#Maybe I won’t be too angry about the noise levels.

[imkento]

What an interesting group..

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 5/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3. PART 4.

You're a psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(You're a team.)

Word count: 4050

WARNINGS: CORRUPTION, stockholm syndrome, abusive dynamics, general Saw-levels of horror & violence. Reader is drinking the Jigsaw Kool-Aid.

“God, you’re persistent,” you tell Kerry, laying back on your couch and rubbing your temple, “Fine. Yes, I’ll go to therapy and I'll check out the community resources for Jigsaw survivors. Are you happy?”

It's not exactly a lie. You might check out the resources. Kerry's voice crackles across the line in reply: “Good. And if you’re able to remember anything while you’re there-“

Of course. It’s not that she wants you to get help, but rather, she’s hoping that you’ll pick up on some kind of psychic lead from discussing your capture and trauma with a therapist.

A swell of bitterness fills your chest, though you wish it didn't. You’d asked her to come and help you with groceries and chores today, but she’d declined, saying that she was too busy working on the case. Somehow, Mark had been coming around to help more often than she was, and he was balancing his job with being a serial killer.

Kerry’s work has always come first, and her dedication is something you had often admired. The two of you had bonded in university over a shared discomfort at parties and social events. Neither of you had ever quite fit in with the crowd. But even knowing her for as long and as well as you did, it still hurt to know the obsession came before your friendship.

“When are you going to take a break?” You ask, instead of voicing your frustration.

“When I find Eric,” she replies, steadfast. You must make some kind of a critical noise in response, because Kerry adds, “What? Do you believe it’s hopeless? That I should just give up?”

“It’s not that,” you mutter with a sigh, already regretting this line of conversation, but knowing that Kerry won’t give it up until she pulls the truth from you.

“Then what?”

“Just that maybe Matthews shouldn’t have gone and played Cowboy Cop, shooting from the hip.” You finally snap, to Kerry’s stunned silence. “You play stupid games and you win stupid prizes, Ally. If he had just listened to the rules he’d been given-"

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you right now," She says, voice sounding more shocked than angry, "Jigsaw took your eyes, put you through hell, and you’re defending him?” 

“I’m not defending him,” you bite back, wondering if you are, “But Matthews was corrupt. You know that, even I know that. Sometimes, you get what you deserve."

There's a beat of silence over the phone line, and you wonder if you've taken it a step far. It almost surprises you, to hear the words coming from your mouth. A month ago, you wouldn't have believed you would feel this way, but it's true, isn't it?

Matthews had a way out, just like everyone else did. Just like you did. If he hadn't fucked around and found out, he would have been fine.

Your sympathy for the other Jigsaw victims- the other subjects- has become somewhat muted since you became one yourself. Being able to intuit all of their faults in high definition had only dulled it further.

“You think he deserved to be murdered, is that it?" Kerry asks, and if she wasn't angry before, she definitely is now. Thankfully, you know from experience that she tends to anger quickly, and cool off just as fast. "What about you, then? You got tested, too. How the hell can you say it's deserved?”

Because I deserved to be tested, too.

Something about the topic of conversation turning to you causes a vision to spring forward from the recesses of your mind, like it had simply been waiting for the most opportune moment to reveal itself.

You see yourself, standing in what appears to be a shallow pool of water in the middle of a dense forest. It is quiet and still, save for the ripples in the water caused by your movement. You can't hear any animals- the forest is silent.

You look exactly as you remember, save for a few key details- wide, white globes for eyes stare wildly back at you, and you are drenched in the water. You are soaked through and dripping, the water running down your forehead in rivets. On your head, twisted and gnarled, is a crown of some sort. At first, you think it's a crown of branches- fitting for the forest that you've found yourself in- but once you approach and look closer, you realize it's a crown of rusted, jutting metal pieces.

In your hands, you hold out a crumpled piece of paper, one you’ve somehow kept from dissolving in the water. Carefully, you take it from yourself and unfurl it, to see a wrinkled advertisement for a Jigsaw survivor support group.

Interesting. You file that piece of information away for later. Your lips are moving, but you can't hear the words. You lean in, trying to listen. It seems you're repeating something, over and over, mouthing along to an inaudible refrain.

“Hello?” Kerry's voice pulls you out of it.

“I'm sorry,” you reply. Any anger you'd been feeling is gone, shaken out of you, “My head's been all over the place."

"I know," She sighs as well, and you can feel her unspoken apology in return as she continues, "The FBI's getting involved. I've been in contact with one of their agents."

Immediately, you think back to your vision of the two dangerous people- the man and the woman.

"Damn," you remark, before you note, "He's a lot to deal with, isn't he?"

"That's putting it lightly," Kerry huffs, and you can feel her frustration not only at you, but at the FBI agents getting involved before she's been able to find Matthews herself. She feels embarrassed by it, the scrutiny and criticism only mounting the pressure she feels to find an answer, quickly.

"Tell me this," She asks then, weary, "Is everything going to be okay?"

There's a sinking in your stomach, but you lie to her, and say, "I think so."

Your words hand in the air, as if from a hangman's noose.

"Thanks," Kerry replies, and you're not sure if she believes you.

"Hey, Ally?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful out there. Keep your head on a swivel." You feel like you can hear the smile in her voice when she responds to you, though her tone remains grave.

"Always. You too."

---

[11:47AM - Outgoing] Did you know about the FBI getting involved in the Jigsaw case?

[11:48AM - Incoming] no.

[11:48AM - Incoming] fuck.

[11:50AM - Outgoing] That one isn't a vision either, straight from Allison

[11:51AM - Outgoing] But I've seen them, too.

[11:51AM - Outgoing] Two agents I think. They look like trouble.

[11:53AM - Incoming] thanks for the heads up

[11:54AM - Incoming] fbi... what a pain in the ass

[11:55AM - Outgoing] If they start poking around, it could be a lot worse than that

[11:55AM - Outgoing] Be careful

[11:59AM - Incoming] well how about that. you do care.

[11:59AM - Outgoing] Don't let it get to your head

---

The Jigsaw Survivor Support group meeting is held in a church basement. It's the first time you've been in a church for a long time, and the atmosphere feels weighty with the desperate prayers of its inhabitants.

Of course, there isn't an elevator. Down in the cool of the basement, a circle of chairs waits for you, and you get the sense that several men and women already seated when you arrive. Hushed voices quiet to silence as you approach, tapping your cane ahead of you.

"Oh! Hello!" A woman's voice calls out as you approach, nervous but excited. From her tone, you guess that she's an older woman. "You're new! Normally, Dr. Gordon would greet you, but he's actually away this week. He's the one who organized this group."

Doctor Gordon. Why did that name seem to strike a chord of familiarity with you?

You wince as someone takes your arm. You've learned that one major difference about being blind is that strangers are all too willing to touch you, now that they think they're being helpful.

You sure wish that they wouldn't.

The person who grabbed you by the arm leads you further into the room to a chair, "helping" you sit down. They seem a bit offended when you don't thank them, instead setting your cane beside the chair and folding your hands in your lap.

"So? What'd he take from you?" A male voice asks from across the circle, after you've settled into your seat.

"Take a guess," you reply dryly. No one in the room laughs, and you're not sure if it's better or worse that you can't actually see them all, staring and judging you. You clear your throat, and try again. "My ability to see."

"You don't need to talk about it, if you don't want to," the woman placates quickly, a note of admonishment in her tone. "Ned, you can't just ask the new people what was taken them-"

"It's okay," You interrupt, feeling surprisingly calm. Between the woman who had grabbed you, and the man who interrogated you, she had bothered you more than he had, "Not much throws me off, these days."

Reaching out with your senses, you survey the circle. A tangled mess of self-pity and loathing hits you, and you have to keep your lip from curling in a sneer of distaste. These are the survivors? You only get a hit off of one of them that doesn't repulse you- a reluctant, begrudging respect, an acknowledgement that he's made changes in his life that have improved things, since the game that he was in.

Feelings of ownership, control, responsibility- could the Jigsaw games really inspire them? Mostly, it just seemed to have traumatized these people-

These people, who were so miserable and desperate to begin with, their sins writhing inside the marrow of their bones. You have to free the sins, get the them out of the marrow to save them-

Your head throbs. The headaches have lessened considerably since you... refocused your senses, but they hadn't completely disappeared.

Briefly, you itch for a painkiller, but you ignore the craving as best as you can as you listen to each subject in the group introduce themselves.

The only name you fully register is that of the young man who you'd felt the sense of kinship with- Daniel Matthews. Hm. Isn't that ironic?

"I'm still processing everything," you say, after you introduce yourself. "But to be honest... I guess I have been seeing things in a different way."

"I'm sure you've learned to appreciate your life, and be grateful," you can hear the scowl in the man called Ned's voice. You have no idea what his test was, or how he survived, but you can hear the sarcasm in his tone- if someone here is grateful, it isn't him.

You consider the words seriously instead of taking the bait.

Had you?

"I've learned to appreciate the life that I have, rather than the one I used to wish I had," You say. You can feel the attention of the others burning on you, and it makes your skin crawl. Their judgment is like a heavy blanket over the room, and its almost suffocating. But still, the words pour out of you, too honest, too raw.

"I'm the only person who can do what I do, and the only person who can see the world from my perspective. Wishing and hoping for things to be different is pointless- it's pathetic."

No one says anything, so you continue, trying to explain further how you feel. Maybe you hope that you can convince someone here to see their game in a new light. Maybe you just need to say the words have have been stuck in your throat for so long.

"I am who I am. I'm the person I love and the person I hate. Good, bad. It doesn't really matter. I don't care anymore, and I'm so tired of making excuses for being myself."

The room sits in quiet silence, until finally, Daniel Matthews speaks up for the first time in the session.

"But do you know... who that is? Yourself?"

The version of you in your mind's eye- the version from the forest lake with the jagged metal crown- looks at you and grins with teeth.

Your words in response seem to be carried by an incoming chill.

"I think I'm figuring it out."

---

You're not sure what you expected, but a house in the suburbs is not it.

"I'm renovating it, so careful where you step," Mark says, leading you through the front door with a hand on your waist. "Would be a hell of a waste if you died tripping over a brick."

"Hey, you're not allowed to make fun of me for being blind," You reply back, without any real venom. His hand squeezes your waist, playful but dominant.

"Who said anything about you being blind? I was talking about your two left feet." You jab him in the side with your elbow, and he chuckles to himself, pulling you along with him.

It feels altogether domestic- far easier than it has any right to feel. You can imagine a life together, in this home. Taxes and fighting over chores and going on trips. Putting on music as the sun goes down, brewing coffee in the mornings as it rises. You allow yourself the indulgence of it, for just a moment.

The house smells like sawdust and paint, but there's a metallic undercurrent of blood. It's hard to tell if that scent is really there, or if it's just something your mind has picked up on, independent of your objective reality. Mark seems to lead you on forever, around too many corners to count.

There it is again, that sixth sense nagging at you. Something bad happened here. Something bad will happen here. Layers of pain, like the rings in the centre of a tree. You think back to Daniel Matthews, and his nervous, angry energy. So much like his father's, but still so different.

The coffin of glass swallows the target, but he doesn't know what it means. He thinks he is safe inside, but he is wrong. The walls are closing in on him, not his opponent, who is pulled through to the heavens. This isn't how its supposed to happen.

"Is this place a maze? What kind of architect designed this?" You mutter, as Mark stops walking and crouches down beside you. You tap your cane around, noticing a hollow sound ringing from part of the floor.

"Probably John. The layout's a nightmare. But the place is huge. It'll be nice, once its fixed up." Mark responds, and you hear a loud thud. "It's a trap door," he explains.

"Great," You reply, "Always a good sign."

Mark helps you through the trapdoor and down a ladder. Your tentative movements take time, but if he's annoyed by your slow pace, he doesn't complain. Once you're down the ladder, you reach out with your mind's eye, and survey your surroundings.

It is much colder, down here, somehow. Something bothers you about it, like an open sore in the back of the mouth.

"Hey, where are you going?"

You don't realize you're walking away until you hear Mark's voice, calling after you. Something is drawing you in like a beacon. It feels, suddenly, like you're on the cusp of completing something important, something you'd nearly forgotten about.

Drawn through the cold, damp, narrow tunnels, you somehow know instinctively which ways to turn. You don't trip, or run into walls, but keep moving, deeper into the dark. Until finally, you feel yourself stop in front of... something.

Reaching forward, you grasp the bars of a cell.

"Somewhere deep and dark. Low, inside the earth," you echo your words from weeks ago now, and hear a low, guttural groan in response.

Poor Eric Matthews, more animal than man by now.

"Yeah, he's not doing so great," Mark whispers in your ear, having followed after you. You get a brief flash of vision- Mark grabbing Eric by the hair, grown matted and shaggy, and dragging him back as he sobs and claws at the ground. Mark, punching him heavy in the stomach, throwing slop at his feet.

He hated it, at first. Then he grew to relish it.

Pure horror settles in you, uneasy in your stomach.

"Why... keep him?" You ask hollowly, feeling Mark's arm around your waist again, territorial.

"Kramer wants him for the next game," He replies, too quiet for Matthews to hear, "Needs him as an incentive. You know how bad the precinct wants to save him. Hell, it's why you're here in the first place."

"Is someone out there? Help me-" Matthews pleads, his voice broken, "P-please-" Your mouth is dry. You'd been brought in to save this man, and now here he was, begging for help in front of you.

"Huh. So he does remember how to speak," Mark mutters. Part of you wants to reach out, to comfort Matthews, to lie badly to him and tell him it will be alright.

But this is what it is. Open wounds, dirty basements, and pain like the refrain of a prayer. The maw of Hell itself. This is what it means, to be a part of this.

To be partners with Detective Mark Hoffman.

You jump in surprise at a sudden, loud clang- Mark has grabbed your cane, and slammed it against the rusted bars of the cell. You hear whimpering, as Eric Matthews seems to retreat. You take a few steps back, away from the cell, closing your eyes as if it will help.

"It gets easier," Mark tells you, "I know, I know. It's alright to be uncertain. Too feel sick about it. I was at first, too."

You swallow, and nod. He presses his lips to your temple, in a gentle gesture, and continues to soothe you with honeyed words.

"Don't worry. No one's going to find out. You and me, we do this together. We help each other. Right?"

You nod again, and he kisses you, on the lips this time. It's almost forceful, as though by the action alone, he can make you forget your conscience.

"Come on," He says, "Lemme show you the bathroom."

---

Although you've never set foot in this room before in your life, you feel as though you're returning back to a place you grew up in. It has an air of nostalgia about it that's almost uncanny, like a place you've dreamt about a million times, but can't quite map the layout of.

Frankly, it's kind of fucking creepy in here.

The smells of decaying bodies doesn't help. It's unmistakable, almost sweet in its rot, and you clasp a hand over your mouth as you grimace.

"You're renovating, but you couldn't take out the bodies?" You ask, fighting the urge to gag.

"Yeah, let me just carry them to my car," Mark snipes back, and you suppose he has a point. "I don't really come down here. But hey, do your thing." You hear the scrape of a chair, and wonder- is he pulling up a seat?

With a deep breath, you calm your nerves, and try to dial in to your extrasensory perception. The first task you'd been given- find Eric Matthews- has been completed. The second- find the secret apprentice- has not. That's your goal, and the reason you came here. You know that this place has the answers you seek. The walls bleed with them.

You sense Mark, somewhere behind you, curious and sharp. But you need to reach something older. Glass crunches under your boots, and you slowly pace the room, stepping carefully as not to trip over anything.

Then, you catch hold of something. Before you can understand what you're doing, you're crouching in front of one of the bodies, taking his bony, brittle face into your hands. The skin is like tissue paper under your touch.

"Oh, Adam," You murmur to him softly, "How unfair. He didn't follow his own rules for you, did he?"

"Are you... talking to the corpse?" Mark asks, an edge of disgust in his voice.

You ignore him. The corpse doesn't speak, of course, but he answers you in his own way.

"He promised," you hear your voice saying, an echo from a thousand miles away, "He promised he'd come back to save him. A Knight in shining armour. But he never did. He dies down here, missing his mother and wondering if he'll ever see her again. He dies over and over again. He exists as a ghost, haunting the third. The fourth? The secret one, the guilty one, the one who got away."

You hold the skull delicately, with a care not to disturb him. Of course, he's just a body. Just a shell. But before that-

You smell cigarette smoke, hear the click of a camera snapping a shot. Despair, fear, loneliness. Despondency, hope. Bitterness, so much resentment. A cell phone ringing, a hacksaw, tearing into flesh, pain, pain-

"Who was tested in here?" You ask Mark, letting go of the body and standing. The room spins around you, seems to pulse in the darkness. You get the impression of patterns, swirling about- the kind you can read and understand, that you can use to tell the future, if you just focus. You wipe your hands on your pants.

"That guy," Mark replies, presumably pointing to Adam, "We strung up another guy in here at one point. And Matthew's game ended up in here, with the kid and Amanda."

"Who was with Adam?" The answer is so close to you. For some reason, you think of the Jigsaw survivor group, and briefly wonder if the secret apprentice is Daniel Matthews. It partially seems to fit, but your intuition suggests that guess is off base.

"A doctor, I think. We planted his pen light. I think he ended up surviving. What the hell was his name...?" As Mark thinks, the answer comes to you, bold, in flashing neon lights.

"Doctor Gordon," you whisper. You ankle aches in confirmation.

"That was it," Mark replies, and then he pauses. "Him?"

"Him."

"You're sure?"

You see a blonde man, pale and sickly looking, crawling away as blood pours from the stump of his leg. It flows like paint spilling from an overturned tub, until the man presses it to a boiling pipe. Flesh melts and blood coagulates. He survives.

He survives. But he is alone. He has no one else but the ghosts, and the King, omnipotent in his wisdom, sees a subject in the making. A knight to stand guard, to protect the most valuable pieces. To save, when he could not save before.

"I'm sure," You reply, and you are. You hear Mark stand up from his seat.

"What now?" He asks, walking back over to you, "Do we...confront him? Ask Kramer about him?"

It's curious, you think, that he's asking for your opinion now. But you shake your head.

"No," You answer. You've never felt so sure of something in your life. The impressions of the patterns spell out hints to you, show a chessboard with its pieces, ready for play.

"No, we sit on this. We'll need him, later. We don't let anyone else know that we know," You say and you hear Mark make a small hum of contemplation.

"We'll need him?" He asks, a note of skepticism in his voice, and you nod.

"I don't know how yet. But I can feel it. Trust me on this?" You ask. He sighs.

"You haven't been wrong yet," He replies, and you smile at him in thanks. The pieces are coming into focus now, starting to settle into place. John Kramer has been lining up these dominoes for half a decade.

And you can sense what's coming. Your sight will be your survival. You catch the sound of a buzz, coming from where Mark stands.

"It's John. He wants to meet with you again, one-on-one," Mark says then, and you hazard a guess that he's looking at his phone. Does John Kramer know how to text?

"When?" You ask back. Your intuition tells you this will be important- that it might be the last time you see Kramer, face to face. He's a tyrant, his dark shadow looming over you and Mark, and you know in your soul that even when he's dead, that isn't going to change.

"Now. You ready?"

You hope that you are. You think of Eric Matthews, rotting in the dark; and Daniel Matthews, living in the day. You think of Adam, resigned to the depths to die alone, and Ned, who survived to scoff at the notion of gratitude.

It makes you sick, and not out of guilt.

--

A/N- A bit plot heavy, but since I actually know where this is going now, I'm actually laying down the building blocks for the end! Thank you for waiting, I'm a bit nervous about this chapter so if you liked it, please leave a review <3

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff

[whentherewerebicycles]

okay well I don’t know what’s going on but I am really hitting a mental and physical wall this week. I suspect it has to do with the fact that last week he suddenly stopped napping well and, by some strange coincidence, became 1000x fussier in the afternoons and evenings. here is how it is affecting me:

I am so… so tired

I am having trouble thinking especially when he’s been fussing for like three straight hours and my brain has just switched off as some kind of a self-protective mechanism

I am struggling to make decisions about how to handle the fussiness because so tired and also because I don’t really understand what’s going on with him or how to soothe him

I’m getting behind on student work because I no longer have consistent nap windows in which to work during the day

I’m soooo much snappier and more irritable with the dogs especially… like I know they’re understimulated and under-walked right now and that’s why they’re barking so much more and I know I gotta address the root causes instead of getting angry with them for reacting in a very normal way to feeling stir crazy. but also sometimes when they wake the boy up from one of his suddenly rare naps or otherwise elevate the noise level in the house I am like I NEED you to shut up. I love you so much and I know it’s my fault you’re bored but I NEED the noise to stop.

I am not eating well because the fussing often starts around lunch time and I just lose track of where I am in the day and forget to eat. and then by the time I remember it’s too late to do anything but microwave something fast and kinda shitty

I cannot change the fussiness. he is having some big sleep changes and maybe a growth spurt or maybe he is just more alert to the world now and it’s harder to chill out. I pray that it is just a phase we are going through (where is my sweet chill baby of just a week ago) and I will also remind myself that so many things are going well. but what can I do to make this period more survivable for myself.

try to go to bed by 9:15 every night to maximize the sleep I’m getting even if it’s fragmented sleep (hopefully that won’t last much longer as he adjusts to not being in the swaddle)

consider asking his sitter to come a third day in the week for a while. use that time to catch up on student work (so I feel less behind and don’t have that additional layer of stress) but also use it to walk the dogs, cook, etc. and tend to other needs. I’m stressed about doing this because money 🫠 but I really need it and I also really need a break when he’s at peak fussiness levels.

scale back again. when I was feeling most overwhelmed before (around 6 weeks? idk it’s all a fever dream) I just focused on really, really scaling back the activities and outings so I could focus on feeding him and getting him to take good naps. I think I am trying to do too much now and I need to give myself permission to say no to things more and to consider the day a win if I just take care of the basics.

put headphones in when he’s fussing. I really need to stop feeling guilty about this and just do it. I will be so much better equipped to soothe/rock/bounce him if I’m not also listening to the nonstop lowgrade crying. it will not hurt him if I don’t listen to the crying. I can tend to his needs without listening to the crying.

try to give myself some grace. I cried a bunch tonight because he was so so tough to deal with this evening and I was feeling so maxed out. but then I was lying on my bed with him propped up against my legs facing me and he started playing his favorite “game” where he puts his feet in his little footie pajamas all over my face and chortles delightedly at my pretend-outraged reaction and it was soooo sweet and I was just like I love you so much 😭 I wish you felt better this week because then I would feel better too and more capable of being present with you. I feel like when he’s fussing soooo much it’s just so hard for us to have those sweet silly connections because we’re both so miserable and neither of us knows how to fix it. it’s tough! it’s tough. but we will get through this and I absolutely refuse to have any “am I a bad parent???” angsty feelings about this. I am a great parent and I am doing the best I can coping with this very challenging week. I cannot soothe him very well because he has a lot going on inside of him right now but I can make him laugh really hard by letting him put his little feet all over my face and that means I gave him at least one small moment of joy today. it’s enough! it’s enough. we will weather this.

[holylulusworld]

Big grump

Summary: Sam and Dean reconsider their relationships.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Square 24 filled for Lulu’s X-Mas Bingo: Square 24: Love confessions  

Square 20 filled for Lulu’s Winter Bingo: Square 20: Love confessions

Square 2 filled for @spnfluffbingo​​: Old flame au

Square 2 filled for @spnchristmasbingo​: Photographs

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of former relationships/break-ups, fluff

Words: 1,1 k

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

“Dean, stop being a grump,” Sam grumbles. “I know you’re not a big fan of Christmas and parties, but this is getting ridiculous. You’re a grown-ass man acting like an angry child.”

“I just don’t know what to celebrate this year.”

“We had a very successful year. You’re healthy, got a loving family and you still can get your dick up,” the younger brother grins.

“What do you know about my dick?” Dean grumbles. “I never told you about my qualities in the bedroom.”

“Well, the stream of grinning ladies leaving your house tells me all I need to know.”

Dean huffs.

“So, why the bad mood? I thought you wanted to bring Lisa to mom’s infamous Christmas party. At least that’s what she told Amelia.”

“Lisa and I didn’t work out,” the elder brother shrugs.

“Dude, what happened? Not weeks ago, you wanted to move in with her,” Sam gasps at the news. “Did you mess things up? What did you do this time?”

“She wants to try with her ex again,” Dean looks around the large ballroom. “I tried to not mess things up with Lisa and then she goes and breaks up with me not four weeks before Christmas.”

“Fuck, that’s just awful. I’m sorry Dean,” patting his brother’s shoulder Sam sighs. “Do you want me to ask Amelia for her friend’s number? You know the cute redhead you liked so much.”

“No. I don’t want a date for mom’s party. If things didn’t work out between me and Lisa it would’ve been fine with me. But this is just…”

Dean sighs deeply.

“I feel ya man,” Sam nods in understanding. “Do you remember Ruby? The quirky brunette I brought home four or five years ago. She gave me the boot for her ex too. Never heard of her again.”

“Sex with the ex can be fun,” Dean grins. “Did it a few times before too. I just don’t get why they have to try again with their ex while being in a relationship with someone else.”

“I got no clue, Dean.”

The brothers watch the staff twirl around the ballroom to make sure the party will be even better than the last one.

Both men sigh as they think about their past relationships. In not three days they must attend the party but none of them seems to be in the mood.

“Maybe there are things left unsaid and done that won’t let you move on,” Dean wonders aloud.

“I get it... I guess. Don’t get me wrong. Amelia is great but…” Sam clears his throat, “there was something about Ruby making me go crazy. It was the wildest and most animalistic sex. We just clicked on a primal level.”

“Animalistic, huh?” Dean chuckles.

“It wasn’t just sex, Dean. We had a deep connection. I miss the mind-blowing and crazy sex, though. Ruby scratched and bit me. Sometimes she even threw things around the room and jumped at me. Ruby was…she slapped my face, and I held her down…”

Holding up his hand Dean makes a retching noise. “DUDE, too much information,” he mutters. “I really didn’t need to hear about your kinks.”

Sam laughs. “…says the man destroying a bedroom and christening mom’s kitchen counter with Y/N.”

Dean swallows thickly. He hasn’t heard your name for the better of three years.

 “It wasn’t my fault,” he says after a moment of silence. “She was a little drunk and one thing led to another.”

“Why did you break up with her again?” Sam dips his head to glance at his brother. “Everyone saw her walk down the aisle to marry you. I never understand you let her go.”

“She wanted one thing, and I was…”

“An idiot?”

“A big grump,” Dean mutters. “That’s what she called me the last time we talked. Y/N wanted me to open up and talk about my feelings. I just couldn’t and then I said something stupid. Y/N told me that she doesn’t want to waste her love and more time on a man ignoring her feelings and I said…”

Dean shakes his head.

“What did you say, Dean?” Sam presses on.

“I said she should stop waiting then…”

“I was right. You were an idiot. Dean, you should call Y/N and tell her you were in the wrong.”

“Who’s in a relationship with a woman he doesn’t want to fuck?” Dean sneers. “If you break up with Amelia and call Ruby, I’ll call Y/N and invite her to mom’s Christmas party.”

Sam stares at his brother. Dean holds his brother’s gaze, challenging him.

“Fine.”

“What?” Dean splutters. His eyes grow wide as his brother gets his phone out.

“I’ll break up with Amelia and call Ruby. Maybe she still has those handcuffs and the riding crop,” Sam bites his lower lip. “That was a night to remember…”

“Wait! What? I was just joking!” he calls after his brother.

“A deal is a deal, Dean. Go and call Y/N…”

“Dean Winchester in all his glory,” you cross your arms over your chest as your former lover stands right in front of you. He mumbles something under his breath, eyes cast down. “I didn’t get that. Why are you here?”

“I-uh,” he shrugs. “Mom is planning this huge Christmas party. You know how much I hate parties. It’s in three days and...”

“I remember…”

“I was wondering if you would give me the honor to come with me,” he scratches the back of his neck. A nervous habit.

“Why would I do such a thing?” you huff. “It’s been almost three years since I last saw you. We are not a pair anymore, Dean.”

“I was a fool and scared back then,” Dean steps a little closer. “I chickened out and you left me.”

“I did not leave you, Dean,” pointing your index finger at him you raise your voice. “You broke up with me. It was you telling me I should stop waiting for you to admit your feelings.”

“It was just a suggestion,” he argues. “You never wanted to see me again.”

“Now it’s all my fault? Are you fucking kidding me, Winchester?” you get louder, drawing your neighbors’ attention. “Why should I even consider talking to you?”

He takes a deep breath. “I love you. I should’ve told you so years ago. No, the moment we met,” he says. “I still got that old photograph of you. It’s the first one I took of you. If only I could turn back time and admit my feelings three years ago.”

“I looked awful. My hair was a mess and I didn’t wear make-up,” you clear your throat. “Why did you never call?”

“I was scared. You know how I get when someone rejects me,” he whispers. “Can I—come in? Maybe we can talk for a while. Please.”

“I wanted to have a beer and ordered pizza,” you glance at Dean. “Do you want to come in? I was about to put up my Christmas tree and could need help.”

“I-of course sweetheart. I’ll help you with pleasure…”

  Tags in reblog.

[granulesofsand]

Hi! Hope it's ok to ask this. First some background. We have DID. I don't know our trauma. Recently I told our therapist something I suspect may have caused our trauma. Based on patterns I've noticed and how we react to things. Being very careful not to make any assumptions, beyond what is needed to keep us safe.

But I was so scared. I don't know if I was more scared she would invalidate us, or that she *would* validate it because actually that is frightening too and a lot to process

It felt like a relief to say it. She reacted the best she could, though I thought there would be more shock. But now I feel so much. I want to cry and to scream and to panic. But I can't it's all locked inside and I seem too dissociated to feel any of it properly

Do you have any advice for how to process and express those feelings? Or how to handle them in a healthy way? (and also the inevitable "I shouldn't have shared that, I'm bad, I fucked up, oh fuck oh fuck" which I can also feel is coming)

If this was a normal week I would just take the dissociation but we can't do that this time. Would trying to help another alter to switch maybe help? Or is that an unhealthy way to get through the week? Nothing is written down so maybe I can take the memories back inside with me until they are safe to deal with :) (unlikely, but hey I can hope!)

Hello. We also struggle with expressing emotion, especially when it comes to crying or screaming. I saw a short video a few days ago on TikTok, a survivor raised in a high control group. They talked about having to learn each separately, then merge the skills to get the heavy sobbing that aids in processing.

I agree that outward displays help brains work through the associated emotions, and that it’s less of a struggle to practice crying and vocalizing one at a time.

We actually started trauma therapy by writing down whatever we remember as we’re out in the body, and most of our trauma memories were added after flashbacks. We gave ourselves the words, helped each other through language barriers and poor vocabulary. We started speaking the neutral memories, then some lighter trauma.

We talk to our therapist whenever one of us needs to move boundaries around, let them know whether we need facial or verbal expression of attunement or neither. They’re good with helping us connect memories unless someone asks them not to (though ‘asking’ can look like dissociation or self-soothing, because they know what to look for).

Some of us can cry. We seek them out, always looking for someone to prove our training wrong. Co-fronting with one who can cry shows us that the tears don’t burn, and our support people aren’t bothered by them, and we won’t be punished for it.

Most of us are still at the stage of running away from front when they start to cry, or tossing away the emotions that make them us want to cry. Both of those are dissociation, and we allow both so long as no insider has the job of taking the big emotions on themselves.

For us, the repeating phrases are usually insiders who hide in the mist of our fronting area. We can communicate with them when we can hear them, but we have to demonstrate that their watchers won’t tell on them to our perps. We do this by talking to them out loud, which is making noise that wasn’t allowed growing up.

The lead-up to talking out loud is the same we’re using to scream. We started when we were sick, trying to mouth words to express pain. Then we added in whispering, growing in volume. Once we could do a raspy voiced speech, we tried out keening sounds and whimpering. Our lowest level of vocalizing is either whispered speech or quiet noises, depending on the insider.

We also taught one another with the vocalizing, and we have a select few who can shout or howl or screech. Some angry ones learned how to be loud before the rest, and most of us are at the level of vocalizing. The only groups we don’t expect to learn are the Deaf or non-speaking folks, because we don’t consider disability to need fixing if we can accommodate it, and we make sure they have the choice either way.

For other healthy outlets, consider exercise that raises your heartrate. It can trick your brain into acting regulated after, because it assumes the survival mode chemicals came from that. Punching bags and strength workouts can be good for angry insiders who might otherwise enjoy violence, and it can make the fearful ones more confident in your self-defense ability.

We find some chores to be help us calm down, one way or another. Some folks find laundry cathartic. Personally, I like chopping wood. We sew, and some of us like to rip woven fabrics for later use.

If you can’t do physical labor, there’s also innerworld activities. We have someone who enjoys summoning mugs and shattering them on the ground if you have tactile or auditory imagination, safe spaces if you have visual, good old drawn or sculpted models if you don’t have vivid internal sensation.

Sometimes we just curl up with a warm mug and a hot water bottle, or take a cold shower. Both of those can regulate your nervous system with temperature, though you should probably void shout whether anyone would be opposed to those (neglect and torture can both include these as traumas). If it’s showers specifically that aren’t working, ice packs and stone tiles can be good too.

We prefer making dissociation work for us than making it stop, so we do utilize switching pretty heavily. Eventually, the one switching away will have to confront their problems to heal them, but systemwide problems have systemwide solutions. You can use switches as much as you like, and we’ve seen systems heal by integrating (not necessarily fusing) different members and by healing members individually.

I don’t have a firm solution, as we’re still working on one that suits us, but we have made progress. I hope one of those makes your situation better, too.

[c-is-for-circinate]

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

[waltnut]

Yes, I'm a THIRSTY, HORNY and DEHYDRATED bicht. But I am proud of myself. Can I request more NSFW head cannons of our monster boyfriend? But don't make it dark, maybe add some after segg cares if you want? I LOVE YOU.

Don’t make it dark?? Don’t you know what I’m about??? I can’t believe this.

No I’m joking lol well damn, NSFW? Okay well, this is for the Monster Fuckers so kiddies look away. I’m sorry to those who don’t like NsFw. I will tag it as “NSFT” for Not Safe for Timeline but I also hide it under the cut. I’m sorry. I had fun with this...now I’m embarrassed lmao You guys seem to like these so...

The prompt has me thrown a bit, but I’ll just make some stuff up, I hope that’s okay.

NSFW Headcanons - Monster Boyfriend edition: Demon Lords, Vol. 1

Adult content. These are demons. If this disturbs you, then stop reading here. Otherwise, enjoy?

Lucifer

Level 3

He sheds his feathers on his body when he’s nervous. MC makes him nervous when he’s like this. What do they think of him? Is he ugly? Would they call him a monster?

He’s the most submissive in this form. Gentle touches make him shiver and jump. He feels the most vulnerable and actively moves away from MC if they try to be intimate.

But he wants the intimacy. It’s reassuring. He’s still wanted. He actually might cry a bit. He’s sensitive, be nice.

MC will have to do most of the initiating. After the first time MC had had intimacy with him like this, he will be more confident the next times they engage in any sexual activity.

Level 4

All the pride and confidence. None of that level 3 sissy business, he will have you.

He’s very grabby, and maybe grips a little too tight. He likes the power of being stronger than you. He wants you to know it.

He seems to always have his wings as wide as he can make them. It must be some sort of mating dance. He does have that part bird instinct in there somewhere. He wants to show off, maybe intimidate you a bit. Does he like fear?

Might use the feathers on his tail to tickle you to make you squirm while he has you. What fun!

Mammon

Level 3

He is very clingy. He wants to always be touching you. Even if it’s just the tips of his wings or tail, he wants to have the physical touch.

As he goes through this level, his ability to sense any Greed from the MC to be highly erotic. Talking about buying those new clothes you’ve been wanting? Turn on. Saying how you’re gonna share any of them with him? He can’t contain himself.

He loves pets. Brushes against his hair, feathers, scales, will make him coo. Bird noises, gotta love them.

Easy seduction outfit, should you choose to wear one, anything shiny. Gold chains? Perfect. Sheer black clothes but with gold edges and designs? Also perfect. He can’t resist the shiny.

Level 4

Don’t even think about leaving him, until he lets you. You’re part of his treasure now and he will preen and polish you accordingly.

Lazy in this form, expect lots of cuddling with the dragon. He’s quite warm. The texture on his underside is soft like skin even though it looks like lizard scales. Don’t be surprised when you feel surprise boners while laying with him. He may be lazy, but he’s not tired.

Touching the skin texture of his body is a great seduction tactic should you need one. It’s the sensitive side to his body while the rest is covered in feathers and scales.

While he will dress up MC in gold as a mating ritual, should MC do the same to him, it is the greatest indicator that you are accepting his proposal for intimacy.

Leviathan

Level 3

Two dicks. Look we all know it. We all agree. Moving on.

Touching the purple frills on his ears is like touching his junk. It’s a highly erroneous zone for him. But be gently, they are very soft and sensitive.

Do you even lift? Well you might need to because he is going to be wrapped around you the entire time. He’s quite heavy and good luck getting out of that one.

Laying with him in water is the best way to show any intimate intentions. Even if you think it’ll be a relaxing chill in the water, think again.

Level 4

Now if you’re brave and choose to sleep with a giant ass sea monster, you’re in luck because he can manipulate water to allow you to breathe in the water.

He is the largest of all the brothers in terms of monster size. He’s a giant sea dragon. So be careful when dealing with...well, his size.

He likes to flip you around in the water, so staying in one position is not an option. It’s like a dance!

Want to know if he’s into it? Watch the orange fleshy bits on his sides. The more he glows the more you know!

Satan

Level 3

If you’re into having sex after yelling and screaming at each other then congrats! So is he. Angry sex is what he’s about. He’s wrath. I mean, come on.

Belittle him. No really. He’ll want to prove you wrong. Fuels the fire.

Extremely dominant. Don’t even try to top him. Also you just finished? No rest for you, you’re going again.

He’s gonna scratch and mark you. Bring some bandaids.

Level 4

Okay first of all, you really want to sleep with this? He’s terrifying. He is an actual hell spawn. Well okay, be prepared for selfish sex. He’s rough.

Want to know if he’s into it? Watch the flames on his back. Can you pass your hand through it without it burning you? You pass. It’ll grow brighter and larger the closer he is to finishing.

Most likely to choke you.

Will call you names during the act, sorry. The “not nice” kind.

Asmodeus

Level 3

Words are your biggest weapon. Constant love and adoration is all you need when he’s like this. You won’t even need to touch him to work the magic.

As the avatar of lust, he knows the human body of all genders. His genitalia resembles a males’ but it does have a clit on the bottom side of the head of the dick. You can get real creative with that.

Kiss and touch his ears! He loves it. They might flick at your touch, but he’s into it.

Is able to have his scorpion tails in this form if he chooses to, and he likes pushing and pulling you around with them.

Level 4

More of a Dom in this form. He also enjoys a good mess.

Don’t grab onto his tails, he’s not into it. But grabbing onto his mane? Go right ahead with that.

A little bitey. Vampire tendencies.

Most likely to try and sex you on the ceiling. Why? Not sure. But he’s able to do it so just roll with it.

Beelzebub

Level 3

Look at that long ass tongue. He’s gonna use it. Why wouldn’t he use it? You’re gonna want him to use it. The paralysis saliva he can produce is something he can choose to use.

Will jump on you out of nowhere. No literally, where did he come from? It’s 3 Am and everyone else is asleep. But a good smack will get him to stop if it’s unwanted. Bad puppy.

He might share his food with you if he’s offering intimacy. Like with his mouth. Like it might already be chewed a bit.

Chromeo lyrics: ((Don’t turn the lights on! I want to see you in the dark~.)) His eyes are sensitive, okay.

Level 4

You ever had sex with a Minotaur? You ever wanted to?

Will carry you off to a secluded area that he has found for himself. He doesn’t want to be disturbed.

The longer you go with him, the hotter his body feels. Just like when he feeds, he’ll have steam coming off his body.

Most likely to hump your leg.

Belphegor

Level 3

He enjoys you being uncomfortable. Emotionally or physically.

Sleep paralysis demon. Hey, at least you won’t be doing most of the work.

He’ll quietly hum a lullaby to you to see if you’ll accept his intimacy proposal. If you hum back, you accept. Careful, he might hum your favorite song.

His wool is so soft. Why is it so soft? You need to touch all of it.

Level 4

If you’re not banging irl, you will in your dreams.

You ever wanted to have sex in space? He can make the best magic Galaxy projector you’ve ever seen, and without the paid promotion!

His wool smells of soothing herbs and incense. So despite his creepy ass behavior, you find a way to calm your nerves.

You’ll have the best sleep you’ve ever had afterwards.

[ttuesday]

Hello there! Thank you for writing all these amazing headcanons! <333 I get so much joy when there's a new post from ya!

I had a prompt in mind: what are the gang members like when they get reaaaaly drunk? Who gets sad & sentimental, who gets all funny and jokey, who is all sleepy, and etc etc etc?

now this is an interesting one hehe

Arthur

When Arthur's drunk, he does his absolute best to try to convince everyone he isn't that drunk. He tries to walk in a straight line to prove he’s ok but accidentally walks into Uncle.

He somehow has great hearing and joins in on every sing song within a five mile radius. Arthur could be talking to you on the outskirts of camp but if he hears someone singing by the campfire, he joins in immediately.

He gets into a very jolly mood when he's drunk and talks about anything and everything. He rambles on about so much he interrupts himself a lot.

If he's sweet on you then Arthur asks to hold your hand and he won’t stop holding your hand for the e n t i r e night. No matter where you go or what you do, Arthur will potter after you with his hand still holding yours. And whenever you look at him, Arthur has a big, proud smile on his face as he looks at your hand in his.

Charles

Who is this man? Where tf did Charles  go? He acts very differently than sober Charles. Whatever idea springs to mind, he wants to do it. If he wants to do interpretive dance in the middle of camp then that's exactly what he does or if he decides to go skinny dipping at 4am then off he goes, trying to find a lake or a river.

One second Charles could be laughing so much he's nearly crying, a second later he could start sobbing because he remembered that time he accidentally shot a lawman's horse when he was trying to aim for the guy. Please hug him.

It doesn't matter how drunk Charles is, he can still yeet anyone over Mount Hagen and he can go from fun and goofy to deathly intimidating in under 1.5 seconds.

And if you and Charles are dating then he just wants to kiss you. He kisses your temple all the way down to your jawline before kissing back up to your ear.

Dutch

Dutch gets quiet when he's drunk. He just kinda sits there and stares off in a daze for ten minutes. When someone talks to him, it's like he buffers for a few seconds before responding.

But when he starts talking, good luck trying to get Dutch to shut up. And this man needs everyone to stop what they're doing and give him all of their attention when he decides to say a speech. And if one person stops paying attention then Dutch storms off.

Dutch really does believe he's unstoppable when he's drunk. And if you don't believe him then don't worry, Dutch has no problem spending three hours explaining how all of his plans are apparently bulletproof.

If Dutch is sweet on you then he tries to flirt with you. But the more he drinks, the harder it gets for him to string a sentence together. "Your eyes..." he slurs his words but tries to stay composed "they remind me... of uh... eyes".

Micah

Micah is so goddamn laid back when he's drunk. Strangely people tend to get on with Micah when he's drunk but by the time he's sober again he's gone back to being... well, Micah.

He's nice ? Which is so bizarre but he actually makes an effort to talk to people without antagonising them and instead of taking offence to comments, he laughs them off and sees it as a joke.

As long as the conversation stays light, Micah keeps his happy demeanour and he isn't even a bad loser when it comes to poker and five finger fillet. In a way, seeing Micah so friendly unnerves some of the other gang members because of how baffling it is.

If he's sweet on you then Micah will continuously asks if you'd like to sit on his lap. Of course he flirts with you but he's a lot sweeter than normal and tells you that you could definitely do better than him so he understands if you reject him.

John

John comes out of his shell when he's drunk. Instead of keeping his mouth shut, he says whatever he thinks of. Yeah he gets into more fights cause he doesn't know when to stop talking.

He can fall asleep anywhere and at any time. You could be chatting with him by the campfire and slowly feel him lean against your shoulder as he starts to softly snore. He once fell asleep while standing up right with one of his hands on a barrel for support.

When John tries to go to sleep when he's drunk, he's like a kid trying to go to sleep at a sleepover. John loudly says the most random words and makes random noises before he bursts out laughing, thinking it's the funniest thing in the world.

If John has a crush on you and he's drunk, he tries to be so helpful. He constantly asks you if you need anything. If you ask him to get you something then he walks a few feet away before completely forgetting what you asked for.

Bill

Let's be real, Bill's already a hothead when he's sober and he's exactly the same when he's drunk. He's very fast to start a fight but if someone lands one punch then that's Bill done for the night. Usually he's a better fighter but he has terrible balance when he's been drinking.

He tries to be productive when he's drunk, thinking that now's the perfect time to do some chores and to go on guard duty. Everyone knows better than to leave Bill go out on watch when he's like this. One time he tried to shoot a squirrel cause he thought it was going to run into camp.

Bill rambles a lot too, mainly telling stories from when he was in the army or reminiscing about different robberies he's done with the gang.

Bill can get really anxious so if y'all are in a relationship, he needs your comfort. His mind starts racing and he worries about little things so for you to be there and tell him everything is alright truly means a lot to him.  

Javier

Javier gets very goofy when he's drunk. He's keeps things light hearted, joking about things but is still able to hold his tongue when needed and have proper conversations too.

Honestly, Javier is probably one of the most level headed people in comparison to the rest of the gang but because he tends to stumble and get his words mixed up, people presume he's completely wasted when he's had a few to drink.

This man LIVES for those 2am deep and meaningful conversations. He absolutely adores having them and being drunk helps him open up more about his feelings so he has no problem expressing his emotions.

Are you ready to be swept off of your feet, both metaphorically and maybe literally depending on if you'll leave Javier do that? He's such a hopeless romantic when he's drunk. If camp is near a field or woodland then he sneaks off, picks some flowers and shyly gives them to you.

Sean

Sean manages to go through every mood when he's drunk. Everything is funny to him and he tries to make jokes about whatever comes to mind. Usually he jokes about Bill and Micah which leads to one of them arguing with Sean.

That's when Sean gets angry and thinks he's able to knock out anyone with one punch. Normally he ends up accidentally walking into a table or tripping over himself cause of how focused he is at punching the air.

Then Sean gets all sad and sentimental, feeling sorry for himself cause he accidentally bruised his leg. He has no problem sitting on the ground and pouting for a while, hoping that someone will walk past and give him some attention for a while.

If y'all are dating then Sean will tell you over and over again how much you mean to him and how much he loves you. He just wants to cling on to you for the night and make sure you know how loved you are.

Hosea

I hope you're sitting comfortably cause Hosea's gonna tell you every single goddamn story he can think of. Hosea tells you funny stories, sad stories, how he first met John and how he conned rich people. He really likes to reminisce when he's drunk.

Towards the end of the night, Hosea eventually gets quiet and if there's a party at camp where everyone is celebrating, then he goes off by the outskirts for a while.

Hosea likes to sit back and watch as everyone enjoys the night. He can get very sentimental when he does this but he likes to enjoy the little moments of the night and savour it all.

If he’s sweet on you then Hosea makes sure you know how special you are and that you deserve the best. He doesn't necessarily flirt with you but instead wants you to know how great you are.

Sadie

When Sadie drinks, she gets sad. She doesn't mean to get sad but her mind wanders and she thinks a lot about everything that's happened in her life and how she's ended up where she is today.

She doesn't speak a lot and ends up getting stuck in her head with thoughts whirling around and around. It can get overwhelming which is why she isn't that keen on getting completely wasted on alcohol.

She doesn't like how crowded camp can get so instead she likes to go off and find a nice scenic area to rest. Normally that helps calm her mind but Sadie also gets sleepy by then too.

If Sadie likes you and feels comfortable around you then she leans against you as ye both sit there in a peaceful silence. And if you suggest it, then she'll hesitantly rest her head on your lap and fall asleep as you play with her hair.

Kieran

Kieran doesn't get drunk often. He hates waking up the next morning and wondering if he pissed anyone off or said something he shouldn't have.

He's very happy when he's drunk, only seeing the positives in things and always smiling. Kieran is still a little shy but he's more open to being involved with what the gang's doing, whether that be singing along to some songs or dancing with whoever to Dutch's gramophone.  

Because of how involved he can become with the gang when he's drunk, he can get involved in a few fights or arguments. But contrary to popular belief, Kieran doesn't back down and makes sure to get his points across.

Kieran gets more confident after a few drinks and flirts with you more than usual. The more accepting you are to his comments, the more he flirts with you. Though if you flirt back then he gets very flustered.

[secretbangtnn]

Best Of Me | One

Pairings : →ot7 x reader, poly!BTS x reader

Genre : → vampireau, yandere!au, age gap, gore, obsessive behavior, ddlg/caregiver, poly, fantasy, supernaturals

summary : It’s quite unusual to find a little baby on your doorstep, especially that their area was not of the poorest - you could say that a vampire town was efficient with money and snobby creatures. However over time the first idea of just giving back the little girl seems more and more radical and those moody vampires slowly start perceiving deeper feelings to human they even wanted to kill.

notes ~

So im not really as happy as i wanted to be with this chapter, but its the first one that i needed to translate. Suprisingly Its easier for me to write the whole thing myslef than translating it from my native language. + Remember to leave something and im happy to say that we can start an ask game with the characters from my books

next

Surprisingly this day was awfully ugly for such a beautiful season. Heavy rain was falling on the ground creating the big sheets of wall with those millions droplets that practically covered the whole view outside of the freshly cleaned window.

Tired sigh pierced the quiet, as for the household members, house only causing the weird tension to increase that was there from the early morning. Dark hair of the boy moved with him, now facing the cold, wet window.

Hyung…” Groaned the boy crashing on the couch closing the eyes in the process a little frustrated. Walking just next to him, a little taller man with bright yellow hair, looked at the dark haired one with a tired stare.

“I don’t have time Jungkook, go torture Yoongi or something.” A snort came out of the older one after the not so innocent proposition, as he kept carrying the big basket full of clothes.

And again he was alone. The youngest of the brothers, being the one who never knew what to do with his free time, wandering in the halls and every couch he could spot in their cosy house. His dark chocolate hair falling on his face, a little too long for his liking, but he was too lazy to actually do something with them.

Again that not happy groan left his lips, and wriggling similar to a child that did not get a toy he wanted, in the end forcing him to sit on the couch with a big pout. It was not normal in this household, the whole quiet and calm act, especially considering the residents he shared the home with.

They are more similar to animals than gentelems that appreciate a quiet time. So the weird atmosphere was definitely an unsettling thing for the youngest.

Again looking at the dark view outside the window, he tried to see the cause of all of this. Completely as if something was meant to happen, like the quiet before the storm.

And let me tell you, Jungkooks 6th sense never fails. Just as he thought that maybe just maybe this time he was wrong, a ring echoed in the whole household.

“Someone is gonna open it?!” He shouted being too irritated to even do it himself, despite being the closest to the doors.

Of course, nobody answered. So angry he was at this moment he got up from a nice cozy couch and with heavy steps he came to the big chunk of the wood.

He opened the door not that gently, mumbling an annoyed “what?”

So how irritated he got when he saw nothing, a void, the same doorstep and gate that stood there everyday, now with a big wall of rain to spice up the view. He looked around, now a little confused, while thinking that maybe someone was in the mood for jokes. But how stupid the idea of that was when he remebered, that for his hundreds years of living in this world the first time that actually someone managed to make fun of him was today.

And oh god he started to get so pissed.

So imagine how shocked he was when just before he closed the door he heard a really unusual sound coming from his feets. Unhappy sobs rang in the quiet afternoon immediately attracting his attention.

The young vampire was more than shocked, looking at the child in the pille of pastel colored blankets. Small sobs now increased in a big crocodile's tears with disturbing sounds of the kids crying.

“”No, no, no, please be quiet, we don’t want to wake up the old, ugly, moody grandpa. do we?” He panicked, whispering the words to the child that now laid in his arms. He just prayed that the actual old vampire really didn't take up because of the cries.

As the kid started to calm down, he stared at it with an unreadable emotion. It was a weird feeling, holding the delicate creature in his arm, knowing that just one wrong move, and the child would never cry again.

So what was that feeling that stirred down his stomach as the little creature grabbed his finger with a big open mouth. The sick emotion only made him panic even more, while looking back inside the house.

He decidied,. Sneaking was nothing new for his ninja move, and he strongly believed in his skills of not getting caught with a surprise in his arms. In the end the spiderman socks were a good choice, as their soft material made nearly no sound on the floor.

His stress level went higher with each step that brought him closer to the room that he knew he could not miss. The sound of a knife and cutting rung in his ears is similar to the music in horror music he likes to watch, now making him understand a feeling of pure fear.

Eyes closed while praying that the blonde man won’t turn around catching him in his act. But how wrong he was to believe in such a miracle. Nothing and absolutely gets past Kim Seokjin.

“Jeon Jungkook…” He died, completely freezing in place. Not opening his eyes he waited thinking that maybe it was just his head messing with him, and the blonde boy never actually turned to him. “What have you done again. If I need to clean the mess once again from the ketchup, I'm not going to…”

And as Jungkook thought that nothing can go worse, the little chil laughed a happy giggle while making the grabby hands for his bracelet.

“Jungkook?...What exactly are you holding?” The question like a knife cutted the heavy atmosphere in half. The silence just after that louder than everything he has heard before. He was even sure that he felt his nonexisting heart stopping. “Did you fucking steall a child?! I can’t be…”

“No! It’s not like that I swear I found it on our doorstep.”

“Do you really think think I am that stupid? How even the child could just appear there hm? Rolled there or better flyed on its plush unicorn?”

“Hyung, please you are going to wake up others.” He didn’t even hesitate to beg, looking at the blonde with such terrified eyes. The child in his arms happily munching on his bracelet completely unaware of the tension.

“Why would I care about others! You brought a child Jungkook, how can i be calm!?”

Dark haired unconsciously looked around with gritted teeth, now just waiting for the rest to appear. And he did not need to wait long, as just after he looked back at the blonde, someone came from the other side of the kitchen door.

Tall man with peachy hair and raspy voice, trying to get rid of the rest of his sleep, now scratching his head with confused expressions. Who wouldn’t be confused in this place, seeing a literal child in a house full of old vampires.

“What is this mess all about? You know what hour it is?” Said the tallest one. Blondie one only snorted as if offended while crossing his arms. “What?”

“Nothing.” Oldest mumbled irritated. The tallest only raised his brow, and repeated the question once again. Jungkook being now forgotten with the child trying to catch his attention with little sounds. “You dare to remind me of the hour?! Do you know how many nights I didn’t sleep because of you! If I just could silence you for good, you would have long ago ended like the voldemort, yes i'm talking about that nose of yours”

The taller one immediately touched his nose gasping not believing in what he just heard, now trying to silently disappear from the harash stare of his older brother.

As the peach hired one hid behind a counter, the attention now came back to the snaking Jungkook. More pairs of footsteps rang in the quietness of the home, slowly showing other people.

“Jin-hyung is angry again? What happened I want to see.” Announced the newcomer, sliding on his perfectly white socks.

“Who is angry here?! You want to see how angry I can be you...you…”

“You silly goose?”

“No that's to lame.”

“Dipshit?”

“You dipshit! Thank you Namjoon.” He finished with a red face. The newcomer only rolled his eyes, while making the shortest of the brothers that came with him laugh.

“Since everyone is here…” The tallest started.

“Wait, where is Yoongi.” Asked the red haired one, while leaning on the counter with a mysteriously made coffee.

“Here.” All of them shouted, hearing the sudden voice, and seeing the new person that appeared with a lightning of thunder. “So what’s this mess about?”

Everyone in the room simultaneously looked at the dark haired boy that immediately stopped in his tracks hoping for some power that could help him disappear. All the eyes slowly drifted down his arms, now staring at a bundle of blankets that started to move as if it knew of the attention.

“What is that?” Asked the tallest looking straight at the irritated blonde.

“Don’t ask me, I’m not the one that gives such a stupid example, making those idiots steal children.”

The kitchen is now again quiet, all the eyes on the little creature in the arms of the youngest. Only sound now being the child starting to sob again, making everyone tense.

“Shut it up you morons.” Said second oldest, annoyed at the loud cries. The blonde didn’t waste time, knowing how bad noise is for the black haired. Small body now shuddering because of the sobbing making the oldest coo at the little child.

His arms soon hold the bundle of blanket, trying to calm the kid down with his baby voice. It wasn’t hard to get lost in its eyes, them being mysterious and full of innocence, drawing up the blonde one. His big hand now on its red cheek, trying to feel the texture of the soft skin under his fingers.

And as the cries never happened, the child started giggling again trying to grab Seokjin hands with such a beautiful smile. It was a really soft sight to see making them all calm and giddy inside. But as the child opened its mouth Seokjin's smiles disappeared.

“What the matter?” Asked Namjoon a little bit taken aback by the change of his hyungs mood. The oldest only looked back at the rest of them with a terrified expression.

“It's a human.”

[quillsareswords]

1:20

Damian Wayne x reader

SUMMARY: You're lucky you've memorized Robin's schedule: it might me the only saving grace you've got left.

WARNINGS: blood, near-death

Master List in bio

It's 1:20 on a Tuesday morning in early June.

Gotham never really gets hot, but the humidity suffocates anything that might think that's a relief. You didn't check the weather this evening. You probably should have.

It's 1:20 on a Tuesday morning. He's gonna be here. You've had mixed feelings about knowing his schedule this well in the past, but now it's the deciding factor of your fate.

It's 1:20. That means you've been bleeding like a stuck pig for ten straight minutes, even if it feels like it's been hours. Or seconds. You don't really know anymore. You're getting dizzy.

So you've leaned against the wall. Some little roof access point that stands tall above the gravel covering the rooftop. The brick digs into your shoulder, even through your jacket.

You're starting to think you've gotten it wrong. Or maybe he just didn't show today. Maybe you're out of luck this time.

It was dumb. Stupid to think that you could stop this. Stupid to think you would end any way other than alone.

It was on purpose, after all. Isolation, that is. You pushed and shoved everyone away with a friendly smile and kept them at arm's length, lest they wiggle their claws beneath your mask and expose you for every ugly thing you are.

You're a mole. An informant. Someone who plays every side all at once and somehow manages to stay neutral the whole time. You've been passing tips to the Bats for months now, means be damned. Trust was meager between you, but what little there is is mutual.

You'd hoped it'd be your saving grace. Hoped the side playing would leave you with at least one friend, even though it was the entire reason you're in this position in the first place. You had hoped your downfall would save you.

He appears before you two minutes late. 1:22 in the morning and he's late. He doesn't seem to have noticed you, a few feet away, surveying the street below him like it's his job (and it is), with his back to you.

"You're late, Birdy." Your voice comes quieter and rougher than it should, and the force it takes nearly sends you to the ground.

He spins around at the sound, hand already curled around the hilt of his sword by the time he faces you. He says your name lowly, like a warning, like always. His posture relaxes nonetheless. "You come with useful advice, I expect. The skirmish by the docks sounded quick, but Batman thinks–"

"I didn't know where else to go," you say suddenly, because you already know you aren't going to be conscious long enough for this conversation.

The effort gets you this time. Your knees, shaky as they've been, finally give out. You understand, and you forgive them; they carried you all the way here, after all. Your body turns on the way down, back of your jacket scraping terribly against the brick as your heels slide through the gravel. The noise you make is somewhere between a groan and a cry.

It rips the breath out of his lungs. Your name is in his mouth again as he drops to his knees beside you, gloved hands already pawing at the hand you have clamped around the knife still sheathed into your side.

"What happened?" he demands, and he's reaching for his pager with the other hand. "Who did this?"

You're too focused on the way your first name sounds in his voice. There's something nice about the way he spaces the syllables.

He says it again, all panic and worry, like he hasn't the time to mask it anymore.

You wonder for a moment if it has anything to do with his lingering stares and gruff get home safe's.

But then he's shaking your shoulder and you're wincing because it's bruised beneath the jacket.

"Stay awake, hey, stay with me. Batman is on his way. We'll fix this." There's a pause where he's sucking in a deep breath and you're trying to focus on his voice. "You're going to be fine."

You think it's a little funny. You managed to get all the way here, up a goddamn fire escape, but the moment you think he's got you, you lose all ability to keep yourself upright. You just want to sleep. You want to lay down and take a nice, long nap.

You hate to admit that it just might be because you trust him more than anyone else you know. You've only known him for a few months, but you're sure that you're safest with him. You're safe with him.

It shouldn't be much of a comfort, with Death staring you down like a lion on it's last meal. You won't need protecting if your decline doesn't level out soon. It's surprising what such little comfort feels like when you're staring Death down like a gazelle with an attitude problem.

You don't remember being moved. Or how you ended up in a medical bed with stiff, scratchy sheets and a nearly flat pillow. You do remember hearing Damian's voice, fading in and our with your consciousness. The words are all garbled and quiet, but you know the recall the sound.

Alfred is the first person you see. He's unfamiliar, but he introduces himself and offers you a warm smile and a glass of water. He brings you a bowl of soup and hands you a bottle of painkillers and another of antibiotics.

You fall asleep again, listening to some little body of water just outside the white room you're settled in.

When you wake up, it's to the sound of an argument. Batman and Robin. It's hushed, angry and patient whispers back and forth, but it's an argument all the same. You've heard them bicker enough over the last few months to recognize it.

You can't quite make it out. You hear your name a few times, something about time, something about healing, something about help. Batman finishes it.

Robin swings the squeaky door open a few moments later.

He stops halfway into the room when he sees you're awake.

You wiggle your way up the mattress to lean against the pillows behind you. "Birdy."

He sighs. "You nearly bleed out in my arms and that's how you greet me?"

He doesn't sound quite right. A little deflated, maybe. Relieved? As if he'd been holding his breath before he entered the room, and just remembered how to breathe when he caught your eye.

Course, you can't be sure he caught it at all, with those white lenses.

You cock a shoulder. "I'm sure you've seen worse. I'm sure I'll have worse."

His posture shifts as he crosses the room. He shakes his head. "That's not funny."

"It's kind of funny," you try, throwing the best carefree smile you can manage when everything beneath your skin is so sore. "I'm the one who was bleeding, that means I'm allowed to make all the jokes I want."

"That's an unhealthy coping mechanism."

"So is dressing up in red and yellow and calling yourself a bird."

His shoulders drop again. You think you might see a smile, but he turns his head away too quickly. "You should be more careful. I can't always be there to drag you out of every fire, you know."

You cross your arms, raising both knees to take some pressure off of your abdomen. He takes it as an invitation and makes himself comfortable in the chair beside the bed. He finds a comfortable position with a little too much familiarity. "I don't expect you to. I wouldn't have even been there if I wasn't getting information for you."

"For Batman–"

"Potato, pa-tot-oh."

He goes rigid again. "I never would have asked you to put yourself in danger like that."

It's defensive. Appalled, almost. Offended.

You don't know how to reply. That doesn't seem to matter though, because he's not done.

"And even if I had, I would have gone with you. I would have made sure you had backup, I would have– this never would have happened."

There's a certain distain in his tone that catches you off guard. A resentment, toward you or his partner you aren't totally sure.

He runs gloved fingers through slick black hair. Heaves a breath. Pushes himself to his feet. Falsely composed. "You may stay as long as you need. Alfred will take care of you."

"Where are you going?" It slips out before you can stop it. And perhaps you could play if off as a standard question—you are in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people, aside from him—but it's much too quick. It sounds a little too much like don't leave me.

And you know he hears it too, because he turns back around so quickly you wonder if he even considered it. "Patrol. It's Wednesday night." And yet he makes to move to leave.

You nod. "Right. Yeah. You're, uh, what? You're over by the city museum tonight, aren't you?" You want to smack yourself. What are you doing, making small talk? He's got places to be, people to save.

"Yes." The top seal of his mask flexes when he raises an eyebrow.

You nod again. An awkward smile on your lips. "I, uh, I didn't know how to feel about knowing where you'd be most of the week, but I guess I'm glad I do. Saved my skin last night, didn't it?"

He drawls in a deep breath. "Suppose it did."

There's a long pause. You aren't sure if you're breathing, but you're sure he isn't. He looks tense, like he's torn between saying something and leaving, body angled not quite toward you.

"You can always come to me," he says suddenly. He must read something on your face, because he tumbles straight into the next sentence. "Last night, you said you didn't know who to go to. I'm telling you now, you can always come to me. I'll fix it, whatever it is."

His voice is tight. A little unsure, but not in the statement. Like a hiker on a rocky trail; unsure of his footing, but certain in his destination.

There's something else in his words. Something scrawled between the lines in thin, fragile letters. Something deeper than wounds and needing backup.

I'll fix it, whatever it is.

Your heart rate picks up, and the heart monitor reveals your secrets on the screen beside you. What it can't reveal is the way the poor organ soars, throwing itself to the clouds with reckless abandon, completely uncaring of the hard trip back down.

You still don't know how to reply. You'd like to say something witty. A little sarcastic, maybe a smidge mean. He's giving you a glimpse at his heart, beating bloody in his hands, and there's a large part of you that wants to poke it. Nothing too wounding, just enough that he never makes the mistake again.

But you can't help it. There's a much larger part of you that wails, who wants to snatch it from him to shield and cradle, because he obviously can't be trusted with it. Not if he's baring it to you.

The deciding party is the reminder of last night. Dragging yourself up a rusted fire escape, praying to anyone who might listen that he'd be there. That he'd help you. You remember thinking he wouldn't. You remember the thought hanging above you like gravediggers as you settled into a coffin: you pushed everyone away, you don't leave room for those who want to help you.

"Thank you," you attempt, and it comes barely above a whisper. You allow it to be tender. You let it embody the raw little piece of you that utters it; the piece that wants so desperately to let him in. The piece that knew he'd save you. The tender little sliver of soul who still believed you deserved to be trusted and supported. The one who still hopes for meaningful connections, even among your collection of throw-away contacts.

You can see the way he relaxes. The way he melts inside his skin, like he'd been expecting you to poke when you could have. Like it lifts a weight off of him, knowing that you'll trust him enough to come to him in the future.

"I'll be back in a few hours. You should sleep."

You roll your eyes. "Sleep in some weird ass white room I've never been in, surrounded by a bunch if people I barely know. Yeah, I'm sure I'll sleep like a baby."

He recognizes that you aren't entirely serious, but he also recognizes the orange pill bottles on the table beside you. "If Alfred has you on those, I trust you will—no matter where you are."

You chuckle, he offers you the tiniest smile, and then he's gone. Vanished into the rest of whatever strange building he whisked you into.

You should be worried about it. Not knowing where you are, exactly who you're with, who has access to you. But you aren't. And it might be the medication making you compliant, and you'll look back on this in a week and be horrified—or it could be that you've broken all your own rules and thrust all if your trust into the hands of a boy you've never seen without a mask.

[imperfectcourt]

Andreil Prompt:

Neil is an Assassin. Some day something goes very, very wrong. So the first time Andrew meets Neil, Neil has to explain to him that he accidentally poisened him and Andrew has to go to the hospital to get the antidote.

So I was really unsure about this but when I got going I got really excited about it! But I also COMPLETELY MISSED the line where it said "the first time" so this is very much not the first time they meet ;__; sorry! I hope you like it though!

Neil had never panicked on a job before. He’d never made a mistake or killed the wrong person or not killed the right person. He could kill whoever he was told to kill, he could kill however he was told to kill, and he could be whoever he was told to be in order to do it.

Killing Andrew Minyard was the worst and last mistake Neil would ever make.

Worming his way into A. Minyard’s life hadn’t been easy but it had been natural- the most honest work of his filthy, bloody life.

It had to be this way. It couldn’t look like a typical mob hit, anything abrupt and easy would look suspicious. The call had to come from inside the house, or so they say.

Neil tipped the vial into the remnants of the whiskey bottle and poured two modest glasses. It wouldn’t be pleasant for him but he’d built up enough of a tolerance to survive. Odorless, collarless, no paper trail. He’d suffer some hallucinations and maybe some minor liver damage but he’d live and after tonight he’d be free. No more Moriyama’s. No more contracts. No more death.

No more Andrew.

Neil brought one glass up to swirl, smell, sniff, and sip. A perfectly normal glass of whiskey. He brought out onto the small balcony and put them on the rickety table between two lawn chairs. Andrew picked his up and didn’t make the small cheers motion he always did as a silent thanks, didn’t drink. He’d been staring at his closed phone for the last half hour. Neil knew he would say what was wrong in time (if there was time).

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said after several long minutes, punctuating the statement with a sip. Guess there was time, after all. Neil sat sideways on his chair so he could watch Andrew light a cigarette.

“That sounds ominous. You’re not a murderer are you?”

Andrew’s top lip curled in a small, vicious smile. “That’s a truth for a different day.”

No, it wasn’t, and Neil found himself reaching for another mouthful of whiskey. Andrew raised a brow at this, having caught on a while ago that Neil liked to draw the drink out as long as possible if it meant he didn’t have to go home yet.

“It’s nothing to form a drinking habit over, calm down.” Andrew took up his drink again and every sip he took felt like friendly fire. “You’re going to see something on the news tomorrow and I’d rather tell you myself than get pissy with me for not bringing it up sooner.”

“Secrets secrets are no fun,” Neil parroted. Andrew kicked out his socked foot to hit Neil’s heel and didn’t pull it back.

“A story will be dropping about my brother’s involvement in a gang bust tonight. Just got word that everything went well but his services had been needed on sight.” With the hand that held the cigarette, he gave his cellphone a little shake.

“You have a brother?” That hadn’t been in the assignment, but family matters were often left out for jobs like this. He couldn’t go in knowing too much and risk exposing himself.

“My twin.”

“You have a twin?”

Andrew threw back the rest of his drink and waved it at Neil’s face. “The only reason I’m telling you is because you’re going to see him parading around on t.v. with my face. We’re not that close.”

A gang bust. Big enough for national news. That couldn’t- that would mean-

“What’s his name?”

“Aaron.”

“A. Minyard. Doctor Aaron Minyard.”

Andrew froze. Looked at Neil so expressionless he might as well have been stone. “I never said he was a doctor.”

He didn’t have to. Dr. A Minyard. Fox affiliated attached to a photograph. Andrew had his PhD and his connection to Kevin Day was easy enough to find if you knew where to look. The Foxes were an elusive bunch of vigilantes but everyone had heard of Kevin Day, son of the founders of the Foxes.

Neil had never made a mistake before and killing Andrew Minyard was the biggest mistake of his life. He knocked the glass from Andrew’s hand only because Andrew let him.

“Now, right now,” he changed, grabbing Andrew by the sleeve and tugging him back inside. It only worked because Andrew let him. Andrew was always letting Neil, trusting Neil. And for what? For this?

Neil let go when he was sure Andrew would follow him and rushed to the tiny kitchen. He took the water glass by the sink and upended the entire salt shaker into it.

“Drink this right now,” he ordered Andrew.

Andrew did not take it.

“Andrew, trust me just one last time. Just this one last time trust me and drink this. Just this once. Just this one last time.” There was time. There was barely time. It had been less than a minute, there had to be time.

Neil didn’t know what he would do if Andrew didn’t drink, if Neil killed him for nothing. No matter what the outcome, no matter Andrew's decision, Neil would die either way.

Andrew took the salt water, drank the whole thing, and promptly threw up in the sink.

Neil watched, hands in his hair and tears clouding his eyes as Andrew righted himself, wiping at his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“That’ll give you time to get to the hospital. You have to go now, you’ve got time.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Andrew put his hand slowly, calmly, over Neil’s throat, “until you explain.”

He pressed him into the wall.

Neil let him.

“You were supposed to be my last one and my contract would be fulfilled,” he said.

“Explain better than that. What does this have to do with Aaron?”

“There’s no time-”

“Then make it quick.” He pressed against Neil’s throat and Neil’s hands came up instinctively to grab his arm. He stopped before making contact.

“I was born into a debt that the Moriyama’s own. I was one of their hit men. A. Minyard. Fox associate. And a picture. That was my last assignment and I could finally… I could…”

Words were getting harder. He had begun ingesting the poison before Andrew and hadn’t gotten any of it out of his system.

“You’re the only one I never…”

“Never what? Never shot like a coward? Never succeeded in killing?”

“Never wanted to.” His hands came down onto Andrew’s forearm even though he didn’t have permission. His vision was swimming around the edges and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the drug or the pressure on his trachea. “I didn’t want to kill you. H-hospital. You still need the hospital. You have time.”

“Why should I believe a single thing you say?”

“I’ve never lied to you.” It was so important for him to say that somehow the words came out with conviction. “Never lied. Andrew, you’re amazing and I love you but you need to leave right now.”

His knees gave out and for the briefest moment all of his weight was being held by the hand on his throat. Andrew lowered them both to the ground.

“What did- You idiot.” Ah, yes. He must have caught on. “You did all this to live only to fucking kill yourself? Neil. Neil… Neil!”

Neil had never panicked on a job, but he’d also never woken up in a hospital bed before. He was aware of the spike in noise before he was aware of his surroundings.

“The worst assassin in history.”

Neil groaned but didn’t yet open his eyes. His memory was just solid enough to know what he’d taken and experience told him he wasn’t ready to face the spinning world.

“Can’t say he was wrong, technically,” the same voice said.

“What kind of assassin not only chooses the wrong target but falls in love with their dumb ass?”

“This dumb ass has the same level of education as your dumb ass.”

“My dumb ass has a doctorate of medicine, not in books.”

“Literature.”

“Still dumb.”

“Sssh,” Neil breathed out, testing the waters of control and strength. He had very little of either.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the dumbest of asses.”

“Give him another hour and he might even be able to respond.”

“Now who would want that.”

The second time Neil woke up in a hospital, it was enough for him to look around and realize this was not a hospital but rather a medically furnished bedroom.

“I hate you.”

He turned his head to see Andrew slouching back in an overstuffed, wingback chair. The look on his ever-passive face was angry and Neil would take angry over dead any day.

“You made it,” he slurred. His mouth felt like cotton. “You made it,” he said again because it was right and good. “You made it.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m fine. Got a tolerance”

“Is that something they teach you in the bright sunny world of the Nest?”

Neil made a finger gun at Andrew (why?) and slowly, slowly tilted himself onto his side to see him better. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew there were things he needed to worry about, but for now he just wanted to look.

“I’m happy you’re alive.”

“I don’t care.” And he sounded like he didn’t, but that was how he always sounded. Still Andrew. Still him. Still alive. For a long, quiet while they stared at each other.

“I have to go before the Moriyama’s come looking to do clean up. This won’t be tolerated.”

“No. It won’t be. But not by the Moriyama’s.”

Andrew stood in a motion that made him look much older than he was, tired. As he came to stand over the bed, Neil couldn’t help but stare because not killing Andrew Minyard was the only right thing he had ever done.

“The Foxes completed their take down of the Moriyama’s. It’s been all over the news, which you would have seen if you hadn’t poisoned yourself.”

The… the what? Something must have shown on Neil’s face because Andrew pressed him down into the bed a split second before he’d tried to sit up. As consciousness cleared his fog, his brain began catching up enough to understand that he wasn’t understanding. The synapses were there but they weren’t connecting.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered. Andrew’s mask twitched.

“Of course you don’t, you’ve been too deep cover to keep up with what was right under your nose. The Foxes won, there are no more Ravens, and you, Nathaniel, are a free man.”

The sound of that name, his name, sent a flinch so hard through his body that it made something cramp in his stomach. Andrew watched, bored, as he curled in on himself. If he knew that name, if his cover was blown so spectacularly, then there must be an ounce of truth to it.

“I’m just… Neil. I just want to be Neil.”

“Well, Neil.” Andrew slid his hand into Neil’s hair and squeezed, not hard but enough to tilt his head back. “If you ever do something that stupid again I will kill you myself.” Something in his eyes, however passive he tried to pull off, told Neil that Andrew was not referring to his own attempted murder.

“Were you… worried about me?” That couldn’t be right.

“I don’t know, Neil.” He kept saying his name like that and Neil didn’t know what to feel about it. “My whatever of a good stretch of time nearly killed himself. How should I be feeling?”

“I nearly killed you. I only poisoned myself a little.”

“Why?”

Why? The easy answer was forensics. Two glasses. Two drinkers. One lucky to survive the ordeal. But that wasn’t all of it. As Neil stared up up at Andrew, here at the other side of it all, he could admit to himself that he was glad for the punishment.

“Because… because I was going to kill you to save my own life and I had never hated myself for anything more than that.”

“I hate you,” Andrew spat.

“As long as you’re alive to hate me it’s fine.”

“Shut up.”

“Tell me more about the take down.”

“No.”

“Is your brother a Fox? Do I have to be killed for knowing that?”

“You have to be killed because you won’t shut your mouth.”

A good stretch of time. That’s how long Neil had been worming his way to be Andrew’s whatever. And in all that time he’d never felt safer. He lifted a shaky hand and waited. It took nearly a minute before Andrew released his hair and took the hand up in his own.

He didn’t apologize for trying to kill him. He didn’t apologize for coming into his life under false pretenses. If Andrew was there now, he trusted Neil enough to understand. They could talk about it later.

“Go back to sleep,” Andrew ordered quietly.

“So I’ll shut up?” Neil whispered back. His eyes were already drifting closed.

“Sure.”

[mythiccheroacademia]

— what you fight about (pt.2)

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙

𝕙𝕠𝕥 𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤: 𝕚’𝕞 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪.  𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕪'𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤. 𝕒𝕝𝕤𝕠 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕨𝕠 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕡𝕖𝕕 𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜 <𝟛 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 𝕥𝕠𝕩𝕚𝕔 𝕓𝕖𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕣𝕤/𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡𝕤, 𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕥 ℙ𝕋𝕊𝔻, 𝕒𝕟𝕩𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕪, 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕪 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕗𝕗 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪’𝕣𝕖 𝕦𝕡𝕤𝕖𝕥 :/

Tamaki Amajiki:

you love everything about tamaki

all his faults and his strengths

but sometimes…it feels like you’re the only one keeping it together

and to always be the strong one is hard

It had been a difficult two weeks since your last mission.

Perhaps you were naïve to believe you wouldn’t experience a death any time soon. However, you had been bright and hopeful. The hero you worked as a sidekick for rarely got involved in super-high level threats. You dealt with misdemeanors and a few moderate-sized threats.

Maybe you were being stupid. Nevertheless, the tragedy hit you hard. Both physically and mentally.

You were out until you could safely use your quirk again. In the meantime, your fiancé had done all he could to take care of you. But he was worried.

Tamaki couldn’t help but panic. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you better. Honestly, he wanted you back to normal. He just didn’t know how to do it. You were always the strength of the relationship.

He felt so pathetic over his inability to help, spending hours on the phone with Mirio and Neijre crying over the issue. Afterwards, he’d crawl into bed, cheeks wet with tears, and despite your sadness, you’d wrap your arms around him.

You’d comfort him like you always do and it’d make him feel even worse.

You knew he was trying his best and appreciated that. Though, there was a point to which it all got to be too much for you to handle.

Mirio and Neijre came over to help put up some Christmas decorations. You wanted to cancel. Today hadn’t been a good day. However, Amajiki began to worry over your mood again and so you held your thoughts to avoid his tears.

But it seemed like your tears were the ones you should’ve been worried about.

You sat down on a chair and held your head. The world was spinning, and your ears were ringing. Your eyes burned so badly you felt they’d melt out of your head.

“Bunny!?”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. “I just need a minute.”

“What can I do?” Tamaki rushed to kneel beside you, fear shining in his glossy eyes.

You shook you head balling your fist near your lips to keep in a cry. “I’m fine, baby,” you sniffed, but that was a lie.

Your head was swimming, buzzing, and filled with nothing but noise. No matter how hard you tried to make it go away, you just couldn’t. You couldn’t deal with that or—

“I-I’ll take care of you. Just p-please tell me what to do!” he begged. You could feel his anxiety seeping into your body and it nearly sent you over the edge.

“Tama, please.”

“I can—I can do something. Anything. Anything you want. An-and—"

All you could think about was how you failed the mission, the girl, her parents, your team, your friends, the public, and—

“Amajiki.”

“B-bunny, I know I haven’t been a good fiancé l-lately, but I-I promise I’ll—"

“AMAJIKI!”

Tamaki jumped, eyes wide and body frozen as he took in the near panic in your eyes.

“I CAN’T—” your voice was shrill before you hiccupped, choking back a sob. You squeezed the air by your head, hoping to ground yourself to something that wasn’t there.

“I just can’t deal with you right now, okay? I-I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Your breaths left in puffs as you silently watched his mind work to process your words, and when it did, you saw his heart visibly break.

He grabbed his hand to cradle it into his chest like it was wounded. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper, not even a decibel above faint.

“N-no, it’s…I—I’ll give you some space.”

He tried to offer a brave smile, but it wobbled too much to do anything. The tears that ran down his cheeks seemed to suffocate him, and Tamaki couldn’t bite back his cry in time before he quickly left the room. Mirio worriedly gazed at you before running after his friend.

Your eyes remained transfixed on the space where your fiancé once stood. It wasn’t until moments later, when you felt Neijre’s comforting hands around your torso, that you doubled over and wept.

Togata Mirio:

he’s optimistic

too optimistic sometimes

you love the light he brings into your life

but it’s at the cost of him dismissing your feelings and worries

You checked the backseat when the car stopped at the red light to ensure your sleeping son was still there.  

“Two minutes and 20 seconds. That’s a new record babe,” Mirio chuckled.

“Very funny.” You threw an unimpressed glare at your husband before turning back into your seat. “But can you blame me? After the heart attack I had this morning, I wanna chain him to my chest and never let go.”

The blonde hero hummed thoughtfully. “That’s only slightly psychotic.”

“Mirio.”

“I’m kidding!”

You huffed and looked away. You were a bit annoyed over the nonchalance your husband seemed to have over what occurred today.

Your son had presented with a quirk and, to your horror, it was similar to Mirio’s—if not even more dangerous. When you came back to find your baby fading away before sinking into the ground, you screamed like murder.

Mirio had never phased into a room so quickly in his life.

After getting both you and your kid (mostly you) to calm down, you went straight to the hospital to make sure everything was still intact. They gave you some quirk inhibiting medication for your kid, a quick pep talk, and you were on your way back home.

The hectic morning made your son knock out as soon as he hit the car seat. You wanted to follow suit but were too paranoid to do so. In fact, you wanted to hold him—just in case. But Mirio insisted the medication would hold him until you got home. Then he cracked a joke about your kid turning into tumble weed and laughed like it was the funniest thing he ever said.

And he kept making jokes. Like this was funny.

Forget annoyed. It was pissing you off.

Mirio peeked a quick glance over your stiff figure. A small grin graced his lips, and he placed a comforting hand on your thigh.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I know you’re scared. I’ll chill with the jokes. Just promise not to blow a gasket on me, will ya?” he smiled.

You averted your eyes away from the moving tress to look at him well. “You could take this a little more seriously, you know?” you said.

“I assure you, I am 100% serious.”

He couldn’t even say that with a straight face. You rolled your eyes, groaning into your head tilt.

“Ooou you get on my nerves—”

“Sunshine, it’ll be fineee,” he happily assured. “It’ll just take some practice before [S/N] gets control of it.”

“[S/N] literally turns invisible before he permeates through surfaces. That’s so scary. I can’t do anything for him unless you're there and even then, that might not always work out. We need to figure something out.”

“His quirk is really not too far from mine. And you remember all the funny things that happened when I was a kid.”

You incredulously looked at him. “Yeah, all the funny near death experiences!”

“And I turned out fine!” Mirio laughed.

You wanted to rip your hair out. There was literally no getting through to him.

“Forget it. I don’t even know why I bother.” You scooted away from his hand, crossing your arms in frustration. “It’s not like you take my feelings seriously anyways.”

That last part was meant for your own ears, however Mirio heard them loud and clear. He turned into the neighborhood, brows subtly scrunching together.

“Now that’s not true. I care about that a lot actually.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Well that was not the answer he expected.

There were a couple minutes of uncomfortable silence before the car reached your garage and was turned off. You two looked forwards for a moment before someone spoke.

“I feel like we should talk about this,” Mirio slowly said, turning to watch for your reaction.

You gave him a glare that caused him to goofily purse his lips. You then got out of the car and went to go unstrap your son so you could hold him until the events of the morning faded from your mind.

As a last resort to make you smile, Mirio permeated his torso through his seat to give you the cheesiest grin.

“I love you, honey bunny~” he sung.

To which he earned a car door slammed in his face.

Dabi:

he’s selfish

you know it and he does too

yet you still stay around because you love him

but it seems like he couldn’t care less about whether or not you do

You impassively sat on the couch of your small apartment. Your hands were folded across your chest, teeth chattering against the raw skin underneath your nail bed. For a minute straight, your knee bounced in place before you stood up and took to pacing in order to release the energy bubbling in your chest.

It felt like hours before your apartment door opened.

Dabi threw his keys onto the closest surface and shrugged off his heavy jacket. You didn’t realize you’d moved before you took the jacket to hang on the wall.

“It’s cold as shit out there,” he shivered.

“Yeah, there’s supposed to be a blizzard sometime soon,” you replied, yet it sounded distant. However, Dabi didn’t seem to notice.

“Can’t wait,” he huffed. A mischievous glint grew in his eyes as he pulled you into his chest by your waist. Usually that would’ve made your thighs tense with anticipation. But all you could do was stand there like dead weight—and again, he didn’t notice. Did he ever? “But I guess it won’t be too bad if I have you to keep me warm, hm?” he smirked.

You stood stiff as he kissed your lips and tears burned your eyes as he moved to your neck, hands affectionately squeezing your hips. The bubbles in your chest rumbled and popped like angry bees when you realized he hadn’t noticed. He never noticed it. He never noticed anything about you. Just like he hadn’t noticed—

“Dabi, what day is it?”

His lips continued to pepper your skin with licks and nips, mindlessly working to find your sweet spot again. “Mmm…Thursday, sweetheart.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” Dabi looked up and met your stone cold face that looked angrier by the second. He quirked a brow. “What’s up with you?”

“It’s our one year anniversary, you asshole.”

You pushed him away, stomping towards your room. However, Dabi grabbed your arm, pulling you back into the conversation. But instead of hearing an apology, you received an inattentive eyeroll.

“Don’t be like that, doll-face. It’s really not that deep.”

“Excuse me?” you spat. “You said the same thing ever since our 6 month and I let it go, but now you wanna act like this isn’t a big deal? You know how much this means to me.”

“And you know that’s not my style. I don’t care about shit like that.”

“Well I do.” You moved out of his grasp and put distance between yourselves to help you think.

Dabi ran a hand through his hair, stress in his movements. “Are we really gonna do this right now, Y/N?”

“Yes! Because you don’t get it!”

Fed up with the argument already, Dabi threw his hands in the air, letting his frustration carry the words through his lips. It had been an awful day, his staples were aching from the weather, and this was making everything worse.  

“I already missed the damn thing, what do you want me to do!? You want me to say I’ll make up for it?”

“I want you to care, Dabi!” you desperately exclaimed. “I want you to care about me, about this relationship. Damn it, I want you to care about anything else besides what’s in my pants for once in your life—”

“Well that’s all I wanted until you started asking for more shit and I gave you that. What more do you want from me?” he sneered.

There was a silent pause between you two. You blankly stared at the man you’d come to love despite the hell he put you through. When you observed the honest irritation in his eyes, everything became clear. It was in that moment you realized it wasn’t that he never noticed. It was that he didn’t care. He never did.

That’s when you felt the deep ache of heartbreak nestle between your lungs.

“What more do I want from you,” you repeated, tasting the words. You numbly laughed and nodded your head, silently accepting his truth.

There were no tears, just bitter emptiness.

“Well, uh…you don’t have to worry about that anymore. You won’t be roped into another anniversary with me again.”

It was a moment too late when your soft whisper broke through the angry storm that clouded Dabi’s head. His face sunk with the exhaustion of a man well beyond his years.  

“Y/N, baby, can we just talk about this—"

“Leave the spare key on your way out.”

And before he could utter another word, you shut your bedroom door like it was never to be opened again.

[redwinterroses]

Had an idea for a fic I’m never going to write. So Empires SMP has a bad ending for the rulers, and Gem and Pearl decide to move on without their memories and end up in Hermitcraft. They’re at peace but weighed down by something they don’t know. And then Gem sees Fwip. Maximum angst potential of either her remembering everything right then or remembering nothing and Fwip trying to convince her they know each other. “Do I know you?”’s are always heartbreaking

You did this to me. XD

Disclaimers: I don't know how to write fWhip yet, so he's prolly at least a little OCC. Also, we're gonna pretend that timelines are ours to do as we please with, and say that Empires has ended several months prior to MCC17. Just. Because. Wibbly-wobbly.

Anyway here, have some Whizbang sibs content. :D

____________________

Sometimes it was little things. Sometimes the little things didn’t feel so… little.

Like when Gem held the Tegg in her hands, the void-dark shell rough and cold under her fingers, and was unsettled by how… lifeless it felt. It would hatch if put in the right circumstances, she knew, the egg wasn’t dead. But something in her heart quickened with undefined panic at the idea that it might not hatch, and something else… mourned? That she couldn’t feel the life inside?

She shook her head and set the egg down with hands that only trembled a little.

She knew why these phantom feelings were chasing her heart, she just didn’t know what lay underneath that foggy surface of hidden memories.

And she didn’t want to.

They’d agreed.

So she hid the Tegg, and she laughed when it was found, and the idea that there ought to be anything more to a dragon’s egg slowly faded into the back of her mind, gathering dust on the shelves of other forgotten things.

Sometimes it was the big things. Things that shouldn’t have seemed so inconsequential.

Like when she fell while mining and died with her items scattered across the bottom of a ravine, and she woke with a gasp in her own bed.

And when it happened again, on a day when she missed seeing a creeper until too late. And again, falling from the top of her build. And death just… didn’t matter much. Or enough. Or at all. It felt like it should matter, somehow — she knew it didn’t, she knew respawn was waiting, she knew there were no real consequences in this world for death.

And yet on some level each respawn felt like a failure. Her bones ached with the sense that she’d missed something, some detail that would have saved them all—

But they didn’t need saving. The hermits were fine. It was fine. This wasn’t a defeat, or a loss, or a reason for an ally to potentially lose something as well, or for an enemy to claim victory over you. There were no enemies here. No allies, either, really. They were all friends.

It was fine.

And with each respawn, it hurt a little less, and felt a little bit more like freedom.

~*~

The MCC lobby was brilliantly-colored and smelled of junk food, hot concrete, and salty wind from the sea that swirled somewhere miles below them. fWhip took in a deep breath and his face split into a grin — a grin that had been a little… lacking, recently. He’d done a lot to distance himself from the darkness they’d fled, but…

Well. A day playing insane games with friends and strangers alike would be just the thing. A much-needed break.

He paced back and forth just inside the main gates, watching the other competitors bounce around and shout back and forth — insults, greetings, questions, challenges — it was a cacophony of noise and color, and its sandpaper-rough edges of chaos smoothed away another layer of the angry burrs in his mind.

He caught a glimpse of something bright green through the crowd, and stood on tiptoe to see — yes! Another one of his teammates, finally heading over to their agreed meeting point. He lost them in the crowd for a moment, but then saw the ginger hair (so much like his own) and a smiling face beneath small, dainty antlers.

Gem.

He didn’t expect the dagger of pain that went through him at the sight of her face, nor that the way her eyes lit up when she spotted him would sooth away some of that same pain.

“Gem!” he shouted. “Hey — over here!”

She waved, and dodged a gaggle of cyan- and red-clad players shoving each other goodnaturedly across the courtyard.

“Hey, fWhip!” she called as she neared him. She looked… happy, he thought. He didn’t see the shadows under her eyes that he’d expected, and she was freckled and tanned instead of the pale, cloaked figure he remembered.

“Hermitcraft’s been good to you,” he said, grabbing her in a one-armed shoulder hug.

To his surprise, she tensed a little — as if surprised — before returning the hug.

“Yeah, yeah,” she agreed. “The hermits are great.” Then, stepping back, she tilted her head at him. “So — long time, no see. What’ve you been up to?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the bright-red concrete wall. “Oh. You know. Lots of building, some exploring… been thinkin’ about checking out one of those new snapshots people are talking about.” He examined her. “You, ah… heard from any of the others lately?”

Something like a shadow chased across her face, but Gem gave him a slightly confused smile. “The others?”

“Scott, or Sausage, or Katherine…” There was no comprehension in her expression, and fWhip’s heart constricted. “I mean, you haven’t even messaged me in months.”

“I… I didn’t realize I should have…?” Gem crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing at her upper arm as if she’d gotten a chill. “I mean, we haven’t chatted much since XLife — I was glad to see a familiar face for my first MCC, but it’s not like we’re… ya know. Besties or anything — no offense, of course.”

If she’d tossed him off the edge of the lobby island into the void, it might have shocked him less.

“Gem, I—” he shook his head. “You were my… I was your brother? I know that’s not the same as ‘besties’ but… that kinda hurts, I won’t lie.”

Now she did go pale. And still.

“I…” she stopped, her voice dying away amidst the chaos. “fWhip, I don’t… know what you’re talking about.”

fWhip froze. “You what?” He stepped forward and gripped her by the shoulders. “Gem, are you okay? Did they — did the hermits do something to you?”

“What? No — don’t be ridiculous.” She tugged out of his grasp but didn’t move away. “The hermits are amazing and would never do anything to hurt me. Not like—” Gem’s eyes snapped up to lock on his, and she frowned, distressed. “fWhip… what’s going on?”

She’d forgotten. He didn’t know how — repressing the trauma? Magic? Knowing Gem, it was probably the latter… because of the former.

“We — Empires,” he said, fumbling for words. “You and I were allies. Siblings, even. And there was a demon, and the dragon egg—”

Gem grabbed his arm. “The egg!” she exclaimed. “I knew there was something—”

He could see the moment she remembered. And then the moment she chose not to.

“There’s something sad there,” she said, her voice nearly lost in the noise of the crowd. Her gaze flicked back and forth between his eyes, pleading. “Something… lost. And I don’t want to be lost, fWhip.”

He started to argue with her, and then paused.

What good did remembering do any of them? What good had it done him? What was the point of the sleepless nights, wondering what he could have done differently? The nightmares where he relived every mistake and had to watch their failures and defeat over and over again? The fact that he still shied away from shadows, and that the MCC world was the safest he’d felt in months?

“No,” he said slowly, even though it felt like he was letting a piece of himself slip away. He’d missed having a sister. But what were brothers for, if not for things like this? “No, you don’t need to be lost, Gem. If you ever want to come back, I’ll be here but… it’s okay if it’s not today. Or—” he swallowed, but pushed the words out anyway. “Or ever.”

A glint of something that could have been gratitude or could have been a tear glittered in her gaze for just a moment — and then there were other voices, and the boisterous greeting of Jimmy and Quig, and they stepped apart, each plastering a grin on their faces to welcome their teammates.

fWhip couldn’t help but glance at Gem as she greeted Jimmy, but there was no recognition of the Codfather on her face, and Jimmy, he knew, was content to let the past lie. It didn’t take away the sting of loss — or the slight bitterness that tanged in the back of his throat, that Gem could forget and move on, and he… he couldn’t. Not yet.

But she seemed happy. Wasn’t that enough?

It could be. For now. For today.

A voice over the PA system urged them to head into the starting area, and fWhip followed his team up the path, merging with the other players. He almost didn’t notice Gem slipping her hand into his, until she squeezed it gently.

He looked down at her, and she offered him a smile.

“We’ll talk later, maybe?” she said.

It was a start.

“Sure,” he said. “But first, we gotta win this thing. Grab you a win for your first MCC, right?”

Gem laughed. “Sure, wFhip,” she said. “Sure.”

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

I dont know if i sent a request in befor ebut im sending in a sad one for me personally. Okay so the turtles have known reader for awhile, shes usually optimistic, chill person but one day something like so miniscule happens at the lair. Like mike slammed a door too loud or Leonardos simple change in tone and she ends up in like a bad episode, like pleads and shakes and crys cause of ptsd and cant be touched by certain people. Maybe case or vern? Cause men. Human men are awful in her eyes

I’m so sorry this has taken me so long to get to, I really hope you’re feeling better now or at least managing xox

Leo

So Leo is reading, kind of to you, kind of to himself

just reading out loud basically 

he turns the page an suddenly “FUCK” 

he practically yells it, it’s very loud and sudden and caught you off guard

it was only a paper cut

you can’t help it, tears spring to your eyes

no one notices at first because they’re concerned with his exclamation 

but as your heaving breaths get louder and as you start to shake and sob they notice

Casey comes over and puts an arm around you to try and comfort you

you flinch and start crying harder, almost yelling “NO!” at him

Leo comes over and hesitantly kneels by you

he asks the others to leave you both for a moment and they all comply

“hey” he says in his softest voice “What’s up? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

all you can get out is “I’m sorry” over and over again

“Is this ok?” he puts a hand on your back and tenderly rubs it with his thumb

you don’t seem to hate it so he leaves his hand there

“look” he begins “I don’t know what’s happening, but you don’t need to be sorry for anything. And whatever you’re going through, we’ll get through it together, like we always do”

you take your face out of your hands, eyes red and face flushed from crying so hard

he smiles meekly at you, trying to look like he knows what he’s doing

“is there anything I can do for you?”

“just stay”

so he sits on the floor with you and waits for this episode to be over

occasionally reminding you how brave you are and how much he loves you

for the rest of the day he makes sure to be extra attentive and loving towards you, making sure to see to your every need and check you’re ok

Raph

you’re sat at the kitchen table while he cooks the whole gang some breakfast

everyone is just chatting and having a laugh

he flips over one of the pancakes and then punches a cupboard with a “it’s fucking burnt!”

it was so out of nowhere, as his moods often can be, that you don’t see your reaction coming

you nearly scream in emotional distress

but cover your mouth in time and a mewling cry is all that comes out

crying and shaking

Vern comes up to you and tries to give you a hug which you desperately try to squirm out of, clearly hating the contact

next thing you know Raph pull shim off and shoves him across the room

“Don’t touch ‘em!”

he gets down to your face level

“angel, what’s happening? Tell me what I can do, please”

he’s pleading

you can’t say anything, all you can do is just cry and shake

he puts a sheepish hand on your knee to try and gage your reaction, when you seem fine with it he keeps it there

“Baby, I’m sorry if I upset you” he says in that low, gentle tone he uses just for you “hey, come on”

he takes your hand and guides you out of the room to somewhere more quiet and peaceful

“how ‘bout we just stay here till you feel better?”

you nod

he starts mindlessly talking to fill the silence, he can’t stand hearing you cry

“....And I’ll be less angry, I won;t yell like that around you ever and I’’’ be calm. I’ll get fucking zen training from Leo if I have to and I’ll...” he just goes on and on about how he’s going to be better for you

once the episode seems to be coming to an end you guys talk about what happened and he understands why you reacted how you did

he has a private word with Vern about how if he ever touches you again when you’re like that, he’ll brake his legs

Mikey

Mikey and you are in his room just hanging out

he’s trying on different clothes to get your opinion on them

but he shuts the wardrobe door way too loudly, slams it even

you don;t know what comes over you but the sudden loud noise just wrecks you

you start to cry and shake and can’t contain yourself

“no, no, no, no!” he starts

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- was it the noise? I’m so sorry”

he knows you don’t always like being touched when you get like this so he’s hesitant to hold you even though he wants to

he sits on the bed next to you and asks if he can put his arm around you

you nod so he gingerly places one arm around you and squeezes your shoulder

“we’re gonna get through this” he whispers

“you’re so strong and kind and I love you so much. Please just be ok”

you know he means it sincerely 

you sit like that for a while, it’s weird not hearing Mikey talk even though you can tell his mind is going a mile a minute

he hums though, all your fave songs and lullabies he hums and rocks you slightly while you cry

when the episode is over he asks what he can do better next time so you tell him what helps you

he order in food and you guys just stay in his room, he gets you plenty of blankets and pillows and just soft things to surround yourself with

the next day you find Donnie installing something in his closet doors

you ask what he’s doing and he says “oh yeah, Mikey said they make a really loud noise when they shut so I’m just putting something on so they won’t slam closed”

you smile at that, he’s always looking out for you

Donnie

you’re in the lab like always and Donnie is getting frustrated

he’s tried this sequence so many times before and it’s not working

finally, in a rage, he slams down a beaker and it shatters on the desk

you can’t take it, the energy in the room, the loud noise, the glass everywhere

he realises what he’s done the second you cover your face and start to cry

“I’m so, so sorry!” he whispers

“Oh god, I’m so sorry I wasn’t thinking!”

he sounds urgent but he’s almost inaudible 

“can- Can I touch you? Is that ok?”

you nod and he scoops you up in his arms

cradling you and whispering “it’s ok” over and over again as well as “I’m sorry”

your head is in the crook of his neck and he’s rubbing your back and stroking your hair

Casey passes by the room and see’s what’s happening, he walks over like he’s about to hug you but Donnie puts a stop the that right away and tells him to leave

“hey, honey, I’m so sorry. You didn’t cause that, it was just me being stupid. I’m so sorry, I’ll never do that again”

he gets down to eye level with you and smiles gingerly 

“we’re gonna get through this, ok?”

you nod again

once you’ve started to come out of the episode he apologises again and asks what he can do to protect your mental health better in future

the next day he buys you flowers as an “I’m sorry” gesture

he feels terrible to have brought that on in you and it shows

he shows you how if you hang flowers upside down they last forever so you do that

he calls it a gesture of his undying love for you

[f1nalboys]

Hi, I have been reading your blogs and love it! It's so nice to find someone who loves slashers too haha. If it's not a bother, I'd like to make a request. With The Lost Boys where the reader ends up stopping in the TLB movie universe. She gets confused at first but quickly recognizes everything, especially the boys. That being the case, she tries to help them by warning about the frog brothers. How would they react? Sorry if it got confusing lol.

hi there!! so sorry for the long wait but i really enjoyed writing this request!! I hope you enjoy it :)

WARNINGS: none

WORD COUNT: Approx. 1460

You had never been more confused before in your life. One minute you were in bed, half asleep, scrolling for a video to watch on your phone and the next you’re laying on the beach. You were sitting in the sand now, looking around trying to figure out 1. Where the hell you were and 2. Why the hell you were here.

There was a boardwalk just behind you and it was absolutely bustling with people. Most were dressed… differently than you were used to, but that’s not what made you freak out. It was turning to your left and seeing the Santa Carla welcome sign. Santa Carla. There’s no way you were here, right? It had to be a dream.

The sound of yelling caught your attention and you nearly shit yourself at the sight in front of you: four men in familiar clothing arguing with a beefy motorcycle man. One had platinum blonde hair, bordering on white, and he was smoking a cigarette with a smug look on his sharp features. Directly to his right was a taller, long-haired man with no shirt but a leather jacket on.

Holy shit. You blink your eyes hard, pinching yourself hard on the arm until the skin began to throb. You weren’t waking up. This wasn’t a dream, or, at least, wasn’t one you were waking up from. You stand, extremely aware of how differently you were dressed compared to the people around you, and you make your way towards the men. They had finished arguing with the man and were now standing around talking to one another.

“Hey!” You call, instantly slapping yourself in your mind. ‘Hey?’ Why would you try and get their attention anyways? The four turn towards you and you watch as David, because the closer you get the more you realize this was real, cocks an eyebrow at you. Paul and Marko were whispering to each other, large grins plastered onto their faces, while Dwayne watched you walk towards them silently.

“Do we know you?” David asks, his voice having an edge to it. You gulp, your heartbeat picking up speed and David grins at you. He could hear it. He takes a step towards you, closing the gap, and the others follow suit. They walk circles around you like a lion waiting to pounce on the injured gazelle. “I don’t think we do. I’m D-”

“David, I know. You’re Marko, Paul, and Dwayne.” You say, your voice much more confident than you actually were. David's grin drops instantly, his eyebrows scrunching together. He takes another drag from his cigarette, dropping it and stamping it out with his foot as he glances you up and down.

“How the hell do you know that?” Marko asks though it seems he’s more curious than angry. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to figure out the best way to tell them that wouldn’t make you sound crazy, but nothing came up.

David’s hand outstretches and grabs ahold of your chin, gripping it tightly and forcing you to look at him. His eyes darken. “He asked you a question.”

“It’s a long story and it won’t make sense to you, honestly. I’ll tell you if you let me go.” You bargain and thankfully David obliges. He drops his hand to his side and raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to talk. You take a look at the other three men who were all waiting with various levels of annoyance and intrigue. You sigh.

Almost three hours of talking and answering questions later, you were finally finished telling them what you knew. You were now at a random restaurant, sitting on one of the outdoor tables, picking at fries. They had oh so graciously bought them for you halfway through your story which seemed to be draining their energy.

“So, let me see if I’m understanding you correctly. You’re telling us that you’re not from here and are instead from a place where we are… in a movie? And that it talks about us being… ya’ know?” You nod. David was on his fifth cigarette now and looked genuinely confused. “None of this makes sense.”

“Yeah, but I’m just telling you what I know,” You say, popping a fry into your mouth. Marko was absolutely riveted by your story and he had continued to interject, asking questions or correcting small details of what you said. Paul looked confused but you came to learn that was just his resting face.

“So… what now?” Dwayne asks, leaning over and grabbing a fry from your tray. He had been quiet this entire time, only speaking to tell Marko and Paul to shut up so he could hear you. You shrug. It’s not an everyday thing for you to get transported into one of your favorite movies and have to talk to the four people you had a crush on since the first time you ever watched the film.

“Maybe you got put here to tell us something… maybe warn us? This is awesome! It’s like that ‘Back to the Future’ movie or something,” Paul says and Marko nods excitedly. Dwayne seems to consider this and shrugs. David is the only one who doesn’t seem fully convinced.

“Who’s the head vampire?”

“Max.”

“... You’re right,” David says, displeased. He takes a swig of his now-warm beer and grimaces slightly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He kept staring at you, trying to figure you out and it was really starting to get to you. Sure you had always day-dreamt about staring into those icy-blue and green eyes but it was a completely different story now that he was doing so in a not-so-friendly way.

Marko throws an arm over David's shoulder and shakes him a bit, trying to get him to smile. “Come on, Dave! This is cool!” He turns to you once again and leans in close. You catch a whiff of his scent which was practically intoxicating; sea salt, hair gel, and nail polish. “So, how does the movie end?”

“Uhh… not that great, at least for you guys.” You say, grimacing at their expressions. You did not think this through. “You guys and Max kinda get killed…”

“Killed? By who?” Dwayne asks, his eyes narrowing slightly. Even though he didn’t believe you fully, you knew far too much about them for him to completely blow you off.

“Michael. Well, Michael, his brother, the frog brothers, and Star.” Their faces contort at the names and you realize that you may have gotten here before any of them had met the others. “You don’t know who I’m talking about, do you?”

“Star, yeah, but we just met her yesterday. Haven’t gotten her back to our place. Who the hell are the frog brothers?” Paul asks and, right on time, two boys sprint past your table, comics in hand, cursing at whoever they were running after. One was in a camo shirt and a red bandana tied around his forehead while the other wore a grey sleeveless shirt.

“That’s the frog brothers.” The four men pause before erupting into laughter. Those two losers had a part in their deaths? Yeah, right. “Seriously; they know about vampires and they’re the reason you four get caught. Just… try and steer clear of those people, alright? And if you haven’t turned Laddie yet, don’t.”

You scrunch your eyes in pain as your head begins to throb. You can hear the four men in front of you talking but you can’t make any of it out. A buzzing sound fills your head and your hands find a place over your ears, trying to stop the pain that has erupted in your brain. Right as you think your head is about to explode the noise stops.

Your eyes opened and you’re no longer on the boardwalk. You were in bed, a random video playing on your phone. It was considerably darker outside now and if you really concentrated you could almost smell the cigarette smoke that had been wafting around you for the last few hours. Smiling, you turn your phone off and curl into bed. That was the most realistic dream you’ve had yet.

Back in Santa Carla, the boys were still seated at the boardwalk, gaping at your now empty chair. One second you were there and the next you were gone. David hadn’t taken his eyes off of you and yet you had vanished.

“Huh. I think we should go talk to Max,” Marko says, standing up. Paul and Dwayne nod, standing as well, but David stays sitting. His eyes were still on your chair. Dwayne places a hand on his friend's shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

[votederpycausemufins]

Welp, made another thing for @petrichormeraki ‘s Hermit!tommy au. be warned that this is only a part 1 cause i haven’t finished the whole thing and i need to get my computer looked at so i won’t be able to finish it yet but here’s some of it at least

Disclaimers here are that I only know the general idea of Xisuma’s base and that there’s a honey farm somewhere, but I took liberties with how it is for the story. Also, headcanon that I made specifically just because I want it to happen, canon deaths that don’t end up with a ghost make the person lose a piece of their soul until it can’t support them fully anymore. Then that piece ends up somewhere else. Maybe that’s why the compasses work. But more I just want something like what happens in this fic. For the hurt/comfort.

When Tommy first joined the Hermits accidentally, he hated being around Xisuma. Not only was he the admin of the server, the one who held the most power, but for whatever reason, this guy decided to look like a bee. It was worse when Tommy learned he almost changed up to look like a Strider, but then just went back to a bee. At the very least it wasn’t easy to run into the guy.

It was more the problem of his base. The coolest places and the ones Tommy most liked to visit were the ones in the jungle, especially since the old base he was living in was built there. With no elytra, at least not one he used for more than gliding, Tommy got lost when in the more natural parts of the biomes. And when that happened, he tended to accidentally find Xisuma’s base.

So much of it was bee themed that Tommy disliked it. It reminded him too much of what he left behind, but couldn’t get back. Having the compass was as much as Tommy was willing to have to remind him.

But one day Tommy got killed when he wasn’t being careful. He wasn’t too worried about it, especially after a message in his new communicator had a message from a hermit who picked up his stuff and put it in a chest. They didn’t really have the inventory space to bring it to him and we’re busy enough they couldn’t stay, but it was fine. A chest was the standard.

But right now, the problem was getting to the chest. Not only was it somewhere in the jungle, but it was also most of his gear. Tommy didn’t really have many good backups, never wanting something that someone could take, even though he knows the hermits would never do that. Probably. He’s still wary just to be safe. The most he has in storage is some gold armor for when he goes into the nether.

Tommy donned a mixture of gold and worn iron armor and a mostly used sword to get his stuff. He’s sure he knows the way to his gear until he doesn’t. With the monsters tougher than at his old home, Tommy is worried about dying again as the sun starts to set. He rushed through the jungle a bit faster until he ran into it. Xisuma’s base. Tommy was going to pass it by when monsters started to spawn, with him getting really unlucky and one zombie spawning with full enchanted armor.

Not wanting to die, Tommy scrambled his way into Xisuma’s base. He sighed once he was in a safe place, though upset that he would have to spend the night in such a place.

With nothing much better to do other than sitting, which Tommy hated doing, he started to walk around and explore Xisuma’s base. Close up, it was actually okay. The bee theme designs weren’t as prominent, and all the towers and buildings had farms inside them which were fun to watch. The one problem was the honey farm. This one definitely had a lot to do with bees. Tommy was going to just run by it when a bee popped out.

Tommy actually paused at that. Then smiled. Bees only game out during the day, which meant he could leave. He smiled and ran out of there and went outside to see… it was still night?

Now confused, Tommy went back to the bee farm. He was beginning to think maybe he just imagined it, but then he saw the bee still there. He watched as it kept bopping its head against the glass, ignoring the flower with it and not going back in its hive.

Puzzled, Tommy just watched the bee until he heard the noise of someone using a firework. The sound caught Tommy’s attention, and he looked away. When he turned back, the bee was gone. After looking there for a few seconds, Tommy shrugged and started to walk away. But even then, he still kept looking back, so much that he didn’t notice Xisuma until he ran into the man.

Tommy froze up when he saw the admin standing in front of him, but instead of anything Dream might have done or said, Xisuma spoke in a kind voice. “Oh, sorry Tommy, I didn’t see you there. Were you looking for me?”

Tommy didn’t speak for a little bit until he heard the pop of a bee leaving its hive. “Uh, I just got lost and holed up here, cus I died and was trying to get to my stuff and that one guy isn’t around to sleep. Also one of your bees is fuckin’ weird.”

Xisuma scolded the boy for cussing, then offered to help Tommy get to his stuff. He mostly ignored the bee comment until there was the noise of something softly hitting glass again. Xisuma walked over to the farm and Tommy followed.

“See! Isn’t it supposed to not do that?” Tommy asked, to confused by the mob to be scared of Xisuma or want to leave the bee area.

Xisuma nodded slightly, watching the bee’s odd behavior. “Maybe it somehow got linked to another hive or nest and is trying to get there.”

“So what, you’re gonna let it out?” Tommy asked, bristling a little at the idea.

Xisuma nodded again. “It’s probably the only way we could be sure. I can always breed up another if it leaves.”

The admin took out a silk touch pick and broke the glass. The bee flew out and the glass was replaced so the other bees that had not left the hive just yet wouldn't also escape. Instead of the bee trying to fly out of the base, it flew towards Tommy and hovered around him.

Tommy went rigid as the bee flew towards him. He was sure it would keep going, but instead it stuck around him. “What the fuck do you want then?” He asked the mob even though it couldn’t respond. “I don’t have any of those prissy flowers so bug off.”

But the bee didn’t listen. It seemed quite pleased to stick with him. Tommy nearly drew his sword to kill it, but he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to actually his the thing with what it represented to him. Plus Xisuma might get mad and it could break his farm. “Can you just help me get my stuff, maybe it’ll leave once we’re outside.”

Not knowing what else he could say, Xisuma agreed to that. He could tell that something about bees was a sore subject for Tommy. The way he stiffened up around them and also around him. It was part of why he was so surprised to see the boy.

After a bit of walking, Tommy reached the chest of his gear and equipped and stored everything in his inventory. The bee happily bopped up against him and once again Tommy thought about killing it. But instead he just started wandering home, the bee following right behind.

The following day, Xisuma showed up to check on Tommy. While he wasn’t please to see the admin, Tommy at least accepted the gift of a bee hive, especially after his apparent new pet bee would not stop bopping its head against him. Hopefully the hive would give it somewhere to live and it would stop.

Tommy thanked Xisuma for the gift before shoving him out the door, glad for the lack of resistance the admin gave. Then, turning back to the rest of the hobbit hole he moved into, Tommy plopped down the hive right in the middle of the room. “There. Go in there and stop bothering me.”

But the bee didn’t listen, it just kept bopping it’s little fuzzy head against Tommy. Angry now, Tommy grabbed the bee, held it eye level, and looked right into its eyes. “You’re going to stop annoying me and go in that hive, got it?! I’m sick of you flying around me!”

He then let the now trembling mob go and it flew into the new hive. Tommy almost felt regretful about yelling at it. Almost. Grumbling, he went over to his bed to rest now that there wasn’t much to keep him up. Tommy set down his gear nearby, and placed his closed compass on the bed.

With all this bee stuff, Tommy couldn’t help but look at the object. After hesitating for a few moments, he grabbed the item and opened the lid. Inside, the needle danced wildly, not sure how to point with its location in another dimension. Tommy gave a sad sigh and was about to close it again when the needle stopped spinning. It clearly pointed in one direction for a few seconds. Tommy’s eyes widened and he started to turn towards where the needle was trying to guide him, but then it went back to dancing about.

Tommy looked at it confused, before realizing it still might change again. Tubbo may have found a way here. He ran in the direction the needle had been pointing and tripped over the new hive he had placed, cursing as he hit the floor. He looked back up at it to hit it once or something, but the compass has steadied itself again, the needle pointing the other direction, right towards the hive.