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nctsplug02 · 1 year

Note

just the filthiest filthiest mark smut

PUNCH! MARKLEE

GENRE: fluff | smut | best friends to lovers!

WARNINGS: protected sex, kissing, dirty talk, praising, fingering, spanking, oral sex (both F and M receiving), nipple play, doggy, hair pulling, squirting, missionary and spitting kink.

A/N: i genuinely do not know how to write a SUPER FILTHILY smut. so, you’ve been warned if it isn’t as filthily as you wanted.

you sigh and do the walk of shame to mark lee’s car when he pulls up and quickly sets his car in park.

“don’t start.” you say as soon as you sit in the passenger side. “oh, cmon!” marks voice cracks. “i deserve to know— i’m your best friend— and, i picked you up!” mark presses on the gas.

you groan and lean your head against the window. “fine, but do you have some snacks that i can munch on?” mark reaches over and pulls open in glove department.

a small light shines and piles of candy wrappers are glistening under the light.

“just for you, brat.” mark leans back in his seat.

brat— the nickname he’d given you when you acted up that one day back in grade five.

“thanks, asshole.” you grab a kitkat and tear the wrapper open. “so,” you sigh and take a bite out of the two sticks. “long story short— my date didn’t show and.. i sat at my booth for about an hour.. looking like an idiot.”

mark laughs and you shove him. “hey! i’m driving here!” you roll your eyes. “don’t laugh then, idiot!” you grab another kitkat.

“wait, so who was the jerk that didn’t show?” mark glances at you. “lee donghyuck.” mark swerves and you panic. “mark lee, what the hell?!” your chest heaves and mark shakes his head.

“you were planning to go on a date with one of my best friends?!” you eye him. “so, what if i was?“ a small smirk grows on your lips. “is mark lee.. jealous?” mark sputters. “wh—what? n—no, no!”

his ears said other wise.. plus that grinned that he couldn’t hide.

mark pulls up to your apartment and you sigh, climbing out and ducking your head slightly in. “thanks for ride, markie.” you tap the top of his car and turn to leave.

“y/n, h—hold on.” you turn and mark is jogging up to you. “look, im sorry for scaring you earlier in the car. i just.. wasn’t expecting you to be going on a date with one of my friends.”

you shake your head. “it’s fine.”

PING!

you look down at your phone and a snarl grows on your lips. “who is it? haechan?” you look up and shut your phone off. “yeah— jealous?” you tilt your head with a snarky grin.

mark stays silent. “well, i’m going inside. it’s late. goodnight—?” you stumble back when mark grabs your waist with one hand and uses the other to cup your jaw— his lips crashed onto yours.

marks lips had landed on your lips so harsh that you swore you could taste blood.

his lips tasted good.. weirdly good.

but, he’s been your best friend since the first grade.

holy shit, this is wrong!

“m—mark!” you push him and he stumbles back. “oh, my god. this.. that.. we can never do that. never.” you touch your bottom lip while guilt washes over marks face.

“i’m sorry, mark. i’m sorry.” you whisper and stumble towards your door where you pulled your keycard out and scanned it before walking in without looking back.

“but, ma. it was weird. he’s my best friend!” it’d been a whole week since the mistaken kiss between you and mark.

“sweetheart,” your mother sighs and massages the aloe vera mask into your face. “you can’t keep hiding your feelings.” you crack an eye open. “what are you talking about, ma?” she sighs and sets the face roller down.

you sit up and face her. “my love..” she frowns. “i can see how madly in love you are with him.” you stutter. “ma, i—i don’t—?”

“sweetheart, you do. since the sixth grade when he asked you to the middle school winter formal dance. i could see the excitement in your eyes when you ran home and told me. you were jumping around.. and.. and squealing like a piglet.” you and her laugh.

“but, sweetheart, the spark in your eyes grew everyday even till today. and— before you ask how i know, mama knows best, my love.” you chew the inside of your cheek.

you softly laugh. “is it really that obvious?” she laughs and nods. “very.” you groan and grab a grape, tossing it in your mouth and chomping on the crunchiness.

you groan and fall flat on the bed. “you know how i went on a date yesterday?” your mother nods blowing on her fresh painted toe nails. “well.. it was.. his friend that i was supposed to go on that date with.”

“supposed to?” you groan, again. the memory of sitting in the booth for an hour, ordering water and tea until finally deciding to leave before having mark pick you up in his gray BMW M4.

“he stood me up, ma.” your voice whines and your mother laughs. “don’t laugh, ma!” she sighs and calms down. “how could anyone stand my gorgeous girl up?” you sit up and pout.

your mother coos. “it was so embarrassing when i had to call mark to come pick me up— i did the walk of shame.” your mother laughs, again. “then.. he kissed me after he dropped me off in front of my apartment complex.”

“oh, sweetheart. that boy.. that sweet boy..” she jolts up. “i’m talking about mark, by the way!” she confirms and you laugh. “not your shitty little date.” you whine, remembering the embarrassing moment of being stood up.

“you better get him before he moves on and finds someone else.”

it’d been two days since the at home spa day with your mother.

and.. she’d soooommeeehoow convinced you to show up in front of his doorstep.. with nothing.

so, here you are standing in front of his house, waiting for him to come open the door.

you kick around, waiting for the door to open until it does. your body stiffens and jolts up straight. a gorgeous mark lee opens the door.

he was wearing black jeans and a fitted white button up. and his hair.. it was slicked up and to the side.

“hi.” you sigh and mark was speechless. his jaw was hung open and his eyes blinked repeatedly. “uh, i.. uh— i’ll just get to the point.”

“i came here to apologize. specifically for freaking out over our kiss which i think was very stupid of me. i usually don’t panic or freak out over anything.” you hyperventilate.

mark bites his lip. “y/n, now isn’t really a good time—?” you push past mark and walk down his hall.

“a few days ago i talked with my mom and she somehow convinced me to come here which, i am so sorry for barging in but, i really have to talk to you— or apologize.” your hands shake as you enter the kitchen.

“y—y/n—?” mark tries to run in front of you.

you stop and turn. “mark, im in love with you.” mark stops in front of you with his lips slightly parted.

someone clears their throat. “am i.. interrupting something?” your body stills.

holy fuck.

your head slowly turns toward the voice. “hi.” you squeak and wave. “hey, i’m celina. marks date— and, you?” you gulp and turn your head back to marks.

“woah, im sorry. i didn’t realize my.. my neighbor! i didn’t realize my neighbor had a date. wow, this was so rude of me to just barge in— i apologize!” you laugh and look behind you— thank god mark had two entry for his kitchen.

“i—i should go! nice meeting you celina! again, sorry!” you awkwardly laugh and leave through the second entry.

what the actual hell were you thinking??

that was definitely a sign that it isn’t meant to be.

“maaaaa, it was so embarrassing!” you cry a whine into her chest. “he was on a date and i just, barged in like the kool aid guy telling him that i love him!”

your mother gasps. “you told him you love him? my love, i know you want to tell about how you feel for him but.. don’t be so upfront!” you whine and fall back on her bed.

“you always tell me to be upfront and straight forward.” you sigh and run your hands over your face. “sometimes you shouldn’t listen to me!” you and her laugh as you sit up.

“i messed up, ma.” your mother cups your face. “yeah, you did.” you softly laugh and sigh.

PING!

“should i get that?” your mother frowns and nods. “fine.” you huff and grab your phone.

you gasp. “ma, he texted me!” you jump up on your knees. “who? who?!” she jumps on her knees. “who other than mark, ma?!” you and her squeal for a good minute before calming down.

“he said, come over and let’s talk— please.” you bite your lip and your mother shows a shocked face. “go, now. i’m so serious right now, y/n. get out of my house and come back the next day to tell me what happened!”

you laugh and climb out of her bed. “ma, im nervous!” you say slipping on your shoes. “just go! take my car and go, sweetheart! you’ll be fine, i promise.” she gives you a kiss on the forehead and watches you walk out to her car.

you bite your nail while walking back and forth in front of marks door. debating if you should knock or just turn and leave.

“well, i’m already here.” you sigh and pull your hand away from your mouth.

you clear your throat and straighten up before bringing your hand up and knocking on marks door. mid knock, the door swings open and your arm hangs in the air.

“hi.” mark sighs with a lopsided smile.

“hi.” you bite your lip and gulp.

“i was wondering when you’d knock.” what? “uh, i could see you pacing back and forth through my camera.” you look to the side to side before stopping when seeing his ring camera.

you look back at him. “oh.” you nervously laugh and mark finally invites you inside with an apology.

“so,” you swoop your skirt and sit on his couch. “why did you ask me to come here? i thought you had a date.. with celina?” mark sits across from you and rests his elbows on his knees.

“i cut our date short.” he answers plainly. “wh—what? why?” mark rubs his stubble. “i had to see you, y/n. i needed to talk to you a—after what you said.”

mark raises his eyes to yours and you bring your eyes to his fireplace.

“look, mark— what i said..” you sigh and push your hair back.

“did you mean it?” you bring your eyes back to his. your eye twitches and so does your jaw as you contemplate on what to say.

mark gets up and your eyes follow him. he walks around the coffee table and stops in front of you before sitting down on the table.

you felt like time had stopped with him.. being so close in front of you.

“tell me, y/n. did you mean what you said?” you wet your lips. “i—i did.” mark rests his elbows on his knees like before. “say it without stuttering.”

“i did and i do, mark. i.. love you.” mark softly smiles. “i didn’t ask before but, can i kiss you?” you follow along with the smile and nod.

mark cups your face and softly connects his lips with yours. no roughness and no blood this time.

the kiss was getting rougher and sloppier by the second and in the heat of the moment, you took marks hand and you brought it under your skirt.

“fuck,” mark pulls away and looks down before looking back up. “you’re drenched, baby.” you tipped your head back and sighed when he pressed his fingers more on your clit.

mark pushes your skirt up and looks down. “god, you’re adorable.” mark softly giggles at your panties— they were cotton with flowers printed all over it and a tiny little flower was sewed in the middle of the stretch-band.

“it was on sale at victoria secret!” you whine.

mark softly laughs. “may i?” mark tugs on the band and you nod, biting your lip.

mark pulls your panties down and holds them up. embarrassment washed over you when seeing the a wet splotch on the cotton material.

“mark, give it to me—?” you reach up to snatch it but mark reclines back. “ah ah, what do you think you’re doing?” he smirks and looks at the panties in his hand. “taking back what’s mine— give it—?” you try and reach for it, again but mark does the same thing.

“nice try, princess. this is mine now.” he bunches it up and tucks it in his back pocket. “what’re you gonna do with it, huh? wear it?” mark laughs. “shut up.” you yelp when he lands a soft smack on your clit.

mark lifts his hand to his mouth and sticks out his tongue, wetting his two fingers before slowly sliding them into your cunt.

you moan and slowly let your legs fall together. “no no no,” mark parts your legs with his free hand. “i want these open, you hear me?” you bite your lip and nod. “good.”

a tortured groan rumbled in your throat as mark slowly slipped his fingers within your walls. your walls tightened around his fingers every time the tip of his fingers brushed against your g-spot.

“m—mark!” you hum and softly gasp. your clit throbbed and throbbed. “do you like this, baby?” mark says, slowly thrusting his fingers.

you shake your head. “you don’t?” mark pauses and you whine. “mark, i want it faster.” marks lip curl into a grin. “you’re a needy one, aren’t you?”

mark intensifies his movements and rests his thumb on your clit. “ooohh, my god.” you shudder a moan and let your eyes roll back.

“mark!” his lips rest on your swollen clit and it catches you off guard. “oh, god— mark!” you cry out and tug on his locks.

his fingers scissoring inside you as his tongue swirls around your clit. he hums a chuckle when feeling your fingers tug tighter.

“oh, ffffuck!” you gasp, feeling him nibble on your clit.

the sounds of mark lapping up your juice fills your ears, along with the sounds of his fingers scissoring you rapidly.

you push mark away, his lips a bit swollen and red as he’s shoved away from you. “w—wait, m—mark!” the pleasure is too much.

“what’s wrong, baby? tell me how it feels, baby.” mark whispers and you struggle with speak. the air tightening around you as your orgasm sneaked closer. “cmon, baby.” mark slows down his moments and you whine.

“i—it feels.. amazing, mark.” you grasp the material of his couch and clench your jaw with a grunted, high pitched moan. “there you go, baby.” mark whispers, his fingers throbbing from how tight you clenched.

“oh, fuck.” mark pulls his fingers out and lifts them. “so perfect.” mark sighs and plops them on his tongue. mark slides his tongue between the two cum covered fingers and moans around them.

“m—mark, i just— i just squirted!” you stare in horror as he sucks on his fingers.

“princess, you taste so sweet.” he looks down at you and grins widely.

the image of you laid in front of him with your legs wide open and your pussy glistening, your chest heaving and your eyes fighting to stay open.

“god, this is embarrassing.” you groan. “hey,” mark grabs your jaw and shakes your head side to side, waking you back up. “we aren’t done yet, princess.”

mark lifts you up and fixes your skirt. “we’re taking this to the room, okay, princess?” you nod and wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

once upstairs, mark lays you gently on his bed. “are you on birth control?” he asks and you nod. “but, could you please use a condom?” mark reaches above you and opens up his nightstand.

you hear rustling until a wrapper is heard. “i will always use a condom. never have i once slept with a women without wearing a condom.” you take the condom from mark and you rip it open.

“can i put it on?” mark softly laughs and nods. you sit up and wait until mark undresses himself. with excitement, you slide the condom on with a bit of marks help.

you lay back down and mark looks down at you— he admires you before nodding. “ready, princess?” you’re caught off guard by his question— too busy staring down at his cock.

it was both long and thick. maybe a good eight inch.

“ready.” you nod.

mark holds one of your thigh and slowly pushes himself in. your mouth parts and and your body tenses up. you let out a cry when mark made it half way.

now, it wasn’t like you were a virgin— you aren’t. but, his size was different compared to the other three guys you’ve slept with. they were thinner and below 6 inches.

“mark,” you exhale and rest your palm on his faint abs. “i’ll go slow, baby. don’t worry.” you shake your head. “n—no, i want it fast. j—just not now.” you exhale, again.

you look to the side when feeling mark interlace his fingers with yours. “i’ll go as slow as you want, baby. we can be here all night at this pace.” you softly laugh and so does mark.

after about several minutes, you had gotten over the slight burning sensation and had begged mark to pick up his pace.

“just like that, baby.” mark groaned and watched as your pussy swallowed his cock. “absolutely gorgeous.” he whispers and tightens his hand around yours.

you give a squeeze back and mark softly laughs.

“you’re so fucking perfect.” he whispers and presses his lips against yours. mark doesn’t let your lips go instead, he pounds his hips down on yours.

your moans being swallowed by mark as his cock hit your g-spot, over and over, again. mark pulls your leg onto his hip and roughly rocks his hips into yours. you bring your other leg up to marks hip and you lock your ankles together, pulling him closer.

“mark,” you moan, pulling away. “i’m— mark, im gonna—?” mark kisses you. “cum.” he finishes for you. “do it. i love how tight you get when you cum.”

and, so you do. your pussy tightens around mark when your second orgasm washes over you. “what a good slut.” mark coos and presses his lips on yours.

slut?

mark pulls away when your legs go weak. his cock stands hard as he grabs your hips and turns you on your knees.

“m—mark, my legs!” you giggle. your legs shook and quivered— and, if it were for marks arm around your waist holding you up, you would’ve collapsed.

mark uses his free hand and lands a spank on your ass. “look at this pretty flushed ass.” mark lands another spank on your ass and you whine. “mark, stop!” you swat his hand.

“sh, sh.” mark pushes down the upper half of your body and plants a kiss on your ass cheek. “stay still and let me hear those pretty noises while i fuck you, slut.”

mark pushes into you and your eyes fall shut but your mouth falls open with moans spilling out.

“that’s it, slut. let me hear your pretty sounds.” mark gathers your hair and yanks it back. “ah— mark.” you wince, your back aching from how much it arched.

mark hisses and squeezes your hips. “moan for me, baby. i love hearing how pretty you sound.” your mouth falls open and more moans spill out.

“fuck, im gonna cum.” mark exhales and tilts his head back. “y/n, wha—?” his head snaps back when feeling you slip off his cock.

you turn around and push mark back by shoving his shoulders. he falls on his ass with his legs laid out in front of him.

“baby, what are you doing—?” you sit on your knees and crawl forward, pulling the condom off and flinging on to the side. “baby—?” mark sighs when feeling your lips wrap around his cock.

“fuck, baby.” mark softly chuckles and you gasp when feeling a hand drop on your head.

his fingers tangle with your hair. mark lets out a string of curses as he pushes your head down and back up. you push away marks hand and he tsks.

“i’m a big girl, mark.” you say pulling off his cock.

he lets out a drowsy smile and gathers your hair, even the ones that stuck to your face with sweat.

you settled with a rhythm and flattened your tongue along his cock. mark moans and you smile at the sounds of pleasure he let spill from his throat.

“oh, fuck. oh, fuck, baby—?!” mark holds your head down and dumps his load down your throat before letting you up.

you gasp heavily and slap your hands down on marks thighs— which, he winces at. your eyes fall shut when feeling something land on your cheek then nose and then chin.

“you’re a piece of shit.” you laugh, opening your eyes to see mark still recovering from his orgasm. “you love it.” you roll your eyes.

mark reaches forward and wraps his hand around your nape, yanking you forward and connecting your lips with his.

he pulls away and pulls your jaw apart. you wait until a ball of saliva falls into your mouth, landing on your tongue. you swallow and open your mouth, again.

“good girl, baby.” mark softly laughs and rubs your cheek.

mark frees your jaw and lowers his eyes to your breasts. your eyes follow and mark cups your breasts from below.

“god, could you get any more gorgeous than this?” you bite your lip as mark moves closer, his mouth practically drooling over your breasts.

a soft moan is heard from you when mark wraps his lips around your nipple. he looked adorable from your view. just sucking on your tit and pinching the other nipple.

“oh, god.” you sigh and bring your hand up to his lock, tangling your finger in his locks and yanking them.

“you taste so sweet.. every part of you is so sweet.” he whispers and moves to the other breast. “oh, god, mark.” you gasp, pushing his head closer.

mark pulls away and his lips were slightly plumped with redness. “you look so cute.” you giggle, wiping his extra drool with your thumb.

mark grabs your hand and leans into your touch. “what do you say,” he brings his lips onto yours. “wash up,” he pulls off and then returns. “and i’ll order something for us?” you laugh against his lips and nod.

“alright, cmon. i wanna see how sexy you’ll look in my clothes.” you roll your eyes and laugh.

“you know, hearing you say that you were supposed to go on a date with one of my best friends.. i was.. i was honestly furious.” mark says grabbing a chicken drumstick.

“i felt like someone had punched a hole in my heart.” you laugh and mark stammers confusingly. “wha— im serious! honestly, i’m actually serious. i went to his place and punched him right in the jaw.”

wow, mark lee? really?

“did you actually?” you ask, sipping on the cola in your cup. “i did and i.. would do it again but i wouldn’t. kind of hurt my knuckles.” he laughs.

“i’m glad we talked things out.” you say with a sigh. “i’m glad we did, too.” mark grabs another chicken.

you sigh, again, swallowing the skin of the crispy chicken. “my mom is gonna freak when i tell her about the amazing sex we just had.” you laugh and then mark follows.

“wa—wait—? wh—what?” his voice squeaks.

you giggle. “wait, do you tell your mom everything?” his half eaten chicken lays between his fingers. “i do. she’s my best friend.” mark takes a bite out of his chicken.

“mm..” he sets down his chicken on his plate. “so, that means you’ll also tell her that we’re dating, now?” you quirk an eyebrow. “since when, hm?”

mark clears his throat. “y/n, will you be my one and only girlfriend?” you smirk, hiding the fact that you were melting inside. “yes, mark lee. i will be your one and only girlfriend.” you giggle.

“good, because i wasn’t gonna let you go anyway.” he winks and you hide your smile with the drumstick.

A/N: i genuinely was gonna write something that was like.. related to the title “punch” but i didn’t save it and it deleted! so, i’d already had the picture and divider so i just decided to write something else.

so if you’re reading it and thinking “what rje hell does this have to do with “punch” — nothing. it has nothing to do with this post.

#nctsplug02 #ash talks #nct imagines #nct scenarios #anon #kpop imagines #nct smut #nct 127 #kpop smut #kpop fluff #nerdy mark #mark fluff #superm mark #nct mark #mark #mark smut #mark lee smut #mark lee

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devildomwriter · 16 days

Text

“…Excuse me? You don’t know TSL? And you call yourself a human?! Just how clueless ARE you?! How could you not know?! Just the fact that you don’t know TSL alone is proof that you’ve been wasting your life! So, I’m going to do you a favor and teach you about TSL. Make sure you pay attention! The Tale of the Seven Lords, otherwise known as TSL, is a series of fantasy novels written by Christopher Peugeot. It’s a heroic epic spanning 138 volumes, and it’s the most widely-read fantasy series in the world. There are even theatrical versions, an animated series, and feature films, too. And it’s been translated into a total of 182 different languages. The 1990s theatrical version was an utter disaster, owing to the fact that they added several characters that were NOT present in the original manuscript. At the time I was like, “this producer totally needs to crawl into a hole and die!” But then the 2015 version came out, and it was AMAZING! Better than amazing! If you ask me, it showed that needlessly cramming a female lead in there alongside Henry was a bad idea. That’s not what he needs. What he NEEDS is a friend who really understands him, and the 2015 version proved that.

Also, the most vital element of the story is that each of the Seven lords is so unique. They’re all so interesting in their own peculiar way. That’s what makes TSL so great! The lords are all brothers…the oldest is called the Lord of Corruption. He doesn’t come across as being so bad at first, but he’s always plotting and planning in secret. The second oldest is the Lord of Fools, a scumbag who’ll do anything for money. The third oldest is called the Lord of Shadow, a brooding recluse. The fourth oldest is known as the Lord of Masks. He masquerades as a high-status, upstanding member of society, but underneath it all, he’s an inhumane monster. The fifth oldest, the Lord of Lechery, only ever thinks of sex. The sixth oldest is the Lord of Flies, and he only ever thinks of food. The seventh oldest, called the lord of Emptiness. He’s weird…you never know what’s running through his head! It seems most people like the oldest lord, the lord of corruption, the best. Everyone always talks about how great he is. But not me. I like the third Lord way more. Of course, I like Henry too. He’s the protagonist. He’s almost as great as the third lord. The second Lord is total scum, a hopeless degenerate that leads a life of extravagance and indulgence. He’s always causing trouble for the third lord. He’s got these magical pigs that can give birth to solid gold piglets, and he treasures them above all else. So Henry goes and talks to the pigs, and using his wit and powers of persuasion, he convinces them to leave with him. Then, he leads every last one of them away, and presents them to the third lord as a gift! Wow…I mean, they’re SUCH GOOD FRIENDS you can almost feel it! It’s enough to make you cry! Oh, and then there’s that one really awesome moment when the two of them realize they both like and respect each other, and they high-five! I just LOVE that part, you know? I wish I could have a moment like that. …I wish I could be like the third lord. I may be a recluse like him, but we’re totally different, because he’s got an amazing friend like Henry. Check it out. See that goldfish in the fish tank there? He’s actually named Henry. I love TSL so much that I couldn’t help naming him after the main character. But I cant really high-five a goldfish, can I?

The original author of TSL, Christopher Peugeot, he’s actually a human, you know? That’s why I’m so jealous of you guys. Humans are so lucky, you’ve got subscription services that let you watch your favorite anime anytime, you can go to Akihabara whenever you want… Why do only you guys get to experience all the good stuff? I mean, humans’ whole concept of pleasure originally came from us demons, you know? We gave it to you. So, why can’t we have a little bit of it back now, huh? I mean, I want to be able to go to a Japanese maid café, too. I want to hear the maids welcome me as if I’m the master of the house, and have them draw ketchup hearts on my friend ride omelette, to experience the magic of it all. I want to cosplay as Henry, and then go stand in the center of Akihabara, or maybe that one building in Tokyo that’s shaped like upside-down triangles. And once I’m there, I want to perform Henry’s super-powerful signature finishing move for all to see and say the incantation that goes with it. I want to shout it at the top of my lungs!...Actually you know what? I want to BE Henry.”

— Leviathan’s longest TSL rant (Chapter 1-13)

#literally the rant was so long I had to break it up because tumblr wouldn’t let me post it all together #obey me shall we date #obey me quote #obey me quote of the day #obey me leviathan #obey me leviasim #obey me tsl #obey me leviathan quotes #obey me chapter 1

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 month

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hello!

I’ve been thinking about this prompt for awhile now, but I’d like to hear your takes on it! if say another event like lost in the book happened but instead of stitch, they meet Winnie the Pooh and his friends— which of the cast do you think would relate most to the characters?

I uh 😅 don’t know a lot about Winnie the Pooh or its characters, so my thoughts here are based on very, veeery basic understandings of them.

Pooh — His defining trait is his loyalty and willingness to help others, so I automatically don’t see many of the NRC boys relating to Pooh’s softness. He might be a better fit with one of the light cosmic element boys (Kalim, Silver, even Rook) or Yuu.

Piglet — He’s soft spoken and always nervous or worrying about something. I think of Epel and Idia as the "soft spoken" ones of the group, but Idia is the more generally anxious one. Epel's only really "shy and meek" when he's forced to act more polite; his true personality is much rowdier and more stubborn.

Tigger — Tigger is bright and enthusiastic. Any number of the cheerier members of the main cast could fit here with him: Cater, Kalim, etc. I would say Sebek (at least when it's a Malleus-related task or sentiment) works.

Eeyore — The most “different” of the Pooh cast; Eeyore tends to be down in the dumps and/or unenthusiastic. I see Idia and Leona best relating to Eeyore, since the former is usually pessimistic about everything while the latter has depressive symptoms that he usually masks with arrogant confidence.

Rabbit — Prideful and stubborn self-appointed leader, but ready to hop into action when he is called upon. Most of the dorm leaders could honestly slot in nicely here, particularly Riddle (whom we see in book 6 trying to be the "leader" of his group with Azul and has a generally very rigid way of thinking).

Kanga and Roo — Loving mother and curious, adventurous son duo. Various combinations can work here, although each pairing kind of represents a different kind of parent-child or general familial relationship. (Vil and Epel, Trey and Riddle, Idia and Ortho, Leona and Cheka, Jamil and Kalim, etc.) It really depends on how you want to look at it.

Owl — A know-it-all who actually dispenses the wrong information more often than not. I'd say Lilia or Jade is most Owl-like. They're the most likely to share false knowledge, but unlike Owl, it doesn't come from a place of genuinely not knowing but rather purposefully fucking up the information to mess with people.

Christopher Robin — A kind and helpful boy who shares his stories with the animals of the 100 Acre Woods. I wasn’t sure if I should include him here, but the Disney website lists him as a core member of the cast so I thought, “might as well!” Since Christopher Robin is the "odd one out" who shares stories with everyone, which i think it suits Yuu (the photographer/one who records memories) quite well.

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afeelgoodblog · 1 year

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The Best News of Last Week

😷 - Mask off, but guard up! Seems like we're out of the tunnel

1. Abandoned dog seen wandering Detroit streets with stuffed toy rescued, now receiving care

An abandoned dog is preparing for a new home after animal rescue groups spent days trying to find her when she was spotted wandering Detroit with a stuffed toy. Nikki's owner recently died, and she was left to wander the streets with her favorite toy.

As Nikki receives her care, the animal workers are making sure she is ready to head to her foster home. Almost Home is collecting donations to help pay for the treatment and Niki's care. Donate here.

2. New foster care agency matching LGBTQ+ kids with queer carers to become ‘their amazing, wonderful selves’

A new foster care service has been launched to help match LGBTQ+ young people with supportive carers and families in the South East of England. Apex Q, a service from agency Apex Fostering, will help encourage more LGBTQ+ foster carers, provide training and create more placements for queer children.

Apex Fostering, which covers north and east London as well as several southern counties, including Hertfordshire, Essex and Cambridgeshire, launched in 2021 and claims to have already placed more than 60 young people with foster families.

3. Newquay Zoo celebrates birth of rare 'warty' piglets

A pair of rare piglets has been born at Newquay Zoo in Cornwall. The Visayan warty pigs, named for the three pairs of fleshy "warts" on the boar's face, which protect it while fighting rival pigs, are part of a breeding programme at the zoo.

The species lives in the forests of the Philippines, where there could be as few as 200 animals left.

4. New Alzheimer's drug slows disease by a third

We could be entering the era of Alzheimer's treatments, after the second drug in under a year has been shown to slow the disease. Experts said we were now "on the cusp" of drugs being available, something that had recently seemed "impossible".

The company Eli Lilly has reported its drug - donanemab - slows the pace of Alzheimer's by about a third.

5. Covid global health emergency is over, WHO says

The World Health Organization (WHO) has declared that Covid-19 no longer represents a "global health emergency". The statement represents a major step towards ending the pandemic and comes three years after it first declared its highest level of alert over the virus.

But Dr Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus warned that the virus remained a significant threat.

6. Doctors have performed brain surgery on a fetus in one of the first operations of its kind

The baby’s condition, known as vein of Galen malformation, was first noticed during a routine ultrasound scan at 30 weeks of pregnancy. The seven-week-old is one of the first people to have undergone an experimental brain operation while still in the womb. It might have saved her life.

Before she was born, this little girl developed a dangerous condition that led blood to pool in a 14-millimeter-wide pocket in her brain. The condition could have resulted in brain damage, heart problems, and breathing difficulties after birth. It could have been fatal. The baby girl was born healthy. She didn’t need any treatment for the malformation.

7. Lastly, watch this father stork brings a blanket to warm up mother stork

youtube

----

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog. SUBCRIBE HERE for more good news in your inbox

#best news of last week #Youtube

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theredofoctober · 9 months

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SPITE— The Boys fic, Billy Butcher x reader, crossposted from AO3, reader uses she/her pronouns

TW: Violence, noncon

The super villain known as SPITE (reader) has been stalking Billy Butcher. He captures her, and chaos ensues...

Read after the cut

---

"You little cunt."

The words lose their meaning quickly in the lurching dark through frequent repetition.

Their first utterance is a hiss against your ear as you're dredged from the street to some rank basement, roiling in your captor's grip like a sturgeon all the way down.

The second usage of the phrase errupts in a catankerous grunt as their speaker attempts to bind you to a chair, a gyre of your tulle and satin costume half-smothering him as you thrash, and kick, and bite.

"You little cunt," snarls Billy Butcher, for the third time, as you clip his jaw with your forehead.

Then, with a vicious grin, he spits a gout of his own blood into your face.

"Like that, do you, you fucking supe slag? Don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from."

His shackles your throat with his fist, smirking as you flinch from the red razors of his teeth. He wears a mask of revulsion, the whites of his eyes within it shocking, horrible.

You can't seem to look away.

"Not so brave, now, are you, flower?" asks Butcher. "See, I've been following you, and just picture my fucking surprise to find out that you've been trying to do the same to me. And just me, that is; you've kept well out the way of my Boys. You've been very clever about it, I'll give you that. I doubt they even have a clue who you are."

He releases your throat and wipes his hand on the garish fabric of his shirt with a laborious theatricality.

"So," he continues, "either you were trying to kill me off—which you are absolutely shit at, by the way—or there's something else you're after. Wonder what that could be?"

Butcher kicks a chair leg, and you rock upon it like a bowling pin.

"Look at ya," he sneers. "Running around here, dressed like some clown's tart— sorry to tell you, love, but the circus ain't in fucking town."

Swallowing dryly, you attempt to scrape the chair backwards, inch by inch, across the floor, putting space between yourself and the man with the coarse velvet of murder in his voice.

Butcher watches your retreat, shaking his head.

"Where are you gonna go, sweetheart? You can't use your fucking fairy magic powers when you're all tied up like that, so don't get any ideas. You're cosied up with me for a bit. So let's have a chat, shall we?"

With your voice obstructed by a makeshift gag you merely widen your eyes in response.

"Well, love, I'm glad you asked," says Butcher, with an acid sarcasm. "There's only two ways you're leaving here tonight: either as strawberry slushie at the bottom of a fucking rubbish bag, or all in one piece, except for your dignity, that is. Better make up your mind. I don't have all night."

He pauses, pretends to consider.

"Well, I do, but I wanna spend it cracking open a couple of beers with the lads, not down here chin-wagging with a bleedin' Supe."

Butcher's gaze is thick with the dregs of an old and bitter madness: you feel more than undressed by it, skinned, rather, your muscles flayed from the bone.

"Look at you," says Butcher, coldly. "Sitting there in all that pink bollocks looking like something Piglet shat out after a mad one in The Hundred Acre Wood. What's it all about, eh?"

He kicks suddenly at your calf, his boot rending layers of candyfloss fishnet thread with a blow that will surely bruise.

"Nobody's making you wear this shit; Vought won't touch you with a bargepole after all the stunts you’ve been pulling on the sly. Your own kind don't want anything to do with you. You're a loner. So what were you doing prancing about in this silly fucking get-up? Waiting for me to notice?"

Butcher shunts your chair back against the wall, tipping it at an angle that, at his high vantage, likely allows a view that is particularly obscene.

"Don't be shy," he leers. "Every time you threw a kick at me I could see right up at your knickers. And they're fragile little things, ain't they?"

You strain against your bonds, bucking with such an indignant gusto that the ropes start to fray against your muscles.

"Oh no you fucking don't," says Butcher, and slaps you so hard across the cheek that you're still again in an instant, your ears sirening from the blow.

"You don't wanna piss me off, darling," says your captor, grimly. "See, I could really fucking hurt you, but I don't wanna manhandle you more than I have to, savvy? Then again, I think you're gagging to be roughed up. Didn't put up much of a fight, did you, and now I've got you right where I want you—"

You mumble your objections into the wad of lace against your teeth, but Butcher ignores you, caught up in the rhythm of his spiel.

"—Seems like you're desperate for me to give you a good seeing to. Well, don't worry, love. Daddy's here."

He's being ironic, you think, but as a strange combination of want and loathing twists his countenance you begin to change your mind.

"I can't stand your sort," Butcher mutters. "Filthy mutants, the lot of you. But seeing you in this mess I might have it in me for a pity fuck."

He shoves a thumb into your mouth and pulls free the gag, wincing as his fingers come away wet with drool.

"Well," he says. "Speak up, love. Do you wanna shag, or die?"

"Neither," you rasp. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Butcher's smile is blood and ice.

"See, I thought you'd say that. So I took the liberty of popping all the security footage I've got of you onto a nice little pen drive so I could play it back to you, remind you how many times you’ve tiptoed around me about in your glorified stripper wear without finishing the bloody job. Let's have a gander, shall we?"

He fumbles for a remote, and a vast television screen illuminates in the centre of the room, revealing picture after picture of you tracking Butcher across the city by night. You recall taunting him with your proximity, enjoying the game; it's how you always hunt your targets, hounding them until they go mad with paranoia, an end hastened by hallucinations cast like spellwork from your fingertips, each more awful than the last.

Butcher, however...

He had been difficult. He'd barely seemed to respond to your assaults, no matter your pressure upon his mind.

"In case you're wondering, I saw your poxy visions," he announces perceptively, rapping the television screen with his fist. "But you underestimate the level of fucked up I've witnessed in my life. I've seen scarier shit in my morning routine."

The screen flickers, and you're faced with a shot of yourself standing in Butcher's shadow, so close to him that your breath is almost on the back of his neck. How smug you'd been in the thought that he hadn't known you were there, that you were so extraordinarily clever, and daring.

Humiliating to think that Butcher had followed you with equal stealth, despite his limitations.

"Tell me why you picked me to wind up," he demands, "and not Frenchie, or M.M., or any of my mates. Why am I so special? You've heard my theories. Now it's your turn."

You don't immediately answer, keeping a mutinous silence.

Butcher approaches you with a slow, heavy tread, a killer's prowl, and leans into you, smelling of beer and cologne, and his own congealing blood. You wonder what he makes of your own scent: sweat and sugar, the remnants of perfume, petty irritants for his rudimentary human senses.

Smirking, you say, "You despise us all so much, Billy. I wanted to see what your face would look like when you realised that a Supe had killed you."

"Nah," says Butcher, shaking his head. "I'm not convinced. I reckon you wanted to know how hard a 'normal' like me could hate-fuck you when you got caught in the act."

He shunts a knee between your thighs—each lashed to either side of the chair, conveniently apart—and grinds an apex of bone against you, forcing a reluctant shiver through your core.

You're afraid to move, lest you provoke him; you can't be silent lest Butcher thinks he's won.

At last you settle to hiss between your teeth, "Why don't you just do it? Like you said, I can't use my powers with my hands tied like this. So what's stopping you? Why don't you just do what you want, Mr King Shit of Fuck Mountain?"

"That's not my style," says Butcher, with a sneer. "I want you to ask for it. Beg like the pathetic cunt you are. I'm giving you a choice."

"I'm tied to a chair, genius. I don't have many choices."

"You were trying to murder me, sweetheart. You're lucky you're getting any options."

"You could just let me go."

"And put up with you tormenting me for another bloody month? Not likely."

You burst into sudden laughter and Butcher freezes, his face clouded by sheer loathing.

"Shut up," he snarls. "Shut up right fucking now."

Butcher makes a fist, and you wonder what he means to do: violet an eye, shatter a tooth, break bone like a glass in some grimy pub. As your laugh continues he aims a punch and misses as you weave your head aside, splitting his knuckles on the back of the chair.

"Shit!"

"You're a hypocrite," you say, as he wipes off the blood. "I know all about you. Your hard-on for killing Supes. You act like you think you're better than us, but really? I think you're a jealous little fanboy."

"Who's the fucking fan here?" snarls Butcher. "Admit it. That little stalking act— you've been flirting with me."

You wrinkle your nose.

"You wish."

"Don't have to wish. I reckon if I was to feel that snatch of yours right now you'd be wet through."

The laughter dies in your throat, and you edge about in your seat, attempting to shimmy your skirt further down over your hips.

"Wouldn't mean anything," you mutter, at last, and Butcher gives you a cunning look.

"Only that getting smacked about by a man who wants to kill you is your cup of tea. And I'm starting to think it is."

He shrugs off his vast coat, throwing it aside. Veins stand out on the backs of his hands and arms, and you realise, suddenly, that he is serious in what he means to do, entirely so. You could die tonight, and the worst of it is that no one would care.

"Make your mind up, Spite," says Butcher. "You know what's on the table. You pick, or I will. I don't think you'd like that. My crowbar wants to make friends with every one of your stupid fucking Supe bones."

The peril of your situation is unavoidable. You move your lips, the sounds escaping at such mite softness that Butcher cranes his ear towards your mouth.

"What did you say? Speak up, darlin'."

With a sudden lunge you snap at Butcher's earlobe and latch on with grinning teeth. Blood crests your tongue in a grisly baptism, and as the man wrenches from your grip you see how badly he wants to hurt you.

"Oh, you sneaky little fucker!" he barks. "That's it; I've had enough of that mouth."

In a punishing scuffle Butcher stuffs another wad of torn fabric between your jaws, thrusting it so far down your throat that you almost choke. Then he drags your hips forward on the chair and scrambles for his zipper, his face murky with rage.

"You wanna play, Supe? Then let's have some fucking fun."

His fingers pierce your core, twisting deep, and you writhe like a halved worm around them.

Butcher drives his face so close to yours that your foreheads knock together, his eyes the very black of death.

"So I was right. You're making a proper mess, poor little thing."

You attempt to remain defiant, scornful, but you can barely maintain the artifice when Butcher's hand is so deep within you, each rough twitch of his fingers inducing a further slickness. Desperate, you wrench your arms against the ropes that hold them fast, hoping to wear through your bonds.

"Pack it in," snaps Butcher. "Or I will really bloody hurt you."

You believe it, but don't cease your struggling; you never relinquish a fight, whatever the cost.

Cursing, Butcher wraps a fist around your throat, squeezing until you gargle in pain.

"Now you be a good little trollop," he says, "and take my fucking cock, alright?"

He's so hard as he enters you that you see, in his expression, a dark, aching relief, as though soothing a terrible burn.

How long as he thought about this, tortured by your figure twisting and dancing around him through the rain-lashed streets in a miasma of summoned dreams? How close did he come to splaying you across a wall in some filthy alleyway, crushing you like a butterfly under his boot?

Now he has you jailed from your powers he makes you feel weak. How exhilarating that he is capable of this, a man born entirely without super abilities.

With each violent thrust the chair bangs against the wall, swinging a blade of pain up through your middle. Butcher's hands rip at your costume, tearing it between your breasts with an animal malice.

"You're tight," he says. "So fucking tight..."

He kisses your stuffed mouth with a clash of teeth, and the assault sparks the flint of lust in the secret part of you that has yearned to be dismantled by his stark hatred.

Even as you'd schemed to kill him you'd thought this man handsome, admired, coldly, his brutal methods, imagined standing over his corpse, admiring the loss of homocidal life as you might a sun beam in broken glass.

Now you are such fragments in his handling Butcher has no mercy for you. The man is out of control, taking, by instinct, in a berserker state, knowing nothing but the satisfaction of violence.

His cock jars you like a slaughterer's bolt, knifing your warmth with his ever greater heat. There is no talking, for a time, only the fever of his vengeful need. The room resounds with exerted grunts and the squeak of the chair beneath your struggling bodies; the angle of fucking is awkward, and you notice Butcher glancing at your bonds, evidently considering whether or not cutting you loose is worth the risk of you killing him.

At last he barks, "I'm gonna move you. Try anything stupid and you can kiss your kneecaps goodbye."

You nod limply, and Butcher pulls a blade from somewhere and hacks at the ropes with a careless malice, unflinching as he nicks the skin beneath. Keeping only a knot around your wrists he wrangles you over a couch and ruts you, face down, upon it, his fist in your hair, straining its roots.

"This what you thought it'd be like, you fucking brat?"

You try to brace a leg upon the floor, but your foot skids, and Butcher presses you harder against the couch cushions, smothering your ragged breaths.

"Supposed to be superior," he grunts. "Can't even put up a proper fight."

You twist under him, throwing him off onto the floor in a landslide of churning limbs, and as he staggers up after you again he's grinning widely.

"That's more like it."

As he comes for you again you vault yourself over the back of the sofa and roll into a dark corner, loosening the rope across your hands. When Butcher seizes you by the ankles and hauls you towards him you steeple two fingers at the man's forehead and flex.

What you put into his mind is the vilest image your thoughts can conjure, so corrupt that he drops you swiftly and flinches back, his face paling.

"Fuck me."

For a moment you think that Butcher might vomit, and scrape yourself further across the ground, towards the door, waiting for the inevitable heaving to give you time to run. But he only turns his head and spits a clot of plegm into the dust, his countenance wrenched by a savage glee.

"I knew you Supes weren't right in the head, but you're really somethin,'" he breathes. "Can see why all your quarry end up bashing their own brains in against the nearest wall. Not me, though, love. You've picked the wrong bastard."

A rare fear eats through you as you dump the last of the rope and scamper up the stairwell towards the street. As you barrel your shoulder into the door at the top it resists you, barely splintering despite your harshest efforts.

"Supe proofed," says Butcher, smugly, as he comes up the stairs behind you. "At least against half-baked cunts like you that don't even have decent powers."

He slams you against the door, dizzying you in the blow. The next thing you're aware of is being dragged back down to the basement, and although you rail him with blows and waves of toxic thought Butcher manages to lumber back over the threshold again.

"I'm not finished with you," he says, and lets out a yelp as you sweep a foot under one leg, bringing him down onto the concrete floor with a resounding boom.

Spitting out the gag, you snap, "Go on, kill me, fuckface. I'm waiting. Make it good for me!"

"I'll make something bloody good, that's for sure," Butcher retorts, and he pins you on your back, arms trapped beneath you. "I never leave a job half-done."

He kisses you again, his tongue gilding your throat, and you feel his hardness between your legs again, undetered by the fight, likely strengthened by it. This is a man who feeds on brutality: why should his fucking be any different?

This time when his cock enters you his right hand follows, finding your clitoris with a nimble ease. You loathe the way he makes your body jump to his touch, the stupid, whimpering moans that pass your bleeding lips with the ruthless beat of his thrusting.

You detest how easy it is for him to mould your obstinance into something needy and mewling, as though he knew this potential was there from the beginning.

"How's that feel?" asks Butcher, thickly, a devilish blaze in his eyes. "Tell me. Is that good, you little cunt?"

"Yes!" you blurt out, and hate him for making you say it, for the fact that it is true. "God, don't—"

You attempt to bring your knees together, to dislodge his hand, but you can't shift Butcher's weight, only trigger him to fuck you deeper, rolling his fingers between your heaving bodies until you're slick as an eel with perspiration.

"Go on, make some noise," croons Butcher, "'cause you're gonna come so hard you'll forget how much you hate me."

Your mouth opens to protest, but to Butcher's grinning satisfaction you can do nothing but let out hoarse, quavering cries, all rational thought simmered to steam on the pinnacle of your ecstasy.

You've never known pleasure so sharp, so clean. You're still in the throes of it when Butcher bucks against you one last time, flattening you beneath him as he fills you with his groaning release.

He rolls off and lies beside you for a minute, seeming to gaze at the ceiling, with something between disgust and a quiet smugness.

Then he says, into the lull, "You want a drink?"

You sit up slowly, disliking the precarious wobble in your arms as your brace yourself.

"Why," you say, slowly, "the fuck would I want to drink with you, Butcher?"

Getting to his feet he shrugs, and fumbles about on a table for a bottle of something murky and likely possessing the qualities of turpentine.

"'Cause you're still sat on your arse rather than trying to kill me again, so I reckon you need a bevvy. And I know you ain't got anywhere else to go."

Butcher pours you a shot of the dark liquid and eyes you with a cagey interest when you don't immediately take it.

"I'm the only one of your marks that isn't a Supe," he says. "I haven't figured out your M.O. yet. Be easier to pick your brains when you're pissed. Might loosen you up a bit."

"Not a good idea," you mutter. "Might realise we've got more in common that you think."

You outstretch a hand and pluck the glass from him, sniffing the contents suspiciously.

"Ain't poisoned, Spite," says Butcher. "Be fucking rude, after what we just did."

"It'd be bang on character, then," you reply, coolly, and drain the glass in a wincing swig. "Christ. How do you drink this shit?"

"I've got a strong stomach. Or kidneys. Take your pick. So, now you're watered, speak up. Why did you come after me?"

You wind your arms around your knees and look at Butcher sideways, thinking, with some annoyance, how much your answer will stroke his ego.

"A lot of Supes out there are afraid of you. I just wanted to know why."

#ao3 writer #the boys #the boys fic #billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #dark!billybutcher #dark!fic #tw noncon

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angelxd-3303 · 5 months

Text

Working on revamping my Technoblade cosplay, because I wanna wear him again to this upcoming convention, but I really wanted to take it to the next level!

I'd like to think that my sculpting ability has improved; I can only hope it dries right and stays together. I'm so happy with how it's turning out tho!

Lmao, my old mask seems so tiny and pathetic now... That was just him as a piglet, lol!

This next con is for you, Alex! Rip, King. 🐷👑

#cosplay #technoblade #technoblade cosplay #clay art #clay masks #cosplay props

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celtic-crossbow · 7 months

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In Blood and Tears, a Thousand Times

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

Setting: Paris (TWD:DD era)

Warnings: SPOILERS, descriptions of violence and torture

Summary: You were doing just fine before the end of the story.

A/N: This was requested by someone whose name wont come up for me when I try to tag!

Once again… SPOILERS BELOW

The moment the first punch was thrown, you knew where this was going. Isabelle stood beside you, her posture tense.

“Isabelle.” You tried, but she shook her head when your hand touched her shoulder. Even though she flinched when the second punch connected, you lowered your hand and stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest. As disturbing as it was, you loved watching Daryl work.

“Y’know, where I grew up, there was this little boy.” The archer began, walking away from Armand. He turned back a moment later and continued. “Lived down the street. His name was Jimmy. Jimmy was a runt.”

He turned toward some sort of utility shelf, examining some of the things inside. “They always picked on Jimmy fer bein’ so little.” You couldn’t see what it was exactly that he pulled out, but he turned it in his hands. “His dad—his dad was a drunk.” When he turned around, he met your eyes then Isabelle’s. “I don’t think I ever saw that guy sober.”

He put that item down and opted for another, his fingers sliding along the pointed tip. “One Christmas, Jimmy got a piglet as a present.” Daryl seemed satisfied with his find, fiddling with it as he turned back to Armand. “It used to follow him around like a little dog.” You glanced at the bound man and found him looking smug but the fear in his eyes was evident.

‘You should be afraid, my dude. You should be.’ You thought, gaze flicking back to Daryl.

The archer circled around to the front of the chair, pacing calmly. “Even waited for him after school. And then one Christmas, ‘is dad says he wants him to kill the piglet an’ eat it for church dinner.”

Your brow furrowed. You’d been with Daryl for years now, and this story was not one you had heard. Maybe you could ask him later, but you had an inkling of who “Jimmy” really was. Before you could blink, Daryl moved. It was a quick attack, two stabs to the midsection with what appeared to be a screwdriver.

Isabelle flinched hard while Armand screamed, but your eyes remained on Daryl while he examined the now bloody tool.

“Says if he doesn’t do it, his brother’s gonna get a beatin’. So, he takes the piglet, ties it up to a tree in the backyard.” His eyes are boring into his captive, waiting for any sign of surrender. “He wants to make it quick an’ painless.” You found yourself starting just as hard as Isabelle when Daryl dove in for three more quick punctures. “Thing is, by Jimmy not tryin’ to hurt the pig, he ends up hurtin’ him worse.”

You stepped up to stand side by side with Isabelle, your shoulder brushing against hers. It was obvious that this was all disturbing to her. She had never lived like you and Daryl had been forced to since the turn. You’d seen this side of your partner before, but this wasn’t who Daryl was. It was a mask he had to wear to survive. He didn’t enjoy this. Neither did you.

In front of you, Armand groaned and whimpered, but said nothing. So, Daryl continued.

“Stabbed it in the belly, in the back, in the legs, ‘til it just bled out. And that pig screamed all night long. All the neighbors heard it.” Daryl threw up his hands, bringing the story to a close. “No one ever fucked with Jimmy anymore.”

The cackle left your mouth before you had a chance to stop it, earning a shocked look from Isabelle and an exasperated one from Daryl. Even as you covered your mouth, you continued to giggle. It wasn’t funny, but god, was it funny! Only Daryl could tell a story so intense and end it like that. It made you miss the old days, back at the Greene farm. But now was not the time for that. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You cleared your throat and schooled your features, face relaxing and going deadpan. Your partner raised an eyebrow at you and you responded with a nod, immediately hiding a smile behind your hand when he looked away.

Daryl shook his head as he walked behind Armand and slammed the weapon onto a table. Before he could go any further, Isabelle stepped forward, speaking to the man in French. Armand answered in kind, panting through the words as Daryl rounded back with something else in his clutches. Isabelle looked to Daryl then to you and back to Daryl.

“He’s using Laurent to get to me.”

Daryl’s demeanor changed, concern radiating from his eyes. “Well, we can’t go through the front door. There’s gotta be another way in.”

Isabelle looked back to the bleeding man, her expression stern as she asked him something you couldn’t understand. Armand shook his head, breathing hard as he answered. You didn’t need to know the language to know he didn’t say what she wanted to hear.

And neither did Daryl.

“I think ya might wanna leave.” He rasped, staring at the man. “‘less ya wanna hear this pig scream.”

You hid yet another smile behind your hand. Why the fuck was this so funny? Clearing your throat, you stepped forward and gently grasped the other woman’s forearm. “Come on, Isabelle.” She shook her head.

“I’ll stay.”

Daryl looked between the two of you before nodding and heading back to the pile of tools and junk. He tossed what he had been holding down with a clang and picked up a thick metal rod. Isabelle paled, her breathing picking up. You gave her arm a squeeze as Daryl prepared to continue his interrogation.

Armand began to rattle off at Isabelle and you hoped it was the information you needed. Not because it particularly bothered you that an asshole was getting what he deserved but because you apparently couldn’t hold a straight face through it!

The nun looked at Daryl. “He knows a way in. It’s dangerous but he can draw us a map.”

The archer looked back and forth between Isabelle and Armand. “We don’t need a map. We’ll take him with us.” He walked past Isabelle and placed the metal on the table, glancing at you and jerking his chin toward the corner. With a sigh, you shuffled over. “The hell was that?”

“What? It was funny!”

“Ya think torturin’ a man is funny” He deadpanned.

You rolled your eyes. “No. I think you telling a story about a boy and his pig while torturing a man is funny.” You’d ask him about ‘Jimmy’ later. Daryl shook his head, smirking at you while patting you on the cheek.

“You’re twisted.”

“You knew it when you chose this, Dixon. You’re stuck with me.”

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