#a fellow tiny terror

[vipermenace]

Micro Chibi Com for a friend!

Reminder my coms are open!

[telephoniii]

WHY WOULD A FELLOW WANT A GIRL LIKE HER?

☆彡 in which malleus and leona fight for your affections

leona kingscholar x gn!reader & malleus draconia x gn!reader

word counter: 4K

warnings: reader is prefect, cursing, love triangle, possible ooc

a/n: based off of the song “stepsister’s lament” from cinderella the musical— hence the title. one of my favorite works!! I had fun writing this!! both mal and leona are capital p PETTY and I'm living for it. i hope you enjoy :>

No matter how much he claims he doesn't care, Leona finds himself hissing at the sight of you and Malleus together. He wants to deny it so badly— but deep down he knows. 

He knows as he glares at you, sitting on a bench beside the fae, giggling and having a jolly old time. He’s well aware of what he’s feeling as he scoffs, telling the greedy hyena beside him that he’s returning to the dorm.

And he’s fully conscious as he lays in bed, staring at the ceiling; unable to get the image of you and that spiny horned reptile out of his head. 

He’s jealous. Envious. And any damn variation of the sort.

Out of all the people you could choose to spend your time with, you pick that slimy lizard?! 

Your taste is questionable—who’s he kidding? Absolutely awful. Really, going for the guy who doesn’t age? Ever think about how awkward it’s going to be when you’re getting hip pains and he still looks like a teenager? Hell, he’s not one for settling down but wouldn’t you at least want someone with the capacity of growing old together?!

What does that scaley little scumbag do for you anyway?

Sure, Malleus does gift you little trinkets you’ve mentioned in passing. Leona isn’t blind; he can see the way you light up at these gifts. He distinctly remembers seeing a dorky gargoyle keychain on your bag. It stank of that fae freak. 

Yet you seemed to adore the tiny statue, so much so that you went on a small rant about the history. To Leona’s surprise, he listened to every single word you had to say about it. Gargoyles are always way more interesting when it’s you talking about it. 

Though, everything involving you is more interesting nowadays… He had to resist the urge to sand that stupid little toy right then and there.

And he’s well aware of the ‘secret’ walks the two of you have at unholy times of the night, talking about whatever that overgrown lizard is interested in. The way you speak of it like nobody knows is irritating. Only an idiot wouldn’t pick up on it. 

Too bad NRC is full of idiots.

It’s not like it matters too much anyway. He doubts Malleus has the charisma to charm you. The guy isn’t invited to a whole lot of events for a reason. While Leona knows he can come off as a prick, he’s still a prince nonetheless. He was taught how to flatter and flirt— he remembers being surrounded by a bunch of bootlickers as a cub. 

He isn’t intimidated by Malleus’s magic all too much either. Although he’s more than sure you wouldn’t fall for a person solely based on their strength, Leona believes he could take on Malleus. The lizard is painfully predictable after all. 

Not to mention most of his ‘shows of power’ are akin to temper tantrums. If dueling wasn’t banned, that pathetic excuse of a dragon would be dragged in the mud by him.

Everything Malleus does for you, he could do better. He’s sure of it. 

Beneath the surface, is he scared of coming second place to yet another person? Terrified that he’ll always be the second-best choice? That all the time spent with you would never be more than that? Maybe. 

But those night terrors are lessened when he sees you approach— knowing he was the sole reason you were there. 

Leona feels his heart race as you sit beside him, casually talking about your day and whatever hijinks you got into. He worries you might hear just how fast it beats for you when you nap with him, laying your head on his chest. 

As he hears you mumble his name in your sleep, he feels reassured that he’s your one. 

I mean— why would someone as great as you ever want a flimsy, little lizard? Especially when he’s right here, ready to be your pillow in hard and happy times. 

~

A green thunderbolt struck through the sky. Coincidentally, you happened to be napping on Leona outside when this happened— shaking the both of you awake.

Did Malleus do this on purpose?… Of course not. He’s not immature enough to do that, unlike a certain lion he knows.

It’s not his fault that you two were cuddling outside when he was ‘testing’ out something with his thunder.

That doesn’t mean he was any less satisfied watching you get up and walk back to your dorm, leaving that mangy cat by himself.

He never understood what value you gained from hanging around someone as…unusual as Kingscholar. A ‘prince’ who lays around, sleeping the day away? What a joke! Wouldn’t you rather have a prince— better yet a ruler— who’s proactive in his kingdom?

That flappy street cat is better suited to accompany Grim rather than yourself. 

He doubts Kingscholar would hold open the door for you like he does! 

Malleus has heard it’s a human custom to do so; ever since then, he’s now perfected the art of swiftly rushing over to a door and slamming it open for you. It delights him when you giggle at his antics. He bets that idiotic lion would never be able to do that— Kingscholar barely moves anyway. It’s like he’s glued to that bed of his.

Kingscholar seems as though he’d let the door slam in your face. That alone just shows how superior Malleus is to him. 

Although, Kingscholar’s words of advice indeed seemed to matter to you quite a lot. Every time you had attracted chaos, you commonly turned to the lazy loaf and asked for his perspective. And each time, without fail, Mal had watched you take the prince’s suggestion in stride and use it.

It pains him to admit it, sometimes Kingscholar can be rather clever. Malleus is somewhat glad that said lion uses his intelligence to keep you safe.

He doesn’t know what, but something about Kingscholar’s mere existence seems to relax you. Malleus has seen you look at ease in a way he’s never witnessed before when you simply just lay beside the other student. He watches with envy as Kingscholar’s tail protectively wraps around your thigh. 

As long as you’re safe… Malleus supposes he can bear through you hanging out with the lion.

That won’t stop him from interrupting the two of you whenever he feels the time is right. Sudden bolts of thunder, random objects falling from the sky and hitting Kingscholar on the head, out-of-the-blue power outages…

It’s all fair play to him. You still get to hang out with that lazy excuse of a prince anyway.

It doesn’t matter too much to him— at least that’s what he tells himself. It’s not as though you’d leave him to hang out with Kingscholar; no, you’d never. 

You’ll stay, won’t you?

He’s sure of it as you walk beside him in the dead of night. Nobody else knows, nor do they need to as you two stroll along the campus. Seeing your enthusiastic smile next to him as you talk about your dreams fills him with unexplainable joy. Malleus fights the urge to hold your hand, interlocking your fingers with his.

You seemed to have read his mind— you always do understand him like no other— as you glanced down at your hands. A small giggle leaves your lips before you inch your hand closer to his.

“Can we…?” You hum with hopeful and amused eyes.

Wordlessly, Malleus indulges now with your consent. The warmth of your hand compared to the polarizing coldness of his made him feel dizzy. In a good way. 

You’ll never leave him. At least not when you're hand in hand together like this.

~

“Man I’m starving— Hurry it up, henchman!” A familiar, squeaky voice demanded as Grim pushed on your shoulder. 

“Patience, patience. This is very important. It can determine my mood for the rest of the day.” You murmured, standing strong despite Grim’s efforts. Narrowing your eyes, you stared at the different lunch options. 

What were you going to eat today?

“Prefect has a point. Your nutrition affects the way you function.” Jack shrugs behind Grim, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“You say that like they’re going to eat something healthy.” Ace yawns, stretching out his arm and lightly hitting Deuce. “Hurry it up, Prefect! Clock’s ticking!”

“Fine! Fine!” Quickly, you grabbed the same thing you’ve gotten for the past week. A series of groans emerged from behind you.

“All that time just to get that?” Ace crossed his arms, giving you an unamused look. 

“Okay, I’ll get something else then—“

“—Nononononono!” Practically everyone behind you yelled in a panic.

“Just go sit down ‘n secure us a table already!” Epel huffs, to which you happily comply.

You scout out the area, looking for a free table to sit at. Geez, was the cafeteria always this packed?

A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you spot a familiar, robotic Shroud waving to you from a table.

“Prefect!” Ortho chirps, his voice synthesizer going a pitch up. Just as you were about to walk over, you felt your blazer being pulled on from the back. Suddenly, you were yanked away.

“Ay! Watch it—!” You grab the hand that was pulling on you, turning around to come face to face with a smug Ruggie.

“Leona’s callin’ you.”

You rolled your eyes.

“He didn’t want to send a text or call? He just had to send a goon to come and get me?” 

Ruggie nodded with a cheeky grin.

“Yep.”

Groaning, you turn towards Ortho and wave him goodbye, signaling that you are going to leave. “Lead the way, hyena.”

And with that, you found yourself walking through the hallways on your way to Savanaclaw. You hope Ortho told the others about you leaving. It kinda slipped your mind to tell them.

You snapped out of your thoughts as you heard munching coming from Ruggie— “Wait, that's my lunch you’re eating! How’d you even…!? When did you…?!”

It also slipped your mind that Ruggie is both a great thief and greedy when it comes to food.

“Shishishishi… you left yourself open, Prefect! I’m sure Leona will get you something else to eat. He always does.”

“Always is a stretch.” You grumble, watching Ruggie eat your food. “Is it?” You didn’t want to ponder his question. 

Instead, you turn your gaze ahead of you and focus on walking… At least that’s what you would be doing if you didn’t walk face-first into somebody. 

“Gah! I’m so sorry—“ “Child of man.” 

Only one person used that nickname for you. Looking up, you were met with Malleus’s amused smile. 

“Impeccable timing,” The fae seemed happy to see you. You could see his fangs the way he was smiling. Ruggie was unsettled but thankful that Malleus was ignoring his presence. “Would you accompany me for lunch? Lilia, Sebek, and Silver will be there too, of course.” 

You were about to accept right away before you felt a light hit to your side. Ruggie sneakily elbowed you. Before you could curse at him, he gave you a look and— Oh, right. You were going with him to spend lunch with Leona already. A small frown made its way on your lips as you turned back to Malleus.

Great sevens, it was hard to turn him down. Especially when he was all cheery like this. 

Fortunately— or unfortunately, you didn’t have to. A roaring voice from behind you did it for you.

“Herbivore’s coming with me. They agreed to it already.” Leona huffed, a scowl clear on his face as he approached. Ruggie seemed surprised.

“Leona?! What’re you—“ “Did they now? I didn’t exactly hear them say no to my proposal though.” Malleus interrupted Ruggie, whose ears went flat against his head. 

“They don’t need to. They’ve already got plans.” The lion growled, narrowing his eyes at the other third year. 

Malleus stepped forward, the fae’s irritation growing. “Why do you insist on speaking for them so vigorously? My dear child of man, don’t let him dictate your choices—“

“I’m not doing shit. Just stating what they already agreed to.” Leona also stepped forward, refusing to back down. 

You were starting to get worried and turned your head to murmur something to Ruggie. Except Ruggie wasn’t there. The hyena snuck off already. Bastard. A voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Well, Prefect? Who would you rather accompany? Kingscholar— who’ll likely laze around the whole lunch— or I?”

“Damn lizard…” Leona grumbled under his breath before shaking his head and facing you. “Well? The choice is yours. I wouldn’t force you to do anything.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your gaze flickering between the two. “Well… I—“

Before you could finish, you were interrupted by a loud ring.

The lunch bell had rung. It was time to head back to class.

~

“Are you doing okay?” You ask, shifting closer to Leona. He lets out a small grunt in response, his eyes closed as he sprawled out in his usual spot inside the Botanical Garden. 

For as tough as Leona was, he was unusually soft when tired. He carried this relaxing air around him. That no matter what happens, you’ll be okay with him around. The thought makes you smile as you tilt your head at him.

He was also kinda cute when he laid there like that—

“Quit staring.”

Leona abruptly huffed out. Blinking in surprise, you soon realize that one of his eyes was cracked open. A tiny blush finds its way on your cheeks while he stutters out an apology. The lion’s lips soon form a smug grin.

“You were looking at me pretty attentively, herbivore…” His words are slow and agonizing. Leona’s tail swishes up and down as he leans in closer. Your eyes widen as he comes mere inches away from your face; from your lips.

“…Got something you want to tell me?” You feel your breath hitched at the sudden, feather-light touch of Leona’s hand against yours. Just as you were about to respond—

“Roi du Lions!” 

The romantic atmosphere Leona so carefully built went down the drain, along with his motivation. A groan left his lips.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt.” Trey soon appears behind Rook, an apologetic expression on his face. You shake your head, standing up. 

“You’re good! What’re you two up to?” 

Leona had an annoyed look on his face as you engaged with the other students. He tried to ignore and drown out everyone’s voices. At least he was, till Rook caught his attention.

“During an exploration for new ingredients that we could bring to our club, Roi de Dragons made a magical appearance.“ You raised a brow while Leona’s ear flicked.

Trey let out a small chuckle at Rook’s dramatic storytelling.

“Malleus just asked us to find something for him in the Botanical Garden.” 

Leona’s scowl deepened. That damn lizard.

“Maybe we could help! What’re you looking for?” You offered.

Trey soon fiddled with his pocket, searching for something. Shortly after, he pulls out a piece of paper. “A… toy? It looks like this. Malleus said he last had it here.”

You made an “O” shape with your mouth. “His virtual pet! Gao-Gao!” Trey lets you hold the paper, letting you get a closer look at the drawing that resembled Malleus’s Tamogachi. 

“I know what it looks like, I’ve got no idea where he could’ve left it though…” Soon enough, you, Trey, and Rook are scouring the Botanical Gardens for this little toy. Leona finds this stupid. 

Slightly bitter about his ruined moment, he lays back down to take a nap.

That’s when his ear flinched after hitting something hard. Turning around with a displeased look, Leona’s eyes narrowed.

There, in his favorite sleeping spot was Malleus’s dumb toy —which wasn’t there literally minutes ago might he add. Picking it up, Leona contemplated crushing the small electronic. However, as he held it, the lion was quick to notice a bit of ink getting on his fingers. 

He turned the Tamogachi around. Written on the back with a blue pen was “Kingscholar :)”

Oh, that fucking Draconia did this on purpose.

~

Sitting up from your bed, you rub your eyes. With an annoyed groan, you get up and go to the door— trying not to wake Grim in the process. You could feel the ghost watching with curiosity. Not that you blamed them. Hell, you were curious too!

Who was knocking at 2 in the morning!?

The sun wasn’t even up. Ramshackle probably looked horrid, inside and outside, at this time.

You weren’t looking too great either: bags beneath your eyes, saggy pajamas, slouched posture… Vil would die on the spot if he saw you. Internally, you prayed it was anybody but him. And thank the Sevens that your prayer was answered.

You titled your head in confusion at the one in front of you.

“Malleus?” He smiled back at you. As though his appearance on your doorstep at the crack ass of dawn was the most normal thing ever.

“Greetings.”

You shook your head, still waking up and trying to make sense of the situation. “Do… Do you need something?”

Now he looked confused. Which only heightened your confusion.  The fae furrowed his brows. “Did you not want to talk, child of man?” 

“I like talking with you! Just, preferably not this early in the morning— Look, why are you here? Did you just want to hang out, Tsunotarou?” You tried being as polite as possible, but damn you were tired. 

Malleus looked just as lost as you.

“…Perhaps you’ve forgotten about the letter you sent me?” You look to the side, slightly scrunching your nose as you try to remember what ‘letter’ he was referring to. 

“Uhh— When did I send this letter?” You give him an apologetic smile. It wasn’t too far-fetched; the idea of you giving him an invitation to Ramshackle. 

However, you feel as though you would’ve remembered if you had actually done it. And you would’ve hoped that past you would be smart enough to set your invitation time to anytime BUT 2 AM. 

“I recall receiving this letter yesterday, in the library,” Malleus explained, his hand reaching into his pocket to find said paper. “You slipped it to me when you walked by—“

The fae grabbed his invitation, only for him to be met with sand that trickled down his hand.

“—with Kingscholar…” He fell silent as he stared at the tiny particles in his hand. You seemed to catch on quickly, giving him a sympathetic look as your eyes flickered between the sand and him.

“Tsunotarou, did you see me give you this letter?” 

The way he averted his eyes to the side, his pale cheeks faintly turning pink from embarrassment, already gave you the answer you needed. It’d be cute if not for the circumstances. As expected, Malleus shook his head.

“My apologies… I assumed it was you since I had acquired it right after you had waved at me and it was an invitation to Ramshackle.”

You let out a small chuckle before brushing off the sand that still dirtied his hand. “Don’t sweat it. It’s not your fault that Leona is… well Leona and he does stuff like this.” Offering Malleus a smile, your hand soon intertwined with his. The blush on his cheeks subtly brightened.

“Well, you did come all this way just to hang out. It’d be a shame to turn you away now. Here, come.” You kick the door to open it wider and pull the fae inside Ramshackle. Leading him to the couch, you could gauge that Malleus was amused by your antics. Practically dragging one of the top mages in the world by the arm into your dorm…

“Let me just freshen up first! Wait here— I’ll be right back. Then we could watch some movies or whatever.” You shrugged with a grin before running upstairs to wash up. Malleus gave you a polite and happy wave as you exited.

Once you left, he let out a sigh and leaned back on the couch. His hands balled into fists as he felt more sand pooling in his pockets. A green bolt of lightning struck from the sky.

That measly fucking lion.

~

You let out an aggravated sigh. Did they not think you realized what both of them were doing to each other? Between the Tamagotchi incident and the whole letter debacle a few nights ago, they were being so obvious.

Jeez, you get that they had a rivalry going on and whatnot, but why did they have to involve you? Fed up and rambling, you look to your side at Grim to get his thoughts on the matter. He sat next to you in the kitchen, munching away on a can of tuna.

“They’re getting really annoying! Stealing my henchmen’s time like that…” A chuckle left your lips at Grim’s bitterness, causing you to pet him on the head. 

“Mhm. I just want them to quit it— at least around me. I’m good friends with both and care a lot about them… Also, don’t talk with a mouthful.” You lightheartedly huff, getting up from your seat to grab Grim another can of tuna as he was beginning to finish his first. He usually ate two to three cans before bedtime.

“Why don’t ya just tell 'em?” The cat curiously asked with a tilt of the head, staring at you. You let out a snort. “Yeah, just tell two extremely powerful mages with an intense hatred for one another to stop. Like that’ll work.”

Grim let out an annoyed groan at your sarcasm. You opened a new can of tuna and slid it to him. His frown quickly disappeared as he began to dig in.

“Eh— sounds like Leona and Malleus could use some quality time together.” Grim offhandedly comments, chewing away on his food. 

“What did I say about talking with a mouthful, man?” You roll your eyes before falling silent, pondering his words. Quality time… Leona… Malleus…

“Grim! You’re a genius!”

~

“Herbivore, what the hell.” Leona’s tone was unamused, giving you a deadpan look.

“I thought it’d be nice if we hung out all together! As a group?” 

The two men stared daggers at each other across the small, dusty table in Ramshackle. With a nervous chuckle, your eyes flickered between the two as you slowly passed out cards for some random board game that Idia lent you.

Leona and Malleus didn’t take their eyes off one another. It was at this moment you were starting to think that Grim, in fact, was not a genius.

These two were definitely going to kill each other.

[emacrow]

The villains had been 'mildly' concerned about their fellow villain, scarecrow by emacrow/creator

He haven't been to the annual monthly meeting in 6 months after his quiet muttering that how he beat The Mistress of Fear plotting by destroying her psychology.

Only for him to stumbled a bit in the door with a heavy limp, a marriage ring that was a gem bejeweled carved in the shape of pumpkin head on his ring finger, his scarecrow pants inside out, his jacket was missing, revealing several black and orange lipsticks marks and hickies on his shoulder, his sack mask has a new decoration of a childish scribble doodles of a ghost and a stitches of a carved pumpkin with glowing emerald eyes that was the Mistress of Fear symbols on the backside with his curly hair longer then it usually was, sneaky a bit out under the sack.

He look like someone who got their soul devoured in one go during a one night stand,

He ignored the obvious stares and snickering of each and every one of the guys watching him sit in his personal seat.

"So did you found what Mistress of Fear plotted against you, Scarecrow?" Harley was the speak first, a chuckle on how Scarecrow glared sent her way, fixing his mask.

"Oh, I think he found it alright." Penguin snickered.

"Fuck, now I owe Cat lady 1000 bucks."

"S-shut up! Scarecrow growled back if he wasn't struggling with his legs so much being weak in the knees.

"I still don't believe that The Mistress of Fear married this guy when she as tall as Killer croc and he like-." Riddler emphasize the height between Mistress and Scarecrow.

"He survived the other dozen times he fought her. Hell, Joker is still in the isolated cell for extend time after what she done to him the first fight, but seeing this. I can see she pretty much destroyed the poor guy to the point of bedrest." Bane spoke quietly, which cause the roar of laughter to begin in the meeting table.

"Bet she had many treats and tricks for our poor scarecrow to be walking like baby deer like that."

....

....

....

Jonathan wanted to blow up the entire meeting with his newly tested extreme fear toxic bomb so badly, but he held his anger and embarrassed down tight, considering half the thing they were gossiping were the truth.

They didn't have a clue what he went through personally.

He could barely hold a shiver trying to rise up his back after what was his honeymoon, along with learning some deep dark secrets Lilith had in her closet after he tried to snoop into.

Her endless, glowing green otherworldly filled of the damned souls that the soulshredder hoard closet that sucked him in for what felt like eternity when it was only 5 minutes in there before he passed out from terror.

No wonder she wasn't afraid inhaling the damn fear toxic when she had a goddamn portal to hell in her bedroom.

What he got forced into marrying her was to destroy her, but he was now playing against the unknown element that Lilith was a mistress of.

He doesn't want to remember the Training schedule she set upon him, but the lessons..

Oh the lessons of learning about fear essence in souls, Jonathan was drooling like he was starving for every single word that Lilith was speaking during that entire session, not cause his heart was skipping a beat with how she grin about a certain topic in fear or how his palms drench in sweat and face burning hotter then lava watching her show him a tiny water drop size of Fear essence in her hands.

He never was sexually attracted to anyone women or man, much less desire to touch or have affection for, but at that moment seeing that sparkle of flaming interest and desire in lilith's eyes showing him that made all the blood in his head went south for the first time in ever was the most embarrassing thing in his entire life.

He was fucked.. even literally in the sense.

Previous pt 1 link<- pt 3 link here<-

[harryhighkey]

183.

hi! this is my first ever Lee Byung-Hun/The Frontman one shot! I hope u like it! this man has taken over my life !!!!!!!!!!

a frontman x reader series - masterlist to series here

183.

That was the number that ticked over on the screen as the final vote was casted by Player 001. The people who voted to stay had won. You were in disbelief. Standing on the side of people who voted to leave this hell you were positive that this was the side that was going to win the vote.

How wrong you were.

183, this number was going to haunt you during your time here, which was ironic considering it was also the one that was labelled on your green tracksuit.

Now you stood in utter shock at this outcome. All 183 of them had witnessed the same brutal deaths that had only happened hours earlier, so how could they choose to stay?

You were frozen and your eyes were trained on the man who had been the 183rd vote. You kept watching as he turned to face everyone else. Half the room cheering and the other half disappointed. However, his expression was unique, a sinister smirk adorned his face that sent shivers down your spine.

------

The guards had demanded you had spent too much time in the bathroom and were making you return to the room the vote had taken place. It had been a long time, but you weren't doing anything wrong, you were so desperate for a moment alone to cry over your terrors which is exactly what you had been doing. You cursed yourself for not trying to do anything productive in looking for any chance to escape, there was a vent in the roof that you wanted to have a closer look at later.

Not wanting to draw attention to yourself as you walked back through the doorway, you kept your steps quick & quiet. You were about half way back to your bunk when you got stopped.

"Hey, now look at this pretty girl, I didn't notice you in the game today." Thanos. The purple haired, Player 230 had certainly let himself be noticed by everyone today.

"I was laying low, wouldn't you expect you to get it." You quipped back, keeping your head down due to the fact you could feel your eyes were puffy & were positive your nose was red from crying and you didn't need it pointed out.

"Why lay low, baby? We're here to have fun. We should have fun together!"

You scowled at the pet name and instantly snapped back, "I'm not interested in joining your tiny dick parade."

"Such a dirty mouth on a pretty girl! I'd like to know what else that mouth-"

Just as you were about to raise your voice and interrupt the unwelcomed comment by telling him to fuck off, someone beat you to it.

"Enough." It was another man's voice, this one much more commanding, not as loud but it was dominant.

Yourself & the purple haired man turned to who spoke up. It was him. The final voter. Player 001. You stood there with the only red 'X' on your green tracksuit out of the three of you yet he was coming to your aid, going against a fellow blue 'O.'

His eyes briefly landed on yours and you inhaled a sharp breath, you were so hyper-focused on him that you swore you noticed his face contort into a display of sympathy. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone just as fast and Player 001 was stone faced once more as he looked back to Player 230.

You watched the interaction between the two men, had something happened whilst you were in the bathroom? They were only saying a few words to each other but the tension was so high.

"Leave her alone." Was how Player 001 ended the moment and this man shocked you yet again as he caused the most bold player to follow his order and walk away from the two of you. Once Thanos was gone he turned back to you. Your chest going tense at the eye contact. "Are you-"

"I don't need your help." You quickly cut him off, already walking away from him so he didn't get a chance to answer. This unknown man had just come to your rescue, but he was also the deciding vote for staying in this hell. If you hadn't of rushed off so quick maybe you would have paid more attention to how his face softened when looking at you and maybe paid attention to the fact that part of you noticed how nice that felt.

------

"There you are."

You were laying on your side and the voice came from behind you, but you already knew who it was without seeing them. You'd heard that same deep voice hours earlier when it had come to your rescue. The only difference this time it was more hushed and closer to your ear.

"Go away." You didn't turn over to look at Player 001, you stubbornly stayed in place.

"I would like to talk to you."

"I'm sleeping."

"And conversing?"

"Sleep talking exists."

"Yours is quite advanced." His tone was light-hearted, but you were still on the defence. It wasn't lost on you that you had to protect yourself, being a female and much younger than a lot of the other contestants here. Player 001 included.

"Wait until you see how I sleep hit." You suddenly waved an arm back towards his direction, only for a firm grip of his hand coming around your wrist that quickly halted your movements.

He used his hold around your wrist to pull you so you were flat on your back. The movement was so fast, your strength was no match for his and now you were face to face. If you lifted your head the slightest bit from your pillow, your nose would graze his and that had your heart racing. Surely just because you were scared, not for any other reason.

Acting fast, you went to grab his hand with your spare one to try and free yourself, but he was faster and easily caught your second hand in his own second hand, trapping them both.

"If you are going to make it out of here alive, you need to keep that attitude of yours under control." His tone was serious now, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. You were so vulnerable right now, your breath was coming out in quick pants, your wide-eyed gaze had become frightened as you were forced to look into his stern one.

"Please let go of me." Your voice came out shaky, tears began to well in your eyes. He had scared you. Your hands were freed and you swiftly moved to sit up and move to a corner of your little bed to put some space between you and this man.

His face softened, the same way it had when he looked at you earlier and would have noticed the after effects of crying being present on your face. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Well you did."

"I'm sorry." He apologised and you didn't know what to say. "May I sit for a moment?" He asked so politely, his tone now gentle. You took a second before nodding your head and he sat on the side of your bed, facing you. "I don't want you to die in here."

"I don't want to either. That's why I voted to leave." At that response, his eyes fell to the red 'X' labelled on your outfit before lifting to find your gaze once more.

"Let me help you in here."

"I don't need your-"

"You do." He cut you off, his words were impactful. You clenched your jaw.

"No I don't."

"Yes."

"No."

He huffed and dropped his head into his hand, rubbing his fingertips into his temples. "Stubborn girl."

You watched him silently, a million thoughts running through your head. Part of you still felt afraid, but another part of you was curious about him, you almost felt drawn to him. Your eyes were trained on his fingers massaging his own head and before you had a chance to think about what you were about to ask, you already blurted it out. "Can you rub my head like that?"

"What?" He paused his movements and looked at you again, an expression of confusion present on his face.

God, he had a handsome face.

"I know it's a weird request but I can't sleep and I'm exhausted. I'll never able to sleep here and I will obviously need energy for tomorrow and my head getting rubbed always makes me sleepy." You spoke fast, rambling your words out and you could feel your face heating up in embarrassment as he continued to stare at you in surprise. Which only got worse when he let out a quiet laugh which made you put your head in your hands and let out a little whine. "Forget it-"

"I'll do it." Yet again he cut you off and his response made your heart beat harder.

The two of you sat there looking at one another in silence. You were memorising the details of his face when he snapped you out of it.

"Are you going to lay down?"

"Oh, yes." You returned to your original position of laying down on your side, this time your back was leaning against his leg as he stayed in his spot.

When his fingers combed into your hair and made contact with your scalp, you took a deep breath at the soothing movements he began making.

"Like this?"

"Yes, just like that."

"Close your eyes." You finally listened to him without arguing back and fluttered your eyes closed.

The more you focused on the feeling of Player 001's fingers dancing such peaceful patterns along your scalp, the more you relaxed back against him and forgot about where you were. In your mind, only the two of you existed in this moment.

Maybe the next time he offered help, you wouldn't be so quick to fight back.

[yandere-wishes]

༄｡° Ice on Ice ༄｡°

𐙚 Yandere!Capitano Drabble

𐙚 Warnings: Stockholm syndrome, gore, manipulation

𝄞 Song: Kill V. Maim by Grimes

⋆˙❅ He's molded you into his perfect darling. His perfect weapon ❅⋆˙

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚‧͙̩̩͙

It's always snowing in Snezhnaya .

Even in the dead of summer.

Capintano glides across the castle like a shadow. Shying away from the moonlight gleaming through the towering windows.

Ice slithers up his arm, forging into the hilt of his glacial sword.

He can smell your bloodlust in the air, good, you've already commenced the integration.

The lower levels of Zapolyarny castle speak only of terrors.

It's where the faithless come to die.

Traitors to Her Majesty.

It was where he'd kept you upon your initiation, where he burned you down and fabricated you anew.

His pretty little deadly thing.

So eager to please.

So loyal

The salty tang of blood permeating the air has his heart racing, furious war drum hammering in his chest. He follows the embers of your rage, standing by the threshold watching as you dig your knife deeper into the traitor's shoulder. Capitano basks in your raw fury. Your anger sweet on his tongue.

"Darling"

His voice is low, a whisper among the screams. Snowflake on ice and yet you still jump to attention. Run up to him with a sweet smile that doesn't quite suit the crimson specks adorning your cheeks.

His eyes glide across your taut body, spine straight, fingers up in salute. Your pyro delusion glowing gently at your waist. Ready to engrave his commands upon your bones.

"Master, the prisoner has confessed to carrying out treason against the crown. But he's yet to disclose the whereabouts of his fellow rebels."

"He will."

Capitano hands you his coat, relishing the delicate way you clench the heavy thing. Cradling it in your chest as if it's more precious than all the constatations above Tyvat. He pulls his helmet up, ever so slightly, enough to press his frigid lips against your cheek and lick the specks of blood. You freeze, fingers grasping the fuzzy pelt.

"Come watch, my darling"

He stalks towards the bloodied man, twirling his sword, letting the tiny ice splinters impale the traitor at random. The man cries, voice hoarse and weak. The slim glaciers replacing blood with frost.

You trail after him, lovesick and devotion in every step, his coat hanging from your shoulders.

Heavy burden upon frail shoulders, such a perplexing thing you are...

Capitano can't help but smile in satisfaction. He's molded you into perfection, sculpted you from the purest ice. He studies your work rigorously. Pain painted across the vile canvas. The traitor's right eye is missing, the socket scorched, torrid flesh pealing from his arms. His shirt ripped, rude stab wounds still fresh, still dripping ruby.

He's trained you well.

Trained you to make nation topple and archons bow. To bend the stars and flames with your fealty.

Maim and kill.

Because this world is too cruel for righteous little boys and naive little girls.

Kill and maim or else it will be done to you.

You pull the informer's hair back as Capitano lands a metal-clad punch to his face, blood sprays unceremoniously, spoiling Capintao's black-silver armor, followed by the familiar clatter of a tooth hitting the thinly iced floor.

Capintano steps back, braces himself for a moment then thrusts his sword into the rebel's thigh. Marring the sturdy hoar a rotten red. Frost blisters skin ripping the soft tissue underneath.

Ice chips bone

Meat falls to the cold ground.

The man screams, crying out locations and names in jetted tongue. His eyes slowly grow darker.

The blood continues to pool.

You clap your hands cheerfully. Letting the man's head fall forward "Well done master."

For a fleeting second, as you skip towards your master, you catch the traitor's picture in the odd light. You gulp, the creature staring back wears your face, your body, your skin. You see yourself in the dead stranger. Stubborn face and blank eyes. You blink and it's gone, a trick of the dark, one you're too eager to forget. Those days have passed, left to decay in snow-covered tombs. You are someone else now, more importantly, you are Capitano's lover, his most devoted soldier. No longer a gullible thing chasing after empty ideals.

Capitano towers over you. A stone pillar etched of ivory paragons. His iron fingers wrap around your smaller wrist as he pulls you forward. Your fingers lace through his ebony main, while your other hand pulls up the helmet, desperate for his kiss. Biting his lips and letting the blood from his armor stain your uniform. He pushes pain and loyalty down your throat with metallic spiced kisses. Replaces the pearls of your spine with molten lava and brimstone. His touches are frostbite running rampant across your body. Peeling away skin and inscribing mortality and ethereal strength into the soft tissue of your organs. Leaving your lungs corked with icy doctrines.

He has sculpted his style of blade work into your blood. Your veins pump explosions through your body.

Capitano's lips trace the expansion of your neck, savoring your essence between harsh kisses and harsher lovebites. You feel like a sword in his hands, meticulously forged with the finest steel. He has killed many apostates with you. Used you to serve the Tsaritsa without fail

Weapon of war, built from the corpse of a little lost girl.

The frenzy in your eyes, the cosmic thumb of your heart, the way your fingers claw, and the silver of skin of his neck.

Deadly deadly deadly.

He plays the role of the virtuous knight.

Only he's come to learn that many mistake virtue for pacifism.

No.

Love and loyalty are delicate threads entwined with massacre and pain.

You must kill to protect loyalty.

You must kill to protect love.

And how better to express both than in love letters penned with fresh scarlet and decay?

"Get rid of the body, we have much work to do." He raises his sword up to the thin ray of moonlight. For a second your reflection flashes across his icy sword, broken and damaged and perfect in every way. He gives you a final kiss on your templet. Before retrieving his coat and turning away. Disappearing in the dark.

You sigh, breath observable in the chill. Your fingers ignite, warmer and warmer. Preparing for another cremation.

Capitano smiles, ridged, grotesque. As a putrid sickly saccharine scent wafts through the castle's dungeon.

He's raised the perfect lover.

Devoted to a fault and stronger than any weapon.

He's looking forward to unleashing you upon the rebel's nest.

Looking forward to the dance of savage carnage.

It's summertime in Snezhnaya 

Although you couldn't tell from the snowy blizzard outside...

When is Varka coming out? I want to be caged between the two of them so badly 😭😭

Also, guys, what if Capintano is Rustam or Arundolyn?? 🤔 I feel like I'm onto something

°🪼° @choueries @animelover6000 @viannasthings

[fitzjamesbulletwound]

well i finally made it... here's my episode by episode deep dive into every joplittle moment in the entirety of the terror for all of my fellow joplittle freaks out there. i can't draw or write fiction but i CAN be insane about details :) i did my best to edit this so please forgive me if there's typos or things that don't make sense. and a final note before you start reading- i think i make a point to say this in some instances but it bears repeating at the beginning- i could certainly be wrong about some of these observations as they are largely in the background and usually happen very quickly while something more front facing is happening in the scene. i did my best though!

Episodes 1&2- basically nothing, at the dinner scene in episode 1 we can infer that jopson shuffles behind edward at one point but there’s no onscreen proximity or eye contact. neither of them are in episode 2 at all. 

Episode 3: we have one of the joplittle scenes to end all joplittle scenes in this episode. When edward is talking to crozier, blanky, jirv, and hodgson about his fears of netsilik retribution, jopson knocks and walks in the door. When he enters the room, edward immediately stops talking, makes eye contact with him, then starts tugging his jacket down, almost to the point of squirming and fidgeting. Jopson walks into the room making eye contact with edward with the tiniest smile on his face and his eyes are so bright and interesting in this scene. And i think there could be some arguments made that this is just how these two are but i have some additional thoughts- yes edward is an awkward guy but he outranks so many people in that room, jopson most of all, and yet he immediately stops speaking and becomes visibly flustered when jopson walks in. And their eye contact lingers for such a long time before jopson looks to crozier, the person he actually came to address. And just again with how bright jopson’s eyes are and the tiny tiny smile he has on his face when he’s looking at edward that then turns a little more serious when he turns to address crozier. It’s such an interesting scene! 

later on when the terror boys are going across the ice to sir john’s funeral, jopson is walking behind edward… he might be looking at him but it’s very hard to tell so i hesitate to even include that instance. HOWEVER during the camera pan when crozier is reading sir john’s eulogy, we see jopson looking up at one point, and then his gaze briefly comes down to the person directly in front of him… which is edward. 

Episode 4: When crozier is sitting in the dark drunk and depressed and probably listening to the cranberries and jopson comes in, the script says he shows somebody down the hall five fingers, probably to indicate “give me five minutes”. Since he then says that lieutenant little is asking about the meeting, we can presume they came to see crozier together. 

When jopson is giving crozier the headlines of the meeting, the way he talks about what he knows from edward sounds more like it was from an actual conversation they had vs the other two he mentions- he says “mr reid reports” and “lieutenant irving has what sounds like a pressing issue”- both of these expressions imply that he was doing exactly what crozier says he does- hearing everything. but with edward it’s “lieutenant little is wondering, he says/thinks this this and this”. The language used to describe what he knows about what edward will report on is much more direct and familiar. I think ned and jopson were hanging out before they came to see about the meeting with crozier hehe

In the scene where heather gets his shit rocked it’s very hard to keep track of edward and jopson but there is proximity and it’s very possible a few times that they might exchange glances. It certainly seems that when edward goes below decks to arm the men jopson watches him go. 

Episode 5 ended up being the most fruitful for pretty clear glances and looks that i had never noticed before

when jopson comes in with the tea tray he and edward look at each other the whole time Jopson is walking to the table to set it down

after Jopson says “consider it done sir” edward watches him as he walks out of the room until crozier stops him, then he looks at crozier

Ned could definitely still be looking as Jopson answers crozier, the line of sight is correct and in the script it specifically says that little has to look away from Jopson (not crozier) as they discuss the whiskey because it makes him so sick that this is being discussed right after talking about hornby’s death

A lot of proximity during the Silna and crozier conversation but I don’t think they look at each other.. Jopson might be looking at Edward when he walks in with silna and he might glance at him when he walks past him after setting the tea tray back down but I’m not sure. 

In the script it says that jopson and little exchange a look when crozier says he’ll go to get the alcohol for blanky’s surgery but it looks like it’s him and hodgson looking at each other.. however edward looks at someone offscreen too that would make sense to where jopson is standing at the time. There’s a lot of proximity in that scene where they carry blanky down and set him on the table

Damn that extremely prolonged eye contact when taking the whiskey shots is so interesting too? Especially since it seems like jopson struggles to take the shot.. It seems like he might not drink a lot and that could be for 2 reasons- another callback to historical jopson and him being lashed 30 something times for drunkenness or it could be because of his mother’s addiction which at this point in the story we don’t even know about it. Either one would make sense but if anyone has any ideas please share them

they are right next to each other while blanky gets his leg cut off

In the script it says that jopson brings edward into the room for the meeting with crozier after blanky’s surgery, I believe they are the last two to join but even if not.. interesting for sure.

when crozier stands up to give the whiskey to jopson to pour out, Jopson is looking down but for just a moment before he turns to crozier again he looks at edward

Aaaaaand edward then watches crozier take the last drink of whiskey but then he looks right at Jopson!!!!

When crozier goes to his berth it pans over to Jopson and he eventually looks at ned AGAIN

Ugh I loved this episode because there was truly so much to notice and like it’s there! I need to know why!!

Episode 6: okay we have one of THE joplittle scenes and god fucking bless Liam for his commentary here because there’s just so much to it… like the fact that he’s trying to convey to Edward that things are bad but they will be okay with a single look suggests such a familiarity and closeness and understanding between them because like how would you communicate that with a look to someone that you weren’t on fairly intimate terms with?? (need to make post about other pairs that talk through eye contact in the show, like hickey and tozer). at the very least we have to assume they confide in each other and understand each other to a certain degree and like now we’re slightly straying into delulu land but I love how protective Edward looks when hickey walks over and kinda gets close to jopson lol edward is already watching jopson walk away and he gives hickey this little glare when he realizes hickey is too. also just the simple fact that they were eating together??

When Reid bumps into crozier at carnivale and little tells him to step back he’s looking at jopson and when it cuts to jopson he’s looking back at him

They exchange a glance in the background of crozier reacting to hoar and crispe in the big pot lol

Jopson watches Edward for most of the little clip where crozier is walking away after telling the men to get of the pot

After crozier says they’ll be abandoning the ships and walking Edward looks over at jopson for a long time

When crozier is saying “they are a good people who we can greet as friends” jopson looks over at Edward and looks him up and down twice… that’s 4k babyyyy, that one was crazy

When Stanley sets himself on fire and it cuts to the crowd Edward definitely looks around until he sees jopson in front of him

It’s extremely hard to tell but at one point it looks like ned crozier and jopson are all moving together looking for an exit and ned briefly puts his hand on jopson’s back or at the very least reaches for his back wtffffff

Mmm not sure about this one but in the background of the cleanup scene you can see Edward helping people and it looks like jopson may be with him

Episode 7: ugh the promotion sceeeeene idk what i can say that hasn’t already been said but i will always always always point out that this is the happiest we EVER see Edward in the show, his smile is so huge and throughout the scene he keeps giggling to himself and when he’s still sitting down you can see him kinda do an eyebrow raise thing like “oh my god well I wasn’t expecting that but this is amazing” HE LOVES THAT MAN UUUGH AND THE WAAAAY he looks so fondly at him after he shakes his hand and he just keeps smiling and giggling like everyone is so happy in this scene but Edward is the happiest…

Episode 8: when crozier is yelling at edward for arming the mutiny jopson is turned around watching ned.. Ugh :( 

another shot of jopson turning to look at ned before he looks at crozier in this scene 

eye contact when Edward walks into the tent where Irving’s body is

definitely some potential eye contact when they’re asking hodgson to confirm that hickey lied

jopson watches Edward when he’s explaining why they shouldn’t trust the marines

edward is looking at jopson right before crozier says to find the carpenters

Episode 9: what i believe is the last joplittle scene…. god it’s so rough. I feel like jopson is so hurt because he knows his time is coming and i feel like Edward thinks everyone in that tent including jopson will be able to continue to haul south… ugh and then jopson just stares Edward down the whole time when dundy starts talking :(

Episode 10: when edward is walking to the tent to address the men his gaze lingers on the sick tent where jopson is now…

i also find it very interesting that he was all about going south and leaving the sick behind in episode 9 but completely changes his tune now- i know that this has to do with saving crozier but he makes such a strong argument for not leaving the ill behind (although he of course obviously somehow does) that it makes me wonder if jopson had anything to do with that.. like a big difference between when they first made the proposal and now is that jopson could still haul when they suggested it before but he can’t now

And his reasonings point to jopson a lot too- “9 so ill they can’t walk, only 2 able bodied lieutenants” like he was thinking of him!!

and one last fucking thing before I fucking die- edward’s last word “close?” mirrors some of jopson’s first- “we’re close sir”.. They are the last two to be found by crozier, two of the men who saw almost everything and died last… ugh. 

Final thoughts: i will constantly make the argument that when it comes to the terror, absolutely nothing is on accident. Nothing. Some of the scenes i described can certainly be debated but the simple fact is, edward and jopson spend a lot of their scenes together exchanging looks and watching each other. It is safe to assume based on their roles that they must share at least a small amount of familiarity but i think that these shared glances suggest a deeper connection. They seem to be able to communicate seamlessly without ever really speaking to one another and when they aren’t communicating through their eyes, they are still watching each other in shared scenarios. I would love to know more about whether this was just how liam and matthew chose to act their dynamic or if there’s more to say about them. Either way i’m going to keep being delusional about them because i love them together and i think there’s ample evidence to prove that they are more familiar than we might realize

[lilaccatholic]

Okay you need to explain the mafia thing without incriminating your family

Oh I so don't care about incriminating anyone lol everyone is either dead or the statute of limitations have passed. Family lore for a long time was that my great-grandfather came over from Italy just before World War I, met my great-grandmother, and raised a ton of kids on a farm.

Yeah, not what happened lol.

Turns out, he was *sent* over here by the mob (though the timeline was correct—it was still 1913 lol), got shoved into an arranged marriage (with a bride who was, oh, about 14 at the time and had her first child at 16), still had a ton of kids, and basically terrorized his little corner of the world so completely that the police force in the area where he lived was so in his pocket that they had to run new hires by him. His sons and cousins got involved in the, er, *family business*, and some of their sons did, too. My grandma's sister had an arranged marriage as well to the son of a mobster they were close to, and most of her brothers were involved in the mob, but God bless my firebrand of a grandmother who refused to marry someone she didn't know and snatched herself a former Coast Guardsman turned Ford plant manager and buzzed all the way off to Michigan. She put the literal fear of God in these people and demanded that they not only get rid of their more occult superstitions, but doggedly kept after her father until he repented of his past. She practically forced him to stay alive after he had a stroke until he got himself to confession. Somehow this woman survived being born premature in 1934 and decided to make it everyone else's problem until she got called home to glory in 2021. I miss her every day.

As for the rest of the family, there are probably some cousins still in Italy who are still "in", but everyone in the US has either died or left the business—in part because of said grandmother's crusading. As many of my fellow Italian-Americans know, there's nothing quite as terrifying as a tiny old woman with a rolling pin. She took after her mother in that way. Her mother, who had the unabashed temerity to tell her mafia boss husband that she had no intention of listening to him when he told her not to help nurse the sick during the Spanish Flu, and who used her husband’s ill-gotten gains to feed people during the Great Depression. She raised seven children to adulthood, lost a few others, and was basically such a force of nature that even 35 years after her death, she's still remembered with adoration as a great cook and helluva woman by all who knew her. I'm named for her and my grandmother—albeit the anglicized versions of their names—and somehow she managed to reach through time and give me her face. So, in a very special way, I carry these two incredible women with me at all times.

I'm highlighting these two women in particular instead of all the sordid mafia details for a reason. Oh, I could tell you about the wire taps and the FBI files, the people killed, the drugs and liquor they ran, how my grandmother's sister had terrors about a field where the bodies were buried when she was dying of Alzheimer's. We're mentioned on podcasts and in forums of crime junkies, and yeah, some of the people we knew were probably the inspiration for some of your favorite mafia films. But the truth of it at the end of the day is this: they destroyed people. They used crime and terror to ruin lives, and left behind a legacy of trauma and despair. But my grandmother who did everything she could to get the family out? Who prayed about the evil that had been done in her family's name until her death? My great-grandmother, who made the best of a horrible situation and tried to do good with the hand she'd been dealt? Who opened restaurants and fed the homeless? Man, they're stars to me. Not perfect in any way, but they took steps forward that helped end centuries of a bloody family legacy.

And, well, I'm pretty darn glad they did.

[your-average-yandere-lover]

𝓡𝓮𝓭𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓷’𝓼

Tw: Cursing, Spooky themes, Teo slander, mentions of pumpkin slaughter and suggestive content under the cut.

Notes: Happy Halloween! I wanted to do more but I've been so busy with midterms, work and personal stuff that I never got around to it! Here is my half assed Redacted headcanon because—I can. Side note if someone can clarify, is redacted they/them exclusive or bother he/him, they/them, my ass is confused. Obsessed either way though, none the less lol…mk—Happy Halloween!!! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

❥ Redacted likes Halloween. Obviously, they would only want to celebrate Halloween if it makes angel happy. However, considering Redacted is a huge horror fan, they would probably pick Halloween over the other holidays.

❥ Redacted enjoys when you feel safe and happy so, when you said you wanted to go to a haunted house, it wasn’t exactly exciting news.

❥ The idea of you being in fear was something they dreaded but…on the other hand…you clinging onto them for dear life was just a tiny…tiny bit tempting—but the cost of scaring you didn’t compete with the temptation of being depended on. Ultimately they agreed to take you, but they had to gather every ounce of strength in them to ensure they didn’t clobber every actor jumping out in front of you.

❥ Unknowingly angel did the staff an act of kindness when convincing Redacted not to take their ‘new’ sledgehammer to ‘cosplay’ as a serial killer whilst out and about.

❥ Redacted has a special cell in hell for the few propionate actors that popped out and made angel scream bloody murder—And don’t think for one minute he doesn’t have a grudge against every single person who works at the haunted house—even though it was your idea to go in the first place. Simply put, he’s not nearly as forgiving as angel.

❥ At some point in the spooky season, Redacted would absolutely take you to your favorite candy shop, if you like sweets, because—who doesn’t love treating their inner child to some candies! They’d make sure that the store would have all the candies you’d both would share as kids. Redacted would also make sure sure to buy a bunch to take home and devour while you turn off the lights and pretend you aren’t home when the trick-or-treaters come by. Yk because that’s what all adults do on Halloween—be fr with me rn. Unless your Teo ig…I have no doubt homeboy is terrorizing children and flirting with women wearing suggestive outfits, on their way to parties.

❥ Around the spooky season, Redacted loves to watch you watching classics like Slasher films or Halloween but, he’ll only put them on if you want to watch them. He enjoys setting out nostalgic snacks from your childhoods and cuddling up in a blanket with you.

❥ Redacted may pull off the goth aesthetic, however Redacted would create a movie night straight outta a Pinterest board if they knew it would make angel happy. They’d honestly do anything to make you smile and enjoy your time together.

❥ When you suggested pumpkin carving, you never expected them to create such detailed monstrosities. Their pumpkin looked professional, they would absolutely win any contest, hands down; ya boy put Dr.Frankenstein to shame. And watching them carve the guts out was another thing, bro would literally butcher the pumpkin like they were creating an audition tape for a slasher film; they were completely unphased by the nasty smell and the pumpkin pulp everywhere.

❥ Being an artist they’d made their pumpkins look really cool—like one was a hockey mask and the other was a cute doodle like portrait of you as an Angel which he loved your sweet reaction to. The only down side was you didn’t really have anywhere to put them but luckily the you and the fellow library staff were told you could bring some by to add a bit of fun to the building around the spooky season.

❥ If you like pumpkin seeds, he’d make them with you after you set out your pumpkins. The more fun activities to do with you the better—even if they watched twenty different videos on baking the seeds the night before and is stressed about making sure everything is perfect.

❥ If you bake your friends anything, Redacted will get hella Jealous. They want to say something but they don’t wanna ruin your fun ideas—well they really just want you to save your fun ideas for them. Besides you look so cute in the apron they bought you. They end up switching your sugar with the salt, and making the desserts into a literal salt licks in hopes you give up and go to them for comfort. And that maybe if you serve your dessert to other people they will fall off the face of the earth.

❥On that note…He would 100% scare the living shit out of Leon, Teo, Jay, Violet, anyone honestly if you weren't around or you thought it was funny.

~~~~~18+ under the line~~~~~~~

❥ You’re gonna dress up?…Hell yeah. Redacted loves this idea. They’d shamelessly sends you all sorts of costumes you can’t wear out. They won’t waste the opportunity to make this holiday into an excuse to seduce angel.

[liliacamethyst]

So apologies if in advance this is in anyway triggering but I had an idea for a great angsty reveal and all I ask is to be heard out

It involves a miscarriage scare, not that it happens but the scare happens. Here’s the bare bones prompt:

During a mission Sun Spider (ie us) got really bad cramps and is of course terrified that she’s having a miscarriage. As soon as she’s able to she rushes to her place and sets up the ultrasound. (I was kinda thinking the reader were a doctor or nurse of sorts, or at least know another spider who is that would keep the secret.) She wanders the wand and begs that the baby is okay, finally breathing a sigh of relief when she hears the heartbeat and sees her tiny one. Unbeknownst to her Miguel had followed her….

Ahhh this is so angsty and good. Thank you so much Jesse! I thought it would be perfect to combine it with this comment by @fleeingdawn-blog1 :

"Imagine him being FURIOUS that you slept with someone else, the screaming and all the vitriol he would spit your way. Then the dawning horror when he slowly pieces it together and feels his world fall apart around him."

So, because you guys are amazing and have even more amazing ideas, here's another alternate reveal Drabble:

In the middle of an intense mission, you feel an agonizing pain in your lower abdomen. It's a sharp, cramping sensation that doubles you over and forcing you to stop in your tracks. You clutch your stomach, dread sinking in. No, it can't be... Please, no.

You have to leave. You have to get home.

Making some vague excuse to your fellow Spider-people, you swing off, all while trying to ignore the terror building up inside of you. “Please, please let my baby be okay,” you whisper to no one in particular. You had never prayed so hard.

You're careful as you swing, each movement precise so as to avoid jostling too much. As soon as you reach your apartment you rush inside, immediately heading to the hidden medical room you've set up.

You're not a doctor, but you're resourceful. You had to be. You had to protect your baby.

Setting up the ultrasound, your hands tremble with anxiety. You take deep breaths, trying to stay calm for the sake of your unborn child. Picking up the device, you slowly move it across your belly, your eyes glued to the screen, your ears straining to hear that precious heartbeat.

And then you see it. The tiny flicker on the screen, the reassuring beat that echoes through the room. Your baby is alive. The relief washes over you like a wave, tears prickling your eyes. You breathe out a shaky laugh, one hand coming up to cover your mouth.

"You're okay... oh, thank god, you're okay," you whisper, tears streaming down your face. You continue to stare at the screen, memorizing every curve, every line of your tiny baby. You're so wrapped up in your relief and joy, you don't hear the door creak open.

Miguel, who had silently followed you, leaning heavily against the doorframe. He's staring at you, at the screen, at the clear image of your unborn child.

As Miguel’s gaze moves between the ultrasound screen and you, something inside him snaps. His face contorts, his nostrils flare, and his eyes flash with a fury you have never seen before, turning even more red than usual.

“What is this?! Who is he?!” Miguel’s voice fills the room as he points toward the screen.

“Miguel...” you start, but he cuts you off, his voice now a roar.

“WHO’S IS HE? DIME!” Miguel’s words are like knives, slashing through the air.

You’re cowering back, tears streaming down your face. “Mi... Miguel, please, just...”

“WHO ARE YOU SLEEPING WITH, HUH?” He's practically spitting the words at you, venom dripping from every syllable.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!” he bellows. His eyes are wild, his rage all-consuming.

“I... I didn’t... you...” You’re stuttering, trying to get the words out, trying to tell him the truth, but his anger is like a tidal wave, overwhelming you.

And then just like that, in the midst of his rage something changes. His gaze flicks to the ultrasound screen again, and his face goes pale. The room is deathly silent except for your ragged breathing and the rhythmic beating of the baby's heart on the ultrasound monitor.

He blinks. Once. Twice. His voice drops to a whisper. “How... how far along...?”

“Three months,” you manage to whisper back, choking on your tears.

His brain races, the timeline whirring in his head. Realization dawns on him like a cold sunrise.

“Is it...?” His voice is barely audible, a ghost of its former fury.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Yes, Miguel. It’s yours.”

[smilesatdawnmain]

Have you ever thought of how The Day The World Eclipsed would be, if you made it with Xiotain and MK. Cause like I could see Wukong being ran ragged by two little toddlers. But then I can also imagine how adorable it would be when Macaque met the twins, the original meet scene was adorable, but like it would be even more adorable! Just a thought I had!

WELL DANG IT!!

-----

Macaque's voice was hoarse as he whispered, "Here? You mean... now?" He had anxiously awaited the chance to meet his child, but he hadn't expected it to happen so quickly!

Wukong acknowledged with a nod, his gaze shifting towards the direction his clone was approaching from. Macaque tensed, his eyes tracking the route into the distance. Though there was no one in sight yet, he could clearly hear their approach.

The sound of the nimbus cloud cutting through the air filled his ears along with the chatter of Wukong's clones, who were busy answering trivial questions. And then he heard something else- the faint beating of two tiny hearts.

He inhaled sharply, startled when chirps filled his ears, consuming his waking breath with their high pitched tone and sweet resonance. 

“Two…?” he whispered. He touched his ears, confused and spooked. “I-I hear two??” he looked to Wukong for answers, “Why do I hear two?!”

His ex-partner gave him a puzzled sideways glance, then his lips formed a sheepish smile. "I-I'm sorry Mihou," he stammered, realizing his mistake. In the midst of his excitement and nervousness, he had forgotten to mention a crucial detail about their son's birth. Or should he say, sons? "You thought you heard one heartbeat, but there were actually two," Wukong muttered, his eyes focused on the approaching sounds. "We have twins, Mihou. Beautiful little twins."

"Twins?" Macaque echoed. He took a step back, blinking rapidly as if it would clear the confusion. He had been bracing himself for fatherhood, had been preparing himself for one child, one baby monkey. But two? There was a flutter in his chest that he couldn't describe, an odd mixture of terror and joy. It was too soon. Everything was too sudden. Twins? How could he handle twins?

Just before he could express his worries, Wukong's clone glided into view on a nimbus cloud, swooping around the tree line before landing. The clone dismounted and Macaque quickly slipped behind Wukong's back, hoping to avoid being seen by the curious cubs who were about to appear. Wukong in turn tensed, eyes wide and tail holding perfectly still. He scratched his cheek awkwardly, trying not to smile when he felt Macaque’s hands holding onto his back to steady himself.

“Deep Breathes,” he instructed.

Macaque panted, struggling.

The clone was soon joined by the rest of his fellow clones, each of them grinning with the joy of introducing the two newest members of their family to Macaque. They stood aside to allow Wukong's original body to step forward, making room for him to approach the eagerly chirping young ones, who seemed engulfed in their own little conversation. The toddlers each with their own little backpack, filled with things for their day.

Xiaohua was attempting to descend from the cloud, his pudgy leg reaching out in search of solid ground but coming up short. He chirped a call for his Daddy to help him, all while MK watched curiously. One of the clones stepped closer, scooping Xiaohua up from his arm pits to instead settle him back on the cloud.

“Wait a moment, Bud,” the clone mused. Xiaohua pouted, wanting to explore.

Macaque's heart raced, finding it was hard to breathe. His mind spun with questions, his pulse thrumming in time with the joyful chirps. As Wukong grinned and walked forward, Macaque swallowed hard, his palms sweating against each other as he clutched his ex-partner’s back tighter, half hiding behind him.

"Wukong," Macaque stammered, unable to look at his ex-lover as he tried to calm his erratic heartbeat. "I... I can't, I..."

"Shh, it's okay," Wukong cut in gently, reaching back to squeeze Macaque's hand reassuringly. "You don't need to do anything. Just meet them." there was a small twinkle in his eyes, “They are excited to meet you.”

Macaque sharply lifted his head, “They are…?”

"Of course," Wukong replied warmly. "They've heard so much about their Baba, they can't wait to meet you." He extended his arm out for Macaque to come out.

Macaque hesitated for a moment longer before slowly stepping out from Wukong's back.

His heart thumped against his ribcage as he stood in front of the two tiny monkeys. Their eyes were brimming with innocence and wonder, their features an endearing blend of their parents' traits.

“Oh…” Macaque whimpered, these two everything he thought they would be and more. Macaque touched his chest in awe, happy to just- just stare. They were so small and perfect. One had chocolate brown fur, his eyes as golden as Wukong’s with six little ears on his head like him. On his face was a little heart with a spot of freckles upon his chubby cheeks. The second, had fur almost pure white, like when he himself was little, before it turned black. He had Macaque’s color face marking, that shaped similar to a butterfly. Macaque’s eye brows, Macaque’s eyes… But both had Wukong’s grin.

He made a sound similar to a whimper.

"Dada!" The little one with golden eyes, MK, chimed, breaking the silence. He had noticed his Father and stood, pausing when he saw Macaque. His eyes doubled in size to the stranger and yet- he knew who this was. His Dada had been telling him all week. This was his Baba.

His Baba he was finally getting to meet.

Wukong grinned as he waited for Macaque to speak and introduce himself. Instead, all Macaque did was gape, speechless under the magnitude of the moment.The toddlers were oblivious to how their appearance had turned their Father into a stammering mess, just curious of this new adult.

“Xiaoxiao-” ML reached out for his Brother’s hand, who was still preoccupied by the new land around them, distracted. “Xiaoxiao,” silencing the chippering scamp to also turn his head, MK pointed to their Baba. “Look,” As soon as Xiaohua saw Macaque he ducked his head a little behind his brother, clearly shy.

“Macaque, this is Xiaotian and Xiaohua.” Wukong gestured to them both. “Boys… Meet your Baba.” Wukong added softly, reaching over to gently squeeze Macaque's shoulder. "This is your Father."

The little one with white fur, Xiaohua, peeked up from behind his brother, his eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and shyness. He'd heard stories about his Baba, tales of bravery and strength and kindness. And now here he was, standing right in front of him, as pretty as the moon.

Macaque sucked in a sharp breath as he looked at them, his heart aching with an overwhelming surge of love. He was entranced by their curious gazes and the familiarity of their features - the softness of their cheeks and eyes. They were perfect. Everything he dreamed they would be. Oh gods-… he was gonna cry.

"Wukong," Macaque managed to choke out, his voice blubbering, "They're... they're beautiful." He reached out a shaky hand, as if to touch them, but quickly retracting it as if he thought he might burn them if he did.

Seeing his struggles, Wukong shifted with his hand to lower the nimbus cloud to the ground, slowly guiding Macaque in the same direction, “Let’s all sit down,” he says gently. Macaque didn’t try to argue, letting himself be lowered to his trembling knees.

The world felt surreal as Macaque settled on the soft grass, the ground cradling him in a way that felt both grounding and weightless at the same time. As he sat there, surrounded by the warmth of Wukong’s presence and the innocent awe radiating from his children, he finally exhaled—a long, shaky breath that released a cascade of emotions he hadn’t known he was holding.

This was real.

This was happening.

He was a Baba.

"Come here, loves," Wukong encouraged softly, motioning for Xiaotian and Xiaohua to join them. The boys looked at each other, sharing a glance. As they debated listening to their Dada, Macaque’s ears flattened, a strange heat on his face.

Wukong’s soft and sweet call to the kids had been… adorably sweet, and it had startled him. They were his loves…

He cursed himself for finding his sweetness to them endearing.

“Coming, Dada,” MK was rolling off the cloud first, a bit braver to strangers then his Brother. He wobbled forward, sniffing the hair with a velvety nose. Xiaohua quickly followed suit, his small face peering up at Macaque from behind MK. As soon as they got close enough to his Dada, realizing MK wasn’t going to stop-, he rushed from behind Xiaotian to Wukong, hiding behind his back just as Macaque had a little bit ago. “Daddy,” he whispered.

Wukong smiles, rubbing Xiaohua’s back assuringly, “Yes?”

The child’s fingers clung tightly to Wukong’s shirt, his eyes never leaving Macaque’s face. “He’s got six ears, Daddy,” he pointed to them.

MK was bouncing, grasping his ears, “Like me!!”

Xiaohua nodded, “Like MK…”

“MK?” Macaque asked, looking at Wukong. Wukong blinked a few times then laughed sheepishly again.

“Like um.. M-Monkey Kid?” he says.

Macaque’s jaw fell open, stunned, yet also not surprised at all that Wukong would name on of their sons after him… AND ADORABLY SO! He clicked his teeth in a clear annoyance, but paused when MK patted his chest.

“Monkey Kid!” he declared, a savior to his Father, who exhaled in relief. “And Xiaoxiao is- uh… Xiaoxiao.”

“I’m Xiaoxiao,” the other toddler nodded, stepping out a bit more, “I-I like- I like Mangos.”

Macaque stared at him, a soft smile spreading across his face. What an innocent thing to say. “Mangos, hm?”

“I like peaches!” MK waved his hands around, getting close enough to stand before his Baba. Without hesitation he was scampering into Macaque’s lap, eager to touch is clothes, his scarf, and the fur of his arms. Macaque held perfectly still, letting the child do as he wished. His lips were squiggly, trying to hold back any tears.

The child smelled like sweetbread and milk, so sweet and eyes so round. He was talking more and more, Macaque bobbing his head and listening intently.

“I like to color, and paint- but I gotta be careful cause-cause I make messes. I help clean messes.” he babbled a few things, most slurred and unable to be fully understood in his toddler talk.

“I-I see,” Macaque nodded, his voice strangled but his smile sweet.

Xiaohua peeked out from behind Wukong, his shyness still evident in the way he tucked his chin. Still, it looked like so much fun over there-, “Daddy, can I… can I sit with Baba too?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“Of course you can,” Wukong replied, his tone gentle and encouraging. He bent down slightly, offering a reassuring smile that seemed to fill the air with warmth. “Go on, It’s okay.”

Macaque turned his head quickly to the approaching toddler, eyes wide. He swallowed thickly, slowly opening his arm a little in hopes to entice the boy closer.

With hesitant steps, Xiaohua made his way forward, glancing back at Wukong for reassurance before flopping into Macaque's lap beside MK. MK didn’t stop talking the entire time, his tail wagging and slapping at Macaque’s arm with little control.

“And I like juice and toys and- Hi Xiaoxiao- and blankies and—and Dada’s stories!” MK beamed, his enthusiasm spilling over like a bubbling pot.

Xiaohua nestled closer to Macaque, drawn in by the warmth radiating from his Baba. A shy smile broke through his timid demeanor as he clutched the edges of Macaque's scarf, feeling its silky softness between his fingers.

Macaque’s heart swelled with an unfamiliar joy, and it was all he could do not to break into a grin. He felt like a giant in their little world, these tiny beings weaving themselves into his life with laughter and innocence. “Stories, hmm?” he repeated softly, looking between the two boys.

“I like stories,” Xiaohua whispered.

“Do you?” Macaque’s voice was a melody, soothing and rich as he leaned closer to the boys. “What kind of stories do you like?” He closed one of his eyes when MK suddenly touched his cheek, startled when his pudgy hand curiously explored the expanse of his Baba’s face.

“Adventures!” MK shouted excitedly, his eyes sparkling, “Like when Dada fights bad guys and saves everyone!”

“Adventures,” Xiaohua nodded. He reached his little hand up to copy his brother, hesitating. Instead he touched Macaque’s chin lightly, curling his fingers through the fur there.

Macaque turned into his hand a little, eyes fluttering for a moment. Xiaohua smelled like wild mountain flowers…

The two of them together had to be the sweetest smell he had ever encountered.

MK gently patted Macaque’s velvety muzzle. He watched the older monky wiggle his nose in response, and felt his own nose crinkle in anticipation. MK examined Macaque's facial marking next. It was a deeper shade of red than his own, with intricate little hills that forked off from the center in a unique pattern. The color was like Xiaoxiao’s.

Then, there was his fur.

MK’s fingertips ran across the small white patch of fur near Macaque’s right eye. Perhaps age, perhaps stress- perhaps the effects of the Witch's magic; Macaque wasn't sure.

At the touch of it, Mihou flinched, holding his breath as his Child investigated, tilting his head curiously at the altering color of fur. Delving into the blacker tufts, he rubbed the strands between his fingers.

"Its..." he trailed off. Macaque's lower lip trembled, not sure how to explain that his fur just wasn't that soft. MK's eyes lifted, a sparkle to them. "XiaoXiao,” he gasped, as if realizing something and wanting to share with his Brother.

“It’s like blankie,"Xiaoxiao had already caught on, curiously touching Macaque’s fur.

Macaque openly stared. Huh??

MK and Xiaohua tugged themselves closer, tails swaying behind them as they examined their Baba for the first time. Little fingers exploring, searching, mapping out Macaque’s face to memory as they had done with their Dada so many times before. 

“They have a blanket,” Wukong spoke, since the children were too distracted to answer, “It’s their favorite thing. I’ve used it since they were babies,” when Macaque looked at him with an emotional look, his voice grew softer, “You remind them of their favorite thing.”

Macaque blinked, the weight of Wukong's words settling over him like a gentle fog. He felt a rush of warmth bloom in his chest, an unfamiliar tightening that tugged at something deep within. "Like their favorite thing," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. The thought echoed in his mind as he continued to feel the boys' tiny hands traversing the terrain of his fur, discovering every ridge and curve. MK didn’t hesitate to bury his face against Macaque’s shoulder to nuzzle him, startling the older man.

He dare not move, shifted, or lift his arms, less he scare the children- but that didn’t seem to stop them from doing whatever they wished with his own form.

“Baba,” MK tells him, watching Macaque’s eyes tremble at the use of the name, “You smell like chocolate.”

Xiaohua gasped, standing on his Baba’s lap to press his face to his neck. “Chocolate?” he gasped, making Wukong snicker, knowing how much his second son loved the treat, “Chocolate!!” he squealed.

Macaque blinked a few times, trying to sniff his own fur. When Wukong only nodded knowingly, he figured it had to be true.

Macaque stared at his son, mouth agape. His brow furrowed as he opened and closed his mouth in slow motion, unable to find the right words.

MK scampered up Macaque's arm and onto his shoulder, chittering excitedly with an unmistakable tone of acceptance, adoration, and delight. Xiaohua was bouncing, giggling as his shyness fell, touching Macaque’s ears next. He rubbed them, always touching MK’s ears too since they were soft. Macaque felt awash with elation as MK and Xiaohua squeaked in admiration.

He understood nothing that was happening, but his children seemed happy with him. His children... liked him.

Macaque's voice sputtered out like a radio station losing its signal. "MM-hmm," he managed to utter, but his ears betrayed him as they twitched in different directions. His vision blurred...

He quietly cursed.

Macaque’s face crumpled, tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto his scarf. His body trembled as the silent sobs wracked him.

Wukong’s broad smile faded as he watched those heartbreaking tears. His heart yearned to reach out and brush away the tears that had started to roll down Mihou's cheeks, but he stayed rooted in his spot, feeling helpless. He wanted to offer Mihou comfort, yet his presence seemed like the last thing Mihou desired. 

“Oo…” Xiaohua felt a droplet fall onto his nose and looked up to see the monkey's eyes closed, face wet and quivering. His chest heaved with emotion as his children reached up and tenderly patted his stained cheek. “Baba sad?” Xiaohua asked. He got a little closer, hugging the man and pressing his head to his chest. MK hugged Macaque’s head, patting it.

“Shh..shh..” He leaned up and gently pressed his lips to Macaque's chin, just like his Dada had done when he was feeling down.

Macaque's shoulders sagged, and a whimper escaped his lips. He tugged the boys further into his arms, his hands trembling.

His sons. His babies.

He was never letting them go again.

----

HOW DARE YOU PUT THIS IN MY BRAINNNNN!

[pinkanonwrites]

The Immensity of Vacancy

Energon Universe Jetfire/Human Reader, +1200 words

Just a little bittersweet something I wrote after the last issue of the Skybound comics came out. Jetfire my sweet, you did not deserve your fate.

ENERGON UNIVERSE COMIC SPOILERS AHEAD.

It was curious how even the most harrowing of circumstance could, with enough time and enough patience, shear down its jagged edges until it became something nearly palatable. 

Not comfortable. Primus, no, never comfortable. But palatable.

Stars no longer graced Jetfire’s curious optics, all light snuffed in favor of an inky nothingness soothed only by memory. There could be no ache of stasis lock when the freedom of movement had been ripped from his frame entirely, left to the whims of his fellow Cybertronians. The breems of silence would stretch into cycles, tuning his remaining audials ever finer upon the low thrum of Teletraan, the rattle-step of Autobots passing through corridors below. 

Perhaps that was why he could always hear you coming.

Your footsteps didn't boom or echo like those of Optimus Prime, never accompanied with the screech of tires like Arcee or Cliffjumper. Instead came the soft tink tink tink of tiny, booted feet against the resonant floor, the jangle of metallic jibbitz swinging from a clip on your belt. ‘Keys’ you had called them, though they were nothing like the data-keys or passcodes more familiar to him. ‘One for my car, one for my house, one for the back door at work.’ Primitive, but undeniably clever. 

You always paused in the doorway of the hangar when you approached, a brief instance of silence. Perhaps you were waiting for a transformation from him, a flourish of panels shifting and plates fluttering into place to reveal his root mode, his towering form compared to your own tiny one. You knew as well as he did that idea was an impossibility, but you paused nonetheless.

“Hey. Are you awake?”

Jetfire spent much time in recharge nowadays, the only respite from the insurmountable emptiness that surrounded him that remained in his control. It was another consistency from you, willing to let him rest for untold lengths of time, as if your own presence was not wildly preferred.

“Yes. For quite a while now.”

You let out a soft, sad sounding hum. “I’m sorry I couldn't get here earlier.”

“That's alright. I’m sure you have much of your own work to attend to.”

“Maybe, but it's not really anything exciting.” He could hear the shuffle and thunk of your backpack hitting the metal landing bay, the pull of the zipper. When you settled in your spot on the floor and leaned back against his landing gear, heat radiated through the space where your back pressed to his cool plating. “Work, mostly. Had a late shift last night, so I ran to the library this morning instead. The librarian actually recognized me.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, I just didn't expect it. I never went there until recently, anyway. Guess now that I’m going in a couple days a week I’m becoming a regular. Imagine that.”

Jetfire let out a soft hum. “We’ll never be wanting for reading material then.”

You seemed to hesitate for a moment as you removed something from your bag, the flutter of paper against your fingertips tickling his audials.

“I brought a new book. ‘The War Of The Worlds’. It’s an old sci-fi classic.” You softly fanned through the pages again. “It’s about, um… It’s about aliens. That come to take over Earth. It was probably a stupid choice, we can read something different if you want.”

He could understand your hesitation. Though Jetfire had not spent long interacting with the local lifeforms of your planet, he’d heard more than enough from the other Autobots about the occurrences at the power plant; The terror, the violence. The story of a hostile occupation from beings infinitely more powerful and dangerous than the planet’s inhabitants could strike offensive if presented in the wrong way, to the wrong bot. And yet…

“I would like to hear it.”

He couldn’t help that part of himself that yearned to understand. To learn. How often would he get the chance to hear the perspective of another species, better yet from the species themselves? Considering his current state, likely never again.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t have to be this, I brought other books. To Kill A Mockingbird, Treasure Island, maybe some Shakespeare-?”

“No, I… I want to hear it. I’d like to understand.”

You hesitated further still, as if you were waiting for Jetfire to change his mind. Then you let out a small, huffy noise, like you were trying to clear your vents. Jetfire recognized the sound to be what you’d called a “sniffle”. Paper shuffled, you let out a low, steadying sigh, and began to read.

“No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man’s and yet as mortal as his own…”

You were a delightful narrator, though you’d often brush off Jetfire’s compliments as to the former. ‘You should hear David Attenborough!’ you’d reply, though Jetfire had no idea who this apparent man was. Your cadence and accent would adjust slightly when switching characters, like you were putting on a play. The first descriptions of the alien conquerors were read with a faux suspense, as if you could scare the Cybertronian with narration alone. And yet, when you came upon the paragraph describing the first human deaths, there did your energy began to falter. You shifted against his landing gear, swallowing thickly as you described the heat ray that jumped from man to man, ‘...as if each man were suddenly and momentarily turned to fire.’ Your hesitance didn’t seem to stem from the words themselves, but the context in who you were reading them to. Did the recent Decepticon attack on the hospital strike as close to home mentally as it did physically?

You paused again at the end of the chapter. Usually here Jetfire would have rattled off the questions he’d saved while you were reading, foreign concepts and names of unknown locations and the intricacies of human interaction that he didn’t quite comprehend. But he found himself in silence here as well. Not stunned, not scared, merely… contemplative.

“Sorry. It’s not too late to read something else, you know. Treasure Island’s still on the docket.” You murmured, fingers tapping absentmindedly along the book’s spine. 

“There’s no need to apologize. Already it’s a fascinating tale.” He paused for a moment, mulling over his words. The question he was about to ask seemed painfully obvious. Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave it unsaid. “Are all humans this afraid of… aliens?”

‘Will all humans be this afraid of us?’ He did not ask.

“I think…” You hummed, head thunking back against his landing gear plating. “I think that most humans are afraid of the unknown. The idea that there’s something out there we can’t understand. We don’t like being reminded that we aren’t actually in control. That at any point in time we could die.”

Jetfire thought back to Cybertron- the expeditions failed, the cities razed, the lives lost- and he understood the sentiment exactly. 

“Would it comfort you to know that the experience isn’t uniquely human?” 

You barked out a short laugh. “A little, actually.”

Jetfire had spent so much of his life in the cold. The cold of space. The cold of the ice. The cold of the silent, empty hangar. But here, in this moment, with your body pressed to his plating, your voice filling the blackness, he felt inexplicably warm. 

“I’d still like to hear more, if you would continue.”

Though Jetfire could not see your smile, it was more than enough to hear it in your voice.

“Sure thing, big guy.”

[someweirdoreblogger]

So small, you are tiny in all the ways that matter. Titans dwarf humans in sheer size alone. The smallest things hold up to the largest building blocks of Mother Gaia. To Prometheus, you are more and evermore still.

A mere human, the loviest apple of Prometheus's eye, tempting the hungry blaze whilst lost in the range of total combustion.

You are love; You are all, everything Prometheus vowed, oathed to Primordial Chaos to dutifully protect. He will gladly perish thousands upon thousands of reckless deaths first, before ever allowing the cruel gaze of the Greek pantheon land on you even just for a second.

Prometheus's fury, his inevitable vengeance is bane for Gods, but is forever soft as cotton for mortalkind. Quite wry to touch you at first, however solely for you, he will shamelessly show his soul.

Your beloved Titan knows how to be nothing else but purely honest, Prometheus's spirit is a sincere, forward sort; his ablessed Foresight won't allow contrary. In this secure bundle of soothing warmth and prying digits, Prometheus handles you as if you will slip through his divine grasp like glass. One simple mistake, then you will slide off him like oil and water, diligently escape through the slightest crack between his thick digits like mere grains of sand.

This monster of a Titan, a great champion of Chronos, opens himself before you, in truth. His hands shadow your figure, an ant compared to him in size alone, not that either of you mind in the least. The hands of Prometheus welcome you aboard him, so mindful; stiff and proud as the mountains themselves. In the independent solitude of their embrace, coated in the natural heat that pridefully radiates off your dearest Titan in passionate droves-

Where else could you possibly feel safer?

It's so rare to see The Titan of Foresight truly off his guard. Contentment is strange for someone like him, that cresent smile rivials Selene's curling wane, it could easily melt diamonds.

It's almost easy to pretend Lady Nyx's cosmic mane of endless nightfall above never even existed, the threatening haze of Zeus's ecstatic plunder overhead, swallowing the glimmering eyes of her precious stars; your Titan of all nature's beings should know this enthralling peace can never be eternal, not that he'd be so cruel as to spoil the moment.

Prometheus buckles the knee, and he turns vulnerable for you alone, regardless of how your human fellows promise seldom the Titan's natural intimidating presence. All they notice is his blazing shadow looming their houses. What you see is your lover building a wall between humans and the predators outside.

The legendary Titans are forces to be reckoned with, borne powers beyond feeble understanding. True terrors amongst the Gods they once 'fathered', a living pressure within themselves, Prometheus does not bother with bliss in ignorance. He doesn't ever try to hide what he does, what he can do. There's no denying who he is, in that he covets. He kindly appreciates those who see past appearances and approaches no vulgar.

Perhaps that's why you trust your weaker self in his care so much, Prometheus couldn't die to imagine any scenario where his beloved would earn his strife and ire, let alone hatred. The future is but a spreadsheet to The Foresight. He can only spare so much with so many differing possibilities at one time, not that it matters much in the now.

Tiny fingers contrast his tough flesh, your touch, how heavy such a privilege is in his world; soft strokes, delicate trailing, across the patient journey between the invisible line that connects chin to bottom lip. A subtle timid curiosity foreign to himself, muscles worn in tan from war and toned like rust in immeasurable warmth and moist salt.

Prometheus thought he prepared enough for this when he forsaw it; In his Foresight, within the fickle daze of his dreams, once in a blue moon. He sunk deep, indulged in those porcelain futures more times than he would like to admit. To selfishly soak in the accursed blessing of your humane swish and sway, you are beauty incarnate. It's hard to deny such pleasantries for himself when so freely gifted to him, expecting no reward in return.

Prometheus was always so gentle with humans, he needed to be. It's practically unheard of; that a human ever need be so tender with a Titan.

Silence never felt so loud. He finds that each time he reaches down he longs too not only see, but feel directly on his flesh your thoughts and emotions; Prometheus can’t honestly decide whether or neither he prefers your subtle heart-to-hearts or this forbidden peace found in the tranquility of your shared love and company.

It's pure torture, but Prometheus can't be broken, now can he?

Let it be both, you will assure him.

Let yourself have it.

And Prometheus, your Titan, your heart and soul, knows better than to question otherwise.

[fatallyfalling]

Sea-Green~ ♆

“waves crash , time slows , and all that’s left are those stupid sea-green eyes”

{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}

warnings: hurt/comfort - fluff if you squint, it’s the Hunger Games so canon perceived violence/trauma, Finnick is soft, vague/brief insinuation to Finnick’s place in the Capital, talk of nightmares, brief panic, comforting touch, slight language, etc

{{ word count }} 2.7 k

{{ prompt }} you didn’t want to be a victor, you don’t think anybody in the districts does really. It’s the wee hours of morning - sun still asleep below the endless sea and you can’t help staring into the water, it brings a comfort you can’t quite describe. However your peace is interrupted by a certain “Darling of The Capital” looking for his own escape.

{{ a/n }} this is my first fic in like.. three years please be kind >< this is also my first time writing finnick so i’d love feedback! please enjoy <3

The evening air by the sea is salty, intertwined with damp earth and a hint of pine as you take a deep breath in. You can feel the malleable sand beneath your fingernails keeping you grounded as you perch on the beach with your knees drawn close to your chest. There’s a chill that nips and a breeze that whips but you don’t mind it, if anything it helps keep your grip on reality to feel the sensations.

The sun is still sunken deep below the horizon and there’s only the oceanic chorus of the tide mixing with nature as District 4 remains in its slumber for a while longer.

You hadn’t bothered to check the time when you had shrugged on a sweater and crept out of Victor’s Village to escape the shadows of your nightmares, but it was definitely two or three o’clock in the morning. At least the sea was close so you didn’t have to go far to find solitude with the water. The soft murmurs of the crashing waves and the lull of the tide brought a peace you hadn’t been able to find anywhere else, not that you had much peace, to begin with these days. In fact, you used to fear the ocean, its watery depths murky, unknown, and brimming with secrets. However, you found yourself sneaking away to visit the rolling waves more often than you could keep track of now.

The sounds were comforting, the push and pull of the sea foam was a steady cadence to help focus your thoughts away from the night terrors. You managed to drag your arms away from the wet sand to wrap themselves around your shoulders, another shaky inhale and a squeeze of your closed eyelids as the tiny granulated pieces of earth clung to the knit sweater making it a bit scratchy.

The dampness had suddenly felt too much like blood.

You tried to focus in again on the sounds of the water, your earth-covered nails digging slightly into your skin as you kept attempting to steady your breathing. The terrors that came with the setting sun were your least favorite change thanks to the deadly arena you had been trapped in years ago. Unfortunately, as much as it felt like an eternity had passed, the terrors made it feel just as fresh and raw in your mind.

The 67th annual Hunger Games.

You had been sixteen, now twenty-two. The arena had confined and demolished your heart and senses like a meal, you still found yourself jumping at the kettle whistle and reaching for a phantom knife on your hip. You hadn’t even intended to last let alone win, as many tributes as you had managed to outlast in the first two days you were still forced to reckon with death and the sticky metallic scent of blood and copper following the sting of salt as you fought a fellow tribute to prevent drowning in a river.

You gripped yourself a bit tighter as you tried to shove away the memory and the sudden tightness constricting your throat.

A harsh shiver raked through you as the cold finally seeped into your bones and snapped your awareness to a shifting sound a few paces behind where you hid. Instinctively you whirled, sand kicking up in a small spray as your distorted view and trembling hands scrambled for anything to defend yourself. There wasn’t anything but sand, not even a shell within reach as you rapidly blinked to focus on the darkness in front of you.

Your gaze landed on the tall figure a few yards away, the waves crashing as time seemed to drag itself across the sand and you met a familiar set of sea-green eyes.

You let loose a breath you hadn’t quite noticed you’d been holding as the blossoming warmth of adrenaline on your skin fades to let the cold once more seep in. Collapsing your knees back onto the sand your hands dig into the wet beach along with a sharp inhale, the sense of danger slowly ebbing away as the figure continues to approach, a thin whistle swimming into your senses as he stops a pace or two away.

He allowed a brief apology as you adjusted back to your curled-up position on the sand, failing an attempt to brush the clustered sand off your pants with a sigh.

“It’s fine, Finnick..”

You weren’t exactly ecstatic about the so-called ‘Darling of The Capital’, his smirks and the drip of confidence off his tongue tended to rub you the wrong way, but considering the mere constant watch of Capital elites and a vague awareness of the many lipstick sealed letters and ‘visitors’ coming and going from his home in Victor’s Village you tried to keep your patience on a tight leash. A pang of concern stung inside however as you noticed the too far away look washing over his tanned features as he slumped down beside you.

“Can’t sleep?”

A tense muscle fluttered in the Darling’s jaw as he rested his elbows on his knees.

“No..”

Your brows stitched together in a bit of confusion but you didn’t pry, the air around Finnick Odair was colder, more solemn than the usual radiating warmth and the lack of any suggestive comeback from the bronze-haired male sparked a wonder of what might be going on inside. If he was awake at this hour and out here the same as you, it could only be assumed he had a similar reason to your own.

Quiet resumed for a while as you both sat in silence listening to the crash of the waves. You tried not to look too long but in your peripheral, you could notice the messier than usual mop of bronze hair, a smudge of purple beneath his eyes and the ivory knit sweater Finnick wore was bunched over his hands as if to mimic mittens. He caught your glimpses after a minute and you quickly reverted back to looking at the horizon, hugging yourself a bit tighter as the wind swept the disturbed sand around your boots.

Inhaling through your nose for a brief moment you decided to break the silence, it hadn’t been awkward but by the twitch in Finnick’s jawline, you could tell he didn’t exactly prefer the quiet.

“Do you get nightmares too..?”

Your voice was a bit meek, toeing the line of a whisper as you kept your eyes trained on the water beyond. You tried not the notice the tension release in his shoulders as he dropped his head to look at his hands, a small but forced smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as an empty ‘tch’ huffed out with his reply.

“Was it that obvious ?” the slight tilt in his head as he turned to look at you had a few bronze waves falling over his forehead, the tug on the corner of his mouth showing his too-white teeth in a coy half smile. Ever so slightly turning to meet his gaze you couldn’t help marking the crinkle in the corner of his eyes or the slight dimples on his cheeks. No wonder the Capital adored him.

“What is it - three? No - four in the morning? You mustn’t think I’m out here for an evening stroll Odair.” you huffed, your tone slightly playful if only to keep the smile on his face. Your ploy worked as his cheshire grin widened, a small head shake tossing his bronze waves back and forth as his gaze flickered between yours.

He hummed in response, the brief glimmer of mischief returning to his sea-green eyes for a moment before quickly deflating again. “It’s hard to sleep when there’s always eyes watching,” he murmured, his gaze dropping back to his sweater mittens.

You paused, biting back a remark about his trade in secrets. To receive one from Finnick without a form of repayment was rare if ever from your experience watching the victor at capital functions in the upper districts. But you could tell he wasn’t asking for any repayment, that far-away look had glazed over his face again in an all too familiar way. “Sometimes I have to throw blankets over my windows just to feel any sense of privacy..” you softly return, you couldn’t know the full extent of his experience but you had your fair share of watching eyes from the Capital as a fellow victor.

Finnick’s gaze snapped back to yours, this time it was his turn to knit his brows in confusion, if it wasn’t for the nature of the conversation you might have taken the perceived concern - or was it..worry? to heart. But when it came to the Capital’s Darling you found it a bit puzzling to figure out which reactions were genuine, though a sneaking whisp of knowing allowed room to think this was true.

“I’m sorry…”

Your name sounded foreign on his tongue, had he ever directly addressed you before? It didn’t matter, you tried to push away the warmth that clung to your heart, averting your gaze from his stupid sea-green stare.

“It’s not your fault Finnick.”

You tried not to notice the spread of the warmth as his name left your lips.

He pushed a hand through his messy hair, no doubt dragging sand through it as well to be inevitably washed out later. Quiet returned, the soft rushing of water filling the silence as a small glow started to peek over the horizon. You enjoyed sunrises more than sunsets, watching the world slowly rise from slumber and start their day was a feeling you relished being one of the only ones to experience it sometimes.

“It’s hard… remembering the arena. Waking up feels more like a dream than the memories sometimes..” You sighed, feeling a weight start to press in on your shoulders as you spoke. “I know I’m not physically there anymore… but it still feels inescapable - like if I blink too fast I’ll be put back in with no way out..”

Drifting your hands up from your shoulders to your head, not quite covering your ears as they threaded through your hair, you blinked hard to try and fight the growing sting in your eyes. There was no way in hell you’d cry in front of him, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and meet his gaze either.

“It just… it’s just horrible, what they make us do... a-and even after we survive we can’t have any form of peace.” You were starting to ramble, a familiar tightness creeping across your chest and throat as you subconsciously picked up a quicker breathing pattern.

The fear stung as you gripped your hair a bit tighter, trying to remember the sound of the ocean across the way and that Finnick was beside you. You didn’t feel much comfort at the fact he was practically watching you fall to pieces in front of him - actually, you felt awful for doing so. Horrors flashed behind your eyes that you furiously tried to blink away. “I-I’m sorry..”

You didn’t register a reply if he gave one, instead finding a sudden but gentle heat on your back. The warmth slowly spread, like flames starting to lick up your shoulders and neck and drawn in small, slow circles with an even pressure that oddly helped calm the rising panic in your system. You apologized for getting yourself worked up, it wasn’t fair to dump such a thing on him.

��It’s okay,, we all have a few skeletons in our closets..” He mumbles, adding that you didn’t have to apologize. For someone who excelled in confidence and strength, it was a tad odd to see the one and only Finnick Odair be gentle if not comforting to someone. There was a beat of silence and a falter of his hand on your back that brought in a nip of cold air at the absence as he must have realized what he’d been doing, “Is - is this okay,,?”

A simple nod and small hum in return from You and he resumed the gesture, your fingers slowly leaving your hair to gather on top of your boots, fidgeting with the sandy laces as you let your eyes flutter closed, wetting your lips and trying to control your uneven breaths.

“I get them too, not just the night terrors but the panic attacks..”

Your eyelids fluttered open, braving to meet his eyes as you listened to his confession.

“Usually I have to dunk my head in ice cold water to break out of it.. other times diving into the sea..”

Finnick’s gaze was tender, his lips pressed into a thin line as he peered over at you, another secret kept hidden under that Golden Boy mask revealed. You returned a small, tight-lipped smile as your gaze faltered from his out of a sudden nervousness.

“I guess there’s more in common between our Capital’s Darling and us mere mortals than I thought.“

You breathed with a small hint of a laugh. That cheshire grin was quick to make an appearance once again on Finnick’s face as he let out a low chuckle.

“I’d hardly place myself above anyone..” Finnick shook his head again, bronze waves whisking around in the wind but his grin didn’t falter.

“Hmm,” You hummed in response. The Darling’s circles on your back had slowed to a stop as you calmed down, eventually returning to its place over his knee. “Thank you.. for that, i-it helped a lot,” you murmur in thanks to him. He simply nods, telling you not to worry about it as the warm light of early morning starts to wash over his features. The weak light brings a new look to the Darling, and it’s the first time you’re able to notice that the brave Golden Boy facade of Finnick Odair is nowhere to be seen.

It’s refreshing, to say the least, he seems more relaxed, at ease in a sense as he watches the waves. The posture he normally holds isn’t there and the messy bronze waves of his hair make him seem almost nothing like the charming playboy the Capital adores, more human than anything to say the least.

You couldn’t bring yourself to really resent or dislike him in any way either, he may shine in the spotlight and favor of the Capital and career districts but you knew it was a light he didn’t choose nor have a say in. You’d heard the murmurs and noticed the prying eyes of the elite, always watching as if ready to pounce on the Darling victor. But Finnick carried himself with a self-assuredness that could put even the best victor to shame. He didn’t let the Capital see the fruits of their torture for what they did to him and if anything you could only admire his strength.

“You’re staring y'know ~ “

shit!

Shock smacked you in the face like a punch as an uncontrollable flush tinged your cheeks and ears red, averting your gaze to anywhere but those stupid sea-green eyes. “S-sorry..” you mumble, bending your head as if it could hide the embarrassment burning your face. Finnick’s laugh rises over the rolling waves as he tilts his head back, the coy smirk on his face downright insufferable if not…cute.

“It’s alright, you can stare if you want to,”

Finnick leaned to gently bump his shoulder to yours, a reassurance that you hadn’t made him uncomfortable in the slightest. Sighing through your nose you playfully reach out and shove him away, a small grin spreading on your own lips.

“In your dreams Odair.”

Your eyes meet once more as the sky turns from blues and purples to pinks and oranges, the weight that had been pressing on you only lingered now, much lighter than before and you could tell the same proved true for Finnick. The small giggle that left your lips had the smirk on his face growing wider by the second, dimples well and truly defined and his too-white teeth flashing in the morning light. Maybe, just maybe, you could learn to be friendly with him. It was… comforting - to have someone to confide in after the isolating years following your games.

“Would you like some tea ?”

“Drinking tea with a mortal? I’m flattered” You feign a dramatic wave across your forehead but accept his offer with a smile.

Another bout of laughter rises from Finnick’s throat and you no longer feel the cold or the wind. Your heart feels lighter, almost like a piece has managed to pick itself back up from the damage.

And maybe you could get used to those Sea-Green eyes.

{{ taglist }}

[arget-star]

For Thy Sweet Love

Umemiya Hajime x F!Reader

tags: fluff, reader and ume are married with two kids, not beta read. if you see any spelling mistakes, no you don't

wc: 2k

about: There's someone new at the park today. Umemiya, happily married with two kids, isn't a fan of how this man gravitates towards you

“My nephew loves this park,” says a voice to your right. You glance over, unsure if the young man is talking to you or into a phone you can’t see. He catches your eye and grins—no phone, then. “Last week, he said the swings were his favorite, and now he claims the slides are the most fun he’s ever had.”

He sticks out a hand in greeting. “Nishida Hideo. A pleasure to meet you.”

There’s no harm in making a new acquaintance at the park. It’s nice, knowing the other frequent visitors, making your trips here less lonely on the days Hajime’s stuck at work. Puts you at ease, surrounded by people you can chat with. You accept his handshake, offering your name in return, silently appreciative his touch doesn’t linger once you gently pull your hand away. “How old is your nephew?”

“Six. He’s the little terror currently reigning as king atop the slides,” Hideo replies, tilting his head in the direction of said slides. You follow the gesture, eyes landing on a little boy whose black hair has the same cowlick as his uncle’s. His tiny fists are planted atop his hips, mouth moving as he explains the rules of whatever game he and your son—also six—have created. At least, you hope it’s just silly rules, instead of something rude or the age old you can’t play with me.

You squint a little, right hand raising to shield your face, and see the smile on your Yuzuru’s face. That same wide, open grin he inherited from his dad. Your lips quirk up as you turn back to Nishida. “He seems to rule his subjects well.”

“Is that your son up there?”

“Mhm. Also six. He loves making new friends.” Yet another thing he inherited from Hajime. Nishida’s nephew shouts something, raising his tiny arms up and stepping aside. Yuzuru, with a loud laugh also courtesy of his father—honestly, you’d hardly know Yuzuru was also yours if he hadn’t inherited your hair color—positions himself belly-down on the slide. Pushing himself with his arms, he goes flying, landing in the woodchips covering the park ground, giggling like a maniac all the while. You sigh fondly; you’ll be cleaning woodchips off him until bath time tonight.

Nishida’s nephew follows suit as soon as Yuzuru stands up. They brush themselves off, then climb back up the staircase next to the slides, presumably to do it all over again. A handful of woodchips cling to the back of your boy’s shirt, and his fellow conspirator has one stuck to his cheek.

“To be a child again,” Nishida says wistfully. “They make me tired just watchin’ them.”

A small snort escapes you. “Try parenting. It’s just as exhausting as you think it is, and yet, there’s nothing in the world I love more. Do you watch your nephew often?”

Nishida gives you a sidelong glance, like he doesn’t quite believe how people could willingly love something so tiresome. “Every couple weeks or so. My sister and her husband own a shop on market street. I try to help out by takin’ him off their hands.”

Yuzuru flies down the slides again. This time, when he pops back up, he gives you a wave. You eagerly wave back; some days, you can hardly believe the tiny baby you once cradled in your arms every night has grown into such a big kid.

“That’s kind of you. Which shop—” You begin to ask, cutting off as movement catches in the corner of your eye. A newcomer has arrived at the playground in the form of your three and a half year old daughter. Shiori’s tiny pigtails bounce as she toddles along, calling for her big brother. You smile again—she’s fearless, so long as Yuzuru’s around. The boy in question momentarily abandons his game, turning towards his sister. You tilt your head, looking for Hajime. He shouldn’t be too far behind your runaway girl.

Nishida, now busy shouting a hello to his nephew, misses the commotion. Just as well; despite the sunny day, a shiver unexpectedly runs down your spine as you finally spot your husband’s approaching figure.

Umemiya Hajime is not a jealous man.

Protective, certainly, and fiercely loyal to those he loves. Never once in all the years you’ve been together has he acted out of jealousy.

Yet now, you feel the same aura that so frightened any and all who opposed Bofurin and commanded the utmost respect from his fellow members. You think Nishida asks you something, but all your focus rests on Hajime, wondering what, exactly, has ruffled his feathers.

He grows closer, features becoming distinct, and it’s then you notice the edge to his smile, the hard glint in his eyes. The tails of his coat snap behind him, in time with his purposeful strides. He doesn’t look like a father who just spent the last twenty minutes calming down his tearful little girl from a scraped knee.

Umemiya Hajime looks every inch the former leader of Bofurin.

An arm wraps around your waist before you can think of anything to say. His right arm, you note, which he uses to tug you closer. You spare a glance first for your children—slides abandoned, they happily chase each other up and down the jungle gym steps—then to Nishida, whose face has gone carefully blank.

“Haji—” You begin, then stop. You don’t know what to say.

A rogue piece of hair has come loose from its usual slicked back style. Normally, you’d brush it aside, laughing as he uses your proximity as an excuse to kiss you senseless. He’s not feeling play now.

In mirror to your own greeting earlier, Hajime sticks out his left hand to Nishida. Sunlight glints off the golden wedding band adorning your husband’s ring finger, and you know he was planning this the moment he began stalking over here.

“Great day to be at the park, isn’t it? Umemiya Hajime. My wife’s such a great conversation partner, isn’t she?”

Nishida stares at Hajime for a heartbeat, then slowly accepts the offered hand. From your place tucked against his side, you can feel the tense line of his muscles, a snake coiled to strike if provoked. You don’t have anything against Nishida, and his nephew plays quite nicely with both Yuzuru and Shiori. You want to be annoyed, even a little angry, but you know Hajime. He wouldn’t act like this unless he had good reason.

“Y-yeah, she is,” Nishida replies, quickly retracting his hand. Nervousness has replaced his earlier ease, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart over to the children, who have commandeered the swing sets. Yuzuru must have helped Shiori onto one; now he’s twisting her round and round while she kicks her legs in delight. One of her pigtails has started to come loose. Nishida’s nephew propels himself on the other swing.

A throat clears. Nishida’s, you realize, as he casually slips his phone out of his pocket. “I should be getting back. Thanks for chatting with me,” he says to you, phone still in hand. Another look at Hajime. “…I’ll see you around.”

“Have a great day!” Hajime calls as Nishida scurries away. His nephew pouts. Your children halt their own game, offering loud farewells of their own. There’s a moment where you think someone will start throwing a tantrum—Nishida’s nephew, mainly—but the man quickly scoops his young charge into his arms and carries him off.

Hajime releases you with a sigh once Nishida’s retreating figure disappears, all that coiled tension dissipating in a puff of air. He smiles at you like nothing happened. “What were you thinking about for lunch?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Is he not going to say anything? It takes a moment for your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth, and when it does, you can’t stop the hiss that escapes. “Hajime, you didn’t have to scare him off like that!”

He tilts his head, gesture almost boyish. You know better. “He said he had to leave.”

“Because of you!”

“Baby—”

“Mama! Mama! Pus’ me, p’ease?” Shiori shouts. You sigh, glaring at Hajime to let him know this conversation isn’t over. Plastering a smile on your face, you happily trot over to the swing sets. Yuzuru has claimed the one left empty by Nishida’s nephew, leaving his baby sister to wiggle pitifully in her seat. A bright, floral patterned bandage sticks to her right knee.

“How’s my brave little girl?” You coo, planting a kiss atop her head. She giggles, sticking her leg up while you set about fixing her loose pigtail.

“Dada fixeded me!”

“He’s quite talented at patching up owies, isn’t he?” Against your better judgement, your hands still, chin tilting up to find Hajime standing alone where you left him, hands tucked casually into his pockets. He’s watching you and the kids with undiluted joy.

You’re still upset with him, but the look on his face tempers some of your annoyance.

“Mhm!”

“I’m glad, my love.” Pigtail fixed, you gently take her tiny hands in yours, placing them around the metal chains holding up the swing. “Ready? One, two, three!” On three, you give her a light push, sending her soaring into the air.

Twenty minutes later, everyone’s safely buckled in their car seats, hands thoroughly cleaned courtesy of your stash of baby wipes in the glove box. Hajime passes around a water bottle from the driver’s seat, while you stand at the back passenger door, shaking woodchips out of Shiroi’s shoes.

“Mama, can we listen to Bluey?” Yuzuru asks, idly running a toy motorcycle up and down the car window.

“In a minute, baby,” you reply. Shoes free of debris, you shimmy them back onto Shiori’s little feet. She’s clutching the metal water bottle in both her hands.

“T’anks, mama.”

“You’re welcome,” and it’s accompanied with a loud smooch to her forehead. You take the water from her, stealing a quick sip. She giggles, waving as you close the passenger door. You clamber into your own seat with a relieved sigh. Park days are fun yet exhausting.

Yuzuru, never one to forget anything, pouts. “Mama, can we listen to Bluey now?”

The car engine roars to life. You fiddle with your phone, queuing up the latest Bluey album while telling Shiori yes, you did see how fast she went down the slide, and you know she’s hungry, reassuring her that lunch will be made as soon as you get through the door at home. She kicks her legs out again, pretending she’s still on the swings. Your hand snakes between the car door and the seat, questing fingers latching playfully around one small ankle. “Got you!”

She squeals, delighted, kicking harder now. “Shake her off,” Yuzuru encourages, and now you laugh, releasing your hold.

“You’re too strong for me, my love,” you say, shaking out your hand.

“’Cause I eats my gebtables,” she replies seriously.

Haji laughs, grinning at you as he backs the van out of the parking spot. It soothes the remainder of your irritation—that smile of his always makes you melt. “That’s right, baby,” he agrees.

Shiori asks for more water. You oblige, passing the bottle back. Yuzuru starts humming along to Bluey. Hajime rolls slowly to a stop at the intersection. It’s all so normal, so perfect. Almost enough for you to forget about Haji’s odd behavior.

Yuzuru may have inherited most of his father’s looks, but he got his knack for persistency from you. Gently, you prod Hajime’s arm. “What was all of that about, earlier?”

He sighs. Flicks his eyes up to the rearview mirror, looking at your children in the reflection. They aren’t visibly paying attention, although your son listens to far more than he lets on. Scary, how often he asks about things you were positive he wasn’t within hearing distance for.

Hajime’s hand flexes around the steering wheel, like he’s fighting off the urge to rub the back of his neck. You squeeze his shoulder this time. He’s the most responsible driver you know—and it makes your heart ache whenever you think of why.

“I was a little jealous,” he admits, softly.

“A little?”

“…a lot,” he concedes, flicking on the turn signal. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Something about his manner set me off.”

You frown in thought, playing back your interaction with Nishida in your head. Nothing struck a warning bell inside your own head. Other than the strange look he gave you when you said how much you loved being a parent. Overall, you’d considered Nishida nice enough. Not someone you’d want to become best friends with, but a decent enough park companion.

“I thought he was gentlemanly enough,” you say carefully, trying to see the interaction through your husband’s eyes. Maybe Nishida ended up a bit too far into your personal space, towards the end of your conversation. Half of your attention had been on Yuzuru by that point; the other half was worried about Shiori’s wounded knee.

“It’s how he kept watching you when you weren’t looking. Like he was sizing you up.”

You didn’t feel anything untoward coming from Nishida. Then again, Haji’s always had a gift for reading people and their intentions. You lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, always and forever.”

Those impossibly blue eyes of his land on yours. “I love you.”

Yuzuru, no longer occupied with Bluey or his motorcycle, blows a raspberry. “Gross!”

[livecrow]

Call me Crow

M D N I - she/they - sideblog

I specialize occasional in dark and/or kinky fics with fat fem readers

See "#crow writes" for all my writing.

Pinned Post²:

Imagine Ghost, cranky and stir-crazy from being holed up in some hotel when a mission went sideways, being an absolute freak after getting an eyeful of the fat little housekeeper

It's completely innocuous. You're just making the bed, and he fucking stares. Eyes tracking your every tiny movement as you strip the sheets and set out a bundle of fresh bedlinens.

Stares like the vending machine peppered beef jerky he's currently mangling between jagged incisors, isn't what he'd actually like in his scarred mouth.

(read more)

Never assume I know what I'm doing.

I'm just here to post the same fic over and over again every few months, just each time wearing a slightly different hat.

Sorry, no requests. Any sense of even perceived obligation gives me fucking anaphylaxis. For the same reason any follow-up fics have no definitive timeline.

However! Don't let that stop you from sharing thoughts and questions with me! I love communing with my fellow freaks <3.

What I will and Won't Write/Reblog

Note that everyone who leaves me a nice comment on a reblog, in tags, replies, or asks shall receive a lil forehead smooch. I re-read them all approximately 27 times a day.

*I reserve the right to self-reblog one of my own posts several times if I'm trying to get traction on a longer fic I worked really hard on. If that annoys you, probably don't follow me!

Masterlist

Fics (<1k words):

You claim you're “un-kidnappable”, but John disagrees. Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader (cw: noncon) 7.7k words

Soap the hunting dog "retrieves" you. Dog Shifter/Hybrid Dark!Soap x fat reader (cw: kidnapping) 1.5k words

Ghost convinces you he's going to fucking eat you. DARK!Butcher!Ghost x fat fem reader (cw: noncon) 2.7k words

Drabbles (>1k words):

Ghost "helps" you wax your pussy

Ghost terrorizes housekeeper!reader

[i-am-countess-olivia]

A short pre-canon Fitzier treat for you all today.

Whale Fish Islands, July, 1845. Francis witnesses James' canoe accident and it kind of messes him up.

--

Nose crinkled, Hodgson stares. “Dear God, the smell of him, sir. What is that? Seal fat?”

Francis doesn't reply. To the native man who stands before them clutching close a sack of wares to barter, he gestures and says in the local tongue: “Show.”

The man's eyes widen in surprise then narrow again in mistrust. He glances back at the toy-sized vessel he's dragged on board with him, as if to ensure it's still there. The bustle of bodies around them seems to unsettle: crates and canisters winched up, shunted and stacked by strange, shouting men who, as they pass, cast at him uncharitable glances.

The sun blazes above, burnishing the clear, calm waters of their anchorage and the distant jagged line of bergs. They've been toiling since four o'clock that morning, steadily dropping deeper into the harbour under new weight, and still the Barretto Junior isn't even half unloaded yet. And still no sign of Francis' tea.

Francis nods again and raises a reassuring smile. "Show," he repeats.

After some reluctance, the man squats down and begins to unpack his cargo, carefully and piece by piece, as if he were handling rare treasure.

Bundles of dried cod skins, scraps of animal skin, whale bone picks and crude figurines line the boards. Cured seal bladders filled with God knows what.

“Poor fellow," says Hodgson, fixated on the sight. "What a pitiful display—“

“The coal, Lieutenant Hodgson," Francis says abruptly."Will you see to it that we're making the most of the little space we have? Paths should be kept clear."

Hodgson blinks up from the spread as if torn from a dream. "Sir," he mutters and takes his leave.

Francis crouches down beside the man and points to the bladders. "What's this?"

The man picks up one and loosens the knotted twine. He holds up the open pouch to Francis' nose.

Inside Francis sees heaps of some dried berry, black and shrivelled, smaller than a currant. The musk of the pouch hits him first, harsh and brown. But something quickly cuts through: a dark, sour, wilted floral aroma that pulls Francis with all the violence of sensory memory to the hedgerows of his childhood, to a warm summer only just collapsing into autumn and his boy's fingers turned blue with brambles and damson skins—

"What use?" Francis asks.

The man spreads a grin of brown teeth. “Add water and drink," he says and thumps his chest. "Good for bad heart."

Francis closes his eyes and breathes again. Transported. Far from here.

He wants to ask: do you have more? And fresh? He doesn't know the word for fresh.

But then the shouting begins.

"Captain! Starboard, quick!"

Francis' heart whips cold in his chest. He leaps up, berries rolling wild across the deck, crushed underfoot as he sprints to where the crowd is gathering, pointing, shouting—

His heart, frantic, alarm bells ringing. He's down south and three years ago: they've only just leapt onto new land, together and triumphant, he and James, when from Terror's whale-boat a man tries to follow, doesn't grab the rope, stumbles as he jumps. The look of horror on James' face—

Man overboard.

Laughter rings.

"Ha! Must've begged them off the Eskis."

"How'd he get himself into that tiny bloody thing?"

Francis roars orders, pushes them aside. For a moment the blazing blue dome of sky blinds him and then he shields his eyes and sees:

The huge black cradle of Erebus looming behind, three of her officers bobbing precariously on the water in the tiny crescents of native canoes, circling a boat which has diverted from the transport. The four men inside it casting a net of strong arms to grip, to drag out of the sun-gilded harbour — Fitzjames.

They get him steady. They're looking for a blanket to throw over him. He shakes off like an animal, laughs, claps backs, clasps his rescuers' hands, waves to his companions still upright in the water.

Then, for a fleeting instant — or is it just Francis' fancy? — he turns and glances back at Terror.

Dark streams of hair plaster the Commander's face. Dark streams of seaweed plaster his bare legs.

Francis turns and walks away.

--

That evening, heavy with the weight of years to come, Terror sits deep in the harbour.

Francis sits in his cabin and repeatedly slides his hand into a satchel of dried berries: fondling, stirring, then taking out his fingers for a smell.

After a while, he grabs a parchment and begins:

My dear James—

He writes wildly for half a page:

—four men, pulled away from their duties to drag him from the water like some prized specimen, all to amuse—

He crosses out the lines and rubs too hard at his eyes. Behind them, the native man grins: good for bad heart.

He goes again:

—and you should see him floundering with the Fox, what did he have, three weeks' instruction at Woolwich? James, I can't—

No. He can't. Francis drowns the lines in ink then scrunches the wet page.

He gets up, feeds the letter to the stove. By the light of the flames, he examines his ink-stained fingers: blue, like they were during those ancient summers when he could still keep himself warm.

---

END. The berries I imagined as being empetrum nigrum. They probably have vitamin C!