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atinylittlepain · 10 months

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Chapter Eight

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

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warnings: 18+ heavy angst, references to past injury related to DV, very brief and very vague smut

a/n: we've reached the end of this story. i love these two, very much. thank you for reading.

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Maybe there's a God above But, all I've ever learned from love Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you? And it's not a cry, that you hear at night It's not somebody, who's seen the light It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah as performed by Jeff Buckley

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The car is real. It is parked outside the house now. Sneering a chrome smile at him, taunting him. The sound of its engine in the mornings when she goes to the diner whispers the same thing everytime. Soon.

One day after the perfect mess he made, he dropped her off at the diner and she informed him with all the warmth of a business associate that he need not come back to pick her up, because Sal would be giving her the keys to the car that is now parked outside the house, the car that is now hers. The car that is going to take her far away from him, any day now.

They move around each other like ghosts. How fast fission breeds new rhythms and routines, never in the kitchen at the same time, nor the fields, fleeting passings in the evenings. He has taken on more night shifts to keep himself out of the house, to keep himself from doing something stupid, like knocking on her bedroom door and getting down on his knees. Only a few days, though it feels like a yawning beast of time has already blinked by.

She will tell him, won’t she? At least that. Actually, he’s not sure if she will. If he will come home one morning and the sheep will be calling a grievous sound into the thin air because their favorite has left, stuck with him once again. Warning, notice, if not for him, then at least for her flock.

How quickly things soured, all their jagged pieces tearing and teething at each other. His mean, her mean, and the desolate monster it has made between them. He will let her leave, he must. Care has turned into a cage, and he must leave the door open, must let her step through to something else, something better. Because clearly, whatever this is, plainly no good.

The mind is a cruel machine. The worst part of all of this, he has been dreaming of her. Scraps of visions, what he can remember. The perfect line of her clavicle, and how breath made the pools of shadows swell and bend against her skin. The way his hand curled around her thigh, the hinge of it. He wakes up wanting, warm and wretched, alone in the night. But the patrol shifts help with that, something about sleeping with the sun trying to pry through the blinds staving off the darkest of his thoughts.

Sarah called the other day, asked how Dove was doing. Oh, you know, he said. Because he could not lie to his daughter, but he could not offer the truth either. The truth, neither of them are doing very well. Partial, parallel unraveling. The kitchen remains dormant. There are no trips to the grocery, to the library. Only what is needed for another day to pull over into another night and over again. He looks miserable because he is miserable. Glances he has stolen of her, peering out his bedroom window to watch her get into her car in the mornings, he sees that she has turned sharp again, drawn down and in around the edges. This pain, this sickness, is shared.

He runs through all the ways it could never work while he sits in the slumbering cruiser on the side of the highway. That lull between spring and summer has arrived, all living things bracing and bending beneath inevitable change, quiet in their submission. Life raises its hackles and curls down low to the ground, silent sulk, waiting for new prey, new time. And in the silence, his thoughts grow and gristle.

No, it could not work. He thought that he could, but clearly he couldn’t. Couldn’t be careful enough around all the big and small hurts that trail after her. Because that’s what that was, that night of no, a hurting thing. A wounded, rejected thing. Easier to call it anger. And so was his, the next day, the car, the turn of her shoulder away from him so he could not see the first line of tears fall.

And now it’s just a meanness, isn’t it? Anger that festers and flumes into something bitter and blistering. Easier to be mean about it. Sorry is so very difficult to swallow, after all. This silence, this sharp shuttering out, mean, the both of them digging their thumbs into the places it hurts the most and pretending to enjoy it with grimacing grins. Good for you, good for me, so there. Good for us.

Always, at some point in his shift, somewhere in the middle of the thick night, his thoughts turn small and young. We are born wanting, and we will always return to wanting. And he does, now, lets himself want all of it. Even the pain she caused him, he would take it happily, standing up and smiling. Something poetic could be said, something beautiful, but there is no need for the fuss or frill of it. Simply, he wants her. Urgently, he wants her to stay.

Like all things, the wanting passes just as the night does. Eventually, his grip on the steering wheel unfurls and unfists. Eventually, the light begins to spread a pale blue out across all the ink of the plains. Morning starting to suggest itself, mercy.

He blinks, bleary, a small protest from the engine when he inches the car back onto the road, time to return to the station, want still clearing from the fuzzy periphery of his mind.

It does not scare or startle him, but it does give him pause. Coyotes, fur dunned and dull, matted tufts sticking up over their slinking bodies. They cross the road with no concern for the car, slow languorous placement of paws, the largest of them turning its jaded eyes into the headlights, perhaps a disillusioned sigh, before it continues on its path. Pups trail and trundle behind, nipping at mother’s tail, new energy, new life, and how dangerous, daunting, daring it can be.

He does not go back to the station. He goes home.

Still early, still sleeping, maybe. He does the thing he has been telling himself he shouldn’t. But shouldn’t is what got him here in the first place. Enough of needless shouldn’t.

She is awake. Her hair still damp from a shower, darkening the blue shoulders of her uniform when she opens the door to her room. Her room, the guest room, whatever it is. Confusion is clear in her frown, the pull of her brow. She keeps the door halfway closed, a quiet understanding of distance needed.

“Are you leaving soon?” Shit, stupid, wrong words that got ahead of what he meant to say. And he just made this so much worse, her whole face pinching tight before slackening into something smaller, something sad.

“I am. I’m sorry that I haven’t yet.” Sorry that she hasn’t left yet. Sorry that she didn’t get out sooner. And here he is, rubbing all that sorry in her face.

“No.” All he can think, to quickly slip up his throat to, at the very least, keep her here with half of a closed door between them. Better than the alternative anyways.

“What?”

“That’s not what I want, not at all.” It is selfish to make this about him, but it is all he can think to say, the only truth that seems to be offering itself up. Dove just looks tired, weary and worn, waiting for the catch. What she said, all those months ago. Always a catch, always waiting for it.

“Joel.” A sigh, but still smarting sweet because he hasn’t heard it from her in too long.

“This isn’t working.” Going about this all wrong, he has finally realized. While he has been so afraid of no, of unwanted, he has failed to remember that she was taught a long time ago that wanting was not allowed, and that being wanted was an even worse impossibility. Both of them, lashing out against the same thing, though it’s each other that they leave bleeding.

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m going to try to speak plainly.” What he’s going to do is make her late for her shift if he doesn’t kick whatever courage there is whining in his chest up into his throat. But she shows no sign of rush, wide eyes and the smallest frown.

“Okay.” Okay opens the door fully, though she doesn’t move in invitation, staying separated by the threshold.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Ever.” Added in the afterthought of silence, because he needs to make himself very clear. Soon, after all.

“I’m not what you want, Joel.” Said with a scoff, a jerky wave of her hand like no, not even going to entertain it. But it’s enough for something soft to snap in him, hands reaching, but not touching, suspended want as he murmurs, or prays maybe, to her you are, you are, you are, Dove.

“But I can’t keep you here. Not if you don’t want it.” Me, he meant to say me. But he thinks that she understands all the same, something slipping behind her eyes.

“I shouldn’t.” Shouldn’t stay, shouldn’t want. A shameful confession that is said to the tips of her shoes more than it is to him.

“I don’t fucking care.”

“You should.”

“Just, please, tell me.”

“I do, okay? Probably more than you do.”

“That’s not true.”

“How can you just say that?”

“Because I know how much I do. And it’s everything.” And that’s it, he wants to say, that’s all that matters and nothing else and you do and I do. Case closed, finally fixed this thing, this lame, limping thing between them. If only it were that simple.

“Do you really?” A leap, or more like a lurch, but pure relief when she lets him, two stuttering steps closer and one palm finding the space between her shoulder blades, the other the hilt of her spine, pulling her into him. His and hers, finding the other’s rhythm. Beat like this, body and blood like this. His mouth settles at the crown of her skull. Here, and nowhere else, not ever again, please.

“Sometimes it makes me sick.” The truth, because there can be nothing else now. Yes, he is sick with it. Sick for her.

“I want to be normal for you.” Muffled into the fabric of his shirt, and the unsaid after of it. I don’t think I can. Like sorry, like penance, her hands curling closer around his shoulders as she starts to shake. But what he can offer her, something still, something sure, his palms drawing her in even more, him breathing her breathing him.

“I’m not asking you for that, Dove.” No, asking for something much bigger, much more terrifying. Asking for all of it.

…

Dove is only a little late to her shift. Joel drops her off, waits a few minutes to make sure there is no grief from Sal about it, not that he was expecting there to be. Replays to himself her explanation, what she told him on the way there.

“I didn’t get the car to leave, not really.”

“You didn’t?”

“Before, I thought it would make things easier.” For him, he realizes, something she had thought of for him. Make things easier for him, not having to pick her up and drop her off and look bored at the library while she browsed. And no, he’s never going to forgive himself for this one.

He doesn’t go back to the diner for lunch, but it’s not for spite or scorn. Agreed-upon space for both of them to think, offering an out for each other, one last opportunity to decide that this is actually a terrible idea.

The sheep accept his presence and it feels like he finally got something right, even a laugh when Judy offers her head to him for a brisk rub beneath her chin.

“She’s coming home, I think. I know you wouldn’t forgive me if she didn’t.” No response, she is a lamb, after all. But he’d like to think that her two hard blinks commend him, already plucking away through the grass toward her mother.

When he does pick her up after her shift, her lips purse trying to pull back a smile as she walks around the front of the car. Hope lifts, winged and real in his chest.

The day steals from the night this time of year. It won’t be dark out until much later. For now, the light is starting to bleed a little, orange syrup and haze filling and flooding the cab of the truck. Nothing is said, but staying is understood when she takes his hand in both of hers, and keeps it for herself, tucked in her lap the whole ride home.

So much of their time together has been spent like this, driving toward and away from town, sometimes silent and sometimes not. A selfish part of him wishes she hadn’t gotten the car, wanting to keep her needing him in this way. But no, he reasons, there will be plenty of other time besides this. No need to be greedy about it.

There is not much food in the kitchen, but there are always eggs. Two for him and two for her. They eat standing up, propped against the counter. And when he moves to wash the dishes in the sink, she catches his wrist. The dishes can wait until the morning.

The thing about Dove is she has always had a curious way of touching him. Literally curious, like she is surprised she is allowed to trace the pads of his fingertips with her own, spirals fitting together. Like she is testing the boundaries of him, finding all the soft places with her palms, spanning his sides and up along his chest, fingers flirting beneath the collar of his shirt, shivering down with it. But before this continues, he must make sure, must ward off that ghost for good. He takes her face in his hands, thumbs settling along the soft curve beneath her eyes, tracing some constant constellation, her cheeks rounding with it.

“I need to know that this is what you want.”

“It is.”

“I need you here. With me.”

“I am, Joel. I am.” This isn’t want, after all. Want isn’t big enough for whatever this is. Something deeper, something threaded in with all the sinew and stretch of bone, ligament, and beating tissue. This is need. Vital and visceral, and so very precarious.

His need makes a foolish fumble out of the buttons of her dress, a laugh dancing beneath the brush of his knuckles, catching somewhere under her sternum when his eyes flicker up to hers. She rolls her lips back into her mouth, trying to tamp down any mirth or mocking, but a huff still slips out, smile threatening at the edges. How easy, how lovely, fitting the curve of his own against hers. That laugh turns into a sigh that he swallows.

And it was never about letting or allowing, never about being big or strong enough to scare off all her specters. What has changed, he isn’t sure. But waiting, he has found, is often a solution in itself. Maybe just the mercy of enough time, enough space shared and understood. Brains finally catching up to bodies, deciding yes, now is good.

Need makes animals stupid. A caught thing, captured and crumpled thing, will gnaw off its own limb in need of escape. A hungry, hungered thing will turn so desperate, so singular and silly in its need. It will take whatever sate it can get. Hands and skin and teeth and tongues. And in the kitchen no less, still hungry, still needing. Jawing up each other, and humming at the taste. Feast and fire and flood all in one.

Her mouth settles sharp along the tendons in his neck, humming there as he curls over her to shrug her dress down and down into a pool around her feet. A little snarl, a little curl of her lip, preening when his palms squeeze her hips, coaxing her closer into his chest. She is far more schooled in the work she makes of his shirt, and then, missed this. Missed skin against skin and heart straining to press against heart. Missed the run of his fingers down her ribs, the quick catch at her waist. He only got it once before, a blink compared to this, but he has been missing it ever since, a sigh now that he has it again. Has her again. And Dove, still learning how she gets to have him.

“Can I?” A kiss to her brow, a smear of words whatever you want, Dove. Tentative at first, she presses her mouth to the hollow where his throat slips into clavicle, letting her nose run a line out to the edge of bone, to shoulder, enough sense to turn her a little bolder, fingers curling into the waist of his jeans, tugging. And it is not graceful, silly, stupid, needing bodies curling and caving into each other. His legs splay out long as he settles back against the cabinets below the sink, Dove furling into his lap, the perfect spread of her thighs at his hips.

A lesson in the anatomy of need. Here is how. How a body can give and take everything it needs from another body. So simple, really. Open mouths and muscles slackening sweet and syrupy to make space for more, more, more. She keens when he turns his face into the curve of her breast, fingers curling in his hair, holding him there in the cradle of her heartbeat, his ears rushing with it.

It is not pretty, it is not about making it perfect, or even right. It is a desperate seeking, it is relief from this need in the way they just manage to shrug his jeans and boxers down over his thighs, in the way she slips the faded cotton of her underwear to the side. Wet for him, wanting for him, he will have to sate the want to see some other time. For now, feeling, all sense and singe, spreading her open until her hips settle down against his. A broken, murmuring sound in the back of her throat, eyes scrunched shut. He brings his hand to her jaw, thumb stroking along the hinge as he calls to her, let me see, Dovey, please. Hello, lashes flutter first, and the slow slip open. Hello, looking at him, her forehead against his, her mouth resting open and panting against his.

They move ugly, muscles jumping and jolting, sharp breaths that break and swell in their chests. Skin starts to stick, he holds her closer and chases down their pleasure, shared and searing.

In the kitchen, she crashes with a cry of his name, her face hidden in the curve of his neck, mouth to pulse.

In the kitchen, she whispers and wills him right over his own edge, her name, more sob than sound.

In the kitchen, he would feed her his heart if he could. It’s hers anyways.

…

Want is a child. But need is an animal. Need is base, bruising, battering. There is no escaping need. There is no lying about need. There is only offering it up, and hoping that someone will see it and decide yes, animal, come here, let me do something about your need, and you can do something about mine.

Later, after they pick their clothes up off the kitchen floor, kind hands setting things back into place for each other, they slink outside to care for the flock, the sun starting to flirt back behind the mountains with a fierce blush. It’s then, surrounded by the low murmurings of sheep, that she whispers her own need to him, tucked into his side, her cheek pressed against his chest.

He nods, says yes, okay. He can do that for her. And she will do the same for him.

For now, all that matters is staying. Ghosts yet to be greeted and goaded out of their house. But for now, spring is rolling over to expose its soft, slumbering belly. Soon, summer will sink in, snarling and bright, a new list of chores and duties with every season. They will do it together.

For now, the lambs are still lambs. Stumbling still around the edges, seeking out their mother even amidst her seeming exasperation, tired of their clinging, their closeness. Time yet to be had, getting older and bigger every day. But for now, they are young and soft, and nipping after each other in the field.

For now, the feeling of her ribs expanding and contracting against his side is all the goodness he could want, or even need. Pain yet to be understood in all the places that her breath catches. But for now, she is looking at him and smiling, and saying something about the sheep that makes him laugh.

For now, it is enough.

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#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller fic #joel miller fics #joel miller au #deliver me from nowhere

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salllzy · 4 months

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Sal's ramblings #3

Another bunny from the pile and it is only going to get worse, my brain is going a million miles a minute and I am trying to work on a chapter. So here it is. ------- Alastor is an omega and he doesn't hide it, he simply doesn't tell anyone what he is. If the other citizens of Hell wrongly assume that he is an alpha? Then that is on them. But while he doesn't hide it, he also isn't shouting it from the rooftops. Omegas in Hell are nonexistent after all, Alastor hadn't met any other omegas but he knew that Heaven tended to snatch any and all omegas up to stop Hell from having packs, Which in his humble opinion is stupid. The same as Heaven believed that Hell is an uprising, oh, they were in their own way. Rebelling against God and what the creator had planned for them and thanks to Lucifer, breaking free of the chains that had cruelly been wrapped around them.

As far as Alastor was concerned what Lucifer did was a blessing. If people choose to squander their chance in life, then that is up to them to decide. No one else. But just because Alastor respected Lucifer to a degree it didn't mean that he liked or tolerated the King of Hell. Far from it. He thought that Lucifer was a deadbeat dad who didn't deserve Charlie, Charlie who had begun to patch his broken heart.

Charlie reminded him of his daughter that he had lost, long ago. She had been snatched in the middle of the night. Truthfully, she wasn't his by blood. He had found her when he had been burying one of his victims, a disgusting piece of filth that had deserved what he had got. Alastor had found him preying on children and well, Alastor didn't tolerate anyone who targeted those of fairer means. But that didn't mean that women were off the table. They weren't he had killed more than one abusive wife and mother. And he would continue to do so. But he was getting off-topic. He had found the little fawn wandering around his bayou, the little thing had been crying and calling for her mother. For a split second he wondered if he had been the one to kill her mother, he had quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

Instead, he had picked her up and cleaned her dirt-covered face, only to find himself staring into strange gold eyes. Despite not having the best father and his mother was long since dead. He had done his best to help her. He had asked around and put a report in with the police, which had been a risky move given his hobbies. Unfortunately for Charlotte but fortunately for him, they were unable to find her parents. So he had adopted the fawn, given her his last name DeCoux and he had raised her as best as he could.

Shortly before his death someone had broken into their home and had taken Charlotte from her bed, he had done everything in his power to try and find her. Only to fail. Something had died inside him that day. Then he had been shot shortly afterwards and he had briefly wondered if he would see his daughter again, that perhaps if someone was kind enough he would find her in whatever afterlife awaited him. Sadly it hadn't happened. So he had slapped bloody bandages on his heart and didn't let anyone in, Rosie, Niffty and Zestial were the exceptions. And after the disaster that was his relationship with Vox, he had no desire to acquire more friends. So naturally when he saw Charlie's disastrous interview he had decided that he would lend her his aid. After all, there was nothing like free entertainment. He just hadn't expected the King of Hell to turn up.

Logically he knew that at some point he would, he was Charlie's father after all.

But then somehow, he had a suspicion as to who had leaked the information, it was revealed that he was an omega. Suddenly he had lines of suitors at the door of the hotel, suitors that he didn't want. He had to be careful who he killed, the last thing he wanted to do was create a power vacuum in an already unstable Hell and Hell was unstable. The moment it had been revealed, Hell had gone rabid. The only omega in Hell? And single as well? It was every alpha's wet dream. Eventually, Lucifer proposed that Alastor faked a relationship, with someone of power and standing. It would be the only way to get them off his back and with the amount of mass murder that Alastor had been doing? Well, it was sending a message but not the one he wanted to send. All it was doing was making it look like he was something to be tamed, a vicious animal that needed to be domesticated and not as the warning it was meant to be. Naturally, Lucifer had volunteered himself. After all, there was no one stronger than him or had a position higher than the King of Hell.

But what Alastor didn't know, was that it was a trap, one that Lucifer had designed himself. It had been him who had leaked the information about Alastor being an omega to hell.

Alastor was cunning and wily, he would never let himself be trapped in a deal, so Lucifer had to use other means. Alastor already belonged to him after all, they had a daughter together.

Not that Alator knew that Charlie was Charlotte, Lucifer had told Charlie that it was important that no one knew her full name. At the time he had told her that it was because names had power and it was true they did. But he didn't want Alastor to find Charlie. At least not until Lucifer was ready for him. His first step had been to get rid of Lilith, she had proven that she was an unfit mother and Lucifer wasn't going to allow her anywhere near Charlie. Lilith had forgotten that while he was the King of Hell now, he was still an angel and that came with all of the instincts and behaviours that came with being an angel. Which included getting rid of any threats to their flock. Which Lilith now was. He had scattered her bones all across Hell and made sure that she would never be able to regenerate. Sadly by the time he had dealt with Lilith, the mortal that had taken such good care of Charlie had died. Lucifer knew that he would need to find this Alastor that Charlie was so attached to. However, he hadn't counted on it taking nearly a century to do so. He had to admit that the sinner was devious and clever, especially since Alastor had been able to escape him time and time again. But not this time. Lucifer wasn't going to let him go this time.

#sal's ramblings #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #radioapple #alternate universe #a/b/o dynamics

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signed-loni · 2 years

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Hi!! Hope ur having a good day so far loni ^^

Anyways I would like to request just some simple headcanons with Sal Todd Larry and Ash with a s/o that likes to crochet and makes them stuff as little gifts :>

AHHH OFC!! This is so cute i cant take it😭 tysm for requesting and i hope u enjoy :))

(Credits to@paoartworks on ig!)

Sal

First time u give him something: Oh man, its to cute for him when you give him your first gift on valentines. A cute little crocheted mini teddy bear. He MELTS.

Asks to watch you: he just wants to know how pretty you look doing what you love. Watching the way your hands move with the hook your using, currently making a simple bee. He’s so in love with you omg.

Someone making fun of you : oh no, he will not have it. Nope. If someones gonna do that, best believe they’re getting a death glare. Even if they don’t say anything to you, but are visibly judging you while you do it, he’s chewing them up with his death glare.

( @plusvanity )

Larry

First time u give him something: you give him a little electric guitar, and he immediately starts playing it. He makes little “neowr neowr” sounds when he pretend to play it🥹

Asks to watch you: he cant help it! You’re just so calm and he likes to sit you on his laps and watch you do ur handy work. Helps him relax. And when you talk about your day with him while you crochet, OMG his butterflies bro

Someone making fun of you : they’re done. Nope, you cant say anything to stop him from doing something. He’s matching right up to them and punching their nose, possibly breaking it. Larry will not let bullying slide, especially when it’s towards you

(Idk who the artist is, if anyone does, lmk so i can credit them!)

Ash

First time u give her something: omg. The compliments. The credits. The “this is so cute”s. She IS PRAISING U LIKE A MF. You gifted her a crochet heart, she kept thanking you for it like 30 billion times. She literally loves it :)

Asks to watch you: she wants to watch so she can learn, she wants to make you stuff in return so she doesn’t feel like she cant repay you. And she wont take no for an answer when she hands u something.

Someone making fun of you: she teels you to ignore them at first. Id they keep it up, shes giving them a piece of her mind, and boy do they not want to see that

(Idk who the artist is, if anyone does, lmk so i can credit them!)

Todd

When you first give him something: he thanks you, and gives you a little kiss. You gifted him a mini fish and it now lays on the front of his desk, right next to a picture of both of you

Asks to watch you: he wants to know how u do it. How you make something like that out of yarn and a needle. It fascinates him.

Someone making fun of you: doesn’t get himself involved. Knows you can handle yourself, but if it gets out of hand, he’ll say some shit to them, not a lot, but enough to make them leave you alone. Probably something abt their grades💀

#sally face #sal fisher x reader #sally face x reader #sal fisher #sally face hcs #larry johnson #ash campbell #ashley campbell #ashley campbell x reader #todd morrison #todd morrison hcs #todd morrison x reader

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prettycottonmouthlamia · 5 months

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My re-reading project has gone reasonably well, my ADHD is still untreated so I often have a lot of trouble actually starting (Who is Real consistently created this roadblock in my mind for whatever reason), but it was re-reading Under Tides that has had me sitting down and digesting it for some time.

Under Tides has a dramatically different tone from pretty much every single other event that I've read so far. It's a very moody work, dramatically more so than previous events (and, definitely in comparison to Stultifera Navis), both in story direction and in art direction. The residents of Sal Viento are drawn in a way I find really compelling for the nature of the story: they look like they've had the life and energy sucked out of them, and share the same muted palettes with the Inquisitors. It really makes the Abyssal Hunters standout in comparison to the rest of the world, in Skadi's vivid reds, Gladiia's blues, and Specter's monochrome colors.

This piece, on top of just being absolutely breathtaking honestly, is a really good example. Sal Viento sits, tilted in ruins into the sea, but at this angle it feels impossible to tell where the land begins and where the ocean meets the city. It makes Sal Viento feel very isolated from the world, and it is in many ways, and I in particular like the way the support structures at the right, now broken and falling apart, make Sal Viento feel skeletal. How much has been destroyed, taken by the sea? It's great.

But Skadi is the only splash of color. Skadi's red stand out amongst the very muted blues, the blues that feel barely distinguishable from the dismal grays of rain clouds and brackish water, and the sterile colors of Sal Viento. Skadi and the Hunters are the only splash of life in this landscape; even the Inquisitors cannot be said to do this, because much if not all of what the Inquisitors leave in their wake is death.

But it's also a much darker story than usually, and that's a bit surprising considering how much fare Arknights up to this point has had with the ideas of corporate corruption, discrimination, and cleansing. It's a lot to do with how the characters are positioned to each other: the people of Sal Viento are almost zombie-like, being slowly eaten away from ingestion of Seaborn flesh, and are intensely paranoid and disapproving of outsiders. Only Anita stands out amongst them, a beacon of innocence and curiosity that hasn't been stamped out yet by the constant erosion of the tides. Skadi and Gladiia are both oppositional to each other and oppositional to everyone else in the story. There's no real sense of cooperation or camaraderie between any of the characters outside of Anita, which creates a really rather oppressive atmosphere. The dark parts of Talulah's story in Chapter 8 stand in contrast to the warmer parts of her relationship to Alina, Frostnova, and Patriot, and it stands in contrast with Amiya and Ch'en. Maria Nearl's attempted assassination at the hands of the KGCC stands stark against Marcus and Zofia's support of her and her naive ideals.

There's no contrast in Under Tides, it's a constant gloomy, dark feeling, it's being in a cave that's constantly damp, dripping, and moist. That works really well for the type of story it wants to be, especially for its climax moment, where the first time character's connect with each other, it is portrayed in the form of a mental breakdown.

"She is a monster. She murders her own kind. She for her own kind murders her own kind. She by her own kind murders her own kind. The eyes of the people in the streets are filled with warmth. They don't know anything. The eyes from the research institutes and in the tents are filled with ice. When the hunters sleep, there are patrollers guarding. No. Those aren't guards. That night patrol doesn't serve the hunters. The patrollers are waiting for the hunters to become monsters."

Aside from her, anyone and everyone probably knew. Sea monster. And–she has already committed the gravest sin...

I killed it. I killed her. I killed Him.

There's some questionable writing decisions made in this chapter, especially with the way that Anita and Irene have a habit of narrating action scenes in dialogue, but this will not be what I criticize. This is the climax of the story: where the truth of the matter, where Skadi understanding the bizarre idiosyncrasies of her biology and what they mean, causes her identity to collapse, leaving Skadi to try and grab at anything she can.

And she grabs onto being a monster.

Becoming a Seaborn is in some ways both an invasion and a form of acceptance. Your biology changes, but the outcome is not a guarantee. Skadi only avoids her fate here because Gladiia deliberately took a massive injury as a trap. If that hadn't been intentional, if Gladiia truly took a mortal wound, Skadi would have fallen right there.

"Your neural cells are rapidly metabolizing. Remember, you are a hunter. They can't do anything to you."

It's truth and its untruth. The extent to which Skadi's condition can be directly tied to her biology is questionable: we've already seen this questioned in Skadi's own monologue. But as long as Skadi remembers that she is a hunter, that she has a purpose and can resist, she'll be fine.

It's good, it's a fantastic climax that leads to the rather nice and cathartic reunion amongst the Abyssal Hunters. Really liked this event.

#arknights #under tides #abyssal hunters

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goodlucktai · 9 months

Text

where nothing hurts and nothing breaks

one piece word count: 3k written for the its pirates server sake exchange ! my other giftee was @incomprehensi-bull who asked for zoro and sanji interaction. sal i really hope you enjoy this <;3 title borrowed from safe by banners

read on ao3

“Remember,” the pretty girl with tangerine-colored hair says for the fifth time, her smile a fixed, gritted thing on her face, “Sanji is very small right now. The Devil’s Fruit effect isn’t going to wear off for another week at least. If you try to roughhouse with him the way you usually do, he will get hurt, and I will kill you with my hands. Understood?”

“You could try,” the green-haired man replies mildly.

“Why are we leaving Zoro in charge of babysitting again?” the man with the long nose says, to no one in particular. “I mean, we can all agree that this is going to be an absolute disaster, right?”

Zoro scowls, but the skeleton says, “Right,” at the same time the man with the long white hair and bright orange horns says, “I mean, yeah,” and everyone else nods along.

Yonji would have been furious to be made fun of in any capacity. Sanji holds his breath and waits for Zoro to snap at the rest of them, to use his size against everyone smaller than he is, but all he does is lean back against the railing and cross his arms. He looks unbothered to the point of falling asleep standing up.

It’s weird.

“I’m not a baby,” Sanji thinks it’s important to point out. He’s eight years old, which is a lot of years. He thinks his years are longer than most people’s, because he hasn’t felt like the little kid he used to be in ages. That little kid grew up when mama died.

“We know,” the tall woman tells him, her eyes very gentle. She always looks at Sanji like she understands him completely. It’s nice, even if it makes him feel kind of sad. He wonders if she had big brothers who hated her, too, or if it was just her dad. He thinks it wouldn’t be polite to ask, so he doesn’t. “You’re practically a gentleman.”

“Sanji can come shopping with us if he wants!” the reindeer says eagerly. He’s sitting on the robot’s broad shoulder and pats it like he’s inviting Sanji up there, too. They’re both small enough that Sanji could probably fit even without asking the rabbit-girl on the robot’s other shoulder to get down to make room.

Weathered yellow fills his vision as the brim of a worn straw hat slips over his eyes.

“Nope, it’s Zoro’s turn!” the captain replies brightly. That’s Luffy, with a scar under his eye that curves like a smile, and arms that don’t really look strong but can hold Sanji forever without getting tired. Sanji tips the hat back in time to look up at Luffy’s grinning face. “He and Sanji will have fun today and tonight they can tell us all about it!”

Everyone heaves a sigh, but no one argues. Luffy doesn’t throw his weight around like Captain Chas on The Orbit does, but he’s very stubborn in a way that reminds Sanji of the spoiled little kids on the cruise ship who get underfoot at dinner and demand dessert before all their vegetables are gone. In similar fashion, Luffy mostly gets his way because his crew loves him too much to deny him. It’s a strange sort of authority for a pirate captain to have, but it seems to work for them just fine.

Sure enough, Zoro’s shoulders go back just a little, and he levels Luffy with one unblinking dark eye. Accepting the terms and conditions.

Sanji tries not to be nervous. It isn’t fair to compare Zoro and Yonji just because they look similar.

Zoro looks like the kind of person Yonji is going to grow up to be—has grown up to be, somewhere else in this strange future Sanji is living in—and he seems to enjoy scathing arguments as much as Yonji does, too. But he hasn’t hurt anyone smaller than him that Sanji has seen.

In fact, the smallest member of the crew clambers around on Zoro like he’s a walking jungle-gym, and scolds him viciously when he doesn’t take care of himself, and looks up at him with round, bright eyes all the rest of the time. Chopper acts as though Zoro is among the very last people in the world he would ever have cause to fear.

Sanji’s so used to being afraid that he hardly knows how else to be. The people here who call themselves his real family make it hard to be, though. He absorbs their brightness and silliness and fondness every day and slowly learns how to stop holding his breath.

The Sunny is docked for the day at a busy, bustling resort island, with enough lights and billboards that you can see the shine of it for miles across the water. There’s a big map on the wharf, twice as tall as Franky, that notes all the places of interest—shrines up in the mountains, a sprawling sea-side spa to the west, an amusement park further inland, the bright green and yellow loops of a rollercoaster visible above everything else, and hundreds of shops and restaurants scattered all in between.

The Strawhats—that’s who these pirates were, who Sanji himself was, apparently—split up in twos and threes where the road forked but Sanji and Zoro didn’t even make it that far, because there was a market selling produce and all kinds of fresh fish and local goodies right there in the port, and Sanji only had to cast one curious look toward a cart towering with brightly-colored fruits for Zoro to start walking that way. He clears a path for Sanji through the bustling crowd like it’s nothing.

“If you buy more than you carry, don’t cry to me about it,” Zoro says in the same indifferent tone he says everything in.

“I won’t!” Sanji promises, not sure if he means he won’t buy that much or he won’t cry about it.

He was given money—real, actual Bellies—and told in no uncertain terms to come find Nami if he ran out. He doesn’t see how he could! There’s so much in the bag she gave him!

He says as much to Zoro, half-afraid to spend it all just in case it was a mistake. Zoro replies, “Our grocery budget is half of what it usually is while our cook is on vacation. We’re eating simple.” He nudges Sanji’s head with his elbow without taking his hands out of his pockets. “We don’t usually survive off sandwiches and eggs and soup, you know.”

Sanji figured that must be true, because of how grand their ship is, and because his grown-up friends seem to have fun taking turns cooking meals but they’re just clueless enough in the kitchen that it’s obvious they don’t spend a lot of time in there.

“I can cook,” Sanji says for what feels like the hundredth time. “I can cook for all of you.”

“What part of ‘vacation’ did you miss?” Zoro tells him without missing a beat. “Shut up and look at that weird fish.”

Sanji looks before he can help it. That sure is a weird fish! He forgets to keep arguing his case in favor of darting over to ask the fishmonger a dozen rapid-fire questions about their catch that they answer cheerfully.

Contrary to what he said before, Zoro carries all the shopping. The vendors hand the goods over Sanji’s head every time, even though he’s the one forking over the gold for it. The swordsman is very big and strong, and probably all those parcels and purchases weigh absolutely nothing to him, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Sanji tries to imagine Yonji carrying anything for him at all just to be nice. The daydream falls apart instantly, because Yonji only ever took things from Sanji to break them.

“Do you promise you’ll give it back?” he musters the courage to ask, clinging to the cookbook a kind old woman just sold him, unwilling to let it go without making sure. She had smiled and said she was certain her family’s recipes would be in good hands with him and Sanji doesn’t want to prove her wrong before he gets a chance to even try. “You have to promise.”

Zoro gazes down at him with that inscrutable look on his face he’s worn all day. He could probably take the book from Sanji pretty easily but he doesn’t yank it away or twist his wrist until he lets go. They just stand there, sizing each other up. Sanji’s nerves mount with every second but he doesn’t back down.

Yonji would have hurt him already and laughed about it. The first mate of the Strawhat crew simply says, after enough time that Sanji knows he’s taken it seriously, “Promise.”

Surprised, Sanji lets the book go, and watches it get tucked away in an oversized tote bag with the rest of his little treasures. Then Zoro just stands there looking at him, one eyebrow higher than the other, waiting for Sanji to go chasing after the next thing that catches his eye.

Back on the Sunny, Zoro was goaded easily into fights with his friends, and seemed short-tempered any time he wasn’t napping on the grassy deck or drinking from bottles Sanji wasn’t allowed to touch. He didn’t cause problems on purpose, the way Sanji’s younger brother enjoyed doing, but he seemed to have sharp edges and Sanji didn’t know how to get close to him without getting pricked.

But he thinks about how Chopper looks at Zoro. He thinks about the mice in the castle that would run from his siblings but cozy up in Sanji’s hands. Animals know. And then he thinks about the way Luffy trusts Zoro, how he doesn’t have to look to know Zoro will be right where he needs him. Everyone on the crew is quick to tease him and make fun and none of them are scared.

Zoro could have gone with Luffy and the others, but he’s spending the day with Sanji instead. He hasn’t even been mean about it. Sanji abruptly feels really bad about not handing the cookbook over right away.

“My brother has green hair,” he blurts, then stares at the cobblestones beneath his shoes in acute mortification. Why did he say that?

“I know,” the swordsman says, the last thing on earth Sanji expected him to say. “I heard all about your brothers.”

He says it like he’s not impressed by them in the slightest. It’s a weird way for someone to talk about Sanji’s brothers—they’re the best, they’re everything they were supposed to be, and Sanji is the one that went wrong.

Abruptly, Zoro points at a bench. “Go sit. I think your blood sugar is getting low. If you pass out on me, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Sanji finds himself bundled onto the bench with the tote bag in his lap. Zoro set it there as if it was a paperweight that would keep Sanji from blowing off somewhere. That was kind of annoying! Sanji isn’t a baby and he isn’t gonna run off by himself, he’s not stupid.

But the swordsman is only gone for a few minutes when Sanji’s attention is grabbed by something across the street. There’s a grizzled-looking man lounging in the shade of his stall, flicking through what looks like a waterlogged ledger. There are a bunch of crates and cages stacked around him that are empty—except for one.

There’s a distressed bird crammed into a cage so small that it can’t move except to shuffle in place, its head ducked so that its long narrow beak doesn’t hit the bars. It’s making a harsh ticking noise, high and tight and anxious. Sanji shoves the bag off his knees and jumps to his feet, weaving through the crowd and ducking down to his hands and knees before the man behind the stall clocks him. He crawls the rest of the way to the birdcage and lifts it down from the cart into his lap.

The bird stops vocalizing, looking up at him with darting black eyes, its chest heaving. Sanji whispers, “I know how you feel. Let me help.”

But there’s a lock on the cage, and even as Sanji tugs at it, he knows it’s useless. He’s decided to just take the cage away with him when a fist closes in the back of his jacket and he’s hauled all the way off his feet.

He yelps, flailing in midair, and only barely manages not to drop the bird.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” the man asks, sounding more bewildered than angry. He wrenches the cage out of Sanji’s hands and then drops him.

Sanji lands with an oof on the street, and he automatically curls his limbs in, making himself a smaller target. If he tucks his fingers into fists and hides them under his arms, there’s less of a chance his brothers will break them just for fun. He curls his hands into fists but he doesn’t hide them. The fear is in the back of his mind, but it’s not the loudest thing in there. He’s lived on the Sunny for days now where bravery and goodness come before everything and he must have absorbed some of that, because he’s shaking under the sharp eyes of a big, unfriendly stranger, but he still says, “You should let it go.”

“What was that?”

“You’re not taking good care of it,” Sanji says, louder, “so you should let it go.”

The man’s mouth twists in an unkind sneer. “And I should just toss my Bellies into the Blue while I’m at it, eh? That’s not how it works, whelp.”

The bird is moving around in the cage again, making that dry clicking noise again and rucking its orange and blue feathers up in its anxious bid to get free or somehow create more space. Sanji remembers being tossed behind bars, no respite and no rescue and no one left in his life who cared if he was hungry or cold or afraid. He can feel the metal helmet that encased his head as clearly as if it’s still there. He remembers crying so hard it made him lightheaded, clinging to those bars and wishing he was anything like his siblings, if only so he was strong enough to save himself.

“It’s not your bird, it’s its own bird,” Sanji shouts. “It wants out!”

The man shifts his weight. Maybe he was going to step forward, or turn around and go back behind his stall, or maybe he wasn’t going to move at all. Sanji will never know, because at that moment a shadow falls over him, and he knows without having to look that Zoro has come back.

“There a reason he’s on the ground?” Zoro asks. He almost sounds conversational. “Hope it’s a good one.”

The man obviously feels much differently about giving Zoro the same attitude he gave Sanji. He hesitates to answer right away, staring up at the swordsman the way that little bird probably stared up at him when he stuffed it into that stupid little cage. The way Sanji looks up at Judge and hopes for anything else besides what he knows is going to happen.

“He started helping himself to my wares,” the man settles for saying. “Maybe you ought to teach him a bit about how the world works before you let him loose on it. He’s gonna get himself into trouble running his mouth at the wrong guy.”

Sanji is waiting for the moment when he’ll have to defend himself, to make his case, but it never comes. Zoro doesn’t even ask what happened, he just plants himself like a tree in the middle of the confrontation and lets Sanji shelter safely in his shadow, as steady and immovable as the castle walls of Germa Kingdom.

“And are you the wrong guy?” Zoro says, very interested in the answer. He’s got some grilled skewers in one hand and the tote bag that Sanji abandoned in the other, but even without easy access to the swords at his hip, he is not a person anyone would want to get on the wrong side of. That grumpy sleeping dragon that lounges lazily on the deck of the Sunny is gone and the creature left behind is wide-awake and hungry.

Speaking a little faster, the man says, “Look, mate, I’m just trying to make a living here. If I gave away my beasts every time a tender-hearted little brat teared up over them, I’d be out of business.”

Zoro just says, “He’s eight years old and already more of a man than you’ll ever be. You put your hand on him, and you still have your hand. That is more good luck than most people get in a lifetime. Make it count.”

Sanji is not actually surprised when the man snatches up his ledger book and the handle of his cart, ready to make tracks. The bird is left behind, and Sanji picks himself up and hurries over to scoop the cage back into his arms. The bird makes a sound at him like something is rattling in his throat, but it sounds slightly calmer than before.

When he looks up at Zoro, he finds Zoro already gazing back down at him. He holds out the birdcage and says, “There’s a lock. Will you help?”

“I could break it open, but it might cut itself on the metal. It’s not safe to let it out here, anyway,” Zoro says. “Let’s head back home and get Usopp to pick it open. For now carry it in one hand and eat some of these, tough guy.”

Sanji agreeably accepts a skewer of grilled squid and walks close enough to Zoro that he bumps into him every couple of steps. The bird sticks its beak through the bars and snaps at one of the curly tentacles, sneaking a bite so cleanly that Sanji laughs in sheer delight. He shares the rest of that skewer, as well as the next one Zoro passes him with pieces of tender zucchini and shrimp.

“Didn’t know you liked birds,” he says.

“I don’t really,” Sanji says. “I just like this one. Do you know what kind it is?”

“Robin will,” Zoro replies with the unremarkable certainty in his nakama that Sanji is still in the middle of learning. “What makes this one so special?”

“We understand each other, that’s all,” Sanji says. He focuses on keeping the hungry beak away from his fingers when he adds, “I was in a cage, too.”

Zoro stops walking. Sanji doesn’t want to look up at him and see the face that he’s making, because then he won’t be able to force the truth out. And he wants to. He feels safe enough to do that now, for the first time since he woke up in this strange, bright, wonderful, silly family. He thought it would be Luffy he told, or Robin, or little Chopper, but it’s not any of them.

It’s Zoro. The one who lets his siblings crawl all over him and poke fun and start fights, and only ever turns his teeth on any person outside their family who means them harm. The one who never steps in where he isn’t wanted, but keeps careful watch for the moment that he’s needed. Of course it’s him.

“My brothers are mean to me,” he admits in a whisper. “Yonji likes to hurt me. I’m sorry I thought you were like him. You’re not.”

There’s a moment of stillness, the two of them standing in an out-of-the-way corner, the noise and bustle of the market all pushed into the background. And then, without warning, for the second time that day, Sanji is lifted right off his feet. He squeaks in surprise, but he’s settled on Zoro’s shoulders a second later, and grips at his green hair to steady himself with the hand that isn’t clutching the birdcage.

He stares, wide-eyed, out at this view he’s never been given before.

“Next time we see your brother, I’ll beat him up,” Zoro says without preamble. “I won’t stop until you’re satisfied. And that’s a promise.”

Sanji hugs the bird closer, and breathes in a deep lungful of air that tastes like salt and brine and certain freedom. He can see the ocean from here, and their colorful ship bobbing on the water, waiting for them no matter how far away they wander.

“But you’re on your own with Nami when she sees that bird,” the swordsman adds plainly.

Sanji holds the little bird a little closer and smiles. He understands his nakama much better now than he did even earlier this morning. Zoro might say one thing, but he really means another. Sanji is not on his own at all. Maybe he hasn’t been on his own in a long time.

(A week later, with the Devil's Fruit effects finally negated, Sanji is searing scallops in the kitchen, following one of the recipes in his new cookbook, and Zoro is day-drinking at the table, and Stella the common kingfisher is sticking her nosy beak into spice jars where it doesn't belong.

Sanji says, “I’m releasing you from your promise.” When Zoro glances at him, he adds, “You don’t have to beat up my brother. I’m more than capable of doing that myself.”

For a moment, the swordsman doesn’t speak. He and Luffy can have entire conversations in a few seconds of absolute silence, but Sanji is not quite there yet. He waits with newfound patience for Zoro to come to whatever decision he’s making, rewarded when Zoro says, “No, I’m going to. I have it on good authority that he was mean to a friend of mine.”

Sanji scoffs and looks away, busying himself with the food, so that no one sees his helpless smile except for the obnoxious little bird that his present friend harangued Nami into letting him keep.)

#one piece #opfic #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #my writing #incomprehensi-bull #op

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sombrashe · 1 year

Text

stupid fucking slut

this is a repost because my original blog was deleted

relationship(s) valeria x reader

content afab gender neutral reader, chubby reader, dom valeria x brat reader, cunnilingus, scissoring, fuck machines, toy usage, triple penetration, slapping, degradation, praise

note(s) I love this woman with my entire being and I want her to smack me around

Your eyes are closed as you shake like the first autumn leaf, leaving your familiarity and allowing the wind to take full control. The anticipation leaking from your prepped holes filled your flesh with goosebumps as the cool air of the underground room washed over you.

"If you make even the tiniest noise I will have you wailing on the fucking floor, do you understand me?"

Her voice is a growled hiss against the shell of your ear and you flinch at the implication.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good."

You lick your bottom lip as your mind wanders to when the sunlight filtered through the high glass windows.

She's been nothing but a tease all day, working you up in front of her men as you became a pathetic mess for her. Her fingers would work you over during meetings, you like royalty sitting pretty on her lap as she refused to allow you to cover your lower half. One hand would pull lewd sounds from your soaking cunt while the other would slam down on the desk as she argued passionately with her right hand man.

"What the fuck do you mean he's dead, you were supposed to keep him alive until I could see him."

You struggled to keep up as the heel of her palm ground into your clit while she added another finger stretching you painfully. Your head lulls back as you clench around her perfectly manicured fingers, the man trying to explain what happened which caused an insignificant member of her crew to bleed out.

"I don't want to hear your god damn excuses, Diego! ¡Mierda! Sal de mi vista y limpia tu desorden. Un inútil hijo de puta."

The slam of the door syncs with the feeling of emptiness as she practically shoved you off her leg. You crumple to the ground beside her and she scoffs at the sight.

"What? You're useless now too? Get up." You stare at her, slack jawed and eyes wide. The fog invading your mind slowly leaks out and surrounds you both before disappearing into the vents above. She leans down and wipes your slick from her fingers onto the oversized hoodie you wore for modesty, as much as you can get as she fucks you in front of the cartel. You feel embarrassed as she treats you like a burden.

"Go clean yourself up and don't even think about touching yourself. Report to me in the main room when you're finished."

With that you're left alone as the door clicks closed for a second time except this time the fog invading your senses is fury. In retaliation you rooted through the box of toys you kept hidden pushed underneath your shared bed. Finding the deep purple c-shaped vibrater hidden amongst you test it in your hands until you find a setting which won't interfere with your plan.

"Perfect."

You grin wildly as you happily slip it between your lips to settle against your g-spot, the front pulsates as it rests against your clit and you take a moment to catch your breath. Finally standing you slip a pair of plain panties on keeping the toy snug as a skirt follows suit, an unassuming piece of fabric which laid against your thighs. Your chin raised as you entered the main room, a group of dozen or so men and women filtered in and out of the room as you walked through. The buzz of your toy was muffled by your thighs. Placing a hand on the back of Valeria's bicep you're annoyed at her quick side glance before she goes back to her conversation. Not even an introduction is spared for her favorite person.

"Valeria."

Nothing. You pinch at the skin where your hand rests and she's quick to smack you away the heat of the impact ignored as your ego is wounded.

You lean in close, "I have that new toy you got me last week in, if you don't pay attention to me I'll cum in front of everyone here."

She shoulders you away your threat nothing more than a nuisance to her conversation with her head dealer from the streets. Your eyebrows knitted together in annoyance as Valeria continued to ignore your advances. Taking a deep breath you close your eyes and pay attention to the toy which massaged your nerves the perfect amount. Letting out a soft warning moan only for her to hear, you feel small half moons form on the soft of your forearm as Valeria sinks her nails into you.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

You match her eye contact, your defiance meeting the fire which burned deep in her everlong eyes. Opening your mouth the next moan is immediately cut off as she yanks you back to where you first entered. Your arm is twisted and you're forced to walk backwards for a moment to keep from falling flat on your back again.

"Go downstairs, now. I will deal with you after this meeting."

You want to argue back, explain that you wouldn't act like this is she wasn't being such a pain in your ass and denying you your hard earned release.

"Don't fuck with me right now, and do as I say!"

The memories float around your head like a cartoon. You flex your toes as you shift uncomfortably your knees hurting from the position you're forced to keep. You rest your forehead on the edge of the cot as you listen to the sounds of metal rings clinking against machinery. concupiscence fills the whole of your belly and the eagerness from before slowly invades you once again.

"Eres una maldita puta estúpida, ¿lo sabías?"

Your blistering cunt flexes around the air and Valeria's laugh cuts through you. Jumping you feel cool glass press against your weeping entrances. You hold your breath as Valeria coos, the click of the machine being turned on send shivers down the bumps of your spine. She always starts off slow allowing your body a moment to to adjust to the penetration. The steady pace of lube covered dildos has your entire body ablaze with hunger. You keep your breathing steady as per her demands, the cot giving you no relief from the burn.

"Open your eyes."

You blink and straighten yourself as you rest on your palms instead on your elbows. Looking up at her she tilts her head, your pupils were blown wide and soft as they stared into hers. She places a gentle hand on your cheek using her thumb to rub across before a crack echos throughout the tiny room. You're looking to your right and blinking back the salt which threatened to leak from your eyes. Keeping your word you give a shaky breath instead of your usual whimper.

"Look at me."

You do and she rubs at the bulge which strained against the luxury fabric of her slacks.

"Now why can't you follow directions like this normally?"

You wet your lips waiting for permission to speak. She raises her hand and gestures permission.

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

She grins at your words and you feel the eager urge to please her, say whatever it takes to feel her reward for falling in line.

"My stupid slut, say it. Tell me who you belong to."

You chew at the corner of your bottom lip as she slowly unzips her slacks.

"You, ma'am. I belong to you, only you."

"Good."

She hums as she removes and folds her slacks painstakingly slow, walking around you to click at the machine. You grunt and grip at the edge of the cot as the speed increases. The thrusts timed but the speed has you bouncing slightly against it. She stays in place watching as the faux cocks disappears in and out of your holes.

"Disgusting."

She spits out watching as you shake softly.

"God you love this shit, my disgusting little slut loves it when I degrade them."

She kneels beside you and pulls a handful of your hair. You make wavering eye contact and you nod. You're panting as you dig your nails into the rough nylon below. She licks a stripe up your cheek and you jerk as she flicks her nail bed against your nipple. Removing herself from you she takes her place back in front of you. Your mouth waters as as taps the cock against your lips.

"Be a good whore for me and open up."

You relax your jaw and stick out your tongue putting on a show just for her. She hums and rubs the length of it against your awaiting lips. Without any prep she's shoving the whole of it down your throat staying still as you gag around her. Slowly pulling out she gives you a moment to breath before repeating her actions. She continues to painfully stretch your jaw and constrict your throat as she fucks your mouth.

"You are always so much more obedient when I stuff your mouth full."

You shake as you fight against the orgasm that was slowly ebbing. She notices your commitment to doing as she says, her thrusts bruising your palate. You drag one of your hands down her exposed thigh as she cums with a whine, the cock fully covered by your saliva. When she pulls away you're dropping your head and she grins at the sight of you fighting off another orgasm.

"Did you learn your lesson?"

You look up at her confused. She normally enjoyed pushing you close and over the edge for hours. Her eyes were frantic as she calmly removed the shiny leather from her exposed hips. Your mouth feels dry at the thought of you orgasm, the soft sweet feelings of her scarred hands against your skin.

"Yes, I did. I'm sorry."

You knew she loved it when you acted like this, a brat for her to put in their place. Something you take pride in. Getting under her skin in such a way she needed to take you immediately. She doesn't seem to care if you were genuine or not. She's behind you once again. The metal sounds stop and you're left empty and twitching.

"Valeria... please."

You voice is soft and teasing as you wiggle your lower half. She shoves you over the edge and you gasp as you plant the palms of your hands on the rough concrete. The grip she has on your waist is bruising and you can feel her strength in it. She shoves her tongue into your puffy sore cunt and your toes curl against the sides of her knees. You bite your lip still being the perfect little pet. She hums into the heat she couldn't get enough of. You whimper and you feel your muscles contract against her tongue. She's pushing her face deeper into your cunt and you have to plant your palms to keep from falling over. You feel her nails scratch their way down your thighs. The sharp addicting pain finally causes you to crash as you give a sharp shout. Your orgasm washes over you like a wave and you collapse. She's yanking you back and hoisting you until you could rest on your stomach. You pant as you continue to twitch below her burning gaze.

"I'm sorry." Your voice is raspy and you don't move until you hear her voice

"God you're fucking useless. I give you simple instructions and you can't even follow them."

You nod and struggle onto your hands and knees.

"On your back. Can't fuck this one up, hopefully."

You slide onto the rough nylon and grimace at the feeling against your sweaty skin.

"Legs open."

You let them fall to the side as you watch her move to the corner of the room. She's pulling something out from a small bag she kept on her person at all times. You feel heat rush up your neck as she exposes the small black vibrater to you with a grin.

"Going to be good for me and keep your slutty hands to yourself?"

You nod eagerly and pull yourself apart for her to have access to your sensitive clit. She barks out a laugh and shakes her head. You whimper at the look in her eyes, your hips dragging themselves against the air in anticipation. She slings a leg over your waist and straddles you for the moment.

"Going to be extra good for me? A pretty little pet with good manners?"

You suck in a breath as the still vibrator jumps to life against your nipple.

"Yes, please. I will, I promise."

She tsks and shakes her head, "that's what you said last time, pretty, and look at you. Soaking the bed."

You twist your head to the side trying desperately to stay calm. You practiced so many times but no matter how hard you tried you couldn't keep your orgasm at bay with her. Panting you dig your nails into the meaty part of your palms. She giggles and pulls at your perked nipple.

"God you love this filthy shit. You're so perfect for me, so easy to tease."

She grinds herself against your abdomen and you can feel the warm slick of her cunt. You have to draw blood, taste the bitter metal to calm yourself.

"Doing so good. Being such a good little pet. Do you want to cum?"

Her lips are a hot whisper against the shell of your ear and you cringe at the whine that covers your words.

"Valeria, please. God yes, I want to cum for you so badly."

She licks the outline of your ear before pulling away from you.

"You need to keep yourself calm, can you do that for me? Wait to cum until I'm ready?"

You blink at her and nod your head, pieces of hair stick to your face and you peel your nails out of your flesh to fix them.

"The messy hair shows that I'm doing a good job."

She grins as she places the vibrator against your heated clit and your arching your back.

"Calm." Her voice is soft unlike earlier.

You know she needs this as badly as you: you can see it in the way her chest rises, how her tongue wets her lips every few seconds, the way her fingers flex against the skin of your stomach. Finally after teasing all she can take she settles herself against your cunt. You feel feverish as she rubs her clit against the vibrator. You can feel her heat radiating into yours and you roll your eyes back at the feeling. Such soft skin rubbing against yours as her moans start to pick up.

"Oh god."

Your voice is shaky. You feel your chest swell as she coos.

"You feel so good lovely, want to cum with you."

You shake your head a few times as you grind your cunts together. Your thrusts cause her to bounce and each time her clit grinds against the toy harder than the last.

"I'm close."

Her voice is nothing more than a needy whine as her shirt rides up. You grip at one if her clothed breast. She nods as her head falls forwards. Black hair obstructs your view of her face but the way her thighs twitch against yours gives you all the confirmation you need. You grip painfully at her bicep as your orgasm causes your thighs to clench and the tips of your fingers to tingle. Your name is moaned out in such sweet melody. With one last twitch your yanking her by the collar against you. She's eager against your lips and you start to wonder if she was ever going to move the vibrating toy from you.

Almost like reading your mind she clicks the toy off before tucking it into her bag. Her movement away from you leaves you cold and you want to pull her in for another warm kiss. Picking through the discarded clothing she separates your outfits. Her first move is to get you both dressed and somewhere warm so she can inspect you. Tugging her clothes on in a hurry she's moving back to your blissed out smile. With gentle hands she's helping your tired limbs tug your clothes on, you were glad you choose a skirt today.

"We really need to finish this room."

"I know lovely, but it's hard to get someone down here without a bunch of questions."

You sigh and snuggle into her side, but she's pulling you away.

"No snuggling, not until I get you upstairs and into a bath."

You frown and yawn feeling exhausted, "I just want a nap, Valeria. Cuddles and a nap first."

She frowns, she hates the idea of not taking care of you after a rough night. These moments so intimate for her however far between they may be.

"You have to eat something first then."

You groan and allow her to lead you out of the room.

"Fine, but I get to choose what. None of that crackers and water shit."

She huffs, "Fine. No crackers, but you're drinking a cup of water. No arguments."

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty smut #valeria garza #valeria x reader #valeria x you #operator writes

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klbwriting · 7 months

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Not Romeo, Not Juliet

Chapter 5: Dear Friend

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: violence, blood, stitches

Summary: Jason tries to take on more guys than he can handle and ends up bloody at YN's work

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end. -Sonnet 30

Turns out five mobsters with pipes, was too many to beat up, even when you were once Robin. Jason hadn't gotten beat like this since he died and he was lucky they thought he was dead or he may have been back in the ground again, and he was pretty sure Dick wasn't going to pull him after these antics. He was supposed to be at home this Friday night while Dick attended some policeman's gala with Barbara, but no. Jason had decided to head to Crime Alley, see if he could help anyone. He didn't want to protect all of Gotham this time around, he wasn't fooled by Bruce's lofty promises of making a difference in this city, but he wanted to help this little piece of it, a piece that even Batman seemed to have forgotten. That was how he found himself facing down five of Sal Maroni's biggest minions.

They had been finishing taking protection money from a bodega down the street from his old apartment, leaving the shop with the bag full of money like they were in a 1950's mob movie when Jason had dropped in front of them, masked up and ready to fight. He got several good shots in on the large men, taking two of them down with broken femurs, but then one got behind him and walloped him in the shoulder blades with the pipe, then another got him in the face, cracking the mask and lacerating his cheek pretty bad. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as the third one still standing cracked the back of his head, taking him down to the ground. He wanted to get up, but flashbacks of getting up and then being beaten back down with a crowbar came to mind and he felt a panic attack coming on. The mobsters apparently thought it was the breathing of a dying man and took their injured buddies and ran. Jason lay on the street, hyperventilating, trying to bring himself out of his panicked stupor, for almost an hour. He stood, discarding the broken mask in a random dumpster before limping off, trying to figure out a place to go.

Turns out he would be found before he could think of someplace. He didn't even realize he was walking past Big Belly Burger until the door opened and he heard the most angelic sound in the history of the earth.

"Jason?" YN said from the doorway of the dimmed restaurant. He turned, looking at her with glassy eyes. He saw her eyes get wide and her mouth fell open in shock at what was probably a horrifying appearance. He knew his cheek was still leaking blood, probably needed stitches, and his head was killing him. Despite him looking like the last person you would want to invite into a place that served food YN came over, grabbing him under the arm and helping him inside. Once she had him seat at one of the tables she locked the doors again, and lowered the blinds for good measure. "Wait here, we have first aid supplies in the back." He watched her hurry off and managed to get half his mouth up in a pained smile. She was helping him again, God she was so nice.

"Thank you..." he managed out when she got back with a full tackle box of medical supplies. The voice sounded watery and the terrified look on her face tol him his mouth was probably leaking blood. She took a breath and got out some disinfectant and a needle and thread.

"Don't talk, I'm going to need to stitch your cheek, but honestly I have no idea how so this is going to be a huge botch and it will scar, is that ok with you?" she asked. Jason didn't see how he had any other choice, and honestly, he kind of missed having some scars. He nodded. "Do you need something to bite down on or anything?" He chuckled and winced. She wasn't taking a limb, but he appreciated her concerned none the less.

"Just do it," he said softly. She gave him a look that said 'I told you to shut up', before starting to sew him back together. It took a long time and he spent it watching her face. Her eyes concentrated, she was taking deep breaths in between humming various songs that he couldn't identify. He could see the storm behind the calm in her eyes, she was hanging on by a thread at the moment, hoping she wasn't fucking his face up for life. When she finally finished she put the extra thread and the needle down on the table and Jason saw tears start streaming from her eyes as she looked at her bloodied hands.

"I should get you cleaned up..." she said softly, ignoring the torrent running down her face as she helped him stand and walk to the small bathroom. She found some paper towels, wetting them and gently wiping at the blood drying on his face, making sure not to tear the fresh stitches. Then she looked at her hands, and his. Jason saw her hands shaking, all the worry and fear that came with someone showing up at your door bloody crashing down on her. He gently took her hands and washed them for her, getting every smear of blood off of them before he washed his own. He looked in the mirror then, finally seeing how bad the cut was. It was from the middle of his cheek all the way past the top of his ear, almost to the back of his head. He caught sight of YN behind him, looking at him in the mirror. He turned, not sure how else to express his thanks, so he hugged her, making sure his new wound was away from her face. She hugged him back, clinging to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he whispered, being very careful move his mouth only a little. She nodded into his chest. "Do you happen to have pain pills in that med kit?"

"Ya, come on, I should probably watch you for a couple hours too, make sure you don't fall asleep with that concussion," she said softly. Jason shook his head. "What isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"No, if someone gets a concussion they can sleep, you just need to wake them up every so often, make sure they can answer questions," he said. She nodded as they sat down in a booth, him leaning his head against a pillar as she got him some pills and water. He took them, hoping the pain would ease soon, it was pounding in his head and face.

"Alright, so let me ask some questions then," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. He nodded, fair enough she would want to know why he had shown up bloody as fuck at her work when he lived all the way across the river. "What is your full name?"

"Jason Peter Todd," he answered easily. She nodded.

"Whens your birthday?"

"August 16th," he answered, then made a face. Was that still his birthday? Technically he had been pulled out of the pit, alive on June 12th, so what August still it? She made a face at him.

"Should we got to a hospital? Did you forget your birthday?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No, no, just realized that this year no one actually said happy birthday to me, wondering if it still counts," he said. Dick had forgotten until a week later. Jason did have to say, at least Alfred always had a cake for him to eat for breakfast on his birthday, he missed those cakes. He must have looked sad because he felt a hand on his.

"Why are you in Crime Alley again?" she asked. He sighed, she really just did not believe that he had lived here.

"For the third time, I lived here until I was 10, then I was adopted by a rich guy who had a penchant for charity cases," he explained. She asked what happened to his parents and he sighed. "My dad disappeared, could be dead for all I know, and probably is. He owed a lot of people money. And my mom was an addict, she OD'd and then I was on the street for a bit before my adoptive father found me."

"Do you live in Bludhaven with him?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No, we had a falling out last year, so I moved in with my older brother, his other adopted son," he said. She frowned. "What?"

"Are you Bruce Wayne's kid?" she asked. He sighed and nodded. "I can understand you falling out with him. He came to Gotham Academy once for a fundraiser thing and he was so rude, flashing cash everywhere, making a big scene and getting trashed. You are probably better off with your brother." Jason chuckled. Bruce had probably needed a cover story that night to explain where he was while Batman was out doing something. Dick had probably been in the suit that night. "Ok, so you grew up here, prove it, tell me something about Crime Alley only we locals know." Jason wracked his brain and then pulled out a memory he thought he had long wiped clean from his mind.

"The playground," he said. Her eyebrows rose at this statement. "The playground in the basement of the old mattress store. No one know who decided to put a playground down there, but I used to go there all the time as a kid when my mom was zoned out and my dad was off gambling. We all kept it secret from outsiders so that the cops wouldn't come and tear it down." She nodded.

"Ok, maybe you did grow up here," she said. "Where was that?" He wanted to say 'in your building' but she didn't know he had followed her home like an absolute creep that night so he told her where the address was, pretending to be surprised when she told him she lived there now. "So how did you end up with the bloody face?"

"I am trying to help out, I saw some of Sal Maroni's guys terrorizing a bodega, thought I could take'em, make'em give the money back to the owner," he said. She froze for just a moment and he thought maybe she knew the antics of those gangsters. "I just want this place to be safer for you." He didn't realize that was truly what was at the heart of this whole thing. Ever since he met her he had wanted to protect her, make sure she was safe no matter where she was.

"Jason, don't go getting yourself killed just to try and protect me," she whispered. He looked at her. He would die a thousand times to protect her. He gently took her hand and squeezed it. "Here, I really need to clean up this place and get home, give me your number, let's meet at the playground, run some lines or something, I'm sure you need help being a tortured Prince." Jason chuckled, she was wrong about that, he had no trouble being insane and seeing ghosts, was kind of his MO at this point, but they exchanged numbers and he helped her clean up the place, disinfecting everything before he went back home.

Dick had been pissed but Jason had lied and said the cut was from a fight at school, some jocks jumping him on his way home. He said he did the stitching himself, even though his stitches would have been perfect, he still got away with it saying he couldn't really remember how to do it right after the pit. Turns out being dead for awhile is a great excuse. Dick didn't quite believe him but just sent him to bed. When he got up to the loft and checked his phone there was already a text from YN.

Playground, Sunday, 8pm, I want to check your stitches, bring Hamlet and a skull

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #notromeo

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twistofstory · 5 months

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When the gang is victorious, Salamander and Racer just want to take the long awaited chance and finally escape, but first they have to take care of some unfinished business.

Mafia AU lets go!! This piece was heavily inspired by Victorious by Panic! At the Disco Racer is very focused on the plan while Sal's just uncomfortable on every level imaginable (with cameos in the background)

This was my first illustration for the The Scavengers, and it even takes a glimpse at the plotline of an older version of the story - I changed it a bit sinse. At the time I was rediscovering Panic! At the Disco's music for myself and one night this little estetic AU just popped in my mind Also here's the ref sheet I did as a bonus:

(I actually own the dress and jewelry you can see on Salamander! Sal is a tomboy in every iteration of the story, but here I was going for a "she has no agency at this point of the story" angle - this concept is scrapped in the current version)

Most of the Morticians didn't have names at that point, so I called them by their role in the squad/gang. But it was more than half a year ago, so now I can somewhat properly introduse 'em to you:

"Healer" became Stargazer - grumpy nightwing healer of the Morticians, who cares deeply about her little family

"Keeper" is Parhelion, an icewing-skywing hybrid with a deep knowledge of funeral rituals, kinda the squad's grandpa. In retrospective, his role should actually be "Mortician"

"Messenger"'s ma boi Newt! He's a rainwing-mudwing hybrid and a part of the Center squad of the gang - he's responsible for the Morticians and works as a, well, a messenger for them. At that stage he was a side character, but now he is on of the protagonists alongside Sal!

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sweetbottletops · 2 months

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A new interview with the creators of the drama was published ahead of episode 6. They talk about how they approached selecting the project, working with the mangaka, being respectful of the lesbian community, casting the two MCs...

Below I MTL'd a few things I found interesting but the whole thing is worth reading on your own.

About the Adaptation

Kamiura: First of all, I talked a lot to find out how sensei thinks about her work. Personally, I don't think it's necessary a live-action adaptation that is faithful to the original work to shoot all the frames in the same way with exactly the same angle of view, and I thought it was more important to dictate the same spirituality, so I valued the friction between them.

Sensei also told me that the times have changed since the original work was written, so I would like people to value the values of today. The common theme of the production team was to create an entertaining GL work from a Japanese drama, while placing importance on the viewer's perspective...

Osugi: From the beginning of the project, I was very conscious of my involvement in the project and discussed it with Kamiura. For example, we used bars that are actually run by lesbians on location, had lesbian influencers appear in the first episode, and had Sal Jiang and Mori host lesbians and sexual minorities. We made efforts to have them speak at events.

About Casting

Kamiura: Regarding Kato-san, I have seen her in her previous works, but especially when she was active in variety shows, singing shows, YouTube, etc., and her everyday appearance is exactly like Ayaka-chan. I thought it would be a perfect fit, so I approached her.

In fact, although she is very serious and passionate at the core, she also has a charm that makes you unable to take your eyes off her, not knowing what she will say next, and I think she is a treasure trove.

What I think she has in common with Ayaka-chan is that she has strong roots and a strong core. She is a very cool woman who has the courage to confront her head-on without cutting corners even in a play. She may seem like a fluffy and cute person, but she is extremely athletic, has an excellent sense of comedy, and is quick-witted and kind enough to instantly lighten the mood even in times of trouble. She is truly a clever person who can do anything. I have the impression that it is.

Kamiura: I've seen [Mori Kanna] in many works over the years, but if anything, I think Kanna has a cool and charming appearance that she usually has, and her overwhelming charm as a woman who is popular with women. I thought you were the only person there, so I called out to you.

I think that Hiroko-senpai has exactly the charm that I had thought of, "I want to see Mori Kanna-san like this!", and I would like to see this scene of Hiroko-senpai in Kanna-san's play. I am grateful that you have realized this with a higher resolution than I could have imagined.

She has a very deep love for Hiroko, and she has taken into account our thoughts regarding this dramatization, and has diligently studied the lesbian community in which Hiroko-senpai has found herself. I believe that many things have come true this time because of that love.

Read the entire piece here.

#ayaka is in love with hiroko #sal jiang #japanese drama

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fabuloustrash05 · 7 months

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TMNT 2012 Remastered Quick Notes

Basically the 2012 series but changed to my liking. Here’s what I would do:

Leo’s eyes will be hazel instead of blue cause I said so. Actually all the boys would have brown eye colors to match with Splinter and Karai to REALLY show that they are in fact biological related.

Mikey - light brown

Donnie - reddish brown (like canon)

Raph & Leo - hazel

Leo and Karai would have NO romance plot. Leo's "feelings" for Karai are actually a familiar connection, as if he already knows her (cause Splinter would always tell stories about his daughter, so in a way Leo already knows her), but he doesn't realize this until the reveal in season 2.

We would actually see the seasons change, meaning April and Casey would have different outfits depending on the season. The Turtles would also wear some layers to keep them warm during the fall and winter seasons.

April's design is slightly changed. Instead of shorts and leggings she wears jeans. Her top, ugg boots, and hair style remain the same. Her hairstyle changes over the course of the series

Season 1-2: low ponytail with occasionally switching to a bun when training with the others Season 3: Hair is slightly longer, sometimes in a ponytail or a braid Season 4 (space arc): Pixie cut, cut it short so hair doesn't get in her face when wearing the space helmet Season 4-5: Hair grew after a short time skip, hair is now in a bob cut

Karai’s hairstyle also changes. When locked in Shredder’s prison in S2, her hair grows longer to show the months she's been locked up. By S4 her hair is down to her shoulders and tied into a half updo. The blonde in her hair also fades away symbolizing that she is distancing herself from the Shredder.

Donnie and April have a slow burn, friends to lovers, love story. Full explanation on how I'd do this HERE.

Season 3 and onward, Leo would wear a leg brace as well as noticeable scars from his fight with Shredder. All major scars the Turtles get are permanent and stay on them

Irma and Rook are the same person, Irma is not Kraang Subprime in disguise. Irma lives on the farmhouse with the others, she is revealed to be an Utrom agent in mid season 3 named Rook who was sent to keep an eye on April and the Turtles. Full explanation HERE.

No going 6 months back in time for the Space arc, the boys instead are given 6 months to collect the pieces of the black hole generator before the Triceratons do, who have the Earth under the control. Think of it like a hostile takeover. Meanwhile on Earth, Splinter, Karai and the Mutanimals forma rebelling to fight against the Triceratons to give the Turtles some more time.

Better build to the Triceraton invasion also. If he hinted out during midseason 3, with Bishop (who would replace Kurtzman) warning the turtles and Mutanimals that there are greater threats out there in the galaxy besides the Kraang.

Mona Lisa and Sal Commander working for Lord Dregg is revealed (to the audience) much sooner. (Think of it like Meg working for Hades in Disney's Hercules, they have no choice and are under a contract because they "owe" Dregg)

Slash would be an antagonist for a little bit longer, but he'd still get redeemed by mid S3.

Timothy aka the Pulverizer returns! Just replace the Brainworm Karai arc with an arc on retro mutagen and Donnie trying to help Timothy adjust to his new half human half mutant forms like Karai transforming from human to snake at will. Timothy can be similar to Sunita from Rottmnt and become a slime person, and can use his powers to be a superhero like he always wanted. Maybe even joined the Mighty Mutanimals.

Leo and Casey would have a romance start to bloom between them in season 3-4. They'd officially get together in S5. Full explanation HERE.

Mona Lisa and Sal Commander are more present in the S4 space and after the Evil of Dregg episode, Sal and Mona occupancy the Turtles on the rest of their mission to save the Earth and stop the Triceratons as a way to repay for their dishonorable actions of betraying them.

Mona Lisa starts living on Earth sooner, after the space arc has ended, she meets the Mutanimals and after the final battle against the Triceratons, they offer for her to join their team and she accepts. Full explanation HERE.

The Mighty Mutanimals would get more focus. There’s a comic book issue that explain the origin of how they met in the 2012 series so I would make that an episode. Let’s add more filler episodes where the side characters are the main characters.

Shinigami would be revealed to be a villain by the end of S4 and he'd assist Tiger Claw during the Kavaxas arc (yes, she would eventually get redeemed, cause I want shinirai) Full explanation HERE.

April and Casey are more involved in the S5 Halloween arc and team up and befriend Renet. Full explanation HERE.

Alopex would team up with the Turtles to help them take down her brother Tiger Claw and Kavaxas. TC would get redeemed because of his sister's influence and protect her when Kavaxas attacks her.

Raph gets the electric powers in the When Worlds Collide special instead of Mikey. Also replace Karai with Slash in that arc, Casey gets involved and Fugitoid returns, now working for Dregg because he has been rewired/brainwashed into thinking the Turtles are his enemies.

80s crossover eps in both S4 and S5 would be removed entirely.

There would be an actual finale where the Turtles and all their allies they made throughout the show team up with their future selves (the mutant apocalypses Turtles) to save their futures and fix history, because we learn from Renet that there's a error and how that mutagen bomb was never supposed to go off. The show would end with the MA!Turtles and the present Turtles stopping the bomb and saving their histories. MA! Turtles would then return to their now fixed future, seeing their timeline is now saved (friends are all alive, Earth is saved, they have careers and families of their owns) and they get their happy ending.

#tmnt 2012 remastered #rewriting tmnt 2012 #tmnt rewrite #tmnt 2012 #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #april o'neil #tmnt karai #casey jones #tmnt shinigami #tmnt mona lisa #renet tilley #tmnt slash #master splinter

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mightymizora · 11 months

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WIP: The Portrait

This is the most self indulgent thing I'm writing, but I'm putting this opener out to see if it works at all... feedback welcome.

Lord Gortash requests a portrait of his paramour. The pay is good, the contract legitimate. It seems almost too good to be true...

The request came to the guild house with gold already attached. Wanted, portrait artist. Female subject, three sittings. Half pay upfront. He did not recognise the seal, but Darcus told him it was from the newly minted Lord Gortash, also known as Enver Flymm, also known in certain parts of the back cities as Flymm the Bloody, where they still dared to say such things. The purse held more gold than Guy had ever seen, and Litton laughed at his face when he opened it.

“Oh, dear boy!” he chided, drawing the string again and placing it in the middle of the table. “You are too swayed by money. What of passion? What of love of the craft?”

It was easy, thought Guy, to care only of craft, of passion or love or whatever else you might want when you were the third son of a Patriar, and mummy dearest paid for your garret upfront for the year so you could slum it a little, just for fun. When you had a real life, a real wife, a real child, love started to mean something very different.

“Give it here,” he said. “I’ll take it. If it’s Kerrie Lovelace again, I still have the sketches from the Ravengard commission.”

Lovelace was popular with the Patriars. A half-elf with the wettest eyes he’d ever seen and a permanently quivering, full lip. She was the lover or some, and the favoured subject of far more since Litton had painted her as a beautiful mermaid to mark The Breaking a few years before. The last piece Guy had painted of her had been a garish facsimile of the original with only surface changes, but it had paid fairly. Money seemed to disappear these days. Between clothing and food for little Eva, new dresses for Sal and keeping up with all of these idiots, he was running dry again.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” said Darcus, his tankard resting against his belly. The moon was barely up and he was already deep in his cups. “These new Lords, they ain’t to be trusted. No honour between them.”

“And I’d take it,” said Litton. “Not personally, of course. But you should take it now before Fevras gets wind. At least you might make something worth hanging.”

And so he finds himself being ushered into full halls of the home of Lord Gortash, a surprisingly unassuming and tasteful villa in the new style, all white stone and iron-wrought glass, every wall crammed to the ceiling with art and curios. There are paintings here from the old masters that must have cost a fortune, plenty of Litton’s best (including The Mermaid, he notes, last in the possession of the Jannath’s), and odd pieces of fine mechanica and automata the likes of which the Halls of Wonder would envy. He almost wishes to stop, take it in, but his patron’s pace is unrelenting as he strides through to the very end of the house. It does not seem wise to keep him waiting.

“I hope it is sufficient light,” says Gortash, opening the door himself to a handsome chamber with full glass windows, a handsome solid desk and a nicely appointed parlour. “You are seeing into the most intimate parts of my estate. I will be present tending to some business while you work, if that is alright with you. I do so like to see a master at their craft.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Guy says as he hands his cloak to a dwarf standing in the centre of the room, who does not move to bow as she takes it. The woman looks at him with some curiosity, and looks over to her Lord with a sharp smile.

“Ah,” starts Gortash, taking the cloak from her and holding it out. An elf in fine brocade sweeps in to take it, and the woman watches with still amusement as they depart. “This, Saer Ceasebourne, is your subject.”

He feels his stomach churn as he looks at her again. She cocks her head in curiosity as she stares back at him. She does not look angry, but now he looks again she does not look amused. No, the look in her eye is something else entirely, and it makes him feel rather sick.

“My apologies, my Lord, I didn’t-”

“Oh dear fellow, do not fret. Though I keep my servants in better finery than this one wears, for future reference.”

“You forget yourself, Lord Gortash.”

The woman’s voice is dark, deep as the Chionthar, and dripping in threat as her eyes flick from him to Gortash. He takes the momentary reprieve from her gaze to cast an eye over her properly. It is hard to see her body under her plain dark red robes, but he can tell from what flesh is exposed at her neck and down her forearms that she is likely to be freckled all over her pale skin. Copper hair is heaped atop her head in a neat bun, her face marked with long lines of a tattoo that traces her strong jaw and pulls into her eyes.

Her eyes. They are quite extraordinary. At a first glance brown, but as the light pulls into them they shine an almost pinkish hue. Like unblooded meat.

Gortash smiles at her, bowing his head ever so slightly. "I apologise for the perceived slight. You are my guest here today. And I hope we will both show proper decorum, for the occasion."

#wip tag #manva warhelm #enver gortash #durgetash

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