#[tw: changing from animal to human]

[sukibenders]

The way people are becoming anti-children nowadays is really sad. And I'm not talking about people not wanting to have kids of their own, that's fine and something that shouldn't be shamed nor up to someone else to debate. No, I'm talking about the people who adamantly hate these little humans for simply existing, wanting to ban them from spaces due to them having emotional reactions that they are still learning to understand (you know, the kind of lessons that everyone had to learn and figure out at one point). It's gotten to the point where I've even seen these types of people genuinely support children being harmed and deny their hurt under the consensus of "Well then maybe they shouldn't be there," in your average public space. Like, imagine thinking hating on children, people who need assistance and guidance, is something to be proud of.

[ofcourseitsafurry]

The(3)main player characters

Aka my main monster prom OC and his friends along with their drinks to help describe their personalities or aesthetics

First Sparkles Glowbright,ex-prince of Villa of Monocerotem, a very magical adept White Unicorn

Sparkles is my main monster prom oc. He's calm, collected, and goes with the flow(Yes, like Brian.)Unlike Brian, he's more energetic, he enjoys dancing, walking, and magic tricks with physical requirements. He's also much more thoughtful than most of the monsters in Spooky High, resorting to murder less, more education-focused, and less sexually interested preferring to take it slow. Sparkles, despite(hopefully)what a lot of future art shows isn't actually in Spooky Academy, his reason for being there along with his actual school is to be discussed later for his backstory.

Next is Draco Lung, the son of a Western fire dragon and an Eastern lightning dragon(also the brother of an Eastern water dragon).

Draco, short for Draconic, is a stereotypical greedy dragon, he doesn't steal damsels and force them to marry him as he finds that sexist and weird. Unlike Vera, Draco is lazy, stealing from shops, kingdoms, and even fountains for his fix of money obsession. (Hell, that last one was how he met Sparkles in the first place.)Another example of his laziness is his obsession with sleeping, likely due to the energy of being such a huge beast. While he isn't a complete jackass he's rude and just as quick to violence as several monsters threatening to fight someone if they annoy him enough.

Next up is Feng Xuang, a FENGHUANG not a PHOENIX or a VERMILION BIRD

Feng is the one I have the least plot thought out for. He likes astrology and astronomy due to the real-life monster corresponding to Celestial bodies and beings. He's obsessed with fire, not like just an arsonist, he likes playing with it, eating it, looking at it. Fenghuang mating rituals have two Fenghuangs doing a mating dance of death that combines both parents' personalities into one egg making Feng an orphan. He hates to be referred to as other similar mythical bird species. He's cheery and upbeat but a general everyman who enjoys preppy culture.

Last but not least, Mh'athra.Deity of Sacred Secrecy and darkness

Mh'athra is technically canon, but I'm giving her a non-canon design. Sparkles became a mortal contact for Mh'athra when he snuck into one of the cult headquarters on his way to Monstropolis and read a book that allowed it to come into the monster realm with his magic. Mh'athra is an asshole, she’s extremely dismissive of Zoe and her choice of becoming part of mortal kind, like the carnival mirror event, unlike the mirror event Mh'athra is actively cruel and even dead names Zoe while alternate Z'gord is dismissive but tries to talk her into rejoining her "purpose." While it's evil, it's not actively malicious, not currently into recreating the Nothingness.

[warsinmyhead]

[Musing] Lowkey Birthday

"Welcome back Felix!" Sam said as he saw the hunter on loan to S.H.I.E.L.D. "Fury said you turned into a cat for a while but our guys figured it out!"

"Yeah, it's nice to be able to talk instead of meowing to communicate," Felix replied with an easy smile. "So, Minho's out on a mission now, right?"

Sam nodded and led Felix to the control room with the information on current missions. He tapped one of the individuals seated and asked for the file with Minho's mission. The agent handed it to Sam and Sam flipped it open to take a look.

"Yup, he's in Egypt trying to intercept some copycat serum going on the black market," Sam noted. "Surprised he didn't petition to take the day off – it's his birthday."

The comment surprised Felix and he raised a brow.

Sam nodded and explained that Minho didn't like to make a big deal out of his birthdays. He checked his watch and added that Minho would be back at headquarters around 7 PM.

"Wait, does Minho know you're not a cat anymore?" Sam asked.

Oh yeah...Minho had bid him goodbye when he was a cat this morning and it was stupidly early. Felix had been a bit grouchy being woken up so early, but he relented when Minho pet his head and put the top blanket over his body.

Shit, did he have time to do something for the spy?

**************

"I'm done with people trying to copy Steve's formula," Minho muttered under his breath. What was so great about trying to be like him? Sure he liked Steve, but he was tired of everyone trying to copy it and obviously causing more trouble than good.

"Welcome back Agent Lee," Sam said. "You should find Felix – they cured him and he's human again!"

Minho lifted his head in surprise and Sam nodded. The former excused himself and began walking quickly to his room in the headquarters. He pushed the door open and blinked when he saw Felix standing in the center of the room with a cake in hands.

"Happy Birthday Minho," Felix murmured. "Make a wish before it melts all over."

Minho put his bag down and leaned forward to blow out the candles. Before Felix could do anything, Minho took the cake and quickly put it down on a nearby counter. He quickly stepped toward Felix and crushed him in a hug.

"I missed you voice, you сволочь."

Felix grinned as he reciprocated the hug.

"Sorry it's just the cake."

"I don't care – I'm glad to have you back."

@sovrumana

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Everything I've Ever Written (on Tumblr)

I have been writing online since 2016. As a result, I have quite the few short stories listed below! They're all from different parts in my writing journey and I hope you enjoy.

If you'd like to read what I currently put out, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)

Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairy Tales

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Part 4 / Part 5 /Part 6

Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

Destiny Universe

You Are the Demon King

The Hero and Hope (part 1) (part 2)

Being Villagers

Heroes and Villains

Therapist for Villains

Juniper and Discus

Self Destruct Villain (flash fiction)

Dandelion (A Villain Story)

You Help Kill Heroes

You are the Shark Hero

Mist into a Tempest

The Civilian and the Reluctant Hero

No Heroes Here

The Spoiler (humor, flash fiction)

You are Legacy

Hero in Title

Dark Lord's Former Coworker

One Minute

The Fae:

You Become Powerful

Your Friend Takes Your Name

Larkin and Yvette

Debt Must Be Repaid (humor flash fiction)

Going to the Hill

The Fae are Free

When They Don't Know (submitted to elsewhereuniversity)

The Chosen One

The Chosen One's Parents

Fate and Mercy and Dead Girls

Amulet to Save Her

Hero's Apprentice (Flash fiction)

The Aftermath of the Chosen One

Wizards Stole My Brother

You are the Chosen One's Knight

The Chosen One is a History Major

You are the Most Powerful Magic User

Time Restarts and She Remembers

Better the Witch than the Kid

Witches

It Was in a Name

The Good Witch of Hawthorne

Berthe the Green Witch

Cursed Mold (flash fiction)

Love isn't Enough

I Can't Believe it's not Proper Adjudication

Devil Deals

The Devil You Know

The Ritual

They Summoned Her on Halloween (flash fiction)

Fairytale Retellings

Ariel and Ursula (age appropriate)

The Gods

Zeus' Son

Faith in Technology

Sci-Fi

Six Red Bulls and Persistence

The Sound of Silence

Emmaline and the Apartment

Humans are Vengeful

Humans Know War (that's why we have diplomacy)

Criminals Forced to Live on as AI (flash fiction)

Misc Fantasy

Wind-Speaker

Wind-Speaker and Her Wife

You Will Become

The Sirens and Leona (flash fiction)

Eldritch Princess (flash fiction)

Princess Maria and the Dragon

Princess Maria is Kidnapped

Immortals are Afraid of Change

Fiona the Dragon

A Violently Won War

Meta Stories

An Abstract Concept

Narrative Town

Narrative Town: Uncle Ralph

Princess Phaedra Breaks

You are a Horror Movie Villain

Ghost Stories

Malevolent Spirits

Your House is Haunted by an Anime Pillow

Don't Open the Door

Grandma's House

Who Is? (flash fiction)

A Face (flash fiction)

Misc.

You Choose Your Fate in Hell

Time Paradox (flash fiction)

You are an Assassin

Multiple Dimension Serial Killer (flash fiction)

An Exercise in Mary Sue

She Comes Back from the Hospital (tw eating disorder)

Roses and Evil (mental health flash fiction)

Big Brother

A Conversation About Anger

Punching Depression

Two Sides (flash fiction)

Immortal Serial Killer in Prison

Theater Romance (flash fiction)

The Lady and the Knight (flash fiction)

Different (flash fiction)

[strewbi]

“North of Ford Lane a heron stood knee-deep in snow. The Gale did not rock him; His long gray feathers were unruffled, regal, and frozen and dead. he stood to the wind in his thin sarcophagus of ice. Already he seemed to be dynasties away from me. I have outlived him, as a gibbering ape outlived the dinosaur.” 

J.A. Barker The Peregrine

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: hybrid au, bullying, harassment

♡ GN reader

A sudden evolutionary change befalls the entire human race, turning everyone into hybrids…

And as your bully comes to terms with how much bulkier he's become, along with his new sharp teeth, stronger jaw, and round furry ears, as well as the little tassel he'd grown for a tail, he's also picturing you—his cute little classmate. 

At first, he caught himself thinking about what you'd look like if you were part bear like him, but then, when mulling over the fact that everyone had altered into some type of animal that seemed to complement characteristics they had already, he began wondering what animal characteristics best suited you, and what your bullyable body now looked like.

If he were to guess before seeing you, he'd think your meek nature must have gifted you with an animal equally as pathetic—like a little mouse.

But no, not exactly, though not far off either. 

There you are, in the classroom before anyone else, bright and early like always, as if you want him to catch you alone.

“Well, well, well… look what we have here,” he announces himself, placing one heavy foot before the other as he saunters over to your desk.

You jump up from your chair in a flurry, spooked by his voice. "Oh–hey," you greet, timidly like usual, maybe even more so, as you take in his new size, eyes widening as you do.

"Tch-" he scoffs, sharp eyes looking down at you, thinking you must have shrunk a whole head before remembering how his growth was probably half to blame. "Of course, the most useless person in the world turns into the most useless animal ever."

Your button nose wriggles, but you don’t dare negate his statement. "And you're a—" you start, but almost instantly regret it as obvious an observation as it is, "Bear."

He sneers, "Guess what they say about bunnies being dumb is true after all."

Your buck teeth peek forth as you bite into your lip, bowing your head. "Was there something you wanted?"

With his hands in his front pockets, he stands there for a moment—in silence that only seemed to increase in deadliness the longer it lasted, before stating his demand, "Show me your tail."

You look up at him at that. "W-why?"

He unpockets his paw and plants it on your desk, leaning in close. A grin spread on his lips—fangs and all. "'Cause I wanna see it. So turn around."

You shake your head pitifully. "N-no, that's embarrassing."

But he doesn’t care much about your refusal, only sighing heavily before grabbing your arm and pulling you forward until your chest met the solid surface of the desk, bent over it oh-so-prettily and ready for inspection.

"Come on, dont be difficult," he growls through a smirk, watching you wiggle a bit until settling down, all too quickly yielding under his mighty grip—a display that makes him lick his teeth before slolwy lifting your shirt, pulling it up your back, watching as the little tuft of fur waiting beneath it springs out of hiding for him to see.

He simpers at the sight, then eagerly goes to feel it. 

You whimper at his handling, but he ignores you. Feeling up the softness between his fingers. "Tch–so fluffy… no different from a stuffed animal."

His eyes pan to your face, looking at it cower, squished against the desk with knitted brows and eyes squeezed shut. You’re really just gonna lie there and let him do this, aren’t yah?

"Lop ears are a sign of domestication, y'know?" he says then, picking one of the floppy things up, giving it a rub that makes your whimpers turn into whines. 

"Yeah… if it wasn't clear enough before…” he chuckles. “You're as submissive as they come.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kyotani, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ DS – Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, angst, carbohydrates

Part 1

Words of Command - Part 2

You stand just a little to the side of the elevator, arms wrapped around yourself for comfort, eyes fixed on him.

The Soldier—or—Bucky—or was it Soldat? hasn’t moved. Not more than the occasional shift of his weight, the twitch of that metal hand, the faint flick of his blue eyes every time you breathe too loudly.

Steve and Tony have stepped back to whisper, but you can feel their attention lingering.

Watching.

Judging.

Worried.

Your voice is small when you try again.

“Excuse me…Soldat?”

His gaze whips back to you. Immediate. Unyielding.

That dead-focused, razor-sharp intensity tightens your chest, but you keep going—gentle, slow, like you’re talking to a scared animal that might bolt.

Or bite.

“Do you… understand me?”

There’s no answer.

But he stares, and something in the corners of his eyes shifts—like he’s searching, trying to find something inside the words.

Like he knows he should understand.

But doesn’t know how he's supposed to respond.

You try again.

“Do you speak English?”

A pause. Then “…Handler.”

Soft. Gravelled. Russian-coated.

But he looks at you longer this time. Tilts his head ever so slightly.

Then—halting, broken “Yes ... Handler... I speak ... english.”

His voice is scratchy from disuse, like sandpaper dragged across silk.

You blink, startled. “You do speak…english ...cool. cool. cool.”

His face doesn’t change, but something flickers behind his eyes—like he knows he got something right.

Tony mutters under his breath to Steve, “Great. She’s got a new puppy. One with a kill count.”

Tony’s voice cuts the moment in two, sharp and dry.

“Alright. Fine. He stays. For now.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “But only under strict rules.”

He points at you. “You’re now—congratulations—his unofficial translator, wrangler, emotional support human. You don’t leave him alone with anyone unless Steve’s around."

Tony paces before continuing.

"You don’t give him any new code words. And if he starts twitching like he’s about to go full ‘Nuclear-powered meltdown’ in the kitchen, you run. Got it?”

You blink. “I—I didn’t agree to any of this—”

“You talked to him,” Tony interrupts. “He responded. That makes you the most useful person in this room. Sorry, Cap.”

Steve just nods, gaze serious. “We’ll keep him close. And monitored.”

Tony turns back to Bucky. “You break anything, you pay for it. With labor. I’ll teach you how to vacuum or something.”

“Vakum?"

Bucky repeats, confused.

He turns back to you like he’s waiting for confirmation.

You swallow. “Um… yea ...yes. You… do or we do, I dont know”

He nods, stiff but obedient. Like a soldier again. Your stomach knots.

Tony sighs. “Great. He’s trained and housebroken.”

The others drift off. Steve to talk logistics. Tony to complain to JARVIS. You’re left behind… with him.

You stand in awkward silence.

Bucky doesn’t look at you the way a man does. He looks at you the way a soldier does—alert, aware, waiting for purpose.

But something softens in his stance when you step a little closer.

“Do you… remember your name?” you ask gently.

He’s quiet for a long time. Too long. Then he shakes his head.

"Soldat.”

“Not that,” you murmur. “Your real name.”

His brows knit like it’s painful. His mouth opens—closes. Then just a almost imperceptible shake of his head.

You nod slowly. “Okay. That’s okay.”

He watches your expression like he’s trying to memorize it. Trying to learn how to interpret softness. Gentleness. Safety.

The hallway outside the security room smells faintly like ozone and recycled air. You’re wringing your fingers in front of you, stealing glances toward where Bucky—no, Soldat—sits motionless on a bench near the elevator, eyes tracking every flicker of movement like a wolf in a den of mirrors.

Steve watches him too. But not with fear.

With sorrow.

“He’s so…” you start, unsure of how to finish the sentence. “Still.”

Steve sighs, deep and rough. “That’s how he was trained. Hydra carved the hesitation out of him. Left only reaction.”

You glance at the grime and dried blood on Bucky’s face.

His hair is stringy, tangled.

His hands both metal and flesh are blackened with dirt. The metallic arm catches the fluorescent lights—dull, but still somehow menacing.

“He needs… a shower,” you say scrunching your nose slightly.

Steve looks over. “Yeah. He does.”

“I could… he could use mine”

Steve's mouth twitches into the smallest smile. “You���re braver than you look.”

You fidget. “Everyone deserves hygiene ... its a basic human right.”

Steve nods slowly. “That’s true.”

The elevator ride up to your room is silent—oppressively so.

You keep sneaking glances at him.

He doesn’t blink much. Doesn’t fidget. Just stands with his shoulders squared, metal hand curled tight at his side like he’s expecting orders or a trap.

His boots are caked in filth.

His face still bears the shadows of too many nights in the street.

You whisper, just loud enough for him to hear

“You’re safe. No one here will hurt you.”

His eyes slide to yours. Brief. Intense.

Then he nods—just once.

Your room in Stark Tower isn’t large, but it’s lived-in, Tony had allowed you to shift in when you where between apartments in the city, and he didn't seem in a hurry for you to find somewhere else.

Warm lamp light glows from the corner. There’s a little potted succulent on the windowsill. That your honestly not trying to kill.

A pile of books beside the bed. A tea mug forgotten on the nightstand. The air smells faintly of vanilla and lemon.

Bucky walks in like a soldier clearing a room. Silent steps. Eyes scanning corners. He doesn’t relax, but he stops moving once you speak.

“I thought… you could shower in here. In the bathroom. It’s clean, and there’s towels—soap—uh—just, everything.”

He stares at you blankly.

Then… something clicks.

Without hesitation, he starts pulling off his clothes.

You let out a squeak and spin around so fast you nearly trip over your own feet.

“Oh! Holy shit ...Um—okay! Privacy! You can—just—I’ll wait out here!” your voice cracks at least twice.

Behind you, clothes hit the floor. The dull thud of boots. The click of the door shutting, then the soft muffled hiss of the shower turning on.

Your face burns.

You press your hand to your chest.

There’s a naked super soldier in my shower… Oh my god… holy cow...wait ... is that arm waterproof?

A soft knock draws you from your internal spiral.

You open the door just wide enough to peek out—and there’s Steve, holding a bundle of clothes, grey sweatpants, a simple t-shirt, hoodie, and socks.

He raises a brow at your pink face. “Everything okay?”

“Fine! Totally fine! He’s… uh ...showering.” You hesitate. “He stripped. Like, immediately.”

Steve snorts softly, amused. “Yeah. That tracks.”

You take the clothes and thank him in a whisper.

He turns to leave but glances back over his shoulder. “He’s not trying to scare you.”

“I kinda figured.”

Evening hums low outside your window. The sky’s painted in the soft indigos of a city winding down. In your room, the overhead light is dimmed, replaced by the golden warmth of a bedside lamp.

The tower feels quieter now—like even its bones are holding their breath.

Bucky sits on the floor at the foot of your bed, his back straight, legs folded.

He’s wearing the clothes Steve brought. He hasn’t said much—not beyond, "Yes" "No" and “Handler”

Your starting to hate that word.

You’re sitting nearby, cross-legged on the bed, watching him with a quiet ache in your chest.

His hair is damp from the shower but already beginning to dry in unkempt waves, tangled and wild like a forgotten sea.

There’s something about it that doesn’t sit right with you—not because it’s messy, but because it wasn’t his choice.

It was neglect.

“Would you like to brush your hair?” you ask gently, holding up the comb you keep in your drawer.

He doesn’t move.

Not a flinch.

But his eyes flick to the comb. Then to your face.

Then back to the comb.

No understanding.

No hostility.

Just… frozen confusion.

You realize it a second later, It wasn’t a command.

And he doesn’t know how to process choice.

You try again, slower. “It’s not an order, Soldat. It’s something people do for comfort. To feel clean. To feel… themselves.”

He watches your mouth like he’s decoding a language that doesn’t belong to him.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then “...You brush?” he says, the words clipped, thickly accented. His voice scratches like gravel dragged over concrete.

“No, not me. You. For you.” You hold the comb out to him carefully, showing him. “You can brush your own hair. If you want.”

His brow furrows. You don’t think he’s ever been asked if he wants anything before.

“I don’t… remember.”

That is the closest thing to a sentence he’s given you.

The words nearly break something inside you.

“Then…” you whisper, “Would it be okay if I helped? Just for now?”

A breath passes. His metal fingers twitch against the floor.

Then he nods—once.

You ease down from the bed, kneeling behind him. His broad back dwarfs you, but he stays very still. Every muscle tense, like he’s waiting for something to go wrong.

You gently set the comb on your lap and take out a small, circular compact mirror from your drawer. You flip it open and set it on the floor beside him, tilting it so he can see your hands reflected when you reach for his hair.

“It’s... so you know you’re in control. You can stop me at any time. Okay?”

“Understood, Handler.”

That word again.

The first pass of the comb is tentative. Gentle. You start from the ends, working up in soft, practiced movements. His hair snags in places—clumps still matted from god only knows how much neglect. You’re careful. Patient. Like you’re brushing knots of memory, not just strands.

His breath is steady. But not relaxed. It’s like he doesn’t know how to be during this.

When your fingertips graze his scalp, he flinches—but doesn’t pull away.

In the mirror, you watch his eyes track your every movement. His jaw is clenched, but not from pain. From effort. He’s fighting an instinct you can’t see, but you feel its tremble under your palms.

And then—almost imperceptibly—his shoulders lower. Just a little.

After several minutes, you offer him the compact.

“Here. Want to hold it?”

He stares at it like it’s some delicate alien thing. You nudge it gently into his flesh hand.

He holds it like it might shatter under the wrong pressure. Turns it. Sees himself.

He frowns.

Not in disgust.

Not quite.

More like... he’s seeing a ghost in the reflection and doesn’t know what to do with him.

Then he looks at you.

And in that single look—there is confusion.

And something almost like wonder.

“You… don’t have to do this,” he murmurs. “it's not protocol.”

“I don't mind,” you say, voice thick with emotion. Despite the smile you offer him.

The Tower’s kitchen is lively at this hour—typical, not at all surprising.

Clint is hunched over a bowl of cereal, watching something on a tablet, probably a terrible reality show. Natasha lounges sideways on one of the bar stools, legs crossed at the knee, flipping through a glossy black dossier with quiet intent.

Sam is leaning against the fridge, arguing with Steve about something that sounds like football but escalates fast enough to involve several gestures and a thrown grape.

Then there’s Tony.

Leaning across the counter in a charcoal t-shirt, sipping an espresso as if he invented the machine.

Because well ... he did.

You step into the room, barefoot and slipping between them with muttered "Excuse me's", sleeves pushed up to your elbows and hair a little tousled from where you’d tied it up lazily.

You hover near the fridge, mumbling something about making pasta. No one really pays you much mind—

Until they notice him.

He appears in the doorway like a shadow that forgot to blend in.

The Winter Soldier.

Bucky.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t announce himself, doesn’t stomp. He just is—standing in the doorframe, silent and still, eyes flicking from person to person like he’s assessing threats. Or calculating exits.

You glance back at him, offering a smile, and he responds not with words, but motion.

He follows you.

Not close enough to touch. Just behind. Always behind. Like a ghost dog, cautious but fiercely loyal. His bare feet make no sound against the polished floors. He stands when you stand, moves when you move.

You’re pouring water into a pot when you hear Clint whisper

“Is that who I think it is?”

Natasha doesn’t answer. But she puts her file down. That’s answer enough.

Tony's voice cuts through the tension like a scalpel made of sarcasm.

“Well well, look who’s lurking in my kitchen like a Soviet-themed Dracula.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch. His gaze flicks to Tony, then to the coffee machine, then back to you. The moment doesn’t register as an insult—because to him, it’s just noise.

“Didn’t realize the Asset came with a tracking chip,” Tony adds, lifting his espresso.

You turn slightly, cheeks flushed, fumbling the box of pasta.

“He’s just… hanging out” you say over your shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Tony blinks. “Yeah, I see that. Very Terminator-chic. Adorable. Kind of unsettling.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You sure he’s not about to snap a fork in half?”

At that, Bucky shifts. Just a little. Not threatening. But present. A statement.

Natasha leans in, narrowing her eyes. “He’s not looking at any of us. Just her.”

You glance back at him. “Soldat?”

His head turns toward you instantly. Eyes locked. Waiting.

“…You hungry?”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t nod. But his lips part, like he’s trying to answer in a language he forgot.

“Da,” he rasps.

Tony claps once. “Fantastic. Our newly adopted murder machine has a preference for carbs. That’s going in the file.”

As the pasta boils and the kitchen returns to a fragile rhythm, Bucky remains near you. Close, but never hovering too much. Watching your hands. Taking in the way you hum under your breath. Your calm presence seems to dull the sharp edges in him.

When the steam rises and you lean over the pot, he shifts slightly to keep you in sight.

Tony catches it and, for once, doesn’t make a joke.

Instead, he murmurs to Steve, “It’s like some sorta twilight zone imprinting. Is that normal?”

Steve shrugs. “Nothing about this is normal.”

You hum softly to yourself, cheeks warm from the stove’s heat as you serve up a big bowl of sundried tomato pasta with crumbly cheese and herbs.

You’ve made enough for everyone—even Tony, who pretends to be above “home-cooked carbs” until you set a plate down in front of him.

“Looks like someone’s gunning for our hearts,” Sam jokes, taking a forkful. “I mean—she made pasta, and the Asset isn’t killing anyone. That’s two wins.”

You smile timidly, brushing hair behind your ear. “It’s nothing, really. I just thought... maybe it would help.”

Bucky sits rigid at the end of the bar, back straight, legs parted just slightly in a posture that screams tactical readiness more than dinner guest. His eyes never leave you.

He eats slowly, methodically. Like every bite is a foreign ritual he’s relearning. His spoon clenched tight in his metal hand. His expression unreadable.

The others are trying.

They talk softly.

Laugh a little.

Tony throws in occasional dry commentary to cut the tension.

You start to relax.

Sam tosses a crumpled napkin at Clint, who bats it away with a grin.

“Real mature,” he mutters.

Then Sam turns to you. He points his fork in your direction, mock-annoyed. “And you—you better not be trying to replace me as the favorite cook.”

You laugh, turning away to get another serving. Sam stands up dramatically, crossing over to nudge your shoulder with exaggerated playfulness. “I mean, who told you you could just waltz in here and become the team’s comfort cook?”

It’s lighthearted.

But it’s too much.

Too close.

Too sudden.

There’s no warning.

One second, Sam is jokingly reaching out to gently nudge your arm—

The next, metal slams against flesh with a sickening crack.

Sam is thrown backwards across the kitchen, crashing into a barstool that shatters beneath him.

Gasps. A plate clatters to the floor. Someone shouts—Natasha, maybe—but it’s drowned out by the low, inhuman growl that echoes from the center of the chaos.

The Winter Soldier stands between you and the others.

His body is coiled, one foot slid slightly in front of the other in a combat stance. Left arm bent, metal fist clenched so tightly the grooves in his knuckles press white-hot into the soft light of the room.

His right arm—the flesh one—is stretched in front of you, shielding.

His face is a mask of violence.

Emotionless.

Focused.

Predatory.

He sees a threat.

He’s eliminating it.

“Soldat!” Steve yells, standing up. “Stand down—!”

Tony’s hand flies to his chest, activating the arc reactor with a sharp whine. “You have got to be kidding me—”

Sam groans from the floor, coughing. “I’m okay—Jesus—he’s got an arm like a truck—”

But Bucky doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t hear them.

Only you.

He turns to check you—slowly, like he’s scanning for wounds. Eyes scanning your arms, your shoulders, your face.

Then he turns back toward the others, every muscle wound taut. A silent protector. A guard dog whose chain has snapped.

Clint inches forward. “Uh—he’s not gonna stop, is he?”

Tony’s voice is sharp now. “Tell him to stand down. He’s keyed in on you, not us. You have to do it.”

You blink. Your breath has caught in your chest.

Then slowly, trembling, you step forward, touching the inside of Bucky’s flesh arm—just above the wrist.

“Soldat,” you whisper, “It’s okay. I’m not hurt. I’m okay.”

His head tilts slightly. You see something shift.

“I need you to stop,” you say, your voice cracking. “Stand down.”

He blinks.

The tension bleeds out of his shoulders like breath leaving a body. He straightens slightly, fists unclenching. The tremble in his chest dies down.

His eyes drop to the floor.

"Understood, Handler,”

[cesarorka]

Theriocide: therianthropic suicidal ideation

!!TW suicidal ideation, almost death

Recently I went through an almost death situation where a car almost hit me. Nothing happened, the car didn't hit me, no one was hurt and no damage was made, but after that something inside me "woke up". I've always been suicidal and thoughts about it are normal to me, but the way I've been thinking about it changed completely. I'm an elk therian and that moment when I almost got run over I felt like a deer in headlights. It was so euphoric in a weird messed up way! I felt like that was how I was supposed to die, like the animal I am, like the deer I am. After that my suicidal thoughts shifted from the normal "human" deaths to the most animalistic ones, being hit by a truck, being hunted by wolves, getting my head split in two while competing for a mate... The thought of dieing like an elk makes me happy, makes me look forward to it. I won't actually act on it, of course, I'm not actively suicidal and have a support network I don't plan on abandoning soon, but it is weird to think the happiest I've been in a while was when a car was coming my direction and my life was passing through my eyes. Alterhumanity can be a little fucked up sometimes!

[best-of-yandere]

Mafia AU with platonic yandere Superfam

NO MINORS 18+ ONLY

TW: mentioned death (human & animal), non-sexual breastfeeding mention, surveillance, various "light" punishments mention, slight infantilization, platonic yandere

It starts with Clark and Lois deciding to have another child. They have Jon, and Connor, of course, but they miss having a baby in their arms.

As soon as they hold you in their arms at the hospital, they're in love. It's different with you; it only takes a single coo for them to be wrapped around your chubby little fingers.

When they bring you home, you quickly win the hearts of your siblings. Fights have been started between them over who's your favorite.

You never sleep alone. As a baby, Clark and Lois keep you in their arms at night. When you grow older, your siblings are allowed to have you with them at night. A schedule is quickly devised over who gets you what nights. You do have your own room... you're just never in it.

As you grow older, it becomes apparent you're not suited for the "family business". You still cry over a bird hitting the window; insisting on nursing it back to health, only to become inconsolable when it dies.

They're ok with that. What they do is dangerous, and you're too precious to them to be put in harms way. They decide to keep the truth of what they do from you, telling you they're both reporters to explain their long hours and traveling.

You grow up sheltered, a mafia princess with no idea you are. You're not allowed to leave the compound, but you're given everything you want... except freedom. It wears on you, the lack of freedom and personal space. One of the family is always around you, and when they're not, trusted bodyguards follow you around. You beg off to your room to get at least a little alone time, unaware of the cameras and microphones lacing your room.

But they couldn't keep the truth from you forever. One day, you see Connor killing a grunt, and sweet, sheltered you runs in fright. You don't even make it to the compound's front door. Having seen you trying to escape, Jon is quick to grab you and carry you back inside. You cry, trying to tell him what Connor did, how you both have to get out of there; it breaks his heart to see you so scared! He'll take you to the family room, shushing your cries and wiping away your tears, while he waits for the rest of the family to arrive.

When they do, there's no explaining it away. They come clean, at least about their real careers. You can't accept it; your loving family; murderers, criminals? When you eventually you wear yourself out, calmed down from the exhaustion, Clark and Lois tell you that nothing has to change. They're still your family who loves you very much and would do anything for you.

You're already restricted from business areas of the compound and under heavy surveillance, so the only major changes to your life is them taking away your access to electronics so you can't ask for help. That, and Connor's newfound clingyness. He wants so badly to be your beloved, cool older brother again, that he's constantly with you, trying to get you engaged in activities with him. He'll sneak you video games and junk food to try to get in your good graces again, so things can go back to how they used to be.

Lashing out at them due to your circumstances is a good way to get punished. They'd never lay a hand on you, but they're not afraid to show you just how much freedom you've been afforded until now.

An escape attempt will earn you an escort in the bathroom and shower. Trying to hurt them will put cuffed mittens on your hands. Trying to hurt yourself will get you sedated.

Stars forbid you try a hunger strike; Lois is more than willing to take your food into her own hands. She'll start breastfeeding you again, sedating you, so you'll be compliant. Once she does, though, even if you agree to start eating again, she'll still insist on feeding you herself, treating you like a baby. She'll cut up your food and spoonfeed you each bite, taking turns with Clark for each meal time. They both missed feeling so close to you in this way, and in her and the family's eyes, there's really no reason for you to grow up.

Not when they're always going to be there to take care of you - even if you don't want them too. You may not have freedom, privacy, or bodily autonomy, but you have your family. Forever and ever and ever...

[specialgradefckr]

Catching Strays

alley cat blues

tw: survival sex work, homelessness. implied abuse/mistreatment. hurt/comfort. hybrid au is pretty dark when you think about it.

Read the previous part here

Suguru has to double take the first time he sees you.

A mess of dirt and grime and filthy, torn fabric - you blend in with the surrounding garbage pretty well.

You're curled up in a ball, face hidden behind your legs, clutching yourself tightly. Trembling from the cold.

He can tell now that your clothing (if you could call it that) was ripped up, and he sees red-purple, bruises and scratches littered throughout your smaller form.

Who did this to you? Who left you out here? Why?

Monkeys. Fucking monkeys, disgusting animals that torment, exploit, and degrade hybrids for being lesser than them.

Adopt a kitten, a pet, like some kind of mindless beast, only to selfishly discard it.

Suguru doesn't have an owner, not anymore. It's better like that.

Now, he makes his own rules. His own destiny.

He picks who gets to "adopt" him off the street, if he lets anyone at all. When he does allow it, he's sure to spend a few weeks eating well before he makes off like a bandit with anything he can. Skips town and never sees any consequences.

Most of the time, he plays beggar, setting up with his little collection tin and a pitiful look.

Technically, it's not untrue. Hybrids can't rent homes or hold jobs; he sleeps in pc cafes and motels when he can.

He always has to save up to stay in a private room during his rut, so sometimes he has to stick it on the streets or find someone to shack up with.

There's always money in the red light district. It's despicable.

How those filthy creatures look at him with lust in their eyes, touch him with their dirty, greedy hands.

Here, kitty, kitty, a sickeningly sweet voice will sing at him, sticky fingers over his ears, his face, his throat.

Does kitty want some cream? A repulsive scent that nearly makes him gag. Swallow it all down. And he does. Good kitty.

It tastes like vomit. He can't get the smell out of his head, like piss and shit and everything vile in this world.

Monkeys.

He fucking hates it, but sometimes he has to for a place to stay, or pocket change. The real money was in doing shows, streams, the more official stuff with an agency or a manger. Casual arrangements don't pay much but he keeps his freedoms.

He likes it that way. As much as they might swoon or coo at him, they're still humans in the end. They aren't capable of seeing him as anything more than a pet.

But he didn't always know what these monkeys were like. Didn't understand.

Suguru looks down at you, the poor, battered thing that you are.

Once, he too was a lonely, shivering stray, lost and abandoned. Thrown out in the cold by everyone he'd ever loved.

Something pulls in his heart. Muscle fibers tearing from the strain of sympathy.

No movement. Not from his approaching footsteps, not even when he kneels down to be eye-level with you.

If anything, you flinch away, shivering fruitlessly back against the hard concrete wall behind you.

He knows that look. Like you think you're about to get hit.

Your ears are downturned. One of them is torn badly, a little red.

Only one of your arms is wrapped around your legs; the other is tucked against you, where he can't see, cradled against your chest.

...must be bad.

You're so much smaller than him. Just a little thing. You must be his age, maybe younger.

What were you thrown away for? No longer being a cute kitten? Maybe you weren't fun anymore when you got your first heat, because you were an independent living thing and not some stuffed animal to be played with?

"Are you okay?" Suguru says, as softly as he can, "Did you get hurt?"

The question is pointless. But it's the kindness that he needs to get across. I'm not here to hurt you.

You don't even look up. The only thing he can scent from you is fear, anxiety, how you stiffen and lock in place like a deer in headlights.

He's got a thread and needles in his bag - maybe he could stitch your ear up. Or at least wrap it up, or clean it... it'll itch so badly if it gets infected.

He tries to reach out to touch you, but you jerk away. Like it burns.

It burns him, too. In his chest. Fingertips searing.

"Hey," He says, gently. Putting as much tenderness in his voice as he can, "Hey. Easy there. I'm here to help you."

Suguru feels like he's been struck; how you don't move, don't speak, just tense up and shiver there, helpless. Like you'd run away if you had the strength.

There's scratches on your good arm. The streets aren't kind to strays. God knows what you've been through. Or at least Suguru does.

"I've got food." He says, hoping to see your ears twitch, a little life or movement - nothing.

His precious emergency treat; a bright blue can of tuna.

The top is peeled open, the smell rushing up to meet it. His mouth almost waters - his last meal was sometime yesterday.

He sets it gently at your side, loudly enough that you must hear it as well as smell it.

"Don't you want any?" Suguru asks it gently, staring at you, then back at his tin can treasure.

You don't say anything.

"...I'll leave it right here for you," He pats the ground beside you, "I don't need it. It's all yours."

Suguru gets up. Some cats didn't like to eat around other people. You'd probably had to fight other hybrids over scraps in the alleyways - you'd probably lost.

That's how you ended up here, in this dingy, empty place.

Looking down at you, his heart clenches once again. The food is right there. It's good, it's clean, but you won't take it.

You just sit there, breathing so lightly you could be dead.

Even as he exits the alleyway to give you some privacy, Suguru knows; he can't leave you alone.

If you won't leave, then he'll keep you safe where you are. At least he knows where you are when he has to go somewhere.

He keeps other people out. Either by scaring them away, hissing and scratching, or guiding them gently with big wide eyes and a sickeningly sweet smile.

There's nothing quite like the relief in his chest when he comes back and finds his tuna can empty.

It surprises him, how happy he is. How just the sight of your crumpled up little form makes his heart ache, but each time that ache is replaced with a warmth of familiarity, a reassurance, a strange giddy happiness that you're still alive, still surviving, despite it all.

And Suguru finds himself willing to do anything to keep it that way. Even if supporting two hybrids is vastly more difficult than just himself.

It's easier to do, when he thinks of you, of your helpless crumpled form. Easier to purr and lean forward and pretend he likes being petted by those dirty hands.

There's the same old ugly feeling churning in his chest, but it churns more violently at the thought of these grimy fingers reaching for you.

He shoves any thoughts of what might have happened to you out of his mind. All he can do is try to give you the best life right now.

A few scrounges in some alleyways and dumpster bins and he's found a large cardboard box and a blanket that was probably fluffy, once.

He leaves it beside you, setting it up carefully, close. Rubbing up against it to leave his scent on it and erase anything else that might bother you.

Sets another tin of tuna he'd saved up for inside. A package of stale snacks in case you get hungry before he gets back. A bottled he'd rinsed out and filled with tap water.

All these things took days for him to scrape together; a veritable fortune. Suguru doesn't have much. But what he does have, he shares with you.

He's not entirely sure why he does it. No one ever helped him.

Maybe that's it. You don't deserve this any more than he did. To be thrown away like trash. To be unloved.

Suguru couldn't save himself.

But he can save you.

It happens slowly. Takes longer than he'd like. But one day he walks into the alley and his heart drops when he doesn't see you and he races over only to see you -

Curled up in the very back of the box he'd gotten for you.

The sigh that escapes him leaves him feeling lighter. Warm all around.

It's the first time he sees your eyes, too. They go wide when they see him and then wince shut as you hunch down, cowering.

"No, no, it's okay," the soothing words escape him in a rush, "I'm glad, I was afraid you might not like it. I left this here for you."

And then - for the first time, your eyes blink open. Still lurched back.

His heart is trembling when you speak your first, meek thanks to him. The sound of your voice, low and hoarse, is the most wonderful noise he can recall hearing.

It's obvious that you don't know how to react to his kindness. What to do. You're afraid because that's all you know how to be.

But that's okay. He can be patient. He can be kind. Over and over and over again, until you unfurl from frightened animal to a friendly stray, or close enough to it.

Looking back, it's strange to imagine how his entire life has changed since meeting you.

One of his happiest moments in recent memory is the first time you let him touch you. Let him pet your head, brushing over your ear.

There's something so tender about it. How your ears flick, then lower, your eyelids dropping as your breathing slows. Gently, hesitantly, you lean into it, and his heart soars.

The scratches on your good arm had healed by then. The other arm was fine - but your hand had been... declawed.

The poor, sore, reddened fingertips stick out to him, painful even to look at. It must hurt even worse for you to have that, day in and day out. Poor exposed nailbeds, itchy, so easily infected.

You desperately avoid looking at it. It's a while before Suguru can manage to get your hand into his, and you whimper pitifully all the while, even as you allow him to hold it and examine your nails.

It's hard to get the right materials without an owner, but Suguru finds some medicine, some cream, and a nice glove in the right size.

He treats your ear, too, even though it'll probably be torn forever. Battle scars for an alley cat stray.

"You're so brave," Suguru tells you as he pets you, scooting closer to your side. He says your name, with all the warmth and affection he can manage.

You look down, mumbling that you're not, but he feels you leaning into his side.

It's a dark night, and a cold one. He manages to find a motel for you both to stay in that night (after so many hours on his knees), a real bed for you both to sleep in.

The motel is a seedy place - it has to be, to take cash and ask no question; hybrids aren't supposed to rent rooms - and it's dingy but it's the best you've had in a long time. Maybe forever.

That night he cuddles you close, holds you tightly, warmly, stroking you soothingly after he gives you the better part of his meal for dinner.

It's the first time he hears it. Faint and gentle and ever so distant, rumbling featherlight against him.

After weeks together, this is the first time he'd heard you purr. He feels, on his shoulder, little pricks of your claws against him, kneading at him.

He could cry. Joy surges through his chest, his throat wet and heavy with emotion as he feels your body relax into his.

Those are the best nights. Just you and him curled up together in whatever tiny corner you can claim for yourselves. All you have is each other but the shared warmth and the cozy embrace is enough for both of you.

Suguru sees it, over time. How you flinch away when you see yourself kneading at him. How you nuzzle against his chest in your sleep, open-mouthed.

You must have been weaned too soon. Taken from your mother young. Still a little kittenish, deep down.

It makes you all the more darling to him. There's something protective in him, a longing to hold you close and tight and safe beside him forever.

He wonders sometimes. Before he'd met you, he'd thought about getting fixed somehow. So he could avoid his stupid ruts, scam stupid rich widows over "breeding requests".

But maybe he's not entirely bereft of paternal instincts. He watches you at night, ears twitching against his chest. Wonders what colors your litter would come out. You'd make the cutest kittens, and the cutest mother, and he'd love you so so much...

He can barely provide for the two of you. The only way to make anything close to a real living would be to sell much himself, much more than he does now. Sign himself away as property to an agency. To fucking monkeys.

Even then, it would be hard to keep your litter safe once they were weaned. Hybrids needed human owners for everything. If it needed a form, a signature (and what didn't, these days?), it needed an owner. There's a reason life as a stray is so hard.

And you're in no state to have a litter, either. He hasn't even seen you in a heat, and there's no doubt it's due to stress.

When you notice yourself kneading at him (with your good hand, the one that hasn't been declawed), you snatch your hand away, looking down as if ashamed.

You stiffen up when he licks at you, cleaning your mouth of a recent meal, or just grooming your cute ears and cheeks. It took a lot of time to brush out the matts in your hair originally, get it back to a decent state.

It's a long time before he gets you to groom him back. He finds files, clippers, things to trim your nails so you're more confident kneading to self-soothe.

They'd been sharp, before, at least the ones you still had. You stare at him when he brings you a tiny scratching post, when he shows you how to drag your hand over it to enjoy the sensation and entertain yourself.

It seems to occupy you well enough. He shows you the right spots to beg and the ways to look up at people. Teaches you who to hiss and claw at, how to drive away the wrong sort of attention.

Suguru takes care of you, now, so there are degenerates who come knocking. He licks your hair, your tail, if he can't brush it. Keeps you smelling like him so the other hybrids don't come sniffing around.

But there are always monkeys. They're the ones with the money, after all, the ones worth making cute faces to get spare change from.

They're supposed to be the victims, after all. Charm them, meow at them, get your spare change and then let them be on their way.

So when he comes across you sitting across from an obviously rich, well-groomed, white-haired man - well. Your hopeful eyes tell more than any words ever could.

"And you must be Suguru~" The man purrs his name like he's not just another monkey, "Your little friend tells me you two are strays, and I've been looking for a pet."

The insufferable creature stands up to his terrible lanky height. "I'm a generous guy! If you're half as sweet as your friend here, I'll be happy to have you both."

Suguru is not half as sweet as you are. Not to monkeys like him.

But he can smell the rich on him. From his designer top to his limited edition watch and his shiny, tailor-made shoes.

This is a man so steeped in wealth that it means nothing to him. He'll amuse himself with his little pets until it gets old, and when it does, he won't care if you disappear - he might even be relieved.

He certainly wouldn't miss a small fortune along with the two of you.

Suguru looks at your face, a twinge of remorse dragging through him.

But you had to learn, anyways. And you'll be happier crying over sushi than while you eat out of a tuna can.

He smiles at the white-haired man, his best people-pleasing smile.

"Thank you so much," Suguru purrs.

Sucker.

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

PART 9

Summary: Edward and Bella return from their honeymoon and the family is quick to rally around them. Y/N is quarantined for the safety of the other Vampires while Carlisle tries find a solution for her illness.

TW: Mentions of pregnancy/injury/illness, threats, lack of regard for the feelings of others, secrets/denial, medical testing, blood.

It had been two weeks since Edward and Bella returned home from their honeymoon. Her belly had grown tremendously since their return and Carlisle had no way to see what was inside.

Ultrasound and needles weren't able to penetrate the embryonic sack, but blood tests showed that she was definitely pregnant. Carlisle questioned Edward when they returned home, trying to discreetly assess for whether or not he was sick.

Carlisle was relieved to find out that whatever illness Y/N had was not passed on to Edward. Carlisle still decided to keep Y/N away from the rest of the family in case her sickness was contagious. He didn't need anyone else getting sick in the home, he already had his hands full with Y/N and Bella.

Y/N hadn't been able to keep down animal blood since that day in the woods, she started to desiccate as her body dried out. Carlisle was able to procure human blood for her and it seemed to be the only thing she could stomach for the time being.

Carlisle was uncomfortable with the idea of offering her human blood, but he didn't have another choice.

She stayed in her bed for days on end as her body continued to grow weaker and thinner, dark bags appearing beneath her eyes. Carlisle offered her more blood, but she was continuing to lose weight and he was at a complete loss as to what she could possibly need. In a desperate attempt to try something, he brought her a lone piece of buttered toast.

She looked up at him when he set the plate on the nightstand, "What the hell is that?" She questioned.

"Food," Carlisle said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.

"I need blood, not carbs," Y/N grumbled.

"Blood isn't helping you. Try it," Carlisle said, picking up the plate and holding it up in front of her.

She grimaced at the smell, turning her head away, "Don't be like that," He said.

"It stinks," Y/N mumbled.

"You need to try it," Carlisle pressed.

"Did Edward ask about me?" Y/N questioned, attempting to change the subject.

Carlisle sighed, lowering the plate slightly, "He is focused on Bella right now," Carlisle said.

"Who are you focused on?" Y/N asked.

"I'm looking after both of you," He stated, raising up the plate again.

Y/N glanced between him and the slice of toast before reluctantly reaching up and taking one of the four triangular slices. She looked down at it with disgust before taking a small bite and chewing it slowly.

Carlisle watched her, smiling softly when her stomach growled. She began to eat the toast faster, finishing the entirety of it in minutes.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

"I need more," Y/N stated.

"I'll get you more," Carlisle assured, standing up from the edge of the bed. He moved across the room, stepping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind himself.

"What's wrong with her?" Edward asked.

"Edward, you should be with Bella," Carlisle said, keeping himself between his son and the door to Y/N's room.

"Alice was thinking about it. Why didn't anyone tell me?" Edward questioned.

"She told us not to," Carlisle stated.

"Can I see her?" Edward asked.

Carlisle shook his head, "I'm still not sure if what she has is contagious and I can't risk exposing anyone else," He said.

Edward glanced down at the plate, "Did she eat whatever you brought her?" He asked.

"She did," Carlisle nodded.

"Can you keep me updated?" Edward asked, shifting slightly on his feet.

"Of course," Carlisle said.

"Good," Edward replied, turning around and making his way back down the hallway.

Carlisle brought Y/N as much food as she could possibly stomach before he connected her to some IV fluids. He took her vitals and was happy to find that she was doing much better with some food and fluids in her system.

After a few days of calorie-dense meals and intravenous fluids, she was able to function almost normally again. One unfortunate side effect was the need to use the bathroom, which she had not dealt with for a very long time and found to be an incredible annoyance. Her vitals had shown an increase and were finally within the normal range for humans.

She had shown a significant improvement and Carlisle found himself focusing on Bella as her health had continued to decline. The fetus had been starving Bella and breaking her bones.

No amount of IV fluids or food had been able to improve Bella's situation and it was likely that her heart would give out before delivery. Bella had been constantly exhausted and nauseous, but had nothing left in her stomach to throw up.

She was wildly gaunt and pale with almost every bone poking up through her skin. The child was going to kill her, but Bella insisted that Carlisle could change her at the last second.

...

Y/N quickly found herself bored and annoyed at the prospect of being trapped in her bedroom. She stood out on the balcony, staring down at the ground below while silently pondering how many bones she would break if she jumped.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Someone said.

Y/N turned around quickly to find Edward standing in the middle of her bedroom. His eyes were dark and she wondered how long it had been since they had fed.

"Too long," Edward stated.

"What are you doing in here?" Y/N asked.

"I needed to see you," Edward said, taking a few hesitant steps towards her.

"Isn't your wife dying in the next room?" Y/N questioned.

"She is dying and it's my fault," Edward stated.

Y/N stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by his statement, "Wow, I really wasn't expecting you to take accountability for killing your wife," Y/N said.

"Can you talk to her?" Edward asked quickly.

"You do know that she has done every single thing I have told her not to do, right?" Y/N questioned.

"I don't know what else to do," Edward admitted.

"You must be really desperate to be coming to me for help," Y/N said.

"I am... Please, I need you," Edward pleaded, taking her hand in his.

She grimaced at the tightness of his grip and he quickly released her, "I need your help, Y/N," He repeated.

"I can't help you," Y/N replied.

"Can't or won't?" Edward snapped.

"Won't and don't really want to... If you haven't noticed, I have my own problems to deal with at the moment," Y/N said.

The door to her bedroom opened and Carlisle stepped inside, "Edward, you need to leave," He ordered.

"Fine," Edward muttered, storming out of the room.

"Are you alright?" Carlisle questioned, closing the door.

"I'm fine. He just came to beg for my help," Y/N replied.

"He's desperate, Y/N. You can't fault him for that," Carlisle said.

"I told him that something terrible would happen if he married her. It just happened in a different way than I expected," She said, crossing her arms.

"He's your friend," Carlisle stated.

"He's an idiot," Y/N corrected, sitting down on the chaise.

Carlisle made his way over to her, "Be gentle with him. He's fragile right now," Carlisle said.

"I've never been that person and you know that," Y/N said.

Carlisle wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm, she held up her other hand and he placed the probe on her finger. Carlisle turned on the machine and the cuff began to inflate as he took her temperature.

"Can I get out of here soon?" Y/N asked.

"No talking," Carlisle instructed, watching the screen of the vitals machine.

He wrote down the values as they popped up, "We still have no idea what you have, Y/N. It also doesn't help that the wolves are watching us. If you leave the house, you'll surely be torn to shreds in your state," Carlisle said.

He removed the cuff from her arm and took the probe from her finger, "I hate this room," She stated.

"I wish I could help you, but we need you to stay here for now," Carlisle said.

"This house is a prison," She grumbled.

"You'll survive," He smiled, putting the items away on the vitals machine.

"What if I don't? What if I die in this room and you wouldn't even let me go to the kitchen in my own home?" Y/N asked.

"Don't say things like that. Your vitals are stable and you're doing well," Carlisle assured.

Y/N rolled her eyes, "I'm climbing the walls, Carlisle. My god, if you're not sick at this point, I obviously can't infect anyone else," She said.

"I'll think about it," Carlisle replied.

"Think faster," Y/N grumbled.

Carlisle smiled, "You never have been a very patient person. I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised by your persistence," He said.

"Now that I can't use mind control, I'll just have to annoy you into letting me go free," Y/N said.

"I've dealt with you for a very long time, Y/N. I don't think there's anything you could do that would surprise me," Carlisle said.

"Don't challenge me, Carlisle," Y/N replied.

"I'll bring dinner in an hour. I trust that you can keep yourself busy until then," Carlisle said, Y/N nodded.

Carlisle stepped out of her bedroom, closing the door behind himself. Y/N stood up from the chaise quickly and rushed into the bathroom.

She moved her tongue around in her mouth before hesitantly reaching in and pulling out a bloody tooth. Y/N looked at it with disgust before her eyes found her reflection in the mirror.

Her mouth began to fill with blood and she spit into the sink, her eyes glossed over with panicked tears when she saw another tooth in the bottom of the sink. Y/N picked them up quickly and wrapped them in toilet paper, stuffing them into the bottom of the trash can. Y/N washed out the sink, rinsing the blood from her mouth before returning to her bed.

She laid down with a grimace, dragging the blankets over her body before settling against the mattress. Y/N's body was falling apart around her and it was infuriating, her joints ached terribly and her hearing was beginning to fail. Carlisle believed that she was doing well, but she wasn't and she didn't want him to know.

Edward clearly couldn't see anything beyond his own issues and Y/N was grateful for that. Edward was begging for her help while on his downward spiral that would ultimately lead to Bella's death. The hell spawn that grew in her belly would be the end of everything and Edward seemed to understand that. Edward wanted to hear Y/N tell Bella that she was making a terrible mistake, but nothing was going to change her mind.

Bella thought that she could have this perfect child and change into a Vampire at the last second. It was completely ridiculous, but she was stubborn and not even her husband could change her perspective on that.

Y/N was dying and she didn't want to spend the rest of her days under a microscope or trying to talk Bella out of something that everyone already knew was a mistake. Carlisle wasn't going to be able to save either of them and Y/N was the only one who was willing to admit that.

...

Y/N sat in her bed with her back leaned against the headboard as she read from her book. She heard some yelling, but couldn't make out what anyone was saying. The curiosity eventually became too much for her and she closed her book, setting it aside before she stood up.

Y/N made her way over to the door, opening it and lingering in the doorway as she heard more screaming. She leaned out into the hallway, looking both ways before slowly venturing out. Y/N made her way out to the living room, immediately spotting a broken Styrofoam cup on the floor in a pool of blood.

Y/N continued on passed the gory scene and made her way into the kitchen. She looked through the fridge before moving on and checking the cabinets for something to eat. Y/N huffed when she found nothing, returning to the fridge and opening the freezer.

"Oh, yes," She muttered, pulling out a small pint of ice cream.

Y/N grabbed a spoon from the drawer, hopping up to sit on the counter as she took the lid off. Y/N ate her ice cream silently as she listened to the screams from wherever everyone had run off to in the house.

It was obvious that something was happening with Bella, but Y/N couldn't be bothered to go and check on them. She paused in her snacking when the screams eventually stopped.

"Sweet serenity," She sighed, taking another scoop of the ice cream.

Y/N watched as Rosalie suddenly rushed by carrying a newborn baby wrapped in a blue towel.

"Is she dead?" Y/N questioned, Rosalie whipped around at the sound of her voice.

"You shouldn't be out of your room," She stated.

"Not like anyone's here," Y/N replied, gesturing to the empty room with her spoon.

"You still shouldn't be out here," Rosalie huffed.

"Did she die or not?" Y/N repeated.

"She did. Edward gave her the venom, but her heart had already stopped," Rosalie said, Y/N nodded and took another bite of her ice cream.

"You know, I usually do my best to stick up for you, but this time you are the one in the wrong. Edward has been awful to you, but he needs you right now and you should be there for him. You shouldn't be sitting here and listening to his wife die," Rosalie said.

"It's not like I can help him, Rose," Y/N stated.

"Nothing can help him. Bella is dead. But he needs someone to lean on right now," Rosalie said.

The infant squirmed in her arms and she looked down at them, "It's a girl. Bella decided to call her Renesmee," Rosalie said.

"That's an awful name," Y/N stated.

"It is, but Bella picked it," Rosalie replied, "I need to get her washed up, but you should go and see him," Rosalie continued, Y/N nodded.

Rosalie made her way into the bathroom while Y/N hopped down from the counter. She set her spoon in the sink and tossed the ice cream back into the freezer before following the panicked voice of her friend.

"Please, please, please, please," Edward whispered softly to Bella. He moved over her body, biting into her flesh while her lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling. Y/N lingered in the doorway awkwardly, taking in the scene in front of her.

Edward's shirt and face were covered in Bella's blood, his blood-stained hands were trembling as he cupped her cheeks, "Come back to me, please, baby. Bella, Bella, please, please," He mumbled shakily.

"Edward," Y/N said.

He looked up at her with wide eyes, "I was too late," Edward mumbled.

"I'm sorry," Y/N replied.

He stepped away from her body, moving over to his friend and pulling her into a tight embrace. Y/N grimaced at the feeling of Bella's blood soaking into her shirt before slowly wrapping her arms around his neck.

"She's gone and it was my fault," Edward mumbled, gripping onto the material of her shirt.

"You're going to be okay," Y/N assured.

He pulled away suddenly when he heard the sound of the Werewolves approaching in the forest, "What is it?" Y/N asked.

"They're coming," Edward mumbled, "Get up to your room and don't come out," He instructed.

"Alice! Jasper!" He yelled, returning to Bella's body and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Alice and Jasper rushed down to meet him while Y/N reluctantly returned to her room. She washed the blood from her skin and changed her shirt before sitting down on the edge of her bed. Y/N couldn't hear what was happening outside and it was absolutely killing her.

She could hear the growling of the Wolves, but not much else and then she heard absolutely nothing. It was completely silent and Y/N stood up, lingering in the middle of her room as she waited for something to happen.

Had everyone been slaughtered? Were the Wolves searching the house for the child? Would they kill her if she was found?

Maybe it would be a more forgiving death than the one she was destined for. Y/N's heart began to race as she heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

Was this it? Was this the end for her?

...

PART 10

[starburstsobsessions]

I CANT WAIT TO POST THIS ANY LONGER. I DID MORE OF THEM😆

I've got an AU COOKING UP based on that GIF I made, and it's becoming my new favorite thing ever. I've already drawn so much more for this despite my levels of busy, like all my small amount of free time's going to this istg.

Origin story post!

Stay and listen to me yap awhile, yeah?

maybe tw for a little sad animal stuff? Nothing in detail.

-SO this takes place in a universe just like the Cats and Dogs movies (and other 2000s kids animal movies LOL). Animals still maintain their status to the human world as perfectly normal, but they are nearly humanly sentient and capable, just with animal qualities.

-Cat Robotnik was abandoned as a kitten (wet cardboard box all alone) and it’s suggested that his family was harmed/taken/killed(?!?) by humans in some way. He grows up and builds up a name for himself among cats, and becomes strategically powerful and unreasonably intelligent. Where does this go? Well of course, only some plans to rule the world!!! And maybe even Y'know enslaving humankind in favor of creatures that have been mistreated.

-Agent Stone, or K9 Stone if you'll entertain me, was a high grade military trained German Shepherd, to a handler that has used overt and abusive methods while owning him. Stone has remained ever loyal, yet reclusive and to be revealed in the next post- this is all changed when he he sustains a dangerous injury on a job. His handler abandons him in the crossfire. When it all dies down, Cat Robotnik finds him, and mends him up. (With an ulterior motive ofc)

-Cat Robotnik knows very well that another creature already immensely trained in all aspects from bite work to scent detection could be immensely helpful to him. If he got this dog four times his size on his side, this dog that’s been abandoned by his human? He’d be far better off with some newfound protection, one that’s loyal to the core. Even if it’s… ew, a DOG 🤮

-Sooo yeah they will plot to rule the world together!!! 💕💕💕

I've got plenty more coming soon... It's gonna have PLOT and it might even HURT so listen out for that if you like to see cute animals. <3

bonus for reading that I forgot to add and had to edit in LOL

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere! Himbo! Werewolf! x Witch! Fem! Reader

TW: forced impregnation, mind control, gore, non-con, dubcon

Kofi: Wanna buy me a coffee?

🍓🍓🍓🍓🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒

The deep woods is your home. The animals within it respect you and often help you. The sun's light even points out the trails to walk upon. Though, after the first full moon in January, the wolf moon, things started to change in the forest. Glowing eyes would be in the darkness near your cottage. The noises of animals that filled the forest suddenly began to disappear. Clumps of hair started to appear at your front door. But the most frightening part for you is the mutilated human bodies appearing in your woods.

They were bloody and torn like a wild animal had gotten to them. Hearts were missing from their chests. But, most importantly, there were letters carved into each victim's chest. Each letter slowly spells out your name. Luckily, the new chief of the village, Aaron Flor, believes you when you say you're not involved in these murders. But he did say he wanted to speak with you at sunset, which it now is.

"Y/N, are you here?" Aaron asks, knocking on your door.

"Coming!" You reply, turning off the stove and letting the lavender scent fill the room.

You open the door and see Aaron with a bouquet of roses.

"These are for you. I found these on a bush near your cottage," Aaron says, blushing a little.

"Aaron, that bush is mine. But I still appreciate your gift," You say, placing the flowers in a nearby vase.

"Oh, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. For the last couple of weeks, I've been changing. I've gotten stronger and dumber. And I can't stop thinking of you and your…perfect body."

"Aaron, sit down. You're practically sweating buckets."

You guide Aaron to your bed and lay him down on it. You go into the bathroom to make him a cold washcloth. You place it on his head, and he grabs your wrist. He easily pulls your whole body on top of him and wraps an arm around your waist.

"Aaron, what are you doing? You're a good, virtuous man," You say as Aaron's lips draw closer.

"Hehe…your lips are so plump and kissable," Aaron giggles, his hand rubbing your ass. "Mmn!"

Aaron's peck on the lips leaves you flustered, and he uses it as a chance to undo your hair bun.

"You don't need this bun when there's about to be a bun in your oven," Aaron coos, letting a stray finger go from your stomach to your crotch. "Let's get naked. We need to start working on our family together."

"What family?! Aaron, you're delusional and need to rest!" You yell, but it's too late. Aaron is already untying the back of your dress.

It drops to the floor, leaving your naked body vulnerable as Aaron begins to undress.

"Aaron, I know you're not yourself, but we should think about this. I'm sure you'll be much happier if we have a family after we're married like everyone expects of you."

"I can marry you after filling you up and making you mine."

The moonlight seeps into the room, and you hear his bones crack. You can only watch in horror as brown ears grow at the top of his head, his stature becomes bulkier, hairier, and taller, and his teeth resemble a wolf's. His clothes tear, and he walks towards you with his now bigger penis erect.

"A-Aaron, we can find a cure for you-"

Aaron slips a digit in your panties and slices them off. He gets on his knees and takes a deep whiff of your crotch.

"I can smell your ovulation. It's so intoxicating," Aaron swoons, his long licking your pussy.

"Ah-Aaron!" You moan, tightening your legs to close him off.

"It's ok, darling. I'll make this pleasurable and as comfortable as possible," Aaron replies.

Aaron throws you over his shoulder and carries you through the forest to a dark cave that smells of musk and sex. He puts you in a nest made of bloody clothes, shredded fur, and silk sheets. Aaron kisses your neck and gently spreads your legs. You worriedly glance at his big, veiny cock, and Aaron throws you onto his hairy chest. He holds your face on his right side and places a comforting hand on the back of your head.

"It's ok. My scent will make you calmer and more prepared to be my mate," Aaron comforts, making you smell his pheromones. "Just take deep breaths, and then you'll be ready."

Forced to breathe in his scent, you take a deep breath. Your body feels more relaxed, and your mind becomes a pup and mating-filled mess.

"Aaron, you smell so nice and…safe," You comment, your hips unconsciously grinding against his crotch. "Ooohh…"

"You want my pups, don't you?" Aaron asks, his hand going to your pussy and rubbing your clit.

"Oh, yes! I would love to be your mate! I want your seed! I want it!" You beg, looking into his canine-like eyes.

Aaron chuckles and places his dick inside you. You moan into his chest, making his cock twitch.

"Aaron, please! I want it so bad!" You plead, starting to ride his dick.

"I know, sweetie! I know!" Aaron responds, leaning forward and placing you in a mating press.

Aaron begins to thrust into you, and all you can do is moan for him like a good mate. Aaron pants like a dog, and soon enough, his thrusts start to get faster.

"Take it! Take it! Take it like a good bitch!" Aaron moans, his knot growing by the minute.

"Ah! Yes! Yes! I'm a good bitch! I'm your good bitch!" You coo, your eyes rolling into your forehead.

Aaron gently slaps your cheek and makes your eyes focus on him.

"Tongue out!" Aaron commands, sticking his tongue, expecting yours to touch his.

You stick your tongue out, and Aaron gives you a big, sloppy kiss as his balls empty into you. You moan into his mouth as your orgasm rocks your body. His hands grip around yours tighten, and you mentally tap out at the feeling of multiple strings of semen entering your pussy, ready to make you pregnant.

"Oh, darling, you have a cute little bulge from my cock," Aaron teases, running a hand around your stomach.

"Ah…ah…ahaha…" You moan, deliriously staring at Aaron.

"I might as well make sure your boobs are ready for our pups."

Aaron sucks your right nipple, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through your spine. The other boob is stimulated by his hand rubbing and pulling your nipple.

~~~~~ "Aaron! Aaron, what have we done?!" You scream, looking at your naked body next to his.

Aaron, now back to his senses but still werewolf-like, quickly calms you down with a kiss.

"I told you I'd take care of you. Now rest. Your body needs it."

"But, why are you a werewolf?"

"I got bit by a wolf in the French countryside a while back. But it doesn't matter now. What matters now is our pups."

You cum at the mention of your impregnation, and that's when you notice Aaron is still inside you.

"Now go to sleep unless you want to be fucked to sleep."

"Yes, my love."

[meathunt]

Dry seeds

What if naga yandere? Tw linfantilization, non human yandere * . ` ✧*✧ ✶ * .* . ` ✧*✧ ✶ * . You finished taking a very needed sip of your water bottle, the sun of the desert hitting hard while the dry air gives you some comfort.

For the last years there have been sightings of new creatures and strange plants all around the globe, humanoid forms being photographed or barely being able to be seen in videos.

This inspired some groups to start to investigate, private organizations funding trips to get to the bottom of this.

You were part of a group of explorers taking samples and observing the flora and fauna, and cataloguing the changes they have, your group was assigned the dessert where some of this sightings have happened.

You were a botanist, a student that instead of using their vacation time to rest or maybe hang out with friends, you were approached by one of your professors with the opportunity of going on this trip.

You were ecstatic about it from the start, and even now having to endure the heat and filling tired from the walk, you couldn't contain a silly smile and that spark in your eyes. The expedition was very simple actually, constant walks around the determined zone, everyone on the team had some specialty and even if you were more of a helper than one of the main investigators, you still were allowed to participate and make your own investigations.

The allotted time for this trip was almost two months.

And coming to the middle of the first month you started to notice things, first was the constant feeling of being watched, no matter where you were, how far or how close of the group you stayed, eyes were always on you, you were convinced of this, but had no proof.

The strange things were found near the camp, at first there were strange trinkets, some shiny rocks and metals that from what you were told, had no business being so close to the surface. Then it was carcasses, when you found one of some type of dog looking thing you almost passed out. Not doing well with gory things. The others in camp dealed with those.

The group started to think that maybe you guys had stepped near some animals territory and that maybe these were warnings. So you moved camp, but even then you guys still found weird stuff.

No longer dead animals but now you found what only could be described as trinkets, toys of some kind, a bit rustic if you said so yourself, and what could be described as small sculptures made of stone, clay or wood. Some of animals and flowers, but one looked like a person, a bit funky but it had the shape, those were kind of cute so you decide to keep some of them.

The things that cached your attention were the plants, obviously ripped, and so eye-catching for their colors and characteristics, but the strangest thing was that they were just so out of place in the desert. They were withering quickly under the force of the sun, and held too much humidity, extremely rare to just see it in the middle of the sand.

Today you were a bit far from camp, and you found just a little ball of moss, but what catcher your attention was that the dark little ball seemed to glow in the darkening day.

It was a pretty sight and when you held it it was cold to the touch, you played a bit with it when you saw another one laying a bit farther from you, your curiosity is picked as you get closer taking the next moss ball in your hands, you excuse it in your mind as good samples for the lab.

You catch what seems like another moss ball ahead a bit buried, but when you try to pick it, it doesn't come off, seems like it was a larger piece than the others. You decide to see if with more force you can unlogged it.

You put the moss balls into your small bag and started to tug, you felt some resistance but after putting more force it dislodged, but before you could celebrate you felt the sand under your feet give up, and the next thing you knew you were falling. You didn’t even have time to scream when you felt your head hit something hard, and instantly lose consciousness.

* . ` ✧*✧ ✶ * .* . ` ✧*✧ ✶ * .

Ishan felt when you hit the ground, sliding quietly near the entrance where you fell, he was proud of the trap if he says so himself, he planted those little toys to lure you further from your pack. He was absolutely smitten when he saw your group approach, humans, he knew of your kind, once upon a time he knew his ancestors encountered your kind, and while some started to worship his ancestors, others decided to hunt them, making them decide to go into hiding.

He heard of how deceiving and resourceful you guys could be, a danger in disguise if not kept in check, and some vermin that was better far than close. That’s what he grew up thinking at least.

But when he saw you all, he found humans adorable, you were just so tiny! Curious little creatures exploring his territory, he wasn’t as naïve as to go to reveal himself to all of you, he decided to watch what you wanted. In that initial spying he saw you, considerably smaller than the rest of the pack, he could sense you were the youngest out of them. You were just the cutest thing he has ever seen, and before he knew he started to leave little gifts for you. Some you kept, but most of them were taken by the rest of the pack. Where you some kind of runt? Was your pack not taking care of you? Even the toys he left for you was taken by the others. At some point that was starting to piss him off. It was obvious you needed most of the resources as the hatchling of your group, but they didn’t even let you keep the toys!!

He still didn’t feel like revealing himself to your group, or give them the chance to alert the others. But what if he made you take the first steps?

Now you layed there, in the cold ground. He checked on you, seeing that you were still breathing, some scrapes in your skin and a cut on your forehead, but you were alive, and for now he was content with that.

Softly he raised you in his arms, holding you close to his chest. You were so small, he just needed one arm to hold you like a baby, a tiny little thing that weighted almost nothing, that fact worried him a it, but you were so warm, soft skin compared with his scaled cold one, and just so squishy! He was smitten with your form. Holding his babies felt nothing like this, he felt that you would break in pieces if he applied the smallest of pressures on you. Placing a soft kiss on your forehead he started to cover the hole you fell from, after all he would hate if that mean pack of yours, stuck their noses in here. After he finished he started to go back home.

Once he arrived he proceeded to clean you up, changing your strange clothes into soft silks he had, treating your wounds and after all that he placed you in his nest, he was so excited! It has been so long since he had eggs on his nest. And even if you were just one hatchling, he would make sure to spoil you rotten, giving you all his attention and love. He proceeded to coil around you, strong tail maneuvering you until you were resting against his chest. Holding you tight he decided to take a nap with you. His baby was the cutest, he couldn’t wait till he got to bond more with you. Maybe he would be able to show you off to his older children!

* . ` ✧*✧ ✶ * .* . ` ✧*✧ ✶ * .

[watercolorfreckles]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I understand if you don’t want to!!❤️

Hello! This has been sittin in my inbox for many months during my huge writing rut, sorry about that! I know you also gave this prompt to @the-modern-typewriter and she's been making an incredible series with it on patreon! I changed some things around because I don't want to in any way attempt some sad copy of her interpretation, but I was still inspired by the prompt itself, so I've taken some fairly big liberties to avoid any significant similarities! Hope that's okay! Also, please manage your expectations, I do not compare to the magic that is TMT's writing 😆

TW: Brief depictions of body horror. Violence.

The power blew out in sections. The lights dissolved sector by sector with a sickening whine and click–one by one–in approach.

The commotion ripped Eloise from the fictional world she was lost in, aged page corners still pinched beneath her thumb. Her spirited storytelling abruptly died behind her teeth.

Somewhere in the distance, one person shouted. Two.

Her gaze flicked behind them to the door isolating herself and the bound supervillain from the other sectors of the Maximum Security Prison for Powered Individuals or, as everyone called it, The Max. Seeing nothing but black beyond the bullet-proof glass, her attention snapped forward again to the supervillain imprisoned across from her. 

Was this the start of some elaborate escape plan on his part? Why did it have to happen on a day that she was stuck fulfilling her community service hours instead of being something she could safely gawk at in the newspaper from a distance in a few days? Her stomach did a nauseated flip. 

“What are you doing?” she blurted, voice quivering only a little. Her fingers tightened around her book.

The villain made a show of looking pointedly at his restraints. Wrists strung taut and chained to either wall, he shrugged an innocent shoulder at her as if to say “clearly, nothing.” He was perched on the edge of his bed like a bird, tilting his head with a matching sort of probing curiosity. 

For all the chaos outside of the room, Artisan had not a hair out of place. He appeared perfectly unconcerned, though as thoroughly trapped as ever: ankles shackled, arms stretched uselessly apart from each other. The power-dampening collar wrapped around his neck still blipped a faint red light, indicating it was active. 

The prisoners were rioting. Surely they couldn’t get too far? Containing the most dangerous of powered individuals was, after all, the express purpose of the facility…

The lights above them flickered, dipping the room in and out of inky darkness before settling into a dimly lit haze. Eloise’s breath stalled. The imposing dark felt like a threat, as if the lights could keep the monsters at bay. It only made a little sense, in the way that a child feels safe from the monsters under their bed as long as their nightlight is plugged in.

Except that these monsters were real. The most dangerous in the country. And she was currently feet away from the monster that made even other monsters run.

He hadn’t seemed so bad in the time that she’d known him. Quiet, impassive, yet twisting her gut with pity any time she eyed his barbaric restraints. The least she could do–while crossing off her hours–was to read the supervillain a story every few days. She couldn’t change his fate. Couldn’t make him more comfortable. What she could do was rattle off, sheepishly, about fictional worlds and impactful characters in literature and the way that a well-crafted story could transport you somewhere better.

A crash, gunshots, a scream. Tension racketed through Eloise’s shoulders. More shouts chased thundering footsteps.

Things were going very, very, wrong. And she was very much out of her depth.

Eloise jolted as something struck the door, her special-edition copy of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein falling to the ground and skidding away.

Finally, the lights cut out. With it, every noticeable piece of tech died. All of the energy felt sucked out of the room as if vacuumed. The camera’s blinking light disappeared. Alarms that should have been wailing cut silent. Speakers, keypads, and security systems, all dead. The secondary generator hadn’t sprung to life yet. That meant that this was more than a simple power outage. This was a calculated revolt.

 Eloise’s mind raced through a list of everything else that must have been failing. Coms. Sedative gas. Shock collars. Layers and layers of security locks…

Power dampeners.

Panic clamped vice-like and suffocating around her throat. Artisan’s collar was no longer blinking. 

She froze in the eerie silence of the cell, afraid of shattering the fragile calm. Her heart thumped, rabid, against her ribs.

Chains rattled and clinked to the floor.

Eloise bolted blindly for the door, smacking her palm against the DNA scanner while frantically swiping her “Volunteer Staff” badge through the card reader. When neither miraculously came to life, she resorted to banging on the door.

“Let me out, let me out! Guard!”

The door could only be opened by one person inside the cell and one outside simultaneously unlocking the security checkpoints. Even if the power were on, if the guard on the other side was gone…

The emergency floodlights kicked on, bathing the building in startling fluorescence. Eloise flinched, briefly stunned.

Hands grabbed her firmly from behind, yanking her backward.

Eloise yelped. “No, please–!”

The spot that she had been standing in exploded, steel door and concrete chunks collapsing into the room in a barrage of shrapnel. Something–no, someone–landed, bones crunching, at her feet. The guard who had last been standing on the opposite side of the door lay motionless. His blood puddled the floor, staining the soles of her Converse sneakers.

A horrified sound choked in Eloise’s throat.

Another supervillain strode in, eyes alight with hatred and something more–power. His lip curled, waving a mocking hand–engulfed in green energy–at the guard’s corpse. “God. I’ve wanted to do that for far too long. That one always got on my nerves.”

Artisan looked unimpressed. “You’re making a mess in my cell.”

Eloise’s breath caught. Hearing the supervillain’s voice was jarring. Artisan rarely spoke. Not that any of the other staff had ever actually attempted conversation with him… But even in news clips and YouTube videos, he carried himself with the kind of self-assured quiet of someone who had absolutely nothing to prove. His lethal efficiency did more for his reputation than any words could.

The other man was a villain named William Frenzy, a telekinetic with a gleeful taste for violence.

Faced with Artisan’s startling calm, Frenzy… paused. Faltering on a tight rope he had moments before been strolling across. 

“Yes, well. It won’t have to be your cell much longer, will it? They can’t stop all of us.” He smirked at the dead body on the floor. “Some of them can’t even stop one of us.”

Eloise shrank back toward the corner nearest the door, agonizingly slow, willing the ugly shadows from the artificial lighting to swallow her up while the supers focused on each other. She was the kind of person that people tended not to notice; a background character in the perimeter of a story that the protagonist would meet once and never spare a thought again. She wished, then, that invisibility really was her superpower.

Artisan said nothing, his steely gaze fixed upon Frenzy.

Frenzy floundered beneath the scrutiny. The smugness buffered on his face. Finally, he huffed, crossing his arms. “I made you a nice and easy door out. You’re welcome.” He flicked a hand toward the gaping hole in the wall.

Eloise inched further toward it.

Artisan tutted, and while it wasn’t aimed at her, it shot a cold thrill up her spine. She froze, briefly, before continuing her tantalizing escape. She listened to Artisan speak again. 

“I did not need anything from you. I’ll be getting out regardless. You on the other hand…” 

Eloise stared as Frenzy’s skin shrank taut against his bones, the frame of him creaking and groaning like an old tree in the wind. The air choked out of him, fingers grabbing at his jaw as it stretched open too wide. The corners of his lips tore, slitting his mouth into a gaping maw.

The faintest of smiles graced Artisan's lips as he continued, soft as ever. “Say sorry.”

Eloise didn’t wait to see the carnage through, slipping out into the hall and running.

The other sectors were washed in the same sterile glow as Artisan’s cell was, blue-tinged and horrible, like the lights in a dentist's office. She kept to the edge of things as best she could, clinging to the walls and dark corners.

There was brawling in every sector—guards with weapons drawn mowed to the ground by the creatures they had wardened for so long. A villain fell as shots rang out. Another grabbed the guard from behind, cracking his skull against their knee. 

The smell of blood stung Eloise’s nostrils. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe.

She turned to flee down another hall, but two fighting inmates crashed into the doorway in front of her.

Eloise squealed, jerking backward into the belly of the room's chaos.

Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice me.

Everyone was so occupied by their chosen prey, maybe she could fade into the background. Maybe she could–

Her heel caught on something and she tumbled, gracelessly, to the floor. It took her several moments to register the lake of blood seeping warm and sticky into her clothing. 

Terror blurred her brain in a white flash bang.

Disappear, disappear, disappear…

“Mm. What do we have here?”

Eloise couldn’t bring herself to lift her head. She clamped her eyes shut, another child’s illusion of protection. 

The villain opposite her chuckled. He ripped her volunteer badge off of its clip against her chest. Her eyes snapped open again. She recognized him as a ringleader among superpowered thieves. They called him Volt.

“Volunteer, eh? A pretty thing like you should know better than to willingly set foot in a prison full of men with nothing left to lose. It’s been a long sentence, darling. I could make excellent use of your volunteer services. Get up.”

Numbly, ears full of static, Eloise shook her head.

Volt frowned, electricity jumping to life in his palms. “No?” He reached for her, hand nearing her throat.

“Keep your hands to yourself or I will remove them.” 

Artisan’s voice was calm. His eyes were not.

The room quieted.

Spatters of red decorated Artisan’s prison uniform. A few drops dotted his face and he brushed them away with his knuckles, smearing the crimson across his cheek. Almost lazily, he popped his neck and stretched his shoulders, no doubt sore from the strain his restraints kept him in.

The villain across from Eloise paused, sparks still dancing across his fingertips. He regarded Artisan with the same wary caution as Frenzy had.

Before he'd been… Before Artisan had…

Eloise swallowed back the nausea climbing her throat.

Finally, Volt’s hand lowered. “She's yours?”

“She's hers. Step away.”

The man hesitated a moment too long. Artisan didn't offer a second warning. 

As if puppeted, the man's fingers raised to gauge at his own eyes. He screamed, the faint evidence of Artisan’s power shimmering over him. He clawed, next, at the skin on his face, peeling it back like wet wallpaper. 

As promised, his wrists crunched and bent, wrenching all on their own at impossible angles.

Eloise covered her ears, unable to bear the screaming. She felt sick.

“Stop,” she whispered finally. “Please.”

It did. The man collapsed into a sobbing, bloodied heap.

When Eloise managed to look at Artisan, she startled to find his attention fixed on her.

They stared at each other for a stretch of silence that itched. She imagined being forced to choke on her own lungs, or her skull constricting in on itself until it squashed her brain into pulp. For being so bold as to run, he might snap her legs and reaffix them the wrong direction, or splinter her bones to poke, grotesque, out of her skin. They always did say that his victims were his personal works of art, bodies twisted into shells of monsters.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her.

The edges of her vision swooped fuzzy and vertiginous. She rose onto wobbly knees and pushed herself to her feet. When she swayed, Artisan caught her elbow, slipping an arm around her waist to lead her forward.

He did not look back at the others, with complete confidence that no one would challenge him.

No one did.

Eloise was barely aware of taking one step after another. When they arrived back in the villain’s cell, the bodies of Frenzy and the dead guard, thankfully, were gone, though the floor was streaked with the drag lines of their blood.

She wrenched her gaze away.

Artisan’s hand moved further down her arm to her wrist, gesturing that she sit on his bed. When she shifted to do so, his grip tightened, tugging her to a stop. She frozen and tried to read his face. 

His dark brows were furrowed, suspicious eyes flicking from hers down to her hand.

He pulled down her sleeve and held her wrist up between them, revealing the power-blocking cuff clamped around it. His head cocked. He waited.

Eloise swallowed. “I’m not a super. I mean- not a super-super. Just a…..no one.”

“A no-one who volunteers at The Max? With a power-dampener?”

“They’re terms of my probation,” she blurted. “A thousand hours of community service here and a power-inhibitor for a year. I think they put me here to threaten me with where I could end up if I continue on like… Um…”

“Me.”

“A villain,” she clarified, as if that was better. 

Her gaze flitted from the fingers wrapped around her wrist and up to the villain’s face again. The harsh lighting haloed him, dimly silhouetting his face. He looked haunting. He looked lovely. A beautiful house, old and creaking, wrapped in ghosts like a bride’s veil and left to rot. 

“What did you do?”

“I…” Eloise felt very small. “I lied about being powered on my documents. So that they wouldn’t put me on the registry. When they found me out, I tried to run away.”

Artisan’s scrutiny burned her cheeks. He let go of her wrist.

“...What can you do?”

“Nothing special,” she said, cradling her wrist–wholly uninjured as it was–in her other hand. “It doesn’t even work most of the time. My power is sort of…blending in. Going unnoticed. When it’s working, I could stand in a the White House and people’s attention would glide over me as if I belonged there. Not quite invisible, but… It just tricks your brain into not thinking twice.”

Artisan’s eyes narrowed.

Eloise flinched back a step, stumbling back over her fallen book onto the bed. She stared at him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, but she still waited for the catch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them? Trying to escape?”

The villain considered her for a long moment. He sat down beside her, and the hard cot creaked beneath his weight. “Mm. That’s just it. No one inside the prison could have blown the power-dampeners. They require someone with powers to turn them off or on, and the security is impenetrable. My team has tried. Besides, if this was a simple power outage, the inhibitors would still be on. But they’re not. This was premeditated–and no one imprisoned here could have done it. No one on the outside could have done it. So. Process of elimination. Who’s left?”

That was the most Eloise had ever heard Artisan speak, and she could only sit and listen intently–As he had when she’d read him stories. Her brain whirred in a jumbled jigsaw of puzzle pieces. 

“It… It could only be an inside job.” She wet her lips. “The heroes- The higher-ups- They want the prisoners to break out so that they can kill them. A clean massacre. Justified under the law. The world’s most dangerous criminals could never be allowed to escape…”

Artisan smiled and it swirled something in her insides. “A convenient way to get rid of all of the pesky criminals clogging up the system. I’d bet anything that there are 50 snipers surrounding the building, waiting to slaughter anyone who steps foot outside.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Artisan agreed, his smile easing into something softer; something with less feral teeth.

“Thank you for helping me,” Eloise whispered. “What do we do now?”

Artisan hummed. He bent down and swept up her book, dropping it into her lap. He laid back against his pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. The bloodspots on his skin and clothes glittered in the lowlight. 

“Keep reading. I want to know how it ends.”

Part 2

[dumbgoondog]

Hey! I loved your Gojo alphabet, your understanding and characterization of him feels so perfect. I would love to see more like that, (especially for Mahito or Kenjaku haha). I also love the aesthetic of your blog. Have a great day!

Thank ya hun, happy to satisfy. Just for you, here’s Mahito, and I’ll get Kens later.

Mahito NSFW Alphabet

MDNI +18

Cw/Tw — Mentions of killing, blood/minor gore, Mahito is a tw, dub con, stalking

(A)ftercare - he’s not… the best at it. He’ll cuddle ya, maybe say he liked it even. That’s about it though. He’ll probably start reading immediately after. Don’t mistake that for him not caring though! You don’t get to leave his side for at least 1 hour. He will follow you or just not let you move.

(B)ody Part - chest. Not for breasts or pecs or any of that. Your heart. He wants to hear your heart, to feel it. He doesn’t have one, literally, but he really likes their sound.

(C)um - He’s a freak. Where doesn’t matter, but you get to have a very fun guessing game of what is about to come out. Sometimes it’s normal, white cum. Sometimes it’s eggs, like fish eggs. Sometimes it’s slime, thick and stretchy. Fuck you, cuz he’s doing big sperms, spworms, as well. Lay out boundaries otherwise that’s an issue you’ll be having.

(D)irty Secret - there are no dirty secrets, he is dirty. There is a clean secret tho. He really loves doing domestic things with you. He’s fascinated by the human experience and life, even if he mocks it. Going on dates, movie nights, cooking together, making social media posts, all of that is his secret desire. He won’t say it, you have to figure it out.

(E)xperience - I’m of two minds, he has some or none. If he has any experience, he’s absolutely used a transfigured human more for the experience than anythin. Otherwise none because he’s just never thought about it for himself. I DO think he loves watching people go at it. Like a creepy freak. I’m talking breaking and entering homes to watch couples. Going to love hotels and watching. Sometimes he’s mocking about it and judging their performance other times he just stands there. Watching. No expression.

(F)avorite Position - Centipede, naga, anything where he gets to be long and fully grappling you. He wants to watch you, to feel you, from every angle and every way.

(G)oofy - your silly carefree Mahito, should be goofy in sex yeah? Wrong. It’s not that he’s deadpan and serious, or that he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He’s just super focused! Every single time. He’s listening to your heart, your soul, your sounds. You are the most fascinating thing ever, and he doesn’t want to be distracted by anything not even for a second.

(H)air - That depends. Either he has no hair except on his head or he has his furry pants and he has a sheath. Sometimes though he’ll have hair! … because he’s shapeshifted into something.

(I)ntimacy - yes but not how you’re thinking. He’s a curse, his definition of intimacy is different. He’s very primal. For him it’s making sure you feel good, that you’re covered in his mark, that you smell like him, and poor Jogo the one time he walked in, Mahito went fully feral and split off a clone to fight Jogo while he still kept fucking into you but changing to be on top and mounting you like an animal and biting your nape, snarling. You’re his mate, he protects you, and during sex your souls are dancing together so his brain is going crazy.

(J)ack off - Never. Not until you. He walks away from every interaction biting back the desperate urge to pounce on you. He’s a dog. He’s stolen your clothes, your pillow, any toys, this man has a shrine to you. It’s fucked up.

(K)ink - Somnophilia. He wants to fuck you while you sleep. With your consent of course! If you’re not okay with that would you mind if he jacked off while you slept? It’s the curse part of his brain talking, it’s in his nature to want you while you’re vulnerable. It’s also in his nature to want you to be safe while you’re vulnerable.

(L)ocation - anywhere and everywhere, with and without an audience. On every piece of furniture, in every changing stall at stores, in the park, in the forest, graveyards, everywhere. He secretly really really wants to do it in a coffin in a graveyard. Not one that’s being used, but maybe, but you get the idea.

(M)otivation - Your smell, your blood, your heart, you. Oh pain too, his own or others.

(N)o - he will not shape shift into a child, animal, or anything like that. He’s a freak, not a monster.

(O)ral - you, in his mouth, now. Fingers, thighs, neck, tongue, oh he loves tasting you. Having you in his mouth. He has a theory it’s his latent desire to eat you, as a curse.

(P)ace - overwhelming, overstimulating, rapidly changing. He fucks like a rabbit most of the time, otherwise it’s whatever he’s in the mood for or what you ask for. He’s very happy when you ask him for things.

(Q)uicky - yes. Anywhere, anytime, audience or none. Most people can’t see him anyways! He wonders if on the cameras your hole is just gaping and spasming from pleasure while he fucks you.

(R)isk - his only limits is not being a child or animal. Punch, kick, stab, use a wound, it’s all on the table if you say yes!

(S)tamina - he has a good deal, but not to much above average. Once he cums he’s usually done, sometimes he’ll go for two or three rounds tho

(T)oys - he likes watching you use them on yourself, not on him though. Specifically you using them. If he’s making you feel good he’s using his body. Not because he’s insecure, but because he can shape shift to do whatever that toy is doing.

(U)nfair - He LOVES teasin ya. Sexually and non sexually. He loves your reactions! Try to tease him and he’s chasing you. You are prey and he’s a predator playing with his food. Not the other way around

(V)olume - he’s so loud and never shuts up. He’s talking about everything he’s feeling, how you look, how you sound, and if applicable, getting you pregnant. Yeah. Making little hybrids, knocking you up, taking care of you while you’re pregnant, he’s really into it. It’s part primal, partly the desire for that domestic life.

(W)ild Card - Yandere. Full on stalking, collecting any of your belongings like it’s treasure, tracking your schedule, stalking socials, learns all your friends names and their history’s. He’s not going to kill any of them… if he doesn’t have too. If they make you happy he can cope if he doesn’t like them. The creep at the bar though? Dead. Any bullies? Probably dying too.

(X)-ray - Camando, or because he thinks it’s funny, the laciest black lingerie you’ve ever seen.

(Y)es - Collars, or eternity collars, for both of you! Matching ones! Watch his tail wag and eyes just fucking sparkle.

(Z)zz - he doesn’t sleep. He can’t sleep. He will meditate tho, more often than not he just reads.