#just... darker in source than most

[legolasghosty]

🐑 Alternate Universe- Magic, Mutual Pining, Demonic possession, Furbies

Oh dear...

Alex is attending one of the most prestigious magic academies in the country, on the orders of his parents of course. Even though Laiz Fier Academy reviles even the name of the only type of magic he's ever been good at. His parents swore he'd find another specialty here, and he'd let himself believe them, like the idiot he is. He's scraping by in classes. Barely. At least he's managed to make a couple of friends and figure out how to sneak into the library stacks to find books that will actually help him hone his skills.

However, Alex realizes now there's a reason why it's not recommended to do your first summoning alone. Because, while he does manage to summon a demon, it doesn't exactly end up in the silvery urn he'd laid in the center of the pentagram.

So now he has a talking, demonic Furby to hide. One that, despite its too-wide eyes and disconcertingly smooth voice, Alex thinks he might be developing feelings for.

(Fake fic ask game!)

[vaaaaaiolet]

Six years have gone by since 1998. Two since the death of your first (and only) love. So when the dead come knocking at your door after your life went to hell without warning, you have a tough time welcoming him back in. In Leon's defense, his hands were tied. You? You'd put your life almost unforgivably on hold after he blindsided you.

Maybe the only way to get you to listen is to tie yours.

STRICTLY MDNI!! f / m make-up sex after a reunion gone sour. ANGST GALORE. established relationship but it's Messy, plot spans pre-re2r to re4r, character study (scar tour!!), Foreplay: The Movie, good bdsm etiquette...leon doms PLS STAY WITH ME. light bondage + blindfold, The Chair™️, munch MARATHON, emotions (read: LEON) keep edging you before an extremely self-indulgent dicking down. consensual unsafe sex, PRAISE, lil bit of mean ft. leon's possessive streak + morning after <3

a/n: anon req gone wildly wrong. welcome back to ovulation week with vivi, THE MOST UNORIGINAL BITCH ON THE PLANET 😭 i read a fic about getting tied to a chair and discovered something about myself. now i’m convinced daydreaming about bondage w/ leon is how i passed finals. oops. pray i survive second sem y'all🧍

word count: 6.3k 🤡 // read on ao3

“The heart has its reasons which reason does not know.” - Blaise Pascal

Like any good breakup scene, it starts with rain. 

A torrential downpour. Poseidon’s wrath lashing down the panes of your living room windows. The terrific sound of it is only drowned out by the hum of your TV set, the one source of light in this dark room and you, a moth to flame, circle it, afraid of getting too close lest you burn. 

The President’s on tonight. His daughter’s back safe and sound, having been spirited away to Spain. The press release is overjoyed to report that one indomitable man brought her back in a matter of days. President Graham declares it with a triumphant fist: an American hero stands in front of us tonight, and the crowd erupts in cheers for the First Daughter’s savior, but honest to God, you couldn’t give a shit about his heroics.

Not when Leon’s right there. Suited and tied. 

Or as close to living, breathing Leon as you could hope to get.

You inch closer to the screen when the camera pans over a face you haven’t seen properly in six years.

Sandy hair two shades darker, baby fat bereft on now-chiseled cheeks. It’s easy to pick apart the pixels of the man’s profile when he’s staring at the audience. Heart knocking against your ribs, you can’t help reaching out and tracing the angle of his jaw, this uncelebrated member of the President’s security entourage on national television who’s unknowingly subbing in for your once-boyfriend. Long-term, long-distance lover, if you wanted to flatter yourself. 

It doesn’t matter now. It’s getting late and dreaming should be done in bed. You reach for the remote to turn the prerecorded program off, and the rain starts falling – no, knocking – exceptionally harder against your front door. Urgently, like it wants in. 

And then the rain calls out your name.

The floorboards creak under your feet when you go to investigate through the peephole. A powder blue eye stares back.

“Who is it?” you call out, voice shriller than you’d like.

“Open the door, please? I’ll explain inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“I don’t let strangers in, sorry. Who are you?”

The rain answers in a familiar timbre that sends shivers down your spine. “Trust me, just this once.”

The doorknob clatters in surprise at the twist of your wrist, and swings open to reveal the man from your TV set, now escaped and peering at you through dewy lashes the pixels had hidden. Your eyes flit across his features: it’s the very same jawline, black suit identical to the one on your screen. Exactly the man your brain had tried hushing your heart from recognizing.

Your hold on the doorknob trembles.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Leon offers you a ghost of a smile as the storm pelts down his shoulders. “May I come in?”

“You watch the news a lot?” he ventures after a few minutes.

“Huh?”

Once the initial shock of Leon’s appearance subsides, something acrid settles in your bones. The silence between you two stretches like taffy waiting to be pulled. It sticks in your throat without much coming out to abate it. What else can you do when the dead rejoin the world of the living?

Make light conversation. You can do that. 

“Leon, I thought you died.” Or not.

He shoots you a half-grin. “I wouldn’t die on you just like that, you know.”

“You practically did,” you retort, voice going thick. 

You find old habits hard to break. It’s nothing new. You’re perched on the armrest of your couch, a familiar penchant Leon had smiled at when he shut the front door behind him. His habit of shaking his hair dry like a puppy also hadn’t gone away, much to the traitorous delight of your heart. You’d almost giggled when he accidentally sprayed you with rainwater doing it. 

Now, you’re watching him fold his suit jacket over one of your kitchen chairs with his back turned to you, an odd bulge in its left pocket threatening to send the whole thing crashing to the floor at any moment. Other secrets hang in the air like ghosts. Leon’s tie sits drying on top of your radiator. You think you should tell him to peel off his soaked dress shirt, he might catch a cold otherwise, but are you allowed to say that anymore? 

Worse still, why do you want to?

“I saw you on the news. That’s why,” you reply a beat too late. “You told me in your last letter that you were going to work for the government. Something to do with the President, and ever since then I…I turn it on when something big happens.”

Leon stops fiddling with his jacket, turning to you with wide eyes. “That was-”

“Two years ago?” You swallow. “I know.”

The letters sit burning holes in a box under your bed, all stamped and postmarked with no return address since 1998. The last day you’d seen him alive and breathing. 

Leon was the boy you’d hold hands with under desks in high school, a high school sweetheart as textbook as they come. You’d ditched prom to wish on shooting stars in the back of his first car, let him be the first to slip off your spaghetti straps when kissing grew too chaste to convey the giddiness in your chest. 

Puppy love turned into something perennial. Real. He’d carried moving boxes up the stairs of your first apartment, and you right after. You’d watched him rise through the ranks of the Academy. Cheered front row at his graduation, let him spin you in your highest heels right in front of your parents. Blushed when he’d squeeze your hand tighter walking past the jeweler’s at the mall. 

And you’d soaked Leon’s chest with tears before he rushed off to Raccoon City that September night so long ago, steely resolve in his eyes and a promise on his lips to come right back after doing his sworn duty.

Leon never returned. His letters did, though. 

Envelopes from seemingly nowhere – blacked out epistolary updates you’d read on your bathroom floor that grew briefer as weeks spiraled into months. 

What you could piece together from what wasn’t censored under an increasingly watchful eye was that Leon was under a government contract, fighting tooth and nail in some kind of training program that couldn’t have been any run-of-the-mill police kind. Something he had as little agency over as the frequency of his letters, he’d promised you. He was going to come home one day. Just one more month of training, one more mission, one last test. 

Leon was furious in his final message when he found out about the deal with the White House. The censor didn’t go through as much as it should have; you’d never been more grateful for the oversight as you tilted the page to read his scribbles in the margins.

Then came a terrifying radio silence. 

You waited each month afterwards for the postman to stop by your mailbox. Waded through a snowstorm in January to make sure the post office had your new address when you moved in 2003, practically begged the lady at the counter to check if they’d mixed up your letters with anyone else’s in the meantime. Nothing. 

“Two years, Leon,” you grit out, digging your nails into the leather of your couch. The tail end of his name takes on an ugly shape in your mouth when you rise to your feet, “I waited two years not knowing if you were alive or not.”

No one had answers to his disappearance except for the one you’d endured ever since he left: move on. 

The way he holds his tongue now, too, sets sparks alight in your throat. “And you want to know what happened to me since then?”

“Tell me,” Leon says softly.

Your voice falters. 

A dead man walking would take the breath out of you in any case, but it does even more so now that Leon looks larger than life – no longer an afterimage on TV and coming over to where you stand. Even with his shirt sleeves plastered to them from the rain, Leon’s arms look used to heavy duty; there’s a broadness in his shoulders he didn’t have out of the Academy. 

His mouth pinches when he stops a tentative foot away from you. “Tell me,” he repeats, frowning at your averted gaze. 

He’s waiting for you to speak. So close you could touch him, blood pumping through his veins just like you’d once prayed for until your breath ran out.

And it pisses you off. 

He doesn’t get to have it this easy.

“No.” 

Confusion colors his exclamation. “No?”

“No.” You smile bitterly at the ground when he backs off an inch, raising your chin to look him in the eyes as your own start to sting. “You don’t get to be the good guy. You don’t get to come barrelling back into my life, how’d you know I live here anyway…”

“I found out as soon as I could, you don’t think I’ve been worried sick about you-”

“Not after you cut me off!” 

“It’s not that simple!”

Two years. 730 days. Your throat so hoarse from crying the night before that you’d called off work some mornings. 

“You know what I think, Leon? I bet you thought I’d wait on you forever.”

He blinks fast, taken aback. “I wouldn’t- I couldn’t do that to you.”

“So you’d have come back even if I didn’t?”

Didn’t. A flicker of something soft crosses his face. “Really?”

With your heart beating out of your chest, you cross your arms and spit out a haughty, “Of course not.”

Leon stares.

The resulting silence stretches half a minute.

It’s a tepid standoff at first, made worse by you searching his person up and down. You wrack your brain for his old tells: a jumping muscle in his jaw, a furrow of his brow. Angry, pink cheeks accompanied by a crestfallen pout. 

Nothing. He’s dead silent.

So you double down. 

“My friends told me to settle down, said it wasn’t safe living alone,” you sniff, rocking on the balls of your feet. “So unless you-mmf!”

Lips, crashing onto yours. Burning warm. Two seconds of affection before a tongue flicks brashly over the seam of your stunned mouth. Your brain in overdrive. Leon no longer a foot away but pressed so fiercely against you that your camisole starts going see-through from the water still saturating his shirt. 

Your hands feebly come up to his chest, not to push him off like you should, but to cling to his collar. Old habit.

Fuck. 

“You’ve gotten mean, sweetheart,” Leon grins razor sharp, whispering into the corner of your mouth. “It’s a good look on you.”

“I’m not…” God, he’s kissing the sense out of your head. Your lungs suck in his breaths like a failed attempt to go cold turkey.

“Sure you are, lying to me like that. Watching the news just in case I’m there.” 

Rough hands dig under your thighs. Hoist you up like you’re made of feathers.

“Only your shoes on the shoe rack. Heels I bought you.”

Your feet dangle in the air, your head’s not used to the drop in air pressure this high. You’re being lifted – where? 

“You think I’m that dense, baby?” 

The sound of wooden scraping scratches your ears as you register one of your kitchen chairs being dragged to the middle of the living room. You’re plopped unceremoniously down. 

And with your vision swimming, you notice Leon finally taking off his shirt. Unbuttoning it with fervor, throwing the fabric onto the floor so hard there’s a wet thwack!, and suddenly, he’s knelt at your feet, looking up at you with teeth chattering from the chill and a blizzard brewing in his eyes.

The raging storm outside nearly quiets for him to tell you, “We’re gonna do it this way.”

A cocktail of resentment and curiosity churns in your stomach. You stare daggers at the ceiling. Leon snatches his tie off the radiator and wraps it around his hand, checking if it’s dry by now. 

It is. Good. 

“Since you don’t want to look at me so badly,” he hisses, “you won’t need to look at me at all.” He unfurls the tie and lays it flat against his palm. “This is going over your eyes so I can actually get something inside your head. And you’re going to feel everything I say, okay?”

“I feel cold. You got my shirt wet,” you spit back.

“Then take it off,” Leon says smoothly.

How rude. Utterly uncouth. 

You’ve never flung off an article of clothing faster. You’ve got nothing to hide, you’re fucking better than to play meek to his games. Your bra barely hides how your nipples pebble in the frigid air, and Leon sucks in a breath at the sight. You’re wearing blue lace. His favorite.

His tone softens a fraction of a degree when he instructs, “You say ‘stop’ and it’s over. Tell me you understand.”

“I do.”

The silk wraps gentler around your eyes than you expect. The living room disappears into velvet, and your fingers twitch, itching to fly at your face and investigate the cause of this new pitch black.

“Hands down. I need them more than you do.” 

Leon’s voice ripples in the darkness. Oh God. That must be why people do this sort of thing. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks, almost in awe.

Fuckfuckfuck. He wasn’t supposed to tell this early. 

“...a little.”

Your hand gets lifted into the air, your index and middle fingers separated from the rest. Leon touches their tips to the hollow in the middle of his collarbone, and right here, you feel the flutter of life. Wingbeats matching the race of your own heart. 

So is he.

There’s movement, butterfly wings brushing against your cheek when he reaches up to press a kiss there. Your fingers fall away from the base of his throat and land on a raised patch just below his right shoulder. It’s…almost star-shaped. Rough. 

“You have a scar here,” you breathe. “How’d you-”

“Bullet wound, 1998. I want you to keep going.”

You could’ve dug your nails into it. Scratched off one more reminder of the day Leon left you in the dark. His tie leaves you blind, but you don’t need sight to feel the trust Leon still has in you as he invites your fingertips to his chest. You go gentle into the good night with his voice to guide you.

“Knife scar,” he whispers. Soft, like how you trace over the mark. 

Your fingertips shake over his ribs.

“Burns from saving a little girl. She had eyes like yours.”

The trek is arduous, nonlinear. The same injuries show up again and again, scattered across his body like fireworks. You think you’re fine, using one hand for the job and clutching the other to your heart so it won’t break, and then you slip, grab onto his shoulders for support, and your palms fall over the flat of his back.

Two symmetrical gashes spread across his shoulder blades – Icarus’ wings singed off.

“I’ve tried saving a lot over the years, sweetheart,” Leon goes quiet, a new grief clogging his flow of explanation. “Thought I could have it all at first, you and this job. I wrote you less, told myself you’d already moved on, but you’re right, I…I wanted to keep you.” You discover tears sound thick when he laughs. “I’ve lost so fucking much these six years and I don’t know why I can’t bring myself to lose you too.”

“The kids in high school,” trembles your own voice, “they said I’d run away with you, but you ended up running from me.” 

“When you’re all I have left?” Leon brings your palm to his cheek. “How could I?”

“But you did!” you sob, banging weak fists against his chest.

You remember the pity, the snide judgment. Declining invites and frustrating friends when you’d flake on blind dates set up to get you out of the house. Switching excuses every time somebody back home called and inevitably asked, So when are you and Leon going to visit? Warring against logic (of course he’s fucking dead) and the arrested development of your heart as you rolled dice on his return. Four years in a stupor of when, two of what now?

Spending all that time at odds with yourself and the world turned you into a real tough kid. A callous bitch. Eventually, you forced yourself to explore your options like a grown woman should. Tried your hand at anything legal to forget the sinking feeling in your chest. Had a phase where you’d wake up in a stranger’s bed only to go home and collapse, rereading Leon’s letters in the cardboard box under your own. If it was steel that marked his back like this, yours is streaked with flint.

And that’s exactly what you tell him. 

Immediately, his shoulders straighten. “So you’ve gone on a few dates.”

If he wanted to be polite about it, yes.

“Did they fuck you as good as I did?”

You splutter. A cold zephyr breezes over your breasts when Leon exhales. There’s a rattle of metal – his belt, you register faintly – and your eyes squeeze shut behind your blindfold when he rises from his kneel, leaving the space between your thighs empty. 

“That is one hell of a greeting after six years, sweetheart.” His chuckle is dark, delightful. “Hands behind your back.” 

“You’re not fucking arresting me right now, Leon, I don’t know what you’re playing at,” you squeak when he loops leather over your wrists. Annoyingly, they fit perfectly in his palm. “Have you lost your mind? You- I still can’t see!”

Leon’s hold goes still. “Is that a stop?”

You huff indignantly. 

He shakes your wrists. “I don’t mess with that shit. Do you want me to stop?”

“…no.”

“Good. Comfortable?”

Embarrassingly enough, the back of your kitchen chair isn’t half bad to have your arms around. Giving your newly bound hands a wriggle, you answer Leon with a quick nod, and he presses his lips to the back of your head in confirmation. He circles back between your thighs, a vulture in the dark. Your knees shove open courtesy of two calloused palms. 

“Lift your hips,” is your next instruction. And then, “These are coming off.” 

Your bottoms slide off in a fleeting caress down your legs. A cushion pushes between the surprised arch of your back and the chair’s straight one, leaving your bare, trembling- oh God. 

Oh God. He’s-

“You’re going to hold perfectly still and let me say hello to my favorite girl, sweetheart. Poor thing hasn’t gotten any attention since I’ve been spoiling you with all my talking.”

A kiss falls onto your clit. Your hips jerk up – oh shit! 

Leon seizes the opportunity to lick into your entrance before further coherent thought can form in your brain. 

He must’ve planned it, counting on your brainless reflexes to push your hips further into his scorching mouth. You get points for being brave, though: swallowing screams, pretending your thighs aren’t fighting to clamp around his head, attempting an escape to your happy place when really, this is it – this painstakingly sweet suction on your nerves.

He pops off with a wet smack! magnified by your blindfold. Slurs, “Missed this pussy so fuckin’ much,” dives back to trace figure eights around your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

You pretend the icy air is curling your toes for ego’s sake. Try and stave off morbid curiosity. “You…didn’t see anyone? All this time – hah!”

“Do you have any idea,” suck, “how many times I’ve come into my hand thinking of you?”

Your heavy head falls back with a wail.

“How many times I’ve fucked my fist to your name?”

“Leon!”

He pulls away at your keening cry, deaf to any begging to come back. “You just never know what’s good for you, baby. You don’t listen to your friends, you let me tie you up like this, fuck yourself on my face…” 

There’s rustling, and your living room bursts with color as a sharp tug untwists the knot of Leon's tie behind your head. You enter the world in tears all over again. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, I was so close-”

And when the darkness subsides, you’re free to lay eyes on the perpetrator. 

Leon.

Leon with his hair mussed to high heaven, pushed to his forehead by the greedy grind of your hips. Ocean eyes surveying you over a mouth flushed red with cheeks to match. A fallen angel at your feet, working his sinful tongue inside his mouth as he breathes.

Blood thumps through your veins. Your chest heaves. The chair is sticky, uncomfortable; entirely your fault. Your hands writhe behind your back as you struggle to sit up properly against the pillow and salvage some of your pride.

Leon’s gaze fixes on the floor. “I didn’t. Didn’t have time, didn’t want to. Whatever you want to call it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, throat swelling with thorns, and he groans like you kicked him in the ribs.

He rises to his knees as you slump; reaches behind the chair to unbuckle your restraints, shaking his head. “Yeah, I should be. I put you through hell for six years. I came back from Spain expecting to introduce myself to your fiancé or something, you know? Should’ve brought flowers at least.”

A hot tear slides down your cheek. 

It was Leon. On the news. The President’s daughter, the rescue. 

The hero.

This is how you welcome a hero home?

Spying your arms wilted at your sides, Leon takes the opportunity to press his mouth to the plush of your inner thigh. This time, it’s a warming salve when he kisses into your skin, unlatching only to move an inch and repeat, sucking roses the shape of his mouth onto the softest parts of you.

He rasps into your slick flesh, “Just let me have this, and I promise I’ll go.”

And he noses his way back into your folds, quickly giving up on flowery notions to feast like a man starved. You’re lulled to sleep by the lap of his tongue before he starts working it with the prowess of a Swiss knife, soothing and scalding in turns as it digs into your now oversensitive cunt. The scrape of his 5 o’clock shadow on your inner thigh makes for a maddening mix.

It all sends you crumpling over his head with a cry. 

His hungry hand pays no mind, scrambling under the lace of your bra to knead at your tender breast, thumbing at your nipple. You pay back the favor, fisting chunks of his hair as your arousal drips down his chin, and Leon’s thanks arrive in the form of guttural whines you’d forgotten you could wrench from him. 

So goes Leon’s last meal. You’d be enjoying it too if your brain hadn’t finally caught onto what came out of his mouth before he turned it into a decoy.

I’ll go.

Good luck fighting the itch to interrupt. 

You yank hard, and he moans complaint through a mouthful of pussy. “It’s not gonna work,” he gasps when you wrench his face from between your thighs, demanding explanation. 

“So you’re just going to walk out on me again?” you snap through a haze of tears. “What about what I want?”

“You want this?” 

Leon shoves your hands deeper still, wincing when he purposely digs your nails into his scalp. 

“Pull. Make it hurt,” he swallows, voice cracking. “Tell me to get the hell out. Tell me you hate me for breaking your heart. Find someone who’s in your life enough to love you right, and let me set you free, sweetheart, please. I can’t take it.”    

By all means, you should take his offer. 

Pull out every damn strand of hair on his head. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Go on for God’s sake. What happened to drinking yourself to half to death, trying to water down the fear that Leon beat you to its doorstep?

Think about never having to wake up to the cold side of your bed again. Don’t think about how perfectly Leon’s cheek cradles into your thigh. How he lets you map the moles on his neck when you have trouble falling asleep.   

Finally having a shoulder to cry on, someone who sweeps you off your feet, inside jokes that confuse everyone but you two. Forget how Leon won your heart as a teenager doing exactly that. 

Getting called pet names that make you blush in front of your friends: baby, angel, darling, sweetheart. Don’t you dare imagine each one rolling off Leon’s tongue the first time he crowned you with them.

Do not, above all circumstances, remember that wrapped in your arms right now is the boy who, after saving the President’s daughter all by himself, ran back to you within hours of his return. Who’d waited for you in his own way.

Your hands drop to cup his cheeks. Wetness makes your thumbs slip when you brush them across — the rain had to have dried off long ago. And with eyes misting shut, you thread your fingers as tenderly as you can through Leon’s hair, and press a kiss to the top of his head. 

“You’re really doing this?” Leon’s whisper wavers a decibel above hope.

Hotel citrus stings your nose, and you wonder how long it’ll take to replace it with the scent of your shampoo. 

You’ve missed this. Missed him. 

“The clearance I have after this mission, it’s insane,” he’s twenty-one again at the touch of your lips, gushing in disbelief over his badge coming in the mail with you at the kitchen table, “I-I couldn’t believe I got them to let me go right after the press release. Alone! I can’t be home all the time but it won’t be like before, I can actually come back, and if you want me to-”

But unfortunately, the relentless throb between your legs forces you to school your expression into anything except elated at the unfolding prospects.

“Leon.”

His grin flashes white. “Yeah?”

“If you came back just to eat me out, I’ll kick you out for real.”

It must be fun, you gripe, thinking straight without soft breaths fanning embers between your legs like a sadistic bellows for the past ten minutes; ruining your cushion beyond hope of wash or repair. 

Leon lets out a barking laugh, head thrown back, and aghast, you bat at his chest. 

“Mean really is a good look on you. You don’t want to talk details?” he teases, pulling you in for a kiss that tastes like desire – like you.

“Not when you’re- you know-” you splutter, antsy.

“Oh, come on. Say it.”

“You used to be nice to me!” 

Sadly for you, you’ve kissed him giddy, and giddy turns him cocky real fast. 

“I’ll give you whatever you want if you tell me, angel. Four words.” He grins, tucking a hand between your thighs to interrupt your squirming and raising the other to count, “‘Leon. Please…’”

“Fuck me already!” you cry, and it’s three, but he sweeps you up in a blur of limbs anyway.

Bra strap falling off your shoulder. His mouth sealing onto yours. Pussy sobbing for attention over the crotch of his dress slacks. Leon groaning at the feeling of you soaking through fabric covering a held-off arousal so hard there’s no way it doesn’t hurt. His endurance training had come in handy, it seems.

There’s a blind fumbling in the dim light as he grits out a “Gladly,” and stumbles out of your living room in a mad rush, sacrificing his shoulder to several walls for the sake of kissing you breathless.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking like Bambi. You sure you can make it?”

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t take me to bed right this second…” 

“And here I was trying to be nice. Bedroom?”

“On the right,” you pant, clawing his mouth back onto yours again. 

He follows through, no reconnaissance training needed to find the door you direct him towards with your foot. Either the heat’s better here, or it’s every cell in your body buzzing with anticipation when he flicks the nearest lamp to life. You pull him onto the bed with you, silk sheets caressing your bare skin as you scooch to make space for Leon to crawl up and over you. 

The sharp rasp of a fly zipping undone cuts through the air. He hisses in frustration, patting his pockets. “Shit, I don’t have a-” 

“Condom?”

“Yeah. You still keep them in your nightstand?”

You worry your bottom lip. “Not for a while, I haven’t, um, done anything in a bit, but I’m on the pill and I’m clean.” Please, please, don’t let this be a dealbreaker. “Is…that okay?”

“Holy shit.” Leon whooshes out a breath, grinning as he leans back on his knees. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

It’s a go. Your stomach swoops with rollercoaster adrenaline.

He balls up his slacks, kicks off his sodden boxers (your chest puffs with pride as he tosses it to the floor), and parts your trembling legs painstakingly slow in comparison. Sharp eyes rove over the love bites littering your thighs, admiring his handiwork. You bite the inside of your cheek, devil on your shoulder itching you to tease, and let your hands skitter across over the juncture of your thighs where Leon’s focus lingers.

“Spread yourself for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

You do. Let your fingers dip into your arousal, gasp at the cold air kissing your folds when you bloom for him. Roses all over your thighs when you’re his prettiest one. He leans down and kisses the bud at your center, sending the most pleasant electric tingle running up your spine. 

“You promised,” you whine, craning your neck to see his face framed between your thighs again. “Need you inside. Please.”

For once, Leon indulges you, but not without himself too. 

“Turn over for me. Oh, I know,” he coos at your pout and the upset buck of your hips, “give me a chance, angel. I’ve been dreaming of this for years. Planned out every fucking detail.”

You flip over with a huff. One broad palm lifts your pelvis into the air, easy as anything, and the other slips a pillow between your thighs, making sure the plump cotton nestles right up against your swollen clit. You give your hips a tentative grind and promptly gasp at the shot of pleasure. Friction at your command, leaving Leon free to run wild.

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Good?”

“Mhm...”

You face the headboard, stomach to the sheets and blood roaring in your ears. Blind again to what he has in store for you. Slick pumps sound from behind – Leon finally planning to make good on his word – and the head of his cock nudges at your weeping entrance, teasing the now-fraying nerves lining your slit, so close to where you need him that your breath audibly catches.

He waits. Pulls your strings taut –

Hisses, “I’m gonna fuck out every memory of anyone you’ve been with while I was gone.”

– and cuts them loose.

Your scream ricochets off the walls when he plunges in.

It shouldn’t be pretty. There’s nothing pretty about the haze of green that clouded Leon’s vision for a selfish second while yours was at his mercy not long ago. Your one-night stands translated to competition in his head. He’s only a man. But there’s something undeniably pretty about the divine arch of your back that has him spellbound when your cunt swallows him to the root in a single go, suffocatingly sweet.

“Goddamn, you’re tight!” 

Leon’s fingers sink into the fat of your hips as he fights for balance. You’ve got a mattress to claw; he’s only as stable as his pride. He lets you catch your breath after the first thrust, has your addled brain waxing poetic when you swear you feel his dick throb in time with his heartbeat inside you. 

It doesn’t help that he’s got a mouth on him. “Pussy sucking me in like she doesn’t want me to leave,” he gasps when you clench.

Your fingers curl proudly into your bedsheets. 

It’s a game of push and pull from here. Leon’s hips drag back, and with all the agony of too many nights with his right hand and your name for company, he starts carving into the meat of your ass. 

You make a strangled noise, and eventually improve to, “Oh, ohmy- ohmygod!”

He can’t keep his hands off you. They span your lower back, cup your breasts in turns, explore the drenched underside of the pillow you rut against in time with his thrusts. You’re handled with just enough precision to keep you speared on his dick, all so Leon can watch, gobsmacked, how your drooling pussy opens up for him. In-out, in-out. A scene out of his wet dreams.

Your cries syncopate with the slam of his thighs against yours, an embarrassing, pornstar-worthy, “Ah-ah, ah-ah!” that you’d have more shame over if you weren’t busy getting the brains fucked out of you. 

Leon realizes the beauty of the present tense with each inch of his length you coat in your arousal over and over again. 

“Look so pretty taking me like this, my perfect girl, doing so fucking good, look at you…” 

The pressure building in your stomach rears its head. Threatens to push you over.

“I missed you so much,” you sob into the sheets, “so fucking much, I can’t, I don’t know how to- oh!” 

“Won’t leave you ever again,” Leon pants, tilting your chin so he can see your pretty face. “Never- oh my God, you’re close, aren’t you?”

Call it intuition, instinct. If you were close before, Leon’s fingers rushing to your clit cement your theory; he’s never been wrong about it, even as a rookie.

Your hands scramble to claw at the back of his neck.  

“Fuck, you are!” he exclaims.

Home stretch. Leon’s hips threaten to stutter, so he sinks his teeth in your shoulder in a desperate bid to keep them steady. 

For you, the pain of it is primal, flavored with a need for connection that has you groping blindly to lace his fingers through yours. Instinct all over again. 

For Leon, it’s how you kept him going all this time; you’ll keep him grounded now. He’s not going to last otherwise. 

You listen, face planted to the bed. Wait for the last thread to snap, for Leon’s gasp at the final flutter of your cunt around him. Your orgasm doesn’t come in a babbling, sputtering, break of the sound barrier, no – it comes as a gentle push.

A trust fall off the edge with Leon right behind.

You see bright light. Nothing of the abyss you plunged into when he left. There’s a jerk behind your navel, and pleasure starts curling upwards from your stomach like the licking of a comfortable fire. Your ears pop from the ecstasy flowing through your veins and it’s almost as if you can hear its crackling embers right here, right now as Leon fits so perfectly inside you. 

In and out. In and out. In-out, in-out. You breathe, and he breaks. 

He spills into you warmer than sunshine. Molten gold, filling your cracks like kintsugi. The air admits, “I love you”, having trouble telling apart which of you said it first.

He’s got a week on his hands. A week of wonders stretches in front of you, seven whole days to figure out how this new arrangement will work. 

“It’s as much as they’d let me call off on such short notice, but we’ll take it from there,” Leon murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

He’s back in your arms where he belongs. Morning peeks through your blinds with the sun’s face washed clean from last night’s rainstorm, and if you open your window right about now, you could say hello to all the flowers blooming in celebration. 

You can get to that later. You’ve got more pressing matters on your hands, like taking headcount of the constellation of moles dotting Leon’s chest and introducing yourself to the new ones. You have a feeling you’ll learn them by heart real soon.

“We can figure it out together,” you hum, content with your head propped against the headboard. 

An exhilaratingly real concept. 

“Together.” Leon breathes lightly. “Yeah.”

“And you know, I think that’s more than enough time to buy me real flowers.”

He chokes back a not-so-subtle cough. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“If you want to make up for how I’ll have to wear pants and turtlenecks to work for the next week, yes,” you poke into his chest, fighting the smile tugging at your lips.

“But you hate flowers! You say they always die on you!”

“No girl actually hates flowers, Leon!”

“At least I didn’t show up empty-handed. Give me a sec, sweetheart, I almost forgot.”

Leon pecks your forehead, slipping out of bed to pad to the living room. He comes back, having fetched his now dry suit jacket with the curious bulge still threatening to spill out of its left pocket, and hands it to you like a cat would a dead bird at your doorstep.

You give the creased clothing an unimpressed stare.

“Look in the pocket,” he insists, climbing back under the comforter.

You pull out a half-melted pack of Ferrero Rocher.

“Okay, well, they weren’t supposed to do that and I think I left them by the radiator…”

He’s lucky they taste just as delicious melted. You’ll have to give him a lesson in gifting before the holidays roll around because he’ll be here to celebrate them for the first time in six years – a thought sweeter than the chocolate-flavored kisses you peck onto his cheek. 

And in between the shining candy wrappers and Leon’s blond hair tickling your neck when he presses you into the bed again, this time, you think everything gold might just stay. 

fun (and spicy) fact about chocolate, and psst, find more of my work here!

reblogs + comments are very much appreciated, they keep fics from dying out <3 take care and i love you!

divider by @/adornedwithlight

[sailingintothenight]

“Starlight.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: Following John Walker's advice, Bob decides to confess his feelings for you… to you.

A/N: Hi. First of all, thanks for the love on my first Bob imagine "A safe heaven". Secondly, I'm still getting to know Taylor Swift's music so I can't really call myself a fan, but like Jake Peralta said: she makes me feel things. She makes all of us feel things, Jake! So I quoted one of her songs here :) My first language is Spanish and I'm still learning English, so please excuse me if there are any grammatical errors. That's all. Thank you! And I think I messed up saying you were an Avenger, but the timeline is a confusing so let's pretend it's okay, please?

Warning: Bob being a cutie, the usual hehe

“Is (Y/N) back yet, Lena?”

“You mean (Y/N) and Bucky?”

“Yeah, right. Them.”

“No. Not yet—”

"Oh..."

Bob slumps down onto the couch, pulling his disappointed look away from Yelena and her emotion detector.

“I just know they’re about to. In 10 minutes, I think.”

But it was the talented Taylor Swift that once said: you’ve got a smile that can light up this whole town, and now, Bob’s smile behind the milkshake he holds with two hands (not a big one, just adorable and shy), fighting his own nerves, could light up the whole world. Through moments, pieces of happiness that he has been collecting with you, Bob had begun to regain his own light, little by little, with them making his eyes bright again, like tiny twinkling stars after his life had been darker than an undiscovered galaxy—still and silent, without a light source, nonexistent until someone notices its presence.

And that's what you'd done from the beginning: seeing his warm personality.

Always warm like the edge of his heart, even in the midst of his storms, with you managing to look directly into the core of his overwhelming fears, the most hidden and the most obvious ones. And without meaning to, without seeking it, Bob had found himself leaning toward you, finding refuge in your inexhaustible source of love when he felt a little down, a love that you always showered upon him in many ways, with a word of empathy or a physical display of affection, or the loving way you pushed a lock of his hair aside, even though it always fell back into place, making you laugh.  

But when everything was alright, life was even better between back–and–forth conversations or the deepest ones, like the days and nights you two spent together to decipher if ghosts were real or solving the unsolved mysteries that lingered, and there, Bob could see the way even your eyes smiled every time your lips curved upward. You smiled and laughed a lot with him, and with the group, Bob paid full attention to your expression more than to other's, learning to differentiate your sound from the rest in a heartbeat.

"Yeah, Bob, your little girlfriend is coming back soon. You must be excited."

John's voice is flat, his back on the couch, directing his attention to the TV, but so full of mockery that Bob can feel it in the way his cheeks and the tips of his ears burn.

"(Y/N) is not my girlfriend."

"But you want her to be. I can see you dying to hold her, to hug her, and to kiss her. I bet you dream about it every day."

Yelena gives a long sigh, sinking deeper into the comfort of the other long couch, but her bored expression is just as threatening as when her eyes flared at any sign of danger.

"Why do you always have to be such a jerk, Walker?"

"I'm just being supportive!" John looks slightly surprised, as if his support system actually comes with sarcasm inevitably, lowering the arms he used to emphasize his protest. "I'll give you some advice, Bob—"

"I didn't ask for your advice."

“I’ll give it to you anyway. Tell (Y/N) how you feel, that you care a little too much for her or that you’re in love, I don’t know, but do it today, don’t wait for tomorrow because tomorrow is a bitch sometimes and who knows? Maybe we could get attacked by some alien and die.”

“That sounds fun, actually.”

Bob frowns, confused and slightly terrified, looking for some trace of sarcasm in Yelena’s deadpan voice, but when the elevator dings with an annoying chime announcing your arrival, and Bucky’s, his head turns in your direction, meeting your gaze as you smile back when he does it first, feeling his own joy of seeing you beating within him.

Bob wondered sometimes if stars also existed in the eyes, not only in the night sky.

“It’s great to have you back, guys.” John sits down, fighting his own smirk. “We’re very happy to see you, aren’t we, Bob?”

Making his existence smaller, Bob nods, his body shrinking a little, but as Bucky recounts the events of the successful mission that lasted less than the expected number of days, you take your backpack from him and head towards your room. Yet it's your gaze that catches the way Walker continues to drag his mocking eyes between Bob and you, a second before looking away.

Messy minds tended to be the noisiest, you knew this well as you found a way to coexist peacefully with outside noises, building a wall around yourself so you wouldn't hear them even in your sleep, but as you disappear down the hallway, Walker leans forward, his brow furrowing at the pain that begins to throb in the front of his head, like a hammer hitting a nail.

"Another headache, Walker?" Yelena asks.

"Yeah, maybe I should see a doctor."

Yelena maintains a flat expression, though it amuses her to tears the way he hadn't realized that it was you who caused them, but she remains determined not to give herself away even when her gaze meets Bucky's, (who wants to laugh too) while she coughs softly to hide Bob's chuckle as he stands up.

"Maybe you should just stop being such a jerk."

"What, Bob?"

"Nothing."

But Walker had a point, Bob thinks sadly, all the time it takes him to make a milkshake for you. Between the sips of coffee that left a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue when you finished it, he knew you also enjoyed something just sweet, a drink that was like a remnant of a past life, a memory of your childhood, a whole journey that made you smile.

Bob didn't seek you out, and before you, he was just existing with empty hands and a mind full of dark thoughts, until things took a turn, and then his hand was always full with yours holding it, and a mind occupied as Bob began to replace the unwanted memories with something better, stopping living on autopilot, answering that question of whether things would ever get better.

Now, Bob turns the corner and enters the long corridor of rooms, and his sharp hearing registers the song playing in the distance, which grows slightly louder as he approaches the half–open door, a second voice providing the backing vocals, your voice, coming to him like a soft breeze. And he doesn't mean to spy, but shy as he usually is, Bob leans a little bit over the frame, his nervous hand still holding the glass to his chest.

You are there, your back to him, singing at the same level as the voice in your phone, walking around the room, fixing your already made bed or rearranging your desk. Your space after losing your place in your house, your new little home.

With a glass window on the other side and that lets in the golden autumn light, it reflects on your head, and Bob feels a warmth rise in his stomach and creep down his body, ending up on his cheeks (the ones that had managed to rest from Walker's teasing) with a violent thud that makes him swallow.

You're wearing loose jeans and an oversized light blue sweater with sunflowers woven into it in haphazard patterns, light blue as the sky when dawn is breaking and the darkness fades away, because nothing last forever, not even the absence of light—and with you looking like everything Bob never could dream of finding—a nervous, childlike smile, one of those full of innocence, like the warmth of first love, spreads across his face.

Not in a garish way; but you are colorful, just like your soul and your clothes and your words. Time seems suddenly frozen as he films everything about you in his gaze, as if a single second feels like a lifetime together, even though you've only been together a few months.

However, when you turn around, like a domino effect, his body jerks a second after yours, holding the glass slightly away so the tide inside doesn't splash him.

"Jesus, Bob, you scared me!" You laugh, nervous, and he's fast to apologize.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I was here a second ago, I promise." He swallows the lump in his throat when your sharp gaze seems to pierce through him, but you are not upset, just mocking him silently. "I just came to bring you this.”

There are many things you'd learned to over–feel after your mind expanded, like the noise in other people's heads, like the slight vibration of Bob's hand when he gives you the milkshake, with you holding the glass with both hands.

“Thank you.” A gentle smile is drawn on your face. “This is so sweet of you, but you shouldn't have bothered, though, you know?”

He shakes his head.

“It's no bother.”

Bob pushes his hands into his pockets, almost rocking back and forth, lingering there for a moment as you take the first sip, and when you tell him it tastes great, he just smiles.

Bob is beautiful on the outside too, adorable with his casual style, (clothes he carefully selects just to sit on the couch with you, or go to the few places you frequent together) with his angelic face and his eyes looking at you as you two talk, sitting side by side on the floor while working together your new 1,000–piece puzzle, but not meeting your eyes for more than two, maybe three consecutive seconds.

With your attention on the ground, you feel the warmth of his body radiating like waves nearby, like the power of that fiery star that hangs between the warmest days. Life moves like a whisper beside him, soft after a storm, quiet like when calm comes after chaos, and you love that.  

“Bob, do you know who Stitch is?”

He looks up from the piece in his hand and nods, those two unruly chocolate strands of hair bouncing with the movement, only to frame his face and that nervous look reflected in his warm blue eyes, but they can never hide the joy Bob feels when he sees the happiness in yours, and in that moment, there is an overflowing, almost childlike thrill in them. Like finding a sapphire among a pile of faded rocks, the light in your eyes always shone no matter the season, like the sparkling autumn that paints the city now—and Bob Reynolds loves autumn.

“Great. You're coming to the movies with me tomorrow.”

“L–like a date?”

Yet the sound of the silent autumn breeze blowing leaves floors below is even louder than his mental whisper, even though no one hears him in there. His heart beats under his own anxiety, but Bob smiles with that possibility.

"Are the others coming with us?"

But you feel it: the disappointment in his voice at a positive response.

“Well, no: Lena didn't have a real childhood, so she doesn't know about those kinds of movies. Walker is a walking insult machine. Ava would somehow make kids cry. And I'm pretty sure Bucky's older than that radioactive cheese living in the fridge that no one dares throw away, so he only watches classics.”

Bob chuckles, a small, nervous but colorful sound.

“That cheese scares me. Kinda looks at me funny.”

“Isn’t that right?! I feel like it could give us even worse powers than we already have.”

He nods, frowning, but maintaining an amused expression as he holds your gaze.

“Yeah. It’s been there for a suspicious amount of time. Maybe it’s a spy.”

You laugh in surprise.

“My God, your humor is as broken as mine. But when I asked Alexei if he wanted to come, I tried to explain that Stitch was an alien, and the poor man started hyperventilating. An alien?! We should prepare for invasion, yeah?” You do your best to imitate his accent, and the joy of Bob’s deep laugh is adorable, warm, even when it falters because of his constant nervousness. “It was my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have started talking about an alien after the Chitauri tried to invade the city and then others kept coming.”

Bob swallows, considering whether his next words might cross the line, hurting you even though he'd never do it on purpose. He knew a bit about your history and your brief stint with the Avengers, about your lab–gained powers, but all that information was just scratching the surface of a life that so drastically changed the course of your path.

"Can I ask you a question?"

You can see Bob's gaze fixed on the puzzle out of the corner of your eye, but you nod anyway.

"Of course you can."

"Are you angry about what happened to you?”

Your gentle gaze rests on him, even though Bob does his best to focus his full attention on the pieces, but you know he’s trying with all his might to feel normal again, not to act it, fighting to return to what he was before the drugs and his depression, before his alter egos and his memory loss that kept him from living a full life when there were pieces hidden in the darkness that made him feel incomplete.

No one can live a full life if they always feel like something is missing, you had once told him.

And maybe his attempt to be who he was again made him beautiful too, so beautiful it hurts, even though Yelena's words still echo in your chest: he's in love with you. Because Bob looks like literature written by a feminine hand, sweet like the male protagonist of the most romantic book in the world, the dream of those who read and dream of finding someone like him, with him never realizing his own virtues, always oblivious to all that beauty in him, inside and out, which only made him even more beautiful.

You and he were still young, young adults whose years of your lives were snatched away by selfish people who only sought their own benefit—but being in love still scared you more, even when you were already completely immersed in that feeling.

“No. Not anymore. I spent so much time angry that it wore me down, but I think I found again that something that kept me going when all seemed lost.”

Bob blinks, confused, but he looks up and keeps his eyes fixed on your face until yours meet his again, so he doesn't miss a single bit of your answer.

“And what was it?”

“Love.”

You laugh at the way his face contorts in surprise, angelic eyes (even after having seen hell) a little wide open, blending with his radiant innocence as Bob tries to take in your entire expression, looking in search of a hint of lie.

“I mean love in general, Bob.” He calms down fast and listens closely. Four letters that seemed simple, but hid such a profound undertone, with new things that you were still discovering, a feeling that made you feel as if after the wild waves, the water on the shore once again felt a lullaby, soothing your life until they became nothing more than a delicate whisper on the sand. “I spent so much time hating myself that I forgot my parents and my older brother taught me to love myself properly, deeply. But then I felt again the love I had for people and things, the one I had before waking up on a gurney in that secret facility: my love for my family, for books, animals, for movies, for the few but good friends I had, and even for that boy with ocean–colored eyes I was getting to know in a sunny Los Angeles.”

Not everything was perfect, but Bob sees you feeling you’re the right path, and as he weighs your words, he knows they are like the first breath of fresh air after feeling scorching heat in your lungs, or like a light in the darkness.

"I was so close to you and didn't know it." He chuckles, with a hint of melancholy as Bob wonders what it would have been like to know you in another life, before the catastrophe, though now, he is happy he can feel a connection with you, as if he'd actually met you before. "I wish I could have met you back there."

"Yeah, me too. But everything I've been through has led me to this moment with you, so I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Your gaze returns to the puzzle when his gaze moves away from you for a moment, but coming back in the second to admire what you're letting him see—the profile of your face, the soft smile on your lips.

Bob confidently trusts that you're still the same despite past events, with the same laughter, the same desire to remain good, plus a power that spread through your mind. And everything still seems like a cozy autumn dream, with sensations so vivid that Bob can feel them on his skin, deep in his shy heart, wanting to live in it forever.

However, in a more selfish sense, like he never was, Bob wonders what it would feel like to be loved by you, in a romantic, deep, and real way like he's never experienced. Because now Bob understands that if your laughter and your smile and your happiness hid so much feeling, so much so that he could compare you to a romantic movie—the kind that has you in tears mid–act but has a happy ending, and when the credits roll, there's always a soulful ballad sung and a high note at the end that makes you tremble.

Surely your love for someone was just as beautiful.  

Your hand rests on your leg, empty, and Bob wants to take it, hold it while you lead the way, because he knows that he would follow you wherever you went, and that in a crowd, he would find you. It's like an invisible light around you only he can see, like a thread tied to his pinky finger connected to yours.  

“I’m in love with you.” His whisper threatens to fade into the void again, even when your nervous gaze catches his, but Bob knows he has to tell you his feelings now before he stops being brave and his words die a cruel death inside him. “You were the first person who told me I wasn’t invisible, that you wouldn’t leave me behind even when I told you I was a threat. And I really tried to stop thinking of you this way, but every time I close my eyes I can see you, and I can hear you, and that’s so much nicer…” Bob’s little smile is shy, him watching yours, which is somewhat saddened by the weight of his past, fragments he shared with you during your time together. “When I’m alone I want to see you, and when we are together I wish we could be together all day. I know I have nothing to offer you, and that sometimes I’m a little cloudy like Lena calls me, but you are confident, and you are smart, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same—”

“I do feel the same.” A small, shy chuckle past by between your lips, watching your fingers as you rub them against each other, followed by a sigh that seems to let go of a piece of your own past. “And that’s what scares me, but not enough to make me not want to be with you.”

Then, his hand envelops yours, calming you and your fear, steadying your whole world as your eyes return to his. Your vision of him is clearer, nervous but receptive, open to new sensations, and even with his own fears and insecurities, Bob leans forward, with you mirroring the gesture, the image of the other in yours and his closed eyelids, allowing yourself to be felt on each other's lips.

And the kiss is soft like his existence, bright in the dark, like the starlight that lingered in your gaze.

Your hand squeezes his gently as his lips move against yours, just a little bit, and after living numb for so long, feeling again feels so good.

Bob pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

"Walker told me to tell you how I felt... today." He chuckles, speaking softly so as not to clash with the new environment, which is even more welcoming than the last ten seconds. "Can't believe he was right."

You pull away a little, opening your eyes again as he does it, chuckling with him at John's expense, and you push back that curly strand of hair of his with your free hand, which moves back into place, but as Bob leans forward again, you two know that from now on, life would be even brighter.

[livingund3ad]

[for the last time || в по��ледний раз]

warnings: depictions of drowning, mentions of murder, suicide and death. read with discretion

» you are here | 02. | 03. | ... |

From the eyes of [ ? ]

Transcript of Gotham Gazette’s Breaking Report - July 26th, 20XX

4:12 AM:

A tip-off was received from an anonymous source regarding unusual activity at Gotham’s Westriver district. Police vehicles and ambulances were spotted converging near the secluded edges of Gotham River—an area notorious for its dense forestry and dark history.

4:45 AM:

Journalists began arriving at the scene, their vehicles halted by police barricades and vigilant security guards. Under the waning moonlight, the air was thick with dread, murmurs building as scattered information trickled down to the press like blood seeping from a fresh wound.

5:03 AM:

The first confirmation: It was a recovery mission. A body had been pulled from the lake.

Witnesses reported seeing Bruce Wayne himself, dripping wet, his clothes clinging to him like the weight of his own name. Beside him, Richard “Dick” Grayson, his adopted son, equally drenched and disheveled, his eyes wide and haunted.

The two had been escorted away from the lake by paramedics, refusing medical attention despite the chill in their bones. The urgency of their movements was eclipsed only by the sheer devastation etched into their faces.

5:18 AM:

Timothy Drake and Damian Wayne emerged from the thick of the woods. Neither of them bore the dampness of the lake but their expressions spoke of something far worse. Something hollow and undone.

Photographs capture Timothy hunched over his phone, his fingers shaking against the screen, his lips moving but producing no sound. Damian, the youngest of the Wayne family, wore a scowl so vicious and desperate. Belongings that appeared not his held tightly in his hands.

5:35 AM:

Paramedics wheeled a gurney draped in white cloth towards the ambulance. Flashes of cameras ignited the darkness, stuttering against the crisp material of the sheet. The body beneath was small. Fragile.

The public’s fixation shifted from the family to the figure hidden beneath the shroud. The rumors were relentless, each theory more grisly than the last. But the truth was far simpler. And perhaps far more tragic.

It was J*** “Doe” Wayne.

A name only whispered in tabloid columns and murmured through charity event speeches. Another ward of Bruce Wayne, adopted into the sprawling empire with little fanfare or spectacle. The papers had only touched upon her existence over the years—a young girl hidden from the public eye, shielded by the iron gates of Wayne Manor and the shadows of Gotham’s elite.

6:00 AM:

Questions splintered through the media like glass. What was she doing at the river in the middle of the night? Was it an accident? Foul play? A desperate attempt to escape the crushing weight of the Wayne legacy?

The officials refused to give statements, urging the press to maintain their distance. No confirmation. No denial. Just the lingering, oppressive silence of unanswered questions.

But the most damning piece of evidence came from the Waynes themselves.

Photographs circulated of Bruce Wayne’s face, pale and slack, eyes unfocused as he sat slumped on the hood of his car. Beside him, Dick Grayson, fists clenched at his sides, tears smudged into his cheeks like war paint.

For a family so used to presenting perfection to the public, their grief was painfully, brutally exposed.

6:45 AM:

The ambulance departed, sirens off. A grim omen. The kind reporters recognize all too well.

Rumors sparked like wildfire—J*** had drowned. But was it her own doing, or had someone pushed her? Had the burden of living under the Wayne name finally cracked her fragile frame, or was there something darker at play?

Theories were exchanged in frantic whispers, reporters scrambling to piece together fragments of truth from the ashes of tragedy.

7:30 AM:

Police issued a statement confirming the body belonged to J*** “Doe” Wayne. Age eighteen. Probable cause of Death—Asphyxiation by Submersion. No further details were provided.

Bruce Wayne and his sons were escorted away from the scene shortly after. Their silence a fortress built of agony and guilt.

Now, in the wake of her death, the public demands answers.

Was it murder? Suicide? An accident? Or something far more sinister lurking beneath Gotham’s glittering surface?

What had exactly happened to J*** “Doe” Wayne?

Authors note: Yes, it's a Yan! Batfam. Whodunnit. Erm there's a likely possibility that this will end up in the unfinished yan! batfam fics archive. I will attempt to write this I promise, cuz like I've been reading some Yan!Batfam fics and I haven't seen one yet that's been finished so why not write one that starts at the ending(?). Lol I'm just a dumbass who's a sucker for angst idk what's happening tbh. Also yes, I will be using she/her pronouns, and the reader darling is going to be called J*** or "Doe" in this cuz I have a reason for that. It's a secret for now. Or maybe you guys already do know from the theme I suck at being subtle.

[rotagnus]

your first child --<3

note: can you guys tell i like horses? LMAOO

this pac will be focusing on your firstborn. if you don't want kids/aren't planning to have any, don't feel like you have to read it! this reading isn't for everyone.

it'll focus on the temperament of your child, their behavior, maybe some qualities of you and the other parent.

thank you for the love on my father/husband reading! more readings will be coming <3

pile 1.

wow. your firstborn is going to be a fierce character. probably a fire sign, but i feel like they may have some earth placements as well. this child may heal some of you who felt overshadowed in the family--they'll adore you as their parent, and they'll be an absolute sweetheart. they might not be the child to take no for an answer, and they can be hardheaded, but that was part of what you wanted to teach them--to be firm and resolute with what they say. they'll be quickwitted, albeit probably not book-smart. they might grow up in a place with lots of birds; i think birds are significant for this pile, not sure why. they'll have darker features, or have a generally darker temperament. might have your nose. they'll have this bright light in them that'll transform into a talent in the right environment. as a parent, you'll encourage them to develop their craft, which can range from a sport like basketball to a hobby like poetry. i think that this child has potential to better the world, and they're a gift to you. i'd advise you to give this child time to bloom, whatever that means to you.

signs: birds, planes, things to do with the sky. warm colors. automobiles/mechanical items. 333. fire/earth signs. sources of water--particularly lakes/rivers. vases.

pile 2.

ohhh baby this child is going to be a little angel. on the quieter side, though, somewhat melancholic. they may be extremely introverted and prefer to stay to themselves, even though some of you guys have a wide social circle. they'll contrast you in all the good ways. they'll probably be very smart, but you have to make sure that you tell them that. they can be insecure and doubtful of themselves. they might not be the kind of a child you expected, and this might weigh heavy on them. they may struggle socially, but pile 2, this isn't all bad. deep inside, they want to be seen--and eventually, they will be. they'll feel like they're with the right group of people, aligned--maybe they'll develop a deep connection to a person or a hobby, but they're destined for greatness. they may not have an easy life, but the rewards will outweigh the bad. they may be an old soul. everything will be alright, though--do not fear.

signs: goats. angelic imagery. music. air signs. diaries/journals. bite marks. long hair. 2000s music. cozy, small spaces.

pile 3.

peacemaker who?!?! this child is gonna have a good heart, pile 3. a great one. they'll have this intricate ability to read situations and people in the blink of an eye. extremely socially smart and adept--an inherited quality rather than a taught one. they'll be accepting of people and unlikely to uselessly argue, but they won't tolerate any bs! they may have more masculine energy--doesn't mean it's a boy, but i'm getting more typically masculine cards and signs. they'll have a pretty nice life, mainly because they worked their ass off for it. you'll instill good values in them--they may not be the most patient person, and they could get on your nerves sometimes. maybe they're a yapper or they cried a lot as a baby, something to do with the voice. other than that, they'll be a typically balanced person, valuing harmony and peace over things that are wastes of time. they may not be fond of family activities, preferring to keep to themselves though...just something to be wary of. other than that, it's all going to be good. this child will bring out a very vulnerable part of you.

signs: flowers. guitar. blue hour. nostalgia. abundance, particularly financially. grandparents. 555. air signs/water signs. beauty in simplicity.

[sirfrogsworth]

Let's talk about screens and eye comfort.

@krakenartificer wrote this in response to my motivated lighting post.

Maximum-visibility lighting is also accessible lighting. I cannot turn the brightness on my screen up any more than it is -- even a few seconds of a light-mode app at 75% brightness will give me a migraine. I believe you when you say that the train-light photos are legible to you. But with my screen at ~50% brightness in a medium-dim room, that second one, with the bright-white light, is already painful to look at. And since my pupils have constricted to protect me, I can't see almost anything else going on there.

I already mentioned that if people are having issues seeing dark elements in their content, their room may be too bright. That is a strategy to get the highest quality viewing experience, but it may not be the most comfortable for people with various eye sensitivities.

So I'm going to address eye comfort over image quality in this post.

I think many people have a misconception about the brightness setting on their display. Often people will turn it up and down depending on the content they are viewing. If something has a really bright element, they may turn it down. If something is too dark, they may turn it up.

That isn't really how display brightness is meant to work. This setting is meant to maintain picture quality and contrast as much as possible while raising and lowering the overall intensity of the display. And the intensity is meant to be adjusted according to the viewer's environment, not what is on the screen from moment to moment.

You want the intensity of light in the room to match the brightness of your screen.

Some people prefer to adjust their screen a little brighter than ambient so it is a little more legible. But that is a personal preference.

So if you are in a dark room, you'd turn the brightness down.

If you are out in bright sun, you'd turn your brightness up.

If your screen is displaying near white or pure white and it hurts your eyes, that usually means your room is too dark. A brighter ambient environment can help make "light mode" more comfortable. Try turning on some lights or going to a brighter space and see if it helps.

However, some people do not feel comfortable in brighter rooms. This is when you might consider "bias lighting." This is a soft light source behind your screen that you can adjust to the maximum tolerable brightness to keep your eyes from going into night vision mode or max dilation.

It's better if the bias lighting is spread out rather than using a small light source like a night light. Small light sources feel much more intense and can add to eye strain. You want the light to cover a large surface area.

String lights across a wall work well.

Or you can bounce a light off a wall or ceiling to diffuse and spread it out. Many people just put a light behind their TV and light up the wall behind it.

The idea is to make the room *feel* dark while still having enough light to keep your pupils from opening up and feeling like any sudden bright light source is blasting you in the eyeballs. Your pupils prefer gradual adjustments to light and dark. If you go straight from a dark scene to a bright scene without any bias lighting, your eyes might feel a bit melty.

If you are *still* uncomfortable with white on your screen and have a particularly strong eye sensitivity, then you might consider sacrificing picture quality for comfort.

Turning down your brightness is not a great solution because it makes *everything* darker. Again, the brightness of your screen should be close to the room lighting.

Typically, to get the highest quality image you want to adjust your screen so the blacks are as black as possible and the whites are as white as possible without losing any detail.

Rtings has a guide for monitors and TVs for this.

They have two patterns for black and white point adjustment.

They look like this.

You want to see bars all the way up until the reference point.

The white point is most commonly called "contrast" in display settings. Sometimes there will be a contrast adjustment AND a white point adjustment. In that case, the white point only deals with the brightest highlights and the contrast will affect all whites.

But if you have really sensitive eyes... forget the charts. Forget peak image quality.

Instead, try lowering your contrast and reducing the intensity of *only* the white elements rather than darkening everything.

The picture might look a little gray and dull, but you won't lose as much legibility in the shadow areas. You are just turning down the brightest stuff to make your eyes more comfy.

Max white point...

Lowered white point...

And if you still need to turn down your screen brightness, you can raise the black point to keep more detail in the shadows.

Again, that might not look great, but it will keep your eyes comfortable and you will be able to make out all the details you need to see.

You might also consider adjusting the color temperature of your screen to be warmer. Blue light is higher frequency and more energetic. Which means it can pierce and glare more than warmer light. So shifting things to the orange could also bring some comfort to sensitive eyes. Search for a “Warm” mode, “Eye Comfort” mode, or Night Shift settings.

Most TVs and monitors have these adjustments. Sometimes they call them different things, so you may have to do some googling. (God forbid tech companies ever agree on a standard.)

And if you are on a phone or laptop, you may need a special app to adjust these specific things. I would research "how to reduce white point" for whatever device you are using.

To review...

Adjust your ambient room lighting first. Brighter ambient room lighting can make bright white elements on your display more comfortable.

Display "brightness" should be adjusted to your lighting environment, not the content on screen.

If you don't like bright rooms, bias lighting behind your display can keep your eyes from going into night vision mode. This can prevent bright screen elements from being too intense or glaring.

If you have eye sensitivity issues, try all of the above first, and then consider lowering your contrast or white point setting. This will dim only the brightest elements on screen without making everything else too dark.

If you need to lower the screen brightness AND white point/contrast, you may lose detail in the shadows as well. You can try raising the black point to compensate. This is a worst case scenario and will probably not look great.

Consider warmer color temperature settings to reduce glare from high-frequency blue light.

[knightofthenewrepublic]

The Battle of Manhattan didn’t go the way the Fandom thinks it did; we need to address the “massacre” of the Titan Army!

The Battle of Manhattan is the most pivotal event of the first series. And we see the entire thing exclusively from Percy’s point of view. He takes us through the thickest of the fight from one end of Manhattan Island to the next, and shows us a desperate fight of good against evil.

But we have another point of view for the battle, one that comes from the demigods of the Titan army, and one that informs us of a far different, darker side to the conflict. One where an entire army of children is massacred by the victorious Olympians, without a thought or even a care. It’s a shocking, confronting side of the struggle that most fans don’t seem to be aware of. 

But it’s also completely inaccurate. 

Now I love Alabaster; he’s one of my favorite characters, and I want nothing but the best for him. But he’s a demonstrably unreliable narrator. I don’t even mean that he’s intentionally dishonest; but he’s very badly misinformed about what actually happened. And that gives the fandom three major misconceptions that need to be cleared up. 

Alabaster gets the casualty ratio for the battle wrong (the Olympians had more than he thinks).

The Titan army has far fewer demigods than most fans think (not much more than 50 at the most).

Alabaster does say that there was a “massacre” at the end of the battle, but most of the TA demigods had deserted before that!

Part 1) The Olympians Have High Casualties

“It was a massacre. If I remember right, my mother told me that Camp Half-Blood and its allies had sixteen casualties total. We had hundreds.” (pg 219)

This is the only time we get a specific number for Olympian casualties, but it just doesn’t match up with what actually happens in the books. Looking back at all the deaths we do see:

Charlie Beckendorf -1

one [Hellhound] got hold of an Apollo camper and dragged him away. I didn’t see what happened to him next. I didn’t want to know. (pg 182) -1

Michael Yew -1

A young dragon had appeared in Harlem, and a dozen wood nymphs died before the monster was finally defeated. (pg 203) -12

“We lost twenty satyrs against some giants at Fort Washington,” [Grover] said, his voice trembling. (pg 203) -20 Giants smashed through trees, and naiads faded as their life sources were destroyed. (pg 243) -1< Enemy archers returned fire, and a Hunter fell from a high branch. (pg 244) -1  Too many of our friends lay wounded in the streets. Too many were missing. (pg 257) -1< The flagpoles were hung with horrible trophies –helmets and armor pieces from defeated campers. (pg 282) -1< The Drakon lashed out, swallowing three californian centaurs in one gulp before I could even get close. (pg 288) -3 Poison spewed everywhere, melting centaurs into dust along with quite a few monsters, (pg 288) -1< The Drakon snapped up one Ares camper in a gulp. (pg 291) -1

Silena Beauregard -1

Leneus -1

a body covered in the golden burial shroud of Apollo’s cabin. I didn’t know who was underneath. I don't want to find out. (pg 303) -1

Oddly enough, we actually miss the moment that was probably the worst for the Olympians, the final push by Kronos that breaks through their line. After Clarisse slays the drakon and the monsters are driven back again, Percy and co. take the opportunity to go up to Olympus. Percy gives Pandora’s Pithos to Hestia, and then contacts Poseidon via his throne. It’s just as he finishes that Thalia comes up and tells them that Kronos is coming again, but they miss the fighting.

By the time we got to the street, it was too late. Campers and Hunters lay wounded on the ground. Clarisse must have lost a fight with a Hyperborean giant, because she and her chariot were frozen in a block of ice. The centaurs were nowhere to be seen. Either they’d panicked and ran, or they’d been disintegrated. (pg 312) -<500

And finally, Kronos does kill some people on Olympus itself.

A few minor gods and nature spirits had tried to stop Kronos. What remained of them was strewn about the road: shattered armor, ripped clothing, swords and spears broken in half. (pg 322) -1<

The specific deaths we have mentioned during the battle amount to 48 at the very least; and that is an extremely conservative estimate that only includes the deaths Percy has the time and presence of mind to witness in all the carnage. Considering how many others must have happened, factoring the sudden disappearance of the 500 centaurs in particular, it was likely in the hundreds. And most of the centaurs probably ran at the end, but even that would have involved heavy casualties.

It’s true that actual demigods were a smaller fraction of Olympian forces, and so would have made up just a fraction of losses. The number 16 might actually make sense if it were just the number of campers lost, but that’s not what Hecate said, she said total.

It might be significant that Hecate is the actual source of this misinformation. Would she have reason to lie to her own son, or might she herself be out of the loop. Right now, we just can’t know. 

And she might be underestimating Titan Army losses too. Considering how many times a wave of several hundred monsters tear into Manhattan, and get thrown back by the Olympians only to return later with no discernable drop in numbers, until the army is finally routed entirely, it wouldn’t surprise me if the TA actually took a thousand or more casualties. But those would be overwhelmingly monsters, because:

Part 2) Less Than Fifty Demigods Were Even In The Titan Army

To prove that there could not possibly have been hundreds of TA demigods killed at Manhattan, we need look no farther than Alabaster's own account.

“There was a war between the gods and titans last summer and most half-bloods–demigods like me–fought for the Olympians.” (pg 218)

So the TA could not have had more demigods than the Olympians; and they had about a hundred. There are forty campers to start with, who are quickly joined by the Hunters, who now have thirty members. Then, in the last hours of the fight, they are finally joined by the Ares cabin, which brings another thirty (jeez Ares, you animal!). So Olympus has an even hundred demigods. (The Hunters aren’t necessarily all demigods by birth, but I don’t think Alabaster would make a distinction based on that.)

So the TA has less than a hundred demigods, significantly less. I would argue they probably had no more than fifty because that lines up with the only solid numbers we ever get for them. And every time the TA is described, demigods are a clear minority. First, look at the foes Percy encounters when he infiltrates the Princess Andromeda:

I saw monsters patrolling the upper decks of the ship–dracaenae snake-women, hellhounds, giants, and the humanoid seal-demons known as telkhines . . . . . “I don’t care what your nose says!” snarled a half-human half-dog voice—a telkhine. “The last time you smelled half-blood, it turned out to be a meatloaf sandwich!” “Meatloaf sandwiches are good!” a second voice snarled . . . . . a telkhine was hunched over a console . . . . . a half dozen telkhines were tromping down the stairs . . . . . past another telkhine . . . . . And in the fountain squatted a giant crab . . . . . a couple of dracaenae slithered across my path . . . . . As I was running up the stairwell, a kid charged down . . . . . Laistrygonian giants filed in on either side of the swimming pool . . . . . demigod archers appeared on the roof . . . . . two hellhounds leapt down . . . . . The crowed of monsters parted . . . . . Giants jeered. Dracaenae hissed with laughter . . . . . throwing monsters off their feet . . . . .I knew him, of course: Ethan Nakamura . . . . . two giants lumbered forward . . . . . Panicked monsters surged backward . . . . . one of the dracaenae hissed . . . . . I pushed through a crowd of monsters . . . . . Monsters yelled at me from  above.

That was a quick summary of all the enemies Percy and Charlie encounter on the Princess Andromeda, I’m not crazy enough to try and write the whole chapter. But it’s pretty clear there are only a few demigods amid dozens of monsters. We hear the same thing from Poseidon later, that “there were only a few demigod warriors aboard that ship”; we might question whether or not Poseidon is a trustworthy source, but the evidence does back him up.

When we finally get to the battle, the disparity of demigod numbers in the TA is again evident:

The bronze image showed Long Island Sound near La Guardia. A fleet of a dozen speed boats raced through the dark water toward Manhattan. Each boat was packed with demigods in full Greek armor. At the back of the lead boat, a purple banner emblazoned with a black scythe flapped in the night wind. I’d never seen that design before, but it wasn’t hard to figure out: the battle flag of Kronos. “Scan the perimeter of the island,” I said. “Quick.” Annabeth shifted the scene south to the harbor. A Staten Island Ferry was plowing through the waves near Ellis Island. The deck was crowded with dracaenae and a whole pack of hellhounds. Swimming in front of the ship was a pod of marine mammals. At first I thought they were dolphins. Then I saw their doglike faces and swords strapped to their waists, and I realized they were telkhines—sea demons. The scene shifted again: the Jersey shore, right at the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel. A hundred assorted monsters were marching past the lanes of stopped traffic: giants with clubs, rogue Cyclopes, a few fire-spitting dragons, and just to rub it in, a World War II-era Sherman tank, pushing cars out of the way as it rumbled into the tunnel. (pg 167)

Here we see the first wave of the Titan Army as a three pronged attack (which Percy says on the next page collectively numbered at least 300) and only one of the units has demigods. It’s the one that Kronos leads, so it’s probably meant to be a more elite unit, at least at first. 

We don’t know for sure how many there are. Speedboats are usually made to carry 4-6 people so a dozen would be possible 48 to 72. Considering Alabaster says there were significantly less demigods in the TA than the Olympians, I would guess it’s on the lower end; and that does match another number we see in a moment.

This fleet never reaches Manhattan, since Percy bribes the East River to swamp their boats. Those who say many TA demigods were killed in the battle might point to this as Percy causing a bunch of kids to drown; but Alabaster never mentions a mass drowning in his narrative of the battle, and he would have been on one of those boats, so it’s safe to say they just went for a swim.

(And Kronos was with them, which means that a very angry titan lord was suddenly pitched into the river and had to swim with the rest of them. That’s not really relevant, I just want everyone to know that.)

Percy is then immediately told that “Another army is marching over the Williamsburg bridge.” This fourth prong of the attack, led by the Minotaur, also has no demigods in it.

An entire phalanx of dracaenae marched in the lead . . . About a hundred more monsters marched behind them. (pg 182) More monsters surged forward —snakes and giants and telkines—but the Minotaur roared at them, and they backed off. (pg 186)

But more monsters keep advancing because by the time Percy kills the minotaur and the demigods charge and rout the whole group, it had grown to 200

Finally, the monsters turned and fled—about twenty left alive out of two hundred. (pg 188)

So the grand total for the first TA attack was 500 soldiers or more, with only 40-70 of them demigods. And after the monsters on the Williamsburg bridge retreat, those demigods show back up.

Then I saw the crowd at the base of the bridge. The retreating monsters were running straight toward their reinforcements. It was a small group, maybe thirty or forty demigods in battle armor, mounted on skeletal horses. One of them held a purple banner with the black scythe design.  The lead horseman trotted forward. He took off his helm, and I recognized Kronos himself, his eyes like molten gold. (pg1 188)

This is the only time we get anywhere close to a specific number when TA demigods are concerned. It would have been the same group that was sunk in the East River, who then had to swim for Brooklynn; which is where they are now trying to take the Williamsburg bridge. This reinforces the idea that the number of demigods in the boats was only a little more than forty, since they would not have suffered more than a few injuries in the sinkings.

I’m going to come back to this moment later to demonstrate how Percy refrains from killing other demigods, even in his Achilles state, but the other important thing to note is that this is the last time Kronos organizes his demigods into a unit that he leads personally. After they fail to break through here, Kronos just has them take on a secondary role, and puts his faith in bigger and bigger monsters to lead the charge instead.

The Titan Army units on Long Island then spend the evening marching the long way around Manhattan (for some reason) because they make camp for the night in New Jersey, at Medusa’s old lair. Percy again describes demigods as the small minority.

Hundreds of tents and fires surrounded the property. Mostly I saw monsters, but there were some human mercenaries in combat fatigues and demigods in armor too. A purple-and-black banner hung outside the emporium, guarded by two huge blue Hyperboreans.

And this is only part of the Titan army, because there are more troops north of Manhattan. 

“Tell my brother Hyperion to move our main force south into Central Park. The halfbloods will be in such disarray they will not be able to defend themselves.” (pg 237)

The army that marches into central park is bigger than the one camped in New Jersey. And it is made up exclusively of monsters. 

At the north end of the reservoir, the enemy vanguard broke through the woods—a warrior in golden armor leading a battalion of Laistrygonian giants with huge bronze axes. Hundreds of other monsters poured out behind them. (pg 243)

There is not a single mention of a demigod. However they’re already joining the fight in other places. 

When it flew above the rooftops, I could see fires here and there around the city. It looked like my friends were having a rough time. Kronos was attacking on several fronts. (pg 251)  

After Percy kills the Clazmonian Sow, the momentum of the battle shifts. With his main force failing to deliver a knockout punch, Kronos has his remaining armies spread out to put equal pressure on the entire defensive line, and catch it in a massive envelopment.

Midtown was a war zone. We flew over little skirmishes everywhere. A giant was ripping up trees in Bryant Park while dryads pelted him with nuts. Outside the Waldorf Astoria, a bronze statue of Benjamin Franklin was whacking a hellhound with a rolled-up newspaper. A trio of Hephaestus campers fought a squad of dracaenae in the middle of Rockefeller Center . . . . . The hunters had set up a defensive line on 37th, just three blocks north of Olympus. To the east on Park Avenue, Jake Mason and some other Hephaestus campers were leading an army of statues against the enemy. To the west, the Demeter cabin and Grover’s nature spirits had turned Sixth Avenue into a jungle that was hampering a  squadron of Kronos’s demigods . . . . . I spotted a familiar silver owl banner in the southeast corner of the fight, 33rd at the Park Avenue tunnel. Annabeth and two of her siblings were holding back a Hyperborean giant . . . . . The next hour was a blur. I fought like I’d never fought before—wading into legions of dracaenae, taking out dozens of telkines with every strike, destroying empousai and knocking out enemy demigods . . . . . At one point Grover was next to me, bonking snake women over the head with his cudgel. Then he disappeared in the crowd, and it was Thalia at my side, driving monsters back with the power of her magic shield. Mrs. O’Leary bounded out of nowhere, picked up a Laistrygonian giant in her mouth and flung him like a Frisbee. Annabeth used her invisibility cap to sneak behind enemy lines. Whenever a monster disintegrated for no apparent reason with a surprised look on his face, I knew Annabeth had been there . . . . . Kronos was riding towards us on a golden chariot. A dozen Laistrygonian giants bore torches before him. Two Hyperboreans carried his black-and-purple banners . . .

“THEN THE WINGED HUSSAARSSS AARRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVED” SABATON BLASTS ON ELECTRIC GUITAR

 Sorry, sorry, I mean then Chiron and the 500 centaurs arrived!

Kronos’s forces looked as confused as we were. Giants lowered their clubs. Dracaenae hissed. Even Kronos’s honor guard looked uneasy. Then, to our left, a hundred monsters cried out at once. Kronos’s entire northern flank surged forward. I thought we were doomed, but they didn’t attack. They ran straight past us and crashed into their southern allies . . . a shower of arrows arced over our heads and slammed into the enemy, vaporizing hundreds of demons. (pg 258)

This is how the second phase of the battle ends. And during the entire night, out of a sea of monsters (hehe) we only see one unit of TA demigods. And it’s the last time we get any reference to them participating in the battle.

After being driven south, the TA apparently did another long march, because they make camp northeast of Manhattan.

The Titan army had set up camp all around the U.N. complex. The flagpoles were hung with horrible trophies—helmets and armor from defeated campers. All along First Avenue, giants sharpened their axes. Telkines repaired armor at makeshift forges. (pg 282)

Ethan is the only demigod mentioned this time. And he doesn’t appear to take part in the next attack, aside from releasing the drakon. We get less of a description of the enemy army this time, but it’s all monsters.

The rest of the battle wasn’t going well. The centaurs had panicked under the onslaught of giants and demons. An occasional orange camp T-shirt appeared in the sea of fighting, but quickly disappeared.  (pg 289)

Of course the Ares cabin arrives, the drakon kills Silena, and Clarisse kills it. It’s another rout for the TA.

The monsters retreated toward 35th Street. (pg 298) There was no answer from the enemy. Slowly, they began to fall back behind a dracaenae shield wall, while Clarisse drove in circles around Fifth Avenue, daring anyone to cross her path. (pg 299)

After that we have the final phase of the battle, when the Titan Army finally breaks through the Olympian lines. But once again, we have no reference to demigods other than Ethan.

The Titan Army ringed the building, standing maybe twenty feet from the doors. Kronos’s vanguard was in the lead: Ethan Nakamura, the dracaenae queen in her green armor, and two Hyperboreans. I didn’t see Prometheus. (pg 312) “ROWWF!” Mrs. O’Leary bounded toward me, ignoring the growling monsters on either side. (pg 315) There were thousands of [skeletan soldiers], and as they emerged, the titan’s monsters got jumpy and started to back up. (pg 315)     The armies of the dead clashed with the Titan’s monsters. Fifth Avenue exploded into absolute chaos. Mortals screamed and ran for cover. Demeter waved her hand and an entire column of giants turned into a wheat field. Persephone changed the dracaenae spears into sunflowers. Nico slashed and hacked his way through the enemy, trying to protect pedestrians as best as he could. My parents ran toward me , dodging monsters and zombies, but there was nothing I could do to help them. (pg 318).

The fight continues like this, until Typhon is destroyed, and the defenders are joined by the gods, and Poseidon’s army of cyclopes. It’s then that the Titan army is “massacred.” Most of the fandom thinks that the demigods were killed too, but that’s not the case.

PART 3: The TA Demigods Deserted Before The Final Battle

As Alabaster remembers it:

the war didn’t go our way. I fought on the battlefield against the enemy, but most of our allies ran. Kronos himself marched on Olympus, only to be killed by a son of Poseidon. After Kronos’s death, the Olympian gods smashed any remaining resistance. It was a massacre. “We weren’t all destroyed,” Alabaster said. “Most of the remaining half-bloods fled or were captured. They were so demoralized they joined the enemy. (pg 219)

When you look at this narrative, and compare it to The Last Olympian, it’s actually more complicated than the TA demigods simply getting massacred.

Al says that while he was fighting, most of his allies ran. That’s odd, because we don’t see the relative numbers of monsters go down at any point. What we do see, is the number of demigods go down.

As I illustrated in Part 2, the Battle of Manhattan has four distinct phases. Phase one, that ends when the Williamsburg Bridge is destroyed. The second phase, that starts when Hyperion attacks Central Park, and ends when the Party Ponies arrive. The third phase, which is all about the attack of the drakon. And the final phase, when Kronos breaks through.

We only see TA demigods in the first two phases; they attack the Williamsburg Bridge in the first phase as part of the Kronos’s main force, then in the second phase they’re relegated to a supporting role by hitting the defenders western flank. And that’s the last we see of them. After that, Etahn is the only demigod left standing in the TA. Alabaster must be somewhere in the background, as a retcon, but there’s no one beyond the two of them.

You might think that they’ve just already been killed by this point. After all, Percy blows up the Princess Andromeda, then goes into an Achilles Curse fueled berserker mode several times in the first two phases of the battle. Surely he must have killed hundreds of kids, right?

No, not even close.

Maybe not any at all.

On the Princess Andromeda Percy finds lots of monsters, but the number of demigods he finds could be counted on one hand. And the first one he meets; Percy spares him and tells him to get his friends and evacuate. We can’t prove whether or not any demigods were killed in the blast; we just know that the two we can confirm were still on board, Ethan and Alabaster, both survived. And when Alabaster recounts it, he doesn’t mention any bad losses at this point.

As for the Curse of Achilles, it doesn’t send Percy into anything like the berserker state some people think of it as. It might seem like that when Percy lets loose on the Williamsburg Bridge:

You’re going to ask how the whole “invincible” thing worked: if I magically dodged every weapon, or if the weapon hit me and just didn’t harm me. Honestly, I don’t remember. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to let these monsters invade my hometown. I sliced through armor like it was made of paper. Snake women exploded. Hellhounds melted to shadow. I slashed and stabbed and whirled, and I might have even laughed once or twice—a crazy laugh that scared me as much as it did my enemies. (pg 188)

But when push comes to shove, Percy can control the Curse, and what he does during it. That last moment was when he was fighting nothing but monsters. But when the TA demigods arrived, Percy pulled his punches like he always does.

I tried to wound his men, not kill. That slowed me down, but these weren’t monsters. They were demigods who’d fallen under Kronos’s spell. I couldn’t see faces under their helmets, but some of them had probably been my friends. I slashed the legs off their horses and made the skeletal mounts disintegrate. After the first few demigods took a spill, the rest figured out they’d better dismount and fight me on foot. (pg 189)

Percy is still in complete control of what he’s doing; even when the worst happens.

“Annabeth!” I turned in time to see her fall, clutching her arm. A demigod with a bloody knife stood over her . . . . . I locked eyes with the enemy demigod. He wore an eye patch under his helmet: Ethan Nakamura, the son of Nemesis. Somehow he’d survived the explosion on the Princess Andromeda. I slammed him in the face with my sword hilt so hard I dented his helm. (pg 190)

Percy really has all the reason to hate Ethan at this point; after Percy spared his life in Antaeus’ arena, Ethan still joined the side that had been ready to write off his death, and deliberately helped Kronos achieve his physical resurrection. Because of that Percy’s friends and even-Riordan-doesn’t-know how many mortals are going to die in the next few days; and on top of all that, Ethan just stabbed the love of his life.

And all Percy does is knock him out, maybe a little harder than necessary. He makes no effort to kill him. Those aren’t the actions of a berserker with no control.

In fact, the knife turns out to be poisonsed. And Ethan now has an idea where Percy’s Achilles Spot is, and might tell Kronos. And even after all of that, Percy doesn’t seriously think about killing him as an option.

“I’ll bonk him on the head harder next time.” (pg 241)

But more on topic, there is no reason to think the TA demigods have particularly high casualties in this phase of the battle, though they have a few:

Our archers shot a volley, bringing down several of the enemy, but they just kept riding. (pg 189)

Though it’s vague if they are hitting the riders or the horses. In fact, it might actually be Kronos who’s responsible for more of their losses.

[Kronos] struck the bridge with the butt of his scythe, and a wave of pure force blasted me backward. Cars went careening. Demigods—even Luke’s own men—were blown off the edge of the bridge. (pg 192)

I will die on the hill that between this, Ethan, and other implied moments, Kronos killed more of his own demigods than Percy did.

In the second phase of the battle, when we see the TA demigods attack again, they’re in a very different situation.

To the west, the Demeter cabin and Grover’s nature spirits had turned Sixth Avenue into a jungle that was hampering a  squadron of Kronos’s demigods. (pg 255)

This is the only thing we see the TA demigods do as a group in this phase; and they’re fighting people who are using very defensive tactics, more hampering than harmful. They’re not likely to lose many fighters. A few of them do cross Percy’s path in the chaos, but even at his most Achilles fueled chaos he never loses control.

The next hour was a blur. I fought like I’d never fought before—wading into legions of dracaenae, taking out dozens of telkines with every strike, destroying empousai and knocking out enemy demigods. (pg 257)

He talks about killing monsters, but always “knocking out” demigods. Finally, that phase of the battle ends when the centaurs show up. Did the centaurs kill any demigods? After all, Percy said they “trampled everything in their path.”

Well the only report we get on the TA demigods puts them to the west. When the centaurs attack, they come out of the north east and drive the enemy south, and start off a wave of panic that ripples down the enemy lines ahead of them. The demigods were probably running before any centaur reached them, and might have had better chances of being trampled by their own monsters.

So if the TA demigods aren’t taking many losses, where do they all go in the third and fourth phases, when we don’t see any except Ethan?

They desert. 

Alabaster: “I fought on the battlefield against the enemy, but most of our allies ran.”

I think the demigods of the TA signed up with no real idea of what would happen when they fought the Olympians. They thought they were going to have a sure victory. 

Chris Rodriguez said it in SOM:

“I hear they got two more [drakon] coming,” [Chris] said. “They keep arriving at this rate, oh, man—no contest!” (pg 122)

Alabaster C. Torrington said it in SOM:

“Kronos wasn’t supposed to lose! You said the odds of winning were in the Titan’s favor! You told me Camp Half-Blood would be destroyed!” (pg 196)

And they probably weren’t well prepared for the war either. At one point Luke says they will fight well because he has been training the army. But most of them join because they are the children of minor gods who swear for Kronos, and that doesn’t happen until the end of BOTL, after Luke has been possessed. Most of the TA demigods never got training from him; including their two highest ranking members, Ethan and Alabaster. It’s no wonder most of them weren’t prepared.

As I was running up the stairwell, a kid charged down. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap. His armor was half on. He drew his sword and yelled, “Kronos!” but he sounded more scared than angry . . . . No way was I going to hurt him. I didn’t need a weapon for this. I stepped inside his strike and grabbed his wrist, slamming it against the wall. His sword clattered out of his hand. (pg 18)

And the demigods might not hold much loyalty to Kronos, a violent and temperamental eldritch horror!

Ethan moistened his lips. “He’s still fighting you, isn’t he? Luke—” “Nonesense,” Kronos spat. “Repeat that lie, and I will cut out your tongue. The boy’s soul has been crushed.” (pg 236) “But, my lord,” Ethan said. “Your regeneration.” Kronos pointed at Ethan, and the demigod froze. “Does it seem,” Kronos hissed. “that I need to regenerate?” Ethan didn’t respond. Kind of hard to do when you’re immobilized in time. Kronos snapped his fingers and Ethan collapsed. (pg 284)

And the demigods might have witnessed a darker side to his army that we didn’t.

Back on my first visit to the Princess Andromeda, my old enemy Luke had kept dazed tourists on board for show, shrouded in Mist so they didn’t realize they were on a monster infested ship. Now i didn’t see any sign of tourists. I hated to think what had happened to them, but I kind of doubted they’d been allowed to go home with their bingo winnings. (pg 15)

So, the demigods deserted. After the second phase of the battle we don’t see any at the Titan camp at the U.N., or taking any part in the last phases of the battle. They had been fed false promises, were treated badly, and were being sent against enemies out of their league.

“Most of the remaining half-bloods fled or were captured. They were so demoralized they joined the enemy.”

All except two, Alabaster and Ethan. The son of Nemesis, who has already given so much and is so desperate to see something good and fair come out of it; and the son of Hecate, who was promised victory, and is desperate to avenge the death of his siblings. Ironically, the two demigods who stayed loyal to Kronos the longest, did so because they had faith in their godly parents.

So if there was no “massacre” of TA demigods at the end of the Battle of Manhattan, why is Alabaster so insistent that there was one? 

“Yes,” Alabaster said bitterly. “Camp Half-Blood decided that they would accept any children of the minor gods. They would build us cabins at camp and pretend that they didn’t just blindly massacre us for resisting. (pg 220) “But I’ll never bow to the Olympian gods after the atrocities they committed. Their followers are blind. I’d never set foot in their camp, and if I did, it would only be to give that son of Poseidon what he deserves.” (pg 221)

Well, it’s because the children of Hecate suffered the most in the war. She didn’t have as many children as other gods, and Alabaster was the only one to fight in it and survive. He claims he convinced “most” of his siblings to join; but if Hecate does not have many children, and he is the only survivor of the battle, how are there still enough of his siblings to decently fill a cabin, it’s likely “most” was only slightly more than half. The sad irony is that the fact that the smaller group of demigods had more casualties than the larger ones (and it sounds like not just more proportionately, but more in actual numbers), also kind of disproves that there could have been a large massacre that affected them all.

Alabaster was a scared, frustrated, exhausted kid; who convinced his siblings to fight in a destructive war, and was the only one of them to survive. To him, that is probably always going to feel like a brutal massacre.

[amirasainz]

Omg, i love your account so much. Can you make a Max x Reader story, where Max is a Mafia Boss and Reader is his wife. He is like super protective of her and gives her the princess treatment always. One night, she sees Max doing something horrible (can be whatever) and gets scared.

Make it angst and happy ending, please 🙏

Hi, I love this idea. I hope I did a good job.

Enjoy reading and send some requests

I am looking for some team principal reader ideas (but anything is fine)

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

Just a dream

Max Verstappen, feared Mafia boss in Europe, but to his wife Yn, he was simply Max. Her Max. The man who doted on her, showered her with affection and luxuries, and kept her blissfully unaware of the darker parts of his world. Yn knew that her husband was involved in something dangerous. After all, nobody amassed the kind of power and wealth Max did without blood on their hands. But he had always shielded her from that life. He insisted it was for her own protection, and Yn trusted him.

Their life together was picture-perfect. Max took Yn shopping regularly, indulging her in whatever she wanted, from designer clothes to exotic vacations. He was fiercely protective of her, ensuring she was never alone without a discreet but ever-present security detail. But most of all, he loved her with an intensity that was as overwhelming as it was comforting.

One night, however, everything changed.

♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧

It was late, past midnight, when Yn stirred in bed. Max’s side was empty, the sheets cold. She glanced at the clock—2:37 AM. Max had stepped out earlier, saying he had a meeting to handle but would be back soon. Usually, Yn slept through his absences, but something about the stillness in the house unsettled her.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed, pulling on one of Max’s oversized shirts before padding barefoot down the grand hallway. She heard muffled voices coming from one of the rooms downstairs, the sound of Max’s unmistakable low, commanding voice. Curiosity got the better of her, and before she knew it, she was walking toward the source of the noise.

As she rounded the corner, her heart stopped.

In the dimly lit room, Max stood in front of a man who was bound to a chair, his face bruised and bloodied, barely recognizable. The man’s head hung low, his body limp, and Max, the man who was her world, was towering over him with a look of cold fury. Two of Max’s men stood nearby, their arms crossed, watching the scene with detached indifference.

Yn gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The sound was small, but it was enough.

Max’s head whipped around, his blue eyes immediately softening when they landed on her. In an instant, he shifted from the ruthless mafia boss to the husband who loved her more than anything.

“Yn,” he said, his voice thick with concern, stepping toward her quickly. “What are you doing up?”

Her eyes were wide with horror as she stared at the bloodied man, then back at Max. “Wh-What…what is this?” she stammered, her voice trembling.

Max’s jaw clenched, his expression darkening—not at her, but at his men. “Why didn’t any of you stop her?” he barked, his voice deadly.

The men flinched. “We thought she was asleep, Boss,” one of them muttered, eyes cast down, terrified of the consequences.

“Out. Now.” Max's command was sharp and final. His men hurried out of the room without another word, leaving Max and Yn alone.

He was by her side in seconds, his hands gently cradling her face as he searched her eyes for the fear he knew would be there. “Yn, Schatje, look at me,” he whispered, pulling her close, his strong arms wrapping around her trembling body.

She was shaking, unable to comprehend what she had just seen. “Max…what…what’s happening? Why is that man—?”

Max cut her off, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering as he spoke softly, soothingly. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe. I didn’t want you to see this.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, her mind racing. “You’re hurting him, Max,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Max’s grip on her tightened, his heart aching as he heard the tremor in her voice. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Yn. I promised I’d protect you. That’s all this is, okay? It’s business. It’s not something you need to worry about.”

“But…he’s…” Her eyes darted back to the man, slumped in the chair. “Max, what are you doing to him?”

Max sighed, his hand moving to gently stroke her hair, his other arm still securely around her waist. “He made some very bad decisions. And in my world, there are consequences. But none of this…none of it touches you, Yn. I’ve made sure of that. You’ll never be part of this.”

Yn’s tears started to fall, and Max held her closer, his heart breaking at the sight of her distress. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry, love. You weren’t supposed to see this. I swear, I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

“But…” she tried to protest, her voice catching in her throat.

“No,” Max said firmly but gently, lifting her into his arms with ease. “You’re not staying here for this. I won’t let you. Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

She didn’t resist as he carried her upstairs, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Once back in their bedroom, Max laid her down on the bed and crawled in beside her, pulling her close to his chest.

Yn buried her face in his neck, her tears wetting his skin as she cried softly. Max held her, rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles, whispering comforting words into her hair.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he murmured over and over, his voice thick with regret. “I never wanted you to see that. It’s not who I am with you. Please, Yn, don’t be scared. I’ll protect you. Always.”

Yn clung to him, her body trembling against his. “I love you, Max,” she whispered through her tears, her voice broken.

“I love you more than anything, Yn,” Max whispered back, kissing the top of her head. “More than anything.”

---

The next morning, Yn woke up to the sunlight streaming through the curtains. For a moment, everything felt normal, the horrors of the previous night almost like a distant memory. Max was lying beside her, watching her with a soft smile on his face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“Good morning, liefde,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her gently on the lips.

Yn blinked, still feeling the weight of the night before, but Max’s calm demeanor made her second-guess herself. “Max, last night…I…” she began, her voice uncertain.

Max’s smile never wavered. He stroked her cheek tenderly. “It was just a bad dream, baby. You were restless, talking in your sleep. Nothing happened. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Yn frowned, trying to remember, but Max’s words were so reassuring, so certain, that she began to doubt her own memory. “A dream?” she whispered, confused.

Max nodded, his eyes full of love and warmth. “Just a dream. Everything’s okay now.”

Yn nodded slowly, letting herself relax against him. It had felt so real, but maybe she had just been imagining things. Max always protected her, kept her safe. Why would he lie to her?

She snuggled closer to him, letting out a small sigh of relief as Max wrapped his arms around her once more, holding her tightly as though he never wanted to let go.

But as Max held her close, his expression hardened ever so slightly. What Yn didn’t see—what Max made sure she never would—was the bloody rope still hidden under the sofa downstairs. The remnants of the life he kept carefully tucked away, far from the woman he loved more than anything.

And he would do whatever it took to keep it that way.

[mikkies]

「 YOU, MOONLIGHT, MY STARLIGHT. 」

Two Time x Fem! Cat lover! Reader (No mentions of she/her)

warnings: none!

notes: kitty two time..

THE ETERNAL NIGHT of the forest stretched unbroken, the sky a canvas of muted grays and blacks. Survivors and killers alike haunted the endless cycle of bloodshed and games, their wooden cabins scattered amidst the shadows, offering little more than a pause between the chaos.

In your cabin, a singular source of warmth lit up the darkness—a small, scruffy cat with fur like a patchwork of night and ash. The cat lay curled on your lap, its soft purring the only sound against the creaks of the old floorboards.

The knock at the door was light but deliberate, a sound you recognized instantly.

“Come in, Two Time,” you called, smoothing the cat’s fur with one hand.

The door opened just enough to let them slip inside, their form silhouetted in the dim light. The faint glow of the moon caught on the spawn symbol of their shirt and tail. Two Time’s manic smile greeted you as usual, but their eyes were drawn immediately to the cat in your lap.

“Have you considered-.. It’s still here...” they said, their voice a mix of curiosity and something darker.

“Of course,” you replied, watching them as they approached. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

Two Time crouched a few feet away, their spiked tail swaying slowly behind them. “Most things don’t stick around here,” they muttered. “Either they get taken, or they run off.”

“This little guy is different.” You scratched the cat’s chin gently, earning a soft trill. “I think he decided this is home.”

Two Time’s smile faltered briefly, the gleam in their eyes dimming. They reached out hesitantly, their black-gloved hand hovering over the cat. It sniffed at them, unbothered, and pushed its head against their fingers.

“Strange little thing,” they murmured, stroking its fur awkwardly. “It doesn’t even flinch.”

“Animals are good at sensing people’s intentions,” you said, leaning back slightly to watch. “They know when someone doesn’t mean them harm.”

Two Time’s movements stilled for a moment, their gaze flickering toward you. “You think I’m harmless?” they asked, their tone edged with disbelief.

“Not harmless,” you corrected, meeting their eyes. “But I think there’s more to you than just... what everyone else sees.”

They were silent for a long moment, their hand still resting on the cat. When they finally spoke, their voice was softer, almost unsure. “You’re too kind for a place like this. It’s going to get you killed.”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe. But until then, I’m going to keep finding what’s good in this place, no matter how small.”

Two Time’s smile returned, though it was less manic and more genuine. “You’re quite ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” you teased, nudging them lightly. “But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

They didn’t reply, but their hand moved to gently scratch the cat under its chin. The three of you sat there in the quiet, the fragile peace untouched by the horrors outside.

For now, in this dimly lit cabin, the eternal night felt a little less cold.

[apod]

2025 April 22

Terminator Moon: A Moonscape of Shadows Image Credit & Copyright: Rich Addis

Explanation: What's different about this Moon? It's the terminators. In the featured image, you can't directly see any terminator -- the line that divides the light of day from the dark of night. That's because the featured image is a digital composite of many near-terminator lunar strips over a full Moon. Terminator regions show the longest and most prominent shadows -- shadows which, by their contrast and length, allow a flat photograph to appear three-dimensional. The overlay images were taken over two weeks in early April. Many of the Moon's craters stand out because of the shadows they all cast to the right. The image shows in graphic detail that the darker regions known as maria are not just darker than the rest of the Moon -- they are also flatter.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap250422.html

[obscure-entity]

your shading is AMAZING specially when its conveying organic forms..... do you have any tips for people who dont know wrf going on (with shading)

ok so HI. hi. my old tutorial pisses me off so i will make a new one

i made a guy whose sole purpose is to be shaded so dont worry he likes it. and his name. his name will be mr. Boob. mr boob does not have to be blue

theres probably way better explanations of how to do it but unfortunately trying to "emulate" shading does ask you to somewhat understand ur character in a 3d way. like what would the 2d shape be if you "sliced" it? mr boob is made of so many circles. his tail also does a kind of weird perspective foreshortening thing because its pointing at you. is this being conveyed

you obviuously dont have to draw a horrendous grid on your characters skin to do this . BUT it helps you put down (or at least envision) the lines of the form shading :

dont worry about cast shadows or the shading color because this is FORM SHADOW time only. think about what surfaces of the character are obviously facing away from the light source and put down the "separation line" of the shading based on that. thr most important thing is that youre trying to separate light from dark

im going to pick the first one for cast shadows bc it will be the most obvious to me

ok so. his ears and snout are blocking other surfaces of his body from the light, which means a shadow is cast!!!! bam. i saw someone describe cast shadows as what the light's pov "can't see." his entire body is putting down a cast shadow on the ground too

im impatient so i blended the form shadows now. its usually the easiest to just NOT blend cast shadows as a way of conveying that they are still cast shadows. but you can still blend them if you want to show "distance" between the obstruction and the surface its blocking. but its just a way of saying form and cast shadows should not be treated the same even if their softness coincides

im going to lump reflection and ambient light together because theyre like. similar. reflections dont just happen in mirrors

since the sky is blue, making the ambient lighting, i tinged mr. boobs existing shadow to be a bit blue. (*this is kind of important because it can help you decide a shading color, which should USUALLY be based on the environment) (unless your character is just in the transparent void then it doesnt matter)

since the ground is pink, i made pink light bounce off of him. pointed and labelled. i dont rlly know how to go more in depth than that

contact shadows are literally shadows formed from direct-touching contact. very little light can reach in there, even from how reflections disperse, which means youre free to use the darkest color available (black). in this case mr. boob is making contact with the floor. because he is sitting on the floor.

i touched him up a bit and wow!!!!!!!!!! look at mr. boob!!! he is so beautifully sculpted.

and one more thing

thats right. i made mr boob PINK. hes fucking ruined now. just kidding i would never say that to him

what im trying to convey here (its the easiest with really light colors) is a transitional color. this can also show subsurface scattering depending on how you use it which is fun to look at. the mistake i made on my last tutorial was "Just pick a warm saturated color!" which is really wrong in examples like Blue mr boob. because it would be weird to use a warm color to transition from blue to blue.

if you have a character that isn't bright enough then obviously the shadows wont be as visible. its BEST to bring more attention to highlights and reflections to reveal the form a bit. they play the biggest role with darker colors

thats all i can think of. fun things to look up:

structuralization + contour lines + foreshortening etc. 3d lingo

form shadows

cast shadows

ambient light

contact shadows

subsurface scattering

im also just speaking out of my ass otherwise. i didnt look up any of these terms until the end now im inferring and hoping i got them right

and remember every time you shade mr boob will be rooting for you

[xcherricutie]

「 ✦ love doesn't die ✦ 」

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

[Yandere!Zombie!Silver the Hedgehog × Human!Reader]

[Word Count - 10k]

[Summary - You've been living in an abandoned city for years. You figured your luck had finally run out when an infected hedgehog finds you, but it seems like he's not entirely dead]

[Tags: Zombie AU, reader is a human because I don't like writing anthro readers I'm sorry, Silver is also a bit taller than his canon height because I mean, come on, blood and gore, some guy loses an arm, Silver isn't super yandere for most of it because I suck at writing]

[Notes: First time writing for Silver, don't expect a masterpiece. Also, the ending is kinda doodoo mainly just cause I wrote 8k of this in one day and just wanted to be done, I didn't feel like coming back to work on it haha. I got the inspo for this from another one shot that is WAY better, I was also rereading the zombot arc and needed to do this. NOT PROOFREAD]

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Dark thunder clouds rolled in, covering the overgrown city in a deep darkness. As the city grew darker, flashes of light beamed down the corpse of what used to be a lively city. Turning a corner, the light revealed yet another empty street, much to your relief. Despite having walked these streets every day for the last five years, you were still wary of any signs of life. After all, most life left were the undead, the immortal corpses of loved ones long gone. As far as you knew, you were the only person left alive. You considered yourself especially lucky, you had never even left your apartment building from before everything collapsed. You maintained your old life to the best of your abilities, just with more isolation, and no internet for entertainment. 

You still recalled what life had been like before with vivid recollection. You remembered your old life back in high school, with all of your friends, human and mobian alike. You remembered the fairly frequent emergencies your world used to face, at the hands of a mad scientist. But that was a time gone by, a distant memory soon to fade from this world entirely. Assuming you were one of the only people left alive and sane, you were the sole carrier of those memories. It felt isolating, lonely, but you tried not to let it get to you. You didn’t want to live out your last days miserably. 

Letting the light of your flashlight guide you back toward the safety of your home, you silently walked across the street, glancing around occasionally for any stray undead. You had discovered they tended to stick together, following sounds, likely blind. But the darkness almost heightened their senses, so you had quickly made your way back home upon noticing the signs of a storm. Unfortunately, you hadn’t beaten the dark clouds, and had been forced to use your flashlight. While you were certain most undead were blind, not all were, and that had you worried. Coming across a human undead wasn’t much to stress about either, they were weak, bones and flesh crumbling at the slightest touch. It was the mobians that had you worried. Most mobians had strength beyond the comprehension of humans in their life, and that had carried over into their undead. You had managed to avoid them for the last five years, but that didn’t mean you weren’t stressing over finally finding one every time you went out for supplies and food. 

As the rundown, boarded up apartment building you called home came into view, you let out a sigh of relief, a small smile tugging at your lips. Just as you took a step forward, you heard a soft tap behind you, sending a violent shudder up your spine as you whipped around, flinging your flashlight in the direction of whatever had caused the source. The sound of your heart thundering filled your ears as your gaze bounced around in a panic, trying to identify the source. As your eyes fell to the ground, you noticed a tiny, circular dark spot on the ground, a wet spot. Staring at it as your panicked mind tried to piece together what was happening, a swashing sound filled your ears, your body suddenly soaked as the sky poured rain. Finally realizing it was only rain, your shoulders relaxed as you scoffed with a smile, rolling your eyes at your own paranoia. Perhaps isolation had done more damage than you had initially realized. 

Turning around, your heart came to a screeching halt in your chest, your blood freezing ice cold in your veins as your eyes met a pair of muted golden, bloodshot eyes. Tufts of messy white quills stood tall, nearly taller than you, stained a deep red shade. His maw was soaked in gore, the heavy stench of iron wafting from his being. He stared lifelessly into your eyes, almost as if looking straight through your head. Your mouth hung open, fear freezing your whole body as a silent scream began to build up within your throat. It seemed your luck finally caught up with you, as the especially tall mobian stood before you, his very presence setting your demise. There was absolutely nothing you could do to fend off the mobian, so as your instincts finally began to kick in, you chose the flight option of flight or fight. 

Turning tail, you immediately bolted down the street. Biting your lip to swallow your terrified scream, you glanced back to see if he followed. Your eyes flew wide open as his eyes were directly in your face, his presence filling the air behind you. He was fast. The scream you had bit back finally freed itself as you whirled around, slamming your flashlight into the side of his skull. You had expected the sounds of squelching to fill the air, but you had been surprised by how intact his flesh still was. How great for you. He just so happened to be one of the especially strong mobians. You were thoroughly screwed. 

His head whipped to the side as your flashlight smashed into his temple. The flashlight flew from your grip, momentarily distracting the undead hedgehog as the light whirled through the air. In that single moment of hesitation, you took the opportunity to run away, zigzagging through the dark. You hoped, prayed to anything that would listen that he happened to be at least slightly blind, but your luck had run bone dry as you heard the drum of footsteps just behind you. 

You pushed yourself harder, running as fast as your legs would carry you. If you could just lose him, for just a second, you could wrap back around and run home. You knew the city like the back of your hand, but you couldn’t risk leading him directly to your safe place. No amount of boards and nails could hold something like him back. 

Beginning to pant wildly, your lungs felt dry, suffocating you as you forced your legs to keep going. You couldn’t let yourself die like this, not after how long you had survived. Your eyes brimmed with tears as you swallowed, your mouth burning and dehydrated. But your ears were zeroed in entirely on the footsteps behind you, or rather, the fading sound of them. Pushing yourself onward, you immediately noticed the lack of footsteps behind you. Hope had instantly begun to overflow within you as you turned a sharp curve, circling back to your apartment building. 

Rushing through the doors, you slammed them shut behind you, taking a shaky breath as you slid to the floor. You were fairly certain that whole escapade shaved off ten years of your life expectancy, but at the very least, you were still alive. You supposed somebody out there must’ve heard your prayers, you thought for sure that undead would never run out of stamina. He is undead after all. 

Taking a moment to calm your breathing, you sucked in a deep breath, relaxing against the doors. Just as you thought to get up though, a loud thud rang through the room, vibrating against the door. Your heart jumped into your throat, eyes flying wide open as you forced your back firm against the door. You could nearly feel its presence just beyond the barrier of glass and boards, banging on the wood. 

Sucking in a sharp but silent breath through your teeth, you slid the bag that hung over your shoulders off, freeing your shoulders of its weight. Grabbing one of the loose boards, you steeled your nerves for whatever came after your next move. You knew you didn’t stand a chance fighting him, so you had to find a way to hold him off while searching for an escape route. 

With the remainders of your courage, you lifted yourself off the floor, back still firmly pressed against the door. The slamming grew more violent, almost as if it were getting impatient, the doors rattling as the boards weakened. You could hear the glass beneath the boards begin to crack, soon to give way. Taking a deep breath, you jumped away from the doors, the doors flinging wide open just as the pressure of your body gave way. 

The hedgehog stood before you, his silhouette being illuminated by the strike of lightning in the far distance. His golden eyes, despite being muted by the lack of life, nearly glowed in the dark, highlighting the spatter of blood across his face. 

You had expected him to immediately run for you, but he hadn’t budged from his spot, staring at you with an almost curious-like aura. You held the wooden board tightly in your grip, prepared to use it as a weapon, waiting for the lifeless body to make its move. Your body was nearly shaking now, the effects of your adrenaline beginning to wear off as your exhaustion caught up to you. You grit your teeth and bore through it, but the suspense had begun to take its toll as your body shook with fear. 

Your gaze had shifted down to his feet as you noticed his leg twitch, foot sliding forward ever so slightly, as if trying to sneak up on you. Your eyes widened upon the realization, an audible gasp slipping from your lips as your mind began to panic. It was intelligent, enough to attempt to evade your alarm. Your whole body bristled as your grip on the board tightened, before the tension in your body suddenly snapped. 

Letting out a scream of terror, you swung the board with all of your strength, the end hitting him square in the neck, knocking him to the ground. You lifted the board once more, slamming it on his head, before turning and taking off further into the building. You could hear it let out a frustrated growl, as if annoyed, his blood-soaked boots squeaking against the floor as he rose. But you didn’t dare look back as you ran towards the stairwell, flinging its metal door open and taking shelter inside. 

As soon as the door slammed shut, clicking into place, you ran up the stairs, your mind panicking as you tried to come up with a way out of this. There was no way out of the building other than the entrance that you had come in through. All of the first-floor windows were heavily boarded up, and there was no exit within the basement. The only other way you could think of was the fire exit, which was in the lobby, where the hedgehog hunting you down was. 

Through your jumbled thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed you had made it to the roof of the building until you pushed the door open, immediately being soaked by the onslaught of rain and wind. Thunder cracked in the sky, streaks of lightning flashing in the clouds. Your attention had momentarily been forced on the storm directly above you, before the sounds of footsteps echoing through the stairwell dragged you back into reality. 

You shut the thick metal door behind you, walking toward the edge of the roof. The wind pushed back as you stepped forward, the slick ground making you stumble as you stood over the edge. The drop was far too long for you to make the jump and survive, which meant you were now trapped here, with a hedgehog that had been very persistent in getting to you. This was it. You had finally met your end, after all these years. But you wouldn’t let the undead corpse have its way, even if you had to take your fate into your own hands. 

A loud thud pulled your attention back to the door, the sound repeating as visible indents had begun to form. You inched backwards, ever closer to the edge, until your heel was pressed into the edge, ready to slip with any slight movements. 

And then, with one final violent slam, the door burst open, revealing the infected hedgehog. An almost animalistic look glinted in his eyes as lightning struck, and you could’ve sworn you saw a faint aura surrounding him before disappearing in small flecks of glittering light. 

Taking a step forward, the hedgehog was immediately soaked in the rain as he approached you. A sharp gasp pushed past your lips as your eyes snapped from the undead to the edge just behind you. Your foot slipped ever so slightly, a startled cry catching in your throat as your arms flailed, attempting to regain your balance. 

Your heart leapt into your throat as your body tipped over the edge, your mind suddenly in a flurry as you realized this was your end. At the very least, you weren’t going to be eaten alive like you had feared. That was the only comfort you received as you fell over, your balance slipping as the ground disappeared from beneath your feet. 

Eyes squeezed shut, you had expected to feel the wind rush past you, before meeting a swift end. Memories flashed through the darkness at a dizzying rate, your heart beating so fast you thought it’d explode before you hit the ground. You had expected everything around you to disappear, the chill of your soaked clothes fading into nothingness, or the feeling of your heart finally stilling. But the only new sensation that had hit you was the feeling of a hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, yanking you upward. 

You felt the air forced from your lungs as your body collided with something wet, freezing cold. A chill ran down your spine as your eyes opened, vision being filled with white despite the darkness. Your nose tingled as strands of fur tickled the tip, leaving behind a cold sensation as your senses were suddenly overwhelmed, overflowing. You were still alive. You had been pulled back up into safety. Or so it had seemed, but the false sense of safety suddenly washed away like the rain as you finally realized what had pulled you back up. 

The hedgehog’s grip around your wrist remained, his other hand now holding your opposite wrist. You stood completely frozen, your mind trying to understand just exactly what had happened. Never, in the last five years of your isolation, living in a world with the undead, had you seen anything of the sort. Not only had every single thing that could walk wanted you dead, but none had the capacity or understanding to save you from death, not even for their own gain. Whatever this thing was, it certainly wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t entirely dead or alive. 

You didn’t know what to do. Judging by the blood spatters dotting his body, the hedgehog was definitely infected. The blood couldn’t have been his own. Which meant that, regardless of his mental capacity, he was still fully willing to eat a living being. Your life was still in danger, even if he had pulled you into some twisted form of safety seconds ago. You were stuck in place, you couldn’t move. Who was to say he wouldn’t sink his teeth into your throat the second you moved even an inch? He certainly had the perfect view of your throat after all, his muzzle leaned against your shoulder. 

After a long moment, one that had felt like years, you finally gave off a sign of life, your wrist twitching in his hold. When he made no efforts to bite into your neck, you gently pulled away just enough to look down at him, to at least try to gauge what was going on beneath the surface. But there was nothing in his eyes to suggest any thought process, no expression that told you he was in control. He simply stared up at you, his eyes shining with the occasional strike of lightning. Even without the sparkle of life, they still seemed bright, a remnant of what once was. 

A particularly close flash of lightning caused you to jolt, eyes going wide. As your facial expression changed, so too did his, eyes going wide slightly, like a delayed reaction. Almost as if mimicking you. You sighed deeply, unsure of what to do. You certainly couldn’t shake the hedgehog, you were stuck with him, but you couldn’t just stand out here and wait for the lightning to finish the job. So, despite what your gut was warning you of, you gave the undead’s hand a slight tug. 

“You, ah...” You paused, half wondering if he could even understand you. What were you even thinking, of course not, but that didn’t stop you from at least trying. “You seem smart. Do you understand me?” 

No reaction. Not even a blink of the eye. You didn’t know what you were expecting, a twitch in his facial muscles or a fully constructed sentence. Regardless, you continued, with the hope that maybe some nerves in his brain were still alive and kicking. He did save you, after all. “We need to go inside. It’s not safe out here.” 

Still unreactive, you decided to just hope your words got through to him, and gave his hand a stronger tug. You pulled the hedgehog slightly, waiting with bated breath for a violent reaction. But he simply let you tug and pull, dragging him back inside, back into the safety of the building. And yet, it had lost its sense of safety as you pulled the undead hedgehog behind you, straight to your safe space, your own room. 

Pushing the door open, a sense of security washed over you, happy to at least be home once again. Even if the hedgehog killed you here, at least it’d be in your home. You had to look on the positive side of having an undead follower for now. 

“This is my home,” You spoke, despite knowing your words would never reach him. You had even shot him a nervous smile, trying to be friendly. It was the least you could do to calm yourself and hopefully the hedgehog as well. Your mind was in shambles. 

“We’ll be safe here. I’ve been here for years.” You said, leading the hedgehog further into your home, telling yourself over and over in your mind to just pretend he was alive. Pretend he wasn’t a threat. 

As you continued to speak, walking around with the infected in tow, you attempted to pull your wrist from his grip, the same wrist he had grabbed to save you. The wrist that he hadn’t released the entire time since pulling you back from that edge. You pulled your wrist away, without even thinking as you spoke all about your time surviving the last few years. It had been your first time talking in years, and had gotten carried away, forgetting that you were still in the midst of danger. You had been forced back to reality as he gripped your wrist nearly painfully tight, pulling you back to his side with force. You looked down at him with wide eyes, your heart rate quickly picking back up as you looked down at him. 

Still showing no signs of life. You didn’t understand what was happening, what was going through that head of his. Some thought must have been present, he had the ability to understand your life had been in danger, he understood to follow when you pulled. He had the ability to resist killing you. So why? Why did he seem so dead, when there was obviously still some amount of life hidden just beneath the blood coated surface? 

“Um... You can let go now,” You tried to calmly say. Instead of seemingly not understanding though, now your words seemed to annoy him, as his empty stare turned into a frustrated look. You felt his fingers tighten around your wrist, his grip quickly growing painful. “I-It’s okay, really. I won’t go anywhere. I’ll stay right here.” 

You hoped that was what he wanted to hear. It was the only thing you could think of that made sense. He didn’t want you to leave his side, but why? Was he saving you for later? Did he still fully intend on taking your life? Why wait? You tried to wrap your mind around the situation, despite knowing there likely was no explanation. At least not one you could get to on your own. Likely, the hedgehog himself was the only thing that knew what was going on. He definitely had some train of thought, you were certain of it now, especially since he confirmed being able to understand you, to some degree. 

“Uh...” Mind scrambling for anything that could help you, you looked around your small apartment, trying to find something to get you out of this situation. “Wh-Why don’t you sit down? Come on.” 

You gave a light tug, trying to direct him to the slightly tattered sofa in the room. He didn’t budge for a moment, staring at you, as if he were eyeing you. But after a second’s passing, he let you pull him toward the sofa, sitting him down. He sat down with no direction at all, which had surprised you, as you didn’t think you’d ever actually seen an infected sitting down. 

You sat down next to him, being sure to put a few inches between you and him. He stared at you once again, putting an unsettling feeling within your being. But just as that feeling began to form, you felt his fingers loosen around your wrist, surprising you. His eyes remained trained completely on you, but at the very least, he seemed calmer. 

As your eyes met his, your brows furrowed as you thought. You had never even thought you’d be in a situation like this. You wondered if you could even take this to your advantage. He didn’t seem to be after your life anyway. 

“You can understand me, can’t you?” You asked. When you received no indication that your words got through, you began to think. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely capable of showing that he understood? He could show facial expressions, but so far you had only seen expressions of annoyance or frustration. Maybe he couldn’t show signs of other emotions. You hummed, finger tapping your chin as you tried to think of something to help you get through to him, or at least form some type of communication. A thought crossed your mind, making you perk up as you jumped to your feet. Your sudden movement clearly startled the hedgehog, but you failed to notice as you rushed past him with a burst of excitement. 

Practically shoveling through a closet of your old belongings and things that just had no use nowadays, you finally found what you had been looking for. You slammed down a pencil and paper on the coffee table before the hedgehog, missing the sudden jerk of his body as you surprised him. You looked up to him with a bright grin, unable to contain your excitement at the idea of getting to study the infected, getting to know him and have a look into his mind, without your life being in danger. 

“Okay, so you obviously have some capacity for thought,” You began, reaching out for his hand. He didn’t resist when you grabbed ahold, placing the pencil in his hand. “Try writing something, anything. A word, a number, your name, whatever you want.” 

The hedgehog just stared at you, unmoving. As seconds began to turn into minutes, you wondered if you got too excited. It did seem silly, now that you thought about it. You had assumed that since he managed to express some emotions, especially to your words, that he had some understanding of language. And he had shown himself to possess some motor skills, so why not writing? At the very least, he could do a little scribbled drawing. But it was pretty farfetched to think that something like him, something lacking thought and morals, could communicate. 

But your thoughts were cut off as you heard the scratching of lead against paper. With much applied force, the hedgehog began to slowly but surely make out letters, and soon, a very poorly written word had been forcefully drawn on the paper. The paper had ripped in some places, and the pencil had broken, making the lead appear rubbed. But despite that, there was still very plainly a word written in large across the paper. “Silver”. 

“Silver...” You squinted your eyes at the paper, before they widened as you made the connection. “Is that your name? Silver?” 

The lack of reaction this time finally confirmed your thoughts. If you had been wrong, he would’ve shown signs of frustration, but there was nothing. This was your sign. You had been right. He just lacked the ability to show other expressions, but still had the ability to think. There were still signs of life inside him after all. 

“Oh wow, this is...” You fell to your knees in front of the table, sitting across from him. You stared into his eyes, momentarily awe-struck. You had found somebody; somebody you could actually communicate with. “I can’t believe it. You can actually talk. I-I haven’t spoken with anyone in years. Wait, can the others talk too?” 

Silver’s brows furrowed slightly, your sign of communication, his version of “no”. You visibly pouted, disappointed by the answer, but you couldn’t be surprised. Silver was the only one who could even think, let alone show emotions. 

You wanted to ask him more. You wanted to get to know him. You had gotten lost in your thoughts, trying to figure out more ways to talk with him. You had come up with the idea of asking him yes and no questions and having him write down the answers on the paper. He had been bad about writing too big to fit multiple words on the paper, which had resulted in you running out of paper and ending up just writing on the wooden table. But you didn’t care at this point, too interested in finding out everything you could about Silver, which ended up being quite a lot. 

You had discovered that Silver was once one of the heroes who used to defend the world from the mad scientist who often put it in danger. You had also found out that he was the very last hero to live in the end, every one of his friends dying off one by one to the virus. Thanks to his psychokinesis, he had survived for years, only recently finally losing the fight. Apparently, he had been searching for the cure all this time, a person with special immunity to the virus. In the end, his efforts had gone to waste though, and he had died. You didn’t even know how to begin to process any of that, and by the time you had found out everything, it was late into the night hours. You were running on fumes, eyes struggling to stay open as you thought of another question to ask Silver. 

Your eyes widened slightly as Silver set the pencil down, leaning back onto the sofa. You couldn’t get past the jarring, dead and empty look in his eyes, which never even blinked. It felt odd seeing him move around, seeing him interact with his surroundings, with you, despite the obvious lack of life. For the most part anyway. 

Silver’s hand caught your eye as it softly pat the sofa next to him. You tilted your head in confusion, before realizing what he meant, surprising you. You didn’t think he was capable of that level of awareness, noticing your own emotions. You let out a soft chuckle as you stood, stretching out with a yawn. 

“I’m still shocked that somebody like you even exists,” You said, giving Silver a smile. You failed to notice the slight twitch of his eyes; the flicker of some emotion hidden deep within him. “I guess all those years of perseverance keeps you going. I bet you could cure yourself if you tried hard enough.” 

You joked, but it also made some amount of sense. He was a super powered hedgehog, far beyond anything like you’d ever seen. If anyone could overcome the virus, it would likely be him. You had assumed at this point that his interest in you was because he’d finally found someone alive, someone who wasn’t braindead. You would quickly find though, that wasn’t the only reason for his interest. 

You had decided against Silver’s offer, telling him you were going to sleep in your own room. He had expressed slight annoyance at this, but calmed down after you told him he could sit and watch for danger in the living room. And while it felt nice to know there was somebody who wanted to protect you now, you also didn’t trust that Silver could control his hunger. So just in case, you had locked your bedroom door. You knew it’d do little to stop him, should he really want to get in, but it gave you some comfort. 

Despite your initial excitement, you couldn’t help the fear that Silver was still a danger to you. He could think and communicate, sure, but did that stop him from eating people? Had he actually eaten anyone before? You didn’t dare ask him, scared it was a touchy subject. He had emotions, so it was obvious he must’ve felt something toward his sickness, his “condition”. He was dead, of course it was a touchy subject. So, you lived in uncertainty now, fearing the day Silver lost control. 

But you’d find out his hunger wasn’t what you had to worry about. You found that out almost immediately the next day, explaining to Silver that you had to go out again and search for food. To put it simply, he was not happy. 

“Silver, I have to go out! I will literally die without food!” You argued, pulling on your wrist as Silver held you tightly. He didn’t move or even budge a single muscle, your efforts doing little to escape his hold. You grumbled in annoyance, glaring down at him. “Would you rather me die? I don’t think I’ll be as lively as you when I’m dead.” 

Your words seemed to cut through whatever stubbornness he had been feeling as he returned the glare tenfold but released you. You huffed, rubbing your pained wrist, turning away from him. You grabbed your bag that you had retrieved from the lobby (without Silver, of course), stuffing inside anything you may need on your trip out. You had to leave space for food though, which meant you couldn’t bring very much with you, aside from a flashlight and a knife. 

“I’ll be fine, Silver, promise. I’ve been doing this longer than you, after all,” You teased, though you’re unsure he found it very humorous. But you didn’t linger on it, slinging the bag over your shoulder. “You could even come with me and help. It’d be nice to have some help for once.” 

This seemed to perk Silver up, as his glare relaxed into that empty look you were coming to know. You smiled, a small chuckle escaping your lips. Perhaps he still retained that heroic personality he had in life, trying to protect you from any and all harm. 

With that settled, you and Silver headed out. Silver took the lead right away, keeping a lookout for any infected. The city was empty and silent, most undead out in the woods, looking for wild animals for sustenance. The eerie silence was still jarring to you, even after all these years. Even with all of the plant life overrunning the city, there was a lack of wildlife. No birds chirping, or squirrels running about. As far as you could tell, Silver and you were the only life for miles. Or so you had assumed. 

A splash of water broke through the silence, drawing your attention as you looked down into the murky puddle your boot had stepped in. Your reflection rippled through its surface before disappearing as you lifted your boot, unsettling the mud. You let out a soft hum, eyes glancing around your surroundings. All was quiet, even with Silver at your side now. You found his silence gave you almost a sense of foreboding. Were the infected all this quiet? 

Your attention focused on Silver; you didn’t even register the sound of water splashing just behind you. You barely had time to process the hand that reached out from behind, a shiver running down your spine as your mind lagged behind, realizing just seconds too late what was happening. 

Silver’s feet dragged as he trudged forward, bleary eyes shifting back and forth as he looked around. All was quiet, and his sharp sense of hearing didn’t pick up anything other than the thuds of your footsteps just behind him. Hearing a splash of water, Silver’s ear twitched slightly, but shrugged it off as your presence. It was strangely quiet, even for him. 

A sharp, shrill scream pierced that silence, startling Silver as he whipped around, trying to focus his eyes, trying to find you. His eyes landed on your form, legs kicking as you tried to fight off the infected that had snuck up on you. Its hand wrapped around your face, other hand holding your shoulder as it leaned in close to your neck. 

Swinging your body back and forth, you tried to shove it off, letting out a startled cry as you felt its hot breath down your neck. Tears brimming in your eyes, you grabbed it by the arm, using all of your strength to fling it over your shoulder. Its body slammed against the ground, the rotten flesh of its arm tearing clean off. 

A shudder ran down your back as you dropped the dead flesh, your blurry eyes landing on Silver as he rushed to your side. But you didn’t have time to focus on him as your peripheral vision caught sight of movement, whipping to face whatever was approaching next. Your eyes widened to see not just a few stray infected, but an entire horde. The streets were filled with undead, the putrid scent of death hitting your nose. 

“Th-They’re everywhere,” You muttered, turning to look at Silver. If an infected could look panicked, Silver surely did right now. His eyes were wide, shoulders stiff as he leaned closer to you, as if to try and protect you. But even Silver couldn’t fight off an entire horde, he had found that out in his final moments of life. 

The storm had to have led them in, you assumed. They relied on their sense of sound and must’ve lingered even after the storm passed. They had you and Silver completely surrounded, and there was nothing you could do to get through. Your heart hammered in your chest, your breathing growing erratic as your eyes darted around for any kind of escape. 

Body trembling, you felt your knees grow weak with fear as you realized, this was likely your end. It had been just your luck to finally find someone who could change your life, only to have it all ripped away from you. You squeezed your eyes shut as you noticed the infected beginning to approach, your tears streaming down your face as you tried to shut the world out. 

Just as you closed everything out though, you felt a cold hand wrap around your own, fingers squeezing gently. You peeked your eyes open, meeting the pair of golden eyes you thought you’d never get the chance to see again. But something was different, there was a whole new layer of color to them, a turquoise aura surrounding both you and him. But that wasn’t what caught your eye. It was the smallest upturn of his lips, crinkling his muzzle ever so slightly. You hadn’t even thought it possible for him to make any expressions other than aggravation, but in your final moments, he had given you the comfort you didn’t even realize you desired for all these years. 

Your mind had been distracted from what you had assumed would be your final few seconds in life, your eyes entirely on Silver. Something about your gaze, the way your eyes lit up upon seeing his smile, it made something deep within Silver flutter to life. Something he had rarely ever felt, even in his days alive. It gave him the strength to use up what little power he had access to in his rotten body, lifting his body from the ground. You hadn’t even realized what was going on, having closed off the world as your mind focused entirely on Silver’s face, on his smile, his soft and kind eyes. It wasn’t until your feet had left the ground, did you finally come back down to Earth. 

Your eyes widened as you looked down, the ground getting further and further away as Silver lifted you just above the infecteds’ reach. Your eyes practically lit up with exuberance, nearly welling with more tears as you realized Silver had once again saved your life. But that excitement quickly dissipated as your eyes met his, noticing the strained look written across his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a soft groan as the aura surrounding you had begun to flicker and disappear. He had just barely managed to land on the roof of a tall building, thankfully with no entry to the roof. They were safe, for the time being. 

“Silver, that was amazing!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him without even thinking. Silver’s eyes widened as he felt you squeeze him close, muttering words of thanks over and over as you pressed your face into his shoulder. 

A sharp jolt burst through Silver’s body, causing him to twitch slightly in your hold. It felt electrifying, like something within him had been shocked to life. It almost felt as though his heart had been jumpstarted, his cold, dead body, blood that had long since stagnated beginning to heat up his body. But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t that your touch had brought his body back to life, more so that it had given life to a brand-new feeling, an indescribable feeling that Silver immediately knew he had to protect at all costs. 

“Oh, but...” You pulled away slightly, much to Silver’s dismay, as you cast your gaze over the edge of the building. The sky was still cloudy, blotting out the sunlight, the wind sending a chill down your spine. “We’re stuck up here now. Do you think you could fly the rest of the way home?” 

Silver frowned deeply, giving you your answer. You sighed, shoulders drooping in disappointment. That meant, that until the horde either dispersed, or Silver gained enough energy to fly once again, you were stuck up here. And the fact that you had yet to eat anything today was finally starting to catch up with you, your body feeling tired and weak. 

Your gaze lifted back up to Silver’s, finally realizing your arms were still wrapped around him. You could barely even recall the fact that he was dead anymore, the only reminders being the sickly sweet smell coming from him, and the droopiness of his eyes. But the way he held you softly in his arms, the smile he had given you to comfort you in what could’ve been your final moments, it felt so much like a real person. Like there was still somebody in there. Somebody who cared for you. 

“Can you smile again?” You asked, both genuinely curious, and missing the presence of his smile. Silver seemed a bit caught off guard, his body tensing slightly. His hands pulled away from you, leaving a cold, empty feeling where they had been, which you ignored. It had been far too long since you felt physical contact with another being. 

Silver’s cheeks twitched slightly as he struggled to curl his lips upwards. He had even squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull his lips upward, but they simply wouldn’t budge. You frowned slightly, wondering if doing even the simplest things overexerted his muscles. They were pretty much dead, after all. It was shocking he could even do it before. 

Letting out a frustrated growl, Silver lifted his fingers to his cheeks, pushing the corners of his lips upward. Your eyes widened at the annoyed hedgehog who forcefully turned his lips upward, giving him a very strange and almost scary appearance, had you not known what was going on. For a moment, you could only stare in pure surprise, before a sputter of laughter escaped your lips. Covering your mouth, you tried to hide the laughter that bubbled up within you, but you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped. Soon enough, your hidden giggles turned into uproarious cackling, sides nearly splitting as you doubled over. 

Like an infection, your euphoria spread to Silver, nearly having to do a double take as you caught sight of his face. His lips had been pulled into a tight smile, mimicking your own. His sharp canines stood out, stained slightly red, his gums showing from how hard he was pulling. But despite that, you couldn’t help the excitement bubbling within you at the sight, chuckling. 

“You have a lovely smile, Silver,” You said, your words causing Silver to falter, his lips trembling. It felt like his heart was trying to stutter back into life, almost painfully so. He didn’t think he’d ever felt an emotion as strong as what was going through him now. And your words only made it worse as you continued. “I’m so glad I met you.” 

Silver knew from that moment that he needed to keep you, he wanted you at his side, forever. 

It had taken a few hours, but the horde of the undead had finally begun to disperse, following sounds in the woods, looking for their next meal. Silver had also gathered just enough energy to fly back home, holding you tightly, taking every chance he could to squeeze you against his own body. You were so warm against him; it was becoming addicting. 

Before finding you, Silver had assumed there was no life left aside from the occasional wild animal. But even those were becoming rare. He thought it a curse that he could see the world around him, that he still had some thought and comprehension, but that he lacked control of his own body. It wasn’t until he saw you for the first time, roaming the dark streets, did he finally feel like himself. He needed to see you, to see an actual living being. He had died all alone and thought the rest of his undead life would be the same, and you changed that. You were like his lifeline, keeping him connected with his humanity. He needed you. 

Once you had made it back home, you made sure to lock the front door, pushing a shelf in front of it with Silver’s help. It wouldn’t stop a group of infected, but it might stop one or two. Maybe. Silver didn’t make it seem like a silly idea, so you found comfort in that. 

As the hours grew late, putting a close to your second day since finding Silver, you found yourself practically attached at the hip to Silver, the same going for him. Asking him more questions about himself and his life, you were enthralled by him. It had been many years since you got to bond with anyone, it felt like you couldn’t detach yourself from him if you tried. 

Letting out a yawn, you leaned back onto the sofa, having run out of ideas to ask him. Communicating with someone via yes or no questions could only get you so far, and you felt like you had hit that limit. There wasn’t much left to ask him, now the information you sought could only be given by him, and that obviously wasn’t possible. As much as you wished for it, Silver still lacked the ability to actually speak, and likely would forever. 

“I guess that’s it for today. It’s too bad we couldn’t find anything, I’m starving,” You mumbled, your stomach growling. It wasn’t like you hadn’t gone a day without food before, but it was still slightly painful. You sighed, standing up as you smiled at Silver. “I guess I’ll just have to try again tomorrow. Hopefully they’ll have cleared out by then.” 

As you turned away, going to prepare for bed, you failed to notice the look of disapproval on Silver’s face. He watched you walk away, a slight scowl on his face. 

Walking into your bedroom, you stretched out your arm, though came to a screeching halt as an intensely sharp pain stabbed through your shoulder, nearly drawing a cry of pain out of you. You hissed, letting your arm go slack as you rushed into your bathroom. The dim moonlight bathed the room in an almost blueish light, highlighting the red gash that had been scratched across your neck and shoulder. You could only stare with wide eyes, your mind unable to process the sight before you, breath caught in your throat. How had you failed to notice that? When did it happen? 

As the memory of the infected that had snuck up on you passed through your mind, you faintly recalled feeling an uncomfortable scratch across your collarbone that you hadn’t given much thought to at the time. Your life was in danger, you were focused entirely on escaping the situation. But now that you were home, and hours had gone by, the blood had dried, and the wound had begun to heal. It wasn’t a deep scratch. Just enough to break the skin. But was that all it took to turn? To become infected? 

It had been hours, you reminded yourself. Turning was usually immediately. But you also knew there were rare cases where it could happen over a course of time, slowly killing the host. You had been infected. There was no doubt about it. 

Stumbling back into your bedroom, you collapsed against the old, beaten mattress. There was nothing you could do except hope that you woke up tomorrow morning. You couldn’t tell Silver. He had finally found someone he could talk to. Someone he could bond with. You didn’t want to crush that so soon. 

Closing your eyes, you ignored the pain in your shoulder, letting slumber take you. You had been fully prepared to just never wake up again, at least not fully. But much to your surprise, you woke up the next day, sunshine pouring into your room through an unboarded window. You blinked away your sleepiness, slightly confused as to why you were still you, before jumping out of bed. 

Rushing to your bathroom, you checked your collarbone once again. The scratch remained, still healing. You had honestly thought it to be a dream when you woke up, but seeing it there, feeling the remaining pain as you moved your shoulder, you knew it was real. 

You didn’t know what to do. Your mind was rushing for a solution, or at least a way to keep this from Silver. You didn’t want him to see you change. You had to come up with some sort of plan to get away from him before changing, and today was the perfect opportunity. 

That was what you had thought, until Silver had decided not to let you out at all today. Just like yesterday, he held you by your wrist tightly, refusing to let you walk through your door. You had even tried the same reasoning as yesterday, saying that he could come with, but he still wouldn’t let you go. You had thought it was because he hadn’t been there to keep you safe from being grabbed, but you were fine as far as he was aware. There was no reason for him to feel bad. 

“I have to go out, I need food, I’m hungry! Just let me go!” You huffed in frustration, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you tried to tug your arm free. Silver simply glared up at you, visibly growing more frustrated the longer you fought him. He didn’t understand why you thought it was okay to go out again, not after yesterday. Not after he nearly lost you. 

“Let me go!” You raised your voice, trying to urge him to free you. It seemed your tone only made him mad, as he roughly yanked your arm, a searing pain shooting through your shoulder. You cried out in alarm, holding your shoulder as you hissed. “You’re hurting me, Silver!” 

Your cries of pain seemed to startle him as his grip loosened significantly, almost enough for you to pull your arm free, but his grip returned just as you tried to pull. As your eyes met his, you could see a look of not just frustration in his eyes, but confusion. Guilt suddenly squeezed at your heart, making you sigh as your shoulders fell. 

“Okay, if you don’t want me to go, then why don’t you? You’re one of them after all,” You said, giving him a small, comforting smile. “That way, I can stay safe at home, and you can bring me food.” 

Silver let you go at that, agreeing immediately. He walked past you, shoving the shelf blocking the door aside with ease. As he looked back, your eyes widened as he gave you the tiniest of smiles. The sight made your heart flutter, but at the same time sink, knowing it would be your last time getting to see such a smile. The smile of someone with perseverance great enough to live beyond death. 

You gave Silver a bright grin in return, your smile remaining until the door had closed behind him, leaving you alone with your own thoughts. It was just like before now, when you were all alone. Silver was gone. And it had left a bigger hole in your heart than you thought it would. 

But you had no time to waste. You didn’t know when it would happen. You had to disappear before Silver could return, without being noticed. You waited until you were certain Silver was gone before preparing. 

The table was covered in Silver’s scribbles now, with little room left. Taking a marker, you wrote over Silver’s handwriting, writing a small apology, that you didn’t want him to see you turn. With your final words written, you took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your old apartment one last time. Since showing up, Silver had left that sickeningly sweet smell everywhere he went. A smell that once made you sick and terrified, you found some sense of comfort in, knowing it was from him. 

You wished you could’ve had more time with him. You wished you could’ve met Silver before everything, before he and everyone around him died. You imagined you would’ve been great friends. But you couldn’t linger on that, not anymore. 

Slipping out of your apartment, you made certain that you were completely alone before exiting the building. The streets were silent once again, but this time, you knew nothing was around. Not even Silver. You were alone. 

Making your way into the woods that had begun to creep up on the old city, you were surrounded by the darkness the trees provided, hiding you from the light. Even in the woods, it was dead silent aside from the wind rustling the leaves and branches. It was a lonely final resting place, but you preferred that over putting Silver in even more pain. 

With one final glance back, you could see your memories flashing through your eyes just like before, but at a slower pace now, reminding you of everything you’d lost, and the friend you were going to lose now. You were simply thankful you got the chance to meet Silver. For a mere second, you thought it might’ve been possible he himself was the cure he had been searching so long for. After all, he was still alive, even though his body technically wasn’t. The thought made you smile, comforting you as you disappeared into the darkness. 

The sun had begun to drift lower and lower into the sky. Silver stared up at the sky as it turned from a bright blue into a brilliant orange. Despite the beautiful view, Silver only wished you could’ve been with him to witness it. He knew he had made the right decision in leaving you home, especially since he had seen a few infected during his search. But he still couldn’t help but miss you, wanting to be always at your side. 

Making his way back home, Silver pushed the door open, mustering up his best smile as he held his arms out, showing off the food he had found in his search. But upon seeing the empty room, Silver dropped the food without a thought as he looked around. Where were you? Why were you not here waiting for him? 

Red ink scrawled across the table caught his attention, golden eyes landing on the message. Taking in its words, Silver didn’t even think it possible to feel his blood pressure skyrocket, and yet the feeling that overcame him in those two seconds rivaled the feeling. 

Silver didn’t think he’d ran that fast since he was alive. He didn’t even know he could run as fast as he was, nor did he think he had the same heightened sense of smell as the other infected until he was completely zeroed in on your scent, on the blood in your scent. He couldn’t lose you, not now, not after he’d finally found someone to be with. Someone who was alive and made him feel alive. He had to have you, no matter what. Even if you were infected, he’d find a way to help you. You could be just like him; he would make you be just like him. Even if he had to infect you himself. 

The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, and the woods grew darker with each second. You shivered as the wind blew a chill down your spine, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. Despite the pain in your shoulder, you couldn’t feel any effects of the virus. Perhaps you were one of the rare cases that had to suffer longer? It certainly lined up with the luck you had. 

The leaves crunched softly underneath your boots as you walked, your mind drifting as time slowed to a crawl. You were just ready for it to be over. Silver was probably already home, though you couldn’t even begin to guess what his reaction would be. You guessed he might try to look for you, but you’d already be turned and long gone before he could find you. You felt guilty, but it wasn’t like letting Silver watch you turn was any better. 

Your mind was brought back to reality as you heard a particularly loud gust of wind. Looking around, you felt your fear begin to crawl from the pits of your stomach, and up your spine. Squeezing yourself tighter, you forced yourself to take a deep breath, before continuing on. 

Before you could take even a single step forward though, you were suddenly and violently tackled to the ground. You let out a startled cry, your shoulder slamming against the ground, forcing a scream from your lungs. You felt a hand grab your injured shoulder, flipping you over with great force, nearly knocking the wind out of you. 

Your eyes met a pair of wildly glowing golden eyes, a sneer pulling at his lips, revealing his canines. You cried out in alarm, trying to crawl away, Silver’s tight grip holding you in place underneath him. You had no time to react, no time to stop him as he bent down, immediately sinking his teeth into your collarbone. You let out a shrill scream, feeling your own blood soak your clothes and skin, staining Silver’s muzzle. You fought and shoved against him, feeling the cool air hit your skin as he pulled away, revealing his dripping maw, blood trickling down his canines. 

“Mine,” A strained, raspy voice spoke, startling you. He repeated the word over and over, rubbing his nose against your neck. He switched to the other side, making you panic as you felt his sharp teeth brush over your skin. He sunk his teeth into your flesh, taking in your scent, practically burning it into his brain. He was never letting you out of his sight again. You were his, he needed you, you were all he had left in this world. 

Pulling away, Silver stared at the sight of you below him. Your neck was littered with bites, and after the third bite, you had lost the strength to fight him, just waiting to succumb to your death. Your eyes drooped, a sleepiness unlike anything you’d ever felt washing over you, granting you relief. 

As your eyes fell shut, you could feel Silver lift you, holding you against his fluffy chest. You leaned into his surprisingly warm hold, deciding to just go with it. You were dead anyway, so you might as well soak it in. Despite everything, you were still glad to have met Silver. 

It felt like time had slowed to a near stop, and you couldn’t differentiate minutes between hours, and days between years. It felt like you had been forced to wake though after a long time, sunlight pouring over you, bathing you in its warmth. It was strangely warm. You had expected everything to be cold, dead. 

Eyes slowly peeking open, they blurred in the light, making you groan. Just as you began to stir, you heard a gasp, startling you fully awake, eyes clearing up immediately as you sat up. Just before you stood Silver, or what you had assumed was Silver. He was strangely... lively. Almost like he was alive. 

“You’re awake!” He exclaimed, his crystal-clear voice startling you to your core. It wasn’t like he was almost alive; he was alive. His golden eyes held that flicker of life that was once missing, his lips curled into the biggest smile you had ever seen. 

As if able to tell you were both shocked and confused, Silver chuckled, sitting down next to you on the bed. “A little while after I bit you, I got better. It surprised me too, believe me. I guess it turns out you were the immune person I’ve been looking for all this time!” 

Your brain didn’t process a single word he said. You were shocked you were even still alive, especially after how Silver had bitten you, and many times at that. The memory of Silver biting you over and over suddenly filled your head, the pain still ever present in your neck. You ran your hand over your neck, feeling the deep teeth marks scattered across your skin. Silver’s eyes fell to your hand, his smile remaining, but the glimmer of innocent cheerfulness fading from his eyes. 

“I wanted to be the one to turn you,” Silver said, his voice forcing your attention back on him, looking up at him with wide eyes. He smiled at you, the corners of his lips reaching his eyes and forcing them to crinkle. “I was going to make you like me. But this is better! This means that you can’t turn, and even if I do, I can just bite you and cure myself!” 

Something about Silver’s words, or the way he smiled, put an unsettling feeling in your stomach. Something about this didn’t sit right with you, but you couldn’t quite place it. Was it kind that he wanted to turn you himself? You couldn’t tell. 

“What does this mean? A-Am I going to have to cure everyone else?” You asked, confused. You didn’t think you could handle getting bitten that much. You didn’t even have enough blood to spare a few hundred people. And wouldn’t that, you know, kill you? 

“Oh, no!” Silver chuckled, shaking his head. He took your hand into his own, squeezing it much more gently than he had when he was infected. “I can’t let you be getting hurt. It’s just you and me against the world.” 

Silver gave you a big smile, his eyes filled with love, and yet, you knew, there was no real love to be found. His love had died with him when he died so long ago. 

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

[krashlite]

Martyn Concepts!

Design notes under the cut!

Animal: kitsune

FACE/HEAD

Square! Not much justification for this, it just looked right

I wanted him to have nose crinkles for more foxlike expressions

^^^ playing off of this, most of his expressions center on the corners of his mouth

The little scraps of a mustache at the corners of his lip are meant to mimic the black markings on a fox's muzzle

Hair has 7 segments and his sash(?) adds the last two for a total of "9 tails"

Top two segments can also translate into "ears" (<- shape/concept that comes from Genrih's Martyn design!) while the ones around his face are meant to invoke the same "fang" imagery I used for Pearl's design

^^^ likewise, the scraps of beard are meant to look like lower incisors

His hair also moves in one piece in the same way a cosplay wig would (it is not a cosplay wig, but hilariously he has been accused of wearing one in the past)

He does dye his hair blonde, but is naturally a redhead (hence his roots showing and his facial hair being darker)

BODY TYPE

Soft muscle! Reads as fat a lot of the time so it's hard to gauge his strength until he's in a fight

Hands/feet are proportionally a lot smaller than his arms/legs to hopefully translate his shape back to being foxlike (he was looking like a cat for a lot of the design process)

CLOTHES

The body suit under his outfit is meant to look like the black legs that foxes have

one lighter glove to pay homage to "the hand" from 3L

Zipper "teeth" are stylized to look more jagged so they look like actual teeth (don't know if this translated though!)

MANY POCKETS. He's very resourceful and needs something to hold his things (with some extra room for "borrowed" trinkets)

No shoes! He thinks it helps with his agility (remains to be seen)

He does have the little wind spiral on the back of his shirt, but I forgot to include it in the ref OTL

ADDITIONAL

With him being a "shapeshifter," a lot of his mannerisms come from outside sources. This either means from other players or from other pieces of media (like the hand gestures on the ref coming from Reigen MP100)

A lot of his design is also based on the "trickster" aspect of kitsunes. His outfit has 3 hidden zippers, he barely shows any skin, this isn't his natural hair color, and his shirt pattern disguises the shape of his torso. It's a way to trick the eye :]

[em1989ts]

Hi! So i have this idea, also kinda inspired by the last request (cuz I loved the way it turned out) you do what you please with it🙂‍↔️

Five, after all he had gone through, finally got to figure his feelings out and realizes he wants to spend the domestic life he always craved with reader, after playing no strings attached, he just goes for it

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞

five hargreeves x reader

word count: 1.5k

masterlist.

summary: after the universe was reset, you and five finally get to settle down and live the life you want

author's note: thank you for the request!! keep 'em coming!! this one i did rather quickly, and it's not as in depth as i like but i quite like it :) hopefully you enjoy

not proofread

One moment, you feel like you’re getting your soul pulled from you in one of the most painful experiences of your life.

Forced to watch as your partner and his family go through the same fate. 

Their sister sliced open their father’s head, revealing him to be a green blooded alien robot, as you all were released from the source draining your powers from you

You remember looking over at Five as you fell to the floor.

He was your partner at the commission who you banded off with to stop the apocalypse. He had a makeshift tourniquet around his severed arm, the two of you withering in pain against the cold tile as you tried regaining your breath. 

The two of you had gone through so much together. Far too many apocalypses for two elderly teens to handle in less than a month. You were both so stressed, being pushed and pulled around by the universe with endless complications. It seemed like every single day since you first returned to 2019, something had always managed to go wrong. 

Yet, you always had Five, and he had you. 

You kept each other sane. 

You were exactly what the other needed. 

Nobody really understood what you two were, but you definitely weren’t just coworkers. 

There were so many instances where the two of you had gotten drunk, and either cried in each other's arms or passionately made out. 

Whatever could distract the two of you from the unstoppable fear of failure. 

That fear of not being able to save the world, save his family, save each other. It ate you alive. 

It was almost as if you were the same person, with the same mind, you could understand each other so well, yet that didn’t mean you could read each other’s mind. 

It was hard to tell whether your intimate moments together had any correlation to how he truly felt about you. You knew he loved you, as much as he loved his family. He was such a caring, selfless man. It always hurt to watch when his family overlooked how much he sacrificed for them, how they constantly blamed him. You made sure he never felt overlooked when he was with you. 

His blue-grey skin horrified you. The wrinkles in his face, showing how close he was from death in that moment, utterly horrified you. His eyes, so much darker than his light green irises, full of suffering, was a sight you never wanted to see again. 

Everyone pleaded with Allison as her hand hovered over the glowing button. 

Once she hit it, everything went black. 

~~~ 

The next moment, you realized you were standing. 

You felt different. 

Cleansed, almost. 

You heard a ding and opened your eyes, realizing you were standing in a crowded elevator. It somehow opened up into a memorial park. The night was rainy, and you could hear the city sounds so clearly through the open air. 

As everyone walked over and explored their surroundings, you scanned Five. 

No more discolored skin, no more wrinkles, perfect eyes, and . . . his arm? 

Before you could mention it to him, you heard Viktor break the silence first. 

“Luther?” he said. 

Everyone turned their attention to the elevator, as the now skinner Luther made his way out. 

“You can see me?” he said excitedly as Viktor jumped into his arms for a strong hug, “I’m alive!” 

“That’s not all, big guy,” Viktor referenced Luther’s new figure. 

At this point, Five had realized his arm had returned, giving you a small wave with it. 

You laughed with a smile before tugging him into a hug, so relieved you made it out alive once more. He wrapped both his arms around you as he dug his face into the crook of your neck. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you heard him grumble into your hair. 

Before you could respond, Five was snatched from your grasp by Luther, frantically asking about his wife. Five reminded him about the universe being reset, which apparently wasn’t a good answer. 

“Okay, screw this,” said Five before attempting to blink, yet he went nowhere. 

Immediately looking panicked, he said, “Something’s wrong.” 

Luther threatened him once more as everyone tested their powers. 

Luther eventually ran off to find Sloane, with Klaus right on his tail. 

“Peace out, bitches,” was the last you heard from Ben before he took off. 

“What are we supposed to do?” Diego asked now that everyone was breaking off in their own direction. 

You glanced over at Five to find him already looking at you. His eyes communicated with you in a language intelligible to anyone else in the world. When he held his hand out, you took it firmly. 

“Live our lives?” Lila asked, unsure. 

Once her and Diego walked off hand in hand, Five gave one last look to Viktor before he squeezed your hand and walked towards the archway, leading onto the sidewalk. 

The two of you didn’t say anything at first. You could feel the rain land gently on your face, in your hair, on your sweater. It was the perfect, cool night in the city. The air was clean. 

You could take a deep breath without feeling the weight of the world crushing your lungs.

There were zero expectations. No time travel laws you had to follow. No people you were assigned to kill. No countdown till doomsday. 

You were free. 

With Five’s hand in your, you quickened your pace and started running down the sidewalk. It took him by surprise but he followed your lead, letting you drag him down the block, without a care in the world. 

The two of you felt free. 

It was about time.. 

You stopped suddenly. Wet hair framed your glowing face as you panted, trying to catch your breath. He did the same, as he waited patiently for you to speak your mind. He brushed raindrops off your face, admiring your furrowed brow, showing you were deep in thought.

“Wait a minute,” you had realized something. 

“If the universe is reset, where do we go? What do we do? I mean, there’s no academy anymore. There’s no record of us anywhere. How do we get a job if we don’t exist yet? How do we find somewhere to live if we don’t exist yet? We don’t have any money so we can’t afford a hotel room, we’re going to have to sleep on a bench tonight and it’s fucking rainin-” 

He cut you off with a hand on your cheek and a swift kiss to the lips.

That definitely shut you up, but he spoke before you could even register what happened.

“We’ll figure it out,” he smiled at you, still holding your face, caressing your cheek with his palm. 

“I don’t care where we go or what we do. But whatever happens, I want you by my side.” 

You had never seen Five like this. So worry free, so genuine. He looked as though so much weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. You knew because you felt just the same. 

Without a word, you kissed him once more, confirming your enthusiasm to live your new life with him. 

You never would’ve thought settling down would be in your cards, but here you were, kissing your partner, Five Hargreevess, in the pouring rain. 

As you pulled away, you laughed and asked, “Are you ready for this new adventure, Five?” 

Of course you’d go anywhere with him, you’d even sleep on a park bench if it meant you would be safe in his arms. This didn’t mean you’d be too thrilled to be sleeping in the rain. He smiled wide, his dimples prominent, and took your hand in his once again.

“Ready when you are.”

~~~

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

Hi! I'm new to your account, but just binged your "I bet on losing dogs" storyline, and I had a question and concept for you? How much is the reader free to interpret? I'm a theater kid, so I like her hobbies. But is there any specific physical traits you're writing for her? I know you mentioned that we were/are chubby, which is cool, but do you imagine any certain features? Because I'm Mexican American with certain features, so I was curious if you had a certain ethnicity set for her besides being half White/Jewish from Bruce being her biological father.

I also had the same question about Tiffany, because I'm currently imagining the Stereotypical All American girl. Kinda got that Disney Channel actress vibe to her. (Physically). I also had this really messed up though of the reader having to spend YEARS trying to keep in touch her mother's culture and such, learning dishes, traditions, going to local festivals by herself, having to learn how to do makeup and hair styles/products that fit her face and hair pattern. No one bothered to help or teach her. But than, suddenly Tiffany starts to steal those "habits", uncaring if they were very personal to the reader. Than everyone in the family suddenly starts to like the Reader's culture and such. (I had this scene in my brain where the Reader walks in on Tiffany is bragging about some music or dish "she" tried out from the Reader's culture, while the family are all happy and curious about it. Even when the Reader tried to introduce it to the family, everyone declined even trying it.)

I see the Reader so "Your Best American Girl" coded by Mitski.

Anyway I just wanted to ramble, bye!

ok so, I'm trying to be as vague as possible bc reader is supposed to be whoever is reading so there's no in depth description or specific height or build (except chubby in the prologue). i feel like i've basically made reader an OC which i hate but personally when I'm reading a fic, I just ignore things if I don't like them or they don't apply to me which is what i suggest yall do!!

the reader's mother is Palestinian/ Venezualan, like my own mom but you can change it if you'd like. it's important to mention that reader does have Bruce's jaw structure and face shape and shares facial features with Damian as well. It's small things like the ears, the roman nose, even the eye shape, point is that every time reader looks in the mirror she can see shadows of Bruce and Damian on her face. it's kinda like the vibe of "like him" by tyler the creator. I'm middle eastern and hispanic so I imagine reader with darker feautures like tan skin, thick brown hair, arched brows and long lashes but it's all up to you!

reader is very confused because while her dad is white, she isn't. she did try to bond with Damian and learn Arabic with him but he shamed her for not knowing and kicked her out his room, literally. she used to be embarrassed of her heritage when she was younger (courtsey of Tiffany calling her a mutt) but as she got older she realized how interesting her culture is.

she wants to learn arabic but has no teachers and it's a pretty hard language to learn if you don't grow up speaking it .she has no sources to help her and most of the time culture and traditions are things you grow up with and are passed down to you from family. her mom used to speak to her in arabic and feed her dates and sandwiches with olive oil and sugar and make her fried plantians so those things are very special to her, they're some of the only details she remembers about her late mother. so yeah reader is very "Your best american girl coded"

You're so on point about Tiffany, she's your classic all American girl. Blonde hair, blue eyes, long tanned legs and a set of pearly whites. she's the kind of white girl to act like she cares about other races but is secretly racist. you know what girls im talking about! and that prompt you sent with the food eats so hard, I have a scene mapped out with that in the upcoming chapters. I rambled too girl!!! you really got me thinking tbh but let me stop and actually write the next chapter.

[12woso12]

Angry Woman

Part 1

TW: Does have some very heavy topics so look after yourselves and don't read if you don't want to

You were 21 years old and completely new to London. Having grown up in the North of England, everything felt backwards...including Arsenal. At 15 you were Manchester United's wonder kid. You were scoring goals for the senior team at a rate that no teenager had managed before.

The day of your 18th birthday you captained the U21 Lionesses in a European final and scored the winning goal. And at 19 you made your senior Lionesses debut.

Defenders hated you.

Forwards wanted to be you.

And your fans?

Well, you weren't sure if they wanted to be you, screw you or take you out for coffee. You were on the front page of every newspaper in the UK, whether you were modelling, showing off your football prowess or caught in public with your popstar boyfriend, the public rarely ever escaped your face.

When you made the shocking transfer from Manchester United to Arsenal, the entire footballing world halted in its tracks. You were United's star pupil, if fans were shocked at Alessia's transfer, then they were in utter disbelief at yours.

You would have died for United.

You walked through hell to wear that red shirt every week.

Literal hell.

From the outside you were golden. Everything about you shone passion and potential, you were praised at each turn, awarded with each goal or neat piece of trickery. The only thing missing from your game was an ability to control your temper. It wasn't as if you were a mean person, you wouldn't hurt people maliciously. You just...lost control.

The media gave you some lenience when it came to your rage. The tabloids blamed it on your unstable childhood, bouncing around foster home to foster home with no real family to call your own. Pundits could be a little harsher on you, the older you got the more they would criticise your inability to reign in your rage on the pitch. It had been okay when you were a hormonal teenager, but now at the ripe old age of 21, you were picking up a lot of heat for it.

You never really bothered to listen to the voices outside your bubble at United. Sure, you were a little more enthusiastic on the pitch than was acceptable but it was your only outlet. Football was your only source of therapy, your only way of forgetting what was going on away from the pitch.

Your anger didn't come from your fucked childhood.

It didn't originate from a dead family or a famous boyfriend who snuck around behind your back.

Your anger came from a place much darker.

Hell.

To you, United behind closed doors was hell.

It started the moment you begun to get senior minutes at United. You were barely 15 and still wore thick braces, the kind of braces you would see the high school nerd get bullied for in American coming of age movies. Looking back, that's what confused you most. How could someone like that be so interested in someone like you?

He was a god. A saviour. A husband. A father.

David Coben was 45 years old when he first touched you. And he was 51 when you finally stood up to him. He used to tell you that you were special, that you wanted him to touch you, to do things to you that no one had done before. He prayed on a vulnerable girl with no family to protect her. At first you screamed and cried and tried your hardest to avoid him... but he never failed to find you. Whether it was in a private corridor after a match or in the isolation of your hotel room on away days. David Coben always found you. And worst of all, he always got what he wanted.

If you refused, he'd tear up your contract with United himself, that's what he told you. And at 15 years old without having built a strong name for yourself it seemed impossible to leave United for something more successful.

So, you stayed.

And you told no one.

You became a star, a constant talking point in woman's football. Your fame shot to new heights when you started to date a pop star and that's when the modelling jobs began to pour in.

And suddenly, you were rolling in money.

But you still took everything that David gave to you. And then you took it out onto the pitch and gave the world a new talent to obsess over. The older you grew, your game became better but your anger became near catastrophic. It wasn't until you finished a season with 5 red cards and a serious telling off from Sarina Wiegman at your latest England camp that you decided enough was enough. You couldn't do it anymore. You had to say no.

That's when you moved to Arsenal.