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witherby · 6 months ago

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imagine how cute would be if Bruce brings the little wayne to his work on wayne tower 🥺 the moment would be ruined if some paparazzi taking photos with flash and scaring the baby

Sooo the baby didn't end up getting scared, but this idea did make me spit out 2000 words worth of content. I hope that's a fair compromise :3

THE LITTLEST WAYNE: TAKE YOUR KID TO WORK DAY

Featuring: Bruce talking to you like a colleague, a newspaper article, and an overprotective Damian.

"Morning, Clarice. Donuts and coffee are getting delivered in five minutes if you wanna pop downstairs and help yourself. Afterwards, do me a favor and rebook the consultation with Lexcorp for sometime next month? The further out the better."

Bruce's secretary nodded, fingers flying across the keys to accommodate his request. She tucked a lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and shot him a polite smile.

"Of course, mister Wayne — oh, goodness gracious."

Bruce's placid expression quickly became embarrassed. He tried to walk past her but she was already on her feet and rounding the desk, heels clicking over the linoleum floor to stand in front of him and the bundle on his arm.

"Who is this!" She cried, immediately fawning over you. You stared blankly at her as you suckled on your binky, wrapped up in a tiny Nightwing onesie (Dick got to the clothes first this morning) and hugging your father's arm. "Oh, my, you're the most adorable baby I've ever seen! I'm Clarice! I'm your father's personal secretary, and apparently the last person to find out anything, including when he adopted yet another child!"

"This wasn't a...planned acquisition," Bruce muttered, the tips of his ears pink. He let the blonde gently squish your fat cheeks and you preened under the attention, lifting one fuzzy-wrapped hand to brush against her wrist.

"A planned acquisition. Like you're another company he bought on a whim and not a precious angel," Clarice giggled. "What a doll... If you ever need a babysitter, Mister Wayne, please don't hesitate to call me!"

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, exasperated but smiling good-naturedly. "Have a great day, Clarice."

"You, too! Bye-bye, angel!" She waved, and squealed when you waved back.

Bruce disappeared into his office with you, bouncing you gently on one arm while the other shrugged off the duffel bag he carried with him. Zipping it open, he quickly tugged out a pop-up bassinet to place you in, then the pieces to an enclosed play pen he built and filled with some blankets, a couple toys, and an extra Red Robin binky (Tim got to the toys first this morning).

"Okay," he sighed, scooping you up and relocating you to the pen. "I've actually got to run my own company for a bit, and the others are busy, so you get to hang out with me today."

Bruce rested his arm on his desk, then his chin in his hand, and stared down at you. You were staring intently back at him, the binky bopping up and down as you suckled on it.

"You're a little young to learn the ropes, but I'll explain what I'm doing anyway. Every baby book I've looked at tells me you get something out of it even if you don't understand what I'm saying, so today it's time to do payroll. I'd make you sign an NDA, because you're about to see a lot of personal files, but you don't know how to hold a pencil, read, write, or speak yet, so I think we're fine."

Bruce had two monitors on his desk. He duplicated his screen and spun the other one around so you could watch what he was doing in real time.

"I don't like to delegate this task to other people because the last six times I did, they were eventually found embezzling money. Unfortunately, that tends to happen when you live in Gotham. Right now I've opened the pay software — it's this icon here, where the mouse is circling — and I'm going to ask it to open the time sheets for the last two weeks..."

---

A NEW FAMILY MEMBER? BRUCE WAYNE SPOTTED IN WAYNE TOWER WITH INFANT, SPECULATION GROWING

CEO of Wayne Enterprises Bruce Wayne seen with a baby after exiting his office this afternoon!

[An image of you in your Nightwing onesie, tucked securely in a smiling Bruce's arms as he walks out of an elevator, is printed on the front page of the Gotham Gazette.]

Sources say Wayne filed another adoption form with the courts a week ago and is being met with mixed reviews. Large portions of the public are joking that Wayne has an "adoption problem" while others speculate he is too inexperienced to foster an infant.

"Wasn't his youngest kid, like, 9 when he adopted him?" Asks one Carmine Falconi, recently released from Blackgate on good behavior. "None o' my business, of course, but I don't think he knows how to raise a tiny tot like that. My guys ain't touchin' a hair on that one's head, though. Kidnapping the odd teen or two, sure, go nuts, but even us crooks got codes, and that one's off-limits in my book."

Wayne declined to comment when the Gotham Gazette reached out and remaining family have further refused interviews about the subject.

(Alfred got to the phone first.)

---

The newspaper clipping was already framed and proudly sitting on the dining room table when Bruce woke up the next morning and shuffled downstairs for breakfast with you in his arms. He spared it a tired glance, put you in your high chair, and relented to Damian's insistent shoving so the boy could sit next to and feed you (he got to the pantry first).

"The next time you plan on actually doing your day job," the boy hissed, "bring one of us with you. There was an abysmal amount of security protocols you ignored when leaving work to allow paparazzi the chance to grab photos. I won't let your frivolous behavior cause them harm."

"Are you volunteering?" Bruce asked, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee Alfred handed over. He quietly greeted Dick and Jason as they filed into the room and had a quick rock-paper-scissors match to see who got to sit on your other side. Jason won. "Any networking events I have to attend, you almost always find a way to weasel out of."

"If it will keep our new charge safe," Damian huffed, "I can handle a few stupid luncheons."

"That's not a pass to skip school. If it's between a social or a class, you're going to class."

Damian looked simultaneously pissed and relieved. His fist clenched tightly around the small, silicone spoon, before he forced himself to relax and continue feeding you. You opened your mouth obediently for another offering of mushed-up bananas, apples, and cinnamon baby food from a high quality brand, giving a happy hum.

"Then the duty falls to one of you fools," he snapped at Jason and Dick, "which is akin to trusting a mosquito not to drink from you at the first possible opportunity. You'll pick up the slack when I'm otherwise indisposed."

"No can do, baby bat," Dick said, pouring himself a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. He quickly snapped a picture of you with your mouth open to accept another spoonful of food. "I have a day job, too. I don't even live here. I'm just on an extended vacation until the end of next week, then it's back to Blüdhaven."

Damian focused his glare on Jason next, who smirked back and shook his head.

"Legally dead. So, 'less you want Brucie Wayne and an innocent baby seen all around town with Red Hood, the crime lord, it's a no from me."

Damian weighed the pros and cons. Bruce shot him a look and shook his head, dismissing the idea entirely.

The boy grit his teeth. He scraped the last of the baby food from its jar and fed it to you, then delicately wiped the remnants from your mouth. You gummed at his finger and made grabby hands, indicating your desire to get out of the high chair. Jason scooped you up first with a swift call of "dibs!", carrying you away to get bathed and dressed for the day.

"Then...then you have to go into work with Timothy!" Damian demanded, facing Bruce again, who had finished his coffee by now and was eating a slice of buttered toast. The man raised a brow, looking only marginally more awake than he was at the start of the day.

"Tim hates being at the office with me," Bruce explained as Alfred came around to set a plate of pancakes, eggs, and freshly-squeezed orange juice in front of Damian. "Says the Brucie act is annoying to be around and it drives productivity down at least 8% every time. It's a lie, I've checked the numbers, but if he doesn't want to be at the Tower at the same time as me then I'm not going to push a non-issue."

"You?" said Damian, incredulous. "You aren't going to push a non-issue? You push everything. It may as well be your middle name."

He cut into his food with more force than necessary, cutlery scraping unpleasantly against the plate until he lifted his hands again. He shrugged off the hand Bruce tried to place on his shoulder, chewing angrily on a mouthful of pancake.

"I'm open to ideas, son," the man said, "but here are the facts: You have to go to school Monday through Friday. I won't let you homeschool because you need to socialize with people in your age group. Jason isn't interested in declaring himself alive right now. Dick doesn't live at the Manor full time and has separate responsibilities. Tim is juggling college, Wayne Enterprises, and patrols. Alfred is too ol— is aging gracefully, and might prefer to have more time to himself instead of watching the baby all alone for hours on end."

Alfred took Bruce's empty plate away with a very sharp look, then excused himself back to the kitchen.

Bruce turned in his chair to fully face Damian, who glared at his breakfast like it personally caused this mess, and not one hyper-empathetic man and his bleeding heart for orphans.

"Now, can you tell me how best to solve this problem without the occasional "take your kid to work day," or enrolling the baby in a daycare program?"

Yes, he could. But unfortunately for Damian, he had inherited a bleeding heart of his own, which constricted at the thought of giving his little sibling back up for adoption. Instead, he swallowed his next mouthful of food and sighed.

"More research is needed," he mumbled, which was the closest he could ever get to admitting he didn't know something. "However, my complaints still stand. Let the paparazzi get a bad photo if it means keeping the babe safe. Their well-being is your top priority, so act like it."

"Heard," Bruce said, sounding far too fond for Damian's liking. "Finish your breakfast and then get ready for school."

The boy grumbled but complied, and soon stood next to the door waiting for Alfred to pull a car up to the driveway. He watched Bruce carry you in his arms after he slung the duffel bag with your essentials over his shoulder, tugging the small hood of your red oneside up (Jason dressed you first today) over your head to ensure you didn't get cold.

"Have a good day, Damian," Bruce told him.

"Sure, whatever." Damian took you from his father and adjusted your hood himself. You grabbed his finger in your small fist with all the strength you could muster and tried to put it in your mouth. He gently pried it free, and Bruce popped a Batman binky in there instead. "You will be safe today. When I'm finished conforming to what American society deems a proper education, I will retrieve you myself."

Your binky bopped up and down as you suckled on it, staring silently at Damian. It was practically a yes to him, so he took it.

Glancing briefly at his father, he hesitated a moment, then kissed your forehead and quickly passed you back to Bruce before heading outside to let Alfred drive him to school.

Bruce watched him go with an unreadable expression. He quickly turned and faced Dick once Damian was out of earshot.

"Did you —"

"I'm texting you the picture right now," Dick said, thumbs flying across the keyboard. "What should the caption be for my Twitter post? #BestBrotherEver or #SecretSofty?"

"Either way, he's going to kick your ass."

#batfam x reader #littlest wayne au #batfam adoption au #batfam #can you guys tell i went to school for journalism and then hated it and then dropped out #writing articles was SO BORING

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ailawritesfics · 1 month ago

Text

✎ cw: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, baby trapping, toxic relationship, physical and verbal abuse, slight misogyny, yandere themes, use of slut/whore/bitch/dolly/plaything, fem bodied reader (fem pronouns used), dabi replacing pills with vitamins, dacryphilia, sadist dabi, oral (m!receiving), deep throat, cockwarming, light voyeurism, choking, branding (dabi burns you), p in v, creampie, breeding kink, implied free use & threesome, overstim, hair pulling, somno, not beta read

✎ 5.4k words

✎ dont know why i wrote this, kinda self indulgent. i'm considering writing a part 2 with hawks

Dabi never knocked. Not on your door. Not once in the past year you've known him.

Not since you gave him a spare key to your apartment, unaware that he had already gone ahead and made a duplicate months before you ever thought about allowing him into your home.

The lock clicks and the door swings slowly. He steps inside like he always does, heavy boots thudding against the floor. The apartment smells faintly of your favorite perfume, the same one Dabi had chosen for you a while back. You continued using it since then, something he appreciated quietly through actions rather than words.

He expected to see you curled up on the couch, maybe listening to music with earbuds in or humming something soft and innocent. You did love listening to songs that evoked more emotions than body rhythm. Some days together were spent lounging on the couch as you introduce him to another artist you found while looking for new songs.

Though, instead of a warm welcome, and a sweet greeting he was used to, he was met with the full force of your palm, hitting hard against his cheek.

His head turns with the hit, black bangs sweeping across his eyes. For a moment, he doesn't move. He stays for a few seconds, cheek faintly red and he can vaguely taste a tangy metallic liquid from where his staples caught on his skin. The silence unnerved you, a feeling of dread pooling in your gut but you clench your fists in an attempt to stay composed.

Finally, Dabi slowly turns to look at you, expression unreadable but something flickers in his eyes for a brief moment.

“That's one way to greet me,” He says, voice flat and dry. A hand touches his cheek like it's more of an inconvenience than anything. “What’d I do this time?"

You blink, incredulous at his indifference. He’s looking at you the way someone might regard a sulking child.

Taking a breath to compose yourself, you finally confront him. “Did you replace my pills?”

His expression doesn’t change. He kicks the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot and shrugs off his jacket, draping it lazily over the back of the chair like this is just another evening. He doesn't even look at you as he makes his way towards the kitchen.

You follow him, entering the kitchen and finding him bent over the fridge, searching for something. The nonchalance frustrates you, how could he act so calmly when you were absolutely fuming. He didn't even so much as blink at the accusation you threw his way. Granted, he wasn't one to react about most things but this was a serious matter and you had hoped he wouldn't just brush it off.

“So what?” He finally spares you a glance, glass in hand as he pours from a jug of ice cold water.

You stare at him, stunned.

“So what..? So what?!” You repeat, voice cracking. “That's all you have to say? You lied to me, Dabi! You violated my trust! Do you even get how fucked up that is?!”

You lunged the bottle of pills at him, hitting him square in the chest. It falls hard on the floor, lid tipping and spilling its contents over the tiles. “You replaced my pills with vitamins. Did you seriously think I wouldn't notice? That I wouldn't taste the fucking difference?!”

Dabi regards you with indignation, nearly rolling his eyes at what he perceives as another one of your tantrums all because he didn't tell you a decision he saw as a necessary call. It was for your sake, how stupid are you to not see that simple fact?

“What if I had gotten pregnant?!”

“Then you’d be pregnant,” He replies smoothly, almost like a threat as he drinks the water he poured earlier. “Or you wouldn’t be. Either way, you’re staying.”

You brows furrow at his words, taking an instinctive step back. “What?”

Hands finally free, he wipes the condensation on his pants before properly facing you.

He tilts his head as if you're the one not making sense, “Did you think I wouldn't notice you were planning on leaving?”

The room shifts, a weight suddenly pressing down on your shoulders as your throat tightens. How did he know? You made sure to be discreet about it. And even though you did plan on leaving and moving someplace else to get away from him, it wasn't like that was your final plan. Even if Dabi could be cruel, mean, manipulative, and emotionally unavailable at times, you still loved him. So you wanted to give him one last chance before disappearing.

But you didn't think he'd catch on this quickly.

“I saw your suitcase last week,” Dabi continues, voice dropping lower. “Half-packed. Real subtle, by the way. You’d wait until I was gone and stuff things under your bed. Real cute.”

You stand your ground, trying to keep the trembling at bay lest you want him gaining the upper hand and letting him believe he has control over you.

He does. He knows. But to him it was more fun to let you think you have a choice.

He lets the silence stretch for a minute before finally taking a step closer. “The only reason I let you keep taking those contraceptives this long,” He bends slightly, hands braced on your shoulders, locking you in place. “..was because I didn’t want you running away. Less of a hassle if you're willingly staying.”

He's so close. Close enough for you to smell the scent of nicotine in his breath, causing you to scrunch your nose and look away.

“But if you wanna act like a brat?” His voice lowers, one hand gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Then I’ll keep you chained somewhere else.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” You snap at him, leveling him with a glare holding so much malice he's surprised you hadn't looked at him that way before. “You think I’ll just roll over and let you control me?”

“No,” He chuckled in response, finding your bite amusing. “I think you’ll fight. You’re good at that.”

He lifts the hand holding your chin, releasing you from his hold, not to strike you, but to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. What was meant to be an endearing gesture felt more like a threat and a reminder than an act of affection. He feels the tension in your body and he can't help but find it adorable.

“That’s what I like about you.” He praises in a softer voice, hooded eyes staring into yours, laced with something dark and possessive.

“You don’t like me,” You scoff, words sharp and shaking. “You like owning me, asshole.”

“The mouth on you when you're angry.” He tuts, clicking his tongue as though he's scolding a kid, a condescending sound that only fuels your fury. “A lady shouldn't talk like that.”

You swat his hands away, steeling your resolve before taking a step back to make some distance. Dabi stands there, amused as if waiting to see what you'd do next.

“Get out.”

He raised a brow at that, arms folded across his chest, looking down at you, challenging and unbothered. Daring you to say it again.

So you do.

With the last of your courage, you tell him to get the fuck out.

The silence that follows is thick, long enough to sting with hope that he might listen. But Dabi never listened, not unless he wanted to.

When he unfolded his arms, you thought he might relent and finally leave but just then, his hand connected with your cheek. A sharp, brutal slap. The sound echoes through the apartment, and the force sends you stumbling, hitting the floor before you can fully process what happened. Your vision spins, nausea overcoming your senses as bile rises in the back of your throat. He returned your slap from before with one of his own, though he had struck you harder.

Tears welled up in your eyes instantly, not just from the pain, but from the shock, the betrayal and the sharp confirmation of everything you feared. The metallic tang of blood pools in your mouth. You spit it out, red streaks staining the floor beneath you as your body shook. From fear or anger, you couldn't tell anymore.

Dabi crouches beside you. “I told you,” he says coldly, fingers sliding up the nape of your neck and threading through your hair. “A lady shouldn’t talk like that.”

He jerks your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his, and a cruel smirk greets you. “Who taught you to talk like a whore?” he sneers, voice laced in mockery. “Was it Ayato? Or maybe that friend of yours from work? Don't think I don't know how you sneak around, frolicking with other men like a damn slut.”

His grip in your hair tightens, earning a sharp cry from you and a few tears streaming down your cheeks. “Actin’ like a bitch in heat. Be grateful I still want you.”

The sting lingers even after he lets go, a throbbing ache in your scalp. He smooths his hand down your hair, untangling strands as he goes before patting you on the head as if he hadn't just threatened and physically hurt you seconds prior. The gesture felt more like a taunt, mockery hidden beneath his fickle mood.

Dabi stands up and makes his way towards the worn couch, floorboards creaking under heavy boots. The cushions shift under his weight, clothes shuffling and you hear the distinct sound of a belt buckle being undone, a feeling of dread washing over you at what's to come. The silence only made it worse, his grunt and lazy call of your name made it all the more deafening when his eyes landed on you. Waiting.

Your cheek is swollen, red and bruising from the force of his hand. Dabi liked getting physical in bed, manhandling, some choking, and pinning you against the mattress but he had never struck you outside the bedroom before. The fact that he's expecting you to please him right after is a blow to your dignity, your pride. The ego he had been consistently stepping on and you just failed to notice until now.

He watches you, a predatory gaze leaving you feeling helpless. How could you forget?

He's a villain.

Against your better judgement, despite the last shred of your self-respect screaming at you to bolt, make a run for it, you stayed. Not that Dabi would’ve let you get far, anyway. If anything, he’d relish the chase, letting you think you had a head start just to hunt you down like a game. A twisted, thrilling game of cat and mouse.

So you obey his silent command. Like a moth to a flame, an ant seduced by the promise of sweetness. Just a pitiful little thing, clinging to the hope of mercy where there’s none.

You settle between his spread legs, fists clenched in your lap as you finally tilt your head to look at him. His grin is unsettling, the look of a man who had finally gotten what he wanted, like a reward well earned. The look of a man who’s waited, hunted, and now, finally, has exactly what he wanted.

“I like you better on your knees. You look prettier like this.” He reaches out to pat you again, sliding his hand to the back of your head, guiding you forward with deliberate pressure. "Go on. Unless you'd rather have both cheeks swollen to match."

You make quick work of his boxers, he’d already stripped off everything else in the way after all. You swallow thickly, throat dry with anticipation and nerves, his cock standing proud as you pull down his boxers. The familiar glint of his prince Albert and Jacob's ladder piercings catching the light, no less intimidating now than the first time you saw them.

You’re no stranger to intimacy with Dabi, not in the physical sense. You’ve seen and felt his cock before, known the weight of his body against yours with barely an inch to spare. And yet, for all the closeness, there’s always been a chilling absence of true intimacy. Just heat without warmth. And you doubt you'd ever be given the chance to experience it after tonight.

You shift closer, hands trembling slightly as you wrap them around the base, feeling the cool press of metal against your palm. He hisses through his teeth, a sound low and satisfied, as if your hesitation only adds to his pleasure.

You steady yourself, leaning in, lips parting as you take him into your mouth slowly at first, cautious, adjusting to the piercings you’ve long since grown familiar with but never fully comfortable around. The weight of him, the sharp glint of metal, the heat, it all hits at once, and still, you keep going. You let him fill your mouth, inch by inch, until your eyes water and your pride crumbles.

“Fuck… that's it, doll.” He breathes, exhaling when the tip finally hits the back of your throat. You feel the way your body tightens instinctively, throat constricting around him, and he groans, hand tightening in your hair. “Knew you'd come around. You always do.”

He rests heavy on your tongue, and you prepare yourself to move but he holds your head in place, forcing you to deep throat and cockwarm him with your mouth. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as the desperate need for oxygen claws at your throat.

“Stay still. Move and I'll burn my handprint on your ass.”

The threat freezes you in place, eyes closing in an attempt to distract yourself. Anything but look at him.

Satisfied for now, Dabi reaches into the pocket of his pants, fishing out his phone. The screen lights up with a tap, messages from Shigaraki he ignored on the daily greets him. And a few more just hours earlier. He scrolls past them with practiced indifference, searching for one contact in particular: Hawks.

The dial tone picks up. It rings thrice before a familiar voice cuts through the line, chiding him, half-annoyed and amused.

Dabi puts the call on speaker, Hawks’ voice echoing in the quiet apartment, silent except for the faint sound of your muffled choking.

“I thought we had an agreement,” Hawks said, his voice taut, barely audible over the blare of traffic and distant voices. “You’re not supposed to contact me like this unless it’s an emergency.”

Dabi’s low chuckle crackled through the line. “It is an emergency.”

The camera flipped on, shifting to frame you in its lens. His voice dropped, laced with something darker. “I’ve got a sweet little plaything here who could use some… expert guidance.”

A breathy fuck comes from the other line as Hawks sees the scene before him. You between Dabi’s legs, obediently keeping him warm. Your eyes shimmer with unshed tears, cheeks flushed from effort and heat, defiance still clearly written all over your face. And fuck if he didn't like putting sluts in their place.

Dabi’s fingers thread lazily through your hair, a smirk playing on his lips. “Told you it was urgent,” he murmurs, not looking at the camera. “My dolly is learning so well. Thought you might want a front-row seat.”

“I thought you don't like to share.” Hawks says, hesitation lacing his voice. His gaze lingers on the screen, feeling conflicted. “Last we spoke… you called her your girlfriend.”

Dabi shrugs casually, free hand coming up to caress your cheek, thumb brushing just below your eyes and catching a few stray tears. “Yeah, well. She forgot how to behave.” He brings his thumb to his lips, licking the salty tears. “We're having a refresher course.”

He reaches back down again, strokes your cheek almost gently, making you flinch. “She’s learning a lot. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Hawks stiffens on the other end of the line, his expression unreadable. “You call that love?”

“Funny question, coming from the guy who bails when shit gets messy.” Dabi deadpanned, exhaling in annoyance. “Just get your ass here while I'm still in the mood to share, birdbrain.”

The call ends unceremoniously, tossed against the couch cushions without care of where it'll land. Fingers threading through your hair, you're pulled back and off of him, leaving you in a sputtering, coughing mess with dried tear streaks on your cheeks and puffy eyes. Your throat burns, can vaguely taste him on your tongue as you desperately breathe in the oxygen you need.

His chuckle only adds insult to injury, amusement fueling the growing pit of anger mixed with fear in your gut. But acting up now would only earn you more than the painful slap from earlier, and you'd rather survive this with all your limbs intact.

“On all fours, princess. Now.” A hand on your forearm, he hauls you up onto the couch without much care. The shirt you're wearing is quickly pulled off and discarded.

With a hand behind your neck, he shoves your face into the cushions and pulls your ass up, forcing you to arc painfully in his hold. Scarred hands trail up your sides, sending shivers down your spine. You brace yourself, expecting selfish, brutal treatment, expecting him to bury his cock in you and chase his pleasure without caring for your own.

But instead, he plants his hands on your hips, firmly pressing into your flesh, hard enough to leave marks.

Then the heat begins. On your left side, low at first, then rising fast. It sears into your skin like an iron, the smell of burning flesh thick in the air.

“You thought I'd just fuck you, didn't you? Just bend you over and be done with it?” Dabi growls next to your ear, hands still burning his handprint on your skin.

A sob tears from your throat. Tears spilling freely, soaking into the cushions below. Your eyes squeeze shut, fingers digging into the throw pillow in a desperate search for something to hold onto. Breath hitching in broken sobs as the burn sears deeper, Dabi was branding more than just your skin.

“Cry all you want. You’re still going to take it.”

You're trembling, wracked with the sting of pain and the weight of helplessness under his mercy.

Then you feel it, his fingertip, searing hot much like the hand that branded you, dragging slowly against your skin as he carves a path down your back. The pain has you choking on your own gasps, breathless, but he still doesn't relent. Then you realize, he's tracing letters. His name on your body. A reminder, a permanent mark of him meant to remind you of who you belong to.

Eyes wide, you look over your shoulder, silently pleading, voice cracking through sobs. “Stop… please, Dabi… it hurts, I can't–”

“You can't?” Dabi only chuckles, low and mocking. His fingers slip down, dipping into the waistband of your shorts and grazing slick heat between your thighs. “That so? ‘cause I can feel you dripping down here, doll.”

He leans in close, his chest pressing on your back, breath hot against your ear. “Your mouth's saying no but your body's begging for it like a sweet little masochist. I'm starting to think you like pain.”

You shake your head, but the words won't come, only more tears, more shaking, as he drags his fingers back and forth, proof of your body's betrayal in every wet sound that follows.

“See?” he whispers. “You’re already ready for me.”

You're thrown on your back with a sharp gasp. In one fluid, ruthless motion, your shorts and panties are yanked down, stripped away and tossed aside the growing pile of your clothes alongside your shame and the last threads of your dignity.

You lay bare before him and he drinks it in, eyes raking down your body, predatory in its gaze, observing its prey.

He grips the underside of your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh, and spreading you open. Any attempt to pry yourself away from his grasp is met with a squeeze and a warm sting from his quirk, a reminder and a threat.

The raw sting of his handprint and the letters scorched into your back flare with fresh agony as your body arches reflexively, a cry escaping before you can swallow it down. It burns. The way it grinds against the rough fabric of the cushions has tears prickling the corner of your eyes.

The man above you watches it all with delight, amusement glinting in his eyes. His gaze devours every twitch, tear, and broken sob like it’s a reward. He leans in close, weight pressing you deeper into the cushions, grinding the pain in further.

You try to push him away, trembling hands feebly pushing at his chest. “No more. Please.. Dabi, it hurts! M-my back,”

“It’s supposed to.” he says, indifferent to the pain you're suffering through. “You’ll remember it every time you move. See it every time you look in the mirror.”

He sits on his heels, stroking himself with a soft hiss. “Remember me whenever it stings. And maybe then,” You feel the tip of his cock right at your entrance, hovering as cerulean eyes stare into yours. “You'll think twice before trying to leave me.”

He shoves it all in one go, splitting you open, forcing you to take every inch without prep, taking your breath away. Your back arches, the burn from his name grinding into the cushions beneath you, amplifying everything. You're gasping and trembling, a mess of pain and pressure and panic.

He drops down onto his forearms, elbows braced on either side of your head. For a moment he stays still, just breathing you in, your tight, trembling warmth wrapped around him like a vice.

“Fuck,” he growls followed by a breathless laugh, “you feel perfect like this. So tight like you were made to take me.”

You feel so full. You always do when you're having sex with Dabi, but it was never like this. Never full of pain and humiliation and fear. The stream of tears flows, unable to stop yourself from crying out in both shame and pleasure as he starts moving, sharp and hard thrusts right from the start.

He doesn't allow you a moment to adjust to his size, much less the chance to feel comfortable with the feel of his piercings scraping inside your gummy walls with each punishing thrust. The metal scrapes and catches on the soft, sensitive flesh inside you, sending sharp pulses of sensation that blur the line between pain and something worse.

You cry out, legs trembling in his grip, but he only tightens his hold, forcing your thighs wider, nearly folding you in half.

Dabi drives his hips with fervor, damp fringes clinging to his forehead, sweat glistening along the sharp angles of his face. Skin flushed from the exertion, breaths coming out in ragged bursts, heat radiating off his skin as he moved with desperation. His body is hot to the touch and you had since given up trying to push him off you, pleasure soon clouding your mind and body.

Each drag of his cock sends you further down, dragging you with him to the depths of ecstasy, regardless of your willingness.

Dabi props himself on one hand, hooded eyes drinking you in with a smug look on his face. “Finally giving in?” He drawls, free hand trailing upward to cup the swell of your breast, calloused fingers kneading the soft flesh. “All you needed was a big cock and a good fucking to set you straight, huh?”

“ ‘m sorry..” The words barely come out as a whisper, soft and low he almost didn't hear it.

He echoes your words, “You’re sorry? You weren't sorry when you were secretly packing up your stuff.” His thumb lazily flicks at your nipple, hips slowing down to deep, hard strokes. “You weren't sorry when you met up with that perverted prick behind my back.”

His hand finds purchase at your throat, fingers pressing lightly at the sides of your neck. Not constricting just yet but it's enough to instill obedience. Instinctively, you grab at his wrist with both hands, fingernails scratching at the scarred skin and drawing blood but it does nothing to deter him.

His pain receptors were already fucked, no matter what you throw at him, scratching or otherwise, he wouldn't even feel it anyway.

“You weren't sorry when you slapped me earlier. Otherwise we wouldn't be here.” He applies pressure on your throat, the weight of his palm firm and unforgiving.

Your breath catches, panic flickering in your chest, eyes rolling back at the continued lack of oxygen in your lungs. With the last of your strength, your hold on his wrist tightens, nails digging into his skin to free yourself but to no avail.

Dabi doesn't stop moving. His pace picking up, merciless and unrelenting, uncaring of whether or not you can keep up with him. A crooked grin plays on his lips as he watches the tears stream down your flushed cheeks, enjoying the sight of you beneath him, shaking, undone, and still so tight around him it nearly drives him mad.

“You break so pretty,” he mutters against your ear, voice low and ragged. “Don’t go quiet on me now, doll.”

He talks to you tauntingly, not exactly expecting a reply because he still has his hand on your throat.

You grip what you can get your hands on other than Dabi’s wrist, trying to anchor yourself as his fingers finally ease their hold, but his hand stays there, thumb brushing the rapid pulse beneath it. Every thrust pulls you closer to the edge, the coil wounding tighter in your core against your will.

Dabi groans, hips stuttering as he feels you clench around him. “You close, baby? Go on, I want to feel you cum on my cock.”

The tension in your core unravels in a blinding wave of white-hot pleasure, crashing through you with a force that steals the air from your lungs. You cry out, loud and broken, coming undone as your walls flutter around him, clenching with every pulse of pleasure that rips through you.

He curses under his breath, the control he's been holding on to slipping as he drives into you harder and deeper, chasing his own high. His hand moves from your throat to your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks, tilting your face towards him so he can watch every flicker of bliss in your expression.

Then with a few more thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt with a deep guttural groan, spilling inside you in thick, hot spurts, painting your insides white.

Relief washes over you, eyes fluttering close with a soft exhale at the prospect of finally being given a moment of reprieve. But it's fleeting, slipping away like a rug yanked from beneath your feet. As if a second of rest would be asking for too much.

Dabi's hips move again, pulling out nearly all the way before slamming back in.

You choke on a gasp, “W-wait, ‘s too much..!”

Deep, hard thrusts send waves of unforgiving pleasure thrumming through your body, fogging your mind in a haze, eyes glossing over as the prickling feeling of overstimulation settles. Your toes curl and nails dig into his back as Dabi drives his hips into yours repeatedly, each wet sound echoing in the living room space. A white ring forms at the base of his cock, the remnants of his first load spilling with each thrust.

It all feels too much, too soon, already feeling yourself hurtling towards another orgasm faster than you can comprehend. His hand slips between you, easily finding your clit with skilled hands as he watches you unravel before him. And only for him.

“Look at you,” He exhales in shaky breaths, a smirk playing on his lips. “We've barely even started and it looks like I've already fucked you dumb, huh sweetheart?”

A whine is all the response he receives, your eyes closing and moaning with each punishing thrust of his hips.

“Don't think we're anywhere near finished, hm,” He leans down, bodies tangling together without an inch to spare. Hot lips press open mouthed kisses along your collarbone, trialing up your jaw. “You lied to me. Betrayed my trust. You were planning on leaving me.”

His noses at the hollow where your neck meets shoulder, a soft, deliberate inhale, lightly nipping. “You don’t get to walk away without paying for that.”

Teeth graze your skin, his breath molten hot. Pearly whites sink down on your shoulder, punctuated with a particularly brutal thrust. The sound he makes is raw and primal, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.

The ache fades into a dizzying cocktail of pain and pleasure that leaves your head spinning with a silent cry. The slow, wet drag of his tongue over the fresh bite mark is a cruel contrast to the sting. You hiss through your teeth, body jolting at the sensation.

Dabi chuckles low, like he’s savoring your every reaction. “Still with me, baby?” He murmurs against your skin, tongue flicking over the mark again, less in a soothing gesture and more in torment.

The tears flow freely, and with a flick of his wrist between your legs and the relentless push and pull of his hips, you once again come undone under his touch, crying out so sweetly in pleas and begs that sound like music to his ears.

And just like that, your vision blurs and you can barely comprehend what's happening, dipping in and out of consciousness. Your body feels distant, untethered, floating somewhere between pleasure and overstimulation.

Dabi can barely contain his excitement the second you go limp in his hold, he had to physically stop himself from moving to adjust his position. Leaning back on his heels a bit, he grasps your hips, unmindful of the burn mark he had marked you with, and hoisting you on to his lap. The angle allows him better movement, hitting even deeper than before.

With his hold, he pulls your body towards him with every thrust, using you to get himself off.

He throws his head back with a loud groan, “fuckin’ hell, feels so good,” he cums again, keeping himself still, cum spurting right in your womb. Gently rubbing his thumbs on your sides, he caresses your lower half. He takes your cheeks in both hands, squeezing before letting go with a quick pat and quietly admiring the burn of his handprint on your skin.

He doesn't bother pulling out just yet, simply threading a hand through his damp hair. The creak of the floorboards and the sound of heavy boots thudding has him frowning. He tilts his head, turning his gaze towards the origin of the noise. There stands Hawks, still in his hero costume, gloved hands held up in front of him in a placating gesture. Trademark smile on his infuriating face.

Hawks gives his best disarming smile, attempting to charm his way out of trouble. “I just got here, promise!”

Dabi knew better. He would've heard the door open or the swing of a window, but then again Hawks is a trained hero. He could've slipped in without anyone noticing who knows how many minutes ago unless Dabi was too focused on you to realize.

Dabi raises a brow, rethinking his options, then shakes his head. “Do you always show up fashionably late to a threesome invite, or is this a special excuse? You sure took your sweet time. Almost thought you weren't coming.”

Hawks’ gaze drifts from Dabi then to your unconscious form, “There was a drive-by.” He offers as an explanation, “I couldn't just ignore it. What kind of hero would that make me if I did?”

“Whatever. Just get your ass over here.” Dabi finally pulls out of you, replying casually to Hawks as if he isn't offering you to someone else. “If you arrived a minute later, I would've kicked your feathered ass out.”

“Harsh.” Hawks replies with a faux pout.

“Fuck her or leave.”

#bnha imagines #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha imagines #dabi smut #dabi imagine #dabi x reader #todoroki smut #dabi x you #dabi todoroki #mha smut #mha x reader #cw yandere

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wondersinwaynemanor · 1 year ago

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Everyone just goes to Dick's place and he welcomes them as long as they do something for him in return.

Jason knocks on Dick's door, helmet already off - Hey Dickiebird, *flashing him with a large smile* I'm gonna crash here cus Bruce knows where all of my safehouses are now and I don't wanna face him.

Dick - As long as you cook, Jay, cus I have a broken arm right now. And you patch up whatever argument you have with Bruce.

Jason - You're no fun, Dick. And let me patch your arm first, you're gonna bleed out.

Dick - Aw Little Wing looking out for his big brother.

Jason - You big goof.

Tim has made a duplicate key of Dick's apartment door because that boy is always steps ahead of everyone.

Dick is startled as he settles on the bed, getting ready to sleep - What the fu-Timmy! How did you- I'm not even gonna ask.

Tim flashes the duplicate key with exhausted eyes - Yup, already made a duplicate, Dick. And can I sleep in your place tonight? I don't think I can make it to the Manor.

Dick already has his arm wide open for Tim - As long as you don't snore, Timbalina, cus you've been awake for days now.

Damian tries his best to unlock Dick's apartment door with his katana.

Dick is already opening it before Damian can do it for himself - Hey, Dami.

Damian - Grayson. I'm here tonight cus my cycle has a flat tire.

Dick - But you know how to fix that, Dami. Is that an excuse cus you just miss me?

Damian, doesn't say anything against that - Tt. That's absurd.

Dick - You can stay here if you like, even for more than one night, as long as you let me cuddle you.

Damian - That's too childish.

Dick - Then you can't stay-

Damian - Fine, fine.

Wally already zooms inside Dick's apartment before Dick could even close the door when he got his food delivery - Hey, Dick. Gonna stay here for a while. I burned my place and I'm hiding from Barry and Iris.

Dick - As long as you don't burn my place.

Wally - Won't let anything happen to you.

Bruce is already in Dick's place before Dick comes home from patrol - Hi, Chum. Just checking to see how you're doing.

Dick - You're really getting soft in your old age, B. I'm good.

Bruce - Can I stay here for the night? Just to make sure.

Dick - As long as you try to get some sleep, B. Instead of moping around.

Bruce - I'll make sure you sleep first.

Dick - You gonna tuck me in like before?

Bruce, without thinking and hesitation - If you want me to.

Dick - Getting soft, old man, getting soft.

And Dick doesn't mind that his loved ones go to his place. They don't even have to do something for him in return.

#batfamily #incorrect batfamily quotes #incorrect dc quotes #batdad #batkids #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #wally west

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arolesbianism · 11 months ago

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Alright boys pack it up no more rain world posting new oni dlc is coming out in less than a week

#rat rambles #oni posting #rain posting #I jest I will probably still be posing some rain world stuff if I get around to designing more guys #but I can already feel the oni brain coming back and am half tempted to do one last comb through the files even tho I know itll be #pointless because the full dlc will be at my fingertips very soon #to be clear I 100% will be combing through the data of the full release too but thats a given #calvin my boy pls make it in pls don't get scrapped pls my boy #oh now that we're getting close Im gonna let myself talk abt this just this once but if you care abt potential spoilers stop reading #anyways so last I checked where the duplicant descriptions and stuff is stored there was an additional new duplicant named calvin #now I wasnt able to find anything else referencing him from my admittedly not super deep digging but he was there #I did thoroughly look through the spritesheets tho and hes definitely not there from what I could yell #or at least he wasnt when I checked idk maybe they put him in during one of the patches for some reason #but yeah I hope he makes it in despite all the specific advertising of them adding one new duplicant #its actually these descriptors that have been making me not wanna talk abt calvin dupe too openly as if he does make it in its probably #going to be a pretty big spoiler for a bit?#ofc if he is a secret of sorts then he wont be for long but if he is meant to be a surprise I don't wanna scream on the rooftop abt it #but I do wanna have proof that I found him before hand it he is a surprise I need to feel cool and special for looking at one file <3 #yknow what I think I actually am going to pop open oni and tripple check that I'm not missing anything #I was playing rw a lot to cope with the dlc not being fully out but at this point Ive finished every campaign except saints #and saints is being a buggy bastard for me rn and keeps repeatedly softlocking me so Im giving up on it for now #like just this morning I did the entirety of the hunter campaign in like 2 hours I have so little left to do #if I do decide to replay a campaign tho it's probably going to be either gourmands or spearmasters since theyre my favorites to play as #idc what anyone says Ill always preffer the spearmasters story to rivulets I adore them both but ppl do not appreciate spearmaster enough #like every person Ive seen play it sees the ending as disappointing and I wont stand for it its high-key my favorite ending #now thats entirely because Im a moon enjoyer and a tragedy enjoyer but still I will always lose my mind over moon's final message

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locksmithkeyatlanta4 · 4 months ago

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On Twitter

#Auto Key Duplication #Auto Chip Keys #Unlock a Car Door #Open Cars Door #Auto Transponder Key #24 Hour Locksmiths #Making Keys For Cars #Auto Ignition Locked #Auto Keys #Auto Door Lock Repair #Key Replacement For Auto #Auto Remote Key

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astra-ravana · 7 months ago

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Sigil Magick: Illustrating Your Intent

Sigils are a cornerstone of contemporary and chaos magick and function as keys to unlock the doors of reality and bend it to one’s will. These potent symbols serve as physical embodiments of one’s intentions, cast into existence through the fusion of art and willpower.

The crafting of a sigil begins with a clear and focused intention, which is then worked into a unique symbol through a creative magickal process. The magick practitioner inscribes deep personal meaning and style into their designs, making each unique to its artist. Sigils are ideal tools for manifesting your desires, imbuing objects with specific purpose and energy, protecting spaces, and communicating with the spirit world and should be used responsibly.

Origins

The practice of crafting sigils traces its roots to the ancient world but was modernized in the early 20th century by the works of Austin Osman Spare, an occultist and artist. He introduced the method of creating magical symbols by condensing letters of a desire into an abstract design. Aleister Crowley, too, influenced the practice by intertwining sigils with ceremonial magick, embedding them with a rich esoteric significance.

Some occult grimoires employ sigils as a means of contacting spirits, for example; Ars Goetia, The Book of Oberon, and Pseudomonarchia Daemonum.

Basics of Sigil Magick

Sigil magick emerges from the belief in one’s ability to manifest their focus into reality. Through a process of creation, a sigil becomes much more than mere ink on paper—it is the illustrated essence of desire. Individuals can use sigils as focal points for their will, empowering these symbols through meditation or ritual to enact change. The universe of sigils is vast and varied, types of sigils include:

• Pictorial Sigils: Intuitive symbols drawn from the subconscious

• Runic Sigils: Combinations of runic alphabets that resonate with specific energies

• Word Sigils: Derived from statements of intention, where letters are crafted into a unique symbol

Correspondences also serve a purpose in this class of magick, in order to help align one's intent to universal energies. As an artist crafts their sigil, they intertwine traditional symbols with personal significance, creating a bridge to the metaphysical world. Some relevant correspondences are:

• Numerology: Numbers carry vibrations that can enhance a sigil’s purpose.

• Zodiac Signs: Celestial influences infused to fine-tune the focus.

• Elements: The classic forces of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water lend their power to sigils, grounding them in natural harmony.

Sigil Creation

Before you take pen to paper, first envision your intent with clarity and purpose This may involve some deep introspection into the true nature of your desires. A precise intention lays the foundation for the sigil's power. Once ready, write out your intention and cross out any duplicate letters. From here a couple different methods can be utilized. Naturally you could always draw your sigils from pure instinct, creating spontaneous shapes to represent your intentions, but there are other techniques available.

The Wheel

This method employs a wheel to be used as a map for drawing your sigil. Simply start at the first letter of your intent and draw lines to each subsequent letter. Example:

My Method

I make my sigils by breaking up the letters to create shapes. I will often decorate with extra shapes, symbols, and pictures as well. Here is a simplified example of my sigil creation process:

Next you must charge your sigil. Charging is the act of infusing the sigil with energy. The creator might enter a meditative state, focusing intently on the sigil while envisioning their intentions intertwining with the design. This act of focused concentration serves to embed the intention within the sigil, making it a beacon for the desired change.

Passive and Active Sigils

Intentioned sigils fall into either the passive or active sigil category based on how that sigil's energy is best utilized. Passive sigils are usually drawn on the body, item, or surface and then left alone to release their power over time. Active sigils involve some action to trigger the release of the sigil's energy, such as burning, burying, soaking with water/oil, and more. Some sigils can be used both passively and actively, but most will fall into one category.

Spirit Sigils

Many spirits and deities have sigils that represent them and these can be powerful catalysts for interacting with these beings. If the spirit you're working with doesn't have a sigil made for them (or even if they do) you can design your own symbol to connect with that spirit. Follow the same process, but instead of focusing on your intent, focus on the spirit/deity and connecting with it. You can even perform a ritual and provide an offering to invite the spirit into your space. This will allow you to draw divine inspiration straight from the source. Here are some examples of spirit/deity sigils, as well as some I created:

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alicentsgf · 3 months ago

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im very set on there being 8 survivors now, anything else cheapens the story a little for me. i think it was always going to be 8, no matter what else changed. even before the writers were set on who the 8 would be they knew the 8 roles the characters would have to fill. this was always implied in the pilot, but now im convinced.

even just going off what we've actually heard via dialogue, any more than 8 feels unlikely. at lotties compound one of them said they were "all here" implying it was just the 6 of them left alive. the other 2 would then be travis and someone else who is either dead or assumed to be dead. i know people have speculated on that line in season 1 about some survivors living off-grid but personally i still think jessica just meant travis.

the number 8 has come up a couple of times in meaningful ways and its especially relevant to understanding why it matters that they're the Yellowjackets, a soccer team. it isnt just backstory, its like the key on a map, symbolic shorthand to help you understand the wider story. their on-field dynamics and roles so often mirror the ongoing dynamics and roles of the characters.

minus duplicates (like allie/akilah being nat's duplicate) there are 8 positions in a starting line up and we know via their shirt numbers all but 1 position is assigned to a specific varsity player. i know this is super hard to visualise if you arent a massive soccer nerd like me so i repurposed a graphic i made a while back.

in soccer specific jersey numbers are traditionally worn by particular positions, e.g 1 for a goalie, 9 for a striker, etc. every single varsity player in this show wears a traditional number. theres no way that happens by accident, it was a choice. the image above shows you what it tells us about their field position. as you can see the unassigned role is the attacking playmaker position, the person who makes the most pressurised, pivotal decisions. the real life or death stuff. misty fills this role, she has both ended and saved more lives than the rest and i'd say destroying the blackbox was pretty damn pivotal. in the pilot when the girls run out for the pep rally she is the only one thats focused on apart from the varsity girls and theres a player missing from the line up. that seems deliberate.

you can also see the only (teen) dead of the 8 are laura lee and jackie. this is where our reserves come in. sometimes also called substitutes or game-changers (subtitution is a major theme in this show just by itself but thats another post). when a player goes down you look to the bench to see who can fill their role. laura lee and jackie have both already been subsituted: travis takes laura lees place at lotties right hand, becoming her partner in the right side of defense, naturally protective but can progress with the attack to support his winger (nat), and then melissa takes jackies place as shaunas focal point, encouraging progression and driving the attack. however, even then travis and melissa dont fit quite right. simply put, people (and cats, no matter how similar they look to the original) cant be so easily replaced. travis, melissa, and misty are often othered. never accepted as part of the core team. (i have a suspicion van was meant to die and have javi take her place positionally. for a while he seemed like he might have a similar ability to deflect death against the odds and a closeness to the wilderness travis and lottie would want to defend. imo whenever the writers decided javi was dying or van was living, the others story inevitability changed too.)

the number 8 relates to the wilderness too. the 8 the knife made at the seance when javi asked if they were all going to die? the way the symbol of the wilderness has 8 elements?

im not saying this diagram shows for sure which element represents who, but i thought i'd give you guys an idea of what im seeing.

to be clear, im absolutely not saying the survivors are all that the symbol represents. if an in-universe explanation is given it will obviously be something else (i.e. that its a map of some sort) but i think the creators of the show chose this design for a reason that perhaps relates more to the survivors than anything else. it being a map would be more of a visual backgronym, with the characters as the actual inspiration for it.

for me the symbol has to represent them because the entire point is that they and wilderness are indistinguishable. us not knowing whats the wilderness and whats them is by design. that promotional poster of the characters forming the symbol? sitting inside of it? supernatural force or not, its in them. like lottie said, "is there a difference [between it and us]?" thats the shows thesis statement.

it makes sense Tai's jersey number is the 8 when she most embodies what the wilderness represents. shes the central midfielder, equal parts attack and defense. two warring halves, neither one exactly good nor bad, just primal vs civil. as shes placed at the very center of the game she has to play equally in both her own half and the other. her finding a way to balance both sides is key and this follows because historically and mathematically 8 has often been the number that is used to represent balance, splitting evenly from 8 to 4 to 2 to 1. life vs death, creation vs destruction, spiritual vs physical. neither can exist without the other. "does a hunt that has no violence feed anyone?" = living requires killing. but too much of either and theres disruption, a hole in the ecosystem as a species exhausts its food source. I wonder if thats what the yellowjackets did. killed too freely and disrupted the balance. once again, tai would embody this. her arc this season would reflect the wider narrative in its entirety - the primal takes over and natures left unbalanced. its why i dont think any of the survivors end this show alive. not because of cosmic justice, this story isnt so much about morality, its about duality and balance. when the wolves are killing too many deer the only thing you can do to reset the scales is cull the wolves.

so yes, it always had to be 8. if the 8th survivor is melissa, then it was very likely decided long ago that one of the extras would eventually come to the fore to play this part. ultimately they were just waiting to see who they thought was the best fit (or maybe what big name older actress they might be able to snag and match to a teenager lmao). either way it always had to be someone who could step into the space jackie left in order to complete the team. no more practices or scrimmages, they know their roles now. the ones we met in the pilot; the butcher, the overseer, the shaman, etc. for so long they had no striker, no sharp point to their attack, but thats not true anymore. melissa subs in for jackie, but soccer is fluid. players can switch position due to substitution. now its shauna who leads the attack, becomes the striker, the captain, placing melissa in the space shes left behind. no more killing for necessity, this is killing for sport and every position is filled. the story until now was just match prep, this is where the game begins.

#im so totally normal about this show #yj meta #yellowjackets #yj theories #yj thoughts #shauna shipman #jackie taylor #taissa turner #van palmer #lottie matthews #misty quigley #travis martinez #laura lee #melissa yellowjackets #yj soccer posting #long post

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