“You want him back.” “I want him safe.” “You want him back.” “… Yes.”

Maltober Day 6 - Rainy Night / Deals

jesse jackson

you will regret this for the rest of your life

shipwrecked menelaus in euripides' helen:

odysseus someplace mid-odyssey at that exact moment: alright time to go a-beggin' again, hold my chlamys

“Any—any way you want, Your Majesty,” Dick lowers his head a fraction, looking up through his lashes.  He pretends like his heart isn’t pounding in his ears, like his fingers aren’t trembling, like his mouth isn’t dry at the thought of—with Slade—with the father of the boy he killed—

Slade surges out of his chair, and Dick automatically flinches back.

Slade pauses.  “I have never taken anyone to my bed that did not want to be there,” he says levelly, raising an eyebrow.  “And I’m not going to start now.”

keep forgetting to post this but i'm working on another cos comic! this time about poor little doru

[ X Company - S02E02 ]

He knew this would happen long before the animal crawled up to him, tail between its legs and ears firmly pinned to the back of its skull, begging for forgiveness. In fact, he was counting on it. Anticipating an opponent's mistakes and turning them into opportunities is an essential skill for any businessman, and Vandermeer is no exception. Yet there is an undercurrent of amusement in the air, that smugness of someone who has been proven right, someone who has won.

That device was a wonderful little thing. To a human, the cravings would be hellish. To an animal, they were unbearable. The wounds littering Horus' entire body are at an assortment of healing stages. Seems our old friend really couldn't put up with you, after all. Curled up at his feet, the animal looks even more pathetic than usual. Henrik shudders at the thought of how much money he has thrown down the drain in trying to make this mongrel presentable.

"Please forgive me. Please." The voice is strained, weak. The animal shivers in terror, forcing itself to repeat the words it hopes would appease its owner. A regretful dog, begging to be taken back the moment it figures out it can't survive on the streets.

"Did your vacation not work out for you?" Vandermeer crosses his legs above the animal. It flinches. "Why are you here?"

"I didn't know where else to go."

Ah. There it is. He didn't think the doctor would have the balls.

"So he kicked you out."

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Pathetic.

Fingers slide into his pockets with a practiced motion. The animal looks at Henrik expectantly. The familiar dull ache at the base of its skull rears its ugly head again. The cartridge clinks against the metal arm of the chair. Taunting. Muscles tense up, yet Horus doesn't budge.

"What makes you think I'd take you back? Your existence is of no worth outside your genetics. But that's a bigger concept than you can understand, isn't it?" Every word drips with venom. A snake, baring its fangs before the inevitable lunge.

"Please forgive me."

"No. Get out."

"Do with me as you please. I'm yours to command. Please. Please forgive me." The animal is shaking so badly the words come quivering out. His killing machine, quivering. Outrageous. Vandermeer has no patience for weakness.

"And what am I to do with you if you do not behave?"

Hesitation. Terrified black eyes meet cold blues, struggling to hold eye contact.

"My life is in your hands. I do not belong to anyone else."

Nothing quite like repeated abandonment to humble an animal, huh? There isn't a single part of Henrik that believes the words of a desperate dog. But that dog is still an expensive Kalavinka asset, and he is still the one managing it. However inconvenient, he could certainly still find a way to turn it into an opportunity. He had done so countless times before.

"Good boy. Welcome home."

Lonely

Hi everyone, I'm alive! Have some Torley Era Jaime content.

This kind goes along with a (much happier) future piece I'm hoping to finish writing and post soon, so stay tuned for some better vibes. For now:

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-Adjacent, hunger, the sadness of stray cats (no animals were harmed in the making), brief suicidal ideations, gun mention, implied noncon

Restless. That is how Jaime thinks of the long weekdays in the Torley house, when the boys are at school and his Keeper is at work, and Jaime is left on his own until they return home to demand his attention. 

It is not that he is without work; Mr. Torley holds high expectations for his home, and Jaime strives to meet them all, even if it means double, triple, cleaning over a room he’s already scrubbed bare or taking all of the glassware out of the cabinets just to polish and arrange them again. But there are days when he finds himself with idle hands, in the time between completing his chores and his keeper’s return. That’s when anxiety creeps in. He knows it’s a conditioned thought, but it’s in him too deep to ignore. He can’t rest, can’t be useless, can’t be found being lazy when Mr. Torley comes home. 

It gets lonely, though, these pockets of restlessness. He is so fucking. lonely.

Sometimes he wishes that he had permission to go out on errands—collecting groceries, making returns, dropping off suits at the dry cleaner—just so that he can have a reason to talk to another person. He was trained to believe that many domestic contracts allow for that kind of thing, but Mr. Torley has made it clear that Jaime’s place is in the house. In the month that he has been here, he has never once been allowed to step foot outside, and he knows better than to ask. 

He is usually good at avoiding temptation, but on one Friday morning, Jaime is caught off guard.

on a snowy night

Their encounters are now surprisingly brief. Transactional. Impartial. Vina feels the weight of loneliness pressing down on him like an anvil. How long had it been since he changed? Their time as cellmates now feels like a distant memory, longer than it had any right to be.

Glances are exchanged momentarily. When their eyes cross, there seems to be nothing behind the polished glass of the prototype's optics. Whatever is there is now unrecognizable, wretched, yet somehow familiar in a way that makes Vina's stomach tie itself in knots. The feeling is nothing short of revolting.

Yet he finds himself waiting in his cell for these brief moments. Moments where he can perhaps pretend everything is fine. Moments where he gets to see someone, anyone. Moments where he gets to no longer be alone. The undercurrent of discomfort with the present situation is always there, unchanging, reminding him that what it was no longer is. As if Mal would ever allow him the luxury of forgetting.

He can hear the unmistakable heaviness of the mechanical animal approaching through the corridors of the lab. Almost out of habit, Vina moves to the door. The stench of carnage hits him before anything else does. He's so desensitized to it at this point he has no reaction, going through the motions of waiting for any crumb of attention he can get.

Today, however, it seems Mal has different plans; the prototype passes the door to Vina's cell without entering. It's stained head to toe in dried blood and gore, bits and pieces flaking off with each heavy step.

"No! Wait! Please!"

It stops. Vina can see its ears turning back towards the source of the sound, towards him.

"Please don't go. Please. Please stay with me. Please." Before he knows it he's descended into begging. Can't bear the thought of being alone anymore, not when the solution to his problem is right there within his reach.

A smug smile cracks across the reinforced jaws of the construct.

It doesn't even look back as it leaves.

favouritism