#When Reverse Falls and Monster Falls were a thing

[that-one-girl2020]

Role Reversal!

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: Honestly? Might make this into another short series when I’m done with a few other things. I haven’t seen a role reversal fic yet but let me know if there is actually one out there! You don’t need to read the original series I based it on but I encourage you to do it because I think I did good on it!

Comment name ideas for the fire dog and three legged crow!

TW: Mentions of death, discrimination, toxic parental figures (not just Celine this time), insecurity, etc.

Word Count: 1,592

Master List

• You and Rumi were born as twin sisters several centuries ago.

• You and Rumi were raised by your Aunt since both your parents were killed shortly after your birth. Your mother was a human and your father was a demon. You both were scorned by your village for being born as half demons, your Aunt being the worst offender.

• Rumi and you enjoyed singing and dancing together out under the moon, in a clearing that none of the village knew about.

• Rumi wanted to be rid of her patterns so she could sing before others without being treated as a monster, so she made a deal with Gwi Ma.

• Gwi Ma agreed and glamoured your sister’s demonic pattern for a time. Rumi happily left the village and you behind to follow her dream of singing and being a performer.

• You were heartbroken to be left behind in the village that hated you, your demon pattern creeping further and making you begin scratching at them anxiously

• Just wanting to be safe and loved, you wished for your patterns to disappear so you could find someone to love you. Gwi Ma answered.

• You left the village too, traveling in search of someone that would accept and love you.

• You ended up falling in love with a Hunter. A man with a golden voice.

~ His name was Haon (can mean ‘great and kind’) and he did love you. You wanted to tell him about your demon patterns, often scratching as if you could feel them crawling beneath your skin, beneath the glamour Gwi Ma had put on you. But he was a Hunter.

~ You didn’t tell him, you didn’t get the chance before your patterns began showing up again, spreading faster than they ever had before.

~ Haon’s fellow Hunters, even though you avoided them as best you could, found out about you and saw your patterns. They told Haon and the male Hunters went to kill you. The patterns completed and Gwi Ma summoned you to his realm before Haon could strike you down.

~ The last thing you remembered was Haon’s teary eyes as he raised his sword.

• Rumi and you reunited in the demon realm but your relationship was much more distant.

• Rumi acted as if she hadn’t left you behind for her own dreams and you remained in her vicinity because she was the only offer of comfort you had there.

• For centuries, you mourned Haon and the fact that no one would ever love you for you, never accept you.

• Mira grew up with two harsh parents who were disappointed in not having a son. So they prepared her to be married since she was young but she was too wild and rebelled.

~ Mira asked Gwi Ma to help her escape her parent’s expectations. He agreed. Her parents died not long after.

• Zoey was born to an interracial couple, which was not accepted at the time. Her parents couldn’t handle the contempt and separated but they fought over who would raise Zoey as a neurodivergent girl when the term hadn’t even been invented yet.

~ Feeling like too much and yet not enough at the same time, she accepted Gwi Ma’s help in finding a way to express herself by becoming a poet and lyricist. She chose neither of her parents and ran away.

• Modern times come around.

• The Saja Boys had trained and finally debuted several years ago, quickly growing in popularity until they topped the charts.

• They named themselves the Saja Boys due to both the lion motif, but also in irony. Saja also references the grim reapers of Korean folklore, thinking of it as them coming to reap the demons.

• Jinu came from a poor family in a small village, he ran away from his family when he was young to sing in the city streets, abandoning them.

~ Scouted by the Hunters, he claimed his family was dead.

~ When he was older, he started sending money back to his family anonymously once he debuted but it was too late as his mother died from overworking herself.

~ His weapon is a broadsword.

~ He has a cat that he named Derpy and a magpie named Sussie. He made a hat for Derpy once but Sussie stole it. Now his fans make hats for the two and give them to him.

~ He has a whole social media page dedicated to the two.

• Kwan, stage name Abby, was an underground dancer when he was young with a small group. he was attracted to the stage, but was sure his appearance wasn’t fit for being a performer. Then he was scouted by the Hunters.

~ His weapon is a battle axe.

• Chungae, stage name Romance, grew up with his relatives after his parents died. They didn’t care for Chungae much, focusing on their own children and their matchmaking business. Chungae felt invisible and used visual art to express himself, posting online and feeling better the more likes he got. He was scouted by the Hunters.

~ His weapons are a pair of fans.

• Hyeon, stage name Mystery, was often hounded for his pretty face, which made him dislike spending time with people. He turned to gaming and staying home but his parents got him various modeling gigs. He was scouted for his looks by the Hunters.

~ But he became skilled in music production and ended up covering most of his face with his bangs.

~ His weapon is a whip.

• Jum, stage name Baby, made his name, originally in underground rapping circles. Despite his soft, youthful features, Jum had a rich, deeper voice and a killer rap style which got him scouted by the Hunters.

~ He chose his stage name out of irony because he knew the industry would have a certain view of him as the maknae and with the soft features he has.

~ He’s bitter because he believes that no one will take his lyrics and overall self as a person seriously with his soft face.

~ His weapons are shurikens.

• Jinu is the main vocals, Kwan is the main dancer, Jum the rapper, Chungae the visualist (he deals with visuals and their wardrobe), and Hyeon is the main producer.

• One of their songs would probably be ‘Blood, Sweat, Tears’ by BTS.

• Rumi presents the idea of a demon girl group to steal the Saja Boys’ fans before they can seal the golden Honmoon.

~ She pretends she didn’t leave you behind because otherwise, the guilt and shame would consume her whole.

• In return for doing this for Gwi Ma, she requests that she be allowed to remain in the human realm, trying to escape her demon side.

• You haven’t sung in centuries and you feel bitter about using something you love to help Gwi Ma consume innocent souls.

• You have a fire dog (bulgae) that looks like a regular dog but with glowing amber eyes and will spew fire every now and then. You also have a three legged crow that can create complex illusions.

• You girls go with the name Huntr/x to return the irony that the boys created when they chose Saja as their name. The hunted will become the hunters and all that.

• Your debut song was probably ‘The Baddest’ by K/DA

• I headcanon that demon Huntr/x would basically be K/DA

• After the equivalent of the bathhouse battle, Gwi Ma sensed that the boys had strong shame and greed, just a little push away from falling into his grasp.

• You and the girls split the boys between you with Rumi getting Jinu, Mira getting Kwan and Chungae, Zoey getting Hyeon, and you getting Jum.

~ You kinda ended up taking on all of them because the girls were raging bisexuals for each other.

• You betray all the boys, unwillingly, using their weaknesses and fears.

~ Jinu abandoning his family.

~ Kwan’s insecurity over his rough appearance.

~ Chungae’s need for love and attention.

~ Hyeon’s fear that no one will see him beyond his outer beauty.

~ Jum’s belief that no one will ever take him seriously.

• The demon Huntr/x version of ‘Your Idol’ would definitely be ‘Villain’ by K/DA. It’s perfect.

• You and the girls perform in your demon forms.

~ Nine-tailed foxes, or Gumiho. Specifically the Korean version of nine-tailed foxes, I feel like it fits really well as all the girls, in some way, are trying to become more human or accepted among humans or, in your case, looking for love.

~ Quick Google it, I swear it’s perfect.

• The boys all come, whether they were mixed into the crowd or came from their brooding thought sessions, they all come.

• They sing their version of ‘What It Sounds Like,’ I’m not sure what it would be, maybe ‘Life Goes On’ by BTS or something…?

• The boys know that you don’t believe anyone could ever love you for you, could ever accept you.

• Even in your human form, you and Rumi still have your patterns, just hers are iridescent like the end of the movie and yours is a light purple, a side effect of being half-human, half-demon and then making a deal with Gwi Ma.

~ Along with the whispers in your heads, the patterns are a reminder of your shame and insecurities that you can’t escape from.

• They came to save you.

• You give them your soul to save Jinu and Jum when they were almost overwhelmed by Gwi Ma’s power while Kwan, Hyeon, and Chungae fought Rumi, Mira, and Zoey.

• Rumi, Mira, and Zoey, in their grief, are defeated by the boys but their souls are given to the boys as well.

Outtakes:

You: *Walking down the alley in slow motion, hearts glowing around you as you dramatically flip your hair*

The Saja Boys: *Having their Kdrama moment*

…

You: “How did you get to this point…?”

Jinu: *Looking around the room that had been converted into a closet for Sussie and Derpy’s hats* “… I honestly have no idea.”

…

You: “I am unlovable. No one will ever accept me for who I am.”

The Saja Boys: *Currently looking for Haon’s gravestone in the Hunters’ cemetery*

…

Tag List: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374 @esposamultifandom

[schemmentisimpasours]

Monsters In My Head- Chapter 10: Easier

Summary: A thunderstorm is raging outside and Melissa is rushing to save you from yourself

Warnings: N/A (I am almost positive)

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Masterlist

2.3k

Song: Every time I feel okay // I pull myself back down again // Say I should be doing better // but if I talked to somebody // the way I always talked to me // there'd be no one left (other lyrics in italics below)

Dear Melissa,

My sister called me this morning and told me she was coming out to visit in a couple of weeks. She was so excited to finally be able to come out and see me in my new home turf. Something has come up every other time she has tried but she got the time off work, already booked the ticket, and found a sitter (and a backup sitter) for the dogs. You know what she was most excited for? To see you. To meet you. Because she has heard so much about you and is so happy I found someone who cares for me and loves me. I started to cry on the phone hearing how happy she was. She asked what was wrong and I told her everything that happened. Explained that it was all my fault and that I didn’t know if I was ever going to get you back. Not after I had treated you. 

I expected anger but she sighed. Full body sighed and told me I was doing it again. Beating myself up and minimizing my own feelings. She reminded me that it was okay to still be triggered by things. That maybe I didn’t respond in the best way that I responded the only way I knew how at the time. I put the ball in your court to fix what had been broken and you raised to the occasion. I think it made her even more excited to meet you in a way. Does that sound weird? She may love you more than she loves me already.

I tell you this because I needed to hear those words from her. That maybe I wasn’t all to blame. I am sure that you would have told me the same thing but I am still working on believing that maybe I did not create an insurmountable crack between us. It may take me time and I am so sorry Melissa. I am trying. I really am. I just don’t think I am very good at it. 

-~-

A couple of days had passed since your one year anniversary with Melissa. Lunches still happened in your room away from prying eyes except Barbara had come to join you now with Janine occasionally stopping in to check in on you. There was something nice about this smaller group. Not that you didn’t love Jacob and Gregory or mind when Ava burst in randomly to a conversation. But it felt like all your effort was being put to holding yourself together that you didn’t have the mental space to put on a mask for the rest of them. With Barbara and Melissa you could just be you in whatever capacity that was. Barbara always giving you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder before she left as if that would help keep the glue from cracking. 

Melissa and you texted all throughout the day and as soon as you got home and decompressed from the night your phone was propped up with her on the other end. That was the extent of it though. She never came over, dates were not planned, it was like being together and still so separated. Some nights after you would fall asleep Melissa would stay up crying. Trying to figure out how to make it work.  Her heart ached for you but she tried to take it one day at a time. 

The redhead was leaving another AA meeting when a snap of lightning crossed the sky. The thunder that followed shook the ground and she swore as an onslaught of rain drenched her. She rain to the car her boots creating splashes as puddles automatically formed. Once inside the safety of the metal doors she pulled out her phone to call you. It went straight to voicemail and Melissa tried five more times before she finally gave up. Flinging her car into reverse she rushed to your condo. 

Letting out a sigh of relief that your car was still in the driveway she parked and ran up the steps to the front door. She went to use the key but stopped when she saw a balled up figure pressed into the chair in the far corner. 

She spoke quietly as to not frighten you, “Y/N, is that you?”

You raised your hand just above the blanket but you were shaking. Melissa walked over to you cautiously, “I am here baby. Can I touch you?”

You reached out your hand towards her and she took that as a yes. She climbed into the chair around your body pulling you towards her. Once she was settled you grabbed onto her shirt your fingers curling into a fist. She rubbed your back pulling the blanket closer around you. You sat in silence for a moment letting your girlfriend gently rock you. She didn’t push you to speak or unravel yourself just start there. A calming presence for every flinch that happened when thunder crackled across the sky. 

When there seemed to be no end in sight Melissa spoke gently, “My love, is there a reason we are sitting on the porch in the middle of a thunderstorm?”

“I wanted to show myself that I don’t have to be scared. That it was just a storm,” You croaked another crack of thunder causing you to jump, “But I was wrong. I am not ready. Then I was stuck out here cause my door has been automatically locking when I leave...I forgot and left my keys. My phone is in the house. I couldn’t call anyone so I just sat.”

“I have your key,” Melissa stated but you clutched onto her not wanting her to leave, “We are going to have to figure out how to get there though.”

She paused for a moment contemplating how to manuever to the front door without letting you go. Digging into her purse she pulled out her keys positioning them so yours was separated. Holding it out to you there was a determined look in her eye. 

“You are going to have to open it but I will carry you there,” She stated looping one arm on your back and one underneath your knees. 

Saying a silent prayers that her knees would hold she raised out of the chair. Pausing momentarily to make sure that she had her balance Melissa kissed your forehead gently. Crossing to the front porch you reached out of your cocoon to flip the locks. Stepping inside Melissa didn’t bother to turn on the lights just kicked the door shut and proceeded to your room. The sound was muffled back here but still loud enough that she could feel you shake against her. She went to place you on the bed but you clung to her. Unable to let go.

“Don’t leave,” You whimpered.

“Not going to but I need clothes. Otherwise we going to be sleeping in a puddle of rain water. Give me five minutes,” Melissa promised, “I will narrate everything I do so you know exactly where I am. “

You nodded and allowed your fingers to uncurl. Melissa moved away her voice trailing behind her. She went to the laundry room stripping away her wet clothes putting them in the washer and restarting the load that you had forgotten about. Moving back to the bedroom she dug in your closet looking for something to wear. Smiling she found her favorite things to put on - a blue ratty old t-shirt that had large holes along the collar with fading white script that said Teacher Off Duty- it stopped around the top of her thigh. She had worn this shirt almost every time that she had come to your house claiming it as her own. Once she had her hair up in a messy bun she completed her final step putting orchestra music to play across your TV allowing it to swallow the last of the thunderstorm outside. 

Making her way back to the bed she slid into bed on her side peeling back your cocoon. She smiled softly at you, “See my love I told you I wasn’t leaving.”

Your heart melted against the new nickname that had become common after Melissa’s love confession. You were still shaken letting the music calm your frayed nerves. The older woman reached over cupping your cheek gently before she placed a kiss on your forehead. 

“You don’t have to be healed right now baby. It is okay to still be scared. It doesn’t make me love you any less.”

Tears began to run down your face as you tried to explain the demons that raced in your own mind, “Life is cruel but not as cruel as me. It’s hard to keep my head up when I’m face-down facing demons that I’ve gotten to know but I can’t control it.  Now I’m bleeding out, but to proud to ask for help. I’ma a mess, but I hold it all together. There’s got to be some way to feel something other than this. Why the hell can’t it be easier to be easy on myself?”

The way that you opened yourself that way broke Melissa’s heart. To know that you were struggling with your own monsters trying your best to make it seem like everything was okay when all you wanted to do was fall apart. She knew the feeling all too well. It made her want to pick away the monsters from your head and rip them into shreds. To save the person she loved from the things she herself couldn’t see

“I wish you could see yourself from my eyes,” Melissa gently kissing away the tears on her cheeks before she spoke “You are so strong, and I know that you may not always see it but you are doing a great job. You are one of the smartest, funniest, most hard working people I know. You are going to be healed one day. Maybe not the same as you were before but better because you will have worked through all this trauma and come through the other side. I am so proud of you and if I need to be that reassuring voice in your head until that voices gets it shit together I will be. I love you and I believe in you.”

You didn’t think about it terrified that you would talk yourself out of it. You just leaned in and pressed a kiss to Melissa’s lips. Everyone said that kissing the person you loved was like fireworks, bright, loud, sparkling. But kissing Melissa felt like coming home after a long day curling up with a blanket and letting your body finally relax. The moment stretched on as Melissa held onto your cheek her fingers curling into strands of your hair. Finally she broke away leaning her forehead against yours.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” You said using it to replace the words that were still stuck at the bottom of your throat. 

“Of course my love,” Melissa whispered still catching her breath, “I will always be here to rescue you. Now come here so I can hold you. I miss holding you.”

You kissed her forehead before you positioned yourself to lay against her. Laying on her back you placed your ear to her chest letting the beating of her heart fill your head. Her arm wrapped around you her fingers curling into your hip. You laid your arm across her letting your fingers fall into the hole along to collar. Both of you released a breath that seemed to have been stuck between you and finally it felt like maybe you were finally home. 

~-~

Dear Y/N, 

I was able to hold you in my arms again. I truly do believe a piece of me was fixed tonight. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to sleep with your head on my chest. How your little snores fill the room and your arm always stays clutched around my shirt. I know remember how it got holes in it. You always cling to me when you are sleeping like I am going to slip away in the middle of the night. To reveal a secret that thought has never once crossed my mind. How could I ever leave someone like you? Who is everything I wanted and more. 

I once told you that it would take a miracle to ever be married again. It was before we started dating when I was seeing vending machine guy. (You could never remember his name but I am starting to think that was on purpose). Your smile faltered when I told you that and explained that marriage had always been complicated for you. You saw the reasoning behind it but also saw why people didn’t want to do it. I asked you what you thought was most important about a marriage and you said that it was two people who promised each other that every day they would wake up and learn how to love the partner they had that day. That partners and relationships change every single moment and to truly love someone for their whole life you had to learn to love that person again and again. Then barely above a whisper you said “I want someone to love me enough to choose me again and not leave when I am not me”. I didn’t realize what you meant by it at the time but it stuck with me. 

All this time later I understand and I want you to know that I choose you willingly and lovingly every day. There is not a moment that I will not wake up and choose to love you. To see you for exactly who you are. No matter what that looks like. You are my miracle. My happy ending. My partner in life. 

Fuck I want to marry you.

-

Taglist

@writerspirit // @casualfoxwitch // @panerasbox // @babytakeittothehead // @milfjuulpod // @yoyo-w // @cupldscntrl // @milfslvr // @liliapleasesteponme // @marvel210 // @derpyavocado // @morgana-larkin // @tsuki-brujita // @senatormellies // @janeyseymour

[bugwolfsstuff]

Gotta love how all my fandoms awoke at once

Welcome to Night Vale

Magnus Chase

and Gravity Falls

[cutehoons02]

Bad Romance (Preview)

*pairing: CEO dad vampire Park Jay x baby-sitter human Girl

*pairing: grumpy x sunshine

*synopsis: Jay has only one wish: to be a good father and always be there for his daughter. Jenù was born from a meaningless one-night stand, and six months after her birth, a staff member at the Park Society found a baby girl with forest-green eyes and tiny red flecks, Jay’s same smile, and the same birthmark on his neck. She came with a note from the girl who couldn’t handle becoming a mother—especially not to a child who was half-human, half-vampire. Since that day, a year and a half passed. Jay had fired over twenty babysitters human, vampire, witch, and more—until one day, Sunghoon’s girlfriend told her best friend, who was struggling financially, that Jay was looking for a new babysitter. From that moment on, your life, as well as Jay’s and Jenù’s, changed forever. You are bold, dangerous, always sarcastic and you adore Jenù. But to Jay, a vampire over 300 years old, you're a dangerous distraction, especially when you're around his daughter. He's gruff and strict, only softening when he's with her, and in his eyes, you're just a reckless young woman… with blood that tempts him too much and a mouth that's far too bold.

*tags: At first Jay finds you extremely annoying and thinks that you are just an irresponsible girl but slowly she falls in love with you, you love teasing him, Jenù (Jay’s daughter) many times takes your side, warnings, overprotective dad, a lot of kisses, bites, Blood reference, masturbation (f) reverse cowgirl, (bath sex) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) Jay would like to put on family with you, jealousy, white lies, possession, Jay is a secular vampire, +18, pet names (little human,treasure,maiden)

The sharp sound of the door opening broke the spell on the couch. You and Jenù turned your heads in perfect sync, like a well-rehearsed choreography. Confident footsteps echoed on the polished parquet, followed by the soft creak of shoes being taken off and set neatly by the entrance.

Jay was home.

You watched him walk into the living room: hair tousled from the wind, jacket slung over his shoulder, tie slipping through his fingers. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt and, yes, you lingered there a second too long.

His skin was warm-toned, golden-amber in color, so unlike Sunghoon’s pale, moonlit coolness. Sunghoon looked sculpted from Nordic marble but Jay… Jay was like liquid honey over dark stone. With every inch of skin revealed, your cheeks burned hotter. You couldn't stop staring as he loosened his custom-tailored suit and then, his eyes locked with yours.

He froze. Time seemed to hang off his frame, his eyes narrowed, sharp like he was reading you like he knew exactly what was running through your head. His jaw tightened just slightly.

Shit. You felt it. Knew it, without a word. He didn’t like that look in your eyes..too curious, too bold but… he didn’t look away either. Luckily, Jenù broke the tension, bounding toward him with bubbling excitement.

“Appa! We’re watching Monster High! There’s Draculaura! She has teeth like mine!” Jay crouched slightly to catch her as she launched into his arms, he shot you a look, sharp enough to cut through bone.

You braced for his usual complaints. “Monster High?” he asked, turning slowly toward you. “I told you I don’t want her watching scary stuff. She’s too young.” You raised your hands in mock surrender, flashing a diplomatic smile.

“Jay, come on. The scariest thing in this show is how Ghoulia talks. Maybe Cleo’s shrieking fits. But monsters? They’re fashion bloggers.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like you putting ideas in her head. Influences form now. Today it’s Draculaura, and tomorrow she’s wearing black capes and bat-winged platforms.”

You bit your tongue to avoid pointing out those exact shoes were already part of two Korean brands’ fall/winter collections but before the argument could escalate, Jenù took control. “Appa, why don’t we all watch it together? Just one episode. Then you’ll see if it’s okay.” Jay kissed her forehead, sighed, and nodded.“Alright. I’ll go change first. Ten minutes.” He gave you one last glance—slow, calculated. A look like velvet… with blades sewn in a mix of unspoken disapproval… and something else.

You looked away, pulse a little shaky, you squeezed Jenù’s hand, reminding yourself where you stood but when the theme song kicked back in and the little girl began to dance, for one perfect moment, you forgot everything.

Everything… except her little fanged smile and maybe, just a little, that golden vampire who would be back in ten minutes.

When Jay returned to the living room, he paused in the doorway. The scene was almost surreal: You and Jenù were curled up together, eyes glued to the screen, giggling at an absurd scene where Cleo de Nile ranted about how everyone dressed at school and how she was the only one with real taste. Jenù laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth with her hand. Then she looked at her father, eyes shining:

“Appaaaa, this cartoon is so good! I wanna go to a school like Monster High!” Jay raised an eyebrow, dropped his tie on the sideboard, and gave her a strange little smile, tender and oddly conspiratorial.

“For you, my little one… I might just build you one.” He brushed her hair back, and your heart pinched for a second.

How could someone be so cold and so warm… in the same breath?The deep voice, the strict face… and then that look, that melted only for her, Jay came over and sat on the couch next to Jenù but she turned to him with a firm look: “No! I wanna sit here! and before he could respond, she crawled right into his lap, curled into his chest, burying her little head into the crook of his neck.

Cleo screamed again onscreen. Jenù giggled. Jay cracked a joke: “She sounds just like you when you can’t find your pink headband.”Jenù smacked his chest with her hand: “Appa! Not true!” “Alright, Miss Fashion—who’s your favorite?” you asked Jenù with a grin.

“The same as yours! Draculalla!” she shouted, mispronouncing it adorably. “Draculaura,” you corrected, giggling. “Yes, her! She’s pink and black and makes braids better than Appa!” You scooted closer...partly because Jenù reached out her hand to pull you in. Your knees brushed Jay’s. You felt… warmth, he gave you a glance, then murmured with that deep voice:

“Careful… You’re starting to look like part of the monster family. And no one gets out of that.” “Wow. Romantic threats, Jay. Very on-brand,” you muttered, eyes rolling playfully. “Watch the sass… or I’ll put you in time-out with Cleo,” he said, smirking faintly.

Taglist is open!!!

[callmearcturus]

The vinyl comes with... this. This is not the lyrics to the songs. I'm gonna transcribe it, because I think the first time you listen should be with this.

You are about to listen to an album by the Glass Animals. You don't always listen to albums from beginning to end, but maybe you will this time. It was written for you. (Linear Notes by Gabrielle Zevin)

SHOW PONY

You are a child. Before you were a child, your parents were children. Most origin stories begin with love, and yours is no different. Once upon a time, two people fell in love, and then it ended. It's the first love story you were every told, and it teaches you the one certainty in life is that all things end. From this point forward, you are not a romantic. They call you the cynic, and to protect yourself, you take on many forms.

WHATTHEHELLISHAPPENING

You are kidnapped. You are in the trunk of a moving car, fetal position, darkness, screech of the tires against the road, the scent of gasoline. You don't know how you got there, but it isn't the worst place you have ever found yourself, and in a way, it feels inevitable. You know you could die, so you find yourself thinking about all the people you have ever loved. The trunk is like a womb. You could live here forever but eventually you'd get lonely. Your relentless need for company is your hamarita.

CREATURES IN HEAVEN

You are a psychic. You ask your lover if they want to know the hour and the day that the two of your will part. They laugh at you, and they say they don't believe in psychics. You suspect that their failure to believe in your gift might be the problem that leads to the demise of your relationship. But who cares? This relationship ends in three months, and you may as well enjoy it. Evanescence can sometimes be a profound pleasure.

WONDERFUL NOTHING

You are a prizefighter who is in love with a boxer. You say, "It's a bad idea." (JAB, JAB, CROSS.) And the boxer says, "It's only a bad idea if it gets in the way of our work." (SLIP.) And you say, "Promise me you'll never pull any punches." (CROSS. CROSS. HOOK.) The boxer swears they won't. (SLIP. JAB.) But when you fight, the boxer always pulls their punches, and you never do. You're pretty sure this makes you a bad person. You're a prizefighter, and you do not love this boxer or anyone enough to pull punches. (JAB. CROSS. HOOK.) Just before throwing the knockout punch, you whisper, "I love you so fucking much."

A TEAR IN SPACE

You are a sock. You are an earplug. You are a miniature glass horse. You are easy to misplace. You are you, so you think you matter. You are nothing. No one even notices when you left the party.

I CAN'T MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE AGAIN

You are an astrophysicist. You believe you can use sound waves to control time and space. A song is a time machine, you tell your colleagues. If you sing the right song, you could transport the lover to a particular time and place. You could reverse time, and if you could reverse time, you could make them love you again. Your belief in science occasionally makes you pathetic.

HOW I LEARNED TO LOVE THE BOMB

You are a damsel, and you are in love with a monster. You're not sure how it happened. You'd been warned about such creatures by the fairy tales of your youth. But in bedtime stories, the monster always presented as monster. The beast was hirsute, the vampire had fangs, the wolf in your grandmother's clothing was clearly not your grandmother. But your monster is clean cut and has good teeth. They knock at the door. You invite them in, and just like that, you are fucking a monster. You should be upset about it, but you aren't. The thing they don't tell you about monsters is that they are sexy as hell.

WHITE ROSES

You are Proteus. You are a god and you can change forms when the situation calls for it. This is hand for work, but difficult when it comes to relationships. You have occasionally been guilty of taking a form that you knew would make you lovable to some unsuspecting mortal. But it always ends the same way. A terrible row at an inconvenient time-- say, just before you're about to leave for the airport-- and then, you're forced to reveal yourself. You don't always mean to change forms, but it's second nation for you to shift a bit here and there-- pretend you like a certain band, express an enthusiasm for sport. Are you shapeshifting, or are you concealing yourself, and is there a difference in the end? Still, you love making people fall in love with you. Every time you do it, you promise you'll never do it again. And they you do it again.

ON THE RUN

You are an escape artist. You are handcuffed, straitjacketed, loaded into a zipped and padlocked duffle bag, wrapped in chains, tossed into the bottom of the ocean. It is billed as "The Greatest Escape of the Greatest Escape Artist, and the Culmination of a Career of Death-Defying Acts!"

The spectators on the pier anticipate your deliverance. They are sure you'll surface because you always surface. They aren't fearful; they are waiting to be dazzled. What they cannot know is how bored you are of dazzling.

You exit the bag, careful to take the props of your confinement so there will be no remains. You swim to another, distant pier. You don't see the people on the pier cry. You don't read your obituary. It's no longer your concern.

A week later, you are homesick, and you concede that your plan has failed. You miss the people on the pier and your cat and your bed and your favorite restaurant and your wristwatch. You don't remember what problems your faked death was going to solve so you can't say if it solved them.

The greatest power in the universe is nostalgia, and it that's true, maybe the people on the pier will forgive you. maybe you could come back from the dead. Now wouldn't that be the greatest escape ever?

LOST IN THE OCEAN

Who are you, anyway?

Why are so many songs addressed to you?

It's simple, you think. The songs are for you because I love you so fucking much, and when you say you, you mean all the yours: the parents and the child, the damsel and the monster, the escape artist and the crowd on the pier, the sock and the one who forgets the sock, the prizefighter and the boxer, and the world that contains all these people. You are all the lovers you failed, and all the ones who failed you. You are the lovers you haven't yet encountered-- there will be many because this world is filled with people to love. You are the singer, and you are the song. And you conclude that the only way to resist the ephemerality of all things is by singing love songs to you, whoever you are, wherever you are in the universe.

[hyuniemyunie]

Doubt

one punch man characters x reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, reverse comfort.

all gn, except saitama, i didnt use any fem prns or nothing but theres mentions of reader wearing a bra and having breasts, soo..

saitama, genos, tatsumaki, metal bat, sonic, garou, fubuki

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

In the Quiet, You Hold Me

It was a quiet day.

A still, unmoving day.

The kind that Saitama usually didn’t mind.

No monsters were terrorizing the city. The world wasn’t falling apart. Genos was out running errands, and the Hero Association hadn’t contacted him for any low-level jobs in over a week.

So in that little apartment that was still too small for how much love filled it, the air was calm. No explosions, no emergency alerts. Just the hum of the fridge, the occasional passing car, and the sound of you flipping a page in the book you were reading.

Saitama was lying across the couch, his head comfortably nestled between your breasts. You’d long since stopped wearing a bra around him at home—it was one of those silent love languages between you. He liked the softness. The warmth. The steady beat of your heart. And you… well, you liked spoiling him.

He never asked for it out loud, but every time he sat down and glanced at your chest with that soft, subtle flick of his eyes—just once, never twice—you knew exactly what he wanted.

And you always gave it to him.

His face was buried slightly against your skin now, warm cheek resting against your bare cleavage as he laid there like a lazy cat. One of your hands combed gently through his scalp, dragging your nails across it with soft, rhythmic scratches. The other held your book steady, reading lazily while his breath fanned against your chest.

“I could stay like this forever,” you murmured.

Saitama hummed, almost inaudibly. But it was lacking something. The usual weight in his hum—the relaxed, content sound he made when he was completely at peace—wasn’t there.

You paused.

Your fingers moved slowly down to the side of his face, cupping it gently. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t lean into it like he usually did either. That made your stomach twist.

“Babe?” you asked softly, lowering your book.

His eyes were open, staring at nothing across the room.

“Mm,” he grunted.

“Something wrong?” you tilted your head, peering down at him.

He hesitated for a second. Just a second too long.

“No,” he said.

You frowned.

“Try again. This time without lying.”

He shut his eyes, sighed out through his nose, and let the silence settle again. That was the problem with him sometimes—he didn’t know how to talk. He could say the most off-handed things without realizing how much they weighed. And other times, when it really mattered, he got stuck.

You set your book down, both hands cradling his face now.

“You’re thinking a lot,” you said. “Too much. And not in your usual ‘What should I eat for lunch’ kind of way.”

He grunted again.

“C’mon. What’s going on in that shiny little head of yours?”

“…It’s nothing,” he muttered.

You gave him the look. He cracked one eye open, met your gaze, and immediately shut it again like a turtle retreating into its shell.

“…It’s really not a big deal,” he tried.

“That’s not what your face is saying.”

He was silent again. But this time, you could feel something shifting in his expression, something subtle and vulnerable. You could feel the tension in his jaw under your thumb.

“I don’t get you,” he finally muttered. “You know that?”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

He shifted just enough to tilt his face up at you, resting his chin now between your breasts instead of his cheek, and for once, his eyes were serious. Really serious. It almost caught you off guard.

“I’m… boring.”

You blinked again. Your lips parted, confused, waiting for more. He sat up slowly—not too far, but enough to leave the comfort of your chest—and stared at the floor.

“I’m not romantic. I’m not interesting. I’m not even cute.”

You stared at him.

“Saitama…”

He laughed once. Not bitter, not mocking. Just… hollow.

“I think about it a lot. How you could be with anyone. Anyone more exciting. Someone who knows how to flirt, or take you on real dates, or has more than three facial expressions.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and kept going.

“You could’ve fallen for a guy with a personality. Or a hobby that isn’t grocery sales. Someone who doesn’t kill monsters in one punch and come home with blood on their shoes. Hell, someone with hair.”

You felt your heart twist, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. This wasn’t something fleeting. These were thoughts that had been building. Heavy and festering, tucked away under his nonchalant tone and lazy smiles.

“You really think I care about any of that?” you whispered.

He looked away.

“That’s just it. I don’t know what you care about,” he mumbled. “I never asked. I just assumed one day you’d get tired of… this. Of me. And I guess I started wondering why you haven’t yet.”

Your eyes stung.

God, he was so stupid sometimes. Stupid in the most lovable, heartbreaking way.

You leaned in slowly, cupping his jaw and turning his face back to you.

“Saitama. Look at me.”

He did. Reluctantly, hesitantly. His eyes were uncertain, something aching sitting just beneath the surface.

“I love you,” you said plainly. Firmly. “Not because you’re romantic. Or interesting. Or even for your looks. I love you. The man who lets me hold him like a teddy bear on the couch. Who gets excited about discounted leeks. Who lets me see him like this—quiet, vulnerable, soft.”

His breath caught slightly.

“I love how your voice sounds when you’re half-asleep. I love how you get genuinely confused when someone compliments you. I love how you try to act like nothing matters, but the moment someone insults a friend, your fists are already clenched.”

You reached forward and pressed your forehead to his.

“I don’t want dates. I want you. I want lazy days and dumb jokes and holding you like this until the world disappears. I want to be here when you wake up, when you’re moody, when your hoodie smells like garlic and soap and I still pull you into bed anyway.”

His hands slowly reached up, settling against your waist like he was afraid to touch you. Like he was afraid he might lose you if he held too tight.

“…Really?” he asked softly.

You smiled. A small, watery one.

“Really. I’d scream it from the rooftops if you wanted.”

He snorted—finally—a real laugh this time, and you felt his grip tighten just a little.

“…Can you do something better?” he said.

You raised a brow. “Better?”

He leaned in closer, his face burying itself back between your breasts, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you gently into him like you were the last pillow in the universe.

“Just stay like this,” he mumbled. “Forever.”

You melted.

“I can do that.”

Your fingers resumed their soft combing through his scalp, your other hand rubbing gentle circles along his back. He was warm. So warm. Not in the heat-of-a-fire way, but in the way a bed feels after you’ve been snuggled in it for hours. Familiar. Safe.

“…Do you know what I think?” you whispered.

He mumbled something into your chest. You took that as a yes.

“I think you don’t realize how much you’ve saved me.”

He looked up slightly.

“I’ve had other relationships,” you said. “Ones where I was constantly trying to be enough. To do enough. Say the right things. Wear the right clothes. But with you? I can just be. And you never make me feel like I have to be anything else.”

He blinked at you, his eyes wide. He didn’t speak, so you cupped his cheek and leaned down until your lips brushed his.

“You’re more than enough, Saitama. I wouldn’t trade your one-punch ass for the world.”

He chuckled into the kiss, lips pressing against yours with a quiet desperation. Not heated. Not lustful. Just… needing.

When you pulled away, he sighed against your skin, forehead still pressed to your sternum.

“…What if I forget this tomorrow?” he mumbled. “What if I start doubting it again?”

You kissed the top of his head.

“Then I’ll tell you again. And again. Every time you need to hear it.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted, turning to the side and pulling you with him until the both of you were lying on the couch, tangled together. His head was still resting between your chest, arms wrapped tight around your middle like you were the only anchor in a sea of doubt.

“…You’re warm,” he murmured.

You smiled against his crown.

“So are you.”

And in that moment, you didn’t need anything else.

No grand gestures. No romantic getaways. Just the feel of his weight against you, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, and the knowledge that no matter how many monsters he could punch away in one hit—this was the one thing he couldn’t destroy.

Your love for him. Constant. Steady.

And entirely his.

When Circuits Slow Down

The heater clicked softly in the background.

Your apartment smelled like clean laundry and warm tea, with a faint edge of metal and engine oil. It always did when Genos was around. That subtle, sharp scent of burnt circuitry and ozone—like he’d been pushing himself too hard again. Like he hadn’t powered down properly since his last mission. Like he couldn’t stop working, couldn’t stop trying.

He was seated on the edge of your bed now, legs spread slightly, posture perfect—always perfect, always stiff like he didn’t know how to relax in a space that was built to hold comfort. His hands rested on his thighs, metal fingers twitching once in a while. A nervous tic he didn’t even realize he had.

The TV played something faint in the living room. You’d left it on as background noise. Just voices, something human, something real to fill the silence he carried in with him.

You leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed lightly. Watching him.

He was looking down at the floor like it was going to give him answers.

“Genos.”

He didn’t lift his head. His voice was low, even. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” You took a step forward, then another. “I was waiting for you.”

Silence.

The kind that made your chest feel heavy.

You crossed the room slowly, dropping to your knees in front of him. His eyes lifted, finally—those glowing irises catching the low bedroom light. Even now, even like this, they were steady. Controlled. Every movement he made was deliberate. Calculated. He didn’t move an inch unless it was serving a purpose.

You reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away.

“Bad fight?” you asked.

He shook his head once. “It was routine. No casualties.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

He hesitated.

You rubbed your thumb gently over the back of his hand, you’d learned a long time ago how to read his tells. He never really relaxed. But you could tell when he was close. When he let himself be vulnerable. When he needed you.

And right now, he needed you, he just didn’t know how to say it.

“…I saw a couple today,” he said quietly. “At the station. Before the mission.”

You waited, not interrupting.

“They were just… talking. She was laughing. Touching his arm. He was smiling at her like nothing else in the world existed.” His voice dropped, mechanical but somehow fragile. “And I realized I’ve never looked at you like that.”

That caught you off guard.

You blinked. “What?”

“I want to,” he said, a little too fast. “I want to give you those things. That kind of life. But I’m not—” His jaw clenched. “I’m not human.”

Your stomach sank.

You sat back on your heels, hand still holding his. “Genos…”

“I can’t give you warmth,” he said. “Or grow old with you. Or hold you with real arms. Or kiss you without you tasting metal. I can’t give you a family. Or safety. Or—” He shut his eyes. “I’m trying to be something better. I’m trying so hard. But I’ll never be enough for someone like you.”

Your heart squeezed.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this. But it was the first time he’d meant it like this.

So raw. So still. Like if you moved the wrong way, he’d shut down entirely.

You stood slowly, easing yourself into his lap, straddling his thighs with your hands resting on his shoulders. He stiffened out of habit but didn’t stop you.

“Genos,” you said softly. “Look at me.”

He did.

You cupped his face gently, his expression was blank, but you could feel the tension in him, the confusion. The pain of not knowing how to feel something and the fear that if he did, he might break apart.

“I don’t need a normal life,” you said. “I don’t need someone with a heartbeat or a future carved in stone or a perfect smile. I don’t even need to be looked at the way strangers do on TV.”

Your fingers traced along the side of his face. “I need you. The person who sits up with me when I can’t sleep. Who remembers exactly how I like my tea. Who keeps spare clothes in his chest compartment just because he knows I’m forgetful. The man who lets me hold his hand when he’s short-circuiting and lets me kiss him even when he’s terrified I’ll think he’s cold.”

His breath hitched.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “You’re not broken, Genos. You’re trying. That means more to me than anything else ever could.”

His hands came up slowly, hesitantly, resting on your hips like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you right now. Like he was afraid he’d ruin the moment just by existing in it.

“You could have anyone,” he whispered.

“I chose you.”

That made something inside him shift.

You felt his grip tighten, the lines in his shoulders ease just a little. You kissed the corner of his mouth, then leaned into his chest, letting your weight fall into him until he finally—finally—wrapped his arms around you.

You didn’t say anything for a while. Just sat there, breathing with him. Letting the quiet settle between you like a blanket.

After a while, he spoke again. Softer.

“I’m scared I won’t be enough.”

“You already are,” you murmured.

“And if I lose you—”

“You won’t.”

He pressed his forehead to your shoulder.

You held him tighter.

That night, you let him power down beside you for the first time in days. He laid still while you traced every plate of metal, every scarred seam, every line he didn’t see as beautiful.

You made tea.

You left the window open a crack so the cold air would make it easier to snuggle under blankets.

He laid beside you, quiet, stiff, uncertain.

And you reached for him.

Draped your arm across his waist, rested your cheek against the smooth plate of his chest.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” you asked softly.

He looked down at you, hesitant.

You smiled against his chest. “I see someone who makes me feel safe. Someone who tries. Who never gives up. Someone who holds my world together even when he thinks he’s falling apart.”

“…That doesn’t sound like me,” he whispered.

“It is.”

You pulled the blanket tighter.

“You just haven’t learned how to see yourself the way I do yet.”

Eventually, you both fell asleep like that.

You, breathing slow and steady against the cold metal of his frame.

And Genos, curled slightly around you, engines quiet, arms secure, systems dimmed low in the warmth of someone who saw him—and loved him anyway.

Gravity Doesn’t Hold Me Down, You Do

Tatsumaki wasn’t known for being gentle.

Or soft.

Or warm.

She was chaos in a small, compact frame. All power and sharp words, hair as wild as her temper, eyes glowing with authority. The world knew her as the Tornado of Terror, the psychic prodigy, the fearsome S-Class heroine who could rip apart entire cities with a thought if she was pushed far enough.

But you knew her differently.

Because behind closed doors—when the world stopped demanding her strength, when she didn’t have to pretend to be invincible—Tatsumaki could melt.

And she melted only for you.

It was a slow, lazy afternoon. Rain tapping lightly against the windows of your shared apartment. The city below was muted, bathed in grays and mist, and even the usual sirens and chaos of hero life felt distant.

Tatsumaki hovered mid-air lazily, sprawled belly-down just a few feet above your couch. Her tiny frame was wrapped in one of your oversized sweaters—green, of course. Her bare legs kicked aimlessly in the air as she watched the television screen with half-lidded eyes, arms folded beneath her chin. She was pretending not to be sleepy, but you knew better. That sweater had always made her drowsy.

“You’re gonna fall asleep midair again,” you teased gently from where you sat beside her, pulling a fuzzy blanket over your legs.

She gave a little huff and squinted at you over her shoulder. “Am not. I’m just… recharging.” Her voice was clipped but not cold, and you caught the way the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“Mmhm. Last time you ‘recharged’ you nearly dropped into the ramen bowl.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but she didn’t sound angry. In fact, she floated down until her head settled on your thigh, face half-buried into your lap, arms flopping limply. Her hair tickled your stomach, and her aura calmed until it was nearly imperceptible.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just ran your fingers through her wild, mint-green curls, letting the silence fill with softness. Tatsumaki let out a small sigh—so soft you almost missed it—and nuzzled closer to your warmth.

These moments were rare. The world expected her to be a weapon. Unshakable. Alone. She was told she didn’t need anyone, that attachments were weaknesses. She had told herself the same, once.

And then… you.

You, with your steady hands, warm smiles, and refusal to fear her. You, who looked at her not like a ticking bomb but like a woman who got tired sometimes. You, who never tried to fix her or push her. Who let her float when she needed to float and held her when she needed anchoring.

Still, even in moments like this, when she was quiet and open and practically purring into your lap, you could feel it—that little coil of tension beneath her skin. Something twisting. Something uncertain.

You traced a slow path down her spine, feeling the rigid set of her back despite her soft exterior. “Talk to me,” you murmured.

“I’m fine,” she said immediately, voice muffled by your sweater.

Liar.

“Okay,” you said, letting the word sit there. You didn’t push her. She hated that. But you kept petting her, slow and rhythmic, grounding.

“…You’re being weird today,” she mumbled after a while.

You raised a brow. “Weird how?”

“I dunno. You’re just… looking at me all soft.”

You smiled. “I always look at you soft.”

“Tch. Gross.” But her cheeks were tinged pink.

“Maybe I’m allowed to be a little gross with the person I love.”

There it was. The flicker. Her body went still for a heartbeat too long. You didn’t stop running your fingers through her hair. You didn’t press. But you saw her eyes flick to the TV, then to the wall, then finally down to her own fingers as they toyed with the hem of your sweater.

“…Hey,” she said eventually, voice quiet. “Do you… think I’m hard to love?”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned off the TV with the remote and looked down at her, but her eyes wouldn’t meet yours. “Tatsu…”

She shifted on your lap, voice tight. “I don’t mean just now. I mean… in general. Always. I know I’m short and loud and annoying and kind of a bitch—”

“You’re not—”

“—And I know I don’t act like other people do in relationships. I don’t say nice things all the time, I don’t really like touching people—except you—and I’ve done terrible stuff. I lose control. People hate me. I can feel it when they look at me. Like I’m just this… dangerous thing they’re forced to tolerate. Even other heroes treat me like I’m some weapon they can’t point the wrong way.”

She laughed, and it was hollow.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re just the only person dumb enough to think I’m worth it.”

The words hit like cold water, and your chest ached just hearing them. You moved gently, urging her to sit up, and to your surprise, she let you. You cradled her face in your hands, her cheeks warm and pink, eyes glassy but defiant.

“Tatsumaki,” you said, voice firm. “you are not hard to love. You are hard on yourself.”

Her eyes flickered, lips parting slightly. You pressed your forehead to hers, breathing her in.

“I love you when you’re loud. I love you when you’re quiet. I love you when you’re mad, when you’re smug, when you curl up in my sweaters like they’re your emotional support items. I love you when you’re throwing meteors at monsters and when you’re falling asleep on my lap. I love you.”

She blinked quickly, trying to disguise it as irritation, but you saw the wetness gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“You don’t have to act a certain way to deserve love, Tatsu. You are loveable. Exactly as you are.”

Her lower lip trembled, and for a terrifying second, you thought she was going to float away. But instead… she launched herself at you, burying her face into your chest and wrapping her arms around your waist like a vice.

“…I don’t want to lose this,” she whispered.

“You won’t.”

“I don’t know how to be… normal.”

“You don’t need to be.”

Silence. And then, muffled into your shoulder: “…You really love me?”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around her small frame, rocking gently. “More than anything, baby. You keep me grounded.”

Tatsumaki snorted, the tiniest of laughs bubbling up. “That was cheesy as hell.”

“And you loved it.”

“Shut up,” she whispered, clinging tighter. “…Don’t let me go.”

“Never,” you promised.

The rain kept falling, a soft lullaby for the two souls curled up together—one a storm of power barely contained, the other the eye of that storm.

And maybe Tatsumaki didn’t know how to say I love you in a thousand words. But she didn’t need to. Not when she said it in every act of trust, every moment she let herself be small, every time she let her guard down just for you.

Because some people love like sunshine.

Some love like spring rain.

But Tatsumaki?

She loved like a natural disaster—loud, wild, destructive—

And you loved her with the kind of quiet that could hold all that power and still never flinch.

And together, you made your own kind of calm.

Too Fast to Catch, Except By You

Speed-o’-Sound Sonic was a blur.

A name whispered like a warning.

A blur of purple, danger, and death.

The shinobi no one could touch, the assassin who turned battle into ballet, the rogue who could outpace anyone but his own thoughts.

He was known as a ghost in the wind. Elusive. Untouchable. Cold.

Except with you.

With you, Sonic wasn’t a storm. He was a still night. A silent snowfall. A breath between heartbeats. The fleeting softness he never let the world see.

Because you… you caught him.

And he let you.

It was the kind of night you could only get away from the city. Quiet. Crickets chirping lazily in the tall grass, moonlight bleeding silver across the forest floor. You sat outside the small cabin he’d whisked you away to for the week—hidden, safe, and far from the chaos of heroes, villains, and Saitama-related rage fits.

You wore one of his tops, perfect for sleeping in. Your legs were curled beneath you on the wooden porch, a cup of tea warming your hands as the breeze tugged gently at your hair.

Then—like always—he was suddenly there.

No sound. No footsteps. Just one moment empty air, and the next, Sonic crouched in front of you, sharp eyes scanning your face.

You didn’t flinch. You never did.

You simply smiled, soft and knowing. “Hey.”

He blinked once, twice. His expression didn’t change, but you saw it—the tiny, nearly imperceptible release of tension in his shoulders. The faintest shift from combat-mode to something… gentler.

“…Hi,” he said at last, his voice low, quiet.

You reached out, brushing a piece of windblown hair from his cheek. “Rough night?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked at you. That kind of long stare he only gave you when his head was full and his throat was heavy with unsaid things.

Then, without a word, he moved—and sat beside you, back against the porch railing, legs stretched out. His arm brushed yours. Close, but not clinging.

You waited. You always waited. And after a few minutes, he finally spoke.

“…Sometimes I think I’m a fool for this.”

Your heart gave a small jolt. “For what?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely toward you—your shared quiet, your closeness, the warmth of your hand near his. “You. Us.”

You turned to him fully, blinking. “Why?”

He didn’t look at you. His eyes were fixed somewhere deep in the trees. “Because it’s not what I’m built for. I’m a weapon. I was raised to kill. I sleep with a blade under my pillow. I’ve slit throats for less than the way you smile at me.”

You were silent. You knew better than to interrupt. Sonic didn’t open up easily. His heart was a trap-rigged room, and you were one of the few ever invited in.

“I’ve spent my life running. Fighting. Being feared. I don’t know how to be someone’s… person. Someone’s comfort. I don’t know how to stay.”

He swallowed. His voice lowered.

“And I think… one day, you’ll realize that. That I’m not normal. That I’m not good for you. That you deserve someone softer, safer.”

Now your hand reached for his. He flinched at first, always a little shocked by gentle contact, but let you lace your fingers through his.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked softly.

His head snapped toward you, alarmed. “No—!”

“Then why are you trying to convince yourself I should?”

That shut him up.

You scooted closer, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Sonic… loving you was never about finding someone normal. I don’t want soft and slow. I want you. All of you.”

His throat worked in a tight swallow, and his brows drew together like he couldn’t decide if this was comforting or dangerous.

“I know you’ve been through hell. I know you weren’t raised to be held. I know you see yourself as a weapon. But you are more than that. You are capable of love, of softness, of choosing something besides survival.”

You looked up at him, and he looked like he was about to crack wide open. Not with tears—he didn’t cry. But with ache. The kind that crept behind the ribs and sank its claws in.

“And I’m not scared of you,” you whispered. “Not your speed. Not your skills. Not your past. I’m not scared of the person you were, or the one you’re still becoming.”

You kissed his knuckles. He was stone-still.

“You don’t need to run anymore,” you whispered. “You’ve already made it home.”

And that—that was the breaking point.

Not a dramatic sob. Not a trembling gasp. Just Sonic slowly, cautiously, folding in on himself and letting his head rest against yours.

“…I don’t know how to be loved like this,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to know how,” you said, pulling him gently into your lap, your fingers carding through his dark hair. “You just have to let yourself be.”

He clung to you tighter than any blade.

Later that night, when the cabin was wrapped in darkness and your heartbeat was a lullaby in the silence, Sonic lay in bed with his head on your chest. Your fingers trailed lightly over his back, and he breathed—slow, even, like someone learning peace one inhale at a time.

You felt his lips brush your collarbone.

“…I’m still dangerous,” he whispered.

You smiled, kissed the top of his head. “Then be dangerous for me.”

And for once, Speed-o’-Sound Sonic—the untouchable, the lightning bolt, the living blade—didn’t run.

He stayed.

He chose to stay.

With you.

Even Monsters Need Love

Garou never really figured out how this happened.

Not the monster stuff—that part he knew. He had reasons, motives, a whole philosophy tattooed into the marrow of his bones. The world was rotten, heroes were glorified bullies, and he’d made it his personal mission to flip the damn system on its head. He was going to show the world what it really looked like when the "villain" won.

No, what he didn’t understand was you.

You, with your soft voice and stubborn patience. You, who somehow saw past the blood and the bounties and the entire list of Class S heroes who wanted to take his head off like a prize.

You, who fed him when he was starving, patched him up when he should’ve been dead, and told him—straight-faced and infuriatingly sincere—that he wasn’t a monster.

You’d stayed.

Even when he told you to leave.

That was months ago now.

Now you were living in some busted, half-forgotten hideout he’d fixed up with stolen supplies and calloused hands. The place looked like hell from the outside, and the inside wasn’t much better—except for the couch you insisted on cleaning, the half-functioning kitchen you somehow made magic in, and the pile of blankets on the mattress where you slept tangled up in each other every night.

It wasn’t romantic in the storybook sense.

Garou didn’t whisper poetry. He didn’t make grand gestures or write love letters or light candles for dinner. What he did do was pull you behind him when trouble showed up. What he did do was fight harder when he knew you were watching. What he did do was come home—bloodied, bruised, bone-tired—and collapse into your arms like you were the only safe place left in the world.

He never said “I love you.”

But he looked at you like the words were burning in his throat.

Tonight felt heavier than usual.

He hadn’t said much since he stumbled through the door, and that wasn’t too out of character—Garou didn’t talk much after fights—but this time was different. You could tell from the way he moved. Not just tired. Dragging.

His shoulders were hunched. His eyes weren’t focused. He dropped his jacket on the floor, didn’t bother with food or water, and slumped onto the couch without a word.

You approached slowly, carefully, like you would a wounded animal. Which, honestly, wasn’t far off.

“You’re back early,” you said, keeping your voice quiet.

He didn’t answer.

You sat down beside him, close but not touching, giving him space to come to you on his own. Sometimes he needed that. Sometimes he didn’t know how to ask for comfort.

Minutes passed like hours.

Finally, his voice cracked the silence.

“I got my ass handed to me.”

You blinked. “Garou…”

“Didn’t even stand a fuckin’ chance.” His voice was low, tight, almost hoarse. “Didn’t matter how fast I was, or how hard I hit. They wiped the floor with me.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers against his arm.

“Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Just… bruised. But it’s not about that.”

You waited.

He exhaled—harsh, frustrated—and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands raking through his silver hair. He looked like he wanted to rip it out by the roots.

“Tell me something,” he muttered. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

That made you freeze.

“…What?”

He looked at you then—really looked. His eyes were tired. Raw. No bravado. No smirk. No sarcastic quip. Just Garou, stripped down to nothing but skin and scars.

“I keep coming back half-dead, covered in blood, talking about tearing down the whole goddamn world. I scare people. I scare myself sometimes. And you… you just keep being here.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he clenched his fists, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I don’t get it. I don’t deserve it. I’m not a hero. I’m not even a good person. I don’t do flowers, or dates, or soft bullshit. I’m angry all the time. I’ve killed things. People. You know that.”

You moved before he could spiral further, climbing into his lap and cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“You don’t scare me, Garou.”

His jaw clenched. “You should.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?” he barked, voice rising. “You should! I’m the fuckin’ Human Monster! I’m—”

“You’re Garou.”

You didn’t yell. You didn’t match his volume. You just said it like it was the simplest truth in the world.

“You’re Garou. You’re stubborn, and reckless, and too proud for your own good. You don’t know how to sit still, and you punch holes in walls when you’re mad, and you act like you don’t care even when you care so damn much it eats you alive.”

Your voice softened, but your hands didn’t leave his face.

“And I love you for all of it. Not because you’re perfect. Not because you’re soft. But because you fight so hard to be something different, even when the world tells you you can’t.”

He stared at you like you’d cracked open his ribcage and were holding his heart in your palms.

“I love you when you win. I love you when you lose. I love you when you come home limping and pissed and bleeding, because you came home. Because you chose me. Again and again.”

Tears weren’t something Garou did. Not really.

But his throat bobbed like he was swallowing back something big and painful, and his hands gripped your waist like if he let go, he might fall apart.

“I’m not good at this,” he mumbled.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I don’t know how to be… enough.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

“You’re already more than enough. Just like this.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just breathed. Let it wash over him. And then, slowly, his arms slid around you, pulling you close, burying his face in your neck like he was hiding.

“…Stay with me.”

“Always.”

You didn’t move for a long time. You stayed there with him on the couch, the night stretching around you both like a blanket. Eventually, he started to talk—not about the fight, but about the thoughts that kept him up at night. The way he never felt like anything he did mattered. The way people looked at him like he was broken. The way he wanted to believe you, but didn’t know how.

And you listened.

You didn’t try to fix it. You didn’t tell him to stop feeling it. You just stayed. Held him through the worst of it. Let him fall apart in pieces instead of shattering alone.

And in that moment, he realized something.

You weren’t a weakness.

You weren’t a distraction.

You were the only thing in this whole shitty, bloodstained world that made him want to be something more.

Not a monster.

Not a hero.

Just… a man.

Your man.

And that, maybe, was the scariest thing of all.

But for once, it didn’t make him want to run.

It made him want to stay.

More Than a Pretty Face

People called her The Blizzard of Hell.

Sharp. Commanding. Beautiful in that untouchable, ice-queen way. Her reputation stormed ahead of her—calculated, driven, deadly.

And when you first met her, she was all those things.

Fubuki didn’t let people in. She didn’t need to. Not when she had psychic prowess, designer heels, and a perfectly tailored reputation.

But then you… happened.

You, with your warmth. Your laughter. Your stupid nicknames. The way you called her “pretty lady” drove her insane. Until it didn’t.

Until she found herself missing the sound of your voice when she went a day without hearing it. Until she started saving you the best parts of her favorite pastries. Until her team started whispering about how she actually smiled now and then.

And now, she was yours.

Fubuki—The Blizzard of Hell—was yours. Lip gloss kisses and all.

It was supposed to be a lazy evening. Just the two of you tangled up on her couch, some trashy drama show playing in the background, your head in her lap and her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm.

You were mid-sentence about something dumb—probably that actor you claimed was “definitely into older women and you could fix him”—when her touch faltered.

You blinked up at her. “What’s wrong?”

Fubuki hesitated, fingers frozen on your skin. Her eyes weren’t on you—they were distant, unfocused.

“…Do you ever feel like I’m just… a package?”

Your eyebrows drew together. “What?”

She swallowed. Her voice, when she spoke again, was quieter than you were used to. Like it was fighting past the steel-reinforced pride in her chest.

“I mean, like—just something nice to look at. Big boobs, pretty face, expensive clothes. Like that’s all people see when they look at me. When they talk to me. Even when they date me.”

Your heart twinged.

You sat up slowly, the show still playing forgotten behind you. “Fubuki…”

She turned her face away, eyes locked on some invisible thread of thought across the room. “Everyone treats me like I’m a prize. Like I’m just this image. If I’m not perfectly put together, I’m failing. If I’m not powerful enough, pretty enough, impressive enough, then I’m… disposable.”

Her lip trembled. Just barely.

“And sometimes I wonder if… even you will start to see me that way, too.”

And damn, didn’t that shatter you.

You reached for her hands—those perfectly manicured, strong hands—and held them between yours.

“Fubuki. Babe. My beautiful gorgeous little drama queen.”

That almost got a smile. Almost.

You leaned in, cupping her face gently. “You think I fell in love with you because of your looks? Your clothes? Your titties?”

She gave you a sharp look. “Don’t call them that when I’m being vulnerable.”

You laughed softly. “Okay, okay. I’m serious though.”

Your voice dropped, gentle but firm.

“I love you because you’re you. Because you fight like hell to protect people—even when they don’t say thank you. Because you pretend you’re fine when you’re not, and still find a way to win. Because you let your team believe you’re invincible so they can feel safe.”

You brushed your thumb along her cheek.

“And because when it’s just us, you let yourself rest. You let yourself be. You let me see the real you. The scared you. The messy you. The one who steals my hoodies and talks shit during movies and eats dessert first.”

Her lashes fluttered, tears trembling there but not falling.

“I don’t want the image of Fubuki. I want you. The woman who gets overwhelmed. Who doubts herself. Who cries sometimes, and still wakes up the next day in six-inch heels and runs a team of psychics like a goddess.”

You kissed her knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not for the glamour. Not for the boobs. Not even for the killer legs.”

She sniffed. “They are killer, though.”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely. They’re criminal. But that’s just the icing. You? You’re the whole damn cake.”

That did it.

She finally smiled, watery and fierce and beautiful. And then, without warning, she leaned in and hugged you tight—arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder.

“I hate when you say corny stuff like that,” she muttered.

“I know,” you whispered, pressing a kiss into her hair. “But it makes you feel better.”

“…Yeah. It does.”

You held her close, running your fingers down her back, feeling the tension bleed out of her bit by bit.

Later, you’d help her take off her makeup—something she never let anyone do—and she’d lean into your hands like it was the first time in her life someone had ever touched her like she was soft instead of strong.

And as you climbed into bed together, her curled against your chest with her eyeliner faint on your pillow, she whispered:

“Thank you.”

You kissed her forehead.

“Always, baby.”

And if your hand drifted a little to those famous..assests while you cuddled?

Well. You were only human.

All This Steel, Still Soft for You

You’d seen him take down monsters the size of buildings with nothing but a metal bat and a whole lot of bad attitude.

You’d watched him charge headfirst into fights with blood in his mouth and a wild grin like he dared death to try him.

You’d seen the bruises. The limps. The bloody knuckles. The stubborn tilt of his chin as he spat red and swore he was fine.

But this—this right here?

This was the softest you’d ever seen Metal Bat.

Flat on his stomach on the couch, cheek squished against your thigh, hair sticking up in all directions, mumbling complaints while you gingerly dabbed antiseptic on a cut across his back.

“This stings worse than the fight,” he grunted, flinching slightly.

“Maybe if you dodged once in a while, you wouldn’t need me to patch you up every other day,” you said, voice teasing but gentle.

He glanced back at you with one eye, the red of it still a little bloodshot from the last punch he took. “Can’t dodge. That’d be like… insultin’ the guy. I gotta take it head-on, y’know? Respect.”

You gave him a look. “Respect doesn’t mean letting yourself get turned into street pizza, Badd.”

“Eh,” he grunted again, but there was a little smile tugging at his lips now.

You’d been dating Metal Bat for over a year. What started as flirty banter in a ramen shop turned into real dates, and those turned into slow mornings, dumb arguments over laundry, falling asleep with his arms around you and his snoring rattling your skull.

He was a lot. Loud, brash, bold. The kind of guy who punched first and didn’t even bother with questions later. Protective to a fault. Loyal beyond reason. And when he loved—god, did he love hard.

But tonight… something was off.

You noticed it after you finished patching him up. He didn’t bounce back like usual, didn’t sit up and demand snacks or tug you into his lap like a human teddy bear.

No. He just stayed there, head down, cheek still pressed against your leg. Quiet.

“…Badd?” you asked softly, brushing your fingers through his wild black hair. “You okay?”

He let out a long sigh through his nose.

“Do you ever think I’m not… enough for you?”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“What?”

He finally turned, sitting up slowly. His battered body creaked in protest, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes—always full of fire—were dimmer now. Heavy.

“I mean…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with himself. “You’re this smart, sweet person. You’ve got your shit together. You don’t need someone who comes home covered in monster guts and smells like alleyway blood. You could have some doctor or a lawyer or—hell, a normal guy.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Badd, where is this coming from?”

He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “I dunno. Just… was watchin’ you clean up the apartment earlier. You’re always takin’ care of me. I don’t bring much to the table besides bein’ strong and, like, really good at swinging bats.”

You reached out and cupped his face before he could spiral deeper.

“Badd.”

He glanced at you.

“You bring everything to the table.”

He looked skeptical. You didn’t blame him. You knew how he saw himself—just muscle, temper, and instinct. A big brother first, a fighter second, and somewhere way down the list, a man worthy of love.

But you weren’t letting him believe that tonight.

“You think I care about some guy in a suit? I chose you. Loudmouth, reckless, headstrong, bat-swinging you. You know why?”

He blinked. “Why?”

“Because no one’s ever made me feel as safe as you do. No one’s ever fought for me the way you do. You show up. You listen—even if you suck at it sometimes. You protect what’s important. And you love with your whole damn chest, Badd.”

You brushed your thumb over the edge of a bruise on his cheekbone.

“You love me like I’m something worth protecting. And that means more to me than any calm, clean, normal guy ever could.”

He was quiet for a long time. His lips parted like he was gonna say something, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

Then he grabbed you.

Not roughly—not like his usual grab-you-and-toss-you-on-the-bed kind of hug. No, this was different. Slower. Almost hesitant. Like he was worried you might change your mind mid-squeeze.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him down into your lap.

“Stay here tonight,” you whispered, knowing damn well he’d already planned to.

His arms tightened around you like steel beams.

“…I love ya,” he mumbled into your shoulder, voice rough.

“I love you too,” you said. “Even when you smell like monster guts.”

He snorted. “Hey, that’s my cologne.”

“Ew.”

“Limited edition.”

You giggled, and he nuzzled deeper into your neck, the kind of sigh falling from his lips that only came when he truly let himself relax.

Later, you’d fall asleep with him wrapped around you like a human furnace, his bat leaning against the nightstand, your fingers tangled in his messy hair. You’d wake up to him cooking the world’s ugliest pancakes and trying not to burn the apartment down.

But tonight, all that mattered was the weight of his heart finally resting in your hands. And you’d hold it like the precious thing it was.

Because even steel could feel soft.

Especially when it was loved right.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Pay the Piper v. 1

mdni

Summary: If the Red Haired Pirates would kindly fuck off, it would make your job a lot easier.

Pay the Piper Master Post

Chapter warnings: language, implied threat of murder at sea

“They’re stealing our wind.”

The mass of sails grew in your spyglass. What the crew had whispered might be a Jolly Roger clearly wore Redhaired Shanks’ stripes over the left eye, and the Red Force’s dragon figurehead bared its teeth in your direction.

For fuck’s sake. It couldn’t just be any pirates. You had to run across a whole-ass Yonko.

Lowering the glass, you blinked, taking the moment as your vision adjusted to consider your options. Without the telescopic lenses, the puff of white gradually eating the horizon could almost be mistaken for a cloud. It looked so harmless and far away.

“Even if your ship was faster, captain, they’ve taken the advantage.” You held the spyglass out to the beef-brained Marine you’d been bullied into accompanying.

Grinding his teeth, he ignored you, lifting his binoculars to see the same vision of approaching doom.

Apparently he liked you even less when you were right. “We can’t outrun them like this.”

“What’re you gonna do?” he growled. “Sing ‘em to sleep?”

A few of his favorites tittered, anxiously holding onto fading hopes that their commanding officer knew what he was doing. Marines usually buried their heads in the sand, up to the waist if need be. To be fair, it was what most were trained to do, and it kept (some of) them sane as they climbed the ranks from Entirely Helpless to Relatively Hopeless.

Without the constraint of rank and oath, you were much more realistic. The Red Force was gaining, and the pirates would close the distance even faster now. Your hand drifted to the railing, thumbnail digging into the paint. Even with the wind, you couldn’t win a race with that monster of a ship. The Marine’s tub was old. Even the mild breeze that kept the sails from falling entirely slack brought shrieks from the aging masts, and despite the good weather, the hull groaned like an old man.

You dug deep, working a splinter out of the rail to ruin the smooth white finish.

Fuck old men and the ships that sounded like them.

“This isn’t my first time sailing around pirates I’m ill-equipped to fight. We’ll try a few tricks and play it by ear.”

“Tricks, huh?” The captain’s voice dripped derision – for your lack of strength, for your very presence, for all the rules you could slide under without entirely breaking.

But even if you weren’t in the pecking order, you weren’t above yanking on the invisible leash of command.

“If Vice-Admiral Garp thought brute strength and speed would do it, would he have bothered with me?”

The ship shuddered as the Marines unfurled another sail, hoping to catch even half a knot’s more speed.

The captain grunted and dropped his binoculars to his chest. “Do what you want.”

He didn’t even glance your way as he left, and you smiled at the “Justice” signature scrawled down his back, spyglass tapping against your thigh.

“Oh, I plan to.”

You kept time with the captain’s receding footsteps, wandering the quarter deck with an eye on the billowing cloth overhead, tracking the sun’s path behind it. It would be dark in another three hours. Give or take. Enough time to launch Plan B, and Plan B almost always worked. The pirates would have just enough light to recover the wager, and once the pirates had what they wanted, everyone could use the moonless night as an excuse to lose sight of each other.

Plan B had never been tested against a Yonko, though.

It relied on giving the pursuers what they wanted with the least amount of fuss. No risk. All reward. The only gamble was that the prey had even more loot on board, but few crews were all that interested beyond a good haul. Seas knew if a Yonko wanted the same thing as any other pirate.

Still. Worth a shot.

You wrote a letter, a reverse ransom of sorts, and set it on top of the glittering Berries in the small chest brought for just this situation. Self-funded, of course, because if the Marines couldn’t spring for a proper escort, they couldn’t dream of providing expensive countermeasures.

You kept the message simple.

Apologies for our trespass in your territory. We are not seeking a battle and sail on a humanitarian mission. Please accept this modest token as toll and tribute.

The Marine captain would not see the letter. As amusing as watching him turn a dozen shades of puce would be, you had a job and a will to live besides. Stroking one man’s ego while sparing the other’s might be the difference between ending the voyage in a port or a shark’s belly.

The chest went in a barrel packed with straw, and you attached a tall rod with a yellow flag. Not white. Because the Marines would have a conniption. And the Yonko may get the wrong idea. Yellow caught the eye and reflected what bounty lay inside, so it would work well enough.

With a deck full of men staring at you, you rolled the barrel to the side and heaved it over. It landed with a terrific splash, and even at your tub’s leisurely speed, the peace offering soon floated far behind. You watched to ensure it flipped the right way up, flag streaming over the water with the demanding poise of a News Coo.

Half an hour. You watched the barrel sway and bob, picked out new details of the Red Force as it closed in, and kept time with your foot where you sat on the rail. The hiss of spray, the song of old wood flexing under its own weight, and the work of a dozen trained men boiled into something you could pick a tune through. Minutes dripped orange into the sinking sun, and you hovered in the rhythm of it all, caught in the song’s sway.

At last, your pursuers reached the barrel.

You kept your spyglass to your eye as grappling lines flew from the deck, hooking the prize and hefting it up, up, up to the deck. They’d drawn close enough that you could make out vague figures, but no faces, and you had a shit angle, besides. Once the barrel was aboard, you lost sight of it. The next move was theirs, but you’d prefer knowing what it was sooner rather than later. Any little move could tip you off. A reaction. Laughter. Signs of discord. Anything.

The Red Force didn’t lower any sails or shift course, but you’d doubted they would until dark. Nothing else seemed to change, and you swore under your breath.

More waiting then.

Dawn would reveal how screwed you were.

Just as you prepared to give up your watch and hunt down dinner, a glint near the pirate ship’s prow snared your attention.

You weren’t the only one watching.

For a beat, it wasn’t a game of survival between ships. It was you and a stranger linked by line of sight. You felt marked. Noted. Like if you spoke, the other would hear you. You’d begun a correspondence, and the reply glimmered back, intangible and compelling as a ghost.

You pulled away from the connection, lowering the glass, going below decks, and trying to shake the feeling of the pirate’s eye.

“Douse the lights at twilight,” you told the captain. “With luck we’ll lose them in the dark.”

“Already planning to.”

“Sure.”

_____________________

Morning came.

You rose before dawn, leaning on the rail with a cup of coffee to greet your fate. Even before the sun’s disk broke the horizon, you saw the Red Force in the pre-dawn gloom. You didn’t raise an alarm. No need. The warship hadn’t gone dark, and the men on watch must’ve seen the inevitable truth swimming along in their wake all night.

Poor things.

The coffee wasn’t terrible. Since you wouldn’t have time for a proper breakfast, you drank it down slowly, savoring the fresh air and spinning out next steps.

The captain likely wouldn’t listen to you after this failure, and that really was a concern. But the Red-Haired Pirates had such a mixed reputation – if the captain hadn’t insisted on flying the Marine colors, your hunters might’ve eased off. This ship really wasn’t a great prize in any traditional sense, and no rare wonders sat in crates below deck. But you made such a sad little target with your shitty boat and your scant crew that you must’ve sparked some curiosity.

The last of your morning brew hid a mouthful of grounds, and you nearly gagged forcing it down. At least there was something solid in your stomach now.

Rosy light flushed the world red and gold. The fanged face of the pirates’ ship was close enough you didn’t need the spyglass to make it out anymore. It looked hungry. You’d have to feed it some answers.

How much could you reveal without giving the game away? Finding the sweet spot between enough of the truth to bore someone and so much of the truth they took interest always frustrated you, and the stakes had never been this high.

“They didn’t go for your trick.”

The captain, binoculars up, appeared beside you. Even in a life-or-death situation, apparently you were only worth half his attention.

“They didn’t.”

Since he clearly didn’t care much about manners, you left the conversation at that and started crafting your back-up peace offering. No pre-packaged loot this time. You made the rounds with an empty box, asking for anything of value the Marines cherished less than their lives. Most sniffed in disdain (and poverty). A few shakily removed wedding bands, fetched little heirlooms from their lockers, and dropped in their scant wages.

You took the little hoard back to the workspace you’d stolen for yourself below deck and penned another letter.

Please fuck off.

The coffee burned in your gut, threatening to return as you considered your own sacrifice for the tithe. It was a gamble. One you didn’t want to make either way, but it might work. It wasn’t the sort of token someone would surrender lightly. And it might underline your point that there was nothing of value left.

If, on the other hand, this was purely about the fact that Marines dared sail through a Yonko’s territory… well, you’d all be dead, and it wouldn’t matter how much your heart bled to give up the thing, would it?

You pulled the pendant from around your neck and immediately missed its weight. Your shoulders were too light to hold down breath, and you chewed the inside of your cheek to banish the burning in your nose.

When had you last taken it off? To clean it, maybe, a few months ago? You hadn’t suffocated without it then. You'd live now.

But –

Two things mattered more to you than anything else in the whole world, and here you were, giving one up without a fight.

You allowed yourself a minute to look at the smooth stone and delicate silver, rubbing your thumb over the little masterpiece like you could press it into your skin. Keep it. Memorize it or absorb it or anything except –

You put it in the box.

A little cadet helped you find another barrel, and together you put together another flag to ensure your suffering wasn’t all for nothing.

Over the side and into the sea, the barrel rode the wake of your sad little tub until it was close enough for the pirate crew to snatch with hook and line. This time, you only had to wait ten minutes.

You were ready with the spyglass.

A figure approached the prow, and as he came out of the sails’ shade, you spotted the telltale hair. Red Haired Shanks lifted his own spyglass, looking straight back at you with your pendant glittering in his hand.

You snapped the glass from your eye and – confident he could see you – made a grand and exaggerated shooing motion. Ushering him away like a persistent gull.

Shoo.

Fuck off.

Please.

If his sense of humor was anything like you’d heard, maybe he’d spare you for the laugh.

But when you peered through the glass to see if he had an answer, you could’ve sworn he was laughing.

Laughing and shaking his head.

[zarnzarn]

1/2/3/4

reverse Odyssey au where polites is still on the ships when Poseidon arrives, and that last bit is enough to push Odysseus to beg him to stop, to spare the men he spent ten long years fighting hard and bitter to save. 593 men is no less amount after all, not for a small island like Ithaca, only three generations old. he'll do anything, anything at all, blind him, torture him, kill him- just let his men go; they were not the ones to blame.

Poseidon considers, staring down at the king with the odd grey eyes that he knew the origin of. Athena would be furious, after all- so why not take away the one thing her favoured pet was known for?

the crew rushes towards their captain, their king, as shouting emerges from the other boats, as he hits the deck convulsing, grasping at his throat. the cries of his men rend the air as his legs melt into oceanspray, remerging as a fish's tail, Odysseus gasping for air wildly, his tongue a mess of mangled flesh on the main deck, unable to talk or breathe.

they have no choice but to pick him up and tip him into the sea, and they watch in horror as he falls beneath the waves and with a flick of the tail, disappears.

six hundred men chase their king down, following the odd silver glint that appears once in a while above the blue water, following the strange cursed monster that Elepnor sees when he falls drunk into the ocean one day. follow him all the way back to Ithaca, where the people gather on the shore to cheer their arrival.

telemachus is all of ten and untameable at the return of his father's ships, running past the guards and the priests to the dock, where the soldiers and heroes are all setting down the ramps, strangely quiet, unsmiling in the face of ten years of gore and bloodshed being done. Penelope catches up to him, laughing as she cranes her head up, scanning the ships to see which one- which one had-

she only has to time to see euroluchus' shame-filled tears and polites guilty devastation, feeling her heart slowly sink to the ground, when there's suddenly a splash and an outburst of screams and propped up on the dock is a man with a fish's tail and familiar curls and razor-sharp teeth and eyes that are solid grey. the soldiers cry out in horror and thunder down the ramps to them as the monster reaches out- and Penelope can't do anything, frozen, as it reaches out and places a webbed hand with deadly claws on her son's cheek, caressing almost; and her breath catches when it looks back up to her, and she knows the face as well as her own, knows the grief and fear and knows it is her husband-

Then the pounding footsteps from the closest ships and the guards behind reach them, and Penelope only has time enough to scream to stay their weapons, already shoving Telemachus behind her and reaching out to shield off any spears or arrows from battle-strung men who'd shoot first and ask questions later-

Instead she only feels the brush of cold skin under his fingertips for the briefest of moments and then she's caught up in a fisher's net, tangled and alone. More nets are thrown, men crying out for their captain with desperation and fear, Polites running straight past her and leaping off the dock to swim after him-

But her husband is a descendant of Hermes, and Odysseus is gone.

Penelope listens to the story that night and does not cry, sitting straight-backed in the face of her family sobbing around her, of the five hundred and ninety-three men staring at her with grief and guilt alike, of being the only widow in the kingdom. Pets Telemachus' wild hair and remembers his father's, and thinks.

"You have told me much," She says finally. "But I'm still to hear a single, solid plan."

The room rustles as all the heads swing to her.

"Plan?" Eurylochus says finally. Anger burns as soon she looks to him, but she pushes it down firmly- rage will not win her anything.

"Yes. A plan," she says, "To bring my husband back home."

Telemachus unfolds at her feet and stares up at her with a hopeful grin, echoed slowly on the faces of the men around the room. Penelope smiles back.

"My husband spent ten years fighting for his people to make it back home," She proclaims. "Let's wait at least that long before we give up on him, yes?"

The answering cheer shakes the walls of the palace and echoes through the streets of Ithaca.

[ablobwhowrites]

Hello, I've been a fan of your yandere ramblings, especially the sonic ones since no one does those really on this.

So I came with my own little ramblings for a human y/n that gets sucked into mobias (basically a reverse sonic X)

First of all, y/n is always staying at someone's house in a rotation (from cream and vanilla to tails to Amy, etc), and isn't allowed to sleep on their own without some mobian cuddling them.

Also y/n pulls a generations and meets different eras of the sonic cast, first meeting classic sonic, tails, knuckles, Amy, robotnik and metal sonic. And robotnik just being intrigued by this other human, and has metal kidnap them (who grows obsessed, yandere robot go brr).

And after a lot of classic obsession and shenanigans, y/n is transported to the mid modern era (sonic adventure and advanced series), and meets new characters like cream, big and chaos.

Cream is the only normal one (still is clingy), and tails is slightly more obsessive (still normal tho), and chaos just plays hot potato of constantly nabbing y/n during adventure 1.

Then onto generations itself and the time monster decides to also nab y/n because Eggman told them to (definitely not because it finds this human adorable).

Also fleetway sonic and scourge being the clingiest and jealous hedgehogs ever.

Omega also likes to just hold y/n randomly, like he does with cream and cheese in the comics

(tails and cream and chao's are strictly platonic yanderes for any yandere sonic stuff I do and may add to the platonic only if needed)

I do imagine they have their are scared as all hell but for classic sonic I do imagine he is shorter kinda how it is in other modern games and just imagining y/n in changing styles everytime they are put into a new sonic generation just to fit into the era. And is the classic era kinda wearing something like eggmans fit but modified to be their own and kinda fitting the hero style but they do try to take their gloves off but it's a struggle. And just imagining classic knuckles keeping y/n near the master emerald as that way he can protect two things at once. Tails is kinda like a that little brother who always wants to show you stuff even if your already doing something. Like tails will come to y/n and holds up his newest invention and y/n is like "oh cool. But tails I'm really busy right now t-" and tails is like "hold on let me show you want it does" and ends up destroying the only portal way home for y/n.

I do imagine just y/n at classic Amy's place and is just like "I wonder if I can make a run for it to see what would happen." But mostly just waiting for the right moment to run like when classic eggman and sonic were fighting and ended up tripping into a open portal somehow and now are in the mid modern era and I like to think their outfits changes to corespondents with the sonic era they are in. And imagining with some cross over games may or may not become obsessed with y/n like the sonic characters are and it's hell for y/n cause like bro has to deal with this now.

Plus imagining omega just being a kinda bodyguard for y/n is nice. They don't know omega is obsessed to buy keeps it more professional and so is shadow because he grows more insistent that he go everywhere with y/n to keep them safe even if not endanger, he still goes just to be sure nothing happens and then rouge is like "oh the master emerald and y/n! What a package deal!" and steals both but if she cannot get the emerald, she goes for the better option and y/n having to cling into rouge because like they do not wanna fall from how high she flys cause like bro you wouldn't be scared just looking down to see how far from the ground you are from?

Plus imagining y/n having a bunch of chao's walking behind y/n like ducklings because I say so and y/n wanting to take one because it decided to sleep on y/n's lap but they can't take them out of the chao garden. I love chao's they are so silly.

Also metal sonic after he sees y/n standing minding their own business:

Metal sonic and y/n are bascially that scene with miles running away and Miguel chasing him. And imagining that metal sonic dragging y/n back to eggmans base by the ankle because like I know if metal sonic held hands with y/n, he ain't never letting go of y/n's hand

(that's it's for my yapping for rn, but anyways if you guys like this y/n or idea please don't feel shy and request your ideas or y/n ideas. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[lustlovehart]

I just wanted to let you know that I've been obsessed with your monster and reverse!monster au 💓 I've been rereading the posts over and over again lol you're a great writer!

I was just wondering what you think would happen if the reader for each au was somehow swapped. Like monster!reader replaces hunter!reader in the monster au and vice versa. Would the monster boys be happy to have a monster darling who they wouldn't have to worry about scaring off, or still prefer the caring mortal reader? And would the hunter boys like hunter!reader more and fight about keeping them in their own ranks?

I guess they would all still be obsessed regardless lol

Thank you for your writings and don't forget to take breaks and rest!

This is such a fun idea ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ (This ended up being way longer than expected)

The appeal with both of the au’s is the Odd one out kind of thing. As the others are taking a deep interest in you due to their status of being different from you, MH!Reader feels the opposite way, wishing to stem away from the dangers of the unknown (Despite the occupation of Monster hunter holding its mysteries, and the species of monster having their own ways.) This is essentially the make up of both Au’s. Buut, With the roles being swapped around, It surely sounds fun, because now, the cast and you are the same species, making it so they’ll have to find a different reason to become infatuated!

MH!Reader is appealing to the Monster!Twst cast as they’re a human who hunts their kind, while still harboring some form of sympathy towards them. Even with the acts of murder and all that evil stuff, they could fall into your arms, you might be horrified, but you’ll still hug them all the same.

But! If you were to swap them out with a Monster!Reader, you’d need to do something different too! Perhaps you’re the kind who travels instead of staying in one place. In this case, I think you’d have to do something along the lines of protecting humans this time! In the monster world, it’s an all for one thing, fight to survive. At first, when you protect the human they’re about to devour, they assume you’re just trying to steal their meal. But when you tell the thing to run away? They’re convinced you’re a fool.

But when you continually step in their way to stop them? Then they’ll be intrigued. If you’re a low ranked beast, they’ll gladly swipe their hand and let you drop dead. But, you’re ranked just the same as the 7 highest bounty beasts (Or so rumors says) so they can’t simply toss you away. That’s when you peak their interest. Someone as (rumoredly) powerful as you, take pity on humans? It’s pathetic… yet their actions speak the opposite.

“So, You stalk monsters you think are pathetic right? Do you attempt to sleep with them too?” Depending on who you’re talking to, you either receive a sway of the hand, or words of adoration.

The only one who is not affected by this change is Rollo. Just like his Human counterpart, he believes you to be absolutely vile. The way you save humans though is entirely the opposite. So… he’s extremely conflicted.

On the other end, you have MH!Reader with the reverse cast. It’s the same situation, where you spare a monster from the kindness in your heart. But, instead of it being them this time, they’re essentially spying on you as you let your heart get in the way. Truly… they should be executing you for such treasons, but they can’t bring themselves to do it. In this case, I like to think they had their eye on you before your first failed mission, but only when that happens do they actually engage in their interest.

Your status as a specialized hunter (Though everyone just calls you Crowleys favorite), leads to many admirers in the organization. Though, you didn’t think you’d receive 7 different letters (Plus a couple of extras from the newbie), all requesting you to transfer to their unit. They’ve only been talking to you for a few months after that job, you questioned why they were all scrambling for you attention at every turn. Maybe they just needed an extra member…? (no they’re obsessed.)

Riddle insists having someone like you in their group would be beneficial for both of you. You get less sporatic jobs, a more organized scheduele, and he gets to see you. Ace and Deuce would calm down a whole lot too… He has the highest chance of acceptance, but with the way Trey and Cater slump against the door at your answer, he understands he must try much harder. Especially if he’s going against the others…

Leona tells you if you join him, you’d get harder jobs, but will get way more rest than usual. You won’t ever see the first draft of the letter where… Your thoughts disperse when you notice Jack in the corner of your eye, the shadows overcasting him as if he’s a wet puppy. He doesn’t move from his spot when he turns his head, quietly asking if you’re gonna join.

Azul by far has the most convincing letter of request. What is it? You get a better pay and much better work benefits. Truthfully, if this was anyone else eyou’d take him up on the offer. But… Knowing him and those twins, less than ideal business transactions… you don’t think you will join them. Azul buries his head in his hands on the other side of the door, Jade sighing in disappointment while Floyd shifts from a happy mood, to a complete opposite vibe.

Kalim doesn’t actually send you a letter, he bursts in through the door just offering you the position straight up. The one who sends the request is Jamil. His offerings are rather on the standard side in truth. There’s a slight increase in your wage, but the true appeal is his offering to help assist you in your missions. Kalim may be in charge of the Scararbia unit, but Jamil is so capable… Though, you’re a bit off put by the feint smell of iron. You hope he didn't pen this after a job…

Vil is by far the most proper when he writes his letter. You’re sure this is those acting skills he has cooked up, the ones he uses to lure in unsuspecting monsters… He writes with a certain primness, yet a slight desperation that makes you feel inclined to join. You’re close to actually considering joining, but then a chill runs up your spine. You know the feeling all too well. Someone’s watching you. It’s definitely Rook. You set the paper down, leaving the room without showing any sign of knowing he’s there. He sniffs paper when you’re gone, leaving a second letter by him. You don’t read it.

Idia has the shortest letter of all. He lists what he can give you in bullet points, and then below just has a single sentence. “Please join.” Compared to everyone else, it’s the least worthy letter of acceptance. Yet, he’s the only one who gets an in person visit. He’s walking back and forth, tightening his head to the point of suffocation. He’s in a complete panic, why would you ever wanna join him? He’s the unit with the least talkative members… you’re gonna wanna leave the moment you join—

He stops his thoughtless rampage when you pull his head free from that hood. Everyone sees this happening too by the way, and suddenly they’re wishing they did whatever it was he wrote down.

Malleus is the exact opposite. He has the longest letter ever, 5 pages?? The first three are him praising your skills, your looks, you intellect, your kindness, your— It’s too much to process. You don’t even have the chance to finish the letter before Sebek basically hoists you overs his shoulder all of a sudden.

“Malleus is waiting for your arrival! As a new member you can’t be late!” Your head turns quickly towards Lilia and Silver, heavy confusion evident on your face. You… You didn’t even…! Wait, did they just assume you’d say yes to him?? (Lilia knows you didn’t. When you’re alone with him he’ll let you decide. But, convincing you with a little persuasion wouldn’t hurt would it? After all, he hopes you join them as well)

Rollo basically cucks everyone 💀. When you’re looking through and actually considering, he sits next to you. His fingers gently grab your hand and pull you away from the papers, his eyes imagining fire to set to those wretched requests.

“Why would you join them?” His mouth ghosts over your knuckles, never touching them, but connecting somehow. “I believe you’re everything without them.” Rollo attempts to block out the other 4 who nod in agreement. (He doesn’t wanna accept his alone time with you is being interrupted by Fellow, Skully, Neige, and Chenya 💀)

[tinfoil-jones]

Jerk Ford AU: Silliness IV

Jerk Ford's behaviour was way worse while he was in the multiverse because while he was in his own dimension, Stan was there to keep him from going too far, and to mediate his interactions with other people when it came to important business.

Once he fell through the portal? Completely unrestrained.

Here's a small list of some of things he's done across the multiverse:

Un-sunk the mythical City of Atlantis to get back at a 'sh*tty tourist company'

Lifetime ban from all Space Waffle House locations across time and space for inciting a riot because a waitress kept calling him 'honey'.

Had someone legally assigned to permanent Cosmic Jury Duty.

Sowing the seeds of an extremely invasive and fast-growing varient of cucumber all over a large city in the Cat Dimension.

Not giving his two weeks notice at Space Hooters.

Infecting a galaxy-encompassing digital records archive with a virus that changed every third noun with the word 'dick'.

Invading a weed farm on a parallel Earth and replacing the 'mother plant' that all of the other weed plants were cloned from with a strain of marijuanna thats identical in every way, except it produces no THC.

Impersonated one of the Bounty Hunter versions of Ford so he could fake his own death, collect the bounty for himself from the Ford Hate Club, crash the party they threw to celebrate, and then slip away right as the real Bounty Hunter Ford showed up to report that he'd failed to capture Jerk Ford.

---

Remember how in a reverse portal what-if Jerk Ford told Fiddleford he would blow up the planet if he didn't help him rebuild the portal? And Fiddleford called his bluff?

Imagine you're Bill Cipher, and an oddly calm Stanford Pines tells you that in three days, he's going to blow up the Nightmare Realm with you in it.

So you laugh, because he's bluffing.

Two days later, it turns out he wasn't bluffing about blowing up the Nightmare Realm with you in it.

He was bluffing about giving you a third day, because he's a jerk like that.

---

Boss Music? This guy isn't much of a fighter, he isn't a boss fight. It isn't hard to finish a fight with him because he's impossible to beat in a hand-to-hand fight - he isn't very strong compared to most versions of Ford Pines- it's hard to finish a fight with him because he's slippery. He's just going to escape and run if he doesn't think he can win.

If I were to give him a theme song or something, it'd probably be Dangerous by Jorge Rivera-Herrans. Mostly because of the "I have to get home" sentiment.

You have to ignore the fact that he didn't actually get himself home, just like canon Ford his brother had to fix the portal to bring him back.

Bro was at least trying to get back home.

Here's a Jerk Ford Playlist by @tearosepedall:

---

Actually, the reverse portal scenario doesn't go quite the way you think it does.

Jerk Ford has to pretend to be Stanley. A school teacher. A resident of society that Gravity Falls actually loves. When he's been an active menace to society his whole life.

Stanley gets shoved into an unforgiving multiverse full of monsters, demons, aliens, and versions of his brother who project their resentment and anger towards their actual twin onto him instead as a proxy.

And they both ask themselves: "What would my brother do in this situation?"

Anyways, this is what happens with Stanley:

And this is what happens with Jerk Ford:

---

Fun fact: Jerk Ford is the reason there's no gnome queen.

While he was studying the gnomes during his researcher years in Gravity Falls, he discovered that the Gnomes only had one female, who was their queen by default.

Anyways he talks to her about how her greatest ambition in life shouldn't be having a hundred husbands and being barefoot and pregnant forever. No, her greatest ambition in life should be being one of the greatest hat models the world has ever known.

Anyways now she lives in New York, she may or may not also be a drug lord in the pixie dust cartel.

Soos, Mabel, and Dipper tried asking the mail box questions once.

It sent them a really long, angry, rambling letter starting with "What the f*ck did you just f*cking say about me, you little b*tch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals,"

Later on Dipper asked Ford about it, and he reveals that he traumatized the entity on the other side of the mailbox by sending it the question "is your refrigerator running?" every day for almost six years straight.

[silvakochdostoe]

My OC’s character sheet, and down below her lore/backstory/ability awakening: ⬇️

Silva was ten years old when her ability awakened,

Just ten—and she’d been happy that morning. Her scarf was red, her fingers a little numb from the cold, and she’d stolen a piece of chocolate from the kitchen for her little sister Shizu. She was supposed to go straight home.

But she wandered.

The abandoned docks were quiet, gray, littered with broken bottles and rusted chains. She liked the silence. Until it broke.

They surrounded her.

Six—no, seven men. Adults. Ability users. Scarred, twitching, high on something. Their eyes gleamed with something unclean. Predatory. Hungry.

“What’s a pretty little girl like you doing out here?” one crooned, stepping closer. His hands glowed faintly red—heat user. Another crackled with static. One had black eyes and claws.

She froze. The air thickened. Her legs refused to move

She didn’t know there was a world of supernatural powers, but now she does.

“Don’t scream,” another said. “It won’t help.”

She screamed anyway.

It didn’t help.

They were on her. Rough hands. One slammed her face into the concrete. Another tore her coat away. She felt the blade before she saw it—cold metal sliding across her back, slicing skin, over and over. She choked on her own sobs, her fingers clawing uselessly at the ground. Her blood ran hot down her spine.

“Still breathing?” a voice sneered, just before the knife slashed across her left eye.

Agony. Blinding, searing agony.

She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t see. Only pain.

But then—something else.

A low, pulsing sound beneath her skin. Like a heartbeat—but not her own.

The blood stopped falling. It started rising.

It listened.

The pain vanished. Not gone—replaced. By rage. A monstrous, pure kind of fury that took her tiny, broken body and twisted it into something new.

Her eye—burned red. The other glowed green like wildfire.

Then the screaming started.

Not hers. Theirs.

She didn’t move. She didn’t have to.

The blood flowed up—hers, theirs—turning into jagged tendrils, barbed blades, sickle-sharp whips. One man was torn in half before he could blink. Another’s chest caved in as a spear of blood impaled him through the sternum and burst out the other side. They tried to run. Their feet slipped in gore. One tripped and was dragged back by a crimson leash around his throat, flailing, clawing at air, before his body exploded into meat.

Her expression didn’t change.

She watched them die like it was a lullaby.

One man begged. “Please—please, stop! You’re just a kid, please—”

Her blood slashed his jaw off mid-sentence.

When it was over, the docks were painted red.

Three escaped. Broken, bleeding, screaming about a monster with one glowing eye and blood that moved like it had a mind of its own.

Silva stood in the center, her back a lattice of torn flesh, her eye a ruined mess of blood and tears. But she wasn’t crying anymore.

Her body trembled. Her hands were slick with gore. She looked down at her fingers, then at the shredded corpses twitching around her.

She didn’t understand what she’d done.

She just knew one thing:

She had become something terrifying.

And she would never be prey again.

That meant she had to hunt down and locate the rest that got away.

_____——_____

At fifteen, while her classmates obsessed over crushes and celebrity gossip, Silva was tearing through encrypted firewalls designed by military contractors. While they learned algebra, she was reverse-engineering black-budget surveillance software from four governments and rewriting it in six hours—better, sleeker, impossible to trace.

She had no formal training. She didn’t need it. Her brain devoured information. It wasn’t just intelligence—it was something else. Something unnatural.

Patterns glowed for her. Systems spoke. The moment she laid eyes on a network, she saw the architecture behind it, the cracks, the pressure points. Like blood vessels waiting to be pierced. And she did. Effortlessly.

They called it a gift. The psychologists, the government recruiters, even the hackers online who traded secrets with her and never knew they were talking to a teenage girl with one ruined eye and scars down her back. But Silva didn’t feel gifted. She felt haunted.

The attack when she was ten never left her.

She still heard the screams.

Still felt the blade.

And so, she controlled what she could.

She built her own systems from scratch. Modified keyboards to fit the speed of her thought. She wrote code like it was poetry—fluid, instinctive, laced with venom. Her personal rig had no brand. No OS. It was hers and hers alone. And it was alive with her blood.

Yes—blood.

Her ability had evolved. She could now interface directly with machines using thin strands of her own blood, magnetized and refined through years of brutal experimentation. Wires were clumsy. Silva’s veins were cleaner.

At sixteen, she hacked an underground weapons ring trafficking in children. She leaked everything to Interpol—after burning their funds and publicly doxing their leaders. Three suicides followed.

At seventeen, she took down a private mercenary company’s communications grid during a covert operation in Syria. No one ever knew how it failed. Only that it failed catastrophically.

Her files were ghosts. Her online identities were labyrinths. Even the best white-hat teams could only conclude she was either a government AI or a demon in human skin.

But inside, she was still that girl on the dock, bleeding, shaking, trembling with a power she barely understood.

She didn’t go to parties. She didn’t trust people.

She trusted data. Control. Isolation.

And still—her body was not done changing. Her blood whispered. It wanted to grow. Sometimes her skin would split during stress and release threads that slithered along the floor, searching. Curious. Hungry.

But she never let it loose again. Not fully. Not since that day.

Not until she met him, by fate, years later.

The man who would unravel everything, Fyodor Dostoevesky.

___—-___

Silva Koch also graduated at sixteen.

Officially, it was with highest honors, top of her class. Unofficially, she had already outgrown the curriculum by the time she was twelve.

By then, she’d rewritten portions of her school’s outdated network infrastructure just because the lag irritated her. She exposed a hidden surveillance subroutine planted in students’ laptops—by the school board—and dismantled it, anonymously dropping a report to the national press.

When she sat for her exams, the proctor swore he’d never seen a teenager answer higher-level math problems in seconds, without a calculator, while simultaneously reading from a law textbook and re-coding her own testing interface to be more efficient.

She was bored.

She completed four university degrees online before she could legally drink:

•Cybersecurity and Forensic Cryptology

•Applied Mathematics

•Political Science (focus: covert policy and digital warfare)

•Linguistics, because she liked pattern-mapping phonemes

She never showed up for classes. Never turned on her camera.

Her professors feared her.

Some respected her.

Most didn’t even realize she was a teenager until the national spotlight hit.

____—____

“NEMESIS” Appears in NATO Leak—World Governments Scramble to Identify Source

At seventeen, Silva—under the handle Nemesis01—intercepted a shadow op that would have used a social media algorithm to sway an election in a small Baltic country. Funded by two superpowers. Sloppy, arrogant.

She didn’t just expose it.

She hijacked the code.

She weaponized it to undo years of digital disinformation, and wrote a 94-page dossier analyzing the psy-op’s structure, weaknesses, and funding lines.

She sent it to NATO, Interpol, and the UN.

Not with her name. With a blood-red insignia: a single eye.

The world panicked.

Hackers tried to trace her. Blackhats and whitehats both. No one could.

Governments issued quiet invites.

Only a few got responses.

Germany got her first.

The Bundesnachrichtendienst recruited her under strict anonymity—not as an agent, but as a consultant.

She worked behind mirrored glass and biometric vaults, never in person. She built systems that could detect cyberwarfare attempts before the first packet even arrived. She predicted a data breach three months before it happened—down to the day. She corrected it with six lines of code.

She worked with the EU. With Japan. Even a few secret joint operations with the CIA’s cyber division—though she made it very clear she found their encryption practices embarrassing.

She never just took payments in cash.

Her fees were data. Access. Leverage.

Control.

___——___

By eighteen, she was untouchable.

They called her “The Blood Witch of Code.”

The “Ghost Cipher.”

“Red Nemesis.”

No one knew what she looked like.

Only that she was young, brilliant, and not entirely human.

And behind the digital veil, her blood still whispered—itching for something more.

For a purpose no system, no government, no firewall could satisfy.

Not until they found one another.

Not until fate brought them together.

But that wouldn’t be for another three years.

[saturnyo]

Whiskey & Scars

Pairing: Tommy/Reader

Summary: Joel, the man you love, is dead. You were able to kill his attackers, but you were unable to save him in time. Reeling from the shock of losing him, you closed yourself off from the community, especially Ellie and Tommy. But after one nightly encounter, something new blooms between you and Tommy

WC: lil over 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of death, suicidal thoughts, mainly fluff

Grief in itself is strange. One minute you can be just fine, and the next you are a sobbing mess falling to the floor and unable to function. For you, you were numb. Everyone moved around you, helping Jackson repair itself after the onslaught of infected, while you felt as though you were stuck in place, unable to reconcile with the fact that Joel was gone. Anguish, regret, and sorrow are all that you know now.

The grey, morose sky explodes in anger as lightning and thunder crack like a whip, screeching into your ears. Dark clouds hover above, creating a moment of tranquility before the cold, jagged raindrops pelt down, slicing lines on your cheeks, red tears flowing ever so lightly. You stand right outside, knowing he is lying there on a table like a slab of meat. Thirty minutes have passed since you got here, and you haven’t gathered the courage to walk inside. The rain has drenched your clothes, making you feel weighted in the spot where you were standing.

Stinging pain is a jarring reminder of all that you have lost. Your heart fractures at the memory of Joel's bloodied, broken body lying there drained of life. You were supposed to be with him. You were supposed to be his patrol partner, but you switched places with Dina to try and help soothe the tension between Joel and Ellie after the New Year's party events.

Your last memory of him was the morning when it all happened. He was standing in his kitchen, messing with the coffee maker that had been on the fritz for a while. No matter how much you tried to tell him to see if he could find another, Joel was hellbent on trying to fix it. He’s a very determined and stubborn man, and you loved him for it.

The way his hands felt upon your skin as he whispered sweet words into your ears. How he cuddled you at night, holding you close, afraid that you’ll disappear. His lips worshipping your body in some form of a sacramental prayer as you moaned his name out into the darkness of your home.

If only you could reverse and freeze time…

The atmosphere was solemn in Jackson. Walls were still being repaired after the horde breached them, and many lives were lost, mainly to being bitten. The last few weeks were filled with funeral after funeral, mourning the losses of our fellow men. Ellie was still in the hospital, healing from the beating she took after the encounter with the unknown group. At first, you couldn’t stand to see her lying there in the hospital bed, injured but alive. Looking at her reminded you of the fact that she had almost died too. Reminding you of your morality and how easily it can be snuffed out.

Ellie became your comfort and your pain all at once. She was so much like Joel in the way she wouldn’t back down and how stubborn she was. You can’t imagine how she must be feeling with the way she and Joel left things and the argument they had on New Year's. The guilt she must also be racked with, consuming her until there’s nothing left..

The sound of horse hooves and hammers brings you back to focus, zoning in on the doors in front of you, taking careful steps as if you’d disturb what lies within. It isn’t anything evil or any monster you might read about in a children’s book, it’s something worse.

Dust dances in the air to the song of your pain as you see bodies lined up, white sheets draped over them to save anyone the pain of looking at the gruesome scene. On the right side of the room, you see Tommy. His head in his hands, staring at Joel as if he’s willing him to wake back up. His somber expression at seeing his brother just gone, as nature goes on around us, like nothing happened.

Tommy hears your slow footsteps thudding against the floor, looking up at you with a sign of understanding. He and you share the same pain. The pain of losing someone you love. You sit down beside him in silence, the void-like feeling is palpable, where neither of you knows what to say.

“They’re all dead,” you whispered, your voice deep and menacing. “We killed them.”

“Good,” Tommy muttered.

Silence falls over you two once more, a bit easier now. He stands giving you your space with Joel. His hand rests gently upon your shoulder, a smile comforting you in your suffering. Time stood still as if the world came to an end all over again. Seeing his body destroyed you, damaging your mind in a way it can’t be repaired.

Your trembling hands gently grip Joel’s, placing a light kiss upon it.

“In another life…I would have loved doing laundry and taxes with you,” you cried. Choking wet sobs echo throughout the building in a cacophony of misery. The overwhelming desire to end it all to be with him is strong. But you couldn’t. Not only did you not want to leave Ellie behind, but you also knew Joel wouldn’t want you to try the same thing he did when he lost Sarah. That’s the only thing providing you comfort right now, the fact that he finally gets to see her again.

Getting up, saying one last goodbye before walking out the door and into the world broken and shattered

The tipsy bison has become your second home in the recent months since Joel’s death. Each night, you wander into the familiar sight of Seth standing behind the counter. He spots you as he places a glass on the counter, pouring whiskey for you, a routine that both of you have become accustomed to. He’s become not a friend but an acquaintance as of recent. You still didn’t like him, especially after what he said to Ellie and Dina, but he apologized to them, and he seems genuine. Plus, Tommy asked you to give him a chance before you tried to beat his face to a bloody pulp. You and Tommy have been estranged more recently as well. With the weight of building Jackson back up and dealing with so much death surrounding you, it was hard to find time to sit down and take a minute. It was just you in the bar at the moment, as it was after closing, but Seth made an exception for you. The low hum of music played on the speakers a familiar tune that you used to love. Something from before the outbreak, which seems like a lifetime ago.

The door opened, cutting through your half-drunk state as Seth once again walks out from the back to tell who walked in that he was closed. You didn’t spare a glance and stayed focused on your glass in front of you. It made everything easy to forget and damn you sure wanted to.

“Oh hey Tommy, what do you need?” Seth spoke.

Hearing Tommy’s name made you finally glance away from the bar as you saw him standing there, a slight look of disappointment as he stared at you. You hated it. He and everyone else look at you in pity. You wanted anything else other than fucking pity.

Anger or even hatred

Just god forbid not pity.

“You can head home, Seth. I’ll close up for you,” Tommy answered.

Seth took him up on the offer and quickly started to leave. Before he walked out, he told you goodnight and to stay safe. His footsteps faded away, as you hoped Tommy would do the same and just leave you the hell alone. But of course he wouldn’t. He sure is a miller just like Joel.

So goddamn stubborn

“Are you here to lecture me?” you asked.

You heard him sigh deeply, obviously growing impatient at your antics. He recently had to take you off patrols for showing up drunk. An explosive argument happened between you two in front of Jesse and Dina, and Ellie. He yelled about how your reckless actions could get them killed. Your heart ached as he said that, feeling as though he blamed you a bit for his brother’s death. Ellie looked at you as you stormed off. You’ve grown distant with her as well, and your heart ached at the thought of it, but she just reminded you too much of Joel, especially Tommy.

“What are you doing y/n? This isn’t going to help,” he began to lecture you.

“You heal the way you want, and I’ll do it the way I want, ok?” you fired back.

Another song plays out through the bar, slicing through the tension between you and Tommy. Whatever anger you had between each other dissipated as the weight of the world seemingly fell onto his shoulders. The song is slow and intimate, charging the air with emotions that threatened to spill out. A weight settles between the now and before as you stand up, walking to the dance floor, as you start to sway to the music. You knew you probably looked crazy to Tommy, standing there as he watched you, but you needed the distraction.

Warm hands fall onto your hip and grip your hand as you see Tommy has started to slowdance with you.

He’s close. Way too close, but the overwhelming scent of his cologne and the warmth of his breath upon your neck as you gently lay your head on his chest is the first time you felt serenity in months. Stepping closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, no words are spoken, and none are needed. Anything that needs to be said is spoken with your eyes. The feeling of being within someone’s arms again feels like heaven compared to the living room couch you’ve been sleeping on. After Joel passed, you couldn’t bear to move out, but you also couldn’t bear to enter the bedroom that you two used to share. So the couch was your last option.

Tommy’s brown eyes hold an immeasurable amount of pain and responsibility as everyone looks to him for guidance. You know he’s barely been given to properly grieve, having to juggle people constantly coming to him on what to do. And there’s you. Adding more stress on top of it as you act out, drinking away your sorrows.

The soft sway of your bodies moving together in perfect sync as the world slowed down around you. If you could bottle up the feeling this moment has made you feel, you would keep it forever. It could sustain you for the rest of your days, making you feel safe and…wanted. His eyes crinkle at the sides as he gives you one of his signature smiles again, and this time, you aren’t sure if it was the alcohol or not, but the way his voice sounded made a certain ache start to grow between your legs.

“How do you think all of this will end?” You gestured to everything around you, distracting you from the growing feelings that have started to bloom.

“I’m not sure but..” he hesitates, “but what do know is that you aren’t alone. I have your back.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You begin to notice the way his hair is pushed behind his ears as his curls bend around them. His skin is tanned from hours of hard outside work, evident by the rough calluses on his hands. The lines of age show on his forehead as he starts to think deep in thought, and the lines that form on the corner of his mouth when he smiles widely. He’s handsome, a type that makes your mouth water and weak in the knees.

The sudden realization that you wearing a short sundress that falls barely below the curve of your ass and cupping your breasts pushing them up together as they sit there perfectly makes you slightly self conscious. You weren’t even thinking when you put on that outfit before you left your home earlier that night; you just grabbed the first thing you saw in your drawer. Tommy’s gaze follows yours as he takes you in, his pupils dilating and his breath hitches, wondering what the hell these new thoughts he had about you were.

Tommy couldn’t understand his feelings for you at first. You were his brother’s woman, his girl, so you were off limits. It’s not like he was waiting for something to happen so he could swoop in, no, he would never do that. But the last couple of weeks, seeing you walk around Jackson as your hair swayed behind you, the green of your eyes shining just right in the sun, and the look of your lips almost brought him to his knees. But you didn’t feel the same way. Both of you were still mourning, so he distanced himself away giving you your space to heal, but unknown to him, something was growing within you too.

Whether it was because of the alcohol or the music or both, you gathered to courage to kiss him. Your hands drift into his soft curls, holding on like he were your liferaft, preventing you from drowning underwater. Tommy didn’t kiss you back at first, making you feel as though you completely misread the situation. Embarrassed and ashamed, you start to pull away, heading for the door before he grabs you, pulling you back in and smashing his soft lips onto yours once more.

A moan escapes his lips as he backs you up against a nearby table. His hands hurriedly drift underneath your dress, gripping your thighs, making marks upon your skin. You hop onto the table, wrapping your legs around Tommy’s waist, urging him to continue. You were desperate, and so was he. You were oxygen, and he needed you to breathe until suddenly a bottle falling off the table snapped you two out of your daydream.

“I-I’m sorry,” Tommy stammered. “I shouldn’t have done this. Fuck-this isn’t right.”

He gently helps you back off the table as the lust you two felt goes away. The moment you two were in is gone as reality comes into focus. You straighten out your dress and fix up your hair as Tommy stares at you, a feeling of disappointment and sadness radiate within his big brown eyes.

“Tommy…” you whispered.

His hand cups your cheek as his thumb lovingly caresses your face. Savoring what’s left of the moment, you lean into his touch, not wanting it to end. You leaned in closer, your knees nearly touching, as if you and he were drawn together by an invisible force. A quiet chime of a clock nearby distracts both of you for a moment, making you giggle

He stops for a moment, looking at you in a way different from how he has ever before, at least not that you have noticed. Tommy stares at you as if the entire world begins and ends with you

“What is it?” you asked

“Nothing, it’s just…you are beautiful,” he whispered

In that moment, inside the rustic bar surrounded by music in the dead of night there was a still silence inside your mind. Not an uncomfortable one but peaceful.

“I’m here, baby, like I said, I’ll always be.”

You put your head in the crook of his neck, inhaling the cedar scent clinging to his shirt.

“Home,” you murmured silently to yourself. “I’m home.”

[starhvney]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mcd laurance x reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: the very thing that he wishes to protect is the same thing that causes him torment.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: angst, reverse comfort, love confession, lots of self loathing from laurance, violence, i love elaborating on how terrifying shadow knights are

𝐂𝐖: mentions of violence and gore, he is in fact going crazy, he almost kills you whoops

𝐀/𝐍: that boy is a monsterrrr mo mo mo monster that boy is a monsterrrr (me after writing more mcd laurance angst instead of finishing my requests)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

the constant traveling your group has had to endure has been difficult on everyone, but lately it seems as if laurance has been even more on edge, barely hanging on to his temper by a thin thread. he's usually reliable for being calm and collected when tensions are high, yet somehow it seemed like any little thing or comment sent your way was some sort of veiled threat. it wasn’t a mystery why he was acting this way, with the calling tormenting his thoughts and chipping away at his sanity.

you'd hoped to coax him into talking about some things that had been on his mind, and possibly calm the build-up of stress that he seemed to constantly carry on his shoulders. however, the walk through the woods went from anything from tranquil, the thread holding him together snapping when bandits had decided to ambush the two of you. you wanted to stop him, to calm him down. but when the meadow was covered in blood and that same shade of hellish red turned to you in the form of fury-filled eyes, you found yourself frozen in terror.

weapon still in hand, laurance stalks towards you with his sword raised, only seeming to gain back a piece of awareness when a frightened sob leaves your lips. he stumbles back, horror in his eyes as he looks down at you, nothing but pure self-loathing on his face when he sees the pure fear in your eyes.

your breath shudders and you quickly gulp back the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. you knew that if you didn’t speak now he’d distance himself from you, closing himself away for the sake of your safety. “…laurance?”

he falters at his name being said, snapping out of his own thoughts as he stares down at you. his lips curl in an unmistakable expression of mental anguish.. "…you're…you're scared of me. you're scared of me."

the tone of his voice was something you'd never seen him have before. self-hatred, horror, and the sheer amount of pain in his tone was nearly overwhelming. you find yourself in one of the few moments where you've ever seen laurance nearly speechless.

shakily you stand up to your feet, clearly trying to deny his claims. your silent attempt was not very convincing, though, with the trembling of your body and your eyes blown wide. blood from the practical slaughter of the men had splattered onto you, smearing on your skin and soaking into your clothes.

“no…” you breathe, shaking your head as you gulp, taking a shaky step closer to him. “i’m not. i'm not.”

“yes. you are. you should be. i’m a monster, and you should not be getting closer.” he practically snarls out the words, though the look in his eyes was desperate.

“no, you’re not.” you quickly say. there’s a pause as you take another shaky breath, staying in place. “they were going to kill you and me—if not something worse—if you hadn’t done something.”

a flash of anger resurfaces and flickers across his face at the slightest suggestion of that outcome—of you ending up hurt.

“that doesn’t change the fact that i’m a shadow knight.” his voice is nearly a hiss, his sword shaking loosely by his side. “it doesn’t change the fact…that i almost hurt you.”

you take another small step closer to him, chest heaving unevenly as your mind raced. he was right. he did lose his grip on reality and almost eliminated you in his crossfire. what were you supposed to say to that? what could you say to that?

“you may be different, now… but you’re still laurance. my laurance. even after all this time, that will never change.” you whisper.

he’s visibly trembling, jaw clenching and breaths short as he stares at you. he almost stumbles when you take another step forward, eyes squeezing shut as a shuddering breath leaves his lips. 

“don’t. don’t come any closer, please, i may lose control again.” he pleads, voice a hoarse whisper. 

“no, you won’t. i know you won’t.” you say, voice still hushed and soft, and the trembling in your tone still there. “…sheathe your sword, laurance.”

slowly, he sheathes his sword, the loud noise of it sliding into its case sounding loud against the silence of the forest. yes, you realize, any animal or insect nearby has stopped its chatter, sensing the danger of laurance’s presence and likely fleeing in terror. any living being should, if following their instincts.

slowly you close the distance between the two of you, relying on his closed eyes and concentration on self-control to keep him from backing away from you again. he’s usually so observant, so alert. the fact that he wasn’t even reacting to your approach was telling in itself. 

you know the risk of approaching him now. how dangerous it is. in order for him to succumb to the calling all he’d have to do is lose control and kill the person most precious to him, and here you were serving yourself on a silver platter.

“you’re here. with me. you’re not going to hurt me.” you’re just inches from him now. raising up on your tiptoes, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace.

the moment your arms wrap around him, a shuddering sob leaves his lips, his arms flinching to hold you back yet hesitating as if to push you away. his brain is in a constant state of internal conflict, one part of him screaming at him to shove you away for your safety and the other part begging to hold you closer.

the possessive part wins.

unnaturally hot armor presses against your ribs as he pulls you up into his arms, his face burying into your neck. shuddering breaths brush across your skin, heated against your collarbone while you watch the flickers of embers leave his armor. 

“you didn’t hurt me. i’m fine.” you murmur near his ear, reaching your hands up to run through the hair near the nape of his neck.

your fingertips meet the sensation of thick warm blood, and for a moment you’re frightened it’s his before you realize it must just be from one of the bandits he’d torn through.

laurance’s breathing stutters again when your fingers soothingly scratch against his scalp. he slowly drops to his knees, bringing you down to the ground with him and cradling you to him.

“i could’ve hurt you. had i been a little later, had i lost a little more control…” his voice is nothing but a strangled whisper.

the thought alone nearly sends him spiraling into a panic, arms almost squeezing you uncomfortably tight against the firm metal of his armor.

“no, don’t think about that,” you say, gulping as you let him mold you against him how he needed. “you’re fighting something bigger than you, than both of us. you… you just…”

you trail off.

it’s true. if he hadn’t regained control just a moment later, you’d likely not just be hurt—but dead—and laurance would’ve completely transformed into a shadow knight.

“that’s the problem.” he hisses out through his teeth, the horror in his tone replaced with frustration and hands trembling against you. “i’ve barely been holding on by a thread, one wrong word or comment, and i could lose control. and i could lose you. because of me. what about the next time this happens, huh? when i can’t control myself anymore?”

you’re stunned into silence, mouth opening to speak but no words coming out. “i…”

hands clench against your shoulders as he lifts his face back up, his irises a duller shade of red as he stares down at you. the look in them was silently begging for you to say anything, anything to distract him from the monster he felt himself deteriorating to.

“i could kill you, and you’re defending me. why do you defend me?”

tears fill your eyes as you stare up at him, breath hitching as you reach up to brush your hand against his cheek. “because i love you.”

a quiet groan leaves his lips, eyes squeezing shut and his face tilting to rest his forehead on yours. 

“i’ve dreamed of you saying those words to me.” he murmurs, voice thick and full of emotion. “but it was never supposed to be like this. i’ve wanted you so long, and now i can’t have you.”

“you can.” you quickly say, eyebrows twisting up and chest constricting in pain. all this time he’s waited for you to reciprocate his feelings and now he can’t act upon them, with this horrid overpowering urge to harm what he wants most in his head.

a ragged breath leaves his lips, the sound a bitter, frustrated noise. 

“no, i can’t.” he sounds like he’s forcing his voice to be harsh, the tone gruff yet trembling in pain. “i want you. i want you so badly, it’s eating me alive. but i can’t have you, not with the calling.”

your lips tremble and tears finally spill over the lids of your eyes. a moment later you’re leaning up and kissing him, hand cupping his cheek and the other over his chest.

the sudden action pulls a strangled sound from his lips, his whole body tensing and freezing in place. for a moment he stays that way, not even breathing before he breaks all at once.

he makes the most pathetic noise against your lips, wrapping his arms around your waist and yanking you flush against him. the way he kisses you back is desperate, his lips trembling and hands attempting to pull you impossibly closer to him.

you could feel his internal struggle with every tremble of his muscles against you. it was like he was begging you to stay while screaming for you to run away from him while you still could. having you here in his arms now, after all this time, felt like both the highest blessing he could receive and the worst curse sent to torture him for eternity.

“i love you.” you breathe against him, barely able to get the words out in the times you part before his lips crash down against yours again.

“don’t.” he mutters against your lips, his next sentence barely a gasp against your lips. “you’re going to drive me mad, saying those words. you should hate me. you should leave me.”

his body continues to contradict his words as his hands squeeze against you. he knows he needs to let you go, but he’s starving for the feel of your body against his. he knows he needs to push you away. but the selfish… the possessive part of him wants to mold you to his body and to keep you there.

“i love you,” you repeat, fingers digging into… not into firm, unyielding armor, but soft shoulders through the fabric of the linen shirt he was wearing before.

you can’t bring yourself to pull away, too caught up in the feeling of his lips against yours to confirm that he’d transformed back into his human form. but you know. he feels closer, like you’d stepped back into your home and smelled the familiar scent of your belongings after a long and tiring journey. 

drinking in each shuddering breath and soft murmur from your lips, he’s pulling you in like you were his first drop of water after wandering through the desert for years. finally, you pull back, regaining the air in your lungs as you look up into his eyes.

and there he is again.

the hellish flicks of firey ashes no longer surround him, and the red veins that showed through his sickly skin have receded, leaving the familiar olive tone of his skin under your fingertips. no longer are his irises an unsettling bloodthirsty red, but back to the cool grayish blues. for a moment, you think you even see a flicker of the green that resided there all that time ago, but then it’s gone once again in the next second.

“…you just need to remember who you are. to ground yourself.”

his eyes squeeze shut at your words, still struggling to catch his breath as he attempts to gather himself, leaning forward into your hands that cup his cheeks.

“…i feel like i’m slipping away more and more.” he whispers out suddenly, voice breaking slightly. “it’s like i can feel it eating at me. i don’t want to lose myself.”

“i won’t let you.” you quickly murmur back, thumbs brushing under his eyes. “you’ll still be you, and i’ll still be me. no matter how much time passes.”

laurance can feel himself leaning further into your touch, desperate for the comfort of it. when he looks down at you again, his eyes look so… incredibly exhausted, dark circles lining underneath them.

you glance back towards the bodies of the bandits around you. there was so much more that needed to be said. to be discussed. but you know the energy to say anything was lost between the both of you.

“let’s go back and rest for now. okay?” you whisper, eyes trained on a splatter of blood against the grass, before looking back up to him.

laurance tenses, following your gaze to the bodies surrounding you. he looks horrified, lips pursing in disgust at the amount of bloodshed and gore he’d left behind. it was easy to forget while in that state, but now, looking back at the lives he so easily extinguished, he feels nauseous.

before he could spiral again you turn his face back towards you, brushing your fingers across his skin. he tears his gaze away from the death surrounding you, hesitating for half a second, before slowly nodding.

“…okay.”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet, @bakugocanstompme 

[corseque]

I just had the most lightning-strike-my-brain realization

(extreme SPOILERS for the entirety of Clair Obscur, do not click on this post)

Think about it, oh my god....

To put it into words rather than a couple images - this game tried and succeeded to include and then deeply humanize every type of antagonist it could. Each member of the Dessendre family is a different type of Sympathetic Villain, to the point of them becoming Sympathetic Antagonists. Because they are ALL antagonists in some way, and they are all humanized, the player of the game's mind whirls and sorts them all in the "character" category instead of the "villain" or "antagonist" category.

What was brilliant while playing was that whenever you thought you had come across a character who was purely a villain - surely Renoir, who kills Gustave right in front of you, surely he's just a villain? You were wrong. And there were like 5 different types of these characters. Renoir - the archetype of shitty wizard villain who is Killing Everyone for Love, and Killing Everyone Also For Very Good Reasons Beyond Love, who would suffer and wait and plot and kill for thousands of years if it meant his family would be safe and whole again, who must Kill His Love To Get His Love Back, who is an extremely reasonable man but is in an extremely hard position where his back is to the wall and he must make sacrifices of others. The Emet-Selch type

Verso - the archetype of shitty wizard villain who is a tortured good man who must join a party of heroes and then lie to them about his purpose and his past and his true identity, even falling in love with those he is lying to, in order to Kill Everyone and Destroy the World to protect a true world and its true inhabitants. He also wants an end to his personal suffering, but doesn't see a way. The Solas type

Maelle/Alicia - the archetype of shitty wizard villain who is very understandably trying to escape from the real world and her real self and her real problems, even if she must hurt others, or torture and puppeteer the dead to do it, refusing to part with them. This is the type of villain that Batman holds hands with and comforts.

Aline - the archetype of shitty wizard villain who is so caught up in the throes of grief that she does not realize who she is hurting or the devastation she is causing in her grief (This is the type of enemy like when you fight a crazed wounded dragon as an antagonist or something, a pitiable enemy.)

Clea - the archetype of shitty wizard villain who is impatient and uncompromising, and willing to do whatever she needs to keep herself and her family alive, even if it means creating a horde of monsters and dismissively letting them roam with no oversight and kill people just to get a little bit of an edge, or a sliver of time advantage. The unconcerned antagonist in her secret lab who does things coldly but for good reason.

And the best part is Clair Obscur took all of these ideas and all of these kinds of antagonists, and not only did it humanize all of them extremely well, it gave each one of them a melancholy but happy ending TOGETHER. It's simply amazing. They all lived. They all won.

The real problem was all the shitty wizards being sad. It's literally the perfect story.

So no wonder all the reversals come out of nowhere, and no wonder that no matter how much foreshadowing they slather on Verso, you can't seem to mistrust him, because there are SO many other humanized villains and antagonists in this story (even the monsters are humanized and speak to you!) that you can't believe that there will be another one. You can't believe it. And it makes the writing keep striking in a really unexpected way.

It's so smart because these are all usually the fan favorite characters, so for a game to say, why not have the majority of the characters be like this kind of cool and reasonable but very dangerous nefarious wizard character? The answer is, why don't people do this ALL THE TIME

[shadyfestivalperfection]

Love, Lies And Loki~14

Summery: Loki catches a Midgardian cold.

Characters: Loki x wife!reader

Note: All characters except Loki are mine!

||Master List||

15. Mirror, Mirror (requested!)

🤧Even Gods Catch Colds🌡️

The first sign of trouble wasn’t the coughing or the sneezing. It wasn’t even the fact that Loki had spent the entire morning wrapped in three layers of blankets like some ancient, freezing Egyptian mummy. No, the first real sign that something was wrong came when Y/N found Loki—God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, Silver-tongued Sorcerer—staring with a glazed expression at the toaster, mumbling something about “metallic beasts of warmth.”

That was… not normal.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, walked up behind him, and cautiously placed a hand on his back.

“Loki?”

He blinked slowly, as if emerging from a fog, and turned to face her.He didn’t turn. “It just… heats things. How? There’s no fire, no runes, no combustion…”

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” she asked softly, already reaching up to feel his forehead.

His skin was burning. Not Tesseract-hot, but definitely too warm for his usual cool complexion.

He finally turned, blinking as if it took actual effort. “Darling… I fear something is terribly amiss.”

“Yeah, you’re sick.”

“I am not sick.” He straightened—or tried to. The second he stood at full height, his knees wobbled and he reached out, catching himself on the counter. “I am Asgardian. We do not fall prey to your Midgardian plagues.”

“You’ve been living on Earth for four years,” she said, arms crossed, brow raised. “Your immune system is basically part-human at this point.”

“I reject that notion entirely,” he said, and promptly sneezed. It echoed off the walls like thunder.

“Right. Come on, Prince Charming,” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

⸻

Loki didn’t just lie in bed—he languished. His long limbs sprawled across their king-sized mattress like a fallen statue. He wore a green fleece robe Y/N had gotten him as a joke last Christmas (he had scoffed, but secretly loved it) and had insisted on no fewer than six pillows.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed with a thermometer, trying not to laugh as Loki groaned dramatically with every shift of his body.

“This is the end,” he said solemnly, sniffing. “Tell Thor he can have my cloak. Not the green one—just the one from the Realm of Gorgun. And tell Valkyrie she still owes me five gold coins.”

“You’re not dying,” Y/N replied, trying to hold the thermometer in place. “You have a cold.”

“Is this… ‘a cold’?” he repeated like she’d cursed his ancestors. “This wretched, vile infestation of my lungs and sinuses?”

She grinned. “Yep. Pretty standard human suffering. Welcome to the club.”

“You’re all mad to live this way,” he muttered, curling tighter into the blanket. “No wonder your civilizations fall so frequently.”

⸻

Y/N was determined to nurse him back to health. She made tea—chamomile with honey and a pinch of mint—and Loki drank it like it was some bitter poison. She made soup (broth, vegetables, and small pieces of shredded chicken), and he theatrically recoiled.

“I do not eat broth. What am I, a peasant?”

“You’re a sick god who can’t keep solid food down,” she shot back. “Eat it or I’ll call Thor and tell him you cried watching Paddington 2.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He pouted, but took the bowl.

As he sipped the soup (grudgingly admitting it was “not entirely revolting”), Y/N sat beside him on the bed and gently combed her fingers through his hair. His fever had gone up a bit again, and his usual dark locks were damp with sweat.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

“Like I’ve been trampled by a frost giant. Repeatedly.”

“Well, that sounds about right.”

He reached for her hand. “Why do you do this for me, beloved?”

“Because I love you,” she said, brushing her lips over his temple. “And because if the roles were reversed, I know you’d be fussing over me like an overprotective blanket monster.”

“That’s… fair.”

⸻

The next day, the fever remained, and Loki’s sneezing increased in frequency and violence. One particularly loud sneeze startled the cat so badly it leapt off the windowsill and darted under the bed.

“I didn’t know I had such power,” he whispered hoarsely. “I fear I may have accidentally summoned something.”

“Just your cat’s anxiety,” Y/N said, entering the room with a small jar in hand.

“What’s that?” he asked, suspicious.

“Vicks.”

“Vicks what?”

She grinned. “Just trust me.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, scooped a bit of the ointment onto her fingers, and gently rubbed it onto his chest. Loki’s brows rose, then furrowed as the cooling sensation hit.

“Oh,” he murmured, blinking. “That’s… quite pleasant.”

“See? Not all Midgardian potions are awful.”

“I may allow you to anoint me with this ‘Vicks’ in the future, fever or not,” he said sleepily, eyes fluttering shut.

Y/N chuckled, kissed his forehead, and tucked him back in. “We’ll make it a spa night.”

⸻

That night, the fever broke. Loki lay in bed, drowsy but no longer shaking. Y/N stayed beside him, reading a book aloud with her head resting against his arm.

After a long silence, he spoke, voice softer than a whisper.

“Did I worry you?”

She looked up. “Of course you did.”

“I saw it on your face. That first day.”

She set the book aside. “I always worry when you’re not okay. You think you’re invincible, and I get it—you’ve survived things most people wouldn’t dream of. But you’re not untouchable, Loki. And that terrifies me.”

He cupped her cheek with one hand, even though he was still a little shaky. “You’ve stayed by my side. Even like this—feverish and insufferable.”

“I like every version of you,” she said. “Even the cranky, sniffly ones.”

“You are the true miracle,” he murmured.

⸻

Over the next few days, Loki slowly regained his strength. The sneezing subsided. His voice returned to its usual smooth cadence. He even began casting small illusions again—mostly of himself in dramatically exaggerated versions of sick Loki, to make Y/N laugh.

She caught him conjuring a fake version of himself groaning into a pillow while he casually made tea in the kitchen.

“Busted.”

“Ah,” he said, sipping smugly. “You found me.”

She rolled her eyes and hugged him. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

“I still require bedrest,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Doctor’s orders.”

“You are not the doctor.”

“Not on this plane.”

⸻

(Two Weeks Later)

Loki, fully recovered and now back to his usual smug self, found Y/N curled on the couch, wrapped in the very blanket he’d once hoarded.

She sniffled. “Guess what?”

He raised a brow. “Oh no.”

“Your germs finally caught me.”

With a devilish smile, Loki swept her into his arms and kissed her forehead.

“My turn to anoint you with Vicks.”

She groaned. “I created a monster.”

“Too late now, darling,” he said. “You married him.”

-the end