LizLuvsCupcakes

Neurodivergent and Queer, Not in that order Click here to go to my AO3

[writing-prompt-s]

You’re an ancient Greek man coming home from 4 months of war to find your wife 3 months pregnant. Now you’ve embarked on a solemn quest: to punch Zeus in the face.

[hermdoggydog]

Soon after you begin your quest, you encounter another man in a similar situation. You decide to join forces, as two mortal men stand a better chance at punching Zeus than one. Two villages over, you encounter a woman who had relations with Zeus and was left with a highly aggressive half-boar half-man offspring. She too feels your anger and offers to join your quest. By the time you reach Mount Olympus, you’ve amassed a large and formidable army of cuckolded/ravished mortals, demigods with daddy issues, mythical creatures with scores to settle, and a seamstress who you’re pretty sure is Hera in disguise. Zeus never stood a chance.

[lizluvscupcakes]

What I find best about this scenario is that the original wife probably expected to be murdered for her infidelity at worst or have her relationship with her husband ruined as he grew to resent her baby, at best.

Instead this man looked at his beloved and said, “who did it?”

And she replied “Zeus,” accepting he probably wouldn’t believe her.

And then he sighed, strapped his sandals back on and said, “I’ll be back before the baby is born.”

“Where are you-?”

“The lord of the sky came into my house, molested my wife in my bed and ate my food. I am going to settle the score.”

“Darling, he’ll kill you.”

“He may try, if he would like.”

[lizluvscupcakes]

Thank you all so so much for waiting. As I promised, here it is- all 17 pages, 4,985 words.

Ryo And the March Of Zeus Hunters

Under the cycle of succession, each new ruler of the cosmos must be overthrown by the next generation of gods. Ouranos was cut into pieces and cast into the sea by his son, Kronos, who was cut into pieces and cast the bowels of the underworld by his son, Zeus. Zeus was overthrown for a brief time by Typhon, who ripped out his tendons and trapped him in a cave, guarded by the monster known as Delphine. He then took his leave as king of the heavens and particularly delighted in causing mortals to flee for their lives by his very presence.

One day, as Typhon stomped into a small village, a lone woman stood, staring, as throngs of her neighbors ran for their lives. Her hair whipped in the wind that roared in Typhon’s presence, her eyes sparkled with the fire he bellowed from his horrible maw, her skin flushing as his massive form towered over her. A small part of her wondered if he might crush her beneath a massive cloven hoof. That part was also sure that wouldn’t be a horrible way to die.

But he did not crush her- he saw her. And he took her lack of running as a grievous insult, which required explanation before she was destroyed.

“YOU!!” Roared Typhon, pointing at her with one long, gnarled talon, “YOU DARE STAND AND FACE ME, MORTAL GIRL? I, TYPHON, FATHER OF MONSTERS AND DETHRONER OF ZEUS?! EXPLAIN YOURSELF TO TYPHON!! SPEAK!!”

When Tetraphia spoke, it was not a terrified shriek or a desperate plea for her life; instead, she said breathlessly, “Lord Typhon, forgive my transgression. It’s just, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

~~~

The other gods re-built Zeus with his tendons and Typhon was defeated a mere month into his tryst with Tetraphia and his rule of the world, but by then it was too late. Tetraphia bore a son, and when ordered to present the child to Zeus, he was deemed to be not as monstrous as his father’s other children. And thus, Tetraphia was allowed to raise her child, who she named Ryo, and who grew to be one of the most famed generals of his generation. His conquests were rumoured to be so efficient, that any war he fought in would be won in under six months.

~~~

Ryo knew that, as far as the children of Typhon went, he had been fairly lucky. He was not too hideous to look upon, he did not need to be fed children or trapped in a labyrinth, and he was not the monster in some wayward demigod’s story. In fact, if not for his eyes the color of dying embers and fangs that were noticeable only if you knew they were there, he would have seemed relatively normal. Most people barely spared him a second glance.

Indeed, as far as monsters went, Ryo had been very fortunate. And in conquest, his luck was just as strong- he had marched his men to the shores of Cicily, ordered near-suicidal marches on bridges, and always had everyone home in less than a year.

This war, some unpleasantness about a Trojan kid who had kidnapped the queen of Sparta fought as a favor to the Ithacan king, lasted four short months. The queen was rescued, the enemy was defeated, and he and his men were allowed to go home. He only regretted that he had been summoned away mere hours after his marriage had been observed in the eyes of Hera before they had had any time to enjoy each other. He had kept himself going with thoughts of Sinope, with the security of their marriage under Hera’s law keeping her safe from wayward drunken whistles and lewd shouts across the street. 

But it seemed that Hera’s law did not apply to everyone. As he discovered, when he returned home to his terrified Sinope, her massive dark eyes wide and welling with moisture and her hair a tangled mess. Her skin was dry, her face not painted, and her waist, once tight and small, was round and swollen with pregnancy.

“Three months,” she said before he could ask. “It’s been about three months.”

Ah, how he wished she had lied. He would have ignored it, told himself they had willed it into being, anything but the truth. But he knew he could never ask such a thing of her. After all, the truth was pain, and who was he to ask that she bear it alone?

“Who did it?” He asked when he could once more feel his tongue. 

Her answer was so soft he hardly heard it: “Zeus.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, knowing how foolish he sounded. 

“Yes,” Sinope told him. Then, it was like a dam burst inside her and the story was spewing out before them, with her powerless to stop it. “He came to our home, Ryo, and I welcomed him as a guest. I fed him and gave him lodgings and I did everything right, but he still…” Sinope let her hand ghosted across her belly, eyes blinking hard against tears. “I told him I meant my vows, but he said that I was defying Xenia, and Ryo, I didn’t know what to do.” Her voice rose with panic. “Ryo, I didn’t know what to do! I was all alone, everyone was asleep, and who would have come had I screamed, who would have stopped him, how was I to stop him, what was I meant to do?!”

Immediately, Ryo took on his most comforting voice: “There was nothing for you to do, my dove. You upheld the laws of the home; nobody would fault you for that.”

Still, Sinope fell to her knees, weeping as if the whole world was ending. “I broke our vows,” she sobbed, not bothering to wipe her tears away. “We waited our whole lives to be married and now you’ll have to- and I’ll have to- and, and, and what will your mother say?”

Ryo wordlessly knelt beside her. Her story was not new, how many had told it before her? How many newly pregnant women had stood before disbelieving husbands, ashamed mothers, whispering communities, fully braced for judgement, disgust and rage. How many had felt punishment that was not theirs? In this story, it was now his role as the scorned husband to take one of his knives and plunge it deep into her belly, killing the child and mother in one go. It would then be his role in this cosmic stage play to run the blade across his own throat and die with her. 

He had heard that story before. He hadn’t liked the ending. 

So, he decided, in the moment of sitting on the floor with his sobbing wife, that their family would have another. 

Ryo took her into his arms, not minding the tears and swollen roundness of her body. He waited for her tears to slow, which took just short of an eternity, before speaking again. “Sweet Sinope,” he said, cupping her damp cheeks in his hands, “I’m afraid I must leave you one more time. This time will be the last, I promise you, and you will be stuck with me.”

Sinope looked at him, face still a mess of misery. “You’re leaving me again?” Her eyes were wide, and her lip trembled, no matter how hard she bit it. 

“I’m afraid I must. But I swear to you I’ll be back before the baby is born.” He stood, guiding her back to her feet and only releasing her when she was sure not to fall. 

Sinope’s hands, so soft and warm, tightened on his hard, callused paws. “Ryo, wait, where are you-?”

“The Lord of the Skies came to my home as a guest. You were a remarkable hostess. And to repay our hospitality, he violated you. I am going to even the score.”

“Darling, he’ll kill you!”

Ryo’s face twisted into the wry facsimile of a smile. “He may try, if he would like.”

~~~

Sinope reluctantly saw him off but didn’t want to come. Ryo could hardly blame her. She knew the mission was suicide as well as he did. But what choice did he have? Had any man he knew broken such sacred laws in any home, let alone his own, he would have gone to do the same thing. Just because the laws were sacred by his word did not grant him immunity.

Of course, he knew he was likely to die. Either he would be struck dead on his way to Olympus, or he would die in his fight with Zeus. He was, quite frankly, fine with either option. Either way, the law was upheld, and Sinope could live her life knowing he had loved her. And she and her child would get to live without punishment for being the involuntary plaything of the world’s most powerful bully.

Still, he felt he was allowed a drink before the end. Besides that, he needed food for the trip. So, he stopped at the city pavilion, bought food and water, and one drink. Undiluted.

At first, Ryo did not notice the man drinking beside him. He didn’t notice him, in fact, until he had spoken and repeated himself a few times. “Pardon?” Ryo finally said cordially. 

“I say, why you drinkin’ there, stranger?”

“Well, Zeus took it into his head that my wife was the woman he wanted to bed this week.”

The man made a sympathetic noise.

“Indeed. So, now I need to travel to Olympus to inform him that the ancient laws do indeed apply to the gods.”

It was a tale his new friend was understanding towards. He was, as he told Ryo, intimately familiar with the tactics of the divine serial rapist.

“Your wife?” Ryo asked before he could think that he shouldn’t. 

“Nah,” said the man, “Me daughter. Was cleaning the attic this morning- he takes it into his head to turn into a swarm of spiders and…” He took another swig from his glass. Ryo carefully chose to ignore the several empty ones beside it.

“So, Zeus himself broke into your home and assaulted your daughter?” He asked. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing to do. What? Do you suggest I tell the authorities?” Asked the man, halfway between genuine and sarcastic. 

“No, but I must point out that, before we had any authorities, we handled things more… immediately.”

He paid for his drink and continued his journey. He walked for seventeen minutes before the man, Andronius as it turned out, rode up to him on his wagon and asked if he needed a ride to Olympus. He also asked, as Ryo climbed aboard, if they could see if his beloved daughter wanted to tag along. 

~~~

“Stop!”

Ryo, Andronius, and Andronius’s daughter, Rene, stopped in their tracks. They were hardly into the first town yet, and Zeus had deployed his first obstacle. A child, no older than eight, with massive golden wings and a flaming sword as tall as they were.

Something about the fact that Zeus had enlisted a child to defend him from the consequences of his actions was almost comical. It was damn insulting. And Ryo had had enough of being insulted. 

“You would all march upon Olympus?” Said the child as threateningly as they could. “You would defy Zeus in his mighty will? You will not go any further! This place will be your grave!”

“Oh, not right here,” said Andronius. “Really, we’re in the middle of a road!”

“Silence!” squealed the child. “You will be punished for your-!”

“Excuse me, small one?” Said Rene, speaking for the first time since Ryo had met her. “What is your name?”

The child looked blank. 

“You are here to cut us down, may we know the name of our conquering champion?”

“I am Kaye, child of Zeus and champion of the flaming blade!”

“And what is the champion to win, Kaye of the flaming blade?” Asked Ryo. “Surely you aren’t a soldier that would march for no reason?”

Their face flickered, like they hadn’t considered that, before tightening their grip on the sword. “I will destroy you, all of you, and bring you to my father! He will rip your souls into pieces and cast you into the depths of Tartarus!”

And yet, with the strength to do so, your father is not here to confront us himself? “And how do you plan to do that?” Ryo asked, climbing off the wagon. 

“I’m going to run you through on my sword!” The child cried, brandishing it so hard they nearly knocked themselves over.

“With a stance like that?” Ryo considered their posture, their pale, malnourished arms that trembled under the sword’s weight. He’d trained new recruits with better first stances than this. “Anyone can knock you off your balance.” To demonstrate, he gave a quick strike at Kaye’s arms, which caused them to flinch and drop the blade, letting it clatter to the ground. He didn’t bother sweeping their legs out from under them, his point was firmly made. “Did your father not train you?”

“He is the lord of the gods; he cannot be expected to show such displays of favour to his children!”

“Telling you how to do a job he gave you is not a favour, it’s just good strategy.” Ryo paused like he was thinking hard. “Kaye of the flaming blade, would you like to know how to defeat me?”

“Yes!” Kaye blurted before he had finished. Then they caught themselves and attempted a shred of cold composure. “It would make my duty to my father all the quicker.”

They were lucky- the wagon was large enough that the two of them could stand on it and duel without much fuss.

~~~

Ryo was impressed with how quickly the child learned- within a few hours, they were not only successful in blocking him most of the time, but they had managed to disarm him a fair number of times. The town they walked into was, of course, curious about the two dueling monsters, so of course, he told them where they were going and why. For some reason, people continued trickling out of their homes to see this, and most came with them. 

But still, Ryo did not send any of them, or Kaye, to face the next obstacle.

He heard it first- a distant, rumbling roar that chilled him to his bones and made his every instinct shift onto its hackles.

He held up his hand, and Kaye stopped mid-attack. “Human, wh-?”

“Shh,” he said, listening hard. Yes, he definitely heard it, he knew he had. He turned to the north, and there in the sky was a hideous beast with the heads of a lion and a goat, its wings spread wide and its tail thrashing with anticipation to bite something. It was a chimaera. It flew at them, releasing a mighty roar that, to Ryo’s ears, sounded just like, “Kill the enemy!!”

Ryo, for lack of better options, jumped out of the wagon and in front of the party, threw up his hands and screamed, “Stop!!”

The chimaera, in defiance of all logic, did. It looked at him like he had dropped straight down from the sky. “You speak it?” It asked.

“Yes, I speak it,” Ryo said in a language made of roars and growls. “Now please listen to me.” “You march with enemies- why should I listen to you? Listen when your intent is to march upon Olympus? No, demigod, you will not-!”

“We are not your enemies, we are not demigods, we are not here to hurt you. Zeus has kept you prisoner for Typhon’s crimes, because you are a son of Typhon, and so am I. We march against Olympus and Zeus, not against you.”

“You admit it then- you march upon Olympus!”

Ryo didn’t answer.

“Olympus is my home!”

“No, chimaera,” he told it, “Olympus is your prison, and Zeus is your jailer. He keeps you in line with threats of death and promises of mercy that will not come- what has he promised you for eating us?”

The beast was silent, and for a moment Ryo was certain he would die. Then it said, “Freedom- he promises that I may leave Olympus if I destroy you. Perhaps he would free my brothers too.”

“I am your brother, and I stand before you, free! What is to stop you from marching with us to Olympus and taking your freedom?”

“Zeus’s wrath- should I disobey his order, he will strike me dead.”

“Do you think he intends to keep you alive should you obey? You know he does not intend you to live in peace, nor anyone else. As long as he rules, there is no peace.”

The chimaera paused. “What do you suggest instead, son of Typhon?”

“I suggest instead that you march with us- we will seek justice for you and our brothers, join us and we will free you, them, and everyone else he’s trapped under his rule!”

If chimaeras could smile, this one did. And this was how their party came to be marching with two sons of Typhon.

~~~

By the evening of the second day, there were over sixty people. Five wagons, each brought by somebody new. Ryo didn’t understand where they kept coming from- all of them couldn’t have lived in the first city, right? Had some of them come from out of town, specifically to join the adventure? How many had marched up to him, assuming him to be the leader, and declared their intent to march with him? How many had been women, determined and fully prepared to argue their case, only to be pleasantly confused when he told them that, of course, they were welcome to join the adventure? How many had been children, as young as Kaye, who had been ignored by their father their whole lives and wanted to make him look at them just once? Very few of them were hardened soldiers, and even fewer of them had any real combat experience. It was one of the more challenging armies he had ever marched, but he was glad he did- he couldn’t have ordered their determination and will.

When they set up camp, they realized that, among all of them, the one thing none of them had packed were blankets. Some bore tunics, but not nearly enough for how many people were in their party. The chimaera, whose name turned out to be Cyus, was willing to light their pyres, but even his fires would sooner or later wink out, leaving them in the dark and cold.

He silently thanked whatever god allowed an older woman to wander up the road at this time of night, and whatever deity allowed her to be selling blankets. He and a few others raced to her with whatever money and goods they had, hoping she was willing to make a trade. The woman was beautiful, in a graceful, dignified sort of way, with slightly exaggerated wrinkles in her face and long, thick robes the color of a peacock’s feathers. The robes covered her head to toe, but they were quite frankly doing a poor job of hiding her silk, white robes and silken hair plated with gold.

“You know,” she said in a thick, heavy accent that felt fake, somehow, “Not many men would do this.”

He glanced back at the nearly three dozen men in his company, with their wives and mothers and children and sisters. Men carrying swords in one hand and baskets of food in the other, men guarding sleeping children and women from the night. And, of course, the few who had been sent along with him by their wives to get whatever they could find.

“Alone,” she amended. “They wouldn’t do it alone. These men march because they have a general. But why does their general march?”

“For my wife, good lady. She was dishonoured. It is my duty as husband to seek justice.”

“And once Justice has been delivered?”

“Then I go home. I, and everyone else, will go home and I will live peacefully with my wife.”

The merchant woman stared at him. “You would still call the girl your wife, even after she has broken her vows?”

“Zeus broke her vows- she did not. And I seem to remember my vows saying something about honoring and protecting the home and those in it. That includes my wife and our child.”

She didn’t break her gaze with him- those dark, unfathomable eyes were thinking things beyond his comprehension, and yet he felt he sort of understood- she was trying to figure out the real reason he was marching. Surely he had decided to march with ambitions of power or glory? It could not truly be love for his wife.

But it was.

“I have made a decision,” she said abruptly. “I am coming with you.”

Ryo did not argue. He only turned to the men who had followed him and asked them to help the lady with her wares. The woman did not tell them her name, where she came from, or anything else about herself. But really, he was sure he knew all those things, but he didn’t dare ask her to confirm, just in case he was wrong. 

~~~

On the third day, they stood at the gates of Olympus, four hundred strong, as Kaye flew to get a look at what lay ahead of them.

“Well?” Adrionus said when they landed.

Kaye looked grim. “The pathway is guarded by Hephaestus’s traps and Gaea’s monsters. I don’t think Kronos himself could get through.”

Everyone- monster, mortal and demigod- all looked at Ryo, as if expecting he had a plan for this. He supposed that made sense- this was all his idea, after all, he should have planned for getting this far, even if he never thought he would.

“There’s a way around,” he said, trying to instill confidence in his army. “There must be, there’s always a way around.”

“There’s a back path,” said the merchant woman, from where she sat on one of the wagons. “Just past those bushes, there’s an invisible door that can only be opened by one key in the world. It’s where Hera’s golden apples grow.” She seemed to recognize that she was now the center of attention and said, “Well, that’s what Mother always said,” with an air of nonchalance.

“Oh, we were FOOLS!!” wailed Lydia, a waif of a girl with a belly she insisted had been bestowed upon her by a wild boar. “Of course, there would be some quest, some adventure you have to go on to prove yourself worthy! He probably fed the key to Cerberus, or hid it in Apollo’s chariot-!”

“Or,” said the old woman, firm but gentle, “He’s like all husbands and has been meaning to find the key a better spot for centuries now, but hasn’t gotten around to it yet.” She shrugged. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was under, oh, I don’t know, that rock right there?”

And it was. Nobody asked how she could have guessed that. They just opened the door and continued their march.

~~~

Ryo didn’t know what he’d expected. Some grand, final battle, probably. A steep uphill climb as Apollo and Artemis shot at them. A duel with Ares, maybe, blood flying all around- maybe Ichor, too, if he got a good hit in. Perhaps he assumed Hephaestus had set some traps for them through Hera’s garden. And making it to Zeus? Impossible. If they got there, he’d strike them all down in seconds. 

Well, as it turned out, all of the gods knew they were there. They were in Hera’s garden, watching as Ryo led the Zeus Hunters up toward the door to the palace. All of them were just standing around, watching them as they marched to the palace, not armed or ready for battle or even seeming terribly angry. They just watched the caravan make its final stretch of the journey. One of them even stood and held a door so big and so heavy he was sure all of them together could not have opened it. 

“Um… Lord? Shouldn’t you try to stop us?”

“We should do a lot of things,” the god shrugged. “And so should you.”

He nodded and marched into the throne room.

And there was Zeus. 

He radiated power, as one might have expected. He lay on his throne, ten feet tall and crackling the air around him with electricity. 

“Well,” said Zeus, striving for nonchalance. “So you actually got here. Congratulations. Was it worth it?”

Nobody answered.

“And tell me, humans, did any of you consider what you were going to do when you got here? Or was the plan to march up to Olympus, invade my home, and hope my children don’t destroy you all?”

“Lord,” said Kaye, their voice filled with loathing, “Your children all stand among us. Otherwise they mill about outside, waiting for the fight to be over.”

He chuckled. “May I know the name of my conquering hero, then?” Asked the king of the gods in the voice you might use to tease a small child.

Ryo clenched his grip upon his sword, and finally he spoke. “I am Ryo, son of Tetraphia and husband to Sinope. I am the last born of Typhon’s brood, the father of Sinope’s child, and I marched to Olympus with an army at my heels. I stand here and I feel all our hearts beating as one. And we all have one goal- to defeat you.”

“You really think a gaggle of humans can defeat me?”

“No. I think a gaggle of cuckolded and ravaged mortals, demigods who crave fatherly approval, monsters with axes to grind and a seamstress are going to defeat you.”

“You’re all fools,” Zeus growled, standing from his throne. “This palace shall be your grave!”

“Why are you talking to yourself, Lord?” asked Andronius.

And then, they were upon him.

They were a disorganized army, marching on nothing but will. Kaye and Cyus flew about him, goading him into hurling bolts of lightning that they just barely managed to outmaneuver. But Zeus was so focused on the aerial assault, he didn’t notice the humans that managed to slice clean through one of his tendons, bringing him to the floor in a thunderous crash. He couldn’t reorient himself before Andronius and Rene charged two separate Battalions that ran around the king of the gods, tossing ropes to each other, nailing them down and binding him to the ground. Ryo was sure he saw the merchant woman club him with her sandal a few times. 

Prayers were useless here, he knew. But still, as Ryo stood over Zeus, their eyes locked together, he held his sword aloft, and gave a silent one: Father, be with me.

An ancient, exhausted voice answered him: I always am. Strike, son of Typhon. 

When Typhon had defeated Zeus, he had ripped out his tendons and left him alone in a cave with them, trusting that the dragon-nymph he had left them with could keep them safe.

This time was different.

Everyone there knew the old story, of how the gods came to power, and of the titans before them. And everyone wanted their pound of immortal flesh. The actual carving took hours, but by the end of it, Zeus was carved into countless pieces, just as Cronus and Ouranos had been before him, and was taken into the hands of mortals to scatter across the earth.

Ryo slid two chunks of Zeus into his pocket- one for Sinope, one for himself. She was not there, but he had marched this far in her name, so it only seemed right that she got her share.

As his new friends took their payment of flesh and ichor, there she was, in a blaze of golden light and a smell of warm vanilla. Hera. He chose to ignore the chunk of flesh clutched in her left hand and knelt before her.

“Rise, hero,” she said, her voice familiar and full of warmth. “You have done well today- you found your own destiny, and you made it reality. Not many humans can claim the same.”

“What is my destiny now, good lady?”

“I think you know.”

He did. Deep down, he did. His father had dethroned Zeus, but he came back. And now he had dethroned Zeus, so now he was supposed to take up the mantle.

But how could he?

“... If you please, good lady, not yet.”

“What?”

“My life is just beginning, I have yet to see my first child born, to grow old with my wife. And if you think me to be worthy now, imagine how worthy I will be after a life well lived?”

Hera considered this. Then she smiled, and bowed to him. “Ryo, once again you show this old woman there is still much to learn. Very well, then. We have lived under the reign of the gods for five thousand years now- what’s sixty-eight years more?”

~~~

Ryo knew that, as long as he existed, he would never forget this moment.

Even thousands of years from now, when he had existed for far too long, when he had forgotten most of the details of his life, he would remember this.

He would always remember the weight in his arms, small but so heavy. He would remember the look on his beautiful Sinope’s face, exhausted by the ordeal, but happy that they were all there and whole and happy. He would always remember the ugly, mushy lump of a baby that was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

[watchersleuth]

Camp Watcher Rules

Do not go into the woods unaccompanied

Please use the appropriate recycling bin

In the event of shadow people, RUN, don't walk

The mastadon IS NOT for riding

If your reflection moves, find a counselor

Not all faerie circles accept tap to pay (less a rule and more an inconvenience)

[kittydealer]

u/ReasonableMedium5265

[ani-iu]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓 | pre-Murkoff 𝐋𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐲𝐥𝐞 × female 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [+𝟏𝟖]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After running away from home, you find temporary refuge in the next town over. While you work at a local family diner to save up money, you catch the attention of a charming police officer that doesn't do well with being told no.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: explicit sexual content; sexual assault; rough sex; public sex; unplanned pregnancy; implied baby trapping; emotional manipulation; porn with some plot; no use of Y/N for reader-insert; dead dove: do not eat.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,8 k.

𝐄mpty pistachio shells crack underneath your Mary Janes as you come to a stop in front of a police car on patrol, nestled in an alleyway between the butchers and the grocers right across the street from where you work. To get attention, you clear your throat.

A man in his early thirties sits at the driver's side, pushing his aviator sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to look up at you before giving you a toothy grin, "Well, hello there. Why the long face, doll?"

You cannot help but roll your eyes at the older man. "Unruly patron, cruisin' for a bruisin' in my diner and the officer on patrol is impossible to get ahold of."

Officer Coyle drops his arm out of the open window of his work car and takes your wrist in his hold, giving it a warning squeeze to remind you who you are talking to. His grip is strong, bone-bruising, a display of not only the authority that his uniform carries but his strength as a man as well. "It's cause I'm doin' my job over here."

"Uh huh," undaunted, you huff in annoyance, which only serves to show your young age through your defiant attitude.

Quick to turn your back on the man, you start walking back in the direction that he knows well—no stranger to free refills of a steaming cup of Joe when he stops by in the mornings, on his lunch break and sometime around dinner time. A fellow waitress, Matilda, mentioned that his wife has recently passed away. You think it was only natural for the man to come to the diner more often, even though the woman keeps insisting that he comes around just to see you.

You hear the door of the car open and close, but the crunch of gravel under Coyle's heavy-duty boots stops a few steps in, tempting you to glance back.

The older man has his head tilted downwards, a cigarette poking out from his parted lips as he brings the tip of it closer to the lit fire of his lighter. He looks back up through his sunglasses, meeting your curious gaze and breathing out smoke through his nose as he walks up to you in only a few strides, smiling.

Coyle's fingers, light like bird feathers, glide over the side of your waist as he turns you around back to the direction of the diner and, with a gentle press of his open palm to your lower back, pushes you to continue moving.

You know that the bell at the entrance chimes when you two step inside, even if the sound is but a phantom created from memory. Rather, it is swallowed up by a cacophony of an overused jukebox, the traffic clamour you allowed inside through the open door, and shouts of a rowdy drunkard mixing in a sickening orchestra, led by the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen.

While you make a beeline for the spot behind the counter, where the rest of the waitresses stood in watch, Officer Coyle turns his attention to the mess—hand resting on his belt, legs spread apart.

"Heard ya giving these ladies a hard time again, Johnson." And with that, he makes for the back towards the stumbling man. Meanwhile, you turn to get a cup of fresh coffee ready.

The machine hisses to life, sputtering the fresh brew into a glass pot. A little smile curls the corner of your lip upward when you hear the fake leather of the stool right behind you creak under familiar weight.

You move to face Coyle, already in his usual seat at the counter and place down a white, steaming mug in front of him. "There you go."

He only grunts in return, exchanging a laminated menu he was absentmindedly browsing from boredom for his coffee and taking a large sip. You take a peek over Coyle's shoulder at the town's drunk now sat on the cold curb, cuffed to a railing outside before glancing towards a meringue pie being half swallowed by a trucker sitting a few seats away from the officer.

"Fancy anythin' sweet with that?" You inquire.

"Not with you 'round, darlin'." Ghosting the rim of the mug, a corner of his mouth quirks up in another flirty smile to which you can only blush and playfully roll your eyes.

You open your mouth to retort when, from a corner of your eye, you notice another customer flagging you for a refill. Yet, before you can move, Matilda quickly steps in, nudging her head towards the police officer just waiting to get your attention back on him.

"When do you finish today?"

"Like always. The sun and I have the same hours."

"After sundown." He muses, putting his now empty mug down only for you to quickly snatch it up before it can leave a wet stain on the countertop. "There's a storm comin'. Ya need a ride home?"

"I'm not made out of sugar." You smile and turn around to clean up so you can get back to your work of tending tables.

But just as you do, Coyle grasps your wrist, tugging you closer. You chuckle and roll your eyes, turning around to face the man who is now leaning over the counter separating you two, noses almost touching.

"What does a man need to do to get ya for a ride after work?" His breath fans your face, carrying a scent of the acrid aftertaste of coffee and a whiff of tobacco.

You place a hand against his hard chest and push yourself a bit away to make some space. "I'm afraid I might be too young for you, sir—"

"Leland." He corrects you in his homely southern drawl.

You smile, "Officer Coyle, I really need to get back to work."

He does not let up, instead putting up his charms that make every woman swoon and man blush. "You know, I think I’m very close to a promotion."

"Oh, a sergeant, hm?"

Without waiting for your thoughts, Coyle teases, "More serious, right? So what about that dessert?"

He scans your stature over—from the beat-up leather tips of your shoes to your exposed collarbones visible through an open collar of your blouse before finally meeting your gaze again. Under the stormy grey of his irises, you feel like standing under a furious raincloud the radio forecasted.

"Thank you for your service. I won't hold you from your patrolling duties any longer, Sergeant. Have a nice evening."

You two have been holding eye contact in silence for a couple of minutes or so when he finally takes a step back. You breathe out a sigh and brush your sweaty palms along the curve of your hips as you watch Officer Coyle nod to Matilda and finally leave.

"You stress me out," she moans as soon as he is out, and you turn towards the older woman who was not slick for allowing you to slack off when Coyle comes around.

Even twice married and widowed just as many times, Officer Leland Coyle was still seen as a highly sought-after man. Excellent at his work and with radiant charisma to match, in your coworker's—who is now more like a mother figure to you—eyes, he was just a man for you. To marry, preferably.

"It's all your own doin'. I'm innocent."

"Now don't be a wet rag and live a little, girlie. Let that man finally take ya out on a proper date." Matilda shakes her head, disapproving of your coy ways, while putting a basket of French fries in front of you before going to grab a glass of milkshake as well.

All you can do is chuckle at her antics, shaking your head as you dip a French fry in milky strawberry foam gathered at the top and take a bite before going back to work. Truthfully, you just were not interested in marriage or family.

At age seventeen, you ran away from home to the next town over; that is how you found yourself working at the diner here in Blackwell, saving up your wages and tips by the grace of Matilda, who allowed you to stay with her rent-free so you could later move to something bigger.

» » »

You are the one to close up the diner tonight, assuring Matilda it was the least you could do. The cook left while you were still mopping the checkered tile floor in the front, waiting on the last customer to finish tucking into some late-night grease.

Usually, you would leave through the front door, but as you are putting away the mop and bucket, you notice that the kitchen staff forgot to take out the trash, leaving you no choice but to go out through the back of the building.

You lock the front door from inside, turning the sign to read 'closed'. The main area is already dark, the air smelling of floor cleaner instead of body odour plaguing the daytime. At this point, your only source of light is a faint glow through the window looking into the kitchen, drawing you in like a moth to a flame as you carefully tread the still-wet tiles beneath your feet.

You grab the trash bag left by the exit in the back, give the place one last glance over, and finally clock out for the night.

The air outside is chilly, and when the first raindrop hits the tip of your nose, you hurry to pull out the keys and lock up. Drop after drop, you flip through every key on the metal loop for the right one when, suddenly, a roar of thunder makes you gasp and almost jump out of your skin.

With a fluttering heart, you shove the correct key into the lock and twist it till you hear it click once, twice—

A strong shove sends you face-first into the door, causing the keys to clatter somewhere at your feet. You feel the hot weight of another body press into your own, the scratch of a three-day stubble along the column of your neck and the sharp poke of a hard penis.

Petrified, you try to move, but it is useless—your own body is betraying you. Your hands are suddenly so numb it is as if you don't have any, and your legs, like tree trunks with deep, interlaced roots, anchor you to the ground.

You just… are. Locked inside your own flesh.

"Stop." You weakly whimper as the man yanks onto your shirt like a starving animal. "Please."

In response, the man only grunts, nestling into the crook of your neck to suck on the sweaty skin there. And once the stranger's thirst for violence grows even more insatiable, his sharp canines pierce through it.

The cold raindrops pelt your hot, now exposed, body until you can't distinguish the wetness of water from the blood running down your back.

Rough, wet hands continue to molest your body while the worsening storm swallows up your cries and desperate pleas for help. They slide down your hips to claw at the cotton material of your skirt and raise it until your underwear is exposed.

Calloused fingers hook onto the elastic of your panties with sick familiarity and tug them down. Soon, you feel the warm flesh poke through your folds, eagerly pushing inside of you in spite of the tensing muscles.

You feel yourself tear as he moves with vigorous force to sheathe his entire length at once, clinging to your body as if you had any strength in you to flee. Defeated, you close your eyes and try to enjoy the pain, and suddenly, the rain on your skin feels more soothing than punishing.

Deep, fast thrusts leave you breathless and panting. You try your best to lose yourself inside of your mind, grasping at any pleasant stimuli you can to lessen the trauma on your body, at least.

The lightning breaking the sky in half paints your vision white like a camera flash as your unwilling orgasm finally shakes your body. You can feel the vibrations of pleasurable grunts and groans against your spine, but it is too loud to clearly pinpoint the voice and whether you heard it before.

Was it a customer? A coworker? Or were you just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Before you realise it, you are falling. Your knees scrape against the gravel, skin breaking. It takes you a while to process that it was finally over.

Used and alone, all you can manage is to tug on the tatters of what was once your clothes and let it all out into the rain.

Coyle is breathing heavily as he quickly gets back to his car, parked in its usual spot in the snug alleyway between the butchers and the grocers, exactly where he spent his entire evening watching you close up for the night.

The rush of sex amidst the storm is ecstatic. He missed feeling so alive, missed the fight of soft, womanly hands trying their very best to claw him away while their cunt grips his cock without wanting to ever let go.

This was what marriage took away from him, but also, he enjoyed the journey towards it too much not to do it over and over again. He was hooked to that feeling: the feeling of taking a pretty, young, highly sought-after woman off the market, putting the little songbird in a too small of a cage just so he could show her off as a trophy, looking out of place with a face so pretty along his military achievements and police badges. And when a wife was no longer brand new and wanted, that is when Coyle looked for a new one.

He killed his last one the night you came to Blackwell.

Soaked in rainwater and shivering, he remembers how you hugged yourself as you sat on the curb after successfully hitchhiking into the town. Barely eighteen years of age, but acting as if the world was a dead deer, ready to get dissected for the best cuts of meat and vitals.

Coyle picked you up that night, allowing you to dry off and dropping you at Matilda's doorstep. But tonight, he got to relive your first meeting the way he really wanted.

Your skin was so warm, smelling of milk and melted butter, body rigid but malleable under his fingers that dug into your supple flesh as he finished deep inside you with a guttural groan.

His dick is hard again as he pulls his uniform pants back on over the civilian clothes. No one sees him—tiny town streets are completely empty and desolate.

Coyle closes the patrol car door and turns to walk out of the alleyway and into the direction of the diner as if nothing happened. He leisurely strolls down the glistening pavement until he stumbles upon you.

"Oh, darlin'," he feigns concern as he lays his eyes on you, still on the ground, pulling and wrapping yourself in your skirt. "Now what happened to ya?"

So tiny and vulnerable, you look perfect.

You choke out a cry at the sound of Leland's voice.

He walks up closer to stand in front of you, and you cling to the man's legs, his pants rough in your shaky grip. You have no strength in you to stand up, so bruised and aching, so you continue to kneel.

The older man meets you there as he crouches down to your level, hugging your body so close to his own you shiver. More from the drenched clothing clinging to your skin or the panic of the aftermath—you do not know for sure. Both maybe? Both things can coexist together.

After that night and some time later, you would find out that you were pregnant. Out of wedlock and without knowing who the father was, you sobbed louder than Matilda could console you.

But Leland was just in time to save the day. Recently promoted to sergeant, renowned in the community that he served with pleasure, and as a widower with no children of his own, he could use the company—someone to make his house a home again and liven up the mood with a little brat who would carry his family name.

You were happy for some time, but as you watched your son grow, you couldn't help but notice how terrifyingly similar he looked to your husband. And when you looked Leland in the eyes one night, you realised that he knew that you had figured him all out.

[crunchabletincan]

seeing franco and coyle fans fight feels like this

[lizluvscupcakes]

but i dont want to fight,,, i want to be horny on main with my brothers and sisters in the weird and problematic

[rael444]

[airsbeeeb]

The chokehold Coyle has on me isn’t funny

[pt90]

playing with textures

[lovettelle]

redraw

[klar-jezebeth]

Here's a little preview of two illustrations I created for the Outlast zine. Liliya and Coyle are my favorite, so getting to draw them was an absolute joy!✨

I can't show the full pieces just yet, but I hope you enjoy this sneak peek.♥️

[mournedknight]

Tried something new,, 💭

[stari-hun]

We’ve gotten to the point of fandom where people wanna crossover without thinking of the implications. Babe if I’m seeing your ocs for the first time in a Obsession scene redraw I’m assuming the one as Bear is a rapist since um well that’s what the whole movie is about, and you know ur characters better than me. Same with fandom ones, headcanoning the character taking Bear’s spot as a rapist

[lizluvscupcakes]

That. Is not how this works. That is not how ANY of this works.

[trashpandaart3000]

art by The Baby Goat

[willgrahamscock]

[theebbestboy]

[a-sentient-cup]

[virtualgirladvance]

[sausaged-rat]

[worldheritagepostorganization]

World Heritage Post

[sharkfiinn]

content warning !!! seizure

i really really really love the idea of eridians hearing absolutely everything in a human body and being able to predict an episode of something, similarly to how medical alert service dogs can

[goodieprocter]

I was so taken by the image of 20-30 pebbles activating in unison that I had to draw it immediately

(Featuring Etch, Variolite, Prism, Cheeto, Dandelion, Citrus, and Cantaloupe, by @t3ch-wizard, @ghost-crows, @sharkfiinn, @problematiccheeto, @nacho-business1, @moth-in-a-mason-jar, and @leafnyx respectively (and Kelly, but she’s mine))

[transfemme-shelterdog]

> Tumblr suggests a transbian account to me

> search their blog for "trans men" to see if they're normal about their brothers

> first result: "transandrophobia isn't real"

> second result: post from a transmasc who is vocal about transandrophobia

> third result: "transandrophobia isn't real"

> fourth result: "some of you need to get normal about trans men"

[8nin]

"There's millions of Tumblr users" to you. To me There's only about 12 and we all reblog the same five posts from each other