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invincibledc · 3 months ago

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꩜ .ᐟ𝐌𝐲 𝐀𝐱𝐞

𐬺𖦹꧁🃏꧂𖦹𐬺

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐒!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★ Summary: due to his momma Harley, his only guardian he trust, she gives some new weapons. And he knows the only person he wants to show them off to. His only special person.

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★ Genre: crack fic(?)/fluff

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★ Info: this is an OC I thought of cause I got bored. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. Reader is the twin sister of Damian, but Damian is the older twin of course. Im only a writer so you can imagine who he looks more like but all I can is he is handsome canonically in my head and anything. Boy’s crazy but handsome. Yea the title is inspired by ICP. I love ICP.

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★ Word count: 1,307

Rushing downstairs, you barely glanced at Damian, who raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going, sister?” he asked, pausing his ascent to watch you closely.

“To hang out,” you replied flatly, ready to bolt. You knew he would push back, and you were right as he grabbed the back of your shirt.

“Don’t tell me. It’s that sociopath heir of the Joker,” Damian said, disappointment clear in his voice. “You know father wouldn��t be happy to know you’re seeing him.” He released your shirt, allowing you to fix it while he maintained a firm stance.

“Damian, I doubt Dad cares who I’m dating. Plus, Jack isn’t like Joker, and you know that” you shot back, narrowing your eyes and crossing your arms, mirroring his stance. You both stood there, locked in a standoff, neither willing to back down.

“I’m only looking out for my little sister. That’s my priority,” Damian said with unwavering intensity. You scoffed, throwing your arms up in exasperation.

“Dames, it’s not that serious. He lives with Harley, and you know she’s changed. Let it go.” His gaze softened slightly, signaling a tentative victory on your part.

“Fine. But you better call or text me when you reach her apartment,” he conceded.

“Alright, thanks! Bye, Bubba, love you!” You quickly hugged him and stepped out of the manor, accepting your jacket from Alfred. As Damian watched you leave, Alfred patted him on the back.

“I assume you’ve put the tracker in her jacket?”

“Of course Pennyworth,” Damian replied with a smirk before heading upstairs.

☆

The reason you were headed to see Jack was simple—Harley had gotten him new gadget weapons, and he was eager to show you how they worked. He had called you, practically yelling with excitement, his raspy voice cracking as he coughed before calming down.

You could have taken a ride with Alfred, but who would suspect anything ordinary with a fancy limousine pulling up to a regular apartment complex?

Upon arriving, you entered and pressed the buzzer. A buzz echoed, and you recognized that familiar rasp.

“Is that you, puddin’?” His Brooklyn accent came through, and you could hear his mother chuckling in the background.

“Hey, that’s Y/n to you, mister,” you teased. You heard him chuckle in response. “Yes ma’am,” he purred. “Come up so I can see you, babe.”

You hummed in agreement and stepped into the elevator, enduring the strange elevator music. When the elevator jolted slightly and stopped, you instinctively steadied yourself, arms outstretched like in a scene from Jurassic Park.

Once it opened, you made your way to Jack’s door. As you reached to knock, it swung wide, revealing the blonde-haired boy with blue eyes. He swept you up, spinning you around, and laughter spilled from your lips.

“Well, hello gorgeous,” he said in a low voice as he set you down, wrapping his arms around you.

“Hello, Jackie-boy.” You cupped his face, feeling him melt under your touch. Just as he leaned in to kiss you, Harley’s loud voice interrupted you both. Jack groaned while you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“C’mon, sweetie pie, I know you missed your little girlfriend. But no kissing in front of Mommy.” Jack’s eyes widened, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“Mom!” He released you and pushed Harley out of the living room. “Okay, maybe it’s time to tell Aunt Ivy about your new nails.” Harley glanced at her nails as she was pushed into her room.

“You’re so right!” She exclaimed, slamming the door behind her as Jack sighed dramatically.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to you with a smirk. “Now let’s get to work.”

☆

“Okay, this is my axe,” Jack announces confidently, swinging a striking black and red axe that perfectly matches Harley’s aesthetic. He sweeps it over his leftover, resting a hand on his hip with a smirk as you settle onto the couch. He sets down an array of weapons on the table: a hammer, cards, small balls, and clown noses.

“Oooh, so lumber Jack. What's your new name, the lumberjacker?” you tease with a sly smile hiding behind your hand.

“Very funny, babe. But no,” he retorts, swinging the axe with effortless precision, twirling it in the air before catching it and placing it down. “Besides, this hammer can pack a punch.”

As he says this, he glances your way with a mischievous spark, then grabs the hammer. “Here, hold it.” He extends it toward you. You raise an eyebrow, accepting the challenge, but as you grip the hammer, you instinctively yelp, feeling its weight pull you down.

“Th-this is heavy!” you exclaim, glancing up at his smug expression. “Of course, it’s customized to my hand. It’s like phone touch ID,” he retorts, effortlessly lifting the hammer from your hands. He swings it behind his back, arms wrapped around the wooden shaft.

“And it’s inspired by my ma’s old tools,” he states proudly, placing it down next to the axe. He picks up the cards while you return to your seat, brushing your hands off and watching him keenly.

“Isn't that the same set of cards that explode?” you challenge, pointing at them. Jack chuckles, his voice resonating with amusement. “Nah, they blow smoke. If I find myself in a tight spot, I just toss these down and disappear.”

You hum in amusement, and Jack's smile widens at your reaction. “That’s right. I’d test them out, but my momma warned me against it,” he adds, setting them down beside the small white balls. “You know, because of the smoke detector,” he finishes, glancing at the clown noses with curiosity. You pointed with your head at it.

“What’s up with these? Looks like you’re becoming a real clown boy, Quinn,” you remark with a smirk.

“Oh please, these?” He scoffs in mock disdain. “They’re just bombs. I throw them, they stick, and BOOM!” he exclaims loudly, demonstrating the action with his hands, making you chuckle despite yourself.

You shift your focus to the balls. “So what’s the deal with those?” you inquire, pointing at the small, innocent-looking objects.

“Oh, those?” He scoops them up and begins juggling effortlessly, grinning as he spins around to face you. “These are flashbangs the size of ping pong balls.” He throws you a smirk reminiscent of that viral TikTok emoji.

“Wow, so creative,” you clap sarcastically, barely suppressing a grin. Jack frowns before blowing a raspberry at you. “Jeez, babe, so cold—colder than Mr. Freeze. But whatever,” he says, placing the balls down and moving closer to you on the couch.

He plops himself down beside you, pulling you closer until your thighs touch, his arm encircling your back. “I’m really glad you came over. I thought I’d have to drag you out another way,” he says softly, leaning in closer.

You lean in, feeling the chemistry crackle between you. His hand glides down to your waist, giving it a decisive squeeze. Your breaths intertwine as you gaze into his blue eyes, which soften before he closes them. You mirror his action, drawing closer…

“HEY!”

You and Jack jump apart, landing on opposite sides of the couch as Harley appears between you, phone pressed to her ear, her expression a mix of determination and mischief.

“Hey, kid, mind if I feed you some mac n cheese?” Harley asks, her raised brow demanding a response.

“Uhh… no?” you reply with a shrug, watching as her frown disappears. “Awesome! Won’t take long,” she says, striding away while you catch snippets of Poison Ivy’s voice from the other room. “I know, right?! How could she even say that when she’s on her fourth husband?!” Harley exclaims as she heads to the kitchen.

Jack sighs, covering his face with a hand, lost in thought. You glance at him, sensing his frustration.

When will he finally get the uninterrupted time alone with you that he craves?

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leafydory · 1 month ago

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Heavily Yearning Sylus

(Suggestive, Fluff, Sylus x Mc)

(600 words quick midnight thoughts lol)

Heavily Yearning Sylus that he would check the time always as it ticks and tocks, it grates on his nerves, Luke and Kieran would find themselves fixing the clock right now because Sylus instructed so, none of it was broken, yet the yearning man insisted on more 'fixes' anyways.

Heavily Yearning Sylus that stares at his plate, half of it was eaten, the rest should be done by now but he doesn't finish, waiting for you on that long hunter mission that he could have done in just seconds if you want him to, but no he respects you, respects your skills and expertise that now he found himself staring at this plate, maybe waiting for it to break down to pieces with his glare alone.

Heavily Yearning Sylus that he would watch the tracker that he put on the motorcycle he gave you on his phone every stop over, every turn of directions in the streets, staring, biding his time, fueling the boiling need on himself, like a flame slowly engulfing the objects around him. everything is affected after all, meetings? Cancelled. Sleep schedule? Broken. The leader of Onychinus? On leave. You were the priority now.

Heavily Yearning Sylus that was already by the door when you opened it, before you can even greet or walk your first feet inside, he lifted you up in his arms, one hand, weightless as he takes a shaky sigh of relief

"I thought another person used the motorbike I gifted to you sweetie… Considering how long that mission took for you to return here than usual..."

"Wait Sylus you can you at least--"

"I had waited enough kitten."

Heavily Yearning Sylus who would strip you up let you sit on his bed, naked with only your undies in, you swore his eyes we're so hungry that it devours your resisting thoughts but suprisingly, he stood there... Suddenly on his knees on the ground, head resting against your thighs trailing reverent kisses there, arms wrapped around your legs, breathing in and out deep, warm, yearning.

Heavily Yearning Sylus that reads every twitch and changes in your emotions, on how it started with confusion, surprise then understanding, the touch of your hand on his hair makes a man like him feel like a putty, and he doesn't deny that. He can only feel this with you.

"Where you thinking of something naughty?"

he smirks noticing the sudden flush of your cheeks when he heightened his kisses to your waist up to your bare stomach. You can only protest in embarrassment over the accuracy of his words

"No??? Look... Just do as you please Sylus. I'm here now"

Heavily Yearning Sylus that he eventually rests his head on top of your chest, laying you down in bed, hands on your thighs, tight and assertive and breathing in your scent around your collarbone and neck. Gun powder, perfume you use and his own unique scent still lingering, good, it was the usual just like how he wanted in the first place.

"Then stay with me to bed. I'm already past my sleep schedule waiting for you to return kitten."

Heavily Yearning Sylus who would now sleep like a weightless feather beside you, holding you close never wanting to let go, secure, reassured, fulfilled. After all he simply was a man yearning for more of your presence, more of your attention. More of you.

(i love men yearning) (sylus occupies my thoughts lately lolol)

#sylus x y/n #sylus fluff #sylusmc #sylus x you #sylus qin #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #i love him #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads #loveanddeepspace #lads mc #yearning hours #lnds sylus #lnds

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 months ago

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Canada sues Google

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/03/clementsy/#can-tech

For a country obsessed with defining itself as "not America," Canada sure likes to copy US policies, especially the really, really terrible policies – especially the really, really, really terrible digital policies.

In Canada's defense: these terrible US policies are high priority for the US Trade Representative, who leans on Canadian lawmakers to ensure that any time America decides to collectively jump off the Empire State Building, Canadian politicians throw us all off the CN Tower. And to Canada's enduring shame, the USTR never has to look very hard to find a lickspittle who's happy to sell Canadians out.

Take anti-circumvention. In 1998, Bill Clinton signed the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, a gnarly hairball of copyright law whose Section 1201 bans reverse-engineering for any purpose. Under DMCA 1201, "access controls" for copyrighted works are elevated to sacred status, and it's a felony (punishable by a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine) to help someone bypass these access controls.

That's pretty esoteric, even today, and in 1998, it was nearly incomprehensible, except to a small group of extremely alarmed experts who ran around trying to explain to lawmakers why they should not vote for this thing. But by the time Tony Clement and James Moore (Conservative ministers in the Harper regime) introduced a law to import America's stupidest tech idea and paste it into Canada's lawbooks in 2012, the evidence against anti-circumvention was plain for anyone to see.

Under America's anti-circumvention law, any company that added an "access control" to its products instantly felonised any modification to that product. For example, it's not illegal to refill an ink cartridge, but it is illegal to bypass the access control that gets the cartridge to recognise that it's full and start working again. It's not illegal for a Canadian software developer to sell a Canadian Iphone owner an app without cutting Apple in for a 30% of the sale, but it is illegal to mod that Iphone so that it can run apps without downloading them from the App Store first. It's not illegal for a Canadian mechanic to fix a Canadian's car, but it is illegal for that mechanic to bypass the access controls that prevent third-party mechanics from decrypting the error codes the car generates.

We told Clement and Moore about this, and they ignored us. Literally: when they consulted on their proposal in 2010, we filed 6,138 comments explaining why this was a bad idea, while only 53 parties wrote in to support it. Moore publicly announced that he was discarding the objections, on the grounds that they had come from "babyish" "radical extremists":

https://www.cbc.ca/news/science/copyright-debate-turns-ugly-1.898216

For more than a decade, we've had Clement and Moore's Made-in-America law tied to our ankles. Even when Canada copies some good ideas from the US (by passing a Right to Repair law), or even some very good ideas of its own (passing an interoperability law), Canadians can't use those new rights without risking prosecution under Clement and Moore's poisoned gift to the nation:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

"Not America" is a pretty thin basis for a political identity anyway. There's nothing wrong with copying America's good ideas (like Right to Repair). Indeed, when it comes to tech regulation, the US has had some bangers lately, like prosecuting US tech giants for violating competition law. Given that Canada overhauled its competition law this year, the country's well-poised to tackle America's tech giants.

Which is exactly what's happening! Canada's Competition Bureau just filed a lawsuit against Google over its ad-tech monopoly, which isn't merely a big old Privacy Chernobyl, but is also a massively fraudulent enterprise that rips off both advertisers and publishers:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/canadas-antitrust-watchdog-sues-google-alleging-anti-competitive-conduct-2024-11-28/

The ad-tech industry scoops up about 51 cents out of every dollar (in the pre-digital advertising world the net take by ad agencies was more like 15%). Fucking up Google's ad-tech rip off is a much better way to Canada's press paid than the link tax the country instituted in 2023:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

After all, what tech steals from the news isn't content (helping people find the news and giving them a forum to discuss it is good) – tech steals news's money. Ad-tech is a giant ripoff. So is the app tax – the 30% Canadian newspapers have to kick up to the Google and Apple crime families every time a subscriber renews their subscriptions in an app. Using Canadian law to force tech to stop stealing the press's money is a way better policy than forcing tech to profit-share with the news. For tech to profit-share with the news, it has to be profitable, meaning that a profit-sharing press benefits from tech's most rapacious and extractive conduct, and rather than serving as watchdogs, they're at risk of being cheerleaders.

Smashing tech power is a better policy than forcing tech to share its stolen loot with newspapers. For one thing, it gets government out of the business of deciding what is and isn't a legit news entity. Maybe you're OK with Trudeau making that call (though I'm not), but how will you feel when PM Polievre decides that Great Replacement-pushing, conspiracy-addled far right rags should receive a subsidy?

Taking on Google is a slam-dunk, not least because the US DoJ just got through prosecuting the exact same case, meaning that Canadian competition enforcers can do some good copying of their American counterparts – like, copying the exhibits, confidential memos, and successful arguments the DoJ brought before the court:

https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/justice-department-sues-google-monopolizing-digital-advertising-technologies

Indeed, this already a winning formula! Because Big Tech commits the same crimes in every jurisdiction, trustbusters are doing a brisk business by copying each others' cases. The UK Digital Markets Unit released a big, deep market study into Apple's app market monopoly, which the EU Commission used as a roadmap to bring a successful case. Then, competition enforcers in Japan and South Korea recycled the exhibits and arguments from the EU's case to bring their own successful prosecutions:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

Canada copying the DoJ's ad-tech case is a genius move – it's the kind of south-of-the-border import that Canadians need. Though, of course, it's a long shot that the Trump regime will produce much more worth copying. Instead, Trump has vowed to slap a 25% tariff on Canadian goods as of January 20.

Which is bad news for Canada's export sector, but it definitely means that Canada no longer has to worry about keeping the US Trade Rep happy. Repealing Clement and Moore's Bill C-11 should be Parliament's first order of business. Tariff or no tariff, Canadian tech entrepreneurs could easily export software-based repair diagnostic tools, Iphone jailbreaking tooks, alternative firmware for tractors and medical implants, and alternative app stores for games consoles, phones and tablets. So long as they can accept a US payment, they can sell to US customers. This is a much bigger opportunity than, say, selling cheap medicine to Americans trying to escape Big Pharma's predation.

What's more, there's no reason this couldn't be policy under Polievre and the Tories. After all, they're supposed to be the party of "respect for private property." What could be more respectful of private property than letting the owners of computers, phones, cars, tractors, printers, medical implants, smart speakers and anything else with a microchip decide for themselves how they want to it work? What could be more respectful of copyright than arranging things so that Canadian copyright holders – like a games studio or an app company – can sell their copyrighted works to Canadian buyers, without forcing the data and the payment to make a round trip through Silicon Valley and come back 30% lighter?

Canadian politicians have bound the Canadian public and Canadian industry to onerous and expensive obligations under treaties like the USMCA (AKA NAFTA2), on promise of tariff-free access to American markets. With that access gone, why on Earth would we continue to voluntarily hobble ourselves?

#pluralistic #link tax #big tech #corruption #canpoli #cdnpoli #monopolies #ad-tech #publishing #canada #competition bureau #usmca #nafta #anticircumvention #r2r #right to repair #interoperability

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mariasont · 4 months ago

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bimbo!assistant!reader masterlist

smut = ✧ clean (ish) = ♡ angst = ✩

newest to oldest

♡ hot seat, hotter mouth bimbo!reader convinces hotch to take a polygraph test

✧ priorities and pretty things your beauty routine is sacred, but so is aaron's favorite way to decompress. looks like tonight you'll have to manage both

✧♡ just the tip(s) aaron learns the hard way that upping your maintenance allowance has unexpected, explicit perks. especially when you insist on showcasing your newest investment while he's stuck miles away.

✩♡ collagen crisis skincare fixes a lot of things, but it won't stop you from spiraling over how much older aaron looks since he started dating you

♡ peak ovulation bimbo!assistant!reader's period tracker warns you to avoid attractive men today. you failed spectacularly.

♡ bought & paid for you push hotch's buttons just to see how far you can take it, and today, you finally find out

✧ third date rule the third date rule proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together

♡ hot & bothered (no, like, literally, you have a fever) bimbo!assistant!reader is feverish, clingy & just a little delirious, except, not too delirious to shamelessly flirt with your very attractive, very exasperated boyfriend.

♡ red flags & pink-colored glasses hotch shouldn't be at this bar, shouldn't be watching bimbo!assistant!reader while you dance in that too-short dress and he definitely shouldn't be the one trying to teach you a lesson about bad men, not when he's fighting every instinct to be one.

♡ cuddle retention program it’s valentine’s day and all bimbo!assistant!reader wants is for hotch to stay in bed a litttttleeee longer

✧ space between distraction & indulgence bimbo!assistant reader want's aaron attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want

♡ house rules bimbo!asssitant!reader hasn't been answering her phone all day, hotch needs her to clarify something about a case report, or at least that's what he tells himself when he shows up at her house

✧ laced with love hotch is away on a case and insists you spend his money while he's gone, so you spend it on something you both enjoy later

♡ the funny thing about him the team thinks it's absurd that bimbo!assistant!reader finds hotch hilarious

♡ smiling like a fool hotch is the one making bimbo!assistant!reader flustered for once

♡ business of making babies bimbo!assistant!reader gets hotch worked up at the casual mention of kids

♡ rainy with a chance of hotch bimbo!assistant!reader gets caught in the rain

♡ talk about a bad date bimbo!assistant!reader went on a shitty ass date and calls hotch to her rescue

♡ training day bimbo!assistant!reader doesn't understand why hotch is giving her training lessons, but apparently he thinks she needs it

♡ good luck charm bimbo!assistant!reader is gone for the morning and leaves hotch a couple sticky notes

♡ jealousy, jealousy a witness flirts with hotch and bimbo!assistant!reader thinks that hotch is reciprocating

♡ semantics bimbo!assistant!reader flirts with an officer that has been driving hotch mad all day

♡ strawberry wine hotch is a lot more flirty when he's got some alcohol in him (bimbo!assistant!reader)

♡ my boss won’t be happy about this bimbo!assistant!reader is wrongfully arrested and hotch is not happy about it

♡ my assistant bimbo!assistant!reader can't reach a book so hotch helps you out

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 2 years ago

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A Sting in the Way You Kiss Me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Poorly written, raunchy smut, Dom/sub dynamic, p in v, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), prostate stimulation

Summary: You and Daryl take the next step in your relationship. And it’s a big step.

A/N: Lawd, this took forever! I’m not 100% happy with it but happy enough to call it complete. I think I like Sub!Daryl. I’m sleepy now so I’ll proofread and fix errors tomorrow.

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Daryl Dixon made you feel powerful.

Given his nature, you could never be sure if it was intentional. From day one at the quarry, he was rude, standoffish, and vulgar. You found him difficult to tolerate, but hey, you didn’t get to choose the people with which you had survived an apocalypse. It was a random twist of fate that had brought you all together. Better to just make the best of it.

So, you did. You made it a priority to get to know everyone in your group, saving the Dixons for last. Merle, you quickly surmised as a lost cause. Women, to him, were meek and fruitless, destined to die without a big strong man to ensure they were protected, fed, and bred like cattle to repopulate the earth.

You found Daryl to be a tad more reserved. He only offered his opinion—usually loudly and to include several swears—when the conversation revolved around an important topic that would directly affect him or his brother. He otherwise attempted very hard to keep to himself. So when you began to follow him around, he naturally bucked against the idea. Still, you saw potential there and persevered.

You took an interest in the things he was doing, namely hunting and trapping. He was a skilled tracker and a marksman with his crossbow. You started small, asking how the weapon worked. He had been skeptical and scrutinized you for sincerity, all with a glower in the span of five minutes. It was only uphill from there.

When Daryl began to teach you his trades, he made sure you learned by doing. His only praise for getting something right was usually a curt nod and a “that’ll do.” By giving you weapons, having you track a buck that would feed the group for days, spear a fish, and skin and clean your own kills, he had put power in your hands. He had single-handedly molded you into a force that could survive in the new world.

When it came to walkers, Daryl somehow knew things that others didn’t. “S’gotta be the brain! Don’t ya’ll know nothin’?!” You knew. Thanks to him. You had spent a lot of time in the woods, the perfect place to learn how to take down the undead. It was virtually impossible for them to sneak up on you. Too many ways to make noise if you weren’t actively trying to be silent. Once again, a weapon had been placed in your hand and you were thrown to the wolves…erm…walkers. The difference between this and hunting, you noticed, was that Daryl was never too far away with his own weapon ready. He knew how to make you feel independent without wagering your safety.

The months and tragedies continued to pass slowly, each profound in their own way. Surviving was top priority and to continue to do so as time marched on became more and more of a victory. You lost people and homes, each leaving a mark on your soul that would never be erased, chipping away at your humanity bit by bit. Surprisingly, it was Daryl who kept you grounded.

By the time you arrived in Alexandria, things between you and the archer had evolved into something just short of a romantic relationship. You had been sharing space with him for months now, falling asleep warm in his arms every night. You would show him affection in front of your friends and, though he scowled and grumbled, he accepted it. Kisses alternated between slow and passionate and long and needy, each accompanied by intimate touches that never seemed to go far enough.

Today, you had been helping him with the bike Aaron had gifted him to keep him busy. He had shown you back at the prison how to make repairs, along with the correct name and function of each part. He was sitting beside you while you both diagnosed what could be causing the thing to sputter and die randomly. Your eyes were drawn to his muscles when he would tighten a bolt, and more than once, you had caught his gaze roaming up the length of your bare legs until he reached the hem of your shorts and quickly looked away.

It was becoming a problem. An absolute dilemma that was resulting in a pulsing, wet need between your thighs. You chose to ignore it and focus your energy on the task at hand. Daryl, however, decided that he needed the wrench that just happened to currently reside between your lower thighs. When he reached for it, you were unprepared and reacted instinctively. You smacked the back of his hand before you even realized you had moved. He pulled back the limb with surprising quickness, wide blue eyes zeroing in on the red welt that began to form just below his knuckles.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” The words tumbled out of your mouth as you grabbed his hand to inspect it yourself. He let you pull it closer even though it meant he had to lean forward awkwardly. Your fingers brushed over the irritated flesh and before you could stop yourself, you pressed your lips to the mark you had left. A chance look from under your lashes showed he still wore the wide eyes, but the brilliant blue was merely a thin ring around his dilated pupils.

‘Oh.’ Could it really be? You had honestly thought Daryl just wasn’t into sex since the world ended. He had never made a move, never given you any indication that he was waiting for you to make one. Sure, your make-out sessions would get pretty heated, but honestly, things were always too hectic or dangerous for anything more. Maybe, just maybe, now that your family was safe behind the walls here…

You knew Daryl had lovers in the past. It was a topic of conversation once during a night watch before the prison had fallen. Your head was on his shoulder as you recounted — in more detail than he had liked, if his growls and grunts had been anything to go by — your average-size list. When it had been his turn, he hadn’t been as forthcoming as you but you at least surmised that he knew his way around a pussy if ever the opportunity presented itself.

On a whim, you flipped his hand and let your lips whisper over his wrist next, drawing up your legs to sit on your knees. He still didn’t stop you while you moved up his arm with hot, open-mouthed kisses and kitten licks. Eventually, you needed to skip over his clothed shoulder (for now) and his neck became your next target. He leaned back slightly when you threw a leg over both of his to straddle him, unleashing an onslaught of attention over his carotid pulse. His breath hitched, his palms hovering over your hips but seemingly not yet willing to touch you. You would use that to your advantage at some point.

Salt, smoke, and earth were mingling on your tongue. “I like how you taste.” You whispered in his ear, smiling against his skin when you felt him shiver. You leaned back to bring your face in front of his, fingers grabbing his chin when he started to look away. “I think we need to go to your room.” He swallowed hard, his Adam's Apple bobbing.

You stood straight up from where you were on his lap, leaving your feet on either side of his hips and the apex of your thighs directly in front of his face. Once again, he tried to look away. “Don’t.” You ordered before you thought better of it. To your surprise, he stopped short and turned back, even as he scowled from being bossed around. ‘Oh.’ The things he told you without saying a word. “Don’t keep me waiting, Dixon.” You stepped back and then over, swaying your hips more deliberately than usual as you exited the garage.

You didn’t turn to see if he would follow. If you were reading him right, he would.

And you were about to have the time of your life.

Entering the home you, Daryl, and Carol shared, you passed the staircase that led up to your room and stepped into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. You probably had a good ten minutes before Daryl would stop pacing the front porch and actually come inside.

Descending the stairs from the kitchen, you opened the basement door and flipped the light switch. Even though you had separate rooms, you spent more time in his room than your own. The things you used most were down there. You slept there. Nothing was really going to change if this happened, right?

Pursing your lips, you shook the thoughts away and placed the water on the nightstand, twisting the switch on the small bedside lamp. After you turned off the overhead light, satisfied with the subtle glow left behind, you grabbed the bottom of your shirt, pausing just before you were going to lift it over your head. No. You’d stay dressed for now. Your boots came off, along with your socks, and you sat on the edge of the mattress and waited. Sure enough, after a little less than ten minutes, you heard the slow, heavy footfalls descending the stairs.

He must have needed another moment because there was a silent span of about fifteen seconds before the door slowly opened and Daryl entered, already gnawing on his thumbnail.

“Hi.” You beamed, crossing your legs and leaning back. The bowman nodded minutely, looking so adorably uncomfortable that you came close to calling the whole thing off. You did need to ensure this is what he wanted. If it wasn’t, you could live without it. You had him and he would always be enough.

When he closed the door and didn’t take another step, you rose to your feet and walked toward him, adding that extra sway to your hips. It was a pleasure in and of itself to watch him watching you. When you were close enough, you started by pushing the open vest off his shoulders, smiling when he dropped his hand from his mouth to let the garment fall from his arms to the floor.

“Daryl.” You purred his name, and his eyes found yours instantly. “I need you to answer some things for me, and I need you to use words.” You worked at the buttons of his shirt agonizingly slow. “Can you do that for me?” He nodded. You shook your head and tutted. “Words, Dixon.”

“Yeah.” He answered immediately in a quiet tone.

“Do you want me?” A button came free.

“Yeah.”

“Do you know that I want you?” Another.

“Yeah.”

“Will you let me be in control tonight?” Your fingers paused when he hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“Yeah.” He may have hesitated but his answer sounded certain.

You smiled. “I’m going to give you a safe word. If at any time, you’re uncomfortable or you need or even just want me to stop, do you promise me you will say that word?” Another button opened. You had zero intention of going very far, but it would never hurt to establish rules when you wanted so badly to play with him. And he was letting you. You feared getting carried away in the heat of the moment, and his safety and comfort were the most important thing in the world to you.

Daryl inhaled sharply and nodded, following quickly with a mumbled “yeah.”

“And if at any time, you can’t speak and want me to stop, will you double tap somewhere on my body to let me know?”

“Yeah.”

“Good boy.” You felt his sharp inhale beneath your fingers while you finished with the buttons, opening the shirt but not removing it. You could see a few of his scars like this. Not wanting him to grow self-conscious, you stepped into him, tracing one with a gentle fingertip only to follow with your lips. “You’re beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?” Daryl shook his head. “Daryl.”

“No.” He whispered.

“Well, you are.” You let your finger continue upward to stroke his jaw before abruptly turning away. “First thing’s first.” When you reached the bed, you turned back to him. “The safe word is chupacabra.” A flicker of annoyance was immediate in his eyes. “Say it.” Your tone remained no-nonsense.

“Safe word’s chupacabra.” He drawled, trying not to sneer.

“And what do you do if you need to stop and you can’t speak?”

“Tap on ya twice.” The archer replied almost immediately.

You cocked a brow at him. “Good. I need you to understand that I will never be upset or disappointed if you need things to stop. Ever.”

“Alright.”

You smiled at him fondly. “Good. Now, come over here and undress me.” There was that hesitation again as his eyes raked over your body, pausing at every curve just long enough to let you know he was appreciating what he saw. Finally, he stepped toward you. Once he had reached you, he again paused. You let him. He had touched every part of you before through your clothes. This was the first time he would see you bare.

After a few moments, he reached for the bottom of your shirt while you raised your arms above your head. The garment was pulled from you and tossed aside. Your bra wasn’t anything special. Something you had grabbed on a run a few months back; white and at least one cup size too small. You decided to do this part for him, unfastening the clasp at your back and removing the thing yourself. Daryl didn’t seem to mind, his gaze lingering on the newly exposed skin. Men and boobs, a tale as old as time.

“Shorts.” You stated simply, a smirk firmly plastered on your face when he snapped out his daze and met your eyes. There was a slight tremble to his hands as he reached for the button, his eyes narrowed. You watched him and he watched what he was doing. Button open, he dragged down the zipper, and his eyes flickered up to yours. You gave him a nod.

His thick fingers dipped inside the waistband at both hips, but just as he started to pull, you interjected. “Panties, too.” You heard the shaky inhale as he adjusted his hold to grip your underwear as well, lowering to one knee as he pulled both garments down your legs. They were quickly shed and kicked to the side and your hand found the top of his head when he made to stand. “I think I like you there.”

Daryl tilted back his head to see you, taking the hint and lowering his other leg so he was fully kneeled.

“Good boy.” You breathed, feeling a pulse between your legs. You had wanted to do a few other things with him before really jumping into the fun bits but your needy cunt simply would not be denied. The mattress dipped as you sat in front of him, spreading your legs in an obscene display just to gauge his reaction. The blush that crept across his cheeks should have been adorable but only served to stoke your arousal. “Come here, Daryl.” A few feet separated the two of you, so it was only natural for him to assume you wanted him to stand.

That isn’t what you wanted at all.

“I didn’t say get up.”

The archer paused halfway. The look he sent you had you wondering if this was where he would end this game. He’d say ‘fuck this’ and do things his way, pounding into you until you were red and sore and screaming his name through your release. The thought was appealing.

You arched a brow when he lowered back to his knees, a quiet curse on his lips. Would he do it? The minute he leaned forward to place one palm against the floor, you thought you might cum then and there. Daryl Dixon was crawling toward you because you told him to.

He stopped just short of your spread knees, one of your legs coming up to rest on his shoulder. He looked over at it but quickly turned back to you.

“Closer.” As soon as you could, you started digging your heel into his back, urging him onward until his warm breath was wafting over your core. You bit your lip, reminding yourself of the role you were playing. Your first instinct was to beg him to touch you. No, not tonight. He’d have his turn. The thought of Daryl taking charge sent another sharp pang of arousal straight to your center, your cunt clenching around nothing. The way his eyes left your face and focused on the wet mess between your legs confirmed that he had noticed. You had to reel this in if you wanted to continue. Clearing your throat, you placed your other leg across his other shoulder. “I can’t decide if I want to feel your mouth on me or those fingers inside of me.”

You tapped your chin, feigning deep thought. You had every intention of utilizing both of those delicious options. Dropping your hand, you rested back on your elbows. “Let’s see how good you are with your tongue first.” Daryl gave you a look that would have melted your panties clean off had you still been wearing them. Goddamn, he was handsome, even more so when he was showing some confidence.

Before your mask had a chance to slip, you felt his fingers spread you open but dare not venture between your lips. Blue orbs stayed on you when he leaned in and pressed his tongue flat against you, dragging it from opening to clit before pulling back to repeat it. The second drag ended with the tip swirling around your bundle of nerves. Sparks of pleasure jolted from where he touched you. You could feel it coursing through your veins like lightning, burrowing deep in your lower belly.

He paid special attention to your clit, taking his sweet time alternating between flicks and swirls of his tongue to gentle sucking to grazing his teeth over it with just enough pressure to make your head fall back and your fingers tangle in his hair. Then he moved down, lapping at your opening with the same attentiveness, the wet slurps and appreciative hums pulling the knot inside you tight. When he dipped his tongue inside, pumping in, out, in and then wiggling it against your inner walls, you were already close to orgasm, panting and pulling against his scalp helplessly.

He was moving back toward your clit and you knew if he made contact, you would spiral. Not a satisfaction you were ready to relinquish to him. “Stop!” You ordered breathlessly. He almost didn’t, the brat. His breath hit hard against the sensitive nub but he didn’t touch it. “I want your fingers inside me.” You kept your head back, staring at the ceiling. “Nowhere else.” Your climax had receded but it wouldn’t take much to call it back.

You never had a problem cumming from penetration only, but it took time and effort. It would give you a moment of reprieve to gather yourself and draw this out a little longer.

Or would it?

You were wet enough for his middle finger to easily slip inside, the feeling of your walls pulling him in further earning a drawn out moan from somewhere deep in your chest. You raised your head to look down the length of your body. Thank whatever deity that Daryl was watching his digit move in and out of you instead of meeting your eyes. He felt so fucking good.

Your legs pulled toward you, leaving your ankles balancing on his shoulders and your thighs opening further. You couldn’t fucking help it. “Another.” You demanded and he immediately obliged, drawing his finger nearly all the way out so that his index finger could join the onslaught. “Mmm, so good,” You praised. Your hips began to roll in time with the slow thrusts of his hand, the hot coil that was low in your belly getting tighter and tighter.

The sounds that filled the room were a testament to just how soaked you were, and they were only becoming more prominent. It was no longer about how long you could keep this up. Your body ached for release, your mind too clouded in a euphoric fog to care.

“Make me cum.” You looked down again and his eyes met yours as he lowered his head, drawing your clit into his mouth. He sucked the swollen bundle and flicked it with the tip of his tongue, his fingers curling each time they pushed inside of you and tapped that sweet, soft spot that had your toes beginning to curl.

“Yes, yes, right there. Don’t stop!” And he didn’t. He increased his efforts, humming around your clit. “I’m gonna cum!” You had no more than uttered the words when the coil inside you snapped and released wave after wave of intense pleasure; a wildfire of sensation burning through you while you cried out his name and pinned him against you with your thighs. Daryl didn’t let up, collecting all you offered as your cunt pulsed around his fingers.

“Shit,” you murmured, your body going limp. Fingers carded through the archer’s hair while he pulled free from within you. He directed the digits toward his lips. “Let me.” The command came out breathless and shaky, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Daryl appeared almost sad that he was losing that last taste of you, but he did as he was told and leaned forward to press his fingertips to your bottom lip. You sucked both digits into your mouth, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Goddamn.”

Your eyes peeled open to find the bowman watching you intently, those blue pools brimming with desire. You smirked and made a show out of opening your mouth and letting your tongue sweep across his skin, gathering every drop of your nectar. The man looked as if he was going to jump your bones. He was trembling from restraint, among other things, you were quite sure. With a hum, you pulled your mouth away.

“Stand up.” The authoritative tone was back now that you were focused on a new goal. Daryl blinked, arousal replaced with irritation. His scowl deepened but once again, he obeyed. Rising up onto your elbows, you watched him stand, flexing his fingers at his sides. Using the ball of your foot, you pressed into his groin, against his obvious desire. The archer hissed through his teeth but he dared not move.

“Take off your clothes, Daryl.”

A smile crept across your face at how quickly he began following that command. His shirt was shrugged off in seconds and you couldn’t even be sure when his boots and socks had been removed, but you pressed your foot into him again when he reached for his belt. He stopped with a grunt.

“Slower.”

If looks could kill, you’d soon be a walker. His hair blew away from his eyes with each hard exhale through his nose. Once again, you wondered if this was where your fun would end. And once again, he surprised you and began to follow your instructions. Your foot fell away once he had worked the belt loose and popped open the button. Your eyes tracked the downfall of the zipper, only barely concealing your excitement.

His pants fell first and the regret of not demanding he remove those and his boxer- briefs simultaneously was immediate. Though his underwear left very little to the imagination in his current state. You met his eyes for a moment and raised a brow to urge him onward.

“Don’t get shy on me now, Dixon.” You teased. Moving up onto your knees at the edge of the mattress, you barely waited until the last garment was kicked aside before your hands were on him. You wanted this experience to be positive for him, and while you had so, so much planned for him tonight, taking a moment to just appreciate how stunning he was wouldn’t hurt. Your lips found the skin just above his clavicle, sucking gently.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” You whispered before dragging your tongue up the length of his neck to his jaw. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re real. And you’re mine.” Your hand wrapped around his cock just as your mouth pressed against his, allowing you to swallow the delicious whimper he offered at the new contact. You kept your grip loose, pumping him at a tortuously slow pace. His mouth fell open and gave you the opportunity to delve inside with your tongue, tangling it with his when he responded to the advance. His breath between the intricate dances of your mouths had begun to pick up, an excellent moment for you to pull away completely. Your cunt clenched in response to the whine he emitted. “Be a good boy and sit down for me.”

Daryl moved a little more slowly now, almost cautiously, watching you when you crawled up to the top of the bed to grab both of your pillows. Your feet met the floor just as he sat down. You circled around to stand in front of him, lifting your foot and wedging it between his knees. “Open up, pretty boy.” The archer snorted quietly as he complied. The pillows fell between his feet with a quiet sound, and then your knees dropped onto them. You wiggled a bit to get comfortable and looked up to find him watching with his head tilted and a dark brow arched. “What? I’m shorter than you.”

His mouth formed a silent “oh” and he nodded. The adorable moment almost had you forgetting your role, but you were able to rein in your adoration just before the giggle could bubble up. To bring things back into perspective for him, you raised your hand and whispered the tip of your finger along the vein winding up the underside of his cock. There was a choked off sound, his hands balling into fists on his thighs. You splayed open the fingers of the same hand across his chest and gave a gentle push.

“Lie back.”

There was a deep, steadying breath and then he did as you ordered. Your fingers laced through his on both hands and moved them to the mattress, out of your way but still within sight.

“These stay here.” You commanded without a single centimeter of room for argument. You felt him shifting and just knew he was nodding. “Words, baby boy.” You chose that exact moment to wrap your soft palm around the base of his dick.

“Yes.” He finally answered in a rush of breath. You weren’t certain if he was responding to your words or your touch but decided to forego clarification. He wasn’t going to last long, so you were ready to play with him through that first release. Then your needy cunt could finally get its fill of him.

“So good for me.” You purred. You pushed yourself away from sitting on your heels, bringing you just where you wanted to be. You released him quickly, rewarded instantly with him rising onto his elbows to see what was happening. The urge to reprimand was forced down. This was your first time with him and his first time allowing this. If he felt better watching, you’d let him.

For now.

Palm open, you dragged your tongue from wrist to fingertip, your lustful gaze never leaving his face. The way he watched you sent a surge of wetness dripping from your core. God, you couldn’t wait to fuck him. First thing was first, though. Your hand met his cock again, warm and wet and stroking from base to tip, a twist, and back down. He couldn’t watch you after all. You nearly laughed when he collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan.

Movement in your peripheral had you looking to find his hands returning to where you had placed them. He must have realized he had moved them when he sat up. As a reward, you pumped him a bit faster. When you saw his chest heaving but heard nothing more than the harsh breaths, you found yourself pouting before remembering the power you had.

“You’re so quiet, baby. Don’t you wanna let me know that it feels good?”

He didn’t respond at first, and you wondered briefly if pushing him would be the right thing when he was such a quiet person to begin with. He had taken a lot of shit from you already and this just might be the straw that broke the camel’s back. So, you just moved on with your delectable torture.

Your pace slowed significantly. There was no time for him to investigate, though. Your lips were immediately wrapping around his tip, sucking lightly and lapping at the opening to gather the sweet little drops of pre-cum. Oh, were you rewarded for that move.

His fists white-knuckled the sheets, a guttural moan working its way past his lips. It was the absolute sexiest sound you had ever heard in your life. You closed your own eyes in restraint, almost cumming on the spot. You had to keep moving. Sudden pauses might have him second guessing what he had just done and you most certainly did not want that. He needed to make that noise. Often.

Swirling your tongue around the tip, you pulled him back into the warm cavern of your mouth. This time, your hand slid down the length of him, followed by your lips. He pressed against the back of your throat and had you cursing your gag reflex when you couldn’t hold him there long. It didn’t matter to him, apparently. The simple move had his back arching and his cock twitching against your tongue as you dragged your way back up.

You bobbed your head several more times, delighted in the way he began to writhe and twist the sheets in his fists. You gave him no warning and pulled off with a wet ‘pop’. There was that whine again that had your nethers pulsing.

“Look at me.” You ordered with an authoritative edge to your tone. Daryl lifted his head, still panting through parted lips. “I want to try something. I hope it will make you feel good. But I need you to know that if it doesn’t, you can stop me. Remember what I said. I won’t be upset. Okay?”

He nodded but followed it with a breathless “okay.”

“Such a good boy.” You kissed the weeping tip of his cock, parting your lips to pull him back into your warm wetness. With your hand and mouth stroking him at a steady pace, you knew he was ready to fall apart within moments. His cock began to twitch every few heartbeats. His breathing was uneven and shallow. He was a complete mess and you couldn’t seem to get enough.

You used your other hand to cup his balls, not remaining there long. They were a marker so you could find just the right spot. Starting at the base of his scrotum, you applied gentle but firm pressure, dragging the pads of your middle and index finger back and forth to massage his perineum, stimulating his prostate from the outside. Every ‘ah, ah, ah’ he fed you in response to the new sensation was a sound straight to your pussy. He definitely liked what you were doing.

Once again, however, your greedy little cunt couldn’t be ignored, begging to be stretched and filled. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked hard, your mouth squeezing him all the way up and off. Your tongue slithered out to break the string of saliva that stretched from your lips to the head of his dick. “Mmm, I think that’s enough of that, pretty boy.”

“Y/N.” He whined, keeping his hands right where you had placed them.

“You’ve been so good for me, baby. Move to the middle of the bed.” He complied in eager yet jerky movements, lust blown eyes on your every move as you followed him up. You stopped with your hot center hovering over his groin. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of me and you.” You lowered, grinding against and soaking his cock with your slick. “I want you inside of me. Would you like that?”

“Yeah.” Daryl reached for you but thought better of it and put his hands back on the mattress.

“Look at you. Wanting your hands on me so badly.” You moaned as the tip of him slid over your clit, providing the friction you so desperately craved. “But waiting for permission. Would you beg for it? To be inside me?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. Had you found the limit to how far you could push him? You drove your hips down harder, shifting back and forth, and he pressed his head into the pillow with a hiss.

“Beg me for it. Beg me because I want it just as badly as you do, but you have to be a good boy.” His heart thudded wildly beneath your palm as you caressed the muscular plane of his chest, his muscles twitching and contracting when you scraped your nails over his abdomen. “Beg and I’ll let you touch me.” You dipped toward him, letting your hard nipples touch his heated skin while your lips sucked at the hollow of his throat. “I want to feel you moving inside me, filling me up, Daryl. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Y-yeah.”

You sat up, going completely still. “Then beg.”

You watched as the defiance left his eyes, replaced by pure, unadulterated need. His fingers flexed in the disheveled sheets, his jaw clenching and ticking with how hard he ground his teeth. You smiled as desire beat out pride.

“Fuck, please, Y/N. Wanna touch ya. Wanna—wanna fuck ya. Need ya bad!” His expression morphed into something akin to desperation. “Please!”

“You can touch me.”

He didn’t wait, large hands grabbing your hips; spreading his fingers as he dragged calloused palms up your sides to cup your breasts. You couldn’t help the hitch in your breath when he pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers.

“Wanna be inside ya.” He breathed, one hand traveling upward from the swell of your chest. For a moment, you thought he might wrap it around your throat. The thought of him choking you was delicious, sending a warm gush of arousal from your cunt to coat his groin. He groaned and pushed his hips up into you.

“No.” You breathed. “Be good for me and I’ll give you what you want.”

“M’good—let me fuck ya. Please, Y/N.”

You hummed, more than satisfied, bending forward to drag your tongue from his chin to his lips. He opened eagerly, his own dipping into your mouth to taste you with abandon. You reached between your bodies, keeping your mouths connected, and positioned him at your entrance.

“Let me take care of you, baby.” Every syllable was spoken against his mouth, your cunt stretching around him inch by inch, drawing him into your fluttering, wet walls while you swallowed his desperate groans and panting breaths. “Fuck. You feel so good.” You made sure to move slowly, inch by agonizing inch, taking several heartbeats before you had taken all of him.

“God, Y/N.”

“I know, baby.” You were so full, stretched nearly to the point of painful but longing to feel him moving within you. He wouldn’t last long, but you wouldn’t either. You lifted your hips, feeling the drag along your insides in such a way that you needed to bite back a cry. “Oh, god, Daryl.”

His hands settled in a bruising grip on your waist but he didn’t try to move you. You had promised to take care of him and he was letting you. But you couldn’t take it anymore. You began to ride him in earnest, bouncing above him with your head thrown back.

“Goddamn!” He keened through gritted teeth, his eyes screwed shut.

“So—so good.” You felt the heat twisting low in your belly, pooling toward your clit while he throbbed within you. “Touch me, Daryl. I wanna cum with you.” His hands squeezed your hips before he brought one of them to where he was splitting you open, sucking in a sharp breath when his fingertips brushed his cock slipping inside you. He barely had the coherence to drag through your slick up to your clit, but the moment the rough pad of his finger pressed against you, you saw stars.

“M’gonna,” he panted, “gonna cum.”

“Me too.” You leaned forward, shifting into a brutal grind against his pelvis. “Fuck, Daryl!” The logical part of your brain screamed for you to move off of him, that you couldn’t risk him cumming inside you but you were both too far gone.

Your vision whited out just as you heard him shout your name, his finger pressing against your clit harder than you were sure he meant to, but it was just what you needed: that perfect amount of pain to send you toppling over the edge with him. You barely registered the warmth flooding into you with each pulse of his cock. Or the way his hips jerked up while his hand squeezed your hip so tightly that his fingertips turned white.

When you could see, could breathe again, his arms were around you and holding you against him while he struggled to catch his breath.

“Oh my god.” You whispered against his collarbone. You were both covered in sweat, trembling. He was still inside you, drained and softening, when his arms fell away to the mattress. You sat up with a great deal of difficulty, your thighs burning from exertion and your cunt deliciously sore. You’d be feeling this for at least a day or two, and the thought was exhilarating.

You lifted your leg to move away, feeling the mixture of you and him begin to drip out of you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Obviously, he didn’t either, his eyes tracking you until you curled into his side. Sated and tired, you smiled and reached up to brush the damp strands of hair off his forehead, watching his eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

“I’m gonna get something to clean us up, okay? And then we’re gonna drink some water. Then you can go to sleep.” When he didn’t answer, you turned his head to face you with a gentle touch against his jaw. “Are you okay?” Daryl took a deep breath, almost as if he had forgotten to breathe before it. “Use your words, baby.” You kept your tone soft, no longer playing a role. It was just you and Daryl now.

“Yeah, m’okay.” He gave you the smallest lopsided smile and you knew he was still floating in that space between reality and euphoria, absolutely fucked out. You couldn’t stifle your chuckle.

“Alright, just stay awake for just a few more minutes.” You patted his chest and then climbed out of bed to fetch a damp cloth. Daryl struggled but he managed to stay awake. He was silent as you worked, wiping away the mess on both your bodies. The sheets would need washed but that was not a problem you’d solve tonight. “Okay, baby, just drink some water for me and we can go to sleep.” If he had any objections to the pet name being used outside of sex, he didn’t voice them.

It took him a moment and a bit of struggling but he managed to rise up onto one arm, letting you tilt the water bottle to his lips for a few long swallows. Then he collapsed back onto the mattress. You drained the bottle and placed it on the bedside table, climbing out of bed one last time to fetch your pillows. The archer was out by the time you returned only a few short seconds later.

You grabbed the duvet and pulled it up over both your bodies before curling into his side, smiling when he unconsciously pulled you closer and pressed a sleepy kiss against your forehead. He was done for then, breathing deep and even, sound asleep.

You watched him until your own eyes could no longer stay open, a muttered “goodnight, pretty boy” before you fell asleep to the thoughts of next time, when he’d be in charge.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead #daryl dixon x female reader #sub daryl dixon #sub daryl #dom reader #dom fem reader #Spotify

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etfrin · 1 year ago

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❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter nine | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | Coriolanus, hints of somnophilia/non-con [spoiler! Coriolanus steals some kisses while reader is asleep, and reader kinda does the same] | lmk if I missed anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coriolanus leaves you to check out the arena, the night before the games and... WELL... WELL... you find him!

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 for those who asked, i tried my best to deliver, please give me your feedback and reblog! Thank you!

Beta read by the FABULOUS @nowitsmissing

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Coriolanus Snow left you alone. He had to sneak out and check out the arena. The Hunger Games would continue forward. He needed any leverage he could get. Even if it meant to leave your side for the night. He found his clothes in the same bag that you had kept empty of food in. He changed into them.

He bites his lower lip to distract himself from the pain. This was of higher priority. He could rest when he wins. At least, that's what he tells himself as he finishes buttoning off his shirt. Before he could walk out of the room, he leaned down. Your eyelashes were big up close, and so, so enchanting. He felt annoyed that he noticed such a minuscule thing. It was not of importance how long or short your eyelashes are, they added to your beauty.

He couldn't talk himself out of it, he pressed his lips to yours. Your lips were soft. Your lips were perfect. Your lips were poisonous, and addicting because how could he ever stop himself after he already had a taste? So he pressed another kiss to your lips, a bit harder than the previous peck. He pulls away with a gasp and swallows his shame roughly.

“I'll be back,” he whispered to you before he pressed another kiss, unable to stop himself. There was nothing friendly about this. This was a man at the edge of the cliff, one more step and he would fall into a pit of obsession. Nobody can drag him out of it. He barely stops himself from stealing another kiss from you. He forces his legs to walk away from you, it pained him more than any of his physical wounds.

The security around the arena was nonexistent, each peacekeeper in guard sleeping. He slipped right in, checking out the debris. The middle of the arena had huge blocks of fallen pieces of debris, all the weapons will be placed there tomorrow. He checked out around the area and found tunnels to go under and even a vent to hide in.

He turned around ready to leave and relay all of this to Lucy Gray Baird. However, an uncharacteristic yell leaves his lips as he sees you. Your arms are crossed in front of your chest and your face in a frown. So unlike how he left you on the bed resting. He swallows and wonders briefly if you informed anyone of his breaking. He was also curious about how you found him.

It's not like he has a tracker on him, right?

“How did you find me here?” He asked, nervous and tried not to fidget too much.

“I just thought ‘What is the most stupid thing Coriolanus can do?’” your voice turns sarcastic, “Surprise! It led me here.”

“Very funny,” he mutters, not amused at all, “And it's Coryo now.”

“You lost your ‘Coryo’ privilege, Snow.”

Guess he will just have to earn it back.

He pouts, knowing exactly why you were mad. But certainly, you could see the reason why he had to leave despite being freshly injured. He had to survey the place! Get leverage! He has to win at all, otherwise, what's the price of his life?

You walked up to him, pulling him down by his shirt collar. His breath hits your lips. And he could kiss you again. Of course, he didn't. He wanted to steal another kiss so bad that a soft nearly audible whisper of your name fills the air.

“You didn't even leave a note or a warning or anything.”

“Sorry,” he whispered, hoping that apologizing despite not regretting his actions would fix everything. Or at least get his nickname privileges back.

You scoff, “You don't even mean it, Coryo.”

You called him Coryo again, he didn't need to mean it. He would take the win. He gives you a small smile. “I am sorry,” he repeated, trying to put some heart into it.

“A liar and a thief,” you whispered, your eyes glinting with an emotion he couldn't decipher, “Truly one of a kind you are, Coriolanus.”

He frowned. He understood the fact he was indeed a liar. But where did the talk of being a thief come from? Before he could question you further about calling him a thief. You begin to drag him back into your car on the cold night. He sits at the window seat in the front, you beside him. He didn't ask if you had a driver's license. He felt like he was better without knowing.

“Was the Zoo the next location?” You asked your tone on edge with leftover anger over his actions.

“Yes,” he replied with the gentlest tone possible, not wanting anything to trigger an eruption. He fidgeted with his hands, wondering why he had come here when he could have used the night to steal kisses instead. When he could have slept with you, his arm around you and your heartbeat matching his. Such an ideal night, and he ruined it.

“So what did you find, pretty boy?” You asked.

He blushed at the nickname you called him. He doesn't give attention to his heated cheeks as he replies rather enthusiastically about everything (not everything, he kept some places a secret, only for Lucy Gray's ears to hear) and strategies (again not all of them).

You even add some pointers along the way. And he enjoyed the conversation thoroughly. He never thought he could connect with you like this, but he couldn't deny that he was happy about it. His lips stretched in a grin as you both discussed plans for Lucy Gray to win.

“Don't you care about Jessup?” He asked, the chain of conversation interrupted because he wasn't the only one with tribute. So why were you helping him?

You looked at him briefly before looking forward again. “You and I both know that poor boy is as good as dead,” you said, your voice hard, “I would rather let you win instead if I am out of the games.”

Coriolanus nods at the answer. That was understandable. “I am sorry,” this time he meant it, “I should have woken you up,” he looked at the window, ashamed, “It was a foolish thing to do to leave you alone without warning.”

“I am glad you have the brains to understand what you did wrong, and the guts to admit it,” you said, and he felt proud like he got the hardest question in an exam right. “You're forgiven as long as you don't do it again.”

He nods but doesn't make any promises. He did what he had to do. He will do it again, and take you as company the next time. That way he's not fucking up.

Soon, the car reaches its destination. He gets out of the car and you decide to stay, parked in front of the zoo gates. He quickly decided to only tell the key points to Lucy Gray because he refused to let you be alone for too long at night.

He walked into the zoo and reached the cage where he called out the Songbirds’ name. Lucy Gray appears before him with a concerned look. “Is everything alright?” She asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed and began to explain. He said not to run towards the weapons first and go to the hiding place. He tells her to wait it out and a few more strategies so she has better chances to survive and he has better chances to win. He doesn't notice Lucy Gray's tears but a sob catches his attention.

He's annoyed because it's time to listen to him and not be a child if she wants to survive tomorrow. Instead, he gives her a handkerchief he found in his pants pocket and hands it to her to wipe away her tears. He softens his tone and speaks slower. Even using easier terms to make it look like child's play.

Lucy Gray nods and agrees to his plans. She returns the handkerchief and he stuffs it back in. “It's going to be fine,” he said, “You're going to win, Lucy Gray.”

“I can pray, Coriolanus,” Lucy replied, her voice vulnerable in a way that reminded him of the fact she was a teenager like him. She even had a soulmate, Sejanus Plinth. And she loses it all if she doesn't win tomorrow.

“You will win.” He will win.

And with that, it's goodbye and Coriolanus leaves the zoo. The ride back home is quiet. You don't ask what he and Lucy Gray talked about. He doesn't offer any information either. It was a comfortable silence that he needed. He went to his old habit of stroking his soulmate's scar. Was it just him or did the scar seem to be healing?

He couldn't check it out in front of you. Within minutes you parked in front of the penthouse, and he wanted to ask you inside. There's no way he wanted you to drive alone at such late night.

But inviting you inside would mean revealing his secret. The secret that he kept for a decade. The secret was his motivation for everything. The secret that could ruin him.

Was ensuring your safety worth revealing it? He could ask you to call his landline when you reached home, but each minute until you called would be nothing less of hell for him. His mind overthinking possibilities with the result of you being hurt. He wasn't sure his poor heart could take it.

Both of you step out of the car. He can't make up his mind. He opens his mouth to invite you in or say goodbye he doesn't know. You speak first instead. Your eyes meet his blue ones.

“How many kisses did you steal, Coryo?”

He wants to lie. He knew in his mind that it wouldn't do him any good. He feels his palm sweat, his fingers itching to touch the scar to calm himself down. He was sure that he was going to have a heart attack in the next minute or so.

“Three,” he answered, ready for whatever curses and punishment you would give him for his sins. He would go on his knees for you, let the cold street scrap his skin and crimson stain the spot if it meant your forgiveness. He would grovel, and beg, strip himself of his pride for you.

Or he could manipulate you. Fill your mind with lies that it's what friends do. Being district, he doubted you had many friends of Capitol culture. He could lie, lie, and lie. It's what friends do.

As his mind fights to choose his next course of action. You flash him a vixen smile, and whisper, “You didn't have to steal them.”

He couldn't even process what you meant before you pressed a kiss on his jaw. His eyes closed and let out a shaky breath. He gasps softly when the next press of your lips is so close to his lips.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, please, kiss him.

You don't. You pull back and grin. It takes him an embarrassing moment to come back to reality. His ear burning, and his lips parted waiting for the third kiss you never gave him.

“It's what friends do,” you shrugged, lying to yourself and him. Both of you had to, there's no other way around it. Coriolanus knew why for him, but what about you? Were you simply playing with the strings of his heart? He would allow it for now.

For after the Plinth Prize, you will be his.

“Come with me,” he said, “It's not safe to be traveling so late at night.”

You agree with him without much protest. He noticed your discomfort as both of you walked up the twelve flights to reach his broken, shameful, secret home. He grits his teeth, awaiting your reaction to the truth of the Snow family.

You don't say anything. “Show me where I will be sleeping, Coryo,” you yawn instead, not even disgust on your face from the rotting wallpapers.

He is surprised and grateful. He feels an uncontrollable urge to hug you, and barely keeps himself from not wrapping his arms around you.

“I suppose you wouldn't mind sharing a bed with me,” he said, quietly, not wanting Tigris or Grandma’am to wake up. You nod in affirmation and he shows you his room with a bit of confidence. It was just as horrible as the rest of the house but it was his.

The bed in the corner with clean bed sheets. The stack of books and finished assignments on his desk. His wardrobe, the wood old and chipped. But all of it was his.

You immediately made your way to the bed and made yourself wholly comfortable. Like it was yours. And in a way, everything of his is yours. He would give it to you if you asked nicely enough, maybe throw in a kiss or two.

You pull the covers up and wait for Coryo to sleep in. Usually, he would wear his pajamas, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. He lays down, mindful of his injury. He turns towards you. His eyes searched for yours, and the air mixed with both of your shared breaths. Not even an inch apart were both of you due to how small his bed was.

He closed his eyes and whispered goodnight. He doesn't get a reply. He fills his mind quickly falling back to the darkness as his actions catch up to him, taking away whatever strength he had left.

The last thing he feels, which surely is a dream, is a press of your lips against his. Stealing a kiss. And he hears you whisper, unsure if it's a dream or not but he will remember the words until he dies.

“I have you now, Coriolanus Snow. I won't let you go.”

NEXT PART

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queenharumiura · 2 years ago

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She hums in thought, ‘A bit late to be noticing that now, isn’t it?’

Ah, she shakes the bitter thoughts away. She has to catch herself sometimes and shake the bad thoughts away. She’s moved on from all that, but—‘they’re monitoring me, aren’t they? What, they don’t trust me?’ She can roam around town on her own just fine, thank you. She (probably) won’t get herself into trouble!

Which was it going to be? Be grateful for the concern, or to be mildly offended? She looks at the person beside her. Be mildly offended, it is!

“Haru is just fine, she’s not feeling lonely.” She answers with an edge. She could see why Tsuna thought she seemed lonely, but that wasn’t the case. She had been keeping some distance between them because she’d moved on from her first love. From an outside view, it could make her look alone, but she was really making herself comfortable by giving herself space.

“Since we’ve established that I’m not lonely, you don’t need to obey that order.” She holds out a hand, waiting for him to return the bag that he took from her when she was gathering her bearings from the creep from before. “Can I have my bag back? I need to go into this store.” She had some crafting supplies she needed to get. “You’re busy, so you can go off and do more important things than to monitor me.”

Moved from HERE @queenharumiura

He couldn't help but smile, even slightly at the determination in her eyes. Haru was a handful sometimes, but she was never too much for him. In fact he couldn't get enough. Sometimes his teasing went a little too far, but he never hated her. He just had a shitty way of controlling his temper. Arguing was somewhat of an entertainment sometimes as they often bickered about petty small things. However he never wanted to hurt her. And every time they fought seriously and he made her cry, he hated himself for it. He'd choose his words carefully. She seemed too excited to have been able to defend herself this time for him to take her glory away so swiftly. But perhaps if she tagged along with him, he could keep her safe and he would have someone to talk to.

"The Tenth asked me to do some stuff for him. Like keep you company. Said something about you seemed lonely lately."

#Whiskeysmulti #(Smokingbomber01)#RPans #((Muse; Gokudera))#((Welp. It was going so well and then she decided it's time to be mad))#((If it were anyone else she would've sighed and went along with it but then she saw his face and went nope. Let's get mad instead))#((Truly she mostly got mad bc of Tsuna and poor Gokudera is caught in the middle of it))#((but she's also just mad at herself so she's now being crabby. Sorry Gokudera))#((Priority for fixing RP Tracker))

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magicalheirponsol · 11 months ago

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Continued from: [x] @lured-into-wonderland For some reasons I don't get notifications when you reply to this, so i'm going to try to move to another post to see if it fixes it.

[✧･ﾟ *♚*･ﾟ✧ ]

He simply nods his head. It would seem that Nunnally didn’t know about it and she hadn’t run some kind of background check on Ponsol and his family yet. Perhaps she was just that trusting of first impressions and her gut instinct. Ponsol was usually the sort who ran a bit of a background check on people before and after he met influential or famous people. Mostly, he looked into scandals and any shady business the other party was involved in. It was important to know so he knew to weigh the pros and cons between ‘befriending’ someone.

Nunnally was being polite about not wanting to push him into recounting the business of his family if he didn’t want to speak about it. It wasn’t a family secret, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to find out if anyone went looking. Though some of the press was silenced during that time, there are still records that can be unearthed if anyone had any lick of talent in investigations.

“It wouldn’t be difficult to look into it for the details, but in simple terms, my brother was witness to an incident that involved a family of three, where only the young daughter survived. The perpetrator had pinned the incident on her parents through his connections, slandering the parents as irresponsible people to endangered their daughter. My brother aimed to stand as witness to clear their name for the sake of the little girl he pulled out of the burning car.”

A small sigh. A lot happened in their family after this one event. You could call it a catalyst of the family breaking apart, so it was a sore spot to think about, but the past was to stay in the past. He had to move on and look to the future.

❝Obviously, the perpetrator didn’t want him to tell the truth of what happened and tried to pressure him into stepping down from attesting at the witness stand. When he refused, they later found him at school and shot him. He survived, obviously. Grandfather found out and got involved, and the rest is history. The school found out our connections to the DD Corp and couldn’t live our regular peaceful lives anymore.❞

That increased interest from the paparazzi is what caught his father’s infidelity and caused both his mother and brother undue stress. That was likely what ultimately killed her, the heartbreak, the stress, and the pressure.

That was as far as he was willing to divulge about his family history, so he stopped there.

At Nunnally’s seemingly nervous stammering, he sighs, shrugging his shoulders casually. He could fathom a few guesses as to why she was acting the way she was.

❝You don’t need to explain yourself excessively to me. Even if you were trying to use us for whatever reason, I personally wouldn’t hold it against you. Business is business and friendship is friendship. Both can co-mingle or be kept separate. You could benefit off our names or talent just as much as we could benefit from your family name. It’s not anything to be ashamed of.❞

In the world of the upper class, that’s just how it was. You can fair much better when you learn to not take everything too seriously, nor too personally. Did he believe she made the suggestions because she wanted to profit off of them? No, not really. He could tell that she genuinely enjoyed art. His comment was mostly to say that even if it was her reasoning, he wouldn’t care either way.

❝If either of us cared to showcase our work in a professional setting, we surely could pull some of our connections to see it through, but we don’t care for that. Only way we’d curate any of our art for a showing would be for a personal reason or as a request from a friend.❞

Which was to say, that neither of them would care much for how professional the setting was. Shugarl didn’t like to be in the public eye and it was their grandfather that disapproved of either of them dabbling too much in the artistic fields because it would be a ‘waste’ of their talents and a ‘waste of time’ when they should be focusing on making money instead. What an insufferable old man.

❝Assuming you didn’t retract your invitation, I don’t see why I wouldn’t attend.❞

He says this in jest, cracking a small joke. He’d agreed to attend with her earlier, so there wasn’t a reason for him to go back on his word and say otherwise.

❝Perhaps you can meet my brother, if you’d like to extend the invitation by one. He’d make himself sparse after introductions.❞

#Lured-into-wonderland #(Nunnally02)#RPans #((Muse; Nunnally))#((I just kept getting lucky by seeing them on the dash of my blog by coincidence))#((My notifs and my webhooks don't go off properly with this thread for some reason))#Priority for fixing RP tracker

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queenharumiura · 1 year ago

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Continued from: [x] also referencing [x] @arealmunited

Haru smiles at him, glad that he was welcoming to her company. Haru Miura was ever the friendly person who liked making friends at every turn, so trying to reconnect with a friend wasn’t that difficult—but it could be a bit awkward.

Mostly if the other party felt awkward around her. She could understand why there was some distance between everyone, but she wasn’t very good at keeping her distance from people if they haven’t done anything wrong to her.

As far as she’s concerned, he was a friend. He was a bit different from how she remembered him last—but surely she’s changed since them too, so how is it any different? “What was Yamamoto-san doing here by yourself? Haru wasn’t interrupting something, was she?”

#Arealmunited #(Yama01)#RPans #((Muse; Yamamoto))#((Referencing plot 1 but could probably go into 2 if they talk about his time in America))#((Lemme know if you'd like me to fix anything 83 ))#((Priority for RP Tracker Addition))

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lookingforhappy · 1 year ago

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TUA Inconsistencies, Plotholes and Goofs

before u read, pls know that i adore this show and wouldn't be critiquing it this harshly if i wasn't utterly obsessed with it.

I don't think that all of these need fixes or explanations since they function as fun little plot devices etc but I think it's important to note that they do break the story a little. although there are some that really do need fixes.

this comes from a place of interest, analysis, and frustration but not hate.

(also apologies to all the gifmakers who i have indirectly @'d in this post)

here's a list of all the problems i could remember in tua:

The Commission is too OP

(this one I saw posited by another blog but I can't remember who first brought it up? so credit to whoever said this first i think)

The Commission is shown to be capable of:

time travel

time freezing

body cloning & consciousness transplanting (essentially, their workers can live forever because they can build new bodies and transfer their minds as soon as they start to get old/ill)

paradox-proofing

timeline monitoring/spying (the Infinite Switchboard)

if the Commission has had the ISB all along + infinite time + unaging employees, then they have been able to watch every second of history, and every second of every alternate history ever (Lila watches the timeline Five rewound/erased).

If they can see every second of every possible history, then even if they're the most inefficiant organisation ever, they're able to know everything before it/they even exist.

which makes more or less every plot point impossible:

Five would not have been able to return to 2019 without being spotted and hunted down by people who know exactly what he looks like (13yro not 58 yro), exactly where he is (also making the tracker in his arm, and in the sweet wrapper, redundant), and exactly when he's vulnerable eg. when he sleeps, is injured or drunk.

The Handler would not have been able to hide in 1963 and plot against the Commission without being spotted by the Commission and killed/fired. Same thing goes for stealing and hiding multiple Briefcases.

The 1963 Apocalypse would not have been allowed to happen as the Commsission would have had Viktor killed long before it happened.

The Kugelblitz wouldn't have happened because the Commission would have seen it decades or centuries in advance and prevented it (this should be top priority because this is what kills them!).

Herb and Dot's Goals for the Commission

In s1 the Commission wants a very specific timeline to take place (aka the apocalypse) with no deviations, and are willing to do anything and everything to make it so.

Herb and Dot seem more than happy to go along with this, and even believe that the Commission is correct for doing this.

Dot in particular is the Case Manager for the apocalypse, meaning she is the one who spotted Five when he arrived as a 13yro and left him there to die/live a life of pain and isolation. She also was chiefly responsible for ensuring the deaths of 7 billion people including all the Hargreeves' for "the greater good".

Dot is actually seen snitching on Five to The Handler, was implied to be working with The Handler to prevent Five from stopping the apocalypse, and is the one to alert security/sound the alarm when Five starts fighting The Handler.

So it's pretty weird that in s2 and 3 Herb and Dot are suddenly fine with the apocalypse not happening. It's one thing to change management, and another to completely uproot the entire mission statement/ethos of the Commission. The Commission, from the moment Herb and Dot gain control, has no goal or purpose. because they gave up that purpose when they agreed to let the Hargreeves go to an apocalypse free 2019.

This is also weird as Five is completely fine and trusting of them at the end of s2, when all they've done so far to him is prove that they cannot be trusted and will do anything to cause the apocalypse, as well as having left him to suffer alone in an apocalypse for 45 years as well as force him to join the Commission and become a murderer (or else die alone).

The Two Fives + The Briefcase

old!Five doesn't take his Briefcase to 2019 in the original timeline.

So why don't Five and Luther wait until old!Five has left for 2019 to pick his Briefcase up off the ground, where it's entirely unguarded and completely abandoned, and avoid the Paradox Psychosis altogether.

old!Five wasn't in the timeline or remotely near enough to Five to cause Paradox Psychosis when Five originally came up with this plan.

The Grandfather Paradox + Similar Goofs

TUA Time Travel operates on branching/alternate timelines, like Loki, not on a loop/predestined, like HP, and not on one single malleable timeline, like Back to the Future. ergo The Grandfather Paradox cannot exist within the show.

As soon as Five averts the 2019 apocalypse, his existence would trigger a paradox as without the apocalypse he never got trapped and has no reason/knowledge to return to 2019 to prevent it.

Same thing for S2, the only reason the nukes aren't dropped in S2 is bc Five saw it happen and time travelled back to prevent it, but as soon as that apocalypse is prevented, the nukes are never dropped, and so he never sees the apocalypse happen and therefore cannot know to prevent it.

In fact, the very first episode of S2 as a whole should cause the Grandfather Paradox, by the shows own laws: as by causing a nuclear apocalypse, their mothers were never born/did not survive long enough to birth them -> so they cannot be alive -> they cannot time travel -> cannot cause an apocalypse in 1960s -> the mothers were born -> and around and around and around.

A similar goof happens in S2, as Five helps his older self return to 2019 without de-aging himself. Five is concerned that he will cease to exist if his other self doesn't travel to 2019, but his older self does travel back. But as a 58 year old man. However, Five himself doesn't turn into a 58 year old man as he should have if this was a singular malleable timeline. Hence, he needn't have worried as they created a separate branching timeline rather than edit their own timeline.

so essentially, they're creating entirely new alternate timelines and nothing they do changes their own experiences, lives, memories or bodies.

It doesn't matter that their mothers were killed before they were born in the sparrow timeline, because they're not from this branch and therefore still have mothers in their original timeline. which is proven to not affect their current selves.

Which... breaks the entire plot of S3.

(S3 may have also caused another paradox as the reset causes Five to regain his arm, and lose the tattoo, possibly meaning he doesn't found the Commission, meaning essentially none of the series can even start as Five cannot leave the apocalypse without the Commission).

Polk Salad Annie

Five travels to 1982, Wisconsin, to kill the Commission Board. yet he has no Briefcase, cannot time travel on his own, and is shown to meet The Handler separately rather than be picked up by her for transport.

(If Lila took him, then surely he would have attempted to steal the Briefcase from her rather than go through with the plan.)

furthermore, 1982 should be inaccessable. or at least, it should be a nuclear wasteland.

At this point, the events culminating in the prevention of the apocalypse haven't started: The Handler is not in control of the Commission, so Lila can't kidnap Diego to work for them, so he can't find the ISB and discover Viktor is the cause of the apocalypse, so Klaus doesn't know to take Ben to the FBI building, so the apocalypse can't be prevented. Five's action in 1982 is what sets that in motion (The Handler seizes control of the Commission), but 1982 doesn't exist in this timeline, so how does that work?

Five and the Commission don't seem to know how to Timeline hop, only how to create new timelines, and how to move backwards and forwards on their current timeline.

The only way to make 1982 accessable is to remove Viktor from the timeline or prevent the FBI from capturing him. Which they didn't. So how can Five get there.

The 7 Bells

Reginald's reasoning for adopting the superkids is to send them to Oblivion to use it to reset the Universe. He needs himself and a minimum of 7 superkids to do this, any less and Oblivion won't activate, and without him there to program it, nothing changes.

In the Original Timeline, his plan is foiled in 2002 when he looses Five, and he doesn't try to rectify it. Then again in 2006 when he looses Ben, and yet again doesn't rectify it.

He screws himself over even worse by killing himself in 2019, as now he cannot even go to Oblivion to program it. Klaus could theoretically summon or be possessed by Reginald, but once again, Reginald only has 5 out of 7, and with Klaus indisposed by summoning Reginald, he only has 4 available to power Oblivion.

Even stranger, he could have adopted spares for if situations like Five and Ben happen, in the form of the Sparrows, but he chose not to.

its also a strange choice to build the academy(s) as public superheroes, as he chose to send his only 7 children into life threatening situations repeatedly, which nearly killed Luther, probably nearly killed sparrow Ben, and did kill umbrella Ben.

He also admits that he purposefully stunted the Umbrella's powers, which contradicts his Oblivion plan, where they need to fight 3 near-immortal Guardians. it also contradicts his words to Klaus in s1 - that he's disappointed because Klaus never reached his true potential. Which, if he killed himself with the plan to have Klaus summon him to reprogram Oblivion, he would need Klaus at full power to be able to do that at all.

The Sparrows also don't seem to have this issue, they have great control of their powers, Ben especially. so why bother stunting one lot of kids, but not the other.

Smaller Goofs

-Luther being normal not monkey in 2015 (1x03) when he had his accident in 2012 (1x04) is a big goof up

-klaus not reanimating in the original apocalypse with five remains unexplained

-in s1 the commission is set in 1955 (1x06), in s3 it's set in 1953 (3x07) and this remains unexplained

-klaus was kidnapped in just a towel but Hazel and Cha-Cha have his jacket for some reason

-all of the Founder Five plotline bc there is no given reasoning for why Five would willingly go against all of his morals and create the organisation that caused him pain (both emotional and physical) and got his family killed.

-if Luther was on the moon for a purpose, why not have him running useful tests to make sure Abigail's pod remains functioning? or acting as a sentry to make sure no one sends an exploration mission to the moon/behind the moon? why just have him send samples, that reginald never even opens, every day for 4 years? and how could sparrow reginald know what umbrella reginald planned for Luther? they're different people.

-edit: 12/07/24 the newspaper Five finds in the apocalypse is dated as 1st April, but when he finds the same newspaper at the end of season 1, it's still March 31st and Diego says that newspaper was sold that morning.

#tua #the umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #reginald hargreeves

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dragon-susceptible · 1 month ago

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Different Path Taken Ch34 P1

Bit of the next chapter for tumblr review. This chapter is another sort of bridge into the next real action, so it's being a bit of a slog to get through and I've already caught like three things that I needed to fix (wrong character responding to things, etc.) in the last few days.

The group did not reconvene until they were nearly at the foot of the mountain, and Runaan’s clenching heart only eased when they were all once more in sight. He frowned when Skor caught up, however, put immediately on guard by his friend’s slightly disheveled, wild-eyed look - and the lack of the human tracker who should have preceded him. “What happened?” he asked without preamble the moment Skor was in easy earshot.

Skor shook his head as if shaking something off and signed. “Shouted.” He began by way of explanation for his method of speech, and reported, “The mage saw me as I tried to cast the spell. Corvus turned back to help when he heard the commotion. I was able to cast it, but the guardsman knocked him out. I could not go back for him.”

Runaan held his gaze, searching it, frowning deeply. There was more that Skor wasn’t saying - he could shout for several minutes before he lost his voice entirely, he was disheveled, he was moving too gingerly, and there was a jerkiness to his hands that spoke of a continuing distress. But simultaneously, there was a steadiness in Skor’s eyes and his steps were sure; he could wait, for now.

Their priority had to be getting as far from the Nexus as possible. “Corvus was unable to escape,” He relayed more gently to the princes, waiting until Skor nodded slightly to break the look and turn his attention to them. They both frowned with worry. “He’s alive,” He assured them without pausing too long. “But he won’t be able to catch up for now, and we haven’t the time to turn back.”

“What if -” Callum broke off with a glance at his brother, something deeply haunted making his eyes wide and his lip shake.

Runaan understood after a beat. “They have no reason to harm him.” He said softly. “Other than perhaps information about us - but they were with us long enough to know he doesn’t have much more than they do, that is of any use. They won’t let him go. But if they didn’t kill him to begin with, they have no reason to do so now.”

It was small comfort. Sometimes an enemy didn’t need a reason. Sometimes hatred was all it took to drive someone to kill.

Electricity crackling over his skin as the furious archdragon demanded the blood of the Katolian royals as price for the deaths of her mate and egg.

Molten fury in Ethari’s flame-tinged eyes as he was dragged back from the body of a Drake Rider who had been too violent in the Marketplace, and the taste of blood on his teeth.

Roiling water soaking the feathers of a Skywing caravan, the smell of salt and fish on the sneering breath of a pirate before the water fell abruptly still, blood turning it red.

The cold judgment in the dark eyes of the soldier who ordered the cave collapsed behind him, heedless of the screams from inside that she could not hear.

Runaan pursed his lips. None of these children knew that sort of hatred the way he did.

It bothered him that Zubeia’s justifiable rage had been the first example that came to mind.

Her rage was justified.

Her grief was justified.

Her reaction was . . .

His eyes drifted over where young Prince Azymondias bounced around Prince Ezran’s feet, the two children taking joy and comfort in each other’s presence despite the hatred that had driven both of their fathers to murder and death.

“He’ll be okay,” Callum said as if to reassure himself and Ezran, nodding firmly as he turned his attention back to the path. “Corvus will be fine.”

Ezran nodded. “He’s one of Aunt Amaya’s soldiers, he’ll probably escape.”

Their words brought Runaan back to the present and he sighed softly. “We keep moving.” More movement caught his eye, and he relayed Skor’s message to the humans. “It will take them at least a day to find our trail. But they knew we were leaving, so the faster we move, the better.”

Ram grunted. “I’m not sure how much it changes,” He said grimly. “We will need to cross the inland sea to get to the border.”

Callum frowned and glanced at Rayla, and Runaan took note of his attention with interest. “Wait wait, Rayla’s afraid of water though. Can’t we go around the sea?” He asked hesitantly.

“We don’t have time,” Rayla insisted before Runaan could answer, though her ears were twitching with embarrassment and her shoulders were tense.

She was right, though. “We would lose days in the detour. Crossing the sea is our best chance of escape.” Runaan agreed firmly.

“How are we going to get across, though?” Ezran asked, worried.

“Oh, I’ve got that handled,” Callisto said with a self-satisfied little smirk. “I’ve got an old contact here who can get us across.”

“We have to get there first,” Ram reminded shortly, visibly jittery when Runaan looked over at him. “So we should move. Quickly.”

Though Callum’s longer legs made him faster than his brother, he wasn’t fast enough to keep up with them running. He certainly didn’t have their stamina, and would need to rest much faster. Runaan sighed through his nose as he realized what he would have to do.

He was going to be exhausted when they finally stopped. “Without mounts, the fastest way we can put distance between us is by carrying Callum, Ezran, and Azymondias.” He said flatly. “It isn’t particularly efficient, we’ll be exhausted by the time we reach the Weeping Bay, but we will have to rest on the boat anyway. Efficiency isn’t our biggest concern with our pursuers so close on our heels.”

“Wait, why Callum?” Rayla asked, wrinkling her nose. “He’s not that much younger than me.”

Callum gave her an incredulous look. “Because you’re so much stronger and faster than I am,” He said as if it were obvious.

To be fair, Runaan rather agreed that it was obvious to everyone except his - except her. He still felt a pang in his chest from how she’d sneered the fatherly title at him the day before, though he tried to remind himself she was a teenager. Moon knew most teenagers could be thoughtless with their parents at her age, especially since . . . she’d been through so much.

“Besides, I don’t think I’ve seen any of you get tired.” Callum continued with resignation. “This whole trip we’ve been slowing you down. This way, we won’t for a little bit.” He squared his shoulders and looked up at Runaan. “I guess - ?”

“Yes,” Runaan answered before the boy could finish the question. “On my back, preferably, it’s easier to run that way.”

Callum nodded quickly and obediently came to Runaan’s side. They carefully maneuvered him onto Runaan’s back around his pack, the boy’s legs strapped in against his coat to help hold him up - in case Runaan needed his hands. Unlike his brother, Callum avoided grabbing at his horns, instead sitting low enough to grip Runaan’s coat and shoulders to remain steady.

Nearby, Skor hoisted Ezran up onto his back as well, the boy sitting more on top of his pack than behind it, and high enough to grip his horns for stability. Andromeda, predictably, had already scooped up little Azymondias, who clung to her like a cuddlemonkey without hesitation. Ram, Rayla, and Callisto split the boys’ packs between them to take a bit of the load off of the carriers, and once everyone was secured, Runaan led the way with a light jog that sped quickly into a run once they were warmed up.

#the dragon prince #fic: different path taken #tdp runaan #tdp rayla #tdp andromeda #tdp ram #tdp skor #tdp callisto #moonshadow assassins #tdp callum #tdp ezran #my fics #my writing #fic update

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