#I'm not ready to see them be torn apart again

[13-nothing]

Been rereading the early Inky Mystery chapters recently and I have to say I forgot how flirty Bendy was in the beginning like Idk how I forgot about that. In the beginning it's like a huge part of his character and he's just changed sooooo much.

All of them have, like Felix being a Dad to not only Bendy and Boris, but the Cup-Bros too like now it would seem out of character for him to do that cause of the whole Wiseton mess. Then there's all their banter that's more or less up and left (or literally flown off in some cases), Alice and Bendy's puns, Cups and Bendy's play fighting, Mugs and Boris being cheeky against their bros, Holly's excessive questions (like they're there it's just less and she more subdued), Holly joking w the Cup-Bros or Alice and Cala, Cup calling her Tree Princess, and Finley's jokes and little skits w Sammy (oh Finley, u adorable fox, it's been a while).

OH and then there's the "widdle wolfie" thing, my heart hurts anytime as I reread those like com'on man I can't take it. On top of it I finally reached the Group Date thing and Alice is so avoidant of a relationship w Bendy cause of culture and her parents which is killing me cause like her Mom was fine w it (love that btw) and yeah we don't know how the Upper would react but we could've avoided SOME of the heartache we have now and it just makes me wonder what would've happened if she had excepted at the time.

Overall I just miss their family dynamic and just everything before Finley died and the Dark Circus stuff!!!😭😭😭

Like it's so pure and cute and I miss it...

But alas here we are, the Quester Family torn asunder.

.....

Yeah, they were just such cuties and I love them. Unfortunately tho I love drama, angst, and the darker stuff more so I can't wait to see what's next. Anyway I must say farewell to thee my fellow existences.

[veilkeeper]

i do have to say that i like elgar'nan and ghilan'nain as our primary villains. because they look like cartoon bad guys on the surface but if you look a little deeper and find all those hidden little notes and codex entries, it's obvious they actually do have complexity that they don't want us to see.

ghilan'nain is actively in mourning. not just for andruil, but also for her fucked up little experiment of an archdemon, her most perfect creation, razikale. at the end of fire and ice, she is ready to throw herself into a fight that she might not win because she's blinded by her own grief, and she only doesn't because elgar'nan holds her hand and pulls her away. protects her. we can find notes that talk about how elgar'nan is concerned that she's not taking time to mourn properly. we know she's checked in on her first creations, the halla, despite the fact that she writes about them in this sort of detached, almost patronizing way. she calls them something she made when she was "untraveled and naive" and that she could never make them again, but she visited them just to see what they might have become in her absence. like she cares more than she wants to let herself.

and elgar'nan calls her sister, despite the fact that ghilan'nain is the youngest of them. he lets her experiment on lusacan for the express purpose of cheering her up. and when she dies he seems legitimately torn apart by it. what should be an opportunity for the first of the firstborn to finally become the sole tyrant he was practically made to be is instead him becoming completely and utterly alone, the only remaining of his kind. i don't think it's coincidence that both he and solas drift to each other as they do, even if it is as enemies. they're too alike, and they're also the only remnants of the old world, their world, that either of them have.

i can't say that i'm particularly sympathetic to either of them—they're both unrepentant monsters who have committed atrocities across millenia, but the fact that they have this hidden depth reminds me that at the end of the day they are not really anything that no one else is. they are very powerful mages that other people called gods. and people can be very sentimental, indeed.

[solelifauna]

Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.5

Guys, I'm cooked. Anyways, thank you for all the kind words!!! Also Y/n's cooked too...anyways! Enjoy!

ALSO!! EVERYONE THANK @oof-spoof!! THIS SERIES IS NOW BASICALLY DEDICATED TO THEM!!! Thank you @oof-spoof for supporting me!

The group fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your words sinking in as if the world itself had pressed down on your shoulders. It wasn’t just about stopping Omni-Man and Invincible or sending that crucial tip to the Guardians of the Globe—it was about surviving long enough to make any of it matter.

The irrefutable fact lingered in the back of everyone’s mind, unspoken but looming: you might be killed again.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the memory of your father’s hand crushing your skull replaying in vivid, excruciating detail. The sound, the pressure, the blinding pain—it haunted you in ways you couldn’t even articulate. And if not that, then what? Would it be a more horrific death this time? Burned alive? Torn apart?

You looked around the table, the same realization written on the faces of your friends. Hallie was biting her lip, staring blankly at the table as her fingers drummed nervously. Connor’s jaw was clenched, his fists curled tightly on his lap. Weston was silent, his expression unreadable, but his tired eyes betrayed him.

Finally, Weston broke the silence. “I’ll figure out how to send the tip,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. His gaze shifted between each of you before landing back on his hands. “You guys focus on keeping our… other obligation in check.”

Shit. You’d completely forgotten about the Demogorgons. Those damn things hadn’t been on your radar for the past few days, but they were still out there, roaming the town, lurking in shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Judging by the groans and sighs from Connor and Hallie, they’d forgotten too.

“Everyone still has their things, right?” you asked, already mentally cataloging what you had at home.

Hallie sat up straighter, brushing her hair out of her face. “Got my pump action and bolt action in my trunk and in my closet,” she said, her voice steadier than her posture.

Connor leaned back, rubbing his temples. “Got ammo and a G-48, Haymitch's axe, and the machete,” he listed off, his tone bordering on exhaustion.

“I still have the smoke bombs and my dad’s rifle he thinks he sold,” Weston added, his voice low but firm.

You nodded, storing the information away. “Good. We’ll need all that and more.”

The silence that followed was thick with understanding. You’d fought these monsters before. You’d survived the impossible. But this time, it wasn’t just about survival. It was about holding the line, balancing the dual threats of the Demogorgons and the looming Viltrumite takeover.

"I say we prepare for the worst," you finally say, your voice cutting through the silence. "Stock up on ammo when you can, supplies, canned food, and whatever else we’ll need. We have to be ready in case everything goes to shit again, in case… in case what we do doesn’t work—"

“Don’t.” Connor’s voice cuts you off, sharp and sudden. “Don’t say that, (Y/n).”

You flinch at the rawness in his voice, the sheer force of his words.

“Connor—” you start, but he barrels forward, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking.

“It has to work!” he says, his voice trembling. “It has to, or else—” He looks away, jaw tight, his hands clenching into fists. “Or else that means we fought for nothing. That means all those people who died—who are going to die—died for nothing. That means we came back for nothing.”

His words hang in the air, raw and painful. You feel them hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your lips press together tightly as you try to find something—anything—to say. Connor was always the "strong" one of the group, the silent type, the brash one who rarely let anyone see how deeply he felt things. He was the backbone, the shoulder everyone else could lean on when things got tough. Seeing him like this, unraveling, hurts more than you want to admit.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Connor,” you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, I’m sorry,” he mutters, his eyes watery as he scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “You—you’re just doing what you always do, trying to keep us alive. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize, Con,” you say quickly, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “I—I get it. Really, I do.”

The tension around the table is palpable. Hallie and Weston exchange uneasy glances, their worry for Connor evident in the grim lines of their faces.

“Connor,” Hallie starts gently, her voice low and careful, “nobody’s saying what happened before will happen again, but—”

“I know,” he cuts her off, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He lets out a shaky breath and sinks back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know. But we have to consider the high chance it will.”

The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the thought of failing—of going through all of it again—was unbearable.

But you didn’t have a choice.

You glanced at each of them in turn, taking in their tired faces, the fear lingering in their eyes. They were your family, your only anchor in a world that felt increasingly impossible to navigate.

“We’ll make it work,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. “I don’t know how yet, but we will.”

You don’t know if they believe you, and honestly, you’re not even sure if you believe yourself. 

Weston’s hand comes to rest on Connor’s shoulder, rubbing little circles in that gentle, soothing way he always did to calm the group down. It was such a Weston thing to do—he had always been physical with his care and affection, expressing his love in small touches and gestures that reminded you all you weren’t alone. You see Connor’s shoulders relax just slightly under Weston’s touch, though the tension doesn’t completely leave him.

You shift closer, moving to sit beside Connor, offering your silent presence as support. Across the table, Hallie slides her water bottle toward him, her brow furrowed in worry. “Here,” she says softly. Her voice doesn’t waver, but her eyes betray the depth of her concern. Connor takes the bottle with a small, muttered “thanks,” and sips from it, his gaze distant.

The weight of the moment settles over all of you, thick and suffocating. No one says anything for a while, and for a brief moment, the only sound is the distant hum of chatter from other tables in the courtyard.

Then the lunch bell rings, cutting through the stillness like a knife, signaling it’s time to go back to class. The sound sends a jolt through you, and you see the same dread reflected in everyone’s faces. None of you want to go. Yet, there was nothing you could do.

You all stand reluctantly, gathering your things in silence. Before you split up, you squeeze Connor’s shoulder gently, hoping it conveys what you can’t find the words to say. He offers a faint smile.

You walk into the crowded hallway, your mind scrambling as you try to recall your next class. What was it? You swear you knew just minutes ago, but now the information is gone, like a wisp of smoke slipping through your fingers.

You glance around desperately, hoping to recognize a familiar face, someone who might share the class with you. But the sea of students around you is a blur of faces you barely recognize. Who the hell are these people? You don’t remember their names, their voices, their stories. They’re strangers, even though you know you should know them.

Panic creeps up your spine as you weave through the hall, your breathing growing shallow. You’re losing it. You’re losing yourself, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The realization claws at you, sharp and unrelenting.

You hate this. You hate what this world, what this second chance, has reduced you to. What it’s reduced all of you to.

Your hands tremble as you tighten your grip on your bag, willing the shaking to stop, but it doesn’t. You pass classrooms, peeking inside, hoping something will click—a desk, a teacher, a face. But nothing does.

The hallways start growing emptier as students file into their classrooms, the bustling energy fading into a deafening quiet. You glance around, the panic tightening in your chest. Where the hell were you supposed to go?

Your mind scrambles, trying to latch onto something—anything—that will tell you your next class. The answer eludes you, slipping through your fingers like sand. You fumble with your phone, attempting to log into your student portal. At least that would show your schedule, right?

Except the password isn’t auto-saved. Of course, it isn’t.

You sit there staring at the login screen, willing your brain to remember your credentials, but nothing comes. It’s just another blank void. Great. Now you can’t even see your schedule, let alone your grades. Not that grades should be at the top of your concerns right now, but still, the thought gnaws at the back of your mind. You’re so screwed.

You lean against a row of lockers, the cold metal biting into your back as you let out a frustrated sigh. What the hell do I do now? Asking the front desk for help is out of the question. It’s the middle of the school year, and no one forgets their schedule this far in. It would raise questions. And why couldn’t you just look it up yourself? The idea of facing that judgment makes you cringe.

No, you can’t do that.

Instead, you resign yourself to staying in a random, empty hallway, slumping down against the wall. The quiet envelops you, a brief respite from the overwhelming noise in your head. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle around you. God, you didn’t realize how much your eyes were burning, how much your body ached.

The idea of just staying here, hidden and still, is so tempting. Maybe you could just chill here for a while. Yeah, that sounded nice. Just a little break.

You don’t realize how much time passes as you sit there, your mind drifting between the chaos of your thoughts and the exhaustion weighing you down. For a brief moment, you feel the smallest sliver of peace.

Until a voice shatters it.

“Playing hooky, (Y/n)?”

Your stomach drops. No. Not him. Not now.

Mark’s voice carries that unmistakable mix of smugness and sharpness, the tone that always made you want to squirm. “Tch, Mom and Dad are not going to be happy. Especially after the last meeting your counselor had about your little habit of skipping classes.”

You open your eyes, and there he is, standing over you with a smirk that makes you want to curl in on yourself. His eyes bore into yours, sharp and calculating, as if he’s dissecting you piece by piece.

“W-what? When did—oh shit,” you stammer, the memory hitting you like a brick. He’s talking about the meeting. You’d skipped a bunch of classes last semester to deal with the Demogorgons. Sure, you kept your grades up, but that didn’t stop the school from calling your mom. And to say she was upset was an understatement.

Mark’s smirk widens as he watches the realization dawn on your face. “Ah, there it is,” he says mockingly, leaning against the wall. “I’m sure Mom will love hearing about this. You know how she feels about second chances.”

You glare at him, the panic in your chest now mixed with frustration. “Mark, I—look, just don’t. Please.”

His expression softens, but only slightly. There’s still that edge to his voice, that unnerving mix of concern and menace. “Don’t what? Tell her? You’re not making this easy, you know. Skipping class, hiding out like this… It’s like you want her to freak out.”

“I just—” You falter, your words failing you. The exhaustion, the stress, the sheer overwhelming nature of everything—it’s all too much. You can’t think of a good excuse, and Mark’s gaze feels like it’s cutting through every lie you might try to tell.

He crouches down, leveling his eyes with yours. “What’s going on with you, (Y/n)?” he asks, his voice softer now but no less piercing. “You’ve been off. I know you’re not telling me everything.”

You look away, unable to meet his gaze.

Mark’s words linger in the air like a trap, waiting for you to fall in. “Are you depressed or something? Maybe it’s a boy? I don’t know, (Y/n), but something’s off. I know it is,” he says, his tone dripping with faux concern. “Just tell me. Tell your big brother, and I can make it go away.”

The irony of it all hits you like a freight train, and you can’t help it—you huff, then giggle, and then it all spirals out of control. A laugh bubbles out of you, wild and uncontainable, quickly escalating into full-blown hysterics. You’re wheezing now, clutching your sides, and you know you must look insane. Maybe you are. How could you not be?

It’s funny, really. The idea that he, Mark, could fix your problems. That he could “make it go away.” It’s laughable because a massive chunk of your problems is sitting right in front of you, watching you unravel with that same calculating smirk. How utterly absurd.

Your laughter devolves into choked breaths as your chest tightens painfully. The tears come next, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. You’re sobbing now, loud and ugly, your body shaking uncontrollably.

Mark’s expression shifts, surprise flickering in his eyes. Then something darker takes hold—something intrigued, almost amused. He wasn’t expecting this, but oh, was he glad. He leans in closer, his lips curling into a softer smile. There was something seriously wrong with you. He knew it now. And that knowledge only made him more eager to figure out what had happened to his weak, adorable little sister.

“Oh, (Y/n),” he coos, his voice deceptively sweet as he cups your cheek with his large, warm hand. His thumb brushes against your tear-streaked skin, wiping away the evidence of your breakdown. His touch is firm but gentle, an unnerving mix of comfort and control.

You try to flinch away, your instincts screaming at you to get out of his grasp, but your body betrays you. Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into his hand, your head tilting slightly as if seeking solace. You hate it. You hate yourself for it. But you’re only human, and his warmth feels like the only anchor keeping you from completely spiraling.

“St-stop this,” you choke out between sobs, your voice barely audible. “Puh-please.”

Mark tilts his head, his expression almost mockingly innocent. “Stop what, (Y/n)?” he asks softly, his voice laced with feigned confusion.

“This,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “This—what you—you’re doing. Please, it—it isn’t fair.”

His hand doesn’t move from your cheek, and his thumb continues its slow, deliberate motion, wiping away fresh tears as they fall. His smile softens further, but his eyes remain sharp, predatory.

“Fair?” he echoes, as if tasting the word. “Oh, (Y/n). Life isn’t fair. You know that.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “But you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to worry about anything. That’s what I’m here for.”

You shake your head weakly, your sobs growing quieter but no less intense. “You—”

He interrupts you gently, his voice soothing but utterly condescending. “Shh. Just let me take care of you.”

The words send a chill down your spine, the weight of his intent pressing down on you. You know there’s no escaping him now, not when he’s latched onto you like this. Not when he’s decided you’re his problem to solve, his little sister to protect—even if it means breaking you further in the process.

Mark’s gaze lingers on your trembling form, his hand still cradling your cheek. He studies you with a mix of curiosity and calculation, the wheels turning in his mind as he contemplates your place in all of this. Maybe he could make something useful out of you. Maybe you could be shaped into something worthy of the Viltrumite cause.

But as he takes in your tear-streaked face, the way your body shakes beneath his touch, he doubts it. You’re too weak. Too small. Too soft.

It’s almost pathetic how fragile you are, how human you are.

Still, the thought lingers—what if? What if you could prove yourself? What if, against all odds, you showed even the slightest potential? Perhaps then he could convince their father to keep you after the takeover. It would be difficult, of course. Nolan had little patience for weakness, and you were the embodiment of everything the Viltrumite race despised. But if you somehow managed to prove your worth, there was a chance.

Mark’s lips curve into a faint smile, the thought of sparing you for his mother’s sake bringing him a strange sense of satisfaction. You weren’t ideal offspring, no, far from it. But you were her daughter. Debbie would appreciate having you around, he’s sure of it, especially when their father inevitably takes her away from Earth to shield her from the chaos of their conquest.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Mark murmurs, his voice low and smooth. His thumb pauses for a moment, pressing lightly against your cheekbone as his eyes bore into yours. “If it weren’t for Mom, I wouldn’t even consider giving you a chance. But maybe… maybe you’ll surprise us.”

You blink at him, your chest tightening as his words sink in. “A-a chance? Mark, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his smile widening slightly, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’ll see,” he says cryptically, pulling his hand away and standing to his full height. His shadow looms over you, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re shrinking under his gaze.

“Just remember, (Y/n),” he adds, his tone shifting to something colder, more deliberate. “This world isn’t kind to people like you. But you’re lucky to have me. I’ll make sure you don’t get left behind.”

The words feel like a promise and a threat all at once, leaving you frozen in place as he turns and walks away, his presence lingering long after he’s gone.

You’re left alone in the empty hallway, your breaths shaky and uneven, the weight of his intentions pressing down on you like a vice. Lucky, he said. But you don’t feel lucky. You feel trapped. And no amount of tears can wash that feeling away.

You sit there, slumped against the wall, trying to process what the hell Mark was talking about. “If it weren’t for Mom?” What does that even mean? Why would she have anything to do with whether Mark decided to “give you a chance?” What kind of chance was he even talking about?

Your mind spirals as you try to make sense of his cryptic words, the unease clawing at your insides. The idea that your mother somehow factored into whatever twisted plans Mark had for you only made the knot in your stomach tighten. What was he planning? What did he mean by not getting left behind?

Your thoughts race, one question bleeding into the next as panic wells up inside you. You can’t piece it together. You don’t have enough information. But the way he looked at you—the cold calculation behind his eyes, the way his words felt like a threat wrapped in false care—it makes your skin crawl.

You bury your face in your hands, your breathing shallow as your mind loops through the interaction. What the hell is going on?

Meanwhile, Mark is on his way out of the school building, his phone already in hand. He dials the familiar number, his expression cool and composed. The phone rings only twice before the unmistakable voice of his father, Nolan, answers.

“What is it?” Omni-Man’s voice is gruff, direct, as always.

Mark leans against the wall outside, his tone calm but tinged with a quiet urgency. “It’s about (Y/n),” he begins, cutting straight to the point. “There’s something off with her. More than usual.”

On the other end of the line, Nolan sighs. His voice is bored, disinterested. “Mark, your sister has always been like this. Emotional and a bit erratic. It’s nothing new.”

Mark clenches his jaw but keeps his tone steady. “No, Dad, this is different. She’s acting weird—like, really weird. Come’on, I’m sure you’ve noticed how she’s stopped constantly asking to go out with us? Or how everytime she looks at one of us, her heart rate always increases, hell, I could smell the adrenaline rush that gets triggered.”

Nolan’s silence stretches for a moment. “Dad, why is she having a fight or flight, fear response triggered, huh?”

“Of course I’ve noticed, Mark,” Omni-man sighs out. “If it’s worth worrying about, I’ll handle it. But until then, she’s just…” He pauses, and Mark can practically see the look on his father’s face. “She’s still a human.”

Mark exhales sharply, but he doesn’t argue. He knows better than to push Nolan when he’s like this. “Fine,” he says, his voice tight. “But if I find out something important, I’ll let you know.”

“Do that,” Nolan replies curtly, and the line goes dead.

Mark slips his phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable. He’s not entirely satisfied with his father’s response, but he’s also not surprised. Nolan has never had much patience for what he considers “mundane human nonsense.” If (Y/n)’s behavior didn’t involve anything worthy of the Viltrumite cause, it simply wasn’t a priority to him.

Still, Mark can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this than his father realizes. And if Nolan won’t take it seriously, then Mark will.

[chenfleur]

melting again

pairing. yang jungwon x y/n ⇝ ft older brother!jake

genre. family by choice au, that one scene from ep 13, fluff, secret relationship

word count. 1.2k

author's note. this drama ended last week and now there is a gaping hole in my chest. i'm trying to get back into writing after a few months and i forgot how hard it is (headinhands) happy december! i hope this month is kind to everyone ♡

masterlist

You’re not exactly sure how long you’ve spent sitting in the fourth floor’s common area, shifting around to find a more comfortable dip in the armchair, uncrossing your legs when the bottom one falls asleep just to cross it over the other. The condensation of your iced coffee dripping down your wrist is a prickly sensation—it demands your attention that, up until now, had been completely focused on burning holes through Yang Jungwon and Jake Sim’s apartment door. 

When the rivulet ends as a small, wet blotch on the sleeve of your blouse, your patience snaps.

There’s a resounding slam of sole against tile as you march up to the door, fingers fumbling with the keypad. “Assholes,” you curse under your breath, impatiently punching in the code you already know by heart. “I reminded them twice yesterday that we’d be having breakfast at Dad’s…”

The door unlocks with a click and a little jingle. Hastily twisting the door handle, you exercise your self-given (and very justified, you’d argue) right to barge into their apartment as if it were your own. 

“Guys!” You slip off your shoes, kicking them to the side. “Where the hell are—”

The obnoxious wave of alcohol that hits your nose makes you stop in your tracks, extinguishing your fuse by forcing you to take in the state of their apartment.

See, your expectations for two twenty-something men living together weren’t high to begin with, but this seemed excessive. The place looks like the morning after a college party, but the fact that you know it was only the two of them last night is what makes it unreasonable.

Random clusters of soju bottles, crumpled beer cans, and half-torn chip bags are strewn all over the place—and there, in all their flushed-face glory, were Jungwon and Jake. Both severely passed out on opposite ends of the couch.

You roll your eyes so hard, they’re practically in the back of your head.

“Jake. Sim. Wake. Up,” you grit out, punctuating each word with a smack to his limp arm. “Seriously, wake up. Did you forget we’re eating with Dad today? Huh?”

Your older brother only groans in his sleep, moving away from your swatting hand and settling back against the couch. There’s a siren in your head urging you to punch him, but you silence it with an irritated sigh.

Then, your eyes fall onto Jungwon. They soften.

Setting your things down, you round the coffee table, kneeling down next to the couch. Your brain is determined to stay annoyed with him for not being ready to leave, but your hand is gentler than you’d hoped for as you shake his shoulder. 

“Jungwon,” you murmur. “Come on, just wake up.”

Not a part of him moves, not even in acknowledgement. A deep sigh leaves your lips as you slowly push yourself up by your knees, about to turn away—but fingers wrap around your wrist, latching on. 

A surprised yelp escapes you as Jungwon tugs you down onto the couch. You fall into place, into the spaces where his body hadn’t already taken up. A sputtered protest is about to leave your lips, one about him being awake the whole time and ignoring you, but it dies on its way out when you feel his arms wrap around your waist. 

Frozen, you blink. It amuses him, based on the way the corners of his lips quirk up ever so slightly. The tip of his nose is cold when it brushes against yours.

“You look pretty,” he mumbles sleepily.

Ten years apart wasn’t enough time for your eyes to learn to handle the sight of Yang Jungwon. They were still so overwhelmed by him—darting everywhere, trying to process his eyes, nose, lips. Trying to process the parts of him that had changed, like his cheeks that are less round than they were when he left for Seoul.

And maybe the fact that the only version of him you remember and truly know is the one from high school—that you had watched him grow up, but not in a way that your insecurity told you actually mattered—is what causes you to fixate on certain things.

Like how his less round cheeks still carry that lingering, rosy tint that you remember. That you try to hold onto.

You strain yourself to harden your gaze. It fails miserably.

“Jungwon, what are you doing?” you whisper urgently. “Jake is right there—”

“He’s asleep,” Jungwon murmurs in response. “Out cold.”

Gaze flitting over to the coffee table, he regards you with a raised brow. “Iced coffee? In winter?”

You glare at him. “What does the temperature of my drinks have to do with the season?”

One of his hands leaves your waist to gently flick your nose, returning to its original post when you open your mouth in protest. “Stupid girl. No wonder you get sick so easily.”

Scoffing, you grumble, “You should go back to Seoul. Piece of shit.” 

You know it’s an empty threat. A miserably thin veil, trying to keep him from looking too closely at the fragment of your heart that physically shakes with fear at the thought of losing him again. Of unknowingly handing him over to a city that doesn’t welcome him. To people who hurt him.

So after the words leave your lips, you curl a little tighter into him. Trying to get his warmth to swallow you and rejuvenate the parts of you that have been aching dully since the day he’d left.

Jungwon watches you through half-lidded eyes the entire time that you’re silent. He carefully takes in the way your fingers grip the fabric of his shirt.

His first instinct is to pry, but he decides that you probably don’t want his first instinct.

“Kiss,” he murmurs instead.

The request catches you off guard, snapping you out of your bleak thoughts. “No,” you purse your lips, trying to push down the small smile that threatens to surface. “No. You’re drunk and you smell.”

“I kiss you when you’re stinky and you won’t do the same?”

“What are you even talking about? I’m never stinky, unlike you right now.”

Jungwon only chuckles, and in the blink of an eye, his lips are on yours in a fleeting kiss. When he pulls away, he’s looking at you again, a pretty smile on his lips at how caught off guard you look.

“You— you can’t just do that—” 

“Says who?” He tilts his head at you with a soft click of his tongue. “Apparently I have a girlfriend who doesn’t know the concept of free will.”

Girlfriend. The idea still makes your head spin. 

You glance over your shoulder to check that Jake is still dead to the world before coming back to Jungwon. “Come on,” you whisper, hand coming up to rest on his hair, twirling a small piece between your fingers. “We’re gonna be late. My dad will get worried and start blowing up my phone again.”

Nodding against the pillow, Jungwon’s cat-like eyes flutter closed again. “Okay.” 

A pause. “Love you.”

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

“Mm,” a coherent part of you manages to hum back. Your lips press a quick, soft kiss to the corner of his eye, not before taking one more precautionary glance at Jake. 

“Love you, Won.”

[sollis-occasum]

you think i'm gone 'cause i left - anakin skywalker/darth vader x fem!jedi!reader (part 1 of 3)

summary: After failing to save you from a painful death, Darth Vader remembers his past with you and realizes why he can never completely leave Anakin Skywalker behind.

warnings: angst, no use of y/n, reconstructive surgery, blood, mentions of major character death (or not who knows), darth vader is his own warning

word count: 3.8k

a/n: First of all, I must say that English is not my native language. Also this is my first x reader format fanfiction. I'm pretty sure I made some mistakes but I hope you don't mind guys. I am always open to your suggestions ♡

part 2

Darth Vader, the master of the dark side of the Force, the legendary lord of the Sith, the tyrannical leader who terrorized the galaxy, remembered very well the moment when he swore to dedicate his worthless life to Lord Sidious, his lord and savior.

While his body, burned and torn apart by the lava, was trying to be fixed by the health droids, he was writhing in despair and moaning in a painful voice. The wave of pain spreading from his lungs to the rest of his body with each breath showed him a type of physical pain he had never experienced before, and even the cold metal hands touching his burned skin were insufficient to alleviate his pain.

"He should be unconscious by now," he heard a distant and very deep robotic voice, which he thought belonged to one of the medical droids. Yes, the pain he felt at that moment would be enough to kill another human being and maybe even drive them insane, and God knows that's what Anakin wanted with all his heart as he lay on the operating table screaming. But how could this be possible when he sees your lifeless body over and over again every time he closes his eyes?

In fact, he had calculated all the possibilities down to the smallest detail while making his plan. There was no war he wouldn't fight, no enemy he wouldn't face to create a future that included you. He was ready to turn his back on the entire galaxy just to see you smile one more time. Moreover, Palpatine had made a promise to him. He said that contrary to popular belief, it was possible to resist death and that he knew how to do it, and that he would help Anakin in trying to save you. All he had to do was accompany him to the dark side. Anakin had done everything he was told. He had given up on who he was, accepted the name his new master had given him, brutally executed separatist leaders, and led thousands of clone troopers in attacking the Jedi Temple he once called home. Even killing those little children who looked at him with admiration with the lightsaber they saw as a symbol of peace was not important to him. Of course, he wasn't proud of himself for betraying what he believed in in his past, but he also knew that what he did was a small price to pay to save you. So why didn't what he did work? Why couldn't he prevent the scene he had seen many times in his nightmares from happening?

He gripped the operating table tightly with his mechanical hand and mumbled your name in a voice only he could hear. He kept saying your name over and over again, as if he was drawing strength from you, as if you could come and save him if he said it enough times.

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus on something other than your pained facial expression and bloodied body. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to rise up and take revenge for what was done to you, he had to find a way to endure the pain he suffered, and what was there in this life that gave him as much strength as you? He tried desperately to remember the moment you first met.

Nearly a month had passed since Qui Gon Jinn's death, and during this time his new master Obi Wan Kenobi had begun training him to become a Jedi. He was grateful for the opportunity given to him and did not want to be ungrateful. However, there were so many moments during his training that he despaired and wanted to return to Tatooine... First of all, Obi Wan Kenobi was not the person he imagined. Yes, it was an undeniable fact that he was a powerful Jedi. He was also smart, very smart. Anakin knew there was a lot of thing he could learn from him. However, it hadn't been long since he had ended his life as a padawan and Obi Wan had obviously not yet fully figured out how to be a good master for his young student. There was no distance or formality between them that there should be between a padawan and a master. They were more like two brothers who fought often. Obi Wan was pushing Anakin very hard to teach him basic things as soon as possible, and Anakin was always managing to drive Obi Wan crazy with his smarty-pants attitude.

He could also sense how the younglings at the temple felt about him as he began to learn how to use the force. Although none of them were directly mistreating him or making a rude remark, Anakin would sometimes catch their gaze. There was displeasure in those looks, obviously his presence disturbed them. A child who appears unexpectedly becomes a padawan without training in the temple and becomes the center of attention of the entire Jedi council... The other younglings must have felt unfair. But one day, he met a young girl who looked at him differently than others: You.

With your bright smile that could light up the whole galaxy and your compassionate gaze, you extended your hand to him and introduced yourself, telling him that he could always come to you if he needed anything. They said you were 9 years old like him, but it was so hard for him to believe it.

You were different from all the other children Anakin had met at the temple, with your confident demeanor and room-filling presence. Your surprisingly mature attitude and wisdom gave those who saw you the impression that you never made mistakes and that you always knew what was right, causing them to respect you.

Moreover, you were beautiful, very beautiful. Even your messy hair waving in the wind, your face dripping with sweat, and your loose-fitting uniform couldn't prevent Anakin from seeing this beauty. When his eyes met your beautiful, understanding eyes, he immediately looked away and wanted to run away. There was no doubt that you were the angel the pilots who came to Tatooine were talking about. However, he could not find the courage in his heart to admit this to himself or to tell you. He felt so small, so helpless in front of the being that he wanted to get away from it as soon as possible and think about what this warm feeling that filled his heart that he had never felt before was.

Yes, he wanted to run away from you when your eyes met. But ironically, this was the first time he didn't want to return to Tatooine to his mother.

For the 3 years after you met, you had no communication other than chance encounters at the temple and furtive glances at each other. Even a life form without eyes could easily understand that you wanted to be closer to each other, but you had neither the time nor the courage to do so. You were very busy with your studies. In the future, you wanted to be a female Jedi as respected as Shaak Ti, or even more so, and you were working very hard to achieve your goal. Anakin, on the other hand, began to go on missions given by the council with Obi Wan, and the difficulty of these missions was increasing. You were so close to Anakin, yet he felt like you were hundreds of light years away from him. You were unreachable to him.

Anakin heard that you were accepted as a padawan by Plo Koon when you turned 13. According to rumors in the temple, the Jedi knight from Dorin noticed your great potential and volunteered to train you. Maybe you weren't as good at using a lightsaber as the other padawans, you might not have been as strong or as durable, but you were smart, very smart. Your dangerously high intelligence level, combined with your composure, easily compensated for your other weaknesses, making you a promising Jedi knight candidate. Even the council had high hopes for you. That's why they didn't interfere with Plo Koon's training style and allowed him to take you out early on missions that could be considered at least partially dangerous.

It was thanks to one of these missions that you came together again. The Senate thought that a small newly established weapons factory on one of the republic's planets was making some irregularities and put pressure on the Jedi to resolve this situation. The council assigned you and Plo Koon to inspect this factory.

It didn't sound that difficult, actually. You would make a short journey to reach the planet in question, tour the factory, talk to the engineers, examine some documents and intimidate the managers.

What could go wrong with such a simple task? To be honest, you weren't known for being lucky, and as usual, trouble had found you.

Anakin and Obi-Wan didn't even need to contact Plo Koon to realize that the Senate was right about the factory producing weapons for Mandolorian terrorists. Less than a day after you arrived on the planet, you reached the council and reported that the factory was completely abandoned, saying that you were trapped and surrounded by thousands of droids and asked for help. The council also assigned Obi Wan and Anakin, who had returned from a mission to a nearby planet, to support Plo Koon and you. Anakin still remembered Mace Windu's explanation word by word when he explained the urgency of your situation to his master Obi-Wan. And how those words filled his little heart with fear.

"You must reach the weapons factory as soon as possible, Master Kenobi." Mace Windu said in a stern tone. "Or it might be too late to save them."

Even if these words had not been spoken, the more serious expression than ever on Mace Windu's face would have been more than enough for even the most primitive creature in the galaxy to understand the situation.

As the spaceship they were on made a sudden return to your planet by order of his master, Anakin was wondering why he was so worried about a girl he had only talked to a few times. While he could keep his cool even during missions where his own life was threatened, why did the idea of ​​you in pain make his heart beat faster and his head spin? He was trying to breathe to calm down, but even his breathing was so irregular that Obi Wan felt the need to turn to him and reassure him that everything was okay. How could Anakin explain to his master that he was afraid for you, not himself? Would he understand if he told him?

While the young padawan was in these thoughts, the ship entered the atmosphere with a sudden jolt and landed near the factory. As the deafening noise of explosions and droid weapons filled his ears, he got off the ship and started running without waiting for his master's command. He could hear Obi-Wan calling to him to stop, but he didn't have the time or patience to wait. This was not a scene they were unfamiliar with anyway. When all this nonsense was over, he would happily hear Obi Wan's scolding and humbly accept his punishment, but right now wasn't the right time to think about that. The only thing that mattered at that moment was saving you, and he was going to do it no matter what it took. Because it was his heart, not his brain, that told him to do this, and Anakin was not mature enough to resist his heart. With a swift move, he pulled out his lightsaber and sliced ​​the first droid he encountered in half.

When he heard the sound of your footsteps mixing with the sounds of the battle droids, he realized how close he was to them, but he didn't even slow down for fear of being late for you. He was destroying all the war machines in front of him, clearing the way and moving towards the direction where he sensed your presence.

When he and his master, who finally managed to catch up with him, arrived at the production facility where you were fighting the droids, he started looking around for you, without even bothering to check how Plo Koon was doing. Plo Koon was one of the most powerful Jedi, someone like him could survive without the help of a padawan, but not you. He could feel with all his being that you needed help, but no matter how much he looked around, he couldn't see you.

While Anakin was looking around the burning production facility to find you, he saw two silhouettes in the smoke. One of these silhouettes, the one leaning on the ground and cowering against a wall, belonged to a young girl. The other was the silhouette of an armed droid, as tall as a human but as skinny as a skeleton. Moreover, this droid's gun was pointed at you and was about to be fired. Anakin knew his feelings were not wrong. You were in a difficult situation and needed his help.

He was sure that he wanted to run towards you, save you by smashing that droid into thousands of pieces, and then kick its ugly metal head and throw it to the farthest corner of the galaxy. But he knew he didn't have time for that. So he did something even he didn't expect and threw his lightsaber towards you, hoping you could catch it in time. He knew that this move was madness. What kind of maniac would give up the only weapon he had among thousands of battle droids and leave himself defenseless? Especially if he doesn't know the other person well?

But Anakin had never regretted what he had done, not even for a moment. He saw you pull the thrown lightsaber with force and catch it, then slice the droid in half before he could fire to you. Yes, you were safe, but that safety was only for a brief moment. He had no time to relax, otherwise he knew you would be open to attacks from other droids. Without wasting any time, he followed the green lightsaber shining among the smoke and reached him. You were finally in front of him.

To be honest, your situation wasn't looking so bright. You were seriously injured and your body was covered in blood. Anakin had knelt down next to you and gently held your face between his fingers, afraid of hurting you even more. He could feel the warm drops of blood running down your face, flowing from his fingers to his wrists, but he didn't care about anything other than your safety at that moment. "Are you okay?" he asked, trying to hide how worried he was. Just by looking into your eyes, he could see how much the conflict you were experiencing had worn you out, but you put on a brave and determined expression and nodded, trying not to let the pain you were feeling reflected in your voice, "I'm fine." you muttered. "I'm fine, but I think my legs are stuck and I can't move them."

"Don't be afraid, I'll find a way to get you out of here."

He could see a shattering mass of metal pinning your legs. He took the lightsaber from your hand, carefully opened it, and held it up to the metal plate. "I'll try not to cut off your legs," he said, trying to smile to calm you down, and then added. "At least one of them."

You must have liked Anakin's little joke, too, because your lips turned slightly to the side despite your helpless situation. "Don't worry." you said, laughing. "They will break off on their own anyway, even if you don't cut them."

After receiving a sarcastic approval from you, he began to cut and separate the metal pieces with great patience. He made every move carefully and attentively, afraid of hurting you. When your legs were finally free, he took a deep breath and looked at your face again.

"It's not safe here. We have to get out of here."

"But my master is still fighting." Even though you tried to object, Anakin did not accept it. "He can take care of himself, and the support sent by the council is on the way."

His tone and expression were so determined that you gave up and surrendered to Anakin. You didn't have the strength to resist even if you wanted to. He wrapped his arms tightly around your body, stood up and started walking towards the factory exit. To be honest, you were a little heavier than you looked, and your blood was staining his clothes, but as long as you could rest your head on his chest and he could feel the warmth of your body, nothing else mattered.

Your next meeting was in the infirmary at the Jedi temple. 3 days had passed after your unfortunate duty at the factory and you had just regained your consciousness. During this time, Anakin began to help Jocasta Nu in the archives, upon his master's orders. It could not be said that he was very happy with his situation, but he still considered himself lucky that the punishment for his disobedience during duty was so small. Besides, even though organizing the archives was a tedious task, it kept his mind busy, and he definitely needed it.

Every moment he wasn't busy with something, he was thinking about you and what happened at the factory that day and trying to make sense of what he was feeling. That strange feeling that he thought he had forgotten years ago was back. Why did his heart beat faster and his face turn red every time he thought of you? Were these normal? His master had told him that a Jedi should not become attached to anything, but he should also be compassionate. Anakin could not understand this contrast. He was also afraid of being attached to you. But this was very illogical. Could one person become so attached to another person in such a short time? All these questions confused little Anakin more than ever. Finally, he realized that he could not bear these questions any longer and decided to visit you in the infirmary at the end of the 3rd day. Besides, he also had something that belonged to you, and he had to return it to you as soon as possible.

When he came to you, he saw that you were much more cheerful than he expected. You still looked very weak and you were obviously going to be in the infirmary for a while longer. Still, without letting this demoralize you, you were patiently waiting for your recovery, and in the meantime, you were trying to pass the time by reading the war history texts you took from the archive.

Still, you smiled so widely when you saw Anakin that he was convinced you were glad to see him, too. Trying to suppress the uncomfortable feeling he felt in his stomach, he put on a confident expression and quickly walked over and sat on your bed.

"You look better." he said with the light of hope appearing in his eyes.

You smiled warmly at him. "Thank you, Anakin." you said. "I feel better too."

After a brief hesitation, he pulled a lightsaber from under his cloak and handed it to you, "I think this is yours." he said. "I found it at the factory."

Just seeing the familiar blue color of the lightsaber brought peace to your soul. You happily took the saber from Anakin's hand and began to examine it. "God, thank you so much Anakin. I thought I had lost it."

"My master always tells me that the lightsaber is a Jedi's life and they must protect it at all costs."

Even though you lost your lightsaber for reasons beyond your control, what Anakin said made you a little embarrassed. "Of course, I'm not trying to justify my irresponsibility, but what happened that day was unexpected. I must have dropped it during that chaos."

"To be honest, I've lost my lightsaber too many times."

The confession of the padawan in front of you made you smile a little. Actually, what you should have done was to politely thank Anakin for saving your life, and when the time comes, pay him back at all costs. However, owing your life to him placed such a heavy burden on your shoulders that you felt crushed under this weight, no matter how humble the attitude of the boy in front of you. Before you even thought, the words were coming out of your mouth. "Master Kenobi says that our lightsaber is our life, right? So, according to the master's logic, you entrusted your life to me in the factory, and you also saved mine by finding my lightsaber."

Anakin looked at you in surprise, not knowing what to say at your words. Yes, your reasoning based on his master's words was correct, however, he did not expect you to approach the subject from this perspective. Fortunately, you continued talking without a long pause, and he was spared the trouble of finding an answer to give you.

"I am grateful to you for saving my life, Anakin, and I swear that one day I will repay you. Please give me your lightsaber until that day, and you can take mine."

"So you want us to surrender our lives to each other?" Anakin asked with mixed emotions. Wouldn't this agreement create a commitment between you? Anakin could not comprehend the depth of this devotion.

You nodded decisively in response. "Yes. So we can remember this promise between us for the rest of our lives. These sabers we exchanged will be a symbol of our friendship and trust in each other, and one day I will repay my debt to you. Until then, I want to remember the promise I made to you every time I look at your saber."

Then you added timidly, "If you want too, of course."

Anakin thought for a few seconds, then without a word, he handed you his lightsaber and accepted this pact that would bind your hearts and bodies together forever. Thus, a very special bond was formed between you that will never be broken again. Who knew that this innocent bond established between two children would one day bring disaster to the galaxy...

[kabr0ztrousers]

Would love a chubby fem reader who comes across a hurt monster (whatever you feel like writing for) in the woods and helps it. In return the monster drags her back to his den and breeds her. 🫶🫶🫶

Ask, and you shall receive, dear reader!

Kabr0z Writes Episode 27: The Wounded Beast

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: creampie; inflation; mild gore; size difference; enthusiastic consent; pregnancy mention; human X feral (fantasy);

A/N: Sometimes when I write asking you folks to ask for what you want to read, I get requests in return! I'm aiming to write one of these a day for a whole year! If you have an idea, it's pretty likely to get made if you only ask!

#######################################

You've been ranging these woods for years, today you're tracking a poacher. Since the council made this section of forest a monster sanctuary, bandits kept marauding through, trying to nab a few illicit heads to turn in for bounties. This bastard was leaving traps. You know you'll still be finding them for weeks after you get him, even if they do make it comically easy to track his movements.

You hear a clang, then a yelll. You break into a sprint. The your soft body rolling as you barrel through the undergrowth and over roots. People expect a ranger to be swarthy and limber, not be 200 pounds and built to toss cabers. Always surprises them to get blindsided by a woman twice their size. You burst through to where you heard the trap, a small cleared patch. The bandit got there before you, poor fuck. He'd probably expected to get a hobgoblin or a lurker. Caught in the jaws of his trap was a minotaur, a big, ornery alpha male. This beastie is covered in blood, only some of it his. It's gnawing on a femur, torn from the bandit currently strewn around the glade.

A wounded minotaur is the most dangerous beast in these woods. Thankfully you know a few tricks from living out here. You took off your top, baring your big tits before stepping out, bowing low and mooing as best as you can. If it thinks you're a cow it won't attack you, at least until it figures out the ruse. You make it to the trap. It's a simple bear trap, normally used by fur trappers up North. Maybe he was from there? You press down on either side of it, forcing the jaws apart and getting the minotaur's hoof out before allowing it to snap shut again. You knelt and inspected the wound. The big brute was barely hurt. Minotaur skin is tough, and their bones are like iron. A quick strip of cloth to keep the wound clean and you're on your way. Not a moment too soon either, it sounds like he's nearly done with his bone and you don't want to be next on the menu.

You turn to leave. A huge hand closes around your ankle. Your blood runs cold.

The beast hefts you above its head, dangling you upside-down and staring into your eyes. You'd never seen a minotaur so close up. You can feel its hot breath on your face, the smell of blood and rotten meat making bile rise in your throat. With a snort, it tosses you over its shoulder. You shake with his steps, even built as you are, he's carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. Nothing challenges him as he carries you back to his den.

It's quiet. Normally a minotaur bull would have a harem of cows, each kept in a state of permanent pregnancy by his frequent rut. This one must be young, and decided you were convincing enough to take with him. You feel him moving you off his back, yelping as he drops you onto the threshed floor. The grass is warm on your back. He's above you, huffing and grunting as his cock edged out of its sheath, long and thick, a pronounced flare at the tip. From here you can see his balls, as big as apples, churning in anticipation.

When in Rome, as they say.

You reach out to the twitching cock in front of you and start rubbing the shaft. His grunts got faster as soon as you touched it, the lengthening cock in front of you responding. The flare bulges before you, ready to start rutting into you, but you'll need some more prep of you don't want to hurt yourself. You pull off your trousers and rub at your pussy, spreading the wetness around. You start licking his flare, getting as much spit and drool over it as you can. Every bit of lubrication will help, and the thick drops of precum rolling out of him are definitely going to help. You can feel yourself dripping your own juices, the sound of you fingering yourself mingling with his grunts. You're as ready as you'll ever be.

You pull away from his cock and turn around, bracing yourself on the cave wall and presenting your rear to him, you've seen minotaurs rutting before, but never imagined you'd be on the receiving end.

He gripped your waist, taking great handfuls of your supple flesh and lining himself up. You're on your tiptoes, and can tell he's aiming downwards to get at your pussy. You arch your back as he forces the flare in, stretching your cunt around it. You stay there a moment. This must be his first time, he's getting used to you before he fucks you properly. A roll of your hips reminds him what to do as he grips harder and lifts you up. You're pulled upright as he holds you above his cock, moaning as you're lowered down onto it. Your legs twitch as he hits your cervix, skewering you on his cock before lifting you up again. He's picking up speed, lifting and dropping you, using you like a cocksleeve to get off. Your hands aren't idle either. One is groping at your tits and the other rubbing your clit faster and faster, delighting in being filled so thoroughly. He drops you down hard, forcing the air out of you and bringing you to a gasping orgasm. You start squeezing with your pussy, desperate to feel him fill you with his cum. You don't have to work too hard. He grabs your tits as he leans over, keeping you pinned to his belly as his cock spurts straight into your womb. You can feel the huge flare plugging you up as he fills you. Your needy womb fills fast from the sheer volume he pumps into you, starting to bulge and distend as you cum again from the feeling of the hot seed pumping into you, jet after jet.

He keeps you clutched to him. The cock in you isn't deflating yet, still twitching and spurting occasionally, the volume of semen in you causing some to leak out around him. Your legs are dangling uselessly below you, you're held up entirely on his cock. You can feel it start to shift and retract. Pulling gently out until the flare comes out of you with an audible pop. A gush of thick cum and a gasp from you accompany it. He sits and lays your head in his lap, playing with your hair as his cum leaks out of your pussy.

Being a minotaur's wife doesn't seem so bad, on reflection

#####################################

And that's another one in the bag!

Again, if you want me to write anything, anything at all, ask, ask, ask! If you don't ask you might not get, and if you send an anon ask, you can get me to write as many as you like! I won't know it's the same person asking, now will I?

Also, do we prefer fantasy stories or sci fi? I can't guarantee the line won't blur occasionally, but it'll be nice to gauge interest

[apoptoses]

Armand, Haussmann, and Paris:

The thing about Paris that's not really discussed in the VC books themselves is the Haussmann project.

In 1853 Napoleon III commissioned Haussman to completely renovate Paris. The plan was to tear down all of the old structures and rebuild the city; reorganizing the streets and reshaping them to accommodate more green spaces, and replacing smaller buildings with taller apartment blocks in more uniform style.

The Paris Armand knew when he arrived as the coven master and which he came to know as the theater leader would have looked something like this:

Dark, winding streets leading off wide boulevards and short, leaning buildings.

The Haussman project would see all of these places systematically torn down, occupants removed to other areas of the city while new buildings were put in their place. In some areas workers were destroying and rebuilding things 24 hours a day.

At this time Armand would have been living at the theater on the boulevard du Temple, Paris's street of theaters:

This dagguerotype shows the boulevard in 1838. This painting, in 1862, looks much the same:

But by 1863 all but one theater on the street had been destroyed, and that was only because that theater was on the opposite side of the street shown in the painting. How and why it wasn't pulled down, I don't know- no information on it seems to exist, just like no explanation for the very small handful of other old structures that were left untouched.

That theater, the Théâtre Déjazet, still exists today. But it was established in 1770 by Comte de Artois, so while it could have been Anne's inspiration for Armand's theater it's not the 'rickety wooden rat trap' that seats 300 that Lestat describes in TVL.

Anyways, knowing all of this, I think it makes even more sense why Armand so quickly grabbed onto Louis and was ready to run away with him at any cost.

Armand, who'd been kidnapped from the monks, who'd had his palazzo torn out from under him, who'd established something of an existence under Les Innocents and was then ripped out of that world when the cemetery was destroyed. Who was watching the city he'd finally come to know get systematically torn apart. Everything that was familiar to him was being taken again.

So why not let Louis burn the theater? He arrived in Paris in 1870, just as Haussman was dismissed. But the work of destroying and rebuilding Paris was set to carry on. Chances were the Theatre de Vampires would be next, and if that were the case there's no way the crypts beneath the place would remain safe and undiscovered.

And if he'd stayed where would they go during the renovation? What would they do? What would the point be in continuing trying to run a coven he was bored of and a life he didn't care for in a new location?

Armand was going to have to begin again somewhere- better that be with Louis, out in the world, than roaming a now unfamiliar Paris. And even though he didn't burn the theater himself, allowing/instigating Louis to do it still gave him more control than letting a stranger come in at some unpredictable moment to demolish things all over again.

(And what of Lestat, what does he feel about these changes? He never could have shown Louis the Paris he knew and loved, which existed when Louis was still mortal- that Paris was largely gone)

Chances were Anne might not have known most of this at the time she wrote interview or even TVL. But I think it still makes a lot of sense and brings up a point about Armand and immortality that I don't see brought up much- that not only do vampires lose every mortal they've ever known, but with time they also see the destruction of every place they've ever known or loved.

(ps: I'm not an expert on this topic or anything, so if anyone does know why some buildings were unchanged or has any interesting historical info to add by all means please, reblog and add it on!)

[woso-dreamzzz]

Surgery V

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You lose your lion

"Come on, Cub!" Mapi calls from the door," We're leaving!"

There's the familiar pitter-patter of your feet as you come running out of your room. You don't come straight to the door though, you run past to check the sofa cushions, pulling them up and throwing them back down.

"Cub!" Mapi calls again," We're going to be late."

"My løve (lion)!" You cry, turning around so Mapi can see just how distressed you are," It's gone! Mami, løve's gone!"

"What do you mean your lion's gone? Where's he gone?"

"I don't know!" You tug at your hair.

Most of the time, Ingrid's the one that does your hair, tying it back in a braid out of your face so it doesn't get in the way of your playing. It's loose right now though because Ingrid had gotten up late and Mapi was the one to get you ready.

You pull at the loose strands and Mapi has to gently pry your hands away.

"Hey," She says," What have I said? We must be nice to our bodies. Don't pull on your hair, please."

"Løve!"

"Cub, I'm sorry but we have to get going."

"Mami," You whine," Løve! I want løve!"

"Cub-"

The door opens.

Ingrid was waiting in the car, completely exhausted from her late night out with Frido and Aitana. She's got a to-go coffee in her hands and she rubs her eyes.

"Mapi? What's taking so long?"

"Mama!" You cry, running over and crashing into her legs," My løve is gone!"

Ingrid picks you up easily, balancing you on her hip as she surveys the destruction of the apartment.

Your bedroom door is still open and Ingrid can see where you've torn it all up looking for your lion toy. The pillows and cushions on the sofa have also been flung around the living room with no regard as you desperately looked for your toy.

"I'm sorry, cub," Ingrid says," We really need to go. We can look for him later."

You go completely limp and boneless in Ingrid's arms, trying to get her to release you so you can go back to searching but she's got a tight grip and soon you're strapped into your car seat and Mami is driving you all to training.

That's when you regain your movement again, brutally kicking the back of Ingrid's seat as you scream and cry for your løve.

He's your extra special baby toy that you got when you were baby. He's your most favourite toy in the world because he's a little lion like you are. Even your wild hair matches his mane.

Mami doesn't let you take Bagheera to training so your løve is a nice substitute but you couldn't find him when you woke up this morning. You can't even remember if you went to sleep with him last night.

"Cub," Ingrid says sternly," If you kick my seat one more time then you're going on timeout when we get to training."

You want to kick the seat again to prove a point but Ingrid is the boss in and out of the house and you don't want her to be angry at you.

"Want my løve!" You cry instead.

Your hair is still loose so you keep tugging at it even though it makes the top of your head hurt a little bit. You want your lion and you don't know what else to do now that you can't kick Ingrid's seat.

"Hey," Mami says as she glances at you through the rearview mirror," Cub, stop that. You're not being very kind to your body right now. It looks like that's hurting."

"Don't care!" You shriek.

"Well, I care. You not being nice to your body is making me sad. It makes me very upset. Can you please be nice to yourself?"

"Want løve!"

"I know," Mami says," It's just a little longer to training. Do you think you can be nice to yourself until then?"

You stop pulling your hair as tears stream down your face.

You stop kicking Ingrid's seat and you stop being mean to your body but you don't stop crying. You can't stop crying, not without your løve and Mami and Ingrid holding you.

They can't hold you in the car even if they want to so you're left to cry and scream in the backseat as Mapi finally parks the car.

Both of them are out quickly and Ingrid's the one to finally lift you into her arms, Mapi gently rubbing your back as you sob.

"I lost my løve!" You cry.

"You didn't lose him," Mapi says," Don't worry. We'll find him. He'll be at home somewhere."

"Came back from seeing Tia Leila day before yesterday," You whimper," Coulda left løve on the plane!" The thought makes you sob harder. "Didn't mean to!"

"We'll find your løve," Ingrid assures you," You haven't lost him."

Mapi is frantic as she runs ahead, just to warn everyone of what mood you're in so no one teases you or pushes you too far.

She skids into the locker room, mouth already open to word vomit everything that happened that morning but the words get stuck in her throat.

She points to Aitana. More specifically, what Aitana has in her hand.

"Cub's lion!"

"Yeah," Aitana says," She left it behind yesterday. I was meant to give it to Ingrid when we met up last night but I forgot. Here."

"Aitana, you're a lifesaver. She's been in tears all morning looking for him."

The door swings open and, true to Mapi's word, your face is tear streaked as Ingrid walks you in.

"Cub, look! Aitana found your lion!"

"My løve!" You say, reaching for it and burying your face in his fur as soon as you've got him in your grip.

"Hey," Ingrid jostle you," Say thank you to Tana."

"Thank you for finding my løve, Aitana."

[actuallysaiyan]

I had to write this because it's plaguing me. I'm not usually an angst writer, so yeah...

warnings: smut, angst, sadness, young Toshinori

It's his last night in America, and fuck he's just cursing himself for not making things even more official with you. He's torn apart with the way he has to leave you. Between slow thrusts and hungry kisses, he keeps whispering that he'll come back for you. You know it's not true, but you keep up with the charade. You smile through your tears and tell him you'll wait for him. He holds you so close, making love to you like it's the last time...like it's the last time he'll ever get to cherish you.

You wake up to an empty bed and sweet note left on your bedside table. 'Wait for me, sweetness...'

It's only years later while you're trying to get your sweet little blond son ready for school that you finally see Toshinori on TV again. Your heart aches. Because those eyes...oh those eyes you see them every day. The same eyes that your son has.

[istoleyoursphenoidbone]

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?

DPxDC (With a smidgen of Epic the Musical)

Okay, so yall really liked my last one (and thanks to all of you, I'm glad you guys enjoyed). I wanted to try my hand again and see how this goes, idk about you guys, but Epic the Musical has been my soundtrack for weeks now, and the Ithaca Saga has my heart so...Husbands!Danny and Jason torn apart due to bad resurrection? Why not.

Warning for referenced character death and blood mention, nothing too graphic, tho. Pit Rage makes people do questionable things, ya know?

The Justice League's meeting room was cloaked in unnatural shadows, the atmosphere thick with tension, like the heavy silence before a storm. A team from Justice League Dark stood in the center, preparing for a ritual. Zatanna, her voice a whispered incantation, traced glowing glyphs onto the marble floor. Constantine, who had been trying to tell them all this would be a bad idea, leaned against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the no-smoking signs, while Doctor Fate floated nearby, his ethereal presence a calm amid the chaos.

Batman stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed. He hated magic—always had—but these were desperate times. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, had been spiraling for months. His vendetta against Gotham’s Rogues had left behind a trail of bodies, destruction, and secrets too dangerous to let slip. But it was more than just Jason’s rage. Strange energy readings tied to the Infinite Realms had begun to swirl around his every move. Whatever connection Jason had to that otherworldly dimension had become unstable, and they needed answers—answers only the Ghost King could provide.

“Are we ready?” Batman’s voice cut through the room. Zatanna nodded, stepping back as the last glyph flared to life. “The summoning spell is complete. Brace yourselves. This entity isn’t like anything we’ve dealt with before.” Constantine snorted, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “Ain’t that just bloody reassuring.”

The air split with a deafening crack, and green light spiraled upward, forming a vortex. From it stepped a figure draped in black armor, a faint crown glowing above his head, his eyes burning with an eerie green light. Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, stood before them. "Who dares to summon the High King of the Infinite Realms?" His voice carried an unearthly echo, a stark contrast to the mortal men and women in the room.

Constantine muttered something under his breath—likely a curse—but Wonder Woman stepped forward, her voice steady. “We require your assistance, Ghost King. There’s a man, the Red Hood, aka Jason Todd, whose actions have drawn the attention of both our realm and yours.” Danny’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. “Jason Todd?” Batman stepped forward, his voice rough but resolute. “He’s my son.”

Danny’s gaze snapped to him, the glowing green light flickering with intensity. “Your son,” he repeated, his tone colder now, sharper. Zatanna stepped in to explain, her voice calm but urgent. “Jason is targeting Gotham’s Rogues, several have been killed. But it seems he has a connection to the Infinite Realms. His ectoplasmic energy is spiking. We believe he’s drawing power from your domain, whether he knows it or not.” Danny’s expression darkened, and his voice dropped to a low, almost imperceptible growl. “And you want me to stop him.”

“Not stop,” Wonder Woman corrected gently. “Help. If he’s tied to your realm, we need to understand why—and how to sever that connection, if necessary.” Danny stood motionless, the green light in his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions none of them could decipher. After a long moment, he nodded, sharp and final. “I’ll handle it. Alone.” Batman started to protest, but Danny cut him off with a steady gaze, his voice softening, just a fraction. “You’ve done your part. Let me do mine.” Without waiting for a response, Danny turned and stepped back into the swirling portal, leaving the Justice League in a heavy, uneasy silence.

---

The Infinite Realms churned around Danny as he passed through the portal, an energy that mirrored the restlessness gnawing at his heart. When he had been summoned, he had expected a crisis—another rift in the realms or a rogue spirit threatening the balance, hell even just cultists trying to mess with the order of things again. What he hadn’t expected was to be summoned to deal with him.

Jason...his sweet and loving Jason.

As the portal closed behind him, Danny heard Batman’s grim explanation echo in his mind: Red Hood was spiraling. He’d already killed Joker, Riddler, and Two-Face. And it seemed like Penguin was next. The Pit Rage had taken hold, and no one—least of all Bruce—had been able to pull Jason from the edge. The Justice League had turned to him because the energy Jason radiated had drawn their attention to the Infinite Realms.

It had been twenty years since Jason disappeared from the Realms—twenty long years since Danny had watched his husband, the man he had married in death, pulled from his side and resurrected in the mortal world. For Danny, it felt like an eternity.

As Danny emerged from the portal into Gotham’s shadowed streets, the oppressive energy in the air pulled at him, thick with Jason’s rage. He could feel the ectoplasmic aura that surrounded him, like a storm cloud about to break. But more than that, Danny could feel the familiar tug of Jason’s presence. It was raw, chaotic—lost.

And Danny? He was all too familiar with being lost.

There was no turning back now. Jason was out there, a tempest of pain and blood, and Danny couldn’t stop the wave of dread that surged through him. This was his husband—the man he had fallen in love with, over and over again—and now he was out of control.

Danny’s eyes glowed as he moved deeper into the city, knowing that whatever happened next, he wouldn’t be alone in facing it. Not this time. Jason Todd stood among the wreckage of a smuggling ring’s hideout. The docks were eerily silent except for the gentle lap of water against the pier. Blood slicked his gloved hands, and his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. The Pit Rage roared in his ears, demanding more—more destruction, more vengeance, and more blood.

The ghostly glow appeared behind him, and Jason spun, guns drawn. The figure emerging from the green light made him falter.

Danny.

Jason blinked, the haze of rage momentarily thinning. He couldn’t trust his eyes, not after everything. But the way Danny looked at him—with love, pain, and something infinite in his glowing green eyes—cut through Jason’s defenses. “Jason,” Danny said softly, his voice trembling but steady. Jason lowered his guns, his shoulders slumping. “Danny?”

Danny stepped closer, his glowing cape billowing behind him. “It’s been twenty years.” Jason flinched. “Eight.” His voice cracked. “Only eight here.” Danny’s eyes softened. “It felt like forever.” Jason staggered back, shaking his head. “I’m not—” He gestured at the blood staining his armor. “I’m not who I was. You shouldn’t be here.”

Danny reached out but didn’t touch him, his hands hovering just inches away. “You’re still you, Jason. You’re still my husband.” Jason’s laugh was bitter, almost a sob. “You don’t understand. I’ve killed them. Joker. Riddler. Two-Face. There’s no redemption for me. I’ve left a trail of blood and bodies. I’m not the man you fell in love with. I’m not—”

“Stop,” Danny interrupted, his voice firm. “Stop telling me who you think you are. I know you. I’ve always known you.” Jason clenched his fists. “Would you still love me if you knew all I’ve done? The things I can’t take back? The lives I’ve destroyed?” Danny took a step forward, his expression raw with emotion. “Yes. I would. I do.” Jason’s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his hands covering his face. “I’ve tried to fight it, Danny. I’ve tried to be better, but the rage... it doesn’t stop. It’s like drowning, and every time I surface, there’s more blood.”

Danny knelt in front of him, his hand finally resting on Jason’s shoulder. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve felt it too—the weight of things you can’t undo. But you’re not alone anymore. I’ve been waiting for you, Jason. Waiting for you to come back to me.” Jason’s breath hitched, and he looked up, his blue eyes rimmed with tears. “How can you still love me after everything? I’m not... I’m not the man you knew.”

Danny smiled, his own eyes glistening. “You’re still the man I fell in love with. You’re still the man who carved our initials into a tree in the Infinite Realms. The man who made me laugh, who promised me forever. And I meant it when I said forever, Jason. No matter where or when or what you’ve done, I’ll love you. Always.”

Jason let out a shuddering breath, and for the first time in years, the weight on his chest lightened. He leaned into Danny’s touch, the Pit Rage ebbing as warmth spread through him. Danny cupped his face, their foreheads touching. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. Let me help you. Let me love you.” Jason closed his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.” Danny’s laugh was soft and full of love. “That’s for me to decide. And I’ve decided—over and over again—that I’ll always choose you.”

Jason’s arms wrapped around Danny, holding him tightly as if afraid he might disappear. But Danny held him just as firmly, grounding him, anchoring him. The green glow of the Infinite Realms pulsed around them, a quiet promise of redemption, of love that could weather even the darkest storms.

---

Danny didn’t leave Jason’s side that night, nor would he ever again. Together, they began the long, painful process of healing. The road ahead wasn’t easy, but they faced it together, their love, a beacon in the darkness.

The heroes would just have to get used to the unearthly presence of the Ghost King in their plane of existence. And no matter how much time passed, Danny knew one thing would never change: he would fall in love with Jason Todd, over and over again, for eternity.

[holylulusworld]

Rescue you - Flufftober 23

Summary: When your ex comes to town, Jax sees red.

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader

Characters: Clay Morrow, Wayne Unser, Harry "Opie" Winston, Juice Ortiz, Tig Trager

Warnings: angst, mentions of a past abusive relationship, protective Jax, angry Jax, light violence against the reader, implied character’s death, fluff, hurt & comfort, blood

A/N: I didn't name her ex. You can imagine any guy. I imagined Brock Rumlow because he's hot and a bad guy. 😳 I'm a visual writer and need to imagine a face.

Trope: Rescue romance

Idea by: @dawn-petrichor-world

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

The day you met Jax Teller changed your opinion about men.

Until then, you believed every man is like your ex. Angry, loud, and thoughtless.

Jax is different. He’s rough around the edges, strong, wild, and yes, dangerous. But with you, he’s gentle and kind. You never felt safer than in his arms.

In those fleeting moments, you can spend alone, he dreams of another life. A life without violence, and maybe, children running around the house.

Your boyfriend is not a man of many words. He shows you his feelings with soft touches and small gestures.

The tea he brews for you every morning before you must go to work. A soft kiss goodnight. Or the way he hugs you. All these small gestures tell you Jax Teller loves you.

You believe in him, and his love. Jax will never hurt you or leave you for some other girl. He promised to love and protect you for the rest of his life.

Today, you must believe in his love, and hang on. If only you can hang on and wait for Jax to find out what happened to you…

Four hours earlier, …

“Bye, have a great weekend,” you wave at your colleagues from the library. They return the gesture and wish you a great weekend too.

You yawn as you make your way toward your car. Only a few more minutes apart you from meeting up with your boyfriend.

“Look what I finally found.”

You freeze. That voice.

How you wished to never hear his voice again. You lived in a bubble for the better of two years. Your relationship with Jax is going steady, and your past is only a few burned pictures, and torn memories you refuse to talk about.

“No. You can’t be here,” you shake your head as you look at your ex. He smirks darkly at your reaction. Your hands tremble and your eyes sting with tears. “What a pity he didn’t pick you up today, huh? Every Friday night your fine boyfriend has something better today than bringing his girl home.”

“What do you want here? You can’t be here.” You take a step back, and another as your heart hammers in your chest. “Please just leave me alone.”

“I’m here to get my girl back,” he looks over your shoulder, checking if anyone is watching you. “I can’t just let you go, can I?”

“You had fling after fling,” you sneer when he tries to touch your cheek. Slapping his hand away you glare at him. “What do you really want?”

“I can’t have my girl run around with that bastard. Jax Teller, Y/N? Really?” He scoffs when you look around the area for help. “No one is coming for your aid, babe. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

“Fuck you!” Your head snaps to the left when his hand slaps your cheek hard. You gasp, and press your hand to your cheek, fighting the tears wanting to break free. If you cry now, he’ll know how scared you are.

He grabs your arm, tugging harshly. “You will come with me and shut your mouth. After I’m done with the chapter of the sons in this shitshow of a town, you can thank me by being very nice to me…”

Now, the clubhouse, …

“Where is she? What can you tell me?” Jax nervously runs his fingers through his hair. “Juice, you need to do your thing…trace her phone or shit.”

“Jax, you need to calm the fuck down,” Clay tries to calm Jax. One of them got kidnapped, an old lady. He’s furious and ready to rip anyone apart. “We will find your old lady.”

“She left the library four hours ago, Clay! Four fucking hours!” Jax kicks a chair out of his way. “If anyone touched one hair on her head, I’ll kill them…I’ll kill them all.”

“We talked to her colleagues and the owner of the shop across the street. Her colleagues didn’t see shit. Y/N left the library wished them a nice weekend and walked toward her car,” Tig grunts.

“Yeah, they didn’t even want to talk to us because you scared the shit out of them,” Opie bites back. “Anyways,” he clears his throat as he looks at Jax. Opie can see the fear in his friend’s eyes, and it breaks his heart a little. “The old geezer across the street said, that there was a guy and a girl. The guy hit the girl, and that was when he called the cops.”

“We checked the cameras from the stores nearby,” Unser tries to get Jax’s attention. “One of them captured the car of the bastard. We got a license plate and a name.”

“We’ve got a name?” Jax grabs Unser by his collar. “What are we waiting for then? You had a name for how long?”

“Twenty minutes, Jax,” the sheriff grunts. “I’m not an idiot, and I like the girl.”

“Who is he? Who dared to raise his hand against my girl?” Jax is out of it. He’s ready to rip the sheriff apart, limp by limp if he doesn’t get answers soon. “Tell me his name, UNSER!”

Unser yells your ex’s name, making Jax gasp. You told him about what happened with the man you dated before him. “We need to find them!”

“Jax, calm down! We are on it! Juice is on it,” Clay tries to calm your boyfriend down again.

“I try to hack her service provider to find out about her last location. Give me more time,” Juice tries his best to remain calm. He’s used to working under pressure. But these are exceptional circumstances. “Just one more minute…“

You try not to think about what will happen if Jax doesn’t find you. Your ex was taunting you over the last hours, telling you how much he will enjoy watching Jax despair when he finds your broken body.

Taking deep breaths, you try to remember all the times Jax told you how much he loves you, or how he asked you to go for a ride with him for the first time.

The silence is deafening, and worse than your ex yelling at you. It takes a toll on you, as it feels like seconds turn into hours.

You hide your face in the palms of your hands, silently crying as you fear that you’ll never see Jax again.

“Where is she?” someone yells loud enough for you to hear. “I’ll kill you!” Gunshots hit the wall, and you scream as one of the bullets breaks through the door and hits the wall next to you.

“Y/N! BABY! Where are you!” It’s Jax. Jax found you!

“HERE!” You scream his name. “I’M HERE!”

“BABY!”

The door flings open, revealing a beyond-worried Jax. His face is covered in bruises, and blood covers to his knuckles, but all you can think about is that he's here.

He tugs his gun away as you run toward him to throw yourself into his arms. “I knew you’ll find me…I just knew…” He breathes you in. "I knew it..."

“Did he hurt you? Did he touch you, baby?”

“No…I mean he hit me but…no…I…you’re here,” you cry into his chest. “You’re…here…”

"I told you," he kisses the crown of your hair, "I'll burn the world for you and kill anyone hurting my girl..."

Tags in reblog.

[not-rigel]

The color Blue

warnings: SAD, I cried writing this, sevika mourning isha, descriptions of grief

WC: 830

Sevika is sitting in her office, sifting through documents when theres a knock at her door. She grants whoever is there entry. They enter the room carrying a package, it's an expensive looking box and Sevika rolls her eyes at how gaudy it looks. Leave it to Piltover to make their packages fancy for no good reason.

"From the Kirraman estate,"  the delivery person tells her. She hasn't interacted with Caitlyn in months, not since they fought deep in the underground. The arrival of a package puzzles her. But she's had too a long day of failing to agree with the other councilmembers to care too much about anything right now.

Sevika nods to a chair, "Set it over there."

The delivery person sets the box onto the chair then hurriedly leaves the room. Sevika resumes reading over the documents until her eyes hurt and her head aches. She was questioning her strength, how much longer she could handle councilors barring her progress whenever they could. Everytime she felt she was making strides in securing Zaun's future, they'd band against her and dismiss her proposals. She could handle their looks of disgust, she could handle when they mentioned her past with Silco, but she couldn't handle the pressure. She has to do something right by her people or what was the point in being a councilor at all?

Sevika shoves all the papers from her desk, dispirited from all her recent failures. She was so alone and she was falling apart all over again, just like when Silco died. She shoves the emotion down, not allowing herself to feel it until she was ready to unbox it.

Sevika looks over at the package, thinking that she might need the distraction. She leaves her desk, walking over to the chair the box in sat in. She has some trouble getting it open, only having one arm. She can't wear her mechanical arm while up Topside, it's been considered a weapon and banned.

Eventually the package breaks open and what's inside breaks her. Her entire body is uncomfortably hot, like someone replaced all her blood with lightning. Inside the box was Isha's little hat. It was more tattered and torn than it was the last time she saw it. Gods, what did her little baby go through? Tucked next to her hat, was a letter. 

Sevika plucks the letter from the box, unfolding the paper to read the contents.

"I went back to where it happened. Not that I could change anything but just to remember. I ended up finding this and I couldn't just leave it there. I'm sorry I couldnt save her. I heard what she is to you so maybe you need this more than I do.

-Vi"

The note begins to blur then Sevika realizes she is crying. Her tears continue to obscure her vision and wet the letter, smudging the words. She tries to wipe them away with her wrist but new tears replace them immediately.

She can't do this right now, can't have these emotions. She can't breathe. Each word on the paper, each feeling she shoved below her chest came back without permission to choke her. They wrapped their fingers around her throat and wouldn't let go, no matter how much she scratched at then. She needs to fight this off, needs to survive the threat trying to kill her.

Sevika throws her body around, throws anything she can grab. There's no point in it, just run and push and shove until the grief releases its chokehold. But it's not letting go. She can't hear the bookshelf crashing onto the floor, just sees her hand shoving item after item. This usually worked, why wasn't it working this time?

The grief weakens her and she sinks into the floor, not able to stop the tears. It's the worst pain she's felt. But as soon as she lays on the floor, grabbing Isha's hat from where she left it and holds it to her chest, the grief stops choking her. Instead it hugs her back. Isha was too sweet, too beautiful.

Sevika reminisced the moments they had together. Where Isha would fall asleep in her arms, head resting on her shoulder. When Sevika would tease Isha for practically being Jinx's shadow. How Isha mimicked Sevika, making a little cardboard arm to fit over her own and they'd playfight.

Sevika is so proud of Isha but so angry that she was so familiar with violence. Sevika tried all she could to keep her away from it. But that little girl couldnt stay away. Or maybe violence couldnt stay away from her. Maybe violence chased Isha until peace took her.

Sevika forgets time as she remembers Isha for the first time, thinking of every beautiful thing that little girl was. Isha was the color blue. Isha was little rabbit ears. Isha was a head nuzzling into her shoulder. Isha was the reason Sevika fought. Isha is the reason Sevika fights.

[concretejunglefm]

omg i neeeed sub noah being an absolute brat and then getting put in his place 🙏😭

Because someone also requested more milking Noah content, I'm going to combine these two, because what could be a more fitting and beautiful punishment after a day of brattiness from your sweet boy.

CW: smut with mentions of light bondage, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, milking, anal penetration (m receiving), use of toys (wand and a vibe).

Names: pup/puppy, sweet boy, mistress (reader called)

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Throughout the day, Noah has been acting like a brat, constantly demanding your attention and pouting when he doesn’t get his way. The problem is that nothing seems to be effective as a punishment for him, especially since heaven to him is to be kept between your thighs, waiting for you to be ready to see his face again—without the moody pout. Sometimes, you have to get creative, and other times, it’s the smallest things that can trigger a completely different reaction from him.

Today, you’ve decided to add a new item as your punishment, while Noah is sprawled on the bed, both wrists bound to the headboard, and ankles securely restrained with more—you splurged on a four-poster bed for a reason. As you approach him, you notice his face light up with excitement. You’re proudly displaying yourself in a set of his favorite lingerie, your hands tucked behind your back, but the moment you pull them out, his expression falls. You’re wearing black leather gloves, similar to the ones he wears on stage.

Already, a whine rises in his throat at the realization that he won’t be able to feel you touching him in the way he desires. Apart from your toys that simulate oral sex, any form of a barrier is his greatest enemy, as evident by the various pairs of panties that have been torn off by his teeth and rendered unusable, alone.

This time, there’s nothing Noah can do to prevent him from feeling not your soft touch. As you meet him with the cool, slick leather of the glove, his thighs begin to tremble.

"What's wrong, pup? All bark and no bite now?" A wicked grin spreads across your face, and you can’t help but revel in the way he’s reduced to nothing more than a whining, protesting brat. You understand his desires, but he’s lost that privilege today for being such a brat anyway. Even though he knows that being one often leads to punishments he enjoys, you need to find a way to make him suffer—even if it’s just for a moment.

When you position yourself between his spread thighs, you stroke your gloved hands slowly up and down the inner of them, taking in the sight of him trembling as you do. You deliberately avoid his already hard cock, which twitches as you pass it. You observe how his stomach muscles flex and hear the rise in his breath. You let him savor the sensation of the leather all over his skin, reaching every accessible area until you finally hear him exhale with a soft, pleading sigh. “Please.”

Your eyes gleam with mischief as you tilt your head innocently, smirking at him. “Oh, please what? Sweet boy,” you purr.

“Please, touch me.”

“Oh, but I am, silly,” you tease him, deliberately dragging your hands back down his chest and stomach, lingering there as you sense the struggle he’s having to control his escalating arousal, making you aware of his internal conflict, because all he desires is the actual sensation of your hands touching him.

“No, no, no. Please, mistress, I need to feel your hands.” A soft whine accompanies the word ‘mistress,’ and you let out a low tsk beneath your breath because you know what he’s up to. Noah has a knack for using his words to sway you into giving him what he wants, and now was no different.

“Oh, but sweet boy, you certainly don’t deserve that after today, do you?” You raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to respond. Instead, his eyes divert, filled with shame and realization at the consequences of his actions. “And so, you should accept your punishment like a good boy, shouldn’t you?”

Though he nods in response, he still whimpers, and it feels almost cruel of you to deny him this one small thing he desires—your touch. However, you know that he’ll go to any lengths and do anything to feel it again after accepting his punishment.

Reaching for the wand, you switch it on and watch as it hums to life. You maintain a low setting as you position it between his thighs, gradually gliding it along the inner thigh of one leg and down the other, deliberately avoiding his groin area. You relish in watching him squirm as he senses the vibrations, and it triggers an ache between your own thighs, intensifying as you witness his reaction.

Soft pleas are all he can muster, yearning for more from you. As you raise the wand higher, you lower it to press against his taint, observing how his hips rise and he struggles against his restraints, and whimpers begin to escape him as the sensation vibrates against one of his more sensitive areas.

There’s nothing you love more than exploring him, discovering new ways to entice and elevate him. His arousal is so evident that his cock stands erect in front of you, completely untouched yet twitching with every vibration transmitted to it by the wand currently pressed against him. You watch as the tip leaks pre-cum, and in any other situation, you’d swiftly clean it up, either using it as lube along his shaft, sharing it, or keeping it for yourself. However, today, you allow the mess to persist. It’s part of his punishment for your refusal to touch him, knowing that he’ll be begging even more desperately for your touch long before the end.

You observe the way his stomach muscles contract, and your gaze slowly ascends to his face. The faint sheen of sweat already adorns his forehead as he struggles against the initial climax you’re desperately attempting to coax out of him. His eyes are fixed on you, pleading for more pleasure. He can’t utter a sound above his whimpering and you can't help but think of how incredibly beautiful he sounds in this state. It doesn’t take much longer before he finally succumbs to his need, before your gentle coaxing breaks him down. You witness his cock twitching with the first ropes of cum, which cascade over his stomach and roll down his shaft. It's an alluring sight, and as much as you wish to clean him off yourself, you’re only just beginning.

You’ve decided you want to see him looking pretty, covered in cum, and maybe even with bites if you’re feeling generous. He wanted to be a brat, and now you’re going to teach him the consequence of his actions.

You give Noah a brief reprieve before reaching for the next toy you intend to use on him, the prostate massager. You’re aware that he would have preferred your fingers over a toy, and while on any other occasion you’d want to fulfill that wish, you intend to prolong his punishment by making him cum through objects that lack your touch.

You’re generous with the lube, working him slowly open before you finally feel the toy slipping into place and him tightening around it as if to pull it deeply. A soft whine escapes him as you switch it on, and you softly coo, watching him squirm beneath you. Initially, you tease him with the toy, slowly dragging it along his tight, sensitive walls, allowing him to savor the sensation before bringing it directly against his prostate. You see how it causes his cock to jerk and twitch, barely half way through after his initial climax.

When you gaze upon his face, you notice his half-hooded eyes fixed on you, unable to look away as he leans into the delightful torment you’re inflicting upon him. He makes only soft, unintelligible sounds, accompanied by soft whimpers and moans, which intensify as you reintroduce the wand into the mix of pleasure. You press it back against his taint, watching as the duel pleasure propels him to the brink of ecstasy.

This time, as Noah cum's, you swear there’s more than before. Watching as it pools down over his stomach and around the base of his cock, you notice that it coats his shaft even more than before and drips down between his thighs, beneath him. You’re glad you had the foresight to place a towel beneath him, especially since your plan is to go until you’ve drained him completely, or he taps out—he never does.

[kiwismitten]

Can I make a request please? Jjk guys noticing y/n hasn't been eating. I read one fairly recently and as someone struggling with the same issue, it just hit me in all the right places. I totally understand if you give this a hard pass since it can be triggering for others. Thank you

No problem <3! I get it, and I struggle sometimes too, and if anyone reading this just needs an ear to listen to msg me i’m not like an advice giver but i can listen.

sorry its only satosugu, i was gonna do sakuna too but he would be a dick about it. and Shoko is involved in both because, shes a cutie.

‼️CW. PLEASE READ: disordered eating , body image issues in gojo's ‼️

Geto and gojo (Separate)

Geto Suguru

Suguru would probably notice the fastest. I feel like he’s struggled with eating before, like when gojo was worried that he lost weight. and for him it gets bad after tough missions, so when he notices you struggling, he’ll pick up on it. (also no defection since i just want everyone to be happy and get alongplsplspls)

After returning to the apartment you share with Geto after a long mission, you practically collapse onto the couch. Your clothes are torn, and you have scrapes across every inch of exposed skin. Leaving the bedroom, hearing the front door shut, Suguru walks over to your beat up form.

"y/n." He speaks softly but stern.

"Suguru-" whatever you were about to say is interrupted by him picking you up. You protest weakly.

"I'm bringing you to Shoko, that was like a two-week-long mission." He notices you're lighter but doesn't mention it. "They should've let me go with you, those damn higher ups."

"Sugu they're just some scrapes it's fine" You protest weakly, but he's already on the way to Shoko, "She's tending to the first year that was with me." he scoffs at that.

"She can multitask just fine, or, i say, just let that kid die." He chuckles softly and you smile at the sound. You had to throw yourself between the first year and a grade one spirit. The higher-ups only told you there would be grade three and four so you can introduce the new student, but once again they proved themselves to be incompetent.

Kicking the door open to the infirmary, Shoko immediately gets ready to scold a certain white haired sorcerer, but seeing it was Geto she walks over observing you in his arms. The first year peeks around the curtain, gasping at the sight of you in the taller male's arms.

"A-ah miss Shoko it's them! I told you they were more hurt than me." the short first year cries, his hair covering one of his eyes. Shoko looks you over and eventually flicks your forehead, making you cry out.

"Sho what was that for i'm injured!" You cry out as Suguru sets you on the infirmary bed.

"Yeah so why didn't you come here?" She glares down at you. Cleaning your wounds.

"They're just some scrapes." Shoko is poking and prodding at you, and she gasps slightly when she touches your back. Suguru watches knowingly, he felt it too, the way your bones poked at his arms as he carried you. Shoko gives a look at Geto, and he nods to let her know that he's aware of your toxic habit of not eating properly on missions. She sighs, giving in and wrapping you in bandages to let the two of you on your way.

Leaving the Infirmary, Suguru insists on carrying you. Walking up the stairs to your apartment, you pout, hating being carried. Opening the door up, he sits you down at your dining table. Walking over to the kitchen. All you hear is the beeping of the microwave, and the delicious smell of your favorite take-out food. He brings you practically a feast, complete with your favorite dessert.

"eat." he states firmly. You poke at the food, having not had a proper meal for the entirety of the mission, unsure of what to do, your bandaged arms feeling stiff under his pressuring gaze. Suguru sighs, taking the spoon from you, creating a bite and holding it up to your mouth. Practically moaning at the taste of the food, Suguru sighs in relief. "y/n… they're making your missions longer, you can't keep doing this."

You freeze up at his statement. He always made you a big meal after your missions, but you never realized it was because he knew.

"I'll even pack you meals if you need me to... when i picked you up earlier, and you were so light, and you felt so fragile. I didn't realize how bad it could get if they keep you away so long." His voice is almost cracking as he fumbles to prepare you another bite. Your eyes meet his soft ones.

"i'm sorry suguru.." Your voice is soft. "i'll try to be better with it..." making promises feels like too much right now, but he's just happy that you'll try.

(Suguru does end up making you food to bring with you on every mission after this)

Gojo Satoru

Satoru notices after he brings home your favorites, and you don't eat like you normally do. He's observant, and is way more pushy than Suguru. When he learns it's from insecurities, he will make you feel like royalty every time he sees you.

Going on a run through the High School grounds, you observe the visiting school from Kyoto. Satoru introduced you to his old classmates Mei Mei and Utahime, you studied at the Kyoto location, and transferred to the Tokyo one after graduation. Mei Mei is beautiful, slim and even with her face covered she's glowing with beauty. Then Utahime, she speaks back to Satoru a lot of bantering, but it kind of seems like she genuinely doesn't like him. Satoru teases her a lot, making you doubt your standings with him a bit. You weren’t really officially dating, so were you really in the right to feel jealous?

"Yo y/n! Mei Mei Utahime and I are gonna grab some lunch at that café you like wanna join?" You freeze slightly sweat making your shirt stick to you, would you be intruding on the two if you joined them?

"Ah no Satoru, I uh had planned to grab some food with Shoko!" You lie through your teeth, knowing that you'll just be returning to your quarters and staring at yourself in the mirror wondering what Utahime has that you don't. Satoru makes a face since he had already asked Shoko to join, but she said she was busy.

"ah okay! I'll just bring back your favorite then?" He looks a little disappointed, you normally jump at the opportunity to hang out with him. You nod your head waving your goodbyes and walking off to your campus apartment provided by the school.

After slipping inside you walk to the bathroom looking at the mirror poking at your skin. You glance at your skin, it's not as glowy as Mei Mei's maybe you can ask for her skincare routine... Utahime has his cute energy surrounding her, even in this grim line of work, how do you get that? In the end your mind wanders back to Mei Mei, her body was gorgeous, slim and her uniform hugged her making her look so elegant and beautiful. You sigh dejected, deciding to work out in your bedroom.

After a few hours, you're absolutely soaked in sweat, and you hear a knock at your door. Opening it to see the blindfolded strongest sorcerer holding a bag adorning the logo of the café he was at. You wipe the sweat off your face smiling at his gesture.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted so I just got you two of the things I saw you order before!" He smiles widely, inviting himself in making u scoff.

"ahh yes come in Satoru," You have your yoga mat set out on the floor along with some adjustable weights. He looks at them, cocking an eyebrow, setting your food on the table.

"Weren't you on a run before I went out to eat? You're still working out?" Even with his sunglasses you could feel his eyes piercing through you.

"Ah yeah had to work off what Shoko and I ate-" He stares at you.

"Shoko called me and asked to get her food since she was hungry." He states blankly. "y/n why are you lying to me?"

Your hands go clammy, you should've asked Shoko to cover for you, sighing you look at Satoru.

"i'm just trying to lose some weight, that's all," you try smiling at him but his sour expression doesn’t leave him.

"Skipping meals isn't trying to lose weight y/n." he's now standing arms crossed. "what brought all this on?" You avoid the feeling of his eyes peering into your soul as he pulls his sunglasses down on his nose.

"n-nothing i just wanted to be a bit slimmer" He lets out a humorless laugh.

"y/n stop. lying." He's always been scary when he's serious.

"Fine i just, it's stupid," he looks at you to continue. "Look I know we're not dating, but I just got jealous!" He's a bit taken aback by your outburst. "Mei Mei and Utahime have been getting all your attention, and i just thought- I thought I needed to be more like them..." your voice trails off.

"y/n..." He's back over to you trapping your body between his arms. "I'm sorry, I haven't been doing my job," You look up at him confused. "I only want to make you feel special because I like you for you, why would I want you to change? I only flirt with you y/n" He lets go leading you to the table and pulling out a chair for you.

"okay now eat please before it gets cold," He pulls out the ungodly amount of food he purchased.

"Satoru- why did you get so much food?" You gawk at the sheer volume.

"wasn't sure what my darling would want," He flashes that dumb grin and you sigh, opening one of the boxes. Fixing yourself a plate you start eating happily. "See? Isn't that nicer than being hungry" He digs through the bag again finding some sweets that were meant for you, but he takes one.

"satoru if you eat my favorite flavor you'll be a past tense-" He nearly choked on his bite.

[twstbookclub]

Love in the dark

Summary: Having feelings for a delinquent is... hard. Having feelings for said delinquent and changing him for the better is worse. You thought he would've forgotten you, but even with your feelings in the dark, you had hope that he would. Pronouns: Gender Neutral POV: 2nd Admin/Writer: Kai⚔️ Tags: Deuce Spade, Deuce angst. very light angst, delinquent Deuce, open-ended, I could follow this up one day... could Word count: 3,458

A/N: I was g o i n g to post this one after the Parallel Lines fic, but I was way too excited to post about Epel and Azul angst(I was so proud of them), that I put this on the back burner. I know we had a 2 week post period and now I've left it for a month yes I KNOW, but I was trying to let this one take a while to post, because honestly... we have no content right now.

On a technical scale, we do, at least I do, I have like 2 of them in the basement ready to be edited and like 4 as WIPs, and I'm honestly writing other fics that aren't twst related(heh follow my personal Tumblr), but there's still things to do plus life stuff SO ty all for being patient !

Your home wasn't exactly in the best neighborhood. You had a parent who was barely around due to work, which meant you were home alone most of the time. You had some good entertainment, though. These poorly built apartments had thin walls, and you lived beside the one family that was a complete 180 from yours. 

The Spade family.

You didn't know them enough, but only a mother and son existed. It was the home of a short-tempered woman and a teen delinquent, but you knew the teen.

Deuce Spade, notorious for constantly yelling and leaving the house in the middle of the night after an argument, was the main piece for your noisy neighborhood. His mother had blue hair with blonde highlights, yet Deuce only had blond hair. He used to have naturally blue hair, though.

I mean, he is a delinquent.

His mother was sweet and patient despite her son's behavior. She made sure you would eat, have clean clothes, and a clean uniform. She was practically like your mother. She would sometimes invite you to stay over for dinner, and why not accept such a kind offer?

Plus, you liked seeing Deuce. The first time you saw him was the first day of middle school, and you caught him as you were leaving your home, his teal eyes stopping on yours for a few seconds. After the first day, you went home to see his mother waiting for you right by your front door.

That was when she found out that you often stayed alone at home, and she offered you a snack of peeled apples. Since then, she would sometimes knock on your door to ask to come over for dinner or help her run an errand, which resulted in you staying over.

This was one of those times. She invited you to have dinner with her since her son had left the house again, but you were studying at the table since your home was too quiet to concentrate.

“Uhm, Miss Spade—”

The door suddenly opened, revealing a beat-up Deuce with a scowl and torn-up clothes. His eyes instantly landed on you, and his scowl grew worse.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house—”

Smack!

Deuce's mom suddenly hit the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper, with a scowl on her own face. “Don't curse in my house, you rude brat. They are my guest, and you will respect them.”

Deuce held the back of his head with a wince and growled, looking towards his mother. “Lady—!”

Smack!

“Quit that. I am your mother and not the one you're mad at. Leave the anger outside and get showered for dinner,” she said, dropping the newspaper on the counter to finish with dinner.

“Sweetie, could you help him out with those wounds?”

You perked up at Miss Spade calling you, and then you nodded and closed your books before standing up.

“Oh, and one more thing,” she says happily, smiling at you. “Just call me Dylla. No need for formalities.”

“Oh–Dylla…” You said carefully with a nod, then smiled back and went with Deuce for him to get ready for dinner. This wasn't the first time you've witnessed this; you already knew the familiar routine after doing this a few times.

You grabbed the first-aid kit and followed Deuce to his bedroom, being stopped at the door. “You thinkin’ to replace me as my mom's kid or somethin’? You got your own lonely house next door.”

You stared at Deuce for a moment and sighed before you smiled at him. “Not at all. Being around a good person feels nice, but you take that for granted,” you spoke confidently, giving him a pat on the cheek and handing the first-aid kit to him.

“If you want to be rude, tend to your own wounds,” you said and walked off, returning to the table to study and do homework despite hearing Deuce groan and slam his door shut.

When Deuce came back, he heard how much his mother was laughing with you and serving you a bowl of food with rice. Dylla hadn’t laughed that hard in ages, and you were all smiles, too. Deuce knew all too well how his mom had taken a liking to the neighbor’s child due to how much time they spent alone, but this was excessive.

You turned and saw Deuce standing there, and then Dylla served the rest of the bowls so everyone could eat. “I don’t understand why you want them here so much. Can’t they ask their own parents to cook for ‘em?” Deuce mumbled, sitting in his spot at the table.

“Because this is my house, kid. You are my child, and they are a child that needs care. Now, stop hiding that kind heart and eat,” she said, followed by Deuce groaning and starting to eat his dinner.

It was quiet, most likely because of your presence and Deuce's tension with his mother.  After everyone finished eating, you helped with storing food away while he washed the dishes. Dylla was gone to buy fruit and snacks, leaving you and her son in awkward positions.

“Hey?” Deuce called, his voice a bit guilty and quiet. The sudden voice spooked you, making you instantly freeze and look at him.

“Hmm? What’s up?”

Deuce turned off the sink and looked at you, looking regretful. “So, I had a pretty big fight with my mom and, you know, left the house. A few days ago, though, I heard her talkin’ to my grandma about how she thinks I turned out like this 'cause she didn’t raise me right or somethin’. So, I kinda wanna ask you for a favor.”

You looked at Deuce with a tilted head, shocked about how he was different after just a little while of being able to think. “Uhh, what’s the favor?”

“Help me get my grades up. I—” Deuce stopped, looking away from you and taking a breath. “I do love my mom, and I can’t stand seeing her cry like that over me. It ain’t her fault I became such a douche, either! I just—I don’t know.”

His statements and requests made you stop to think about what the hell he was saying to you right now. 

“I’ll do it,” you responded, giving him an honest smile. His eyes lit up and he grabbed you by the shoulders, getting excited at your response. “But you have to be committed to this.”

“Seriously!? Yes!” Deuce exclaimed, pulling you close for a random hug and you tried to push him back out of instinct.

You sigh and let him hug you from the side after a bit of fighting, giving in to his efforts. “We start tomorrow, but first, please get rid of that splotchy blond you got.”

Deuce let go with a raised eyebrow. “Tch. It’s a good blond.”

“It makes you look washed out, and you still have some roots showing, so it just looks like a bad job,” you responded, grabbing your study books and placing them on the table.

“Wh—Okay, yeah, maybe you’re right about the bad job,” Deuce mumbled in defeat while touching the dead ends of his hair. “Is it really that bad…?”

“Yes. Yes, it does.” You say and try not to laugh with a small chuckle escaping your mouth, Deuce starts to laugh at the same time and he gently hits your shoulder.

After that, you and Deuce spent day after day studying once you got to his place. It was hard at first since Deuce barely studied and he wanted to distract himself with other things instead of completing the textbooks. 

“Deuce.”

“What!? This stuff is boring! Why can’t they make learning fun or somethin’.”

You let out a sigh and tapped on the textbook page he was on, “Do the page or I tell your mom to cancel on getting you snacks later.”

In an instant, Deuce stopped his shenanigans like a child and got back to work. The sight was honestly funny.

The boy was stubborn, but it took time. You did like spending your days with him regardless. You got to see him in certain ways, like when he was asleep or concentrated, and you even had to start packing him lunch since he wanted to study with you at school, too. 

The classroom was quiet since you both retreated to the science lab for a quiet atmosphere, and you were picking at the rice in the lunch box that Dylla made for you while reading ahead in your notes.

You took a glance towards Deuce and saw him studying diligently. It was charming, even if it didn’t suit him well with that blond hair and the jacket he always wore with his group of friends. When Deuce looked over due to sensing eyes on him, he raised an eyebrow and set down his notebook.

“What's up with you?”

“Huh—” you let out, being caught off guard, “Oh, nothing. You just—you look like an honor student studying so well.”

Your comment made Deuce silent for a few seconds, but then let out a cheer for himself. The sound surprised you, but you remembered that he wanted to have the image of an honor student, so you made his day like that.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to achieve! Perfect! Ooh ooh! How about like this?” He suggested while leaning back and crossing a leg over the other, making himself appear focused.

His behavior only made you laugh, and he didn’t stop until the first bell rang. He tried to continue, but you had to remind him that class was soon, and a star student shouldn’t be late.

The exams went by, and the day the grades were posted was so loud in your neighborhood. 

Deuce ran over to your door and knocked until you opened up, and you were met with a picture of the exam grades on your face. He had made it in the top 60% of the year, meaning he could graduate without problems.

“Do you see this?! That’s what I could do!!” He exclaimed before picking you up for an excited hug. You didn’t have a chance to speak at all.

It made your heart warm to see him so happy.

He deserved it.

“I could only do it with your help.” He spoke more, finally calmer now that he could let it all out. He looked at you with a smile of appreciation.

You just stared at the behavior in front of you. It was so new and weird, but it felt right. He really did deserve this.

You caught yourself staring more and more in the silence, and your ears began to burn before you looked away.

Deuce was staring too, but when you looked away, he did the same with his cheeks growing flushed. Another new behavior.

“Uhm—” you started, trying to get your thoughts together fast enough. “I'm glad you did well, and that I could help with that. It seems you do… have the capability.”

There was a heavy tension. It was awkward. Deuce took a moment to look around through the silence and noticed the boxes around your living room.

You noticed and quickly made up something. “Oh—it's just my family wanting to put some stuff into storage for space.”

“Oh… I see. Well, uh, my mom also told me to let you know that we'll be going out to celebrate her next day off, and she wants to take you with us! So… there's that.”

“Gotcha. Thanks, Deuce.” You thank him before he leaves and you close the door behind him, letting out a quiet sigh before shaking your head.

When Deuce heard the door close, he clutched his chest and let out a breath, then quickly went back home as if he didn't notice that moment.

Over the weeks, Deuce's hair grew out and he got frustrated with its length. He wanted a change now that middle school was coming to a close and he would be going to a different school at Sage Island. 

When he returned home after school one day, you and Dylla looked at the door but suddenly froze. The blond went back to blue.

Your heart began to race as it felt like time had stopped, but you couldn’t stop thinking about one thing—

He looked… like the day you met him.

Whoa.

Deuce saw your expression and raised an eyebrow, staring at you in confusion. “What’s got you all spaced out? Oh, I must look that good if you’re staring!”

“Not at all. You look like you want to be gloomy,” you said sarcastically and turned back around to study. Dylla watched as she saw how you grew flustered.

Deuce’s mother laughed and went to go and mess up his hair by ruffling the strands, causing Deuce to get annoyed. 

“Mom, come on! I just got this done!”

“How can I not? My handsome young man is back!” She responded sarcastically and even attacked him in her motherly hugs for extra effect.

Listening to them argue and joke around was heartwarming, but you couldn’t interrupt them. You carefully got your things and left them to spend the day as a family, retreating to your house.

Deuce started to disappear more in preparation for his transfer to his future school on a whole other land, and you could feel a distance grow.

Deuce started to look more lively and he acted differently; yet still had his pumped personality, but he didn't have the time to spare you a glance anymore.

With Dylla working more to make sure she had the tuition for Deuce, she was gone too. Your apartment was starting to look more and more vacant as all of this went on, a clear sign of what was about to happen.

This was how it was supposed to go anyway. You were never meant to get this close to him. You were the one who kept to themselves. So, this was good. Right?

On the day before the graduation, Dylla suggested you and Deuce hang out and gave spending money as a way to make one last memory.

You let out a sigh as you sat on the blanket in White Rabbit Park, looking up at the colorful evening sky with its orange, purple, and peach hues coloring the clouds.

Deuce came up with a couple cold drinks and ice creams in a bag from the vendor nearby, but there was still that awkward tension.

You and Deuce hadn't talked since exams were over and he began to fix himself onto a better crowd, but now the inevitable was tomorrow.

After tomorrow, when would you ever see him again?

Your thoughts were cut off by the sound of Deuce opening a can of soda, which made you jump from surprise. Your reaction made Deuce laugh before he handed an ice cream to you.

You looked at it and your expression fell a bit. You didn't like this flavor anymore. You checked the other soda can too, but it was the same thing. Did he forget what you liked?

No.

He just hasn't been around to find out what your new palette is like.

You ate the ice cream anyway under the silence of the still sunsetting sky, not wanting his gesture to go to waste. It made you feel guilty to reject something he bought for you.

“So, tomorrow is the day.” Deuce spoke after a long silence and by this point, the moon was already out to say hello for the night. 

Neither of you looked or spoke to each other, finding it too nerve-wracking to do it.

“It is, but it was a good time.” You responded with a small smile, feeling a lump in your throat starting to form.

“It was. Thanks for helping me study and getting me to where I am right now.”

Deuce looked at you shortly after, and your head instinctively turned to return his gaze. His eyes were filled with slight regret, but also had gratitude.

“It's not a problem at all. Really.”

It was silent again with stares that could pierce the heart, but he walked you home after a short moment.

“See you.” You said, watching him get to his own door.

Deuce looked at you and let out a chuckle, “See you tomorrow.”

He was right next door, but seeing him walk off like that made it seem as if he was farther than usual.

You felt your eyes water with every step you took inside your home, being met with more emptiness.

By now, your home was as empty as could be for someone who was also moving away. You stood in the middle of the box-covered living room and let out a sigh of defeat, knowing that tomorrow was inevitable.

At the ceremony, some cried and some were happy to leave, but your eyes could never stop glancing at Deuce, who looked stoked to graduate now that he had his diploma in hand. It was nice to see him like that after the trouble he put himself through.

The day went by without a single worry and all its students were just as carefree. They were happy to now move on to the next chapter. You stood at the school gates with your diploma and a small flower bouquet that Dila got for you as congratulations for your hard work.

You watched as Deuce and his mother spent their time together, and you were waiting for your own parent, yet they never showed up to anything. As you decided to leave, Deuce called out to you and ripped the second button off his uniform, placing it in your hands.

Your eyes widened as you looked at him, “Wh—what?” was all you could mutter out of your shock. 

“To… remember me, I guess. Thank you for helping me get there,” Deuce said, then he gave you a smile and went back to his mom.

You were left speechless but were slowly overshadowed by a wave of sadness. This was one of the last times you’d see him. He was moving away to go to a school on Sage Island, and you were moving to be closer to your soon-to-be high school.

But they didn't know that.

That button was the closest to his heart, and it’s known that most give it to the person closest to them. You let out a small laugh before sighing, and then after taking one last look, you left the campus.

Deuce headed up to your apartment door and knocked, a bit nervous as he knew that giving you the button was risky on his end, but he knew what he felt.

He listened, but no one opened the door. He kept knocking with a look of confusion, but still no answer.

He grew worried, so he put his hands on the doorknob to see if it was locked.

“It's open…?” Deuce said to himself before he went in. He was met with nothing.

Not a sound.

Not a noise.

Not a soul in the home.

It was dark, but everything began to click in mere seconds. Before Deuce knew it, he ran back into his home and tried to call your old phone number, but nothing went through.

You were gone, and he didn't know if that was the last.

The weather had then changed from spring to summer, followed by fall, until the days started becoming darker a lot earlier in accordance with winter. You were cleaning a cup at a restaurant job you picked up, and it was almost time to close. The seating area had a few people, but it was normal for a weekday.

You started to reminisce about your high school days and how everything was back then. It gave you a smile to remember that boy. You had your own changes to your appearance since then, but you were still the same.

The dinging of the door caught your attention and cut off your train of thought, giving a smile to greet anyone who just came in, “Welcome in! Take a s—”

Silence.

Your breath hitched as you saw the pair of eyes you were just thinking about.

His own reaction showed a bit of surprise, but he looked unfazed. Unchanged from the seasons that have passed.

He looked the same to you, and you were the one who changed this time.

“You—” followed by a pause, not knowing how to continue.

The boy gave you a warm smile as he kept standing at the door and had his hands in his pockets. He came up closer to the counter before he sat down.

“Hey.”

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon 2 Prompt #13

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: G

Prompt: Free style but scar-free healthy Dabi. Physically at least.

Contents: League wins the war, Tomura stealing some quirks to fix his man, fluff

When the fighting was over, when his revenge was gotten, when he wasn't sure why he was still being treated in the doctor's labs, he had been ready for it all to end and for him to finally have the peace he had been denied and denying himself for his whole life. And then Shigaraki had found something. A little girl who had been with the heroes, who Toga and Twice knew from their time with the Yakuza. She wasn't willing to use her quirk for them and they weren't sure if she would even have the control to do what Shigaraki wanted her to, so he had taken the quirk for himself and sat down beside Dabi's hospital bed. 

"I don't want to build a future in Japan without you in it." 

"The fuck are you talking about, Shigaraki?" He'd rasped back. He couldn't see, his eyes had boiled away in the fight, his limbs had turned to ash. He was ready to go. He didn't need to be here in the first place. "I'm not going to be good for anything now. You won the war. Go be king or whatever else you want to do." 

"I won the war, but I was fighting to make a world better for the League. That includes you. I want you with me here." Shigaraki had reached for him then and without a hand to hold, he had settled his hand against Dabi's cheek, his quirk no longer lashing out to destroy him when it happened. "I can take all of the pain away. I'll put you back together, I can make it so your new body won't be torn apart by your quirk. You'll have to keep seeing a psychiatrist to make sure that the secondary quirk doesn't cause any issues, but you're resilient and just one very rarely ever has. I don't want to lose you, Dabi. I want you to stay with me." When Dabi doesn't answer him immediately, Shigaraki lets out a slow, shaky breath. "And if you hate it all and still want to go in a year, I'll let you. I'll take away the other quirk and you can find a way to... go yourself." 

A year of living however Shigaraki wanted him to or however many months it might take for him to finally die in this hospital bed, suffering indignity after indignity of his care. If he could take away the pain, make him whole again, even if just for a little while, well, he supposes that might be worth it. 

"Fine. Fix me." 

///

Dabi's skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His temperature always runs a little higher than average, and the run definitely crept that up even more. But he likes running. He likes that he can do that now. Likes that his skin isn't gnarled and always aching, that there aren't any staples that are going to catch on his clothing, that he is healthy enough to choose to exercise for fun instead of just forcing himself through as much of it as he could stand to ensure that he didn't end up dying too soon. 

"Firefly?" Tomura's voice comes from deeper in the apartment. It is a rarity that he has to slip out of their bed while Tomura is still asleep, the other man never managing a normal amount a night, but he had been sleeping this morning. 

"Morning," He calls back, taking his headphones from his ears and going into the kitchen. Tomura must have noticed his running shoes were gone because he's made him his protein shake and put it in the fridge for him post-workout, and he takes that gratefully before he moves to find the other. 

Tomura is in his office already. Their apartment is a penthouse in Tokyo with massive windows and probably cost three or four times the Todoroki house prior to it having been turned into a smoldering pile of ash. But for the country's king, it was simply the place that the two of them had decided on and they had readily been handed the keys. 

His lover is at his desk, looking at his laptop which, paired with how late he went to bed last night to have slept through Dabi's waking, probably means that they have a new problem that they're going to have to deal with at some point. But right now, Tomura doesn't seem to care about that. It still does something funny to his chest when he sees how happy it makes Duster to... see him healthy. Maybe it shouldn't be. They met when Dabi was already in bad shape and he saw him through the point that he was at his absolute lowest. But it's been three years now since the war, his revenge, and the hospital. Two years since Tomura confessed to him and Dabi had been so flabbergasted that anyone could love him, as stunned by that as he had been to have a body that wasn't constantly trying to give out on him at all times. And just like he wasn't expecting how good he would feel, how his mind would stop twisting itself into knots just looking for a way out when the pain was just a distant memory, he didn't realize how desperately he wanted someone to want him. It took him a while to want Tomura the same way, but despite what he thought in their first meeting, the other man has a wealth of patience that his leadership has instilled in him. 

"Getting some sunshine?" He asks, and he's smiling. So happy that he would go out when the weather is nice instead of locking himself up in their private gym. He turns his chair out so Dabi can round the desk. He tries to get a look at what he's working on, but Tomura catches his waist with his hands and tries to pull him down. 

"I'm gross," he warns, fully intending to finish his drink and then go take a shower before he bothers to get ready to deal with their work for the day. 

"You're never gross to me." Tomura tells him, pulling him down so he can give him a kiss. No, he supposes not. Tomura probably wouldn't have gone so far to keep him around if he hadn't wanted him even when Dabi was at his absolute worst. 

"Love you," He says because he doesn't want to admit to any of the other thoughts swirling around in his head. They don't matter. All that does is how sweet Tomura's smile is when he laces their fingers together and presses a second kiss to his knuckles before he answers, 

"Love you too, firefly." 

Thanks for participating! If you'd like to join in, consider checking it out here!