the tape, the “coincidences”, the dark edges to him, the knowing looks, he is the killer, he is Ghostface. Of course he is. 

“What the fuck? Why-AHH!” Randy yelped as the knife came back down, settling in the other shoulder, he left it there, holding the handle as he said, “Oh why? Meeks wants to know why-” 

Mickey hums and grips the handle harder before starting to twist it slightly, back and forth, digging deeper. Randy is crying now, tears falling down and struggling for breath, “-lots and lots of reasons. I had this whole big motive, this crazy plan, Billy’s mom, you remember Billy’s mom, Nancy Loomis, had found me and brought me here, bankrolled my education while I was meant to do the dirty work-”

Randy could hardly believe what he was hearing over the burning and pulsing pain, Mickey kept talking, “-but thennn, you-” 

Mickey pointed down at Randy with his free hand, “-fucked up. You took your girl for granted and I got to swoop in at that party and our whole whatever the fuck you want to call it started and I realized, I don’t want to share her. I don’t want to follow through on that original plan. I just want her. But she’s-”

He ripped the knife out and Randy half screamed, blood splatters over his robe and the wall and when Randy’s scream subsided he was still holding the knife while he made air quotes as he said “-all “in love with you” for some fucking reason.” 

Mickey shakes his head, “She’s amazing, but man that shit I just do not understand. I mean look at you! No fight at all! Fuck, you are so pathetic. You find out I fucked your girlfriend and you come to my apartment begging me to do it again while you watch?! Who does that?”

He laughs with a shake of his head, “I know as long as you are around she wouldn’t dump you and I couldn’t ask her to, I would come off like a total dick and then she might push me away and end our fun. That can’t happen!”

The exclamation is loud, angry, and violent. The knife comes back down again, in the ribs and Randy’s body jerks, he coughs, blood paints his chin, he wheezes, he thinks his lung might be punctured. Mickey barks out, “Look at me, Meeks.”

Randy’s eyes open half way, he feels woozy, Mickey looks positively manic, he has leaned down closer, still holding that knife handle so tightly, “I’m doing this because it’s the only way I see that she can be all mine. I’m killing you to fix this little problem. I’m going to be there while she grieves, I’m going to be the one to help her pick up the pieces, she’s gonna cling to me and then I’m gonna have her all to myself.” 

Mickey was grinning, “Our little thing was a good time I’ll admit that but I’m ready to move up to the next level, I don’t want to be her classmate, or her friend, I don’t want to be her fuck buddy, I want to be her boyfriend. Not you.” 

Randy is shaking his head, his face is so wet, blood, sweat, drool, tears, he is mouthing something, too weak to talk, Mickey thinks it’s “No” but who cares really. 

“Yeah. It’s gonna happen and there is nothing you can do to stop it.” Mickey said in a condensing tone as he nodded, “You’re going to die, and soon it seems like!” 

Mickey rips the knife out again and Randy jerks once more, nowhere near as strong, “I cannot wait. Not anymore. You should see her when we are alone, the way she looks at me, talks to me, she isn’t yours and hasn’t been for a while. I’m just helping her see it, speeding along the inevitable. She’s mine.”

The silver blade stained red cuts through the air and hits home again, lower this time and a similar reaction is drawn, weaker still, before being pulled out and then it happens again and again. Chest, ribs once more, stomach, stab, cut, rip, tear while repeating that one word over and over again. A quiet chant breathed through gritted teeth on harsh exhales from the sheer amount of exertion and effort, “Mine. Mine. Mine.” 

Randy is dead.

He didn’t get proper last words but Mickey thinks he didn’t deserve them the same way that he didn’t deserve you. Mickey is sure it happened sometime between the seventh and the seventeenth stab but it doesn’t really matter. He stays there for a moment looking down at Randy, body slowly turning cold, bloodstained and eyes lifeless. 

He sits until he is sick of looking at him and then he gets up, the robe and mask are rolled up and put into his bag. He leaves out the back way, the camera is broken on that side of the building so no one can possibly tie him to this. He left with a spring in his step and the bag under his arm and excited for the news to reach him naturally. 

The phone ringing is what wakes him up, he is wiping sleep out of his eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen, he snatches it up off of the bar and brings it up to his ear, “Lo’?” 

It’s you, the voice sounding wrecked, you barely get the words, “Randy’s dead-” before you are sobbing, he lets himself smile. You start trying to talk a mile a minute through your sobs and he listens to you go on for a minute before he cuts in asking you to take a breath before he is apologising, tell you how awful that sounds and as you are sniffing you ask quietly, “Ca-can you come over? I-I don’t wan-want to be alone.” 

 “I’ll be right there.” He assures and you tell him, “Hurry, please-”

He tells you he will be right there. He hangs up, he throws on clothes and finds himself humming on the way to your place. He shows up with coffee and breakfast, it’s stupid early and he isn’t sure when you last ate, he knocks and calls out, before he can get your name out the door is open and you are throwing your arms around his neck. He almost drops the coffee tray in one hand and the take out bag in the other but he keeps a grip on them. Your face is wet and buried in his shirt, body shaking and he says softly, “Oh hey, hey, I’m here.” 

You stand in your doorway for minutes and he doesn’t rush you, he lets you cling to him and God this is already working out so well. 

Once he manages to get you inside he sits with you, he makes sure you eat, he listens, holds the box of tissues while you lament, “I wasn’t allowed to see him but they say it was a massacre, they are talking murder Mickey-”

“Murder? Oh my God!” 

If only you knew. But you never would. 

He barely left your side. You kept asking him to stay, begging him to be close, you told him that he made you feel safe, made this easier to handle, you feared you’d fall apart without him and it made him feel so important. Your grief is intense but he loves how you are like this, how you rely on him even when things are difficult and hard to manage, he loves the desperation. He pokes, he has a small pattern, you are so raw that a small nudge makes your emotions go screwy and when you are in a deep spiral then he helps soothe you, pulls you out of it again and makes sure any positive emotion you feel during this time, no matter how small, is tied to him. 

You are so needy, but he has never felt this needed and my God is it nice to feel needed. 

No serious suspicion is thrown his way. He doesn’t kill anyone else, lets everything calm and die down and a funeral is planned and hosted for Randy over a month after he died. Everyone was just so scared that whoever it was might strike again beforehand. The fear it was Ghostface was present, kept Sidney and everyone else permanently on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop but it seemingly never does and they all have to start moving on sometime. Mickey had to fight hard to keep the act up, but inside there was such power and joy in doing the receiving line of Randy’s family, shaking hands and giving condolences, everyone unaware that he is the reason and cause of his death. He made the right call, abandoning the other plan for this was amazing. He listens as you cry your way through your turn speaking, he knows he is going to be comforting you hard after this and true, right after you finished you come over and he held your hand, giving you the pack of tissues he had in his pocket.

The casket buried, the wake over, he is with you back at his place. You’d been wanting to spend more and more time here, you hadn’t cleared out all the little pieces of Randy from your space yet and you felt like you couldn’t face them today. Your eyes are red from the crying, your nose raw from the tissues used, sitting on his couch, heels kicked off and in your funeral dress still. You aren’t quite as sombre now, he had seen to that, he got your favourite take out just before the place closed, it was near midnight and you actually ate, half empty boxes on the coffee table along with a few empty drink cans. 

You were cradling your current drink in your hand, looking across the couch to him, you were both sitting on the same ends of the couch as before, a mirror of that night months previous that started all this. He was in the middle of telling some story that was making you laugh, the smile on your face was small but steadily growing. “She ended up not even having her wallet after all that.” 

“Holy shit, no way! So then what?” 

“What do you mean what? I sure as shit didn’t pay for her.” He laughed and you said around an amused exhale of your own, “Alright fair, especially after how she treated the cashier yeah fuck her.” 

He takes another pull from his can and you did the same before setting aside with a sigh. You rested your head on the back of the couch as you said, “Thanks for this Mick.”

A questioning hum left him paired with raised eyebrows and you elaborate, “For being here for me. I know I’ve been like a mess, understandably so but a mess all the same. I know dealing with me hasn’t been easy but just…Without your support I dunno how I would have gotten through this.” 

“Oh hey, no need to thank me. That is what a good guy does.” He said easily and you nod, “You really are, you’re so great.”

You reach out, a grabby hand gesture and he fills your need, taking your hand and you sigh. “I feel bad.” 

“For a different reason other than the funeral?” He asked and you laughed a little, “Yeah. I just…I’ve been having these thoughts that make ME feel like I’m a horrible person.”

“What thoughts could you possibly be having to make you feel like that?”  

“I dunno if I should say.” You grumbled and he said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to but you know you can trust me. I won’t judge you and I sure as shit won’t tell anyone else.” 

You are quiet for a moment before deciding that yes, he is right, you can trust him. You might even feel better getting it out, “I loved Randy. I mean I still love Randy but…All this time I have been spending with you and everything from before, how great you are I’ve been thinking about you more than I should. In ways I probably shouldn’t.” 

He ignores the first half of your sentence, he is sure that would fade in time, he focuses on the second half, “Like how?” 

You give a half shrug and look away, gaze averted and he says your name, stretching it out, he is leaning closer and you steal a glance back at him and say, “Like…” 

The tension is thick, you’ve moved closer throughout the conversation yourself, not so much on the opposite ends of the couch now, almost on the same cushion in the middle of the couch you take a deep breath to steady yourself and you open up. You are already raw and vulnerable, why not go all in? 

“I’ll be in a class I don’t have with you and I feel this huge hole where you should be. I don’t feel like I can do anything properly while away from you, I can’t eat or focus, the weight of everything else crushes me but when you are around I have, fuck, I have hope. I think I can do this, I feel stronger and better, you do that for me!”

He keeps doing what he has for more than a month, he listens, he squeezes your hand harder and he listens to you. 

“I’ll be in bed alone and wish you were with me. My sleep schedule is wrecked but I think I could finally get some good rest with you because I swear to God, if there is one, I only feel safe around you lately.” 

You are speaking so fast now, as if you can’t communicate your intense emotion fast enough until the words stop because your other hand that isn’t in his is on his face, tugging him close to you and kissing him. It starts off hot, deep, needy and he is stunned, it takes a moment to match the energy but he lets you lead it. Fuck he has missed this, missed feeling you against him, you start to slow, he keeps pace, from all consuming open mouthed to soft brushes with laboured breathing and you pull back, “That. I have been thinking the most about doing that.” 

“And that…Makes you feel bad? Cuz it felt pretty good to me.” You laugh from the tone and his expression, the big smile that is so him, you admit, “No that did feel good but I feel bad because my boyfriend has been in the ground for less than twelve hours and I’m on your couch, kissing you and I’ve been thinking about doing it for weeks.” 

You inhale in a way he has come to know far too intimately, that hitch that tattles on you that you are going to cry, you choke out, “How shitty of a person does that make me?” 

He lets go of your hand, his hands are on your cheeks and then tracing down to your neck, thumbs stroke over the line of your jaw and he says, “It doesn’t, hey,  you aren’t a shitty person. You’re my favourite person.” 

Your hands are on his wrists and you shake your head, “I’m pretty sure I am, I-I don’t deserve you, I didn’t deserve Randy either-”

A sniff and he assures further, “No, stop that, you deserve so much. I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.”

It is quiet for a moment, you are trying to breathe through it and stop yourself from seriously crying, he knows just the right thing to say, “I know I’m really stupid but I have good taste.” 

You laugh. A nod as you admit, “Okay, you’re right, you do have good taste.” 

“We’re gonna ignore you not disagreeing with me calling myself stupid-” You laugh again harder, “But see! So if I have good taste that means that everything I do for you isn't a mistake, it’s not wasted, you deserve this.”

You look into his eyes and ask a bit more seriously, one of the main worries weighing on you, “Isn’t it too soon?”

It’s his turn to laugh, “What? Do you seriously think Meeks would want you to recognize Victorian mourning customs and mope around in all black for a year?” Another laugh spills out of you at the image, “Why does the timing matter on this? If you want it now, then why not now? What is waiting a few more weeks or months going to do?”

He is right. Why does it matter?

The next thing you ask is, “Am I really your favourite person?” 

“Easily. No contest.” You are still so close to each other, and you decided fuck it, why does it matter? You’ve been through so much, you are desperate and you deserve to feel good and so you give into what you have been craving. 

You kiss him again on the couch. 

Neither of you stay on the couch for very long. 

It comes out while you are in his bed, your dress on the floor and you are under him, arms wrapped around his neck, you feel like you could cry but not for any of the feelings or reasons that you had previously over this past month. You don’t want to sob because you are sad or missing Randy or anything else, you cry because fucking hell you missed this, you needed this, it feels incredible but it’s more than that. You finally realised it a while ago, but now? You are unable to ignore it, can’t hold it inside, the admission is on your tongue and has been threatening to come out between moans for minutes. Rocking with him, feverish kisses placed over the side of his face as you gasp, Mickey’s hands are all over, like he cannot get enough of you, he is buried deep and he hits that spot that makes your whole body want to shudder and at long last it comes out in a rush, overwhelmed and feeling overflows you tell him-

“I love you.”

That makes him slow, not stop, but slow, rolls of his hips are purposeful, the change in angle is fantastic, the pressure and grinding on your clit makes you want to cry all over again. He has one arm under your neck, the other one runs up your side, there is this expression on his face that can only be described as a cross between joyful disbelief and pure affection, brown eyes are warm as he asks, “What did you just say?”

You repeat it, louder, voice more sure, “I said I love you.” A harder thrust, a shared and hushed moan, your nails biting into the skin on the back of his neck, you make yourself maintain eye contact, it’s difficult  but it’s important so you manage, “I am tired of-of feeling it, fuck, and not saying it, I fucking love you.” 

He couldn’t be happier, this was better than he ever could have planned or hoped, better than any dream possible, he leans down, kisses you deeply and you return it. Eyes closed you are close in sensation and the moment, in him. He pulls back, close enough his forehead is touching yours as he breathes back the same sentiment, “I love you too, so fucking much.” 

A broken moan that could be read as the word “really” but he is picking up the pace, quicker, rougher and your hand falls back, a desperate plea of, “Mickey, fuck, don’t stop-”

As if he would ever. 

He did manage to get away with it.

It’s been over a year since Randy’s murder, you are none the wiser and you barely mention Randy anymore. Sure his birthday, his death day and your old anniversary with Meeks was hard but that was understandable and tolerable. 

The main and most important thing is that he had you, after the funeral you and he became official, you kept it on the down low, he insisted he wanted you to be spared the judgement, you were already going through so much and any added stress needed to be stomped out. You and he talked regularly about living together and man was he ever excited for when that could happen. Sure it would make his “hobby”, whenever he picked it back up again, more difficult but fuck it, he loved a good challenge. The itch for murder hasn’t been on his mind in so long, much too happy and concerned with you, wrapped up in your relationship but he was feeling that need wriggling in the back of his brain, he can ignore it for the time being. He got away with it and he has you, life is good.