#you can't just wipe that away by saying 'they're just trying to survive'

[chatsukimi]

ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

featuring: protective!heian!sukuna, kindhearted!servant!reader. slight angst/hurt -> comfort. synopsis: you're sick. to your surprise, you're rescued by the man second closest to death himself. masterlist

you should've known he wouldn't come. sukuna has never set foot in the servant's headquarters in his life, let alone to chase after a sick servant. you lower your head, trying to ease the headache that has plagued you through the day.

sukuna loves his bloodshed and his gore. him and death would be good friends, you think to yourself. he wouldn't care if your body was burnt or buried, you think to yourself; wouldn't care if you died at all.

the room the others put you in is empty. ash spreads neatly over the cold floor. the scent of kibble haunts the atmosphere. it's where they put the dogs before sukuna killed them.

ever since you took care of the king of curses while he was sick, the other servants had been careful in keeping a distance from you. not in ill of heart; they're simply terrified at what you must've done to survive in your week long stay with the monster. honestly, you don't blame them.

but now when you're laying on the freezing ground, struggling to breathe, it's hard not to.

'this is where you live?'

your eyes look up. shock. then, with all the strength you can muster, you heave yourself one step away from the man at the doorway, which only serves to piss him off more.

sukuna ryomen, in all his glory, looks down at you. bending down to pick you up like a limp doll to be seated against the wall, he seems to revel in his regained strength. you can't help but feel happy for him, to have survived this fatal disease. not many men can attest to that...

then again, he is no ordinary man.

'i asked you a question.'

you nod, a small thing, barely a movement. he seems to clench his teeth.

he takes off his long white coat, flaunting a layer of dried blood, and drapes it over your shoulders.

yet it doesn't end there. he retrieves from his pocket a bottle of what looks to be a golden syrup.

you know exactly what it is.

he takes your hand and wraps it around the flask, making you hold it, sparing, not one, but two of his eyes, to stare at you, making sure you do as he commands.

'swallow.'

you shake your head. you know he's asking you to do. this is a medication is so rare for your disease that no sorcerer has found in over a hundred years. he's brought this thing of myth right to your very lips. now he's asking you to drink it, and thus take away any chance of it saving anyone else's life.

you scowl, but the tickling sensation in your throat grows stronger, eventually erupting out of your mouth in a harsh cough. you look away from sukuna.

'leave,' you whisper, weakly. 'don't wanna infect you.'

'i survived the illness already. i've developed an immunity.'

you shake your head again. you couldn't threaten your king's health with your own weakness. you just couldn't.

'i can't take this.'

he growls. without any notice, he swallows your lips in a kiss. in the momentary haze, you could hardly resist, fisting the front of his kimono to ground yourself. then, you feel something sweet, honey-ish, hit your tongue.

with his hand locked on your chin, it forces you to swallow.

you pull back, pushing him away. he groans.

he wipes his mouth, still with two eyes staring.

no... no, why did he do that?

'y-you- how? no... why did you waste it on me?' you whisper, desperately searching his face for an answer. 'i'm just a servant. you could've given it to a princess, or a scholar, or priest-'

he grabs you by the arm and forces you into his arms. its heat astounds you, and you find yourself crawling closer. a vague thumping sound seems to press against your ear-

oh. you calm your breathing.

it's his heartbeat.

alive.

'sleep in my room tonight,' he demands.

what did he say? you strain your mind, trying to replay what he said earlier. no... maybe you heard correctly.

'but i'm no concubine,' you respond, instantly.

his arm supports your waist, helping you up effortlessly to your feet. he then directs two of his eyes to the doorway, his cadence low and domineering.

'it doesn't matter.'

he leads you placidly through the servant's quarters. you notice all conversation cease at your entry, bodies dropping into a low bow. a small voice in you whispers that it's where you should be too. you tug at sukuna's arm.

'i'm only a servant, sukuna.'

you know what it looks like, a servant clutching onto a man, more god than human. a man who has slaughtered villages, blood staining the base of his kimono crimson, and turned half a province on its head, just to save you.

'whatever you are in my eyes is what you are to the world,' he states, his expression unchanging. 'if i deem you a queen, that is who you are.'

exiting the servant compound, you know you can't say no- not like you wanted to. the wide expanse of his chest is comforting.

yet however sweet this feeling remains, you can't help but gulp. perhaps this is the closest a human has ever come to courting death.

[pomefioredove]

hi hi there! I'm not sure if I'm doing this correctly, but can I request vil comforting the reader through a breakup? (totally not self indulgent comfort) I love your writing so much and you write vil so well. Thank you!

anon this isn't related to any exes but I have a bunch of highly specific reaction images in my gallery to use when I describe a person (usually a man) I personally think vil schoenheit would hate

summary: vil has always hated your ex type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: implied romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, hurt/comfort

There are very few things Vil Schoenheit is ever wrong about.

Even when he wants to be.

There are a million and one ways he could have said I told you so.

He might have even given himself a little pat on the back if the timing was better, but this was about you, not him and his excellent judge of character.

He never liked that person.

Thus, when you had turned up at his door not too long ago, looking like a kicked puppy, that was his very first guess.

And now, he dabs at the corners of your eyes with a silk handkerchief, trying to salvage the lovely makeup look he'd recommended earlier while you talk.

Another cascade of tears fall down your cheeks as you describe the nature of the emergency. He winces.

"Oh, dear. Please tell me you dumped them,"

You shake your head.

One part of Vil is aghast. The other is offended. Not only on your behalf, but at the simple fact that anyone could break up with someone he held in such high regard.

Are they ignorant? Stupid?

How could anyone be so foolish as to let you get away...?

"It's for the better," Vil says, tilting your chin up to prevent any more tears from falling down your pretty cheeks.

You sniffle. "I know you never liked them, but..."

"This isn't about that," he says it plainly, even though it's half a lie. "This is about the fact that you had ever entertained such a character. They're not worth a second of your time, do you hear me?"

You're quiet for a moment, not sure how to respond to his sudden attempt at boosting your confidence.

"It's just complicated,"

"Relationships tend to be. Hold still for me, dear," he picks a stray eyelash off your cheek.

Vil doesn't believe in things like wishing on eyelashes, but even as he blows it off the tip of his finger, he's thinking of you.

"You will survive," he turns back to you, smiling slightly. "Even with your terrible taste in partners."

"If you had it your way, you'd interview every person I liked,"

He rolls his eyes. "Tsk. You say that like it's a bad thing,"

Even now, you can't help a small, weak laugh. There was something rather impressive about the way he could lift your spirits without even trying.

The same thought seems to occur to him, and he smiles, delicately wiping away another tear with the tip of his finger.

"I just don't think I'll meet anyone up to the Vil standard,"

"Good thing you don't have to," he smiles, almost teasingly. "I'm right here, after all."

Another eyelash is wiped away along with the tear, though this time, as he blows it away, he makes a wish.

[shadowsingercassia]

The Gate To Home | Chapter 1: "Answer my question first." "No."

Batboysxreader

Summary: You are an Ironteeth witch and one of Manon's Thirteen. During the third Valg war, all the Thirteen were dead, and you - heavily wounded - fell through a portal. Landing on a far away land, in a war camp, everyone seeming petrified by your iron teeth and nails, you see three males. Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel, your only hopes. But which one of these hopes will help you find your way back into a new home?

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, injury, broken bone and abuse, language, angst at the start and at some parts, loss of The Thirteen, I have also added a scene from the heir of fire when Rhysand is seeing her memories so spoilers ahead (tell me if I missed anything!)

Words: 3k (next parts are going to be longer)

I want to dedicate this series to the people who are struggling to find their place in a new enviorment, city country etc. I love you all <33

I read over it once and I will read it over again later!

Other parts: Chapter 2

Your body collapsed onto the uneven ground. The battle was over, but The Thirteen... they were all gone, except from you - who you were heavily injured - and Manon.

All around you, ashes and corpses literred the place, black and blue blood slattered here and there. Ruins and smoke and embers. Fallen witches and Valgs and wyverns.

The ground seemed soft, as if you could sink right through it, probably thanks to the injuries.

You felt a head nudging your side. Your wyvern - Azurth - trying to flip you over gently. Her scales were warm against your side.

Hands firmly grabbed you and flipped you on your back, and staring up at the face, her golden eyes gleaming with tears, strands of white hair sticking to her forehead, was Manon.

You had never seen her cry before, and the sight made something in you break. Managing a brief smile, you raise a trembling hand to wipe her tear.

A deep gash at your stomach was dripping with blue blood, pooling slowly on the ground around you. You had a few more slices, one on your forehead and another at your calf, and a couple of broken bones on your arm. The wound on your abdomen had almost grazed your gut and it was a miracle how you were still surviving, because the blood you lost was too much and it continued to drip and drip and drip.

"It's ok, Manon," you assured her, but it only made fresh tears roll down her cheeks. Perhaps you could have cried too, but you couldn't bring yourself to cry. Not when you had served Manon until your last breath. Because that was your purpose, as your grandmother had said, to serve Manon for the rest of your life.

"Please, they're all gone, I can't lose you too." Her voice broke, just like everything in you at this moment. "It's ok, Manon," you tried to explain but she wouldn't budge. You felt her hand, pressing down on your wound, attempting to stop the blood flow. "Please"

"Look at the stars tonight, we'll be there," you couldn't help yourself when a tear escaped your eye, rolling down your cheek. The hot tear was comforting against your cold skin, damp with a layer of sweat.

"Don't say that, Y/n, please" she pleaded, murmuring the same thing, over and over.

Please.

"Look at the stars tonight, Manon, look at the stars..."

Closing your eyes, you were ready to accept your fate, and yet, something shifted.

It was as if the ground shook and the earth opened, taking you with it to the depths of it, perhaps it was just your imagination, or an illusion of you mind. And then, falling.

Down.

Down.

Down...

Your eyes snapped open as your back made impact with the ground and you grunted, gritting your iron teeth together. Voices. Male voices. And... footsteps?

Flicking your wrists, iron claws replace your fingernails. Silence.

A crowd of winged males had gathered around you, all of them wide-eyed, keeping a safe distance from you. As they should, you thought to yourself.

The wound still throbbed as you pushed yourself into a sitting position, most males backed off immediately, yet in your peripheral vision, you saw someone. Not just someone, but three large winged males, the expanse of their membrany wings on display, stretching proudly behind them.

You bared your teeth to them, hoping the iron would scare them off. They stopped in their tracks though didn't retreat. Everyone stared. Where were you?

Something invaded your mind, and you didn't know how to shield yourself from it.

~

You and Sorrel sat atop your wyverns, waiting eagerly as Manon prepared to make the Ferian Gap with her wyvern Abraxos. Manon wanted you and Sorrel to watch in case she fell.

And you both couldn't say no, after all, she was the leader of The Thirteen, and you would all listen to her, always.

Your wyvern, Azurth, was one of the larger wyverns in the Ferian Gap. He had dark emerald scales, with hints of blue and black. Each of his claws were about the size of your arms, his teeth sharp as daggers.

His tail was spiked at the end and you made sure to cover the tips with iron so they would be deadlier. Azurth's wings were drooping on the grass, but you knew he was always ready to take off and fly to catch Manon if needed.

You stare as she gives a command to Abraxos. Again and again. Her wyvern doesn't budge.

Abraxos ended up curling on himself and you felt Azurth relax, as he now didn't have to go catch anyone in case they fell.

Manon never made the Ferian Gap, atleast not that day.

~

You had gotten in a fight with a Yellowlegs witch. Honestly, she had it coming but no one punished her. And you... they had taken off your shirt and chained your hands into wooden poles.

The iron-tipped whip came down again and again. One, two, three...

You took the whipping like you should, not letting out the screams that threatened to rip from your throat. Bitting your tongue, you felt the blood run down your back in rivulets.

Four, five...

One for each punch that you landed and you knew that, well, you did land a lot of punches. But that Yellowlegs actually had it coming, she started to insult The Thirteen and mocking you and Manon.

So you couldn't have helped it when you had snapped at the poor witch.

Six, seven...

Your chin was felt up high, facing the witches that watched. You picked up on some whispers like, 'she deserved it' or that 'she's getting a punishment made for an animal like her.' Yet, those mumbled comments only made you more determined to keep your head high. To flash your teeth, stained with blood from how you were biting your tongue and everyone went silent.

Eight, nine, ten...

~

The wind wipped at your hair as you flew on your ironwood broom. As a child, you loved flying on your broom, and you still do in your early adult years.

You felt free when you were in the skies, the breeze kissing your cheeks and swirling around into the locks of your braided hair.

Splaying your arms wide, embracing the wind, letting it wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

You tipped your hair back and smiled...

~

The presence in your mind drew back after seeing a few more of your memories. Anger simmered beneath the surface. How dare this mysterious male invade your mind? Does he know that you can gut him with a singular swipe of your iron nails?

You planted your feet firmly onto the ground and ground your teeth together to keep from hissing in pain. Balancing on your good arm, you manage to stand up, every muscle screaming in protest.

Your iron nails caught in the sun, looking as deadly as ever.

A voice reached your ears and your head snaps back, only to be met with the sight of violet eyes, twinkling with amusement and curiosity, "who are you?" The tone of the male's voice was firm.

A few locks of onyx hair fell over his brow while the rest of it was combed. Atleast he has nice hair.

You chuckled humorlessly, "why should I tell an overgrown bat who I am?" His eyebrows furrowed, probably not expecting you to snap back.

"I am the High Lord's son," he tells you. "You are a- what the fuck is a High Lord?" Your voice was laced with confusion, yet you didn't want to know anything right now.

"A High Lord is-" he paused the sentence. "Answer my question first," he commands as if he expected you to obey.

You crosses your arms over your chest, holding back any sounds of pain. "No," you shrug, pain shooting through you with every movement, every breath.

"Answer my question and maybe I'll consider getting you a healer."

You sigh, perhaps a healer was needed in order for you not to bleed out to death, though from the moment you came here, wherever that is, you felt signifigantly better. "My name is Y/n Blackbeak"

The answer didn't seem to please him. "That does not explain why you just fell from the sky," your eyes widen.

"I did... what?"

"You heard me."

"I don't believe you"

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Well, it's a good thing we have witnesses, don't you think?" You roll your eyes. "What are you?" He now asked.

"Get the healer first and I'll consider answering you," you say to him, flashing him a grin, showcasing your iron teeth. "You are in no place to be requesting things or flashing those iron claws and teeth. Simply answer my questions. What are you?"

"An Ironteeth witch," you answer, tired of this constant back and forth.

"What the fuck is that?" His eyebrows furrow. "Come on now, you can do better than take my words and throw them back at me. I expected more creativity from you," you tease him, but there's no hint of humor in your voice. Let him fear you, better than having to talk to any of them.

"Will getting you a healer make you talk or will you continue being impossible?" He crosses his arms over his chest. "It depends." "On what?" He asks quickly.

"On my mood," you answer and he clenched his jaw. "And why does it depend on your mood?" Annoyance radiated off of his every word. Oh how much you want to smirk at him, but you thought that he'll never get you the healer then.

"Because I can either talk..." you make a pause to show him your iron nails, "or slice."

He must be terrified, maybe. Already, you can sense a few that have soiled their leathers and it made you want to smirk in satisfaction. But this male, he and those other two oversized bats, don't even seem scared, and that only makes you want to claw their chests out.

"Don't threaten me," he snaps now. "You know, I could have killed you already, but your generosity to get me a healer has made me hold myself back. So, if you continue giving me orders like some soldier, I will not hesitate to show you the abilities of these nails."

At that, he stops and considers your words. You were right, of course you were right. At any moment you wanted, you could have killed him, but you really, really wanted to see where this was going. Besides, you also need that healer.

"Fine, I'll get you a healer for truthful answers to my questions and yes, you can sass me all you want but at the end of the day, I want those answers."

The corner of your lip tugs up in a vicious smirk. Oh, you are going to make this day a living hell for him. "Alright then, a healer for truthful answers to your questions and I get to sass all I want."

"Besides, there's no Y/n Blackbeak without her sass," you say.

After a lot of 'almost ripping out their eyeballs' and 'sassy retorts' He finally manages to guide you into a small cabin.

"This is a spare cabin, you can stay here," he explains. "Since when were you kind?"

"Since all of my life you just happened to cause trouble and I do not tolerate troublemakers." He thinks he's so much better, right? "And yet you still tolerate me," you shrug and he clenched his jaw again. He looks very good when he's pissed off, you should do that more often.

He ends up getting that healer. A girl wearing a loose beige dress, stained with flecks of mud and dust. She has wrapped her pale brown hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. Green eyes, the color pale, as if it was drained, and her features looked so much like a teenager's. She couldn't be more than sixteen.

You turn your eyes to the male - which thankfully he told you his name was Rhysand. "Why the hell aren't there any females here, except from this healer? And why do they look so miserable?" Rage begins to burn. How disrespectful are they to the females who just want to become warriors.

"If I tell you, will you answer my question," you nod and he sighs. "Good."

"Female in Illyria and in these camps are kept as breeding stock-" You had attacked him, your nails digging into his abdomen as you tackled him to the hard ground. It would surely leave a mark.

Two hands gripped your shoulders, the other two males - Cassian and Azriel as you soon had alsl learned - hauling you up and away from Rhysand.

You scratched their forearms, causing them to loss their grip and then you elbow the taller one - Cassian - in the stomach while ducking under Azriel's fist.

Taking a step forward, you tripped over Azriel's foot, that he put there on purpose and eat a mouthful of dirt as your face slams onto the ground, blue blood running down from your brow.

Azriel makes a move to get on top of you and immobilize you but you roll away and stand up. Good thing witches have enhanced strength and speed and your magic still works.

Your fist connects with Cassian's jaw that stumbles backwards and falls on his ass. For a second, you didn't realize Azriel was coming towards you, again trying to tackle you down but you turn around and dodge his blow, that barely grazed your arm.

Then you grip his shoulder, iron nails sinking into the skin as he lets out a groan. Rhysand stands there, and on his face sits a smirk that you find is the most annoying thing ever.

"You said you wanted a healer and yet here you are, fighting," you lunge for him again and then you feel the presence in your mind again. You gasped "So that was you who invaded my mind?"

"Of course it was me. Listen, my point is there's no need for violence. When I become the High Lord, I will try to change that law."

"You will try, that's the point, try, not will change, but will try. Do you know that witches are only females and we start training from the age of six?" He looks stunned. Perhaps it was because of your harsh tone. "How old are you?" He asked.

"Trying to pry into my personal information now are you, son of the 'High Lord'?" He sighs in annoyance as you air quote the title of the High Lord. But really now, you don't even know what it is, how does he expect you to fear that supposed High Lord? Besides why would you, one of The Thirteen, one of the fiercest and deadliest witches in Erilea fear a man with a stupid title and most likely zero fighting experience?

He doesn't budge and won't talk until you give him an answer. If he wants to be stubborn then so be it, you were always the most stubborn out of The Thirteen.

So you stare and he stares back for Gods know how long. Another two gazes burn into the back of your head, Cassian and Azriel most likely.

You glare into those violet eyes, but he doesn't budge. But there it was, you sensed a flicker of fear. This will be very fun.

After what seems like an eternity he speaks up, "you're not an easy one, are you?" You scoff. "Never was, never will be."

"How old are you?" He repeats

"How old are you?" You tilt your head slightly to the left.

He rolls his eyes, "so that's how it's going to be? Fine, I'm twenty-four." He seems young but you knew that he was fae from the moment you'd seen him, so you expected he was older.

"I am one hundred and fourteen," his eyes widen. "Witches are immortal?"

"In Erilea"

"We're in Prythian"

"Do you know how I can get back to Erilea?" You really hoped you could get back. You could only imagine Manon, looking up at the stars, and instead of seeing twelve, she'll see eleven stars. Perhaps she'll wonder why a star is missing.

"Unfortunately no. I'll let you adjust for now and I'll be back later. Let the healer do her work until then. I'd hate for you to die before I get answers."

He left, and so did Cassian and Azriel.

***

You were laying on the ground, the star-flecked expanse of the sky stretching up above you. But it's not that which surprised you, it was the stars.

Eleven stars shone brighter than the rest in the sky and you found your eyes watering, a tear rolling down your cheek.

Feeling someone's presence you turn around, finding Rhysand leaning against the wall of your cabin. This time his features were peaceful, not annoyed, not cold but peaceful. And he was staring right back at you.

He took a step closer and then another, the moonlight illuminating his face and at last he sat next to you.

Violet eyes find yours and scan your face before his fingers brush away a tear. You flinched at the gentle contact. "Why is it that you're crying, ironheart?"

"Why should I tell you?" The ghost of a smile tugged on his lips. He lowered his hand from your face.

"I'm impressed how you still find the energy to sass me while you're crying."

"I'm not crying," you tried to convince him that you were fine, but honestly, you were mostly trying to convince yourself.

"You know, I haven't formally introduced myself," he extended a hand. "I am Rhysand, son of the High Lord of the Night Court"

You take his hand, your iron nails retreating.

"I am Y/n Blackbeak, one of The Thirteen fiercest and deadliest witches and Manon Blackbeak's Second."

------------------------☆------------------------

a/n: I'm so excited to continue this writing this series! This fic I would say is kind of an introduction because then in the next I'll have a little time skip (a month). Also guys, I decided who she ends up with (if you look closely you'll see the hint) 😉

series taglist: @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @anarchiii @saltedcoffeescotch

general taglist: @amara-moonlight

comment '🤍'to be added to the series taglist!

comment '💕' to be added to the general taglist!

Love, Cassia! ❤️

[the-kr8tor]

Heatwave

Feat: The cats 😺😻😾

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Synopsis: You and Hobie try to survive a record breaking heatwave.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, some miscommunication, FLUFF, lovestruck Hobie.

A continuation of this fic

My Masterlist

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

You groan loudly, as if it helps make the air cooler, but alas it doesn't work that way. It certainly doesn't help that the air-conditioning in your building completely fizzled out last night, resulting in you and Hobie waking up sweaty and grumpy.

You breathe heavily through the humidity, but the sweltering heat doesn't make it any easier.

The cats don't help too, especially that they're currently blocking the air flow from your single working fan. Crumpet,Teacup and Crowley lay sprawled across a cooling mat, Crowley looks back at you every minute or so, checking to see if you've melted into a puddle.

Teacup, the ever spoiled baby, mewls towards you, as if to say it's time for their hourly wipe of their paws with a cold damp cloth. She's lucky you love her. She's been relishing the attention lately, especially time spent with Hobie, you can't help but get jealous sometimes, this is what Hobie probably feels like with Crowley attached to your hip.

You reluctantly stand up, stretching to your full height, arms wide, you cringe at the sweat clinging to your back, arms, legs and clothes, it's safe to say you're covered in it. You grimace at how tacky your clothes feel on you, your tank top must look like an abstract painting from behind. You lick your lips in a futile attempt to keep them moist, feeling the cracks of skin underneath your tongue.

You grab the designated cloth to soak it in the sink, at the same time you open the fridge to grab another ice pack. Thank goodness you have a stock of them for whenever Hobie comes home bruised. You wish you don't have an abundance of it though, you hate it when Hobie gets hurt.

Teacup meows loudly, telling you to hurry up.

"Alright, alright! 'm coming, you big baby" not noticing your words slurring together. You lift up the cloth, wringing off the excess water.

You stride towards the cats, carefully patting the cloth on their paws, while checking their fur for any tangles. Making sure their water bowls aren't empty.

After rubbing their paws you move to pet Crumpet, moving your fingers on her head, and scratching behind her ear. She purrs under your touch.

You're concerned about Crumpet, she's a lot older than the other two, so you're taking more time to be more attentive towards her.

You rub her thick fur absentmindedly, the air from the fan blowing on your lashes. Your mind wanders back to Hobie, how is he faring in this temperature? Especially in his suit, you practically had to beg him to leave his leather vest at home.

"I always wear it, love, I don't feel complete without it"

"Yeah, I know for the aesthetic," you change your tone, you don't want to fight, "but damn it, just for today please, I don't want you getting heatstroke" you sigh at his stubbornness.

For added effect Crumpet meows at Hobie, backing you up.

Hobie sighs in defeat, "fine," he drops the vest haphazardly over your bed, you think he's mad.

He leans over kissing your cheek, it's too hot to give you a proper kiss, you curse at the temperature, depriving you of affection. "don't forget to drink water, yeah?"

"Mmhm, you too. Take breaks, okay?" you move to hug him, but you recoil your hands back, thinking the added heat might make him more agitated. Hobie thinks you're mad at him.

You wanted to convince him to leave his leather boots and wear his trainers instead, but it might've been all in vain, since he's already opening the window to swing away.

That was hours ago, you hope he's okay, and keeping hydrated. You wish he wasn't mad at you.

Putting the ice pack on your head, you lean against your sofa, watching the cats stay cool.

You zone out, not hearing the familiar thump of heavy boots.

Hobie thinks you're ignoring him, shit you look mad, your face scrunched up into a scowl, sweat dripping on your forehead.

He crosses the small distance, the cats lay sprawled on their mat, the only indication that they noticed him is their heads slightly following his movements, even Crowley refuses to scowl at him. It's hot even for the little hell spawn.

Hobie grabs the cool can inside his little plastic bag, it rustles, but you still haven't looked at him. Fuck he should've kissed you goodbye better.

You feel the cold can on your cheek, waking you up from your daze. You feel sluggish. Craning your neck towards Hobie, you give him a small smile.

"Hey, you're home, early" your eyes slightly glossy.

"Yeah, even villains are too hot to commit crime" he notices your eyes, "when did you last drink water?"

You grab the cold can of soda from his hands, your hands shake trying to open the lid. "Um, I'm about to drink now"

"Shit, sweetheart, that's not enough" he grabs the can from your hands, earning a small "hey" from you. "Let me get you some water, yeah?"

Hobie rushes towards the kitchen, shit how long have you last drank? You must've been too busy taking care of the cats that you forgot about yourself. He doesn't blame you though, those cats are your family. He should've checked in on you on one of his breaks.

Glass in hand, he webs himself towards the living room, so he can get to you faster. You hate it when Hobie leaves his webs inside, but he'll apologize and clean it up later.

Hobie brings the cold glass to your chapped lips, you empty it in a flash, water drips from your chin, he wipes it with his thumb.

"There, you're gonna feel better in a minute" he sighs when color comes back to your lips.

"Can I have the soda now?" You tilt your head prettily.

Hobie opens the can for you before giving it back, "lemme change and I'll get you another glass, yeah?" He rubs the sweat clinging on to your eyebrows, messing up the strands. He chuckles at your unruly brows.

"What's so funny?" You pout against the mouth of the can.

"Nothing" he pecks your forehead, ignoring the sweat. That kiss will have to do for now, he has to make up a lot of kisses for the lack of love he gave you that morning.

Hobie basically tears his suit off him, sweat clings inside, he should shower. He should also try and fix your aircon, but he doesn't want to leave your side, you were on the brink of heat stroke when he arrived, Hobie needs to watch over you till you're better, and the cats need attention too, he still hasn't won over Crowley yet. He's made it his personal mission since he met the rascal.

Crowley settles next to you, the fog clouding your mind slowly dissipating. You sigh with your eyes closed.

"Oi no sleeping" Hobie places another cold glass in your hands in exchange for the soda. He's now wearing an old band shirt that he's kept at your place. Hobie doesn't have shorts, so he just went for his boxers.

He sits next to you, with Crowley in between. Hobie stretched his legs in front of him, his toned legs in full display.

"Here," Hobie hands you a fresh cloth "nevermind c'mere" you happily lean towards him, "you need to take care of yourself too y'know" He dabs the cloth on your neck, drying it.

"I know," you sigh "I was just worried about the cats and you, it must've been hard being in that heat all day"

He hums too engrossed in wiping you dry. You take this as Hobie still being angry at you.

"Are you still mad at me?" You ask in a small voice. wringing your hands anxiously.

"What?" He stops his movements, "I thought you were the one who's angry" he grabs your hands, smoothing the skin with his thumbs, trying to calm your thoughts. "Why would I be mad?"

"Because of the vest thing" you look up at him through your lashes. "I thought, you might've looked at it like I'm trying to change you, I'm not, I like you just the way you are"

Crowley watches the scene with pensive eyes. Crumpet sneezes in her sleep, while teacup curls near Hobie's foot.

"I'm not mad about that, I understand you were looking out for me, and I was too bloody stubborn" he kisses each of your knuckles, his warm breath calms your nerves. You know he isn't good with his words, sometimes opting for showing what he means through his actions.

" 'm not mad either, I shouldn't have pushed you" you lay your head against the couch cushion.

"Nah, I want you to make me, you keep me in line, love. You're right I would've gotten heatstroke with it on" he softly lays your hands on Crowley, he returns to his previous action, wiping at the soft skin on your hip.

"Imagine, I fainted while swinging" he jokes but you glare at him.

"Not funny, Hobart"

"Now, you're mad" He chuckles as he moves the cloth over your nose.

"Augh!" You swat at the piece of wet cloth "that's disgusting!"

"It's your own sweat, lovey" Hobie smiles lopsidedly.

"Next time, wear your trainers instead of boots too?" You ask shyly.

"Alright, for you, yeah"

You nod, finally convincing him "you took care of yourself out there?" You cup his jaw, making circular patterns over his skin with your thumb.

"Yeah, took breaks, hydrated, can't say the same thing for you though"

"I know, I'll do better next time" you sigh, thumping your head on his shoulder.

"Oi" he shakes you with his shoulder "I still owe you that kiss"

You laugh, Crowley perks up at the sound "and I still owe you a hug"

"What are you waiting for? Come up here and get it" a smile creeping on the corner of his lips.

You lean up, head staying on his shoulder, Hobie does all the work, he cranes his neck down as he holds the back of your head, guiding you towards his lips. You sigh into his lips, ignoring the sweat forming on his upper lip.

You cling on to his shirt, slowly moving your arms around him, he kisses deeper.

By some sort of miracle the aircon comes to life, blowing much needed cold air into your flat. You both decide to ignore it, while you climb on his lap, so his neck wouldn't strain. He holds your back, anchoring you.

Crowley meows at the both of you trying to get your attention away from Hobie.

A/N: thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️❤️❤️

*picture above is from pinterest*

My requests are open! Check out my rules.

[ghosttotheparty]

For the dialogue prompts: Steddie + 22. “Yes, you totally can. You can do anything! Um. Do what, exactly?”

also on ao3

"Do you think I could ask Eddie out?"

Robin chokes on her 7-Up, and a little goes up her nose, and it burns, but she still turns to Steve, wide-eyed. Her face is wet with soda, but she doesn't bother to wipe it at she stares at him and he stares back, blank-faced.

"Well?"

"Run that by me one more time?"

"Okay--" He sighs, dropping his head for a moment as he leans over the counter, pushing his pack of Red Vines away. "Look."

"Where did this come from?" Robin bursts, finally wiping her face clean of the soda and the single tear that's fallen from her eye. (It really burned.)

"I-- Okay," Steve says again, sighing heavily. He glances at the door, which is hanging open to combat the summer heat, but it's a slow day today, and the parking lot is empty except for his Beemer and two other cars. "I kind of... really like him." Her eyes widen more and her head tilts. "And I only realized, like, yesterday, so I haven't been keeping this from you, I swear. I just..."

And then Robin is grinning, and she hops over, bouncing up onto the counter next to him and setting her soda down dangerously fast. It almost tips, and Steve stares at it with wide eyes as Robin kicks her feet and looks down at him.

"How'd you realize?" she asks excitedly, rocking back and forth.

"Are you serious?" he questions, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I never got to talk about crushes when I was a kid," she complains, whining and kicking at him. "Let me have this, come on. Tell me."

He sighs heavily, looking around again even though they're alone, and he leans against the counter next to her legs, a smile now teasing at his lips.

"He made me a mixtape," he says, and Robin grins, watching the way his eyes glaze over a little.

"Was it all metal?"

"I mean. Yeah. That's kinda all he listens to," he says, and he's fidgeting with his fingers, twisting them and cracking his knuckles. "But it was... It was good. I liked it."

"Right..." she prompts, nudging his side with her foot again. She lifts her 7-Up to her mouth as he nibbles on his bottom lip, thinking.

"There was one song on it," he says slowly, carefully. "That just... I don't know. It felt... different."

"Different how?"

"Like... Romantic?"

Robin's smile grows until it almost hurts, and she kicks him.

"How does it go?"

"I don't remember," he lies (she can tell), "but part of the chorus says something about, uhm. 'I'm a prisoner of your eyes.'" He pauses, brows furrowing as he thinks. "And there's a part about, like, 'I've locked myself inside your heart and thrown away the key." And, uhm, 'Only time will tell if I can live without you,' or something."

"Oh my god," she says succinctly. He stands up straight, looking at her, exasperated.

"Right? And I can't tell if it's, like, just a good song that he thought I'd like or if he's trying to say something or if he's saying something without meaning to, or..."

"Okay, wait, how did you realize you like him?"

"I just..." He sighs heavily, falling forward so his face is smushed against her thigh, and she pats his head. "Was listening to it and thought about, like. If someone else showed me that song it would be romantic. And then I thought, like 'What if it is romantic?' and I thought I wouldn't mind if it was, coming from him, and then I just... Realized I kinda want it to be."

Robin's heart swells. She runs her fingers through his hair tenderly, and he sighs again.

"You're cool with liking a guy?" she asks after a moment. "When I realized I like girls I totally freaked out."

He shrugs, standing up again and sighing.

"It took a minute," he says a little tiredly, "but... Weirder shit's happened in my life. Liking a guy doesn't seem like the end of the world when you've witnessed and survived the actual end of the world, you know?"

She frowns thoughtfully.

"Yeah. I guess."

"Just... I mean I guess I'm just kind of stressed about, like... What if he doesn't like guys?" he asks, picking up a Red Vine and taking a bite.

"I don't think you have to worry about that," she says without thinking, and his eyes widen as he looks at her, half a Red Vine hanging from his mouth.

"...Huh?"

"...Uh."

He stares for a few more seconds, chewing slowly.

"Do you think he's gay?" he whispers.

"Well, I don't think he's straight."

He swallows and throws the other half of the candy to the counter aggressively.

"Robin."

"Steve."

"Are you serious?"

"Look, I'm not saying I know everything, I'm just saying he seems kinda..." She shrugs weakly.

He takes a breath, one of his hands flapping weakly for a moment as he raises onto his tiptoes and then lowers, calming himself. And Robin thinks maybe they spend too much time together.

"Are you serious?" he says again, and his eyes are wide and shining, and he suddenly looks like he's the kids' ages, like he's just a boy with a crush instead of a man that had to grow up too fast and then never got the chance to slow down. She shrugs, smiling a little. "Do you think I could do it?" he asks almost excitedly, giddily, and God, she loves him.

"Yes, you totally can, you can do anything!" a voice says brightly from the doorway, and they both jump, looking up to find Eddie strolling in, wearing a pair of jeans despite the heat and a white shirt that reads Iron Maiden with some illustration on it. The sleeves are cut off, exposing his tattooed arms and his scars, and Robin knows Steve is probably melting just looking at him as he approaches the front counter and leans over, looking at Steve with shining eyes. "Um. Do what, exactly?"

Steve and Robin look at each other.

Now's your chance.

Should I?

Yes, obviously. Use the breakroom.

What if you're wrong?

I'm not, get out of here.

Eddie waits patiently, looking back and forth between them, smiling almost nervously like he knows they're talking about him, and his face light up and his smile softens when Steve looks at him.

"Uh. Can we talk?"

"Yeah," Eddie says lightly, confusedly. "'Course, what's up?"

"Like..." Steve gestures with a tilt of his head toward the back, and Eddie taps on the counter as he stands up straight, following him.

Robin kicks her feet, smiling at the ground and lifting her 7-Up again.

---

"So."

"You okay?" Eddie asks as the door shuts behind them. He leans against the back of it looking offensively good as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, no, I just... Uhm." Steve takes a deep breath, moving to lean against the wall across from him. The room is laid out so there's a wall in front of the door, so their shoes are almost touching. Eddie's wearing some black Converse today, scuffed and ripped and stained with mud and grease. "Wanted to ask you something."

"Okay," Eddie says slowly. "What might that be?"

"Uhm." Steve takes a breath. "That mixtape you made me."

"Did you listen to it?" Eddie asks, his eyes lighting up.

"Yeah," Steve says, and he can't suppress his smile, looking at him. His hair is tied up in a messy bun on top of his head, probably with a hair tie he stole from Nancy, but there are some pieces falling down around his face, and it looks pretty. Eddie pulls a piece across his face shyly.

"Did you like it?"

Steve blinks at him.

"Yeah," he says breathlessly. "I liked it a lot."

"Really?" Eddie asks, beaming.

"Yeah," Steve says, his smile widening. "There was one song--"

"Which one?"

"I think it was called..." Steve hesitates, watching Eddie carefully. "Prisoner of Your Eyes?"

Eddie's smile falters, and his eyes flicker across Steve's face, his hand lowering the curl he's holding.

"You like that one?" he asks, his voice softer, and Steve almost has all the confirmation he needs.

"Yeah," he says shyly. "...Made me think of you."

Eddie's eyes widen the slightest bit, and he stares at Steve, and in the small space, Steve can practically hear his heartbeat. (And what a beautiful sound that is.) Eddie drops his hand and puts it in his pocket.

"The others didn't?" Eddie says, and Steve scoffs, kicking his foot lightly.

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

Steve looks at him, and Eddie's eyes are boring into his, dark and shiny and Steve could swear he can see the universe in them. Eddie is unblinking, and he looks like he's holding his breath, apprehensive and shy and nervous.

Steve stands up straight off the wall, taking a deep breath as he steps closer. Eddie's eyes somehow widen even more. They're practically the same height, but he still looks like he's looking up at Steve, eyes shining.

"Do you?" Steve asks, his voice soft now, almost whispering.

Eddie's lips part as he looks at him, and he's close enough now for Steve to see each eyelash, to see the strand of hair that's on his face. Steve reaches up to move it out of the way. Eddie's cheeks flush pink.

"Is this what you were talking about with Robin?" he asks, his voice breathy, as he looks across Steve's face, his eyes lingering on his mouth. Steve hesitates, his face warming.

"Uh. I asked her if she thought I could ask you out."

Eddie's eyes snap back to Steve's and flick back and forth between like he's looking for a lie in them, like he's searching for an indication of Steve's honesty.

"Really?" he breathes.

Steve nods, smiling softly at him. He reaches up and tucks a curl behind his ear tenderly, tracing a line down his neck, looking at the scars that match Steve's own.

"What do you think?" he whispers. "Could I?"

"Yeah," Eddie breathes. "I think you could."

Steve suppresses a smile, moving closer and touching Eddie's face, caressing his cheeks, tracing the scar that's on his left cheek, rough and pink and a little silvery and beautiful.

"Will you go out with me?" he asks softly, disregarding the second part of the question, which clarifies that going out for them isn't the same as it is for other couples, because they have to pretend to be friends, because Steve can't bring him flowers, because he can't kiss him in the parking lot. But for now, at this moment... they can pretend.

"Yes," Eddie says, and his hands finally find Steve's waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of his vest. "I'll go out with you."

"Yeah?" Steve asks weakly, smiling, and Eddie's eyes flicker across his face again, his fingers tightening on his waist.

"Yeah," he says. "I wanna."

"Shit," Steve breathes. "Okay."

"Okay," Eddie says softly.

They stare at each other for a moment, just breathing. Touching each other. Holding each other.

"Will you kiss me, please?" Eddie bursts after a moment.

"Can I?" Steve asks, his heart pounding, excited, and Eddie pulls at his waist impatiently.

"Please," he says adamantly. "I've wanted to kiss you for fucking ages, I'm begging you, Stevie."

Steve beams so brightly that his face hurts, and he moves closer, setting a hand on Eddie's chest and pressing him into the door.

Eddie's eyes are already almost closed, and he's lifting his chin up for him, lips parted, and Steve wonders how he could have gone this long without realizing he likes men, because Eddie is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You're fucking gorgeous," Steve whispers when their lips brush, and Eddie's hands tighten again as he pulls at his vest.

Steve kisses him before he can say anything.

Eddie gasps and clutches at his back as Steve presses him into the door harder, and Steve is so glad his life's worked out the way it has, because somehow he has Eddie Munson up against a door, kissing him like his life depends on it, and he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Steve holds his face tenderly, tilting his head as he kisses him again, and he can feel Eddie's pulse hammering against his fingertips as he presses them into his skin under his jaw. Steve smiles, catching Eddie's lip between his teeth, and Eddie lets out a breathy hum.

"Do you wanna spend the night at my place tonight?" Steve asks breathlessly when they part, panting, and Eddie kisses him desperately before he answers. His hands are pressing into the small of his back. It feels good.

"Yeah, obviously," he says softly into his mouth, licking at his lip. Steve grins.

"Cool," he whispers. He pulls back just enough to look at him, at the way his lips are red and shiny now, the way his eyes are a little glazed over. "'Cause I got, like, twenty years of repressed bisexuality to work through and I kinda want you there for it."

"Oh, fuck. Okay, yeah, yes."

---

They're taking too long. Robin helps a customer, the only one that comes by, and she helps herself to Steve's Red Vines, nibbling them as she watches the movie they put on earlier even though she can't really follow along because she got a little distracted earlier.

She looks over at the breakroom, sighing, bored, and then she sticks a Red Vine in her mouth, stepping cheerfully around the counter to the breakroom, where she pauses, listening in case they're talking. She just hears a soft, breathy hum, and she grins, her fist hovering above the door before she knocks hard.

"Jesus fucking--"

"Robin!"

She cackles happily, throwing her head back.

"I'm bored," she says loudly, and Steve calls back, "Okay, well, I'm not, so fuck off."

She groans loudly, falling against the door, and she hears Eddie

They emerge after another few minutes, their hair touseled and cheeks red, and Eddie is grinning smugly.

"Rob," Steve says before he's even at the counter. "You're staying at Nancy's tonight."

"Yeah, I figured."

dialogue prompts!! ❧ buy me a coffee // check out my commissions ☙

[blamemma]

🔀 max/daniel/scotty 😵‍💫 whatever combination you want lol

MMXX - XII - Diplo & Rhye; you're moving inside me so softly // the faith is something new // so many ways you're fragile, coming to me - mainly max/daniel, mentions of past daniel/scotty, 886 words

Daniel cries the first time they have sex. Max keeps on trying to move Daniel around, get him on his back, so that they're face to face. Max continues saying shit like "wanna see how beautiful you look" and "please Daniel, let me see you", but Daniel isn't ready to give himself away like that.

"Like this Max. It's better." Daniel insists, grinding hips hips into the mattress below him, attempting to dispel that sinking feeling in his gut.

Him and Scotty had never done it face to face. The closest they'd gotten was in front of a mirror, watching. They'd only kissed once. A drunken accident in a lift, both of them towing the line of danger. Daniel did it to protect himself; Scotty did it because--he'll never know.

But Max, Max is doing it because -- Max tells him over dinner that he likes where this is going. Max looks at him fondly whenever he comes over and the cats act less scared of him every time. Max texts him when Alpha Tauri post a photo of him walking into the paddock, tells Daniel that he likes his outfit, or that he thinks he's handsome, or that it is a good picture.

Max tells him all this stuff because they're building the foundations of something. But here, now, Daniel-- he can't. He nestles his head further into the crook of his arm, breathes deep, in through his nose, deep down into his lungs, out through his mouth, and just lets Max map his back with kisses as he presses in, deep. Daniel concentrates on Max's breathing, his stuttering moans, lets himself feel it all. He grimaces when Max talks, says "you feel so good Daniel" or "made for me". When Max burrows his hand between Daniel and the mattress and tugs on Daniel's dick, it's over embarrassingly fast; but it's good. It's good. He's sated.

The second time, it's slightly easier. They had survived the first time, Max kissed behind his ear softly, then his cheek, before capturing his lips, had left Daniel for mere minutes before coming back with a hot flannel, wiping him clean, before crawling under the covers with him.

After Daniel and Scotty had fucked the first time, Scotty had slapped Daniel's arse, hard, said "fuck, that was good mate, we should do that again sometime" and left immediately, not even bothering to pull the duvet back over Daniel.

Daniel still can't look at Max, fearful of what he'll see, scared of what he'll feel, but the second time, he lets himself listen to the words Max says, lets them wash over him, repeats them to himself in his head like positive mantras. Good boy, so tight, perfect.

The third time, Daniel lets Max put him on his back. The two glasses of red wine at dinner help with Daniel's confidence, but more than anything, Daniel knows now that Max will look after him.

Daniel swallows thickly around nothing and curses himself for denying himself Max like this for so long. Tendrils of blonde hair everywhere, strong muscular arms holding himself up, bright blue eyes looking at Daniel like he's in--, the brightest smile directed pointedly at Daniel.

"There you are." Max says jokingly. Daniel can't say anything, can only hoist himself upwards and capture Max's mouth, pulling him back down with him so he can feel that unrelenting pressure once more. He wraps his legs tight around Max, pushing and pulling. When Max finally pushes in, a slow relenting slide, masked behind Max kissing his jaw, his neck, his lips, Daniel doesn't hide.

He lets his back arch off the bed, lets moan after moan spill out his lips, scrapes his chipped nails down Max's back. Runs his hands through Max's hair, down over his back, soothing over the marks he's already left there, hands splayed over his arse cheeks, massaging them, pushing him closer and closer, deeper and deeper into Daniel.

He hates that he's denied himself this for so long. A Max like this who wholeheartedly gives himself to Daniel.

He thought maybe, once, during the whole mess of it all, that he was in love with Scotty. Daniel thought that maybe, when other people flirted with him and he politely declined their numbers, it was because he was harbouring feelings for Scotty. As he lays here now, under Max, staring at his beauty and strength before him, the thudding in his chest is new and exciting, and it won't go away and this time--he knows he didn't love Scotty.

Daniel has faith this time. That this is right. This is good.

"I love you," Daniel says. He hates the timing, hates that it's now mid-fuck, when Max has done so much more for him than simply fuck him well.

Max stills, pauses, and stares right at Daniel. His blue eyes water and Daniel moves quick, raising his arm to swipe underneath Max's eye, stopping the tears before they even begin to fall. He doesn't ever want to see Max cry. Max laughs. Big and bold, face lit up with it, no emotion hiding at all.

"I love you Daniel." He says back. "I love you." He repeats against Daniel's lips as he moves to kiss him again.

On the third time, they both cry.

[thevioletcaptain]

🩲😳🫦

Dean’s not staring. He’s definitely not staring.

He’s so consciously and deliberately not staring that he sinks down a little lower in the driver’s seat of the Impala, just in case Cas happens to glance over and see him from where he’s standing like some kind of calendar model on the opposite side of the Smith Center Public Swimming Pool.

Not because he thinks he’s doing anything wrong, though. Cas is hot, and Dean knows that Cas is hot. He's long past having a crisis about the fact that he wants the guy. But he's off limits. He can't quite remember why he'd decided that he was off limits, but he's sure he had a good reason for it.

So he's not staring. And he's not hiding, either.

It's just that Dean doesn’t want Cas to see his face through the windshield, all distorted by the glare of the summer sun, and mistakenly think that he is staring.

Because he’s not.

But. Well. It’s kind of hard not to look, is the thing.

And looking isn’t staring. It’s just — seeing. With his eyes. Which he kind of can’t help but do. And is that a crime? Is it a crime to see?

Anyway, Cas is the one who decided to buy himself a neon green Speedo for the adult swimming lessons he’s insisted on taking now that he’s human again, and it’s hardly Dean’s fault if his eye is naturally drawn to bright colors.

That’s just… evolution. He thinks he read that somewhere, once. Survival instincts, ingrained over countless generations and hardwired into his monkey brain, so that he won’t accidentally put poisonous tree frogs in his mouth or whatever.

Not that he's letting his monkey brain take control right now. Not that he’s thinking of putting his mouth anywhere near Cas’ —

“You can’t park here.”

He jumps, his forearm pressing hard into the horn, and half a dozen people — Cas included — all turn to stare at him from the poolside.

Now they're staring. Not just looking. Definitely staring. Dean knows the difference.

Cas lifts his hand and waves.

It’s probably Dean’s imagination, given the distance, but he’s pretty sure he can see a bead of water — maybe sweat — trickling down his side. It starts near his armpit. Trails down over his ribs.

As Dean watches — looks, really, just happens to see — Cas pushes his fingers through his hair, and shakes his head, and an arc of droplets sparkles through the air around him before he drops his hand back down and wipes it off on his thigh. And now his thigh is wet again.

Who gave him the right to fucking glisten like that? Who the hell does he think he is?

“Sir?”

Dragging his eyes away from Cas, Dean glances up at the woman ducking down to peer in at him through his open window. She’s wearing a navy blue polo with the pool’s logo, and she’s missed a spot with her sunscreen, so there’s an oddly shaped patch of red in the middle of her forehead. The pinched-mouth expression on her face suggests that perhaps she's spoken to him more times than he’d noticed. He shakes his head a little.

“Huh, sorry, what?”

“You can’t park here,” she says, tone harsher than before, and points up at the staff only sign he’d missed when he arrived.

In his defense, the sign is kind of dull, and decidedly not brightly colored, and by the time he’d been pulling into the space, he’d already been kind of distracted by Cas and his glow-in-the-dark-and-the-daytime-too crotch.

Some part of him — the monkey brain, probably — desperately wants his eyes to flick back over toward the pool to see if Cas has decided to do any more post-swim stretching. He valiantly fights it. The effort uses enough brain power that he barely remembers that he's probably supposed to respond to the woman talking to him.

“Oh,” he says, finally.

She waits. Raises her brow. He figures he should say more.

“I’m not actually— I’m not staying. I’m just here to pick someone up. I mean, heh, that sounded wrong. I’m not trying to pick someone up, like, trying to score. I’m just here to pick up a guy. My friend. In my car. To drive him home.”

The woman’s eyes narrow a little, and she half opens her mouth like she’s not quite sure how to respond to his rambling but fully intends to, but before she can get a word out Cas is there, pulling open the passenger door. The hinges creak.

The scent of chlorine and sunscreen and Cas floods Dean's senses.

He glances over, no longer able to force himself not to, and has to bite down on his own lip to keep from letting out a deeply embarrassing noise when he finds him spreading his towel out on the seat so he can sit down, still wearing his Speedo. He drops the string bag with his change of clothes into the footwell and grins at Dean as he climbs inside.

"Don't worry, I won't get your car wet," he says.

Dean's brain is making a strange buzzing sound.

"Uhuh," he says.

“Sir,” the woman cuts in again.

Dean doesn’t even look at her, this time. Just waves a hand in the air and starts the engine as Cas buckles in. Pulls the seatbelt taut across his lap.

"You need to move."

"Yeah, we're going," Dean says.

“See you next week, Doreen,” Cas tells her cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Dean says, but his eyes don’t leave Cas. Maybe he is staring, just a little. “Maybe I’ll come, too.” [written for this prompt game] [find me on ao3 as imogenbynight 💚]

[fortheunsungheros]

𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒏𝑭𝒊𝒄 (𝑨𝑼)

*For clarification, Y/N was in the car at the time of the Curtis parents death. She survived though, with only a few injuries*

TW: Mentions of blood, car accident, death, small panic attack

1st Person Y/N POV:

Everything is coming back. The car is on the train tracks. I see my mother. I see her platinum blonde hair infested with a crimson liquid.

Blood.

The same hair my mother had just brushed out of her face was now different. Five minutes changed everything. My father is slumped over the steering wheel. The same steering wheel where he taught Darry how to drive is where my dad's lifeless body lay.

I feel my head pound so hard as if someone was knocking on a steel door. My left side aches in an unexplainable yet excruciating way. I taste a metallic sensation in my mouth. It reminds me of when I was little and lost my first tooth after Soda bonked my head into a wall. I hear the sound of a police siren wailing. Wait, it's getting closer.

I desperately try to sit up to help my parents but my body overpowers itself. I realize my right thigh has a huge gash letting out an immense amount of blood. My mouth cannot help but wince in pain. A single tear comes sliding down my cheek followed by many more. My own tear lands on my thigh and I yell out in agony. My body begins to shake in fear.

The sirens, they're coming closer. The repetitive wailing plays in my head like the nursery rhyme my mother used to sing to me. I suddenly see red and blue flashing lights. "Help" is all I can mutter. The emergency service lights begin to fade away. What are they doing?

"Y/N....Y/N....wake up you're having a nightmare." A voice says to me as they gently shake my shoulders.

I sit up in a panic, a cold sweat overfills my body to an uncomfortable degree. I glance my surroundings. It's my bedroom. Another tear falls from my cheek as I raise my hand to wipe it away. I look at over at my bedside. There kneels Darry with a remarkably soft demeanor.

"Hey, you were calling for help in your sleep again kid. You haven't done that in a while. Did something happen?" My brother asks protectively as he cracks his neck.

"No...it's just been bad recently... I can't stop getting back in that car, I'm sorry that you had to get out of bed Dar." I say softly as Darry wipes another tear that slips off of my cheek.

"Hey, none of that sorry shit Y/N. I'm your older brother, it's mine and Soda's job to protect you. Well, technically Pony too but I know you don't like to bring up that fact." Darry says with a small chuckle.

I follow his laugh with my own, as I glance at my nightstand and notice my clock reads 4:27 am.

"Dar, don't you have work tomorrow?" I ask inquiringly.

"Yeah kiddo, I do. But I was thinking about calling off. I haven't called off in God knows when and I need a break." He says letting out a sigh. He runs a hand through his short chestnut hair and sighs once more.

We sit in a comfortable silence for a while until he finally speaks up, "What about you sleep in my bed tonight, just like we did when we were kids? It might make you feel better." He says to me in a comforting tone.

"Yeah, that would be nice." I say in reply as a happy grin paints my face.

We both get up and walk to his bedroom that lays just down the hallway. In a matter of seconds, we

have arrived in his room. He allows me to settle into the bed first. The familiar aroma of cheap cologne and a sweaty teenage boy encapsulates my senses immediately as I hit the pillow.

Seconds after I lay down, the opposing side of the bed sinks down. Darry lazily throws a protective arm over my stomach. With his other hand, he gives me a gentle noogie on the head.

"Hey. I love you kid. You're my favorite sibling I've got. You're never annoying, well most of the time you're not." Darry says with a laugh.

I mirror his actions and begin to close my eyes. We lay like this for what seems like hours until the silence is broken like an egg in the morning hours.

"Y/N, you awake?" I respond by shaking my head lethargically. "What do you say we go to that new bowling alley that opened up with the gang tomorrow? I heard that the place is great." Darry asks me.

"Of course that sounds fun!" I say with as much energy as possible for 5 o'clock in the morning.

After just a few minutes, both of us are sound asleep - without nightmares in sight.

[deramin2]

I love how fucked up last night was (Critical Role C3 E63). There's another timeline where they reconciled their differences through their brief friendship. But maybe not for those specific people in their places of trauma after those last few days and seeing each other's actions.

On the one hand, it's justifiable because he was trying to do the same to them and likely would not have stopped. They started the battle saying they were just going to knock him out. But on the other, it was not necessary in that there could have been other paths.

That's what's so good about it as a story: the characters know this, openly started it, & they'll have to carry it questioning it. It's going to eat at them. It scares them to know they're capable of it. It feels like losing an idealistic part of themselves.

Because ultimately it doesn't matter if it was the totally optimized gamed out best solution. The characterization is how in that moment it felt like the only answer. The only way to not be hurt further physically and emotionally. A need for control.

They're going to have to figure out what they tell their friends when they meet again. How much they share (they'll likely omit the good times). Will they keep to themselves out of shame or the desire to not burden anyone else? Push it away into silence?

Last night changed them. It changed how they felt about themselves and their bond. It changed how they view the current conflict. What they're committed to and why. Who they think they're up against at all levels. What the other side motivation is.

Orym kept the locket because he wanted to believe those followers were misled and could be saved. But now? Fuck that. He's seen that connection isn't possible. It will be used to stab them in the back. To be another ambush like Zephra and try again.

There's no coming back from this for any of them. Stopping Ludinus means stopping his true believers. All of them. They can't be trusted and they don't want to be saved. They already believe they're saving themselves and the world by unleashing Predathos.

And who's to say if that's right or just? Real people are varied and I'm sure many could be persuaded to stop. Orym's been operating by trying to see the good in people. But right now he's thinking, "When people show you who they are, believe them."

Laudna has resisted being the monster she's been treated as. The monster Delilah is & encourages her to become. She's resists what her powers are bound to. She's not that. But last night she was. She was everything Delilah promised she could be & it felt good.

Ashton is processing how his village and his family were wiped out by true believers like this. A destructive cult where many got themselves killed. And he just helped one of them who's slipping back in that thinking. He can't escape this conflict.

And Prism can't turn her back either knowing this is what they're up against. And this is her chance to change the circumstances she's been being smothered under. Finally have her skill be appreciated. (Beau would be proud.)

There were no easy answers last night. No simple right or wrong. People caught in a conflict they are so small against & just trying to survive the night. It's a war, & war is not a noble and righteous thing. But it's sold to different groups as necessary.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

So Apparently Travelogues Are Back?

Ok, so saying "The best part of this book was watching Kordas sort the logistics of moving fifteen thousand of people across a hostile wilderness" is not a great sell of this book, but it is HONEST. The worldbuilding, characters, and monsters are excellent, but TBH, what made my brain go *happy chemicals* was the logistics. Your girl likes a good travelogue, and that travel writing aspect is a LOT of why Throne of Jade is my favorite Temeraire novel and it's why I thoroughly enjoyed this book. So let's talk Into the West.

This is your usual SPOILER WARNING for spoilers for this book and the previous one below the break.

So, having murdered the crap out of the emperor and watched an earth elemental basically enact the lava portion of the dinosaur section of Fantasia on the former capital, Kordas and the Valdemarans regroup on the banks of Crescent Lake. Some choose to return to the remains of the empire, but for everyone else, it's time to get moving. Crescent Lake can't support all of them, so they have to take their barges and head downriver to find a new home.

And as anyone who has ever done a group project in school knows, trying to wrangle 4-7 people is a goddamn nightmare; Kordas has to wrangle FIFTEEN THOUSAND. In barges. With bare minimum resources. In unknown, hostile territory. If I was lukewarm on The Plan in Beyond, I was fully here to watch how the pulled it off in this book, because just the starting point was already feeling overwhelming and nigh impossible.

Then we get to add, at various points in the journey, the following fuckery:

various lords and factions among the Valdemarans getting shitty and either being firmly called on the carpet or cut loose (but people always had a choice whether to go with their lords or stay with Kordas, so there was no screwing the peasants because a noble had a hissy fit, which I appreciate)

Wyrsa (for those of you who know, you KNOW, and I won't ruin that for those of you who are reading Valdemar chronologically rather than in publication order)

A giant bear-lizard hybrid monster that was the result of rogue magic

Giant-ass mage-created "terror birds" with wings and four legs

A very angry forest

A Boar of Unusual Size (can we make BOUS happen? Is that cool, Princess Bride fans?)

A river monster and a rogue pig that upsets the balance between the river and forest monsters

And that's just the stuff that actively tries to murder the Valdemarans. There are also issues with supply and demand, morale, the *SUPER TOO LIGHTLY SKATED OVER* mage conspiracy in the book that has been leveraging foreseers and empaths to influence Kordas's choices throughout. And no, the "you asked for help and we're what you got" DOES NOT MAKE IT OK. Especially not when the conversation gets wiped from Kordas's head afterward. This was skated over way too quickly, and the ETHICS of this would make Herald Thalia lose her goddamn mind.

We also get a bit of a subplot with Delia being assigned to a forward scout group and learning her own value...but she gets assigned to the scout post at least 50% to get her and her crush away from Kordas, so I was still not loving this.

What I do love is the Hawkbrothers, and we finally get them in this book. The Tayledras are wonderful, enigmatic, playful people and their vales are just stunning. I have never not loved me a Hawkbrother, and the hertasi are also just darling. This also sets up the long-term relationship between Valdemar and the Tayledras, which comes up from time to time throughout the life of the kingdom.

So overall, I think that Into the West is the best of the Founding of Valdemar books. It's never not gripping, the mix of character and plot is exactly on point, and if the book is a little too aggressive about people "being useful," well, they're in a survival situation and frankly it could have been a lot worse. Plus, we're basically in the Pelagirs, so when stuff gets weird, it gets REALLY weird. And really weird is often very fun. So I do recommend this book.

[catt-leya]

Can I request something very personal for Rick? Something where he’s close to Reader and when he gets super close with her he finds out she has a Medusa tattoo? Medusa tattoos are for people who survived sexual abuse if you don’t know. Maybe he gets extra protective over her? He holds her and tells her stuff like “I’ll never let that happen to you ever again.” Can be smutty or not, only if you’re comfy with that. 🥺

I got a few other tattoos with a deeper meaning behind them but that would be too much haha, maybe he sees more on her body the more she shows to him and all of them fascinate and hurt him when he hears the stories behind them. Doesn’t have to be detailed you know, maybe for the ending if this makes sense lol.

Not Broken (Pt.1 ?) || Rick Grimes

I want to thank you for trusting me to write something so personal for you and I am thinking about writing a second part to this that would be 18+ 💗

I can not get away from them and I hope that I have approached the subject so respectfully that everyone (especially you) feel comfortable 👉🏼👈🏼

Impatiently, I wait with Tyreese for Carol and hopefully the others from our group.

It is a miracle that we can even count on the possibility of finding someone from our old group again. Since we were forced to leave the prison behind, we have not been able to find anyone.

Until now.

Now there is hope that Carol will return with someone we know.

Maybe even with Rick.

While Tyreese sits relaxed on a chair in front of the small cabin we've temporarily thawed our headquarters, I pace up and down the porch, glancing every now and then at the woods where Carol disappeared seemingly an eternity ago.

Nervously, I sigh, "We shouldn't have let her go alone, even if she insisted. We should have gone with her, Tyreese."

Good-naturedly, he looks up at me, "Why don't you sit with me? She won't come back any faster if you run your blisters."

I brush my hair out of my face and snort, "And what about that guy in there?"

I point to the door of the cabin where that loopy guy went off on me, but Tyreese doesn't make a face as he replies, "I promise you I took care of him and there's nothing we can do but wait for Carol."

Still far from satisfied, I trust his word and sit down on the narrow bench next to him, "She's long gone. Do you think she found any of us?"

I bite my lower lip and feel his gaze on me, "I guess you mean do I think she'll find Rick."

I quickly open my mouth "I-" and then close it again as I notice my cheeks flush red.

I've been on good terms with Rick for a while now, and briefly I toyed with the idea that it might become something more, but that's not for me, and now I can't even be sure he's alive.

The silence between us is stifling and when I think I can't take it anymore, Tyreese says softly, "He means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

I try to suppress my tears and just nod, because words could never express what I feel for Rick. He's the first man I've let get this close to me since I had to learn what men can be capable of.

"You will meet again." His voice is so soft and loving that a tear does come loose and slide down my cheek.

I close my eyes and try not to think about the way Rick pulled me into his arms and whispered with a suppressed laugh, "You do realize you have your top on backwards, right?"

How he worked at his pigs while I read in the grass and kept catching him looking over at me. As soon as our eyes met, he'd always grin dopily at me, wiping the sweat from his face.

I notice more and more tears rolling down my cheeks, that's when I hear, as if through a veil, Tyreese say, "They're here."

A jolt goes through me and I'm on my feet faster than I would have given myself credit for.

At first I only see Carol and walk down the two flights of stairs from the porch seeing a small group of people following her.

Hectically I look from one to the other and there I see him.

It feels like a lifetime since I last saw his beautiful blue eyes.

For a brief moment he just stares at me and I can't help but do the same.

It feels like the whole world stands still until he lets the rifle slide off his shoulder and runs toward me.

I don't even get to lift my arms before he's already on me, yanking me into his.

Perhaps even a tad tighter than necessary, he presses me against him and I hear his shuffle.

Completely overwhelmed, I also stop trying to hold back the tears and gasp softly, "You're alive, oh God you're here."

His fingers dig into my skin even harder and panic rises in me briefly, but it subsides when he pushes me slightly away from him and I see the tears mirroring mine.

For a split second he looks at my lips and without me being able to react, he leans over and kisses me desperately on the mouth.

I'm far too surprised to return it, and as I awaken from my stupor, Rick breaks away from me and pulls me to his chest.

My ear is on his chest and I can hear his heart beating fast as he mumbles hoarsely, "Forgive me."

I don't know what he's apologizing for at all.

Whether it's the kiss, or that in prison he didn't manage to stay with me like he promised.

But I don't care either because I feel his warmth and know he's with me.

I don't know how long we stand there like that until Glenn quietly clears his throat, "We shouldn't stay here. The fire will attract more walkers."

Sighing, Rick breaks away from me and gives me another quick look before the warmth in it disappears and he becomes our calculating leader.

But despite everything, he doesn't leave my side and keeps me with him all the time with his arm around my waist.

When I think about the fact that in the past I wouldn't have even let a man who is clearly taller and heavier than me pull me aside even by the shoulder so that I wouldn't get knocked over by a bicycle, I can hardly believe that I am relaxed and let Rick grab me by the waist and push me around.

Faster than expected, everyone is ready and we start moving.

Rick doesn't dare let go of me and I gladly push myself even closer to his side. I trust him blindly and can just let myself fall with him.

I hear Daryl say something to Rick that I don't quite understand and he turns back slightly to look at him, his big hand slipping a little and staying on my butt, immediately I tense up.

It's not intentional, but no man has touched me this way in ages, which doesn't mean I don't like it.

In fact, Rick notices right away that I'm no longer leaning loosely against him and turns back to me, "Are you okay?"

Rick doesn't seem to notice where his hand is at all, or it's simply not a big deal to him.

I force myself to look into his eyes and my heart sits out as I see the love and concern in them. Sighing, I lower my gaze and say softly, "Can we talk?"

Quietly he replies, "Whatever you want" and then calls out louder to Daryl, "We're going to go into the woods for a bit, but we'll be right back."

Without comment, he slides his hand up into the small of my back and leads me to the row of trees at the edge of the path.

I keep walking until I look back and can't make out our group, then break away from Rick to face him.

I hesitantly look up from his jacket to his beard, which is longer than I remember, up to his beautiful eyes, "I need to talk to you."

I see him straighten up a bit and take a deep breath, "I'm sorry I just kissed you like that. Forgive me."

I swallow, "That's not the point."

He tilts his head, "It's not?"

Nervously, I wrestle my fingers, "Well…maybe it kind of is."

I just can't look him in the face and stare at his boots, which have seen better days, as he meekly repeats, "I'm sorry I caught you off guard like that. Please…don't be mad."

I've never heard Rick talk so submissively and it hurts my heart that I'm the cause of his insecurity, so I turn my back to him and quietly say, "Take my shirt off."

It's dead silent behind me and I don't even think I hear him breathe, so I repeat a little louder, "The shirt Rick. Take it off me."

I stare off into the woods and hear the leaves rustle under his boots as he takes a small step toward me and asks hoarsely, "You want me to take your clothes off?"

If the situation weren't tense enough, I'd laugh.

I can picture what's going on in his head, and I don't even blame him.

Sighing, I nod, "Yeah."

Again, a few seconds pass before he takes another step toward me and I can feel his body behind me.

His presence is incredible and I feel so incredibly small with him at my back.

I wince slightly as I feel his hands on the hem of my shirt and his knuckles graze my bare skin.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes as the cool air brushes more and more of my exposed skin.

Once the shirt is level with my bra I say softly, "Hold it like this and look at my left side."

I have to smile as I can literally see him frowning and biting his lower lip, not knowing what I'm getting at.

When he asks, "Can I touch it?", I know he's spotted my tattoo and I nod.

Reverently, his calloused fingers glide over my soft skin and I hear myself say, "Medusa tattoos are for people who survived sexual abuse. For me it was a few years ago. I was in a bar with a friend… "I catch my breath and Rick takes another step towards me so that I can feel his chest against my back with every breath and I continue, "There were two men and I couldn't do anything about it…I was alone."

Rick puts his flat hand over my tattoo and I can hear the suppressed anger in his voice: "'ll never let that happen to you ever again."

His loving touch of his hand, makes me tremble and even though I don't want it, I force myself to say, "I know that. But I don't want you to get caught up in something that will never be. I don't want you to look at me the way you did right before you kissed me."

He lowers his head and whispers in my ear, "How did I look at you?"

My heart hammers in my chest and I feel my most intimate part respond to Rick, though I hardly thought it possible, "Like you loved me."

I can't believe I just said it out loud.

Tense, I wait for his response, which he breathes a moment later, "I do."

Unwillingly, I lean against him and force myself to say what I should have said a while ago, "I don't want to impose myself on you, and before you say I don't, hear me out to the end."

I rest my head against his shoulder and finally look him in the eye again, "I trust you or I wouldn't let you touch me like that or even be comfortable with you alone, but that's all I can do. I can't sleep with you, Rick."

He doesn't break eye contact for a second as he says, "I don't care."

Somehow I knew he was going to say that and I smile weakly at him, "You say that now, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep with you and I don't want to put that on you. I know you'd love to fuck me and goodness it's only natural."

Again he bites his lower lip, "I don't need this."

I don't know where the courage comes from, but I press my butt a little harder against him and as I expected, he's hard and moves his hips away the moment I touch him and I raise my eyebrows challengingly, "Like I said, it's natural and I'm not going to force you to abstain, Rick."

His hand slides to my hip, causing my shirt to fall back into place, only now I'm much cooler than before with his hands on my bare skin.

Rick just looks at me and I already think I'm getting what I asked him to get.

We will remain friends, but never more.

Never did I expect my heart to break, even though it's the right thing to do.

Silently he just looks at me and then shakes his head as if he needs to sort out his thoughts, "Do you love me?"

Blinking, I look at him and answer without hesitation, "Yes, I love you."

Determined, he turns me around to face him and says in a firm voice, "Then I don't care. You're not forcing me to do anything at all because I want to. I want you, with everything that comes with it."

Lightly he winks at me, "And I still have my hands if things get rough."

Incredulous, I stare at him, "You…what?"

Gently, he strokes a few strands of hair on my forehead with one hand, "You heard me right. You've been through a lot and you're incredibly strong. If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you and I'm going to make it my personal mission to ensure just that."

Incredulous, I breathe, "Even if it means no sex?"

Smiling, he pulls me into his arms, "You make it sound like I'm a libidinous teenager. You are more important to me than sex could ever be. So, please be my girlfriend."

Actually, I want to laugh, but mixed in with the laughter is a sob followed by tears.

My whole body trembles in his arms and I enjoy how his hand strokes my back again and again.

Gently, he holds me in his arms and I can hardly believe my luck when he whispers, "You just always have to tell me when I should go too far and when you don't like something."

Sniffling, I nod into his chest and hear him ask softly, "Do you have any more tattoos?"

Again, I nod and am even grateful when he hums in his deep voice, "I'd like to see them sometime, whenever you're ready."

And at those words, I can hardly believe my luck at having given my heart to this man.

@hail-yourselves @bean-is-reading @chanlvr2 @criminalwalkingsupernatural @sunshinevirus @toxic-ink @kingtwhiddleston

(If anyone else would like to be tagged, just let me know 🤭)

[moongothic]

(It's actually for 4 hours from official release on shuesa).

But, do you think Croc know about "Vegapunk press release" and try to find pluton? Do you think pluton actually some ship like noa or something?

It was revealed and confirmed to us all the way back in Chapter 352 that Pluton is a WARSHIP (thus there being blueprints for it that were passed down from shipwright to shipwright on the shipwright island)

We don't know how much Crocodile knows about Pluton and whether or not he realized it was a ship and not just a magic gun, though personally I wouldn't be surprised if he did know it was a ship.

This got a bit longer than I wanted it to so I'm putting it under the cut, there be chapter 1113 spoilers so be warned

Now it has been revealed to us that the OP world is sinking into the ocean, but what we can't say for sure if this is a "natural phenomena", or if it's something the Gorosei and Imu are allowing to happen if not straight up trying to cause.

Like there has been some hinting through out OP so far to suggest that the sea level might be rising and may have been higher in the past. Many have pointed out how multiple locations through out the series have been built high up (like Alubarna, Water 7, even the Flower Capital in Wano, parts of Dressrosa, etc) in a way that could survive high water levels (especially strange in cases like Alubarna mind you) (also see the Tenryuubito living on top of the Red Line far far above where the ocean could reach them, a place that was once the home of the Lunarians). Additionally there have been nods to the idea that the ocean as we know it has been changing on its own for years; the ocean creeping in on the giant river in Alabasta, the Agua Lagunas getting worse and worse each year, and although it happened at the same time Lulutia was destroyed we did see the ocean creeping in on Kamabakka Queendom and taking away their sandy beaches. There's also something to be said about all the natural structures through out the OP worls that just seem to spout near infinite amounts of water constantly into the world (Water 7 and Wano)

I'm sure we're going to find out in the next chapter which it is, but either way, there's probably two options here; that either the sea level rising is a natural disaster that has happened in the past and is merely about to happen again like an ice age, or the World Government is somehow behind it.

And yeah, with stuff like this

It's kind of natural for people to jump to the assumption that the Gorosei may want to commit genocide with a biblical Great Flood to maintain their status quo. My thing is that if they had the ability to just flush the unwanted down the drain whenever they want, then why bother wanting to create new ancient weapons like the Mother Flame, why bother wanting to obtain Robin and potentially the ancient weapons that're already out there? Like they won't need those weapons if they can just cause a flood whenever

To me, it'd make more sense if the coming flood is an unavoidable natural disaster, one the Gorosei know is coming, and they're just going to let it happen. It'll just help them get rid of the unwanted easier, and the survivors will be easy to then control and rule over with Buster Calls and whatever weapons of mass destruction they might have; "the Great Cleansing" V. Nusjuro mentioned here being them actively wiping out people and islands for their own benefit instead of a flood doing it for them

But who knows, maybe the flood is something the Gorosei are making happen (or maybe they have the power to prevent it but intentionally aren't doing anything to stop it). Like I said, I'm sure we're finding out next chapter.

ANYWAYS, BACK TO CROCODILE

So we don't know what his deal is. He wanted enough military might to oppose the World Government, but what for? Most One Piece villians have wanted gigantic militaries for themselves, some because they want to become Pirate King and know they need that much power to fulfill that dream, others for seemingly no reason.

But why did Crocodile want enough power to oppose the WG?

Who the fuck knows, it's a giant mystery.

Like I doubt Crocodile wanted Pluton just to survive the flood on a big ol' ship though, like there's plenty of ships out there and with his money surely he'd be able to custom build a giant ship if he wanted to. But if Crocodile had somehow found out and knew about the coming flood, and if it is somehow caused by the WG, then sure, if he wanted to obtain Pluton to stop the WG that could add up. Or maybe he wanted the weapon just to get revenge on Whitebeard and become Pirate King

Literally could be anything, no way to know what, we just have to wait and see (=torture)

[radiosummons]

Not that Dave Filoni or Jon Favreau haven't said some weird shit related to Star Wars lore /The Mandalorian before, but I'm kind of starting to question whether a lot of the reactions people have had towards the things they've been saying in interviews lately are maybe just a tad bit off?

Not really in regards to them saying they have no ending in mind for The Mandalorian (which, yeah, I'm dealing with that little factoid in my own way), but more so the reactions people have been having to them talking about Ahsoka and Luke.

Because as wild as saying something like "Ahsoka and Luke technically aren't Jedi" is .... from what I've gathered it was just them having a nerdy discussion about SW lore, not too disimilar from the conversations I see play out here on Tumblr and like those nerdy talks that I have with my own friends. You know, something not to actually to be taken completely at face value or some new law of canon. But more so just a casual nerdy discussion of a particular piece of fandom lore.

Like, no shit, everyone agrees that Ahsoka and Luke are Jedi. And I genuinely don't think Favroni were trying to imply that they weren't. But maybe more so that they were making jokes or humoring the idea that in the most "traditional Jedi sense" neither of them were ever formally Knighted, you could make a joke about them "not being Jedi."

Which, yeah. I find it kinda funny that there's this possible arbitrary as fuck technicality like a fucking graduation ceremony of all things that could prevent them from being formally recognized as Jedi. But I think in context of the conversation Favroni were having, their nerdy discussion makes some sense. Because, yeah, the Jedi Order is sort of absolutely in shambles/non-existent. And there isn't really anyone around to formally Knight Ahsoka or Luke as Jedi Knights, let alone recognize them as Masters.

(If you take this silly idea at face value, though, that does mean that technically Cal Kestis and Ezra Bridger are among the only Jedi Knights actually still out in galaxy which I think is just fucking amazing and hilarious as fuck).

And, yes, it is silly to think that Ahsoka and Luke (who absolutely qualify as Jedi Masters in their own right) don't have a Jedi diploma so they can't be "considered" Jedi, I do think that it is kinda sad.

Because the transition from Padawan to Jedi Knight was an extremely important and sacred rite of passage for any Jedi. It was meant be an intimate event in a young Jedi's life, standing next to their Master and being recognized officially by other Masters as well as their peers for their personal growth with the Force. Yes, we could joke about it being a "graduation ceremony," but it was a sacred one.

And it is really fucking sad that Ahsoka and Luke never really got to experience that. Like so many other things, this extremely important Jedi custom was nearly lost. While the tradition did survive and continues on, the truth is that it could have been entirely lost altogether.

But as sad as Ahsoka and Luke not having a formal Knighting ceremony is, I don't think them not having one means that they're lesser Jedi for it. I'd argue that absolutely no one thinks that way, actually. Not even Dave Filoni and Jon Favreau. Personally, I think the fact they were never formally Knighted just goes to show that while most Jedi traditions have been lost or hidden away, it doesn't mean that the Jedi have. The Jedi Order still continues to exist through the survivors and the students they take under their wing. For all the Empire's efforts to completely wipe away the Jedi from existence, they ultimately failed.

And I can't help but find that kind of beautiful.

Tldr; hahaha Jedi need a fucking diploma, but also I'm gonna go fucking cry in the corner now.

[mememanufactorum]

Armored Core 6 sentence starters

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"Forged in ash, we stand as one!"

"It's just a job. All of it."

"Damn it! I can't die like this!"

"I... I just... I just wanted a callsign of my own..."

"Remember who you're messing with."

"You? You're just going to be tagging along on ass-wiping duty."

"Who gives a shit. We'll handle this mission ourselves."

"Why don't you start a sewing club together... and stitch that damn mouth of yours shut?!"

"Can't say I considered you a pro either."

"Tch... Does this guy ever shut up?"

"No luck with the sewing club, I see."

"You got lucky, merc. You were the only warm body they could find."

"Have fun watching from the sidelines."

"Know your place, you meager dog sitter."

"I think I'll enjoy doing business with you."

"Do try not to die like a dog out there."

"You're fast—guess you're sharper than they say. I'll have to step up my own game."

"The higher-ups are going to remember you now, that's for sure. As will I."

"Believe you me, I'm gonna put you to work!"

"Pitiful dog. I feel sorry for you, I really do. You may have survived a little longer, if only you had a different master."

"I hear you make fine hounds with the right training. Shame you'll have to die here."

"I'm fairly adept at analyzing systems— and manipulating them too."

"Can't get good help these days, can you? Would've been cheaper to just hire you instead!"

"It's been miserable knowing you, but... I guess playing nice is the smart choice here."

"They might be a pack of dumb animals, but at least they know quality workmanship."

"Anyway, you know the score. You made this mess, now you get to clean it up. Well, technically, I'm asking you to make a whole new mess... Ah, whatever. You know what to do."

"Guess I was right to pick you for the job."

"Well, I guess a dog can't choose it's master... But, still... Tough luck. I feel sorry for you, I really do."

"Looks like you ruffled some feathers."

"If you ask me, they're counting their eggs before they're hatched."

"I want you to be a walking advertisement for opportunities in destruction."

"You're not their mascot. Just focus on getting the job done."

"I'm sure our paymasters planned for that too. They got their 'walking advertisement' alright."

"I knew you could do it, buddy. I've got my eye on you."

"S-Stop that! How dare you attack me with my back turned?!"

"I don't know who put you up to this, but clearly you need to be disciplined!"

"I asked you a question! Don't you have any manners?!"

"You need discipline!"

"You've got skills... Shame you don't put them to good use."

"What?! Wh-Who are you?! Stop right there! How dare you pretend to be one of my own...!"

"Let me go, and you'll still come out on top... Understand?"

"You're quick on the uptake, aren't you? Splendid."

"You're not like those savages. Keep up the good work."

"Death and dishonor... Such is the oathbreaker's due."

"Heed me, oathbreaker... Treachery benefits none."

"That was certainly an adventure."

"Stubborn to the last... You don't know what's good for you."

"I have a question. The way you dealt with him— did [name] teach you that?"

"Some of us were worried that the enemy might have won you over. But it seems we can trust you after all. Glad to be on the same side."

"Must you always put your life on the line?"

"That's one way to light a fire under your ass— keep it alive for the next field trip."

"I'd say this calls for fireworks— and I've got something that'll blow them away."

"The anticipation's half the fun. We want our guests to enjoy this."

"...Looks like I was a little off. Well, close enough is good enough for me."

"You again? I'm a busy man. Far too busy for the likes of you."

"You're going to need more pawns on the board."

"...Of course. You're here to hawk your services again."

"You're a survivor, no doubt."

"You will be under my direct authority. Consider it a rare privilege."

"Looks like you're doing just fine, buddy."

"It's time to pay the piper."

"I've got your back, buddy. Hope you've got mine."

"Nice work, buddy. Glad you're on my side."

"It's a delight to enjoy the company of a visitor from so far away."

"Here's to new beginnings...! By all means, be my guest."

"A new friend from afar, just for me... What joy! Be still, my beating heart!"

"I'm waiting for you, friend... Fidgeting anxiously before the big dance. I do hope I'll keep up... But the anticipation is part of the fun."

"I've done my best to welcome you. I do hope you'll enjoy your stay, friend..."

"Don't forget, the guy's a rat. This won't be smooth sailing."

"Please! I wanted to surprise you, friend!"

"You've introduced me to such wonderful people! Wonderful things..."

"Let's trip the light fantastic, friend!"

"I'm starting to feel confused... It'd help if you could shut him up."

"Why, friend... This is a gift... Thank you..."

"Looks like he's dead. Good."

"Let's see how far they can fly... On borrowed wings."

"We will see if you can do it justice."

"Either way, you'll never spread your wings... At least not yet."

"A Raven is a symbol of resolve. The will to choose what one fights for."

"All right, we'll watch this one. See where they go on a Raven's wings."

"You're a famous mercenary now. Time to act like one."

"Tell you what, I'll watch and let you know how badly that goes for us."

"You can leave that to me. I know a thing or two about sharpshooting."

"A ragtag crew like this needs leadership."

"I know just the volunteer to go poke that beast with a stick."

"It's not every day you see competing forces working together like this."

"Act like a professional outfit and you might live."

"Who does that creep think he is? I ain't here because I want to be."

"Enjoy the show— and don't forget to smile."

"You don't gotta tell me. I ain't going down with you fools."

"I won't miss."

"That freak actually did it..."

"Did what, the bare minimum? This is just the first hurdle."

"Finally, someone with their head screwed on straight. Ever thought about switching sides?"

"You beg for your mother, we'll give you another!"

"It'll all be over once your sorry ass is dead!"

"I know you're laughing at me! What makes YOU so special?!"

"As if you hardly need help from me. When'd you get so good at exploring?"

"You can go home now— or follow me if you've got a death wish!"

"Go multiply your rifle training and see if you can learn to do something useful."

"Are we doomed to spark conflict wherever we go?"

"Figures. Seems both of us are too dangerous to keep around. And the higher-ups wouldn't miss an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone."

"So, buddy. Who needs you?"

"I don't want to dance to their tune, but this time, I don't have any other choice."

"You never change. You're not afraid to die... Or to kill."

"This has been a real eye-opener. You're strong—a threat...!"

"You're sharp... But that's not the only thing that makes you dangerous."

"I've fought alongside you several times but I never could figure you out."

"Tell me, buddy. What drives you?"

"Never failed to impress... But this isn't over yet."

"There's no graver threat than power without purpose!"

"Once something's alive, it doesn't die easy."

"I'll be well-rewarded when I bring them your head on a silver platter."

"I'll see that the unruly dog is punished and brought to heel. Oh, and of course, let's not forget the hound's master, either."

"This isn't an order—it's a legacy. My fallen friends entrusted this duty to me... And now it's my turn to hand it on."

"Feed the fire. Let the last cinders burn."

"I have one last job for you: Find your freedom."

"Been a while, tourist. Good to see you're still kicking."

"He asked me to look after you. Don't mind if I do."

"I don't just design weapons, you know. You'll see what I mean."

"Looks like they're falling over each other to get your autograph."

"You've been working like a dog... Must be [name]'s influence. Guy's a real slave driver."

"Where do they even find all these people?!"

"Seems they weren't so trivial after all."

"Let's get this trash out of the way first."

"You seem like you've lost someone too. Hope I'm just imagining things."

"Time to do or die. Let's get our laughs while we can."

"Hope you don't mind a little friendly competition."

"Yikes, tourist. Looks like they want you dead first. Tough break. It's not easy being popular."

"Looks like all your fans are dying to see you."

"Oh, we're serious. Right, tourist? Thing is, the serious ones die first— so we should at least pretend to be having fun."

"Someone has to put an end to this injustice!"

"Where did this... Resolve come from? You must have chosen something... Sacrificed something... You found your purpose... Didn't you, buddy?!"

"Always were at your best under pressure, buddy. But this ends here and now!"

"Must be heavy... This purpose you found. You've finally shown me who you are... It's too late now— but it didn't have to be this way!"

"Do him a favor, tourist. Remember him."

"You know... For a tourist, you've got a sense of humor."

"I saw the potential for our future within you. You and I... Could have walked together."

"You are strong. Dangerous. I... Will hold nothing back."

"I realize what you are... The spark of war..."

"I won't let you... Your fire must die!"

"You chose to carry our burden and right the wrongs of our past. I'm sorry... And I'm grateful."

"There's nothing left to bind you. Whatever choices you make now... I just hope you find your true potential."

"I'm not taking any more of your shit!"

"So you got a nice punch in, meh. Go buy a lottery ticket."

"They've called in backup. Shall we step outside and say hello?"

"And here I thought I'd just make some extra scratch. Guess I can settle the score at the same time."

"It'll be peace and quiet when you're gone!"

"Damn it... I would've had you! Don't you dare think you've won!"

"You fight like a bird in flight. You may yet fly higher."

"The others are so used to fighting and shouting slogans that they've given up thinking."

"I don't know who you are but you're dead!"

"We need to stand on our own two feet. That's how we'll win."

"We're war buddies now. Maybe I'll find a comrade in you yet."

"I thought you'd run away with your tail between your legs... Back for more, are you?"

"You fools don't know your place. You don't know when you're beaten. You don't even know what's good for you!"

"How dare you bare your filthy fangs against me?!"

"Howl into the abyss, dog!"

"Will nothing stop you, pest?!"

"Let me tell you my motto, tourist: Get your laughs while you can."

"I don't know what you're up to, but you better make it worth it."

"Looks like you made a friend of your own. But it's good to make a choice. Sit on the fence and you make no enemies... Or friends."

"Hope you've got room for more... I've brought a full course meal."

"Never thought the plan would go so wrong... But it's good teaming up with you again. Couldn't have hoped for a better silver lining."

"You're out of luck. There's only one person who can keep up with me."

"You're not the mutt I thought you were. You're below that—you are vermin!"

"You took on my hopes... My selfish dream. Now, I want to see the future that you choose. Whatever waits ahead... I'll support you."

"Whatever works to get your name out there. That's the benefit of being independent."

"Whatever happens, handle it. Just like you always do."

"As much as I'd love to stop and chat... I'm afraid we're rather pressed for time."

"I'm okay... Still alive, at least. A little rest... And I'll pay 'em back."

"You're daring, I'll give you that. But I've fried bigger fish than you."

"Humanity assumed its current form to fight itself. To choose from infinite selections. That is the essence of the human race... And the key to biological evolution."

"Tired as I am... I'm not ready to die yet."

"Shovel down your bland rations. Slurp your coffee-flavored sludge. Sure, it sucks—but that's being human."

"Don't tell me you like it here."

"He may seem like a pessimist, but he lives for the way things are. A life that can't coexist with what we want."

"Maybe now... I'll get some sleep..."

"Something's... Changed since last time. But you still haven't found a purpose."

"A chain made of human links is easily broken."

"You always did work hard for me... Handled all my requests... And, yet."

"Now that the choice is made, we have to carry on. No matter what obstacles confront us."

"Sorry, but I'm not laughing this time."

"I don't care about the big plan. I just want that damn freelancer DEAD!"

"We will bring order to chaos."

"You want some of this. I'll give it to you..."

"I know how this goes. This is where that grit of yours kicks in.

"It was always so easy for you... What makes YOU special?"

"I always... Envied you. The freelancer... Who had it all..."

"Let's meet this new age... Together."

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 11

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. I'm sorry for the long wait, but at least this chapter is a lengthy-(ish) one, at 6,200 words! :)

Please enjoy!

A twig snaps.

When I open my eyes, it's still night-time. The moon bathes the forest floor in a pearly blue light, just bright enough for me to make out what's happening when I lift my head from the tree roots. A bulky, black silhouette groans loudly as it staggers toward the tree. A walker. A big walker, wearing a white cap. Just as I suck in a breath, ducking back down to hide, it trips over its own two feet and lands on its stomach like a big, fat seal, on top of the entanglement of roots. It lazily claws down at me with its grey-ish hands through the gaps.

I feel around for a rock, pulling one out from the dirt. I toss it away from the tree. I hear it tumble down the hill. The walker gives it a slow backwards glance, but little-girl-meat must taste a whole lot better than rocks, 'cause he turns his attention right back onto me.

He resumes moaning.

Darn.

Looks like I'm stuck with this jerk until he leaves on his own.

"Goodnight, I guess."

I close my eyes, settling back down in the dirt to try get some sleep as he flails above me.

Morning comes.

My eyes flutter open at the first sign of daylight. It filters past the roots like white-gold ribbons, onto my face. I slowly come to. I almost expect to be back in Dad's truck, wrapped up in the fish-print blanket, but the dream quickly vanishes when my skin begins to itch and my back begins to hurt. Right. The woods. The mosquitos. The ditch beneath the tree. I'm still lost and alone. I hear birds twittering in the trees.

Dirty and exhausted, I sit up.

My new friend, the asshole-walker, moved a little in the night, I see. He's rolled over onto his side, laying dormant.

I sigh, my eyes heavy. If only he did that last night.

I take my time crawling out from underneath the tree, and then I stand all the way up and stretch out my arms— God, that feels real good — and then my legs — That feels even better — and gaze out over the misty greenery around me. Wow. I made it through the night. A good start. I walk down to the stream and rinse my bug bites in the cool water, enjoying the way it burns. I'm thirsty, I realize, as I watch the water bubble past. I can't drink it, though, 'cause this is where foxes and birds and frogs poop and pee all day, and it'll make me sick. I can use the mud, though. It's thick, and runny. I smear it over my face and my neck, 'cause it's gonna get hot today, and I'll burn easily.

I pick the twigs and leaves out my hair.

When I look back up the shallow hill, I see the walker is on its feet.

"Fuck you," I call out to it, and then turn on my heels.

I follow the stream for hours.

The sun climbs in the sky.

My Dad got lost in the woods, too, once.

The way Grandpappy Dixon always told it, my Dad went missin' for nine whole days as a child. He ate wild berries, drank pond-water, and wiped his butt with poison oak to survive, and when he eventually stumbled his way back home, the first thing he did was walk straight into the kitchen and make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. My Pappy used to say that Dixons are like cockroaches. They're tough, they're mangy, and just when you think they're gone, they pop right back up again. I'm a Dixon, just like my Dad. I know how to find North, and I know which mushrooms will make ya go green and puke your brains out, and which ones won't. It's been one day for me so far. The only difference is I got people lookin' for me. I'd call that an advantage.

I also know what poison oak looks like. Three leaves, notched edges. No way I'm makin' that mistake. Ouch!

I scale a small mound that clings to the bank of the stream, sweating through my shirt like a hog. I was right. It's gettin' real hot today.

When I stand, I notice a still, black lump amongst the underbrush.

I decide to check it out.

I push back a fern, revealing the lump.

It's a really, really old walker.

Its body is shrivelled and thin like a rotten fruit skin, and it's laying on its back, staring up at the sky with glazed eyes, with its entire chest cavity torn to shreds around it. It's innards hum with flies, gooey and black like thick tar. I almost retch. It smells like every type of yoghurt in the world got mixed with dead fish brains.

I look around the tiny clearing.

I see boot-prints leading to and from the corpse.

Oh. The group.

This must have been them.

Eugh. Why?

I also see tiny bones littered around the place, which prolly came from the walker's stomach, which is flipped inside out on its thigh, which makes me gag. It looks like it's been sliced. They cut open its stomach and pulled out the bones, I realize, which deserves another gag. It's nasty, but at least they saw that none of the bones were Harley-sized. They know this walker didn't eat me up.

Disturbed, I find my way back to the stream and push on.

No walker's gonna eat me up.

I ain't never killed a walker, but I done killed a lotta other things.

Startin' small, I killed plenty of bugs before. Easy, peasy. Movin' up the food chain a little, I shot a rat with a sling shot, before. Its itty-bitty brain exploded around the pebble I flung at it, and that was that. Crunch. Dead. Then, fish. Lots of fish. So many fishing weekends. Apparently, fish don't got no feelings, so that makes it easier. Then, squirrels and possums. My Dad always makes me finish those off when he can, 'cause he says it makes me tough, and I ought to be tough. I don't like the sinking of the blade through their fluffy pelt, or the sad little squeak that comes when they die, but that's just how it is. It's how we ate when money was tight. Then, biggest of all, there's a walker. A full-grown, human person.

I haven't made it there, yet.

My Dad hasn't taught me to kill walkers like he's taught me to kill game. I know what to do in an emergency — You gotta stick 'em in the brain, Harley — but that's it. An emergency hasn't happened, yet, 'cause my Dad's always been there to kill 'em for me.

I won't let anything happen to you, I remember Shane telling me.

I bet he's already found a way to blame this all on my Dad.

I wonder if they've fought today.

Sophia's doll.

I find it caught on a branch in the water.

Dizzy from the heat of the sun, I stumble into the stream to try and fish it out.

By now, it's around mid-day, and I've tied my hair back into a pony-tail, soaked my shirt through with water about two miles back to try cool myself down, and scratched my mosquito bites completely raw. I've eaten a handful of wild raspberries and drank some water from a hole I dug adjacent to the stream, 'cause that's how you filter out the animal-germs, but I'm beyond tired. And against my best efforts, a little sun-burnt, too, all over my upper body. There's been no sign of anyone since the mutilated walker, but this— This is Sophia's doll. It's got orange yarn for hair, and two giant, blue buttons for eyes. It's definitely hers.

Matilda, I think she named it.

I lean over the fallen branch and pull the soggy doll out.

"Hi, Matilda. You're lost, too?"

I wonder if Sophia dropped her while searching.

"Don't worry." I smile, tucking her wet hair behind her round ears; petting the mud off her patchwork dress. "I'll get us both back."

I climb back outta the stream.

"This way, Matilda."

"Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon!"

I come to a sudden stop sometime in the afternoon.

"You come and go, you come and go-o-o."

That's music. Like... from a radio. As the static-y popstar voice continues singing loving would be easy, if your colors were like my dreams, I step through the dry foliage in the direction it's coming from and come across a tiny, green tent. The owner is nowhere to be seen, but the radio hasn't had time to run out of battery, so they might still be nearby. I scan the trees. No one around.

I cautiously step inside the tent.

There's the radio.

"Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma—"

I search around.

There's also a sleeping bag and a backpack. I sift through it for food or water, but there's only junk in here. A book, a crucifix, another music cassette tape, rope, and... And a steak knife. I pull it out, turning it over in my palm. It's the exact same as the ones in Dale's kitchen drawers.

Black handle, gold button.

This.. I recognise this.

Jim.

This is Jim's knife. This is knife we left him with.

That's the same rope, too.

"Oh, my God."

I back out, taking the knife with me. I take in the camp again with new eyes, feeling alarmed. The cap resting on the stump by the fire, that's Jim's, too. Those foot-prints, those discarded boots — They're both about the right size. Over there, too, that's — That's the peanut butter jar.

It's all Jim's.

This is Jim's camp.

He's alive.

"I'm a man, without conviction!"

If he's alive, he's gonna be real angry with us.

"Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon!"

I ca— I can't be here.

I spin around and dash straight for the thicket, more than ready to leave this camp far, far behind, but I run into something — Fabric, and string, a makeshift washing line — and as I'm tryna untangle myself from it, a pair of hands shoot out from the other side. They latch onto me. The shirts are ripped off the line as I struggle against them. I can't help it — I scream, and I scream loud. It's Jim, it's Jim, it's— No, no it's not Jim. It's not even a person. It's grey skin and bruised nails and yellow eyes and puffy gums, and jaws snapping in my face.

It's a walker.

It's wearing a white cap.

It's the same one from last night. It's been following me through the forest all day.

It slams me into the ground.

I brace my arms against the heavy walker's chest, crying out in pain. Underneath me, wetness begins to bloom. Then, pain. Searing, searing pain. As I writhe, I drag around a trail of blood that stains the dirt a dark maroon. I look at it, panicked. I can feel a deep slice in my flesh.

I-I think I landed on the knife when I fell.

God, it hurts. It hurts real, real bad.

The walker hisses like a feral cat.

My fingers slide against its slippery, bloody skin as I grapple with it, kicking, kicking, kicking its stomach, and hitting, hitting, hitting its chest. The skin comes apart as easily as layers of lasagna. It peels off and falls onto my bare neck — Oh my God, yuck, yuck, yuck! — and my fingers sink deeper into the soft meat underneath. Cold, red sludge drips down onto my cheek. I turn, squirm; clamp my mouth shut. I use all my might to keep the walker's weight offa me, but I can't keep this up forever.

The knife. Where's the knife?

I dropped it somewhere.

I throw my hand out and feel around for the knife. My arm buckles under the walker, which drops closer to my face, growling and twitching just an inch from my nose. That's a leaf. That's a twig. That's the tin. Come on, come on. The knife. I need the knife.

I squeal when my foot suddenly breaks through the walker's belly.

Slimy entrails slide down my leg.

I moan miserably.

That's a twig.

That's another twig.

That's— 

That's a knife hilt.

I wrap my fingers around it.

I have to kill this thing now.

With a violence I don't recognise, I swing the knife all the way down into the base of the walker's neck and then again, and again, and again, and again, again, again, in the collarbone, and the cheek, and the throat, and the shoulder, and then the soft membrane of the under-jaw, which splits open like a water balloon and splatters me with more sticky blood, like cold, chunky soup, and again, again, and again, in the chin, and the nose, and the forehead, but not the brain, 'cause the skull is just too thick to break through. I think about all the times I've heard of skulls breaking, like in car crashes, and I think, why can't you break again, just break now. I drive it into the scalp, again, again, again, but it doesn't work. You gotta stick it in the brain, Harley. I gotta get the brain. I gotta.

The meat hanging from the walker's jaw vibrates as it gurgles at me.

"Come on!" I grind out, losing my strength.

This is when somebody like Rick or Dad or Shane would step in and end it for me, in this moment right before death, but nobody's here to save me this time. I have to save me.

I cry out once more.

The knife squelches through the walker's eye socket.

I drive it deeper and deeper and deeper, until the blade reaches the sweet spot, and pink brain-slime comes leaking out. I twist it and I twist it and I twist it, forcing the razor-edge up into the socket, until the hilt starts to disappear, until my hand starts to disappear. Until— 

Until the walker gives out one last croak.

It slumps over into the dirt.

It's dead.

I scramble away, clutching the knife, shaking.

My first walker kill. It weren't nothin' like killing a damn squirrel, not even a little bit, not by a mile. It ain't squeaked. The damn thing squelched. It had layers of skin and meat and bone and cartilage, and I felt them all with my bare hands, and I killed it.

I killed it all on my own.

"I killed you." I laugh, elated. "I killed you! Fuck you!"

Hell yeah!

My side suddenly pangs again, making me groan.

I peel my bloody shirt back.

"Oh, God."

It's a gash, alright. I won the fight, but now I'm gonna have to drag myself through the woods, alone, with this crippling wound in my side. I groan as I take off my shirt. It's still wet. It's bloody, too, now, so I throw it away. As my vision blots, I pick up a new one off the ground and lethargically pull it on, wanting so badly all of a sudden to just lay down and go to sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open.

I cradle my side as I stand.

Chunks of walker-flesh fall off my leg.

There's blood in my hair, on my face, on my neck, on my hands.

I look around for Matilda, 'cause even though I'm about to faint, I know I don't wanna leave her behind. Sophia needs her. I find the doll laying by the fire and pick her up, leaving behind a bright red hand-print on her pretty tartan dress by accident.

"Oh," I pant, shaking my head. "I'm sorry."

"Red and go-old! Red and go-old!"

I hug Matilda to my chest.

"It's okay. Carol will wash it."

The radio continues singing its happy tune as I stagger away.

The hours blend together in a long, hot slurry of sweat, heat, and blood. Barely conscious, I stumble alongside the stream, holding my bleeding side. I have to be close, by now. I've been walking for hours. I focus on my breathing. I focus on walking. I focus on keeping the setting sun on my left shoulder, to ensure I'm headed North. I think I can hear church bells ringing through the forest at some point, but I'm not sure.

It's all so confusing.

Next thing I know, my knees are hitting the ground.

It takes me a while to figure it out, but I realize that I've fallen down a small slope and landed in a watery ditch filled with reeds.

Cold water trickles silently past my hot skin.

I gaze up at the orange sky.

It's nice here. It's so nice here.

I let my exhaustion seduce me into closing my eyes.

I need rest.

I can... I can rest for a minute.

"You don't gotta follow me out here, man."

"I know."

When I open my eyes, woken by the sound of voices, it's night-time again. I must've slept for a long time. My entire side aches when I roll onto my back, trying to see what's going on up there. Through the thin shoots of grass, I glimpse a band of white flashlight illuminating the distant trees.

Those— Those voices. I'd recognise them anywhere. It's my Dad and Rick.

I listen to their foot-steps crunch through the underbrush with a grin on my face.

"You can't drag me back to the highway, so yer gonna babysit me instead? That it?"

"Well, you know I'd prefer you get some rest, like everyone else." Rick replies. Never thought I'd say it, but it's so good to hear his stupid voice. "Trying to, at least. We've been searching non-stop, for I don't even know how long. We can't afford anyone else gettin' lost out here, especially in the dark. Even Shane settled down, eventually, and you know how he's been."

I hear Dad scoff. "Yeah, well, there's no way I'm takin' a fuckin' granny nap while my daughter's lost in the woods."

"Trust me, I'm done tryna convince you. Hence, the babysitting."

"To Hell with Shane, anyway, man." Dad says. "Don't need him out here."

"What the deal between you two, anyway?"

"Whatchu mean?"

"I mean, look at you. Shane gave you a black eye today. He wouldn't do that for no reason."

"Yeah," Dad sighs tiredly, "Well, I gave him a broken nose, and I wouldn't do that for no reason, neither, so think about that."

A black eye?

A broken nose?

They did get into a fight today.

"Okay, I'll think about it. I'll think about it aloud, even." Rick concedes. My Dad huffs but lets him continue speaking. "Since you joined us, you and Shane have avoided each other like the plague. You work well together — I've seen it — but as people, you don't get along so great. That's how it used to be. Suddenly — As in, this is the first time I'm seein' this — You're throwin' hands for no reason, in the middle of the night. Black eye, broken nose. I mean— Well, it just don't make any sense to me, is all I'm saying. Like I said, Shane ain't like this, usually."

"You must not know your buddy so well, then." Dad retorts. "'Cause he's a piece of work."

"Oh, no denyin' that." Rick chuckles flatly. "But I don't know why you're so insistent on buttin' heads right now. Especially right now."

"Hey." My Dad's voice gets louder. "I'm out here right now, runnin' on two hours'a sleep with a busted face and a fucked-up eye, combing these woods for my lil' girl — Who if I recall right, is lost 'cause of your fuckin' super-plan — So don't go tellin' me I ain't got my priorities straight, man. If I beat Shane up, it's 'cause he fuckin' deserved it. You heard the shit he said t'me, you would'a done the same. Father to father, I know that."

"H— What? What'd he say to you?"

"He said it's my fault Harley's out here." Dad snarls. "Said I don't protect her right. Said I ain't a good father to her."

Rick stammers. "Wow. That's both... way outta line, and not true at all. He's got no right to say those things."

That makes Dad almost laugh.

"Nah, man." He scoffs. "Nah, you don't know."

Nobody knows. Nobody besides me, Shane, and my Dad knows about what happened at the CDC.

"I do know." Rick insists, oblivious. "No, I'm bein' serious here. Listen. I've seen you with her. You'd do anythin' do protect her. 'Sides, you said it yourself. You're out here right now, even when others aren't — Even when it jeopardizes your own safety. A lesser man, lemme tell ya, would not be out here in the state you're in. I don't even know how you're still standin', to be honest."

Dad brushes him off. "Nah, you don't get it. It's not— It ain't about that."

"What's it about, then? 'Cause from where I'm standing, I— I honestly struggle to see what Shane's talkin' about."

"Wait."

Their foot-steps come to a sudden stop.

I hold my breath.

"Those are new tracks." My Dad mutters.

My eyes widen.

"You think it's—?"

"It's Harley." He says definitively. "Look. This set go South. This set's comin' our way. She's been following her own tracks back."

There's a pause, like they're shell-shocked and can't quite speak.

Yes. Yes, I have been followin' my own tracks. I slept in a ditch, and I walked for hours, and I killed my first walker and stabbed myself, and then I walked some more, and I'm tired. I'm so, so tired. I can't wait to go home. I can't wait to go back to the group. I can't wait to sleep with a proper pillow and blanket. I hear Dad and Rick's foot-steps suddenly kick back up again, and more of their hushed, intense voices, becoming louder and louder as they follow my most recent tracks. I hear foliage bein' trodden on and snapped. I hear my Dad calling out, Harley, baby, we're here, where are you, and then, finally, after two long days, I see their faces.

I can't believe it.

We've found each other.

As they skirt down the hill, calling my name, I slip back into unconsciousness.

The next morning, I'm woken by sunlight dancing across my closed lids. There's a soft pillow under my head. I feel heavy blankets wrapped around my aching body, and new change of dry clothes rubbing against my skin. I'm warm, and finally, I'm safe. When I open my eyes, groaning lightly, I'm greeted with the blurry sight of the RV bedroom, draped in yellow morning light.

Rick and my Dad must've carried me here last night.

I hear someone moving to my left.

"Daddy—?"

"It's me." Shane says, sitting up. Oh. I look up at him as he reaches for my hair, tucking some behind my ear. "You're okay."

My side pangs suddenly, making me groan again.

I lift up the covers, and then my shirt, revealing a patch of fresh bandages taped to my waist.

Shane shushes me. "Hey, easy."

They cleaned it up pretty good. There's only a small flower of blood stained through the cotton-y material.

"Hurts," I croak, closing my eyes.

"I bet." Shane soothes. "You got stitches under there."

I open them again. "Stitches?"

"Yeah. It's okay. You were in pretty gnarly shape when we gotcha; gash is real deep. Jacqui made quick work of it, though." He says, smiling lightly. "Nothin' we can do about the bug bites. Just gonna have to put up with 'em for now, but you're tough. I know you can do it."

Exhaling thinly, I slowly nod.

I take a minute to look at Shane like this.

A strip of white gauze is plastered over the bridge of his nose, which sits on an awkward, crooked angle. He notices me starin', but doesn't make me look away. He doesn't explain how it got broken, though, either. He just strokes my hair, letting me come to my own conclusions.

"Dad hit you." I whisper, stating it as a fact.

I heard Rick say so, last night.

Me and Shane have barely talked since that day in the parking lot. It's strange to say that we're friends, now, but we are.

He pulls his hand away. "Who told you that?"

I shrug.

He frowns lightly, eventually nodding. "Yeah, he did."

"You hit him back."

Again, he simply says, "Yeah, I did."

I could ask him why, but I already know that, too.

As the silence stretches on, his gaze drifts from my face, down to the floor. He leans forward to pick something up. It's Matilda. They brought her back, too. He holds her for a minute, looking over her orange hair and her green dress — Still covered in my blood — and then he hands her to me, muttering that she fell off the bed during the night. He watches me hug the doll to my chest with a distant sort of look in his eye. I wonder if he feels guilty, but he's prolly just tired. I heard Rick say they were searching for me non-stop these past two days, and that includes Shane.

It looks like he stayed awake all night, too, waiting by my bedside, which for some reason, my Dad didn't.

"Let me get you somethin' to eat." Shane murmurs.

He stands to leave, squeezing past Carol on his way out.

She stands in the doorway, looking at me with tender, puffy eyes. She glances at Matilda. I think she's been crying.

"You found Sophia's doll?" She asks me quietly.

Yeah, I did. I nod.

She comes to sit beside me on the bed, smiling weakly.

"May I?"

I hand her the doll.

"I'm sorry I got blood on it." I mutter. "It was an accident."

She shakes her head, breathing shakily.

"Don't be sorry, sweetie. We're just glad you made it back to us in one piece."

"Can I give her back to Sophia now?"

Carol takes a deep breath. "I don't think you can. Not right now."

Oh. "Why not?"

"Because, sweetie," Carol says, placing a little kiss on Matilda's cheek, and then facing me again, on the brink of tears, "After you were able to escape into the forest — After the herd passed — Sophia ran after you." That makes my eyes widen. Sophia ran after me? Into the woods? Carol purses her lips, so tight it must be painful. "Yes. Your Dad, Rick, Shane — They were already chasing after you, but Sophia just wouldn't give up. Sh— She broke away from me before I could catch her, and we— We haven't seen her since. We haven't seen her. We haven't."

Carol breaks down into squeaky, tiny sobs, clutching the doll to her forehead.

I don't know what to say. I had no idea that the whole time I was missing, Sophia was missing, too.

"I— I found the doll in the creek." I say, feeling unhelpful. "I don't know where exactly, but... In the creek."

Carol nods. "Thank you. Thank you, sweetie. I'll tell them."

"I'm sorry."

I'm sorry I can't help more. I didn't see any other signs of Sophia out there.

Sophia, lost and alone, just like I was — Except Sophia's never learnt how to find North. Sophia's never learnt which plants are safe to eat, or how to out-run a walker. She doesn't know how to start a fire from nothin', or how to wring a rabbit's neck. She doesn't know the stuff I know.

She doesn't have the same chances that I had, which were pretty darn low to begin with.

Carol puts her hand on my knee. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, Harley."

"I— I wanna look for her."

"You can't." She soothes. "You're hurt."

"Sophia might be hurt."

"Nobody's gonna let you look," Carol tells me, "So there's no point in arguing. You know, your Dad has been worried sick about you this whole time. He pretended he wasn't, but it was obvious. He didn't care about anything other than finding you. I saw him maybe one or two times these past couple days, because he's been in those woods for hours on end. Dale's been blaming himself for letting the herd get to us while he was distracted. Shane's been... a mess. Then, last night, your Dad and Rick came running back to the highway with you, and they were barely hanging on. They were covered in mud, in blood — Your blood — in sticks, leaves, scratches. They ran with you for five miles, Harley." Carol frowns. "It's a miracle you're with us. Trust me when I say nobody's letting you back out there anytime soon."

I lower my head, fiddling with the blanket seams.

Carol changes the subject by gently asking, "What happened out there?"

I look up at her.

"I... I just kept walking, I guess."

That's all I did. I walked, and walked, and walked. I wonder if that's what Sophia's doing.

"And I killed one of the dead people."

I can still feel his cold flesh sliding against mine, and how he smelt like old steak.

Carol stiffens.

"Sophia prolly won't run into any." I shake my head. "There was only one."

"Where there's one," She whispers, "There's a hundred."

I stay quiet.

Shane comes back in through the door, holding a bottle of water and some snacks.

"Here you go, sweetheart," He says to me under his breath. "Gotta eat if you want your strength back."

I take the yoghurt-granola bar and the packet of pretzels, but the thought of eating makes my stomach churn. 

"Where's my Dad?" I ask instead.

He's the first person I expected to see when I woke up.

"He's still out looking." Carol answers, sighing. "After he found you, I thought I would've had to beg him to look for Sophia, but I didn't. He went on his own. I'm sure it's nothing, sweetie. He's just worried about Sophia, just like we all are, and he's going to find her. I know it."

My Dad's never shown concern for anyone other than his blood. I don't think he's as worried about Sophia as Carol thinks he is, 'cause I know him better than she does. I think back to the conversation I heard last night, and how my Dad almost admitted to Rick the reason he and Shane haven't been seein' eye to eye recently — Almost admitted to hitting me. I wish he would talk to me about it, instead of Rick, but that's not how my Dad operates. I know why he's still out in those woods. He's doin' anything he can to keep avoiding talking to me about the CDC, especially after the beating Shane gave him.

A wake-up call, is what it's called, I think. Shane gave him a wake-up call. Dad's bein' challenged, for the first time in his life.

Shane looks at me. I can tell he knows exactly what I'm thinking. He knows I've figured it out — Figured him out.

"I thought I told you not to help."

Shane goes still.

He glances at Carol, who frowns in confusion.

"What do you mean?" She asks me.

Please don't help, I begged him that day, Please don't do nothin'. Our conversation got cut off when Dale interrupted us, but I wish it hadn't. I wish I made myself more clear. Shane established that I'm allowed to be his friend, but he ain't established my Dad bein' the scum of the Earth, like I know he wants to. He prolly convinced my Dad that's what he is, which is why he's guilty, but he won't convince me. I'll be his friend, but I don't need this.

"I told you not to help." I repeat, a little harsher. "But you hit him, anyway."

"I— I did." Shane calmy nods. "After he swung at me — Broke my nose — I had to subdue him. I had to hit him back."

What a load of crap, I want to argue, You prolly hit him first.

"The fight?" Carol tilts her head. "How did you hear about that?"

I tear my eyes away from Shane's.

"Right before Dad and Rick found me, I heard 'em talkin'." I tell her truthfully. "Rick said Dad has a black eye, now."

"He does." Carol hums. "But you shouldn't worry about it. It's just men bein' men. Right, Shane?"

We both look at him expectantly.

"That's right." He agrees, tense. He's lucky Carol's so clueless, and just gave him an out. He claps his hands. "Now, how 'bout you try gettin' some'a that stuff down, and I'll see if I can't getchu some dessert for afterwards? Maybe a cookie, for our tough little cookie, here, huh?"

Carol smiles warmly. "One tough cookie, alright. Dragged yourself all the way back here with that gash in your side."

I try to smile back. "Uh-huh."

"Alright, then. Let's give her some space." Shane says.

Carol stands, tucking Matilda in besides me with great care. She strokes the doll's hair, and then mine. She even gives my cheek a kiss.

Shane nods her out the door.

After she leaves, he lingers there.

"You told me we could color together." He randomly reminds me. "I reckon I wanna take you up on that offer, later, if that's alright wit'chu."

Oh. He does? This is the first time he's brought this up since I decided he could be my friend, which I told him meant he could color with me, and do my hair, and play games with me. I don't know why he's decided so suddenly that he wants to do this. Maybe it's because my Dad is away.

I think about it for a time, but then I nod.

I don't see the harm in coloring.

Slowly, I nod.

He grins a little.

"I'll send Jacqui in to have a look atcher side in a little while." He says, before nodding, seemingly pleased. "Alright. See ya later, Harley."

"See ya later."

I hear him walk away.

Shane's got a way of makin' me like him, even when I don't wanna.

After I force down three bites of the granola bar, I lay back down, pulling the blankets up to my chin.

Matilda stares back at me with her giant button eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sophia." I murmur.

A short while later, I get a visitor.

"Somebody has a present for you." Lori sing-songs quietly as she guides a nervous-looking Carl into the bedroom. He clutches a large canvas bag to his chest, squeezing it tightly like a teddy-bear. There's a slight sunburn underneath his freckles, and a scab on his eyebrow, but he made it out of the herd just like everyone else did. I don't know Carl so well, but I'm real glad he's alright. I think he's sad about Sophia, and sad about me, too, 'cause his eyes begin to water the longer he stares at me. Lori rubs his back. "Off you go, baby."

He takes slow, calculated steps toward me, and stops about a foot away from the bed.

I notice him glancing at Matilda.

I tell him, "I'm gonna keep her until we can give her back to Sophia."

'Cause we're gonna find her. We're gonna.

He sniffles, nodding.

He likes that idea.

"I— I kept something for you, too." He sniffles. "While you were missing."

Lori hurries over to help me sit up properly, as Carl sits on the edge of the bed.

He carefully places the heavy bag over my lap.

I lay my hands down on it, feeling it out. It's hard. It's kinda crinkly. I look up at Carl, excitedly smiling at what I think is inside.

He's smilin', too, now. "Open it."

He scoots closer as I flip the bag open.

I laugh.

"No way! You got it!"

It's the Pokémon folder, in all its sparkly, yellow glory. The blood on the cover has been wiped away. It looks almost brand-new again, untouched by the horrors of that deadly afternoon. On the name-tag sticker, which was previously blank, is now written in bulky but neat letters, Harly Dikson.

"I had to ask your Dad how to spell your name." Carl says. "But he wouldn't answer. I hope I got it right."

Carl's never been good at spelling. The thought makes me laugh even harder.

Suddenly, I'm hugging him.

He hugs me back.

"He's been very eager to give those back to you." Lori smiles, her hip cocked as she watches on fondly. "He even slept with 'em the first night."

Carl pulls back. "Mo-om!"

She holds her hands up. "Sorry. Embarrassing?"

"It's okay." I giggle. I pull the Lugia card out of my pocket and show it to him. "I did, too."

He gets immediately excited again. "Woah! Another GX card!"

"Yep!"

"Here we go." Lori rolls her eyes.

We spend about half an hour going through the cards and snacking on pretzels together on the bed.

It's as we're on the last page that Lori gently takes hold of my shoulder.

"Harley," She says to me, "I know you're both having fun here, but I think it's time we all got together and... talked about what happened to you in those woods... Okay? We all think it's a good idea. We've been waiting to know ever since you got back, and... Carol says you killed a walker." She smiles tightly. "Would you like to go speak to us about everything? Get it off your chest? Maybe... help us piece everything together?"

I get the sense I don't got a choice in this. They need to understand what I went through; what signs of Sophia I came across.

She senses my answer, and stands, urging Carl out the door.

No more Pokémon cards. 

Time to talk about Jim, and the stabbing, and the church bells, and everything else I endured in those Hellish woods.

I just wish my Dad would come back.

Author's Note. For some reason, I ssssstruggled with this chapter. Like, a lot. It's always the most random chapters that seem to kick my ass. Maybe it's because Harley was alone for the majority of it. I tried to make it interesting, nonetheless.

And here is the beginning of Sophia's whole shtick 🫥

Thank you for your patience, and I really hope you enjoyed reading this one!! <3

[every-character-ever-poll]

DONATO PORPORA - Tokyo Ghoul

PROPAGANDA (UNDER THE CUT):

He's a dad, real sadistic and violent and he's god and king themed (he's a priest, his hunting limb is covered in crosses and he loves to crucify his opponents, he has a god complex, his Clown nickname is Crown,).

He is SO smart, like he should by all means have been disposed of already (he's a ghoul and in jail. they never last long) but he's so damn smart that he survived Cochlea (said jail) for 15 fucking years /all the while mentally tormenting the investigators that came to ask him questions/ (yeah he's Hannibal coded), like. Legendary, we stan. And there's the fact that he cares? So so much about his son? The way Amon's (his son) entire world view revolves around what he's lived with him and despite all that cannot help but love him? The way Donato knows how his son loves him, how he tries to get him to admit it to himself, all going "my beloved son" whenever they meet? The way, as Amon was falling injured and he thought about Donato, /we get a panel of Donato praying alone in his cell/?? Losing my mind. And he's somehow?? friends with Haise (an alter of the protagonist)? Donato has only been seen caring about 1 (one) person before that and hhhhhhhhh like he even apologizes to him. Legit mind-blowing moment, I haven't been the same since. And he tries to help him. He's the only one who truly realizes how terrible is what Haise is living (an amnesiac ghoul working as a ghoul investigator, with a special rule to treat him as human, unless…). Probably cause he's a professional liar himself and the way he probably wasn't that far when 240 (an alter of the protagonist) was losing his mind but. You know. And then we learn he's a clown (an extremely feared group of ghouls that are extremely powerful even by themselves and thrive on chaos)? Like, I already loved the Clowns, they're my favorite group, they're depressed misfit assholes they are SO great. Anyway yeah Souta (a Clown member and the antagonist) was like "hello want to kill my shitbag family?" and the Clowns went hell yeah buddy and all went ride or die for him, including mister self proclaimed "not sentimental" (Donato) Also the way Donato says that to Uta (a Clown) right after he flips out on Urie because his father took his son from him? The way it's mayhaps also linked to the way Urie treated Amon on Rushima? The absolute banger of a line: "Taste how it feels. How I feel. How cruel it is. Cruel to be one of those who only but watch over others" like nnngh I am biting through concrete He cares SO MUCH, despite himself! Just like his son!! They can't help it! And they try to take it back or play it off any way they can, but they can't they can't, it's too real for them, after all they stopped playing when Amon saw.. God… Like, at the end? When they fight? Donato doesn't do shit. We know what he's capable of. He could wipe the floor with Amon. He doesn't do shit. He scares him off a bit, and lets his son beat the shit out of his clones. It's the only way for him to keep him there away from the taxidermied owl where he could get injured. No, Donato's barely fighting. He sent a clone and let his son destroy it. Becsuse he can't bear to hurt his son. AND THEN. As I said, he tries to take it all back. "I'm a monster and I never cared." and now. Now finally after all that time, Amon is /honest/ and admits he loves him like. Ouch my heart. They can't both be honest. There's always gotta be one liar. That's so fucking tragic.. So beautiful…

Also he's super mega powerful like HELLO??? dude is double S, I mean /real/ double S, unlike?? Hinami? What's she doing there. (investigators rate ghouls on their strength, going from C (barely a threat) to double S) Anyway yeah.. God. He's so so powerful, he fights so efficiently and ruthlessly, his makes no superfluous movements to the point it surprised Urie with his Quinx senses, like he took out Higemaru before they could even register Donato was even there like hhhhh and he's so precise with kagune, too, on top of being quick? Plus he can detach his kagune to make traps? AND HE CAN CLONE HIMSELF like hotdamn. He can make multiple clones at once and good lord he can control another person's kagune /while/ making a bunch of clones of himself. ALL THAT WITHOUT CANNIBALIZING. HE'S SO GODDAMN COOL. (cannibalizing enables, if you don't lose your mind, to unlock a special state of ghouls where they have a, huh, monstersona basically. There's a secret triple S ranking but only 2 kakuja ghouls have gotten it, and I say it's cheating)