#and by GOD will they make sure how dangerous they are in spite and maybe even BECAUSE of this

[illyrianbitch]

Plank You Very Much

Pairing: Reader x Cassian

Summary: Cassian gets roped into a Pilates class by you—and quickly realizes he’s in way over his head.

original request

Warnings: nothing tbh, cocky cassian being humbled, his fun lil internal thoughts

Word Count: 1.4k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

This was a horrible, stupid decision, Cassian realized. 

He’d probably tell his kids about this someday, label it as one of his top twenty worst moments—and for the Lord of Bloodshed, that meant something.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been coaxed into something ridiculous. He wasn’t proud of that. But usually, those bad ideas involved Cassian yelling “I’m in.” before anyone could talk him out of it, not… this. Not kneeling on a yoga mat in a room that smelled like lavender and sweat, surrounded by people half his size who apparently had spines made of liquid steel. 

The incense burning clung to the air, all flowery and relentless, tickling his nose in a way that made his nostrils flare with the urge to sneeze—an urge that hovered just out of reach, enough to drive him mad. Gods, he thought his allergies were bad in the Spring Court. This was worse. At least in the Spring Court, he wasn’t expected to twist himself into a pretzel while being assaulted by fragrant warfare.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to agree to this. 

Well, okay, he did know. It was you. 

With that damn mischievous smile and the way you’d batted your lashes at him, like you knew he wouldn’t say no. You’d done it on purpose.

“Oh yeah?”

Your voice had been as sweet as poison after he’d made a very ill-advised joke about Pilates not being “that serious.” All because you’d complained—just once—about being sore from a class. He’d grinned, all cocky charm, and drawled something like, “How hard can it be?”

He’d meant it as flirting, a way to make you laugh, but he should’ve known better. You and that damn spiteful streak.

“Come with me, then,” you’d said, tilting your head in that way you always did when you were trying to be convincing. “Unless, of course, you think it’s too hard for you, big guy.”

You might as well have stabbed him in his pride.

“We both know that’s not true.” Cassian had shot back, grinning like the cocky idiot he was. He’d even flexed a little as he’d said it, lounging against the counter with all the confidence in the world. “Bet I could do it no problem.” 

Because Pilates? It didn’t even sound hard. A bunch of stretching, maybe some light balancing. Easyyy. He could do this in his sleep. He’d been fighting in wars since before most of these people were born, for Cauldron’s sake. His muscles were made of steel. His body was a weapon. 

You’d grinned at him like a predator scenting blood, and he’d known, deep down, that he was screwed. “Alright,” you’d said, voice a little too sweet. “Tomorrow morning.”

He really needed you to spend less time with Mor and Azriel. Their sass and competitive streak had clearly rubbed off on you, and the result was downright dangerous. It was also, much to his frustration, ridiculously attractive. He fell for it every single time.

And now, every muscle in his body was actively trying to kill him. He was sure of it.

To make matters worse, he’d made yet another critical error at the start of class. Everyone else had grabbed the pastel three-pound weights that looked more like props than actual workout equipment. But Cassian had gone straight for the twenty-pound dumbbells.

“Really?” you’d said, your tone half amused, half incredulous.

“Three pounds are basically paperweights,” he’d replied, doing a quick curl with one arm to prove his point. The weights had felt fine then.

That didn't last long.

You'd even given him a knowing smile, one that probably should’ve warned him. But Cassian, in all his infinite wisdom and bravado, didn’t back down.

Halfway through the warm-up, his arms were trembling. Trembling. The weights that had felt so manageable had dragged his shoulders into a slow, humiliating burn.

Now, those same arms quivered as he attempted to hold the plank position for what felt like the fiftieth time in as many minutes. His shoulders burned, his thighs screamed, and sweat poured down his face in rivers. His hair was plastered to his forehead in a way that was more disgusting than it was ruggedly sexy. The surrounding mirrors of the room confirmed so.

“Engage your core!” the instructor chirped, her voice far too cheerful for someone overseeing torture. She walked by him like a predator looking for weaknesses, sparing him a sympathetic yet clearly entertained glance. She didn’t bother helping him. 

He wasn’t sure where his core even was anymore. It might have abandoned him somewhere around the second round of something called “boat pose,” which had made his abs cramp in places he didn’t even know existed. He fucking hated boats. 

“Hold that plank,” the instructor trilled. “Focus on your breath.”

Focus on his breath? Cassian was focused on not dying.

He grunted and grit his teeth. This was so stupid, he thought to himself. He was the General Commander of the Night Court. He led armies. He was built like a god.

So why the hell was he shaking like a newborn fawn?

Maybe this was some kind of humiliation ritual, a weird form of foreplay you enjoyed—watching your partners get broken down by this absurd torture you somehow found fun. Cassian had always suspected you were the freaky type. This could definitely be a sex thing, right?

“Doing okay over there?” Your voice drifted over from your mat, smug and far too amused. Cassian glanced at you—and immediately regretted it.

You were perfect. Every movement you made was controlled and precise, your form flawless as you transitioned into a side plank. Your leggings clung to every inch of your legs, your sports bra showing off the delicate curve of your back, and—Mother above, was that a bead of sweat sliding down your collarbone?

Cassian’s train of thought derailed so hard it might as well have exploded.

Which was exactly when his arm gave out.

He hit the mat with a loud, undignified thud, sprawled on his stomach like a dead fish. A chorus of muffled laughter erupted from the group of fae behind him, and he groaned into the mat. He couldn’t even bring himself to glare at them.

“Oh no,” you teased, resting on your side like you were lounging on a beach, not halfway through what had to be some kind of medieval punishment. “Looks like you fell.”

“This was a trap,” he mumbled, voice muffled. “Your revenge for something.”

You laughed, and Cassian couldn’t decide if he loved or hated the sound at the current moment. A mix of both, perhaps.

Who was he kidding? He wanted to bathe in it. The only thing more pathetic than his lack of Pilates skills was his infuriating crush on you.

“You walked right into it. I didn’t even have to try that hard.”

He lifted his head to glare at you, his face flushed from both exertion and embarrassment. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re cocky,” you shot back, grinning. “I figured this was the only way to get you to tone it down.”

Cassian flopped onto his back, chest heaving, and stared at the ceiling. His wings spread out beneath him, sticking awkwardly to the mat, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. “You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Oh, I know.”

You stood up then, brushing off your leggings, and offered him a hand. He hesitated, narrowing his eyes, but finally took it. Big mistake.

You tugged him halfway up—just enough for him to feel a spark of hope—before letting go. He dropped back to the mat with another thud, the air leaving his lungs in a loud huff.

You were laughing again, and despite himself, Cassian felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “Okay,” he said, sitting up on his own this time. “You’ve had your fun.”

“Not yet.” You smirked. “We still have the second half of class.”

The second half. Cassian groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’ll never live this down.”

You crouched beside him, tilting your head. “Oh, don’t worry,” you said sweetly. “I’ll be gentle when I remind you of it. Probably.”

Cassian laughed, then, even as his entire body ached. “You’re the worst,” he said. But his voice was full of something softer than annoyance.

“And you’re stubborn,” you shot back, nudging him with your elbow. “It’s why I like you.”

For a moment, he forgot all about the embarrassment, the pain, and the endless torture of Pilates. For a moment, all he could see was you, smiling at him like he was the only person in the world.

And Cassian thought, then, that he’d endure this kind of hell a thousand times over if it meant another moment like this.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: im back baby!!! how is everyone doing? so so good i hope <3

pls send the best vibes and energy my way, i have sooo many wips i wanna jump into!! lemme know if theres anything specific y'all would like to see from me :)

[artemis32]

yandere Tim Drake i

this man has the sluttiest undercut I've ever seen - also, this is shit, but you pretend to love it, okay? Okay.

dc masterlist

Thinking about Tim Drake, who, in all his time as Red Robin, has never once caught a break.

He's always busy, always out on patrol, busting drug rings or trafficking schemes, always locked up in a dark, soulless room doing research for Bruce, always doing something.

So, one day, when he finds a small slice of heaven, a refuge from the never ending list of responsibilities he has to see to, he's sure to grab it with both hands and keep it close to his chest.

He, somewhat guiltily, doesn't tell anyone about it. It feels like something just for him - a space for him to relax, where he doesn't have to pretend he has his whole life together.

Maybe it's a dusty old library hidden between the high-rises of Gotham Central, maybe it's a dingy cybercafe he stumbled upon after a long night of patrol. Or perhaps it's not even a physical place - maybe it's an online forum or group chat of some kind.

No matter what it might've been, it had grown to be a safe haven. And it only becomes better when, one stupidly sweltering summer afternoon, you slip in.

Sweet, oblivious you.

God, he loved you. You were everything he wanted to be. Free of all worry and hardship, at least in his eyes. You were innocent and so sickly sweet. He loved everything about you. From the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, and the animated way you spoke, using your hands to make wide, sweeping gestures, to the tired scowl that pinched your mouth and brow after a long day.

The clothes you wore, the way you smelled, the beautiful, soft glow of your skin, he loved it all.

****

He loved you.

Only, you didn't exactly know he existed. And he never actually, you know, spoke to you. But that didn't matter! No, not at all, not when he had enough love for the both of you.

He knew everything about you.

Where you lived, how old you were, your likes and dislikes, every dirty little secret you thought you could hide away, things you thought were kept concealed in the corners of your mind.

He knew, and he loved you regardless. Not in spite of them, but rather, because of them. He loved that you were so flawed, so imperfect, and yet still so innocent to your core. He felt the deep seated need to keep you that way, to maintain that innocence and shield it from the horrors of Gotham, of the world.

That was why he watched over you, every hour of every day.

Did he think it was wrong, or creepy? Yeah, a bit, but he didn't really care to change. How bad could his actions really be, if they were keeping you safe?

So what if hacking all your devices and bugging your house wasn't legal? He was a vigilante, he was just doing his job. So what if he put a tracker in every pair of shoes you owned? He just needed to keep track of your movements, make sure you weren't wandering off anywhere too dangerous.

More than a few times, he'd followed you at night, watching from above as you ambled through the streets of Gotham, completely oblivious to how vulnerable you were. Really, how did you manage to survive this long without him watching over you? Do you even know how many robberies and assaults he'd saved you from before they'd happened?

He held off on actually speaking to you, as Tim Drake or Red Robin. Maybe it was nerves, or fear, or something beyond the words he had to communicate what he felt for you. Regardless, he was content watching you from the side lines.

For now.

****

After a while of watching from a distance, he'd decided he needed a bit more than just the sight of you. That's how he ended up donning his Red Robin costume and letting himself into your apartment one night to watch over you as you slept.

It had quickly become an admittedly bad habit, one that he didn't bother trying to correct.

Watching you calmed something within him, something he hadn't even known was there. He'd started including your small apartment on his patrols, at least three times a week, and it's become the highlight of his day.

Then, one day, months after this little song and game of his started, he decided enough was enough. Why was he being so weird and pathetic about it? He was a hero. He was smart, and attractive (or at least, that's what his mother used to say), and he was rich. He was the whole package. What more could someone ask for?

So, he bit the bullet and talked to you. Or, he would have, if you'd actually, you know, shown up. But you didn't. And that was fine! Totally, 100% fine! It wasn't like he felt disappointed or angry or anything. He'd just try again another time.

Only... in the months that he'd known you, his patience had dwindled to a near trickle, and he realised he couldn't wait. And so, he made probably the dumbest, most rookie mistake of his vigilante career.

He snuck into your apartment and, naturally, as one does, revealed himself to you. In full costume, mask and all. Well, the mask had come off about ten minutes into his fanatical rant, but-

Wait, why were you looking at him like that?

No, no, don't- don't back away. Hey, why were you reaching for your phone? Who were you calling?

The police? No, no, no, no, no- This isn't how it was supposed to go, damnit!

****

Now, watching you sleep in his bed, so cosy and soft, as if you belonged there (you did belong there), he chides himself for not doing this sooner.

What was he so scared of? Sure, you'd seemed a bit overwhelmed when he'd dropped onto your balcony and stepped into your apartment, but it was probably just sheer joy that had you screaming like that.

And, well, sure, you'd rambled on about him watching you for months prior - which he had - but for you to call it 'stalking' seemed like a bit of an over exaggeration.

Despite all that, he knew - knew - that you'd be so happy when you woke up. As happy as you made him. Because despite everything going on in his life - his struggles as Robin, with Batman and Damian, with Stephanie and Connor, and leading the Young Justice team - despite all that, he had you.

And just the thought of you alone brightened his day.

Now? Having you here, with him, for the foreseeable future?

That alone made whatever anger or fear you may have towards him worth it.

And, you know, they did say love blinds people. So maybe you were right about all that (Doubtful. He was smart. He was also right about all this).

But it didn't really matter. Not now, not when you were finally his.

[dreamdragonkadia]

Give me Rook who is struggling to grieve and is angry with the world

Crow!Rook

Spoilers for Veilguard

It really was a funny thing, when you thought about it—the Demon of Vyrantium, Lucanis Dellamorte, half-asleep against your legs. The same man who scoffed at the very idea of rest, claiming he never truly slept. And yet, here he was, his features softened by the edge of dreams, his breathing steady as your fingers threaded through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. It was peaceful, in a way that felt stolen—like a moment ripped from a story you had no right to claim.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this kind of calm. Not since you’d been pulled into this whole tangled web of gods and schemes. A bitter laugh caught in your throat at the thought. Would it be wrong to admit how angry you were about it all? At Solas? At Varric? Especially Varric. The bastard. For dragging you into this mess, for making you care so damn much. For giving you a name—Rook—and then vanishing, leaving you to deal with it all alone. You knew it was grief talking, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. Damn Varric and his stupid, sentimental names. Damn him for seeing something in you and putting a label on it that you couldn’t shake. And damn him most of all for leaving you behind.

You swallowed hard, forcing the sadness back down before it could claw its way to the surface. That wasn’t a luxury you could afford—not here, not now. A Crow’s first lesson: never let them see what you’re feeling. You’d learned it well. Too well, maybe. Even Viago had grumbled more than once about how impossible it was to read you. A damn fine Crow, indeed.

But fine Crows didn’t sit around like this, did they? Stroking the hair of a man who had somehow, against all odds, become too close to your heart. A man like Lucanis, who could slip a blade between your ribs as easily as he breathed. Not that you believed he’d ever do it—not now, not to you. He was too close, too vulnerable. And you were no better, your guard lowered in ways that would have once terrified you. It was almost endearing, really, if you ignored how dangerous it was. For both of you.

You sighed, shifting slightly, and Lucanis stirred, his brow furrowing before he relaxed again. The warmth of him seeped into your legs, keeping you in this fleeting moment that could end at any given time. You’d never admit it aloud, but maybe you didn’t mind it. Maybe, for once, you could let yourself have this. Just for a little while longer.

Because who knew when the next storm would hit?

Your fingers paused for a moment, hovering just above his hair. “I thought you didn’t sleep,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lucanis grumbled something unintelligible, shifting again so that his head rested more firmly against your lap. “I don’t,” he said after a beat, though his voice was sluggish, the words drawn out. “This isn’t sleeping. It’s... resting. There’s a difference.”

You snorted softly, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Sure, because this is so different from sleeping. Next, you’ll tell me you don’t dream either.”

“I don’t,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it, just the lazy drawl of someone too close to sleep to argue properly. “Dreams are for the dead. And Spite.”

“Charming,” you said, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “And yet here you are, practically drooling on me.”

He opened one eye, pinning you in place. “If I drooled, Rook, you’d be the first to know.” His lips curled into a faint smile before the eye slid shut again. “You’re too good at reminding me.”

Your fingers resumed their lazy path through Lucanis’s hair, less to soothe him and more to distract yourself. “You’re lucky you’re cute like this,” you said, letting the teasing edge into your voice. “Otherwise, I’d shove you off and call it a mercy.”

“Cute?” He scoffed, though it came out more like a rumble. “If you think this is cute, you’ve got terrible taste.”

“Better than none at all,” you shot back, earning another quiet grunt. He didn’t respond further, his breathing evening out again, and you were struck by how utterly still he seemed. It was unnerving, seeing someone like him so vulnerable. The pride of house Dellamorte, who always carried himself like he was a moment away from striking. The Demon of Vyrantium, who’d slit a man’s throat before he’d let anyone close enough to see him like this.

But here he was, trusting you with this fragile piece of himself.

Your fingers slowed, your gaze drifting. “You know, I used to hate silence,” you admitted quietly, not really expecting a response. “Too much room for thinking. For remembering.” You swallowed hard, the words threatening to stick in your throat. “But now? Sometimes I think it’s the only thing keeping me sane.”

Lucanis shifted, his head nestling slightly deeper into your lap, and for a moment, you thought he’d finally slipped fully into sleep. The room settled around you, quiet save for the soft rhythm of his breaths. But then a voice—low, guttural, and unmistakably not Lucanis.

“Silence. Is luxury. Enjoy it. While it lasts.”

Spite.

Your eyes flicked down, half-expecting some shift in the demon’s form, but Lucanis didn’t move, not even a twitch. Instead, you could’ve sworn the faintest rumble, like a purr, came from him. The thought of it almost made you laugh.

“Guess that answers whether or not you’re awake,” you muttered under your breath, though Spite didn’t bother responding. It wasn’t like he cared about conversation unless it served his purpose. “Oh, I’m sure silence won’t last,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not with rampaging gods breathing down my neck. Not with everything falling apart.”

Lucanis—or rather Spite—opened his eyes, just a sliver, those unnerving purple irises locking onto yours. There was something uncomfortably knowing in that gaze, something that made your stomach twist even though you knew Spite wasn’t a threat to you. At least, not right now.

“Then don’t. Fall apart. With it,” Spite said simply. “You are better. Rook.”

The nickname made something shift. You weren’t sure whether to feel comforted or suffocated by it anymore. But before you could decide, Spite’s presence seemed to wane, the glow of his eyes dimming as Lucanis stirred, letting out a soft grunt. For a fleeting moment, you thought he’d woken fully, but no. He merely shifted, his head turning slightly, and let out another one of those quiet, almost purring noises.

You shook your head, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Great. I’m getting pep talks from a demon now,” you mumbled. “How far have I fallen?”

There was no answer, not from Lucanis—nor Spite, either. It left you alone with thoughts you weren’t ready to face.

[crepesuzette2023]

Before I forget: Paul live in Paris, Dec 4, 2024

At some point, there was real life and having to take care of 1001 things in order to come here, but I can't remember. The Stadium is enormous, the view clear, the sound sublime. As the venue fills, a DJ creates a set of deep cuts and remixes from Paul, Beatles, & Wings that paints a broad but incomplete mural of the man's music. On the screens, an endless building scrolls past: a castle or a tower, inhabited by all these friends and lovers—only to culminate in the birthing of two Höfner basses from—flowerbuds? Star nurseries? I don't remember. Anyway, it's appropriately lusty Gemini symbolism. Earlier, my seat neighbor @i-am-the-oyster spots an angry skull in the QR code innocently leading to Sir Paul's website. Also with us are @packyourromanticmind, @s-l-martin a little further away, @crumblingcookies down on the floor, and next to me Mr. Suzette.

Can't Buy Me Love. We're underway. It's over almost before it begins. More more more. • Junior's Farm. My God, that figure down there is really him. These delicate wrists, bright white shirt, but also — these hands on the strings? Above all, a musician. • Letting Go. Red Lights, throbbing beat, sleazy bassline thrumming. I bet this is a personal favorite of his. • Drive My Car. The thrill of singing Beep Beep M Beep Beep Yeah in sync with thousands. • Got to Get You Into My Life. Damn, his voice his soaring. • Come On to Me. What? My fiction brain supplies so many "everyone comes on Paul, and Paul returns the favor"-scenarios. • Let Me Roll It. The first taste of actual ecstasy. Paul switches to guitar. Too far below me, a sea of people is swaying and singing. He gave me loving in the palm of my hand.

Getting Better. How dare he jump from the churning vortex of Let Me Roll It into the happy, skipping optimism of...this? Of course it works, and he sings it well. • My loudest scream of the night goes to Brother Michael in Let 'Em In. This one feels like a sibling of Getting Better—that relentless, easy rhythm, stripped of Lennon's edge. • My Valentine. Elle est ici. This one's for you, Nance. Dark, old, honest love song in black and red, with the voice just this side of breaking on this love of mine. • Still behind the piano, Sir Paul feels the need to bounce on it, and does so with Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five, no holds barred. • Since we're going insane, why fight it? Maybe I'm Amazed, absolutely a highlight so far—the piano, the shredding guitar. The screams and falsettos.

And then he's suddenly standing in front of the stage singing I've Just Seen A Face. Infuriating. • In Spite of All the Danger. This holds up, lifting the entire stadium with its gentle melody—until it's time to lose it when Paul plays George's guitar solo. McCartney—Harrison. • Love Me Do. George Martin name drop! No more audition nerves; this is a now a singalong tune. Excellent harmonica playing by Wix Wickens. • Michelle. In Paris! Makes me think of Ivan Vaughan's wife, who helped with the French. So much history in this room, in this work. The I Love You's are for everyone present. • Dance Tonight. That's right, get up and shake it! Palate cleanser.

Blackbird. I know: a forever song. The simplicity of him with a guitar. His hands. This is still that body. • Here Today. His voice is more firm singing this than it was in the past, not as close to tears—but if anything, it makes the line I Love You even better: strong, sure. Let's hear it for John. (Applause.) (Demanding gaze.) (More, louder applause.) That's right. • Now And Then. I miss John's voice. The vibes of this song are: It was beautiful, now it's over. Oof. Thank you, John, for giving us the beautiful song.

Enough of this. Sir Paul escapes behind the colorful piano. Lady Madonna time! • And right into Jet. Why not? A bit jarring, but hey. Triumphant fucking song, and just what we need now. • Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite! At this point you're just fucking with us, Paul, and we let you. Disturbing to discover the lyrics to this song reside in the same brain that seems to be incapable of remembering actually crucial information with real life consequences. • Something. And like that, the heart is pierced again. It's just Paul and the ukulele at first, and thousands of voices singing for George. The man was loved. And the song is genius.

Me, before the concert: I could do without Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da. Me, during the song: goes nuts. • Band on the Run is a cool song, and it makes you feel good inside. It's time we all admit this. • Ram it home Paul, we want it: Get Back. What a song to play live. Gift of the gods.

Another change of pace as Paul sings Let It Be, surrounded by glowing wish balloons and the stars of the audience phone lights. Incredibly gorgeous and cathartic. My mother's second name was Mary and she died much too young; don't expect me to be normal about this song. • Live and Let Die. Okay then. Time to just surrender to the insanity of it all. I had *heard* of the fire show, seen it on small screens. I am not prepared. Not to mention the musical...orgy. • Hey Jude. This is my chance to come down a bit. What a peaceful melody. And then he screams and hollers during the ad lib section like the One Hand Clapping sprite he is...!

Encore: I've Got A Feeling. Paul and John sound crisp together. John looks so, so beautiful. Also, Paul still has the energy to almost scream in tune at this point. • Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band Reprise. Nooo, don't go! Also, Sgt. MF Pepper's exists because of this man and his bandmates. And it's just one song of the encore. Have to make choices, right. • Time to pull all the stops, and there's so much left. Helter Skelter. No, we will not take it down a notch. • Golden Slumbers. Damn you, Paul. • Carry That Weight. The first signs of the voice possibly being done for the night, but who cares when everyone sings along? • The End. The guitar solos! All this man wants to do is make music, either alone or in a good band. Both are fine with him, really.

When he's done, he's pretending to be humbled by the applause while actually soaking it up, and leaves the stage with a spring in his step, waving coquettishly at the camera that follows him for a bit. Is he kissing the camera? I forget. I think I remember the end. We see it all on the big screens: that lithe, white-haired figure, weaving past others until he's truly gone. Touch Me. Not a chance.

[thenightfolknetwork]

How do I explain to my nemesis that capturing me and trying to feed me to space sharks is fine, but attempting to erase me from existence by capturing a time god is going to far?

I hate my nemesis. Most of our interactions are great. He threatens to blow up a planet unless I turn myself in, I somehow outsmart him and wreck his plans and somehow get called a hero despite potentially maybe you can't prove anything causing a few legal incidents along the way. Hey, a creature has to eat right? Even if I am from another planet. Anyway, most of our interactions are fine! He threatens my adoptive family, or an innocent town that gave me refuge, or comes up with a plan to control more of the galaxy, or any number of things. He tends to get a bit weird about organics, but every good nemesis has quirks, right?

The problem is when his plans involve or risk much larger issues. Threatening to turn everyone in the sector into robots with his new space station is fine, for example. Kidnapping me and trying to brainwash me is fine too. But... One time he got so upset at me beating him, his next plan involved waking up a terror older than the galaxy that ate energy and let it loose with very very little control over it! And another time he accidentally replaced a planet with an almost identical planet from another dimension because he missed hitting me with it! And well... He must have been really upset with the last time I beat him because the plan I just foiled involved using a time machine to make sure he killed me during our first encounter. And of course I stopped him, I always do in the long term, even if he wins the smaller battles. But I've stopped other villains before and if I had died then, I would never have stopped them and the entire galaxy would have been destroyed! Including your planet! I have even helped my nemesis beat some villains together! But it feels like his plans are just going to get more and more worryingly dangerous to those around us... I'm just hoping we can go back to simple planet destroying lasers and abducting random people to turn into evil robots again before this entire universe is just... Gone.

Oh dear, this does sound troublesome. As you say, it's one thing when your nemesis attacks you or the people close to you – it's quite another when he's putting the rest of us all at risk, too!

I am struck by how impersonal some of these large-scale attacks feel. Letting an ancient terror loose in the universe is hardly the kind of thoughtful, targeted attack one might hope to inspire in one's nemesis. After all, that personal connection is rather a key component in a nemesis relationship. Otherwise, you and he might as well be nothing but garden variety antagonists.

You didn't mention how long you've been his nemesis, but I think from the number of encounters you've mentioned, I can infer it's a fairly well established relationship. I wonder if perhaps he's feeling a little insecure in the relationship, and is acting out to compensate.

Take a moment to consider – when was the last time you showed your appreciation for his nefarious plans? Have you lamented his wicked wiles in any recent interviews? Left a picture of his face on your dartboard for him to see while he's infiltrating your secret base? Fallen to your knees screaming his name while he makes a daring escape from the jaws of justice?

Try and find some ways to show your nemesis that you appreciate his efforts, and to reinforce the deep hatred and malice that lies between the two of you. Make it clear that, while you might fight other opponents from time to time, none of them come close to him for sheer personal vitriol. It's not enough to be your nemesis in name – he needs to really feel your spite.

You mentioned that you always win in the long term. There's nothing wrong with that per se – plenty of nemeses enjoy such a dynamic – but I'm concerned the situation may not be as satisfying for your nemesis as it is for you.

Is there any way you might be able to redress that balance somewhat, offering him the opportunity for some significant gains without putting the entire universe at risk? I don't mean that you should let him win on purpose, of course. If he were ever to discover you'd done such a thing, it would only undermine his confidence even more.

But perhaps you could concoct a scheme for him to foil that speaks especially to his skills, where the odds are stacked against you – and, crucially, where his victory would give him a genuine sense of achievement.

I can't speak to specifics, not knowing more about your situation. Off the top of my head, though, I'm imagining an encounter where the loyalty of a trusted sidekick is at stake, for example, or your own standing in the public eye – something at once significant, but deeply personal.

Hopefully, these twin tactics will work to assuage his doubts and reassure him that he needn't put the whole universe in danger to be a worthy foe. Throw down the gauntlet, and remind why you're nemeses in the first place: because there's nobody in the world who knows and loathes him quite like you.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[ianthine-ichor]

I had an ask for this story but it was sadly eaten by the Tumblr gods 😔

So for the anon who asked for John Price x Reader who comes to him years later after a bad breakup because they are in danger, this one's for you!

John Price x Reader ~ All I Have is You

Summary: You come running back to John years after a nasty break-up in hopes of finding some help out of a horrible situation.

Word count:: 6.5k

Tw in tags

John's life could never be simple. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many loose ends he pulled together by the skin of his teeth. There always managed to be something he let lay dormant, something he let fall to the wayside just long enough for it to maybe even slip his mind. And damn near every time it did, it came back with a vengeance.

However, of all the things he knew would come back to haunt him, you were what he expected least of all.

He had believed you a long dead part of his life, a piece of himself better numbed in alcohol than thought about. A face he'd spent endless nights trying to forget the smile of, endless partners failing to take your stead. He'd long since conceded to that aspect of himself being buried, hardly remedied by the ‘I love you’ that would fall from whoever had been his most recent escape from the icy cold of his bed.

But then, on a day like any other in this silent little place he'd given up trying to make feel like any sort of home, he'd opened the door to your unmistakable features.

He didn't know what to feel in the years of silence that seemed to pass. His mind and muscles tore themselves apart trying to find what reaction seemed appropriate. A part of himself didn't believe it, a similar part almost reached out to hold you, and another felt infuriated. He wasn't sure if it was because even so close you felt like light years away or if it was because he wanted to slam the door in your face for daring to ever come back. And for a moment, however small, he seriously considered the latter of the two.

But then you spoke. And suddenly whatever amount of spine had led him to the thought melted like butter.

“I need to talk. I know I have no right to ask but…” you paused, your voice softer than he thinks he's ever heard you speak. There might have even been a quiver in it, but he could hardly believe such a sound could come from the person who had once held together his broken pieces like you'd been solving him your entire life.

“I need your help” your chin raises and you meet his gaze, his skin flashing with the familiarity in how your eyes narrowed and your face snarled. It's hard to take your attempt at strength seriously with how feigned of an attempt it was. He says nothing and just the same he watches as you crumble. Your eyes avert, your hands twitch, your body leans away from him.

He hardly recognizes you.

But he steps aside all the same, a nod inviting you in as he keeps his vow of silence. You almost hesitate, but step in soon enough. Like a long lost ritual you kick your shoes off at the door, hanging your jacket and bristling as the light cold leaves your skin. He notes how you don't let him out of your sight but he can't tell why your eyes burn as much as they do.

Eventually he leads you to the kitchen. He wonders if you notice the empty frames. He wonders if you even care to look.

Like some twisted version of an old dream, you take your spot at the table where you used to sit. And before he even realizes what he's doing he's perking coffee, his eyes turning to you.

“Coffee?” He asks, but he isn't even sure why he does. Looking at you would be enough of an answer. You looked like you hadn't slept in months. You nod anyway.

He pretends to forget how you make your coffee. Out of spite? Anger? Frustration? It doesn't matter. He simply couldn't find the energy to put into someone whose presence made his heart find an old pace that left him biting his tongue at the bittersweet taste. Either way you get your coffee and he somehow finds the energy to sit across from you.

“You wanted to speak. Speak” his words come out harsher than he means them yet he doesn't find regret settling in his chest. Only minor annoyance as he watches you almost recoil from him, your drink pulled to your chest. Your eyes seem to search around for a moment, as if the words you needed so badly to speak would simply appear in front of you. He remembers how he used to find it sweet and can only react by biting his tongue harder.

“You haven't changed much” you begin. He can't help the grimace he shows as the annoyance in his chest grows. He catches how you straighten up under it.

“And you have” he answers back. You say nothing for a long moment and he isn't sure if he offended you or not. But he watches as you take a deep breath, your face hardening in a way he doesn't like.

“I know this isn't exactly…great for you. But it isn't for me either-”

“Why’d you leave?” the words slip out of his mouth before they had even been a thought in his head. Yet where he expected a look of anger or annoyance of your own, you only pause. And soon after, your look manages to grow colder.

“Because you didn't love me anymore” you answer back succinctly, calmly. He feels rage bloom in his chest at the words.

“Bullshit” he mutters through gritted teeth. He doesn't catch the sudden grip you hold on your cup and the way you slightly shake. But other than that you don't break.

“I must have phrased that wrong” there's a tone in your voice, an inflection of something horrible on your tongue.

“You did a piss poor job of making me feel like I was anything other than your fucking bed warmer” your words fall like acid on him. They soak through his marrow and into his bloodstream and become him. And his body rejects it just as quickly.

“You knew the type’a job I had when you met me” his voice is low and restrained as he tries to hold himself back

“It had nothing to do with your work-”

“Well what the bloody hell did it have to do with then!?” He stands, his hands slamming on the table as you immediately flinch away.

“Sit-!” You yell almost instinctively, the only thing he catches is the sudden terror in your tone. You take a stilted breath before speaking again.

“Sit down…please” your voice is much calmer but it does a horrible job at hiding the hitch in your voice or how your subtle shaking suddenly isn't so subtle. The strange demeanor stuns him for a moment, long enough for his flash of frustration to cool back to a simmer. There's a horrible feeling that crawls up his spine at your reaction, this gnawing, biting disgust that rips through him in a way he can't quite explain. He listens despite its elusive source or how he hates the way your eyes are locked on his every movement.

A horrible quiet passes that only further smothers the flames that had grown in his chest. You both hardly took any sips of your coffee as you seemed focused on your breathing and he was focused on loosening the sudden tightness of his muscles. Soon enough he spoke again, though he wasn't about to attempt that conversation again, as unsatisfied as he was by your answer.

“Why are you here?” He asks and this time he finds that his voice is weaker than he'd have liked it; betraying the words that he had meant to sting.

Yet despite that, he watches as your breath pauses and your grip tightens. How had you managed to grow even more tense?

“I don't have anyone else left” you answered, your eyes finally missing him, flickering away for what was barely a single moment. In spite of how hard he fought against it the painful beating in his chest left him worried. He tried not to show it. He hoped he hid it well enough for you not to notice.

The silence seemed to get to you. That or his stare had. Either way you continued.

“I just need somewhere to stay. Just a few months. I’ll figure it out by then and be gone. Just long enough to get some cash together” you try to explain and finally he spots something familiar in you. But it is not a part of you he once knew that he sees. No, he spots something else.

“You’re running from something” he interjects at his realization, your movements freezing at his accusation. You don't seem shocked so much as worried. He hated that you would ever even try to hide the fact from him.

“Yeah um…I am- but it's- it's complicated okay? I just need somewhere to stay-”

“Is it someone?” He questioned, your words lips closing into quiet once more. It stings a strange part of his soul that you seemed so unwilling to tell him outright.

“...It doesn't matter” you finally speak and he hides how his fists tighten. He hates that he cares at all. He hates that he can't help it.

Your plea for shelter lingers in the air for moments longer than either of you cared for. You couldn't handle the quiet of that for long.

“I don't have much, but I'll give you what I can. I'll get a job and pay you back I-”

“No” he shut you down immediately. Your face fell, the desperation of your gaze fixed on him.

“You can stay and I don't need your money” he clarifies and despite the lack of smile, your relief is more than visible.

“Thank you. I promise I'll be gone as quickly as I can get everything in order” you try to instill any sort of confidence that you would be of little bother, that he would hardly notice you here at all.

He couldn't help but feel his stomach fall to his feet at the words.

-

The first month you stayed had been…surreal, to say the least. For the most part the two of you did pretty well with avoiding each other. For moments of the day he would even wonder if that had been some weird fever dream. You? At his door? After so long? It all just felt so strange. Stranger yet that the circumstances were all but ideal. He thought about asking further, about pushing for what it was that led you here and why you had even been running in the first place. But he found that his tongue nearly died in his mouth every time he saw you around. It almost didn't feel real.

And despite the cold that still ran up his spine, the emptiness that found refuge in his chest, the blood that sat heavy in his veins; despite it all…

You still felt like home.

Yet you were still so far out of reach. Words seemed like complicated equations, conversations like rocket science. His words never left the way he wanted them to, his tone always the wrong amount of harsh. And with the way your eyes tracked his presence when he was around, almost unwavering from him…it all just felt so hard to explain. Something had changed, of course it had. It had been years since you two had last seen each other and it had hardly ended on good terms. Still, there was something so wrong here. Something in the way you ever so slightly leaned from him, or the way your eyes flickered to the closest door, or how it all seemed so familiar in a way that wasn't like home. In a way that was more like the warzones he'd grown so accustomed to.

And he could just see it, that fight in your eyes. That twitchiness that you had never had around him before. And he couldn't help but wonder why. Why. Why. Why. Why. What were you fighting and why did it almost feel like it was him?

It was horrible, the way that question had finally been answered.

The front door had slammed open, startling him from the dinner he had been making and setting every one of his senses aflame. It slammed shut before he had even made it to the hall and when he had he could hardly bring himself to swallow the scene.

You stood pushing on the door like it would hold damn near the whole world at bay. With how violently you were shaking he almost wished it would. Your hiccups and sniffles filled the air as you tried and failed about a hundred times to turn the lock. Your clothes were disheveled, your jacket gone and your shirt caked in dirt and…

No, no that wasn't…

��Y/n?” He hardly even remembered opening his mouth before your name fell out. Quiet and worried in a way he hadn't meant to show.

When your head snapped to him all of his insides twisted in a sickly mess. Features he remembered days of leaving soft kisses on were now warped by deep bruises and bleeding wounds. Your eyes wide and glossy, your skin a mix of blood and tears. Your breath had hitched as if any movement would turn him against you. He couldn't help but feel worse at the notion. He moves. Just one simple step closer.

And suddenly it's as if a dam breaks. Your murmuring words he can't understand, a panic on your face he hadn't seen in all of the time he's known you. You yell and thrash and he can't tell if you even know what you're doing, he can't tell if you even see him anymore. His body almost acts on instinct as he quickly grabs the nearest cloth near him before making his way to you. He places the cloth in your hand, your body flinching in a way that makes him hesitate a moment before he guides you to cover your bleeding nose.

“You gotta breathe” he mutters, no longer attempting to cover the look of confused worry that covers him. You seem to try, but a bloody nose makes that a little difficult. In the meantime he guides you to the bathroom, sitting you down as he fishes out a medkit. You stop talking altogether at that point, going eerily silent.

And it stays that way as he wipes away the blood and around deeply forming bruises. It stays as he cleans the wounds and makes sure your nose isn't broken. It stays when the peroxide hits your skin and when the bandages cover them. It's a horrible, false silence. A silence so loud his ears ring, though that could have just as well been the adrenaline leaving his veins. For a while he's fine with it, for a while it's better than the terror-filled panic, for a while it's better than the way you stared and twitched and sobbed.

But then you get a look in your eye. A dangerous look. A look he's seen too many times in his line of work. And suddenly the quiet isn't so safe anymore.

“Still with me there?” He asks in an attempt to gain your attention. To his relief your eyes flick to him and nod. He doesn't quite like how quickly they had turned cold again. In fact he's sure he hates it.

“What happened?” He finally asks and watches how the distant look in your eyes dissolves. Your lips quiver as you try desperately to hold onto a calm that wasn't coming. Your hands grip tightly onto a bloodied paper towel in your hands.

“I-” your voice cracks and you clear your throat. Your eyes avoid him like a simple glance would kill you.

“It's complicated I-” the panic in your voice rises again.

“I have to go- John I have to go-”

“Now hold on” his hand lands on yours, your body tensing under his touch. He can't help but feel sickened at the thought of you scared of him.

“Whatever happened, I promise it's safe, alright? No one's getting in here. You're safe. Just…” he pauses for a moment, his eyes showing his hesitation before he, as gently as he's ever done anything in his life, he places your hand to his chest. Your fingers flatten against him, familiar and comforting, as he lets out a deep breath.

“Just breathe” he almost pleads, something he finds himself regretting almost immediately. Yet despite feeling that he was doing a horrible job, it seemed to calm you all the same. Much to his relief you managed a few deep breaths, your hand still pressed on his heartbeat that he forced to slow.

He is surprised, after all of this, to hear a faint laugh fall from your lips. Quiet and saddened yes, but a laugh nonetheless. And he couldn't have felt more ridiculous than at that moment.

“What?” Or perhaps it seems he could, his dumbfoundedness not hidden in the tone of his voice. It isn't hard for you to wipe the smile from your face, if it had even really been a smile at all.

“Nothing I just…I remember when I had to do this for you” your tone is bittersweet.

“I never thought I'd be on the other side” your voice is breathless and strained, a certain feeling behind it he couldn't quite place. He finds himself snickering along as the once painful memory hits him. He would agree. He never imagined someone strong enough to pull him back to reality could ever need him to do the same.

“Yeah…world's got a fucked up way of making circles” he replies and you give a half-hearted attempt at agreement. And it seems that a moment too soon you pull away and he feels almost as if you take his heartbeat with you.

“Yeah…Yeah, it does…” you murmur, a sentiment far too true found in the quiet whisper. There is almost silence until you speak again.

“I'm sorry” the apology falls in a way not meant to ever leave you. The sound was as sorrowful as seeing a bird stripped of its wings. An act against nature, a horrible twisting of what should be.

“I’m sorry” you break again, though this time you don't shatter so much as you crumble. And he knows then that those words aren't for him. That he hated how they sounded coming from you, how they weren't what he wanted, how he could only wish you'd take them back so that he didn't have to feel the hole in his chest trying to carve its way through his skin.

And how useless he felt then, sat in front of your broken state knowing that you had once done the same with him. How utterly and completely he knew that there was nothing he could do to wipe this looming, horrible terror that was held so deep in your eyes he could only see a warped reflection of himself in them.

And he simply couldn't handle it. He felt weak, hopeless, useless. But what was there to do? He had never seen you so truly pained, he had only ever known the other side of this situation.

So he did the only thing he could. He pulled you close, slow and cautious, before the both of you crashed into one another. Hands that had twitched at his mere presence now held him as tightly as the shirt on his back. As if, should you let go, you'd be cast adrift again into the crimson rapids. And he could only hold just as tightly, hoping that if he just held on tight enough that the falling parts of you would stay, that he might save even a single piece from the agony you were lost in a sea of.

You two stayed like that for a long while, hardly caring about that time that passed. At some point, so overtaken by the exhaustion of your endless bouts of tears and the near-death experience you'd just endured, you'd passed out in his arms.

And like some cruel twisting of a memory he held dear, he carried you to bed. He tried not to glance too much at your features, the cuts and bruises sending sickening waves through him, as he laid you down. He took a shaky breath as he covered you in a blanket, taking care to be quiet as he left the room.

In the absence of your presence there was only rage.

A fire unlike any he had felt struck him like lightning, a burning hatred at who could have ever done this to you. His feet moved but his mind was preoccupied with who and why and- god why didn't you just tell him what happened? What could have ever led to this?! What had you done? Who had you upset?

The thoughts plagued his mind as he set up his spot on the couch. Yet when the pillows had been laid and the blanket placed, he could not find it in himself to rest. He could only pace and snarl and burn with such a horrible feeling. How dare they. How dare they. How could anyone do this to you? To his-...

It was only those final words that managed to slow his thoughts, a sinking feeling resting in his chest.

Not his. You were not his. Not for a long while, not anymore…

But there was no hiding the fire in his skin. No denying how deeply he held you, how desperately he wished to never let go again. He could only curse whatever higher power could hear him. Curse them for ever doing this to either of you. Of ever letting him know your name.

It was a horrible pain to want so desperately to have you back, but there was no pain worse than you returning in broken pieces. Worse yet to know that, maybe, had he done things differently, you might not have left his arms to shatter against a world he could have protected you from. To know that he failed.

He lit a cigar with a shaky hand. He knew then that there would be no sleeping tonight.

-

Your eyes were heavy as they opened, protesting against your attempts to wake up. You thought, in your groggy state, that it might be better to never open them again, to give in to what they demanded from you. To close them a final time.

But it was only a passing thought in your utterly exhausted state. A whisper held at the back of your mind just waiting for the moment that it might scream itself into existence. But not today. Not now, at least.

And so you forced them open, a groan halfheartedly falling from your lips as you pushed away the comfort of infinite dark. You managed enough strength to sit up, regretting it almost immediately when a dull pain burned your side. You would have been confused, maybe even a little worried, if not for the returning throbs of the many cuts along your face and arms that swiftly and brutally remind you of yesterday.

So close. You had been so close to the end. You were lucky to have made it out alive. It was honestly a miracle you had.

Cornered, like an animal. You remembered the feeling well. Trapped right where you didn't want to be. It was like he could smell your terror as he bared his wolfish teeth in the warm street light. A wicked smile, one that scorched itself into an unhealthy scar upon you. Never to be forgotten, a thing of nightmares.

You had run as far as you could go, lungs empty and feet sore, your hands covered in the warmth of your own blood as you tried to hold even just a part of yourself together, to manage to escape through the skin of your teeth once more. You had done it before, but a second time was surely a test of fate.

You had been lucky, then, that a bus was passing by. It shouldn't have been there so late so far out of town. But by some higher being or just through the world's sick way of fucking with you it was. You had never been so relieved to be met with headlights in your life; you practically screamed in relief as you waved it down. Your hunter was as scared as a doe in them, slithering off into the shadows like the coward you knew him as. The driver, a woman in her forties, looked horrified at the state of you. But you had brushed off her panic and worry and told her to simply drive. You were thankful the bus was empty. You couldn't have handled anyone else's questions in your utter panic.

You had only been a five-minute drive from salvation, from the home you had long since abandoned, only to return to in your time of need. Five minutes.

He must have known. Someone might have told him or you might have mentioned John in one of your many pain-filled benders. It didn't matter. He knew where you were, and it seemed his patience had only grown thinner. You were sure now that he would not stop with breaking you under his iron grip, but utterly destroying you.

All at once these thoughts hit you, flooding your mind with panic and worry. You're breathing shallowed as your mind falls down this path, stopping only when the end of the memory comes to mind.

John…

You tried to move him from your mind, to rid yourself of the sinking feeling that came when you thought of how quickly he had jumped to help you, even after years of silence and weeks of ignoring each other. You try not to think of his attempts at gentle touch, calloused battle-worn hands not quite built for the kindness he was showing. You remove from your mind how he held your hand to him, how it seemed like no time had passed from when you left with how quickly he knew what would truly calm you. And most of all, you try to remove the feeling of his arms around you, desperate and worried and familiar and home. You try, as little as that means nowadays.

You deduce that sitting in silence isn't the best way to distract you from these things, and so you finally stand from the bed, noting only then that you don't remember falling asleep here. But you let that slip your mind as well. You prefer the static buzz of being busy over thinking too much about any of this. It only made things harder.

So your feet moved without you, intimately familiar with the halls and doors and light switches. After all, it had been your home, once upon a lifetime ago.

You hardly stagger as you make your way to the kitchen, accustomed to the constant lull of pain in the back of your mind. A whisper of its own, and one you realized it better to ignore.

You are close to allowing the static buzz to take over, close to numbing and leaving your brain on autopilot. Close to the preferable numbness. So very close. But upon taking a step into the kitchen, you are met with a sight so twistedly familiar you are shocked back into yourself.

John sat at the table, two plates laid out and coffee poured. A quaint scene, an old one. A memory from a different time, faded and aged and different in ways that leave you sick. Because he didn't stare with the complete adoration of a man in love, nor did his eyes avert, distracted and tired, as they had on the day you had left him here. But instead they tear through you. Locked on you the second you entered. It amazed you how his eyes of crystal blue, so similar to that of a frozen storm, could burn through you so easily.

You think for a moment that this is it. That he's going to kick you out with only a final meal and that you are going to be thrown to the starved wolf you knew lurked just outside. You prepared yourself to plead, to apologize, to ask for any bit of mercy he might show you. After all, you had lost your dignity a long time ago, and it wouldn't be the first time you had begged for your life.

But then, as if the elements of himself collided, the fire in his eyes cooled to a warm glow. Soft and familiar and warm, warm, warm.

You almost wished then that he'd return to his fiery glare.

“Sit, love” It isn't a command as much as a quiet plea, his voice is soft and calm and maybe even worried, a rare combination for him. It's a sound so foreign now that you almost don't trust it. His expression falls further as you hesitate.

“I just wanna talk” he tried to explain, to give you any reason to trust him. It works, though only barely. You take a hesitant seat across from him.

The smell of the food hits your nose and only then do you realize you hadn't eaten last night. The waft of coffee only seems to make things worse as it reminds you of how tired you are.

“We can eat first” you can't tell if it's a question or a statement, but either way you take the opportunity. You were too weak to deny how much you needed this right now. You would regret it later, you were sure, but for right now you would allow yourself this small indulgence.

And so it was quiet, absent the sound of forks hitting plates. Quiet in a way that you weren't sure if you liked or despised. You wondered if it even mattered.

It was a few bites in and halfway through your coffee that he spoke again.

“I saw a butterfly this morning” his words cut the silence in a way that baffles you out of the static once more. Out of your head and your thoughts and the sinking feeling in your chest.

“Oh?” You respond almost too naturally, almost too much like you used to. If it weren't for the heaviness in your voice, you might have even forgotten that this wasn't like it used to be.

“Yeah. Should’ve seen it. It had all your favorite colors” his words are almost light in spite of the tense atmosphere and, despite it all, it manages the smallest smile from you.

“I’m sure it was beautiful” you reply and watch as the look on his face changes. You can't quite read it, a strange softness is all you can take from it. But there never fails to be that lingering sadness there. That worry. That pain you can't quite bring yourself to address. And so you look away, your eyes turned down to your food once more.

The silence that follows threatens to suffocate the two of you, drown you in this horrible replication of better times, and punish you for daring to seek even this small comfort. And so, knowing that there is only one way this will go, he finally asks.

“What happened last night?” You feel your throat tighten almost immediately, not daring to pick up your fork when the weight of that question falls atop you. You find it hard to give him an answer, let alone one that might satisfy him.

“I…It’s…” you struggle and hope that maybe you might just disappear, that maybe all of this was some horrible nightmare you'd wake from. But as seconds passed it became clear it wasn't. Clearer still that you had to give him an answer after what he'd seen.

“It's complicated” you try to explain but you knew the moment the words fell that they wouldn't be enough. You think that maybe he'll be angry at this, that he'll slam the table like he had before and demand a better explanation. But a glance shows that his expression only deepens in its worry.

“Then explain it to me” he pleads once more. It was a rare day he ever pleaded, begged, or even so much as asked for something. Rarer yet that it's genuine. Your mouth goes dry and silence remains. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

“Love-” his hand reached for yours and the contact shocks every nerve in your body. You flinch away from him, regretting it a moment later when his worry turns to pain on his face. He retracts his hand with the most hesitance you've ever seen from him; a man so usually sure of himself.

“I just need to know what's happening. I-...” he falters, another rare sight. He takes a shaky breath.

“I won't hurt you” those words come out stronger than the rest, as truthful as he could have possibly made them. And, despite its softness, it seems to tear apart the very walls you had built to keep you safe.

But safe from what, exactly? When the wolf lays outside, and this place is your final sanctuary, what does that make him? You weren't quite sure, but somehow you knew that whatever this was, it felt…well it felt familiar at least. A devil you knew well enough to find some comfort in the warmth of.

Your head turns away, arms held against you in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself. You think, for a moment, that you might run from here. That you might leave everything behind in the wake of the words that threaten to leave your tongue.

But he wants the truth. And who are you to deny him it? It couldn't make things much worse than they already are.

“Where do you even want me to start?” You ask him, voice hollow and cold and empty. There was no more of yourself to give than a story. You wondered if the sacrifice would even matter.

“Wherever you need to” he answers back, his shoulders squared: tense. You had half a mind to comfort him, but you doubt it would've helped. So, with a deep breath that does very little to calm your nerves, you finally answer him.

“When I left I didn't want to start over, but I didn't want to see you again either. So I moved a few towns over” you started, your voice detached from yourself, like it came from someone else entirely.

“A few months later I met someone. He had been so kind at first. Loving, attentive. He made me feel like I existed in the world again. Made me feel wanted” your words murmur and a snarl forms, even talking about it makes you sick.

“I was stupid, blinded, didn't pay attention. Didn't care, really…” you pause, your hands indenting into your skin as if to keep you where you sat, as if to stop you from fading from here.

“I married him” your words come out much more mournful than you mean to, your snarl nothing more than a quivered lip now. You had married that monster.

You didn't have to glance at John to know the look on his face. Anger, rage, a twisted form of jealousy. It was a knife to his back, you imagine, that you might have married another man before he had ever put a ring on your finger. But you weren't quite sure you cared anymore. After all, it wasn't you who had been so cold to him those final days you were together.

“I didn't realize who he was until then. He'd always been…rough. Arrogant, quick-tempered, prone to violence. But I guess I just thought that he wouldn't ever treat me like that. That I was different. That he loved me” your words shake and you do your best to pull those broken strings together. To steel yourself. To not be so pathetic.

“I was wrong…” you allow yourself the pain of those three words and in so scar your heart further as you admit it. He had never loved you.

“I tried to get away, I tried to start over again, but he wouldn't let me leave. I can't get a job without him finding me, can't get a place to stay, can't start over. I thought maybe if I came here, maybe if my name wasn't on anything, maybe if I was careful enough then I could figure it out…I was wrong about that too” you curse yourself when tears sting at you. You do your best to hide it, to disappear in front of his own eyes. But there was only so much you could do. Hiding from him had never been your strong suit.

John feels…well he doesn't quite know. A mixture of everything horrible, he thinks. He can't stand how your eyes avoid him as the words fall, how with each passing word he can only find regret. Regret that he hadn't held you closer, that he hadn't kept you safe. And he hates that the consequences don't fall to him, that he wasn't the one burned, that instead he watches you crumble and break and shatter. He had loved you, he had always loved you. That hole in his heart, that void you filled. Ripped from him and torn apart as swiftly as a flower in a stormy ocean. He hardly had the mind to blame you anymore, hardly had the heart to. He could do nothing but blame himself and the cruel creature he could hardly call human. The one who had dared to lay a finger on you. The one he could imagine tearing apart with his bare hands.

There are questions that circle his brain, words that travel from the top of his head and almost meet his tongue. ‘What’s his name?’ ‘Where can I find him?’ ‘How long had this been happening?’ ‘Why hadn't you said something sooner?’

He lets out a shallow breath, his eyes closing in thought for only a short moment before he stands. The sound of the chair startles you into watching him once more. His steps are slow, and deliberate, as they make their way towards you. You lean away for a moment, as you had since you'd gotten here, but it calms as you watch him. His movement is predictable; safe.

And soon, just as slow and just as softly, his hands fall on your face as they had hundreds of times before. Calloused but warm, a softness he only ever found with you. He is gentle along your bruises, careful with them. You can't look from him now, eyes searing through him. But he had nothing to hide, and so he stared back.

“We're gonna figure this out” he speaks to you, words like comforting slashes against your soul in how they tear your emotions from you. Your attempts to hide were all but vain now, tears falling freely and only barely held from a sob. Your breaths shake as your eyes close into the comfort, hands falling onto his as if he might just slip away. He presses a kiss, hesitant yet desperate against the crown of your head.

“He ain't ever hurting you again” his words are a promise as he mumbles them against your skin before placing his head against yours. You make no attempt to pull away, instead finding that a broken smile falls on your lips, one of utter relief. Somehow you find a will to speak.

“I missed you”

-

Potential part two? Maybe? Probably? Definitely?

[skimmiez]

agahagahh what am i doing🙏

i kinda got bored and i wanna do itto headcanons☺️ (not exactly a headcanon idk)

gn!reader

SO. we're talking about the sweetest, handsomest, funniest and sometimes most annoyingest boy in INAZUMA!!

ARATAKI ITTO !!! (but he likes u and u dont know it... maybe)

we r gonna b talking abt how he acts around inazuma when ur right by his side cause ur his right-hand man yk and he needs you by his side cause he genuinely can't do everything by himself even if he says so

every morning itto likes to bring u crimson staff, his beetle battle warrior (it's a poor excuse just to talk to you)

he talks as if he won beetle fights (when in reality, u won the fights for him. he just wont admit it because he'd hurt his pride if he did)

when going to restaurants, he's gonna make u do a taste test just to make sure that there aren't any beans. what a nightmare.

he actually just wants u to taste it first cause he likes ur reaction to the flavors (he's not stupid enough to order food with beans)

he's such a sweet boy, he'll protect you even if ur just walking on a perfectly safe road

like, he'd suddenly jump in front of u at the sound of leaves rustling or a twig snapping

he would adventure with u, looking for onikabutos and then would say “(name), look, look!! i found an onikabuto instead of some stupid lavender melon!!” and then would proceed to say he's the best onikabuto hunter in all of inazuma

you actually just put the onikabuto there cause u felt kinda bad that he keeps finding lavender melons

when the two of u got some alone time together, he would take advantage of that and would take you to his special and favorite spot in inazuma city, hoping that you'd like his favorite place too

eventually, it became a little ritual of the both of u to visit his favorite spot whenever the gang was away

in return, you brought him to your favorite spot as well, giving a breathtaking view of... of i-dont-know-where, but definitely a stunning sight

itto swore he felt his heart explode into millions and billions and trillions of butterflies when you brought him to your favorite spot, and that made him feel special

we are getting sidetracked

when he and his gang are together, itto is very, very chaotic, always suggesting something dangerous that could possibly get the tenryou commission involved

well.. that's only until you're around. he gets very shy (sometimes)

when you're with him and his gang, he's suddenly calmer, only suggesting activities such as playing hide and seek, looking for onikabuto together and beetle fighting

and he'd often make up fake stories to impress you, and it works like a charm

when you're away for longer than an hour, he'll start whining to shinobu, complaining about how it's so lonely and gloomy and depressing without you

and if you catch him in the middle of his crocodile sobbing and he'd see you, he'll get embarrassed but will cheer up nonetheless, talking about how it's been ages since he'd last seen you

sometimes, when you're away, his gang (mostly akira) would immediately start talking about how itto should already confess to you, causing the others to agree

of course, itto would get far too flustered and would immediately turn down their suggestions in fear of rejection “oh, what? h- pssh, no! nonononono NO! they aren't gonna like me back, no! (name) already thinks im annoying enough!!”

the gang would just roll their eyes. they know and you know that you like itto, too

at some point, they'd managed to convince itto into confessing his feelings for you, saying that someone else would steal your heart and that he'd lose his chance

god knows how itto managed to believe them in spite of their very obvious dramatics

“c'mon, boss! y'gotta tell 'em at some point,” exclaimed an agitated mamoru, following an obviously anxious oni around as he paced back and forth in an obviously nervous manner. in the background, akira could be seen catching a fainting genta in his arms. shinobu merely watched in slight amusement.

akira said something incoherent, followed by genta who nodded along in agreement, so mamoru decided to mimic genta's movements. “uh-huh, what akira said!”

with pursed lips, itto stopped dead in his tracks and placed his fists on his hips, feigning a look of false determination. “yeah... yeah! i'll confess to (name)! in fact, i'll confess to them right now!” at that, his gang cheered (with only shinobu sighing in exasperation).

it actually took a while for itto to muster up enough courage to meet you.

the oni genuinely didn't know where you were so he merely roamed the streets of inazuma, whistling a tune in hopes of easing his nerves.

but then he saw you, making him panic and have a mini heart attack. itto had half a mind to jump into a bush and hide instead of confronting his feelings.

when you looked at him, he wanted to turn back time because he's already regretting agreeing to his gang.

“hey, itto.” you greeted him casually with a small wave of your hand, a bit concerned with how his face is so red but decided to just ignore that altogether.

itto, in the meantime, was panicking and geeking out at the same time. he wanted to giggle, to scream, to pull his hair, to kick his feet like an absolutely infatuated middle school girl, but he also wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“h.. hi...” he mumbled shyly, which is quite unusual. your brows furrowed and you began to grow a bit more concerned. “are you okay? y'don't look too good.” you murmured, sounding incredibly concerned.

inhaling deeply, he gathered what little confidence he had left, and blurted out his feelings in one breath. “ilikeyousomuchithinkaboutyouallthetimeandyou'resofunnyandprettyandamazingandfunandhonestlyyou'rethebestpersonininazumacauseidon'tknowwhereiwouldbeifihadn'tmetyou—”

you hastily cut him off, which was a good thing because he might waste all of his breath just to tell you something. “wait, wait, slow down! don't just.. i can't understand you like that. can ya' say that again?”

the oni immediately went silent, clasping his hands in front of him in a polite manner as he stared at you awkwardly.

“um,” he started in a meek voice, averting his eyes from your pretty ones. when he looked back at you, his face turned as red as his makeup (if that was even possible) and he looked away again.

eventually, he sighed and decided to just say it. this time, he was bold enough to meet your gaze. “i like you, (name). i've always liked you.” itto stated quietly, then pursed his lips, anxiously waiting for your response.

you merely stared at him in shock, then started laughing in disbelief. the sweet, sweet oni was caught off guard and looked at you, then pouted. “don't laugh. i'm actually being serious here.” he said sternly. but your laughter and smile was so infectious that he couldn't help himself and smile as well, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

you soon calmed from your laughter, then gave him a huge smile, your face also turning a bit red. “i like you too, itto.”

at your words, he wanted to just “AAAAAHHHOH MY GOD. THEY LIKE ME. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OHMYGOD.”

BONUS:

giggling and laughing and smiling, itto brought you to a secluded area, then plucked out a pretty looking flower from a bush and put it on your head cause he didn't know how to put it behind your ear.

“you're as pretty as the flower,” commented your sweet boy, his bright smile accentuating his blushing cheeks.

your face reddened a bit and you smiled softly. “and you're as handsome as the sun.”

normally, that would've stroked his ego.

but instead, he's geeking out, squealing and running away and running back to you, only to run away and jump up and down like a kid.

he's a silly guy, but he's your silly guy.

ok guys bye thats the end of the video make sure to like and subscribe

[bloodyshadow1]

There's a comic where Superman gets depowered after infinite crises, I believe, for a year. Lex Luthor always boasted how if he didn't have to deal with Superman he would cure cancer in a year. For a year, Superman was powerless Clark Kent, and you know what Lex did? He spent the whole year trying to drag Superman out of the shadows thinking he's just waiting on his throne of alien superiority looking down at them. He spends so much money and kills so many people to because he is obessed with Superman, it was never about doing any good it was about trying to kill Superman. maybe it wasn't empty boasting, he's very smart, but whatever Lex claims, it was never Superman that stopped him from being the greatest philanthropist of the DC universe.

That's what it's like listening to Ludinus. He rants and raves about how dangerous the gods are, how terrible they are, but refuses to be confronted with the horrific things he's done. That he has hurt so many people just to get a fraction of their power. He's willing to destroy exandria and put it at risk by releasing a god eater just to spite the gods who have been behind the divine gate, something of their own creation, for at least 900 years.

Sure the prime deities aren't as unambiguously good as Superman, and Ludinus doesn't pretend like he's the good guy, just that the gods need to die. But the principle is the same. He had 900 years of being one of the most powerful wizards alive, one of the oldest humanoids, and he's still hell bent on releasing Predathos to finish off the gods who are behind the divine gate and can't physically walk on exandria anymore even if they wanted to. sure they can effect the material plane in some ways, but they aren't walking the face of Exandria anymore. He could have just let things go, but people like Ludinus are incapable of letting things go, and he wants and needs to make that everyone else's problem

[socialist-autist]

🇨🇦 | Winter car troubles.

fandom: Hetalia. pairing: Canada x gender neutral reader. summary: You have just recently moved to Canada and are experiencing a harsh Canadian winter for the first time. Your cute neighbor, Matthew, notices you struggling with your car and offers his help. genre: Meet-cute, fluff. warning(s): Light cursing. word count: 1,909 words. authors note: uhhh not sure how much I like this but practice makes best right?

Maybe moving to Toronto was a mistake.

You look out the window worriedly, sighing and shifting on your feet before taking a sip from your cup of coffee. The view outside was gorgeous but worrying. Apparently, yesterday's light snowfall had devolved into a raging snowstorm while you were sleeping. The streets were covered in a thick layer of powder snow, making every surface white and shimmery. The trees outside looked white, their branches bearing a similar thick layer of snow as on the ground. The snowfall had calmed down significantly, barely a snowflake to be seen, but had left a small winter wonderland in the Canadian city. Unfortunately, the beautiful sight also meant everything was freezing and under the glistening snow hid a thin but dangerous layer of ice.

You sigh, tearing your eyes from the painfully white scene and deciding to get ready instead. You had never experienced a true Canadian winter, leaving you unsure about what to expect. Despite the new, unexpected, challenge you still had to get to work. After throwing on your work clothes, you make your way to your front door. The thick coat you had thought wise to invest in when the weather turned colder would keep you warm enough, your boots armed with grips on their soles to keep you from slipping. You open the front door, being immediately met with a rush of cold air, unpleasant air.

You step outside and close your door, humming a bit. After a minute or so of being in the cold, it really wasn't so bad. The breathtaking snow laden neighborhood helped too. You look around as you walk to your car, smiling to yourself. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Sure, it was cold but it wasn't anything you couldn't handle. With renewed hopes for a comfortable future, you reach into your pocket and pull out your car keys. Those renewed hopes were quickly crushed as you encountered your newest challenge. You align your key with the hole and attempt to push it in. Keyword, attempt. You tried your best, really! They key however, clearly hellbent on ruining your day, would not go in.

These attempts repeated for about 5 minutes before you gave up, staring at your car door confused and incredulous. You'd checked the keyhole, nothing was in there that you could see. You huff and frown, considering breaking your car window to get in when you heard a voice from behind you, "Excuse me, are you alright there eh?" the soft voice inquires. You turn around quickly, letting out a surprised sound at how close the stranger stood behind you. You didn't hear him walk up at all. Must have been the snow muffling any noise. You stutter a bit, surprised, "I'm alright, just having some car troubles" you explain, suddenly feeling embarrassed. How long had he been watching you struggle with your car key? God, that's such a stupid problem.

Now that the initial surprise of his appearance died down, you take a better look at him. He had fluffy blond hair, round violet eyes you could have gotten lost in, and was wearing rectangular glasses. He was wearing a mountie uniform, a soft, kind smile on his face. He looked handsome. You smile back nervously, now even more worried about looking stupid in front of the mysterious handsome man. An amused look crosses his face at your response, "If you're having trouble getting your key in, your car lock is probably frozen" he supplies helpfully. In spite of the bitter cold air, you feel your face heat up. His voice was surprisingly high at first, but it fit him. His tone was so soft, his voice low but not as if he was whispering. It was relaxing and mesmerizing. You swore you heard a faint French accent too. After internally gushing about the stranger's voice, you finally processed what he had actually said, "Oh! That can happen?" you ask, surprised. He nods and you could've sworn his face was getting red too. It must've been the cold.

After the flustering rush of emotions, the next thing you feel is panic, "Shit! Frozen?! I can't, I have to leave-" you pause momentarily to check the time, "now! Fuck!" you curse under your breath, looking frazzled. Okay, maybe you could call a taxi and- your rush of thoughts were interrupted by the pretty stranger speaking up again, "It isn't that hard to defrost it but if you need to leave now, I'm leaving for work too, I could give you a lift eh?" he proposes, his kind, uniquely violet eyes fixated on you. You paused for a second. You aren't stupid or naive. You shouldn't be getting into strange men's cars, no matter how good they look. But if you were late for work you might get reprimanded and that definitely wouldn't be good. Seeing your hesitation, the stranger starts to apologize for making such a bold proposition. You look at your car again before deciding to throw caution to the wind and accept his offer. You reassure him it was okay and he was sweet for offering his help. Did his face get redder? You then tell him that, if it really wasn't any bother, you'd really appreciate a ride.

Next thing you know, you're in the handsome strangers car, which smells, surprisingly strongly, of maple syrup. He has a polar bear cub on the backseat he occasionally throws a quip at. On your way to your work, you start talking to him. You need to coax him a bit, he seems shy and reserved. Turns out, he's your next door neighbor, "Really? How come I've never noticed you? I could've sworn I've met all my neighbors..." you muse, a bit puzzled. What you could swear is an upset look flashes across his face before he shrugs, "People don't notice me often, I blend into the background a lot apparently" he explains in a small mumble as he takes a left turn. You hum, feeling slightly bad for not noticing him before. A smile creeps onto your face as you shrug too, "Well, we've met now, and I'm glad for it. I can't believe I didn't notice a face like yours" you shoot back, deciding to test the waters a bit. His face flushes as he glances at you, smiling almost nervously, "Ah, thank you eh" he replies, mumbling more than usual. The polar bear cub swings at him from the backseat and he squeaks a bit, reprimanding it in a soft voice. You smile to yourself, cute.

The rest of the drive passes by much the same way. You learn his name is Matthew Williams, he has a brother, he is a mountie and has been living in Canada forever now. He offers to come help you unfreeze your car lock once he's home and you take him up on the offer. The more you get to know him, the more you feel yourself melt and get swept up in the coup de foudre more. You throw the occasional flirty glance or comment, savoring his red face and seeming inability to answer to them in any way. Despite the shy and easily flustered side of his personality, you gather Matthew is actually quite sassy. He talks to you about the other neighbors, making passive aggressive comments and sassy remarks about their behavior, making you giggle and smile almost uncontrollably. Surprising yourself, you find you are sad when it comes time to leave the car and head into the workplace. You don't usually take to people this quickly. Matthew smiles at you and tells you he'll back to pick you up when you end work.

And so he does. He shows up exactly when you told him you'd end. You hop in his car and he starts driving back to your homes. The drive back is just as fun as the drive there. You both talk and laugh and discuss how your work days went. You feel like it took about half the time it usually does to get home. Once Matthew pulls into his driveway and parks the car, you both get out and head over to your car. He takes a look at it and instructs you to wait before heading inside his house. He comes back out with an aerosol deicer and sprays the keyhole, then moves back. It does the trick, your key works now. He hands you the spray can with a smile, "You should keep it, you'll need it again and I have too many eh" he tells you. You take the deicer, sighing, "Matthew, you're too nice. Come over for dinner at least, let me make you something!" you offer, his cheeks starting to become red again. After reassuring him it wasn't much trouble, he accepts and you agree to meet at your house in an hour and a half.

The time passes quickly and before you know it, you hear your doorbell ring. You rush over, opening the door nervously and inviting Matthew in from the biting cold. You've both changed into more comfortable clothes, and he looks just as good as he does in a uniform. The polar bear cub follows him into the house, staying close to his leg. He thanks you for the dish as you both sit down to eat, complimenting you on it, and your house decor, all throughout the meal. You, in turn, thank him for driving you to and back from work, slipping in some flirtatious compliments about his looks. He must be more comfortable because this time, he returns the flirting awkwardly but you can tell he's trying to be serious about it. A quick dinner turns into a gossip session, turns into just talking about anything and everything and before you know it, its been 3 hours.

You laugh at the story Matthew just told you, looking at the clock, "Oh god, its so late, I should be going to sleep soon" you point out, feeling a small pang in your chest. You don't want to stop or for him to leave but you both need sleep. He looks up at the clock and makes a small gasp, nodding, "You're right, I should get going too. Thank you for dinner, again" he replies, his voice just as soft and shy as this morning. You accompany him to the door, "Goodnight Matthew, thank you again for everything. I had a lot of fun today" you tell him, a smile on your face and a blush on your cheek. He smiles nervously, nodding, "Don't worry about it eh, I had lots of fun too" he agrees. You can tell he wants to say something more but he doesn't, biding you goodnight instead and turning to leave.

After a quick moment of consideration, you shout after him, "Matthew wait!" he turns around, "Do you wanna have dinner again sometime? Properly this time, at a restaurant" you offer and he can definitely see your blush now. Matthew looks like he might pass away on the spot as he stutters. He finally manages to get out some vague form of agreement after the cub hits his leg, before almost running back to his house. You giggle to yourself, cute. You close your door, locking up the house for the night. As you think about the day's events, only one thought prevails.

Maybe moving to Toronto wasn't a mistake.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Arranged verse is BEGGING for a “there was only one bed” troupe

"I'm sorry Mr. Wayne, under the circumstances-"

The concierge was clearly ready to panic. Or faint. Or Vomit. Or some combination of the three. Something had gone horribly wrong in the system and instead of a proper suite there was one bedroom with admittedly a king-size bed and a few amenities but... not what was booked. NOT a penthouse.

"It's alright," Bruce said giving the poor man his most charming smile. "It's late. We're tired. I'm sure we can hash it all out in the morning."

"Absolutely." You smile reasuringly and make a mental note to have your gown sent out for dry cleaning- trying to ignore the anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

"I'll call my manager and-"

"In the morning," Bruce said, patting your arm. "After 20 hours in the air I don't think it matters what you sleep on so long as it's a bed, huh, sweetheart?"

"So long as it's clean-"

"Spotless, Mrs. Wayne," he promised, crossing his heart and breathing a sigh of relief. He'd been ready for a full blown tantrum. But- he doubted that you'd want to sleep in a suite that the owners son had just finished a coke fueled three day party in before they'd had time to call in a hazmat team... Not that he could say that.

Instead, he sent a text to his manager and told him to make sure there was champagne and a couple massage booked as he watched Bruce hold the Elevator door for you. And prayed that you didn't REALLY have a pair of white gloves to inspect for dust. Or god forbid a black light. Somethings were just out of his control altogether.

-------

Bruce could have stayed in the hot water forever. But he knew, despite your polite insistence that he should go first you were just as tired and just as ready for bed. So he tried to hurry.

And tried not to wonder about your interest in Harvey Dent. He wasn't vain enough to think that it couldn't be romantic. Though- you'd always been... careful. Nothing was a secret. You met, if you met, in the open. And nothing on your phone was ever hidden.

Spite, maybe? To spite him or your parents? You weren't stupid. You knew you appealed to men. And you had to know Harvey had a crush on you. And you had to know that doing ANYTHING with dent would give your father a stroke.

What was Harvey's appeal to you? Was it your need to feel safe now that Batman could no longer do it for you? Spite? A little bit of an ego boost? Friendship? You always had a long game- or at least it seemed like you did.

But worse- if it was romantic would he stop you? He didn't even know if you could ever want him that way. Not that he blamed you. After everything. After willingly treating you like an object.

He promised you it wouldn't be a horror story. And with that in mind, he shouldered the bathroom door open, pausing for just a second.

Realizing that in the year and change he'd been married to you this was the most undressed he'd ever been in front of you. Nothing but some white terrycloth tucked around his hips. And he didn't know why but the realization made him blush.

"Do you need help with your dress?" he mumbled.

"I got into it on my own," you remind him, carefully not looking at him. Trying not to look at the scars you'd once traced with your fingertips and remember how safe you'd felt despite the relative danger. The scourge of Gotham's underworld and- you give yourself a mental shake and gesture to where you made yourself a little bed where you could sleep sitting up with an extra blanket using an ottoman and a chair. "You'll need to lie down. You'll need-"

"We'll talk about that in a minute," Bruce said, glancing at your little arrangment with a frown. Absolutely not. "Your turn. I'll see if the kitchen will send us up a late dinner."

[sweet-villain]

A Feeling~ Flayed B.H

Anonymous asked:

Oh. My. God!!! That flayed Billy was amazing!!!

Can I request a more softer version of flayed billy, maybe when he was regular Billy the reader was Billy's gf and even though he's flayed now he is still protective and super soft with her which confuses the gang

If you aren't doing request I totally get it but you're work really is amazing! Thank you for sharing your talent

Tagging : @woahlifehitsyahuh @cinemaquinn @pleasantlycrazyworld. @moonchildquinn @haileighboi @ceriseheaven @witchy-munson

" Would you quite your staring at him?" you hushed whispered smacking Steve in the chest while he stood frozen in his spot as he eyed Billy sitting on the grass. But this wasn't the Billy you used to know. This was Flayed. After everything that happened, Mind Flyer dying, you had managed to save Billy along with Max. Flayed never understood why you would save him, he has done so much harm and caused so much damage. Yet, you stood by his side.

" It's not normal that he's hanging around us, he's dangerous" Steve whispers looking over at you for a brief moment as he looked back to make sure Billy still was sitting there.

Flayed was very aware on how the gang felt being around him and yet he found comfort in being around them, spiting at them if needed and when they said something about you, he was hot on his heels and ready to fight.

" You don't know him like I know him" Steve scoffed as she shook his head. " What are you two ladies talking about?" Robin makes her way over to you as she sits in between you and Steve.

Steve glared at her for a moment before he answered, " That one over there." He motioned with his head towards Billy. He was busy watching Max skate on her skateboard as Dustin and Mike sat on the sidewalk.

" His name is Billy Hargrove and he's my boyfriend" Robin gave you a look staring at his back. " You know he's not the Billy you know and love. He's completely different"

You nodded, " I know. He trust me, he knows me and I believe there is a part of him that wants to be loved."

Steve snorted.

" He doesn't know the meaning of the world love" Steve mumbles.

" Last time I checked Harrington, you don't even have a girlfriend and haven't been laid in months" Robin gasps as Steve grits his teeth, fisting the grass with his hands as he glared.

You were about to listen anymore to Steve's nonsense as you headed towards where Flayed sat with his legs outstretched and his hands behind him. Once he felt you presence next to him, he turned his head watching as you sat down next to him.

" What's wrong?" he asks noticing the look on your face. You were all smiling and happy before you went over to Steve. " What did Harrington do?" Flayed was ready to sock Steve in the face if needed. No one was going to upset you on his watch.

" It's nothing" you shook your head, leaning your head on his shoulder. His scent hit your nose, it's much different than your boyfriend. It wasn't the Billy Hargrove scent you were used to. This was one was muskier, stronger but it wasn't disgusting. It suited him.

" I don't like it when you hide things from me, kitten" you shivered at the pet name. His hand came up to twirl a piece of hair in his fingers.

" Please don't worry about it" Flayed hummed, he dropped it but he was going to talk to you later about it. He wasn't about to leave the conversation like that.

A van rolled up on the opposite of the street and Eddie stepped out, Dustin stood up from his seat as he ran over to him to embrace him. Will ran over to help Eddie up while you laughed watching Eddie push Dustin away.

The laugh made Flayed smile as he glances down at you. Eddie makes his way over and stops before you and Flayed. His face holds a deep frown eyeing Flayed sitting right next to you. He scrunches up his nose at the sight of Flayed black veins still lingering after everything. What did you see in him? Eddie didn't understand.

" Is there something on my face, Munson?" Flayed asked. Eddie looked over at you as your eyes pleaded him to be nice.

" Why do you hang around us? You're nothing but a monster. Monsters don't have friends or people that love them" Eddie looks over to you watching as your eyes turn cold and a glare forms on your face.

Flayed face drops as he glances at the grass biting his tongue not wanting to lash out on him in front of you. If Eddie wasn't your friend then he'd be torn into two by Flayed.

You stood up from the ground dusting your ass from the dirt as you stood almost nose to nose with Eddie.

" Who gave you the right to talk to him like that? You don't know him. You're quick to judge him" Eddie rolls his eyes as he motions with his ring clad hand at Flayed. " He has veins on him, he doesn't feel anything and he doesn't belong here. Not with you. Not with us" Eddie spats. " Who knows? He probably wants us dead."

You hadn't noticed that Flayed had gotten up off the ground and walked off. He didn't know what came over to him but he feels like Eddie was right. He doesn't deserve you. Not like this. Not when he's a monster. He's not the person you love. He's not Billy.

" Oh look I scared him off" Eddie laughs throwing his head back. You turned to look over your shoulder to see that Flayed was no longer there. Your head snapped in all directions to spot him when you saw the back of his head making his way to the Camaro.

" Flayed!" you yelled, making a run to his car but he's already getting and starting it before racing off. Your shoulder slumped, stopping in the middle of the streets with tears in your eyes.

Your friends watched as you throw your hands up and walk in the direction he drove off too.

" She must really love him" Robin says as she stands next to Eddie.

𖥸

You were digging into your father's tools and garage, looking for a flashlight and anything else you needed. The door to your house opened wide and you heard your name being called.

" Down here!" you hear footsteps as two heads peek into the garage. " Woah" Dustin says as he steps inside looking around. " This is so cool" you roll your eyes finding the flashlight finally. Your head turns to see Steve, Robin and Eddie.

" What are you doing here?" you asked. " Have you caused enough damage for one day?" Eddie winces at your tone as he looks away from you.

" Look we want to help" Robin says putting her hands up.

" Help with what?"

Steve motions his hands to you, " Whatever it is your doing. We are worried. I'm worried" you chuckled, shaking your head. " Listen, you don't understand. I love him. I don't care what you say or think. He means a lot to me. I can't lose him, I can't" your eyes become glossy.

Tears are running down your cheeks, " I lost him once and I'm not losing this Billy. You might not accept for who he is and understand what it's like having him around. But he makes me feel safe..."

" You really love him, don't you?" Dustin asked. You nodded wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

" He's my person even if this is who he is now" Eddie sighs.

" I'm sorry" he says.

" you shouldn't apologize to me Munson" Eddie nods.

" Let go find your lover boy"

" With viens" Robin adds, she shivers. She doesn't particularly liked that you were dating Flayed Billy Hargrove but one thing she knows is that he brings you happiness.

𖥸

It was no use in finding Flayed without El's help, she knew where to find him. She had went into Billy's memories before and you were sure she could find where Flayed was.

Hopper opened the door when you knocked on it in desperate need of help. He frowns as he eyes the rest of the group behind you.

" What is it?" Joyce walks behind him as she eyes you. " Sweetheart? What's the matter?"

" We need to find Flayed Billy" Robin answers for you. You were biting the inside of your cheek, too nervous to speak out the words. Hopper laughs as he runs a hand down his face.

" Why do we need to find him? He's dangerous for what we know" you shook your head. " Please, Hop" Joyce rubbed Hoppers chest as he looked down at her.

" What's going on?" a familiar voice you heard step behind Joyce as she looked from her father to you. " Y/N?" she asked.

" Y/N here needs your help, sweetie. Billy has run off too and she can't find him" El frowns playing with the sweatshirt of her sleeves.

" Why did he go?"

You look back over at Eddie who shifts back and forth on his feet.

" He got his feelings hurt" you tell her. Her eyebrows shoot together in confusion. She is aware that this isn't the same Billy she saw. He was different.

" What does that mean? Feelings?"

" There is a possibility that he feels things that my Billy felt"

She swallows the lump in her throat searching your face seeing the pleading look on your face.

" She loves him El" Will says.

She nods. She was going to help.

𖥸

El sits on the ground with a bandana over her eyes as she goes into her mind, the headspace in search for Flayed Billy. She turns around in circles not knowing where to start. Then she hears the familiar sound of a Camaro and sees the lights to it. The door opens and Flayed Billy steps out wearing a leather jacket, his hair isn't in usual curls and he turns to lean against the car with a cigarette in his mouth.

" Those are bad for you" he hears a voice speak to him. His head shoots up in confusion as he looks for the sound of the source as his eyes land on El. She found him.

" What are you doing here?" He leans off the Camaro as he stares at her, one foot in front while the other is behind as he carefully eyes her.

She walks over to him in small steps, hesitantly.

" I'm not going to hurt you" he tells her. He can feel her fear for him.

" Y/N is looking for you" he should of know it was you who would bring poor El into this. His shoulder slumped as he hangs his head.

" Tell her not to look for me, I'm not good for her" El hesitantly reaches out for his hand in her own not believing a word he says. He knows you love him and she can see there is something happening as she reaches for his hand. His eyes snapped towards her hand in his. It's warmth and comforting.

The only hand he had held was yours.

" She loves you" his eyes glass over at her words. It's really rare that he hears those words and he knows you use them quite often but he wasn't Billy. He can't give you the love that you deserve because he doesn't know what it feels like.

" I'm not her boyfriend" he refuses to acknowledge that he is anything like Billy at all. There is darkness in him and he is learning to live with who he is now.

" You are, this" she points to him, " this is you now. She knows it and loves you. I saw it. Her eyes. Her face"

Flayed tells El where you can find him and when El returns back to you, uncovering her eyes from the banana she nods telling you where he is. You scrambled to your feet racing out the door, but not before you rush back over to her pulling her into a hug with a thank you.

𖥸

You had to borrow Steve's BMW to get to the location where Flayed was. It was dark and there was mist around the abandon building. His Camaro stood on the side. You slide out of the car, zipping up your jacket and taking the flash light that Eddie had gave you telling you that you needed it before you left.

It was quite and not a sound near as you closed the door of the car heading your way into the building where you think it's where Flayed is located at.

" Flayed?" you called out. It might of been stupid to call his name out without knowing if something or someone was going to jump at you. But you took the risk, he was worth it to you that much.

No response was given back to you. You continued to make your way inside looking over at the rusty covered in cow webs tools and closed cabinets. There was stairs going down on your right, they were black with what looked like blood as you flashed the flash light looking at it.

A cold shiver went down your spine as you took the first step. You paused as you heard someone walking up the steps. There he was as he turned to face you.

Flayed stood there with his blue eyes shining underneath the flash light, squinting. His black veins stood out as he licked his lips with his hand up covering himself from the light. His usual curls were matted down a bit and he wore a leather jacket over the shirt he was wearing with jeans that you usually saw him in.

Your hear raced at the sight him locking eyes with him, moving the flash light away from his face.

" Flayed.." the corner of his lips lit up in a smile hearing his name come out of your mouth. It flattered as he remembered your friends talking unkindly about him.

" I've been looking all over for you"

" You found me" he says walking up the steps but brushing past you. A pang of hurt fills your heart at the way he brushes past you.

" are you not happy to see me?" you asked. He looks at you over his shoulder with a grimace. He was happy to see you, he was getting used to the feeling of happiness. Normally, he didn't feel anything and found it really unlike him to start to feel this way.

You took his silence as he didn't want to see you.

" I-I'm sorry. I just w-wanted to know that your okay" He closes his eyes cursing to himself feeling his heart race at the way you care about him. You shouldn't.

" T-Thank you" he mutters out to your surprise. " Flayed?" you called out his name but he stands there like a statue not knowing what to do. His back is to you and you can't get him to turn. You walk up the remaining steps and make your way over to him. His head is hanging when you face him, shielding his eyes away from you. There is a beat of sweat on his face causing his face to glister.

Your hand raises to brush his curls away from his face and cup his cheek in the palm of your hand. You feel him lean into your touch and this is all new to you since he isn't the type to be like this with touch.

" Flayed?" His head raises meeting your eyes. For the first time in a long time it feels like this isn't Flayed anymore. It's your Billy. His eyes are brimmed with tears as he looks down at you.

" Go.." he whisper, shaking underneath your touch. You blinked not believing what you heard. He wants you to go.

" W-what?" he swallows as his chest raises up and down in panic. His eyes are wider than usual. " Go" he firmly says. " Please.." he adds.

" But I-" he cuts you off with a glare, " Go!" he yells out causing you to jump as you pull your hand away from him and back away. Your own eyes filling with tears spilling down your cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry" you mutter out turning around as you ran to Steve's BMW. Flayed stood there with his fist to his side as his body shaking, his heart feels like it's in two with the way he scared you and how you care about him.

What was happening to him?

𖥸

You laid in your bed curled up in a ball, sleeping soundly when your window opens slowly and a figure steps inside. His musky strong smell hits your nose causing you to scrunch it up. Flayed steps slowly into your bedroom not wanting to wake you up. He shrugs off his jacket dropping it on the ground and turns to look at you.

His lips light up in a small smile watching you sleep soundly. But frowns seeing the dried up tears on your cheeks. That was his fault. He crouches down near your bed and brings his hand up to brush away the hair that fallen on your eyes.

The touch wakes you up. Your eyes flutter open as your vision lines up seeing Flayed there. You scrambled up in bed and moving back with your eyes widen. His heart aches seeing the frighten look on your face.

" I'm not going to hurt you, kitten" he says putting his hands up showing you that he won't. The bed dips as he sits on the edge of the bed turning his body to face you.

" Listen, I've come to realize some thing" you fist the bedsheets with one hand as your breath hitches as his hand reaches out to grab onto your leg. The touch causes a shiver down your spine.

" This isn't easy to say" he says licking his lips. " Kitten, I know I am not your precious Billy. I'm different" you nodded listening as he continues, " I'm not the one that will tell you those words you tell me." He closes his eyes feeling the need to look away but he opens his eyes as he pushes through what he wants to say.

" You know I am not the one who likes doing the romantic thing guys do" you nodded, " I did learn things about you, I want to be around you. I do. But I've learned that certain things frighten me, being with you for a long time, showing you feelings or whatever I am feeling-" you cut him off.

" Flayed? Are you joking?" his eyebrows knit together in confusion on what you mean. " How are you having feelings? I thought you can't have feelings" this has your attention now. This is pretty big deal.

He shrugs, " I feel things in here" he says patting his chest " think about a lot of things here" he points to his head.

" What do you think about?" He swallows the lump in his throat. " Future with you" you gasped putting your hand over your mouth.

" Flayed..." He shrugs again as this is his way of telling you that he wants to be with you, his way of telling you that your his and that this was for a long run. This was his way of telling you he loves you too.

" Oh Flayed" you wrap your arms around him. His cheeks are flushed pink and his stomach feels like someone is doing flips. He bits down on his bottom lip not knowing what to say.

" I want it too. I want you" you pressed your forehead against his, a smile on your face. Flayed matches your own with a small chuckle.

Things were going to be okay.

𖥸

You stand in the middle of the living room with Flayed by your side as your friends sit around, looking over at him with double looks on their faces.

" Okay, listen. I'm going to have your ass if you hurt her" Hopper says pointing to you. " She's really special girl you have there" He adds.

" Beat ass" El says as she and Hopper do a fist bump. You chuckled watching them.

" I won't hurt her, never" Flayed says as he wraps his arm around you and pulls you to his side.

" Excuse me, I need to go barf into the sink" Dustin says. " Please none of that around us" he motions to the affection between you and Flayed.

" We are still getting used to this" Robin says as she motions towards Flayed. " These too" she points to the veins on his face.

You tapped your foot on the ground waiting to hear an apology from Eddie who's been sitting staring at his hands rather than speaking.

" Is there anything you want to say, Eds?" you asked him. He slowly rose his head to meet your gaze as he cleared his throat.

" I'm sorry man, about before. You know. I was rude and don't know you that well to judge you or whatever" Eddie says. You would take that apology any day from Eddie if it was like that. You knew he wasn't okay with you being with Flayed because of the whole Mind Flyer thing when Steve explained it to him.

" Thank you" Flayed says. Everyone in the room goes silent hearing him say that.

" That feels so weird" Steve says.

" Are you sure you're real?" Mike asks.

" I'm happy for you two" Will says, smiling. Joyce squeezes his shoulder, nodding her head along too that she was happy for you two.

" We're still not okay with this whole thing, but welcome to the gang" Nancy says.

" I still don't like him" Steve says.

" I don't like you either, Harrington" Flayed says, lacing his hand with yours as he pulls you closer making the room groan.

" I think it's cute!" Joyce says. More groans fill the room.

[guiltyidealist]

Body count.

Hidden but insidious little piece of fatphobia:

you cannot find a single fucking page on INCREASING your appetite. On coping, struggling with a LOW appetite. Having a lowered appetite. On managing your health when your appetite is low. On how to get yourself to eat and NOURISH MORE. more efficiently, more FREQUENTLY.

By which I don't mean "how to gain weight" but by which I mean how to MAINTAIN A WEIGHT that's healthy for you. or more specifically, how to nourish SUSTAINABLY. over the LONG-term. How make sure you nourish and KEEP nourishing CONSISTENTLY. How to maintain your health in spite of an appetite that is too low.

Hell. even just what it means for your appetite to be low, how to TELL if your appetite is LOWER than is HEALTHY for you. the consequences and problems people face when they have a low appetite. the RISKS and DANGERS of a low appetite.

Because every fucking search result is

how to gain weight (muscle)

how to eat more foods that don't make you gain weight (fat) as fast as other foods

Tragedy Strikes: the Misfortune of Fat & How to Protect Your Precious Soul from Falling Victim to This Cruel Fate😢

how to lose weight (fat) (new fad diet for starvation and you will have a net loss of 0 lbs or less by the time 5 years elapses)

how not to lose weight (muscle)

how to eat less how to fucking starve how to deprive yourself the little things and be miserable and fucking die

if I eat too fast I'll feel nauseous. As a result, I graze over longer stretches throughout the day (er I did, before meds changes slaughtered my appetite).

People were always fucking like "ah! I hear that's better for you anyway😊"

by which they fucking mean "To my understanding, that eating pattern facilitates weight loss a bit more than normal patterns do, therefore it is superior because weight and supremacy are inverse correlates😊"

Nowadays I don't eat that way because my appetite is really fucking low. Today I managed a bowl of oyster crackers, an applesauce, some carrots, a piece of cornbread, a few pepperonis, and a scoop of cookie bake.

Plus x2 cans of Mountain Dew (my usual daily caffeine intake is maybe 1 glass of Coke), because I have to pass this final semester at the expense of my body.

Fuck I did not even realize how jack shit I ate today until I listed that out. With that combination it's really not a wonder that my whole digestive tract has been fucked for like 3 weeks straight now. On top of that I'm not getting ample nourishment, neither in nutrient nor caloric terms.

Low appetite is a problem.

and nobody cares. Nobody cares! Nobody fucking cares. You know why? Because this problem results in weight loss. See high appetite on the other hand, that causes weight gain, so you understand all energies must be allocated toward solving that problem🙂.

Noooo low appetite is a gift! A blessing!!! A privilege!!!!! God I wish that were me!!!!!!!!

How to lower your appetite!! 3 Vitamins that will lower your appetite!! Lower your appetite with these 15 yummy recipes!

6 easy ways to shame yourself for having wants and needs! How to stave off hunger and ignore your body's signaling of needs! How to replace the sound of your body calling you to action with blaring fad diet commercials. How to convert your body's begging for its life into an incessant and intrusive need to self-sabotage instead.

How to dissociate from your body and fixate upon doing the opposite of what it needs to stay alive. How to fret over whether or not you moved enough in the last 24 hours. How to take the energy out of every day to meticulously COUNT every single piece of material you dArE put in your body. How to count your body. How to develop one or more of the MOST DEADLY mental illnesses. How to wind up having the sole variety of mental illness that fucking kills you whether you wanted to die or not

How to tally the body count

[elenavr13]

Stargazing

Darkiplier x Reader

Warning: None

*Playlist: Venus- Sleeping At Last/Heart- Sleeping At Last/Satellite-Starset/Starlight-Starset*

*It’s late at night & Dark has something to show you. Just no peeking!*

Y/N’S POV

           My bedside lamp emits just enough light to illuminate the yellow-edged pages resting face-up on my bed. I don’t care to go to sleep yet so I opened a book containing a collection of short horror stories. Just what you need to lull you off to sleep.

           A gentle rapping on the open door to my room startles me from my reading. A baritone voice follows. “Can’t sleep either?” Dark stands in the doorway wearing a grey ¾ sleeve t-shirt & black sweatpants. His inky hair lazily drapes over one eye. I can’t help but admire the shadow demon in the corner of my room.

           “I would make an excuse that I read (past tense) a scary story before bed but you know that doesn’t affect me.” I joke as I sit up from my laying position.

           He steps further into my room. “Yes, I’m aware, darling.” His smirk is accompanied with a glint in his eye. Probably just the lamp light.

           “So did you only come in here to check if I was sleeping yet or what?” His glazed eyes blink away his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. From habit, he reaches up to adjust his tie to realize he is not dressed in his normal attire. He ends up smoothing out his shirt so the motion isn’t as awkward. I keep my giggle to myself. It’s cute how he’s still not sure about wearing informal clothes. Honestly, I think he looks good in anything but I do really like his suit. It’s his signature outfit. It defines him.

           He clears his throat. “I saw your light & was curious as to why you were still up.”

           “It’s only midnight. Have you known me to fall asleep before then?” My laugh trails off when I catch his gaze drifting over me. Why do you always do that? You shouldn’t be allowed to do that. At this point, I think you do it out of spite because you know it makes my heart race.

           Once his eyes meet mine again, he speaks up. “Since you’re awake, you want to come see something?”

           “I assume you’re not going to tell me what it is if I ask.”

           “You’d be right. Now put some shoes on & come on.” I slip off the bed & do as he said. We walk through the halls finally stopping at the front door. “Oh, I also need you to close your eyes. I promise I won’t lead you into any harm.” I would have gladly complied without question if he left it at his first sentence but his second sentence makes me hesitate. Why would there be a possibility of getting hurt? Maybe he’s just saying he’ll make sure I don’t trip over anything. My eyebrows knit together as I think, making him genuinely laugh. “W-what…what’s that face for?” My face subconsciously copies his. Once I realize that, I drop the smile.

           “Nothing, shut up.” I can’t keep a straight face so I shut my eyes as to hopefully not embarrass myself. “Alright, my eyes are closed. Now what?” His hands take a hold of my shoulders & lead me into the relaxing, night air.

           “Just wait & no peeking.” I am familiar enough with the grounds that I can tell he is leading me towards the cemetery. “You trust me right?”

           I nod. “Yeah,” Why are you suddenly asking that now? What are you about to do?

           “You don’t sound too confident in that.”

           “Well, when someone asks you that, typically it means they’re about to do something stupid or dangerous.”

           “& do you trust me enough to do something stupid or dangerous with you?”

           “Depends on what it is.”

           “Great, stand here.” He stops me in my tracks before moving away from me. “Remember no peeking.” God, what are you up to? What did I just get myself into? I hear scuffling of fabric & tree bark? After a few seconds, he speaks again. “Okay, I need you to reach up & grab my hand.” I adhere to his words. “Now I’m going to pull you up, okay. Once you’re up, hold onto me.” What! “Do you understand?”

           “Yes,” my fingers tighten around his hand right before my feet are lifted off the ground. Instinctively, my eyes shoot open & see tree branches around me. With my free hand, I help pull myself up. Once up, I grip onto Dark’s shirt. He wraps an arm around my waist. Looking down, I see the ground that I was standing only a few seconds prior. He pulled me up almost effortlessly.

           “Hey, no peeking.”

           “You expect me to climb a tree blind?” He raises an eyebrow at me & I suddenly become aware of how close he is.

           “I asked if you trusted me & you said yes.”

           My face starts to heat up. “I didn’t expect you to pull me into a tree.”

           “If it makes you feel any better, that was the worst part.” There’s no use fighting him. I’ll let him do what he wants. I trust him to not get me hurt. Reluctantly, I close my eyes again. “It’s not like you fell at all so you have nothing to complain about.” I playfully punch his chest. “Fine, if you’re going to be that way…” He leans forward, threatening to drop me. My arms fly around his neck so I won’t fall. So much for trusting him. A low chuckle leaves his throat in response to my reaction.

           “Not funny.”

           “From my perspective, it was.” His arm is still placed around my mid-section so I wasn’t actually in peril of falling. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that until he lifts me back up. As I adjust my grip around his neck down to the collar of his shirt, I feel him glance around. Occasionally, he moves like he is reaching for something but he retracts his hand each time. “Uh…this might be a little harder than I thought.” I let out a huff of air. “Are you doubting me?”

           “What happened to the Dark who methodically plans out everything?” He starts to lean forward again making me clutch him tighter. Content with himself, he pulls me back up. “Shut it.”

           “I didn’t say anything.”

           “You were thinking.”

A chuckle reverberates in his chest. “Alright, let’s continue. I think the best way to go about this is if you hang onto me while I climb.” My breath hitches in my throat & my cheeks get hot. “Doll?”

           “Yes,” I squeak, hoping he doesn’t notice the change in my voice.

           “You freezing up isn’t going to get us out of this tree. Here,” He grabs my wrists, relocating them back around his neck. “Now wrap your legs around me.” The arm around my back tightens & lifts me up slightly. God, why am I actually going through with this? Falling out of the tree is suddenly more appealing. It’s not that I don’t want to cling onto Dark; it’s just that, well, I shouldn’t. Look, he’s the one suggesting it so it’s not like I’m latching onto him without his permission. I’m fine. I don’t need to be so worried. I bounce on the balls of my feet & constrict my legs around his body. Embarrassment floods my mind, causing me to bury my face into the crook of his neck. I’m starting to think there isn’t actually anything to show me & this is just an excuse to get me flustered. If that’s the case, I’m never forgiving you. “Hold on.” He begins climbing.

           “I hate you.” I mumble against his skin. His response is a half-suppressed laugh.

           Not too much later, we escape the branches & find solid ground. I detach myself from him as to not embarrass myself even more. “We’re almost there.” Dark purrs right next to my ear which sends a shiver down my spine. He’s definitely doing this on purpose. With a gentle push of his hand, he leads me forward up the ascending slope. Where are we? We had just climbed a tree which meant we are no longer on the ground but there also aren’t any cliffs nearby. The only logical guess I can make is that we are on the roof but why would Dark take me to the roof? Specifically, how does he know to get to the roof? He’s not the kind of person to just climb to the roof because he’s bored. Suddenly I crash into Dark, not realizing he stopped. He snickers while steadying me. I growl. You’re clearly having too much fun leading me around & making me rely on you. “You can open your eyes now.”

           Once I do, I am met with a stunning, cosmic display. Amazement & adoration immediately replace my flustered state. A streak of color slices through the black sky. Blues & purples melt into each other while shadowy wisps intertwine with the color streaks. Billions & billions of golden specks are scattered in the sky. “My god, it’s gorgeous.” My breath is taken by the magnificence of the scene before me. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

           “I used to think that.” I turn to face Dark whose eyes are already focused on me.

           “What changed your mind?” His arm slithers around my waist again.

           “You,” His head tilts to the side as he leans into my lips. Butterflies fly around my stomach. His lips are soft & gentle. My fingers then entwine with his satiny hair. Because he is a decent bit taller than me, I shift my weight to my tip-toes to lean into him easier & so he doesn’t have to bend as far down to reach me. If this is any sort of compensation for all the harassment you put me through then maybe I can forgive you but only maybe. Eventually I’ll find a way to get back at you but for now, I’ll let you get away with it. I did enjoy it after all.

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

so what about btas!crane and comic!Crane manic periods? ;) I remember BTAS Scarecrow likes to shout nonsense like «I am the God of fear! The Lord of despair!». Maybe that would be annoying for Batman.

How Bruce would deal with his manic periods in BTAS and comics?

oh, jon, jon. 

someone, who one might expect to be a cold type, but he’s actually very explosive, when it comes to his emotions an’ his ‘visions’. there is nothing better, than a villain who screams all sorts of nonsense, when they enter their ‘destructive’ phrase. an’ when it comes to crane, he’s a champ at it. i love how much of an edgelord jon can be without even trying. he’s natural. his rants are always hilariously exaggerated. however, i feel like the comicverse!bruce has the worst deal on his hands out of all three lol.

for one, comicverse!crane is way more unhinged, than arkhamverse an’ BTAS jons put together. ironically enough, he also feels like the most aggressive one as well, when he’s like that. i think, a good example of his manic periods be Batman: Terror, an’ Batman: Shadow of the Bat. in both cases, jonathan’s ego goes to extreme an’ his delusions pretty much what keeps him going, despite everything. he doesn’t doubt any of bs he thinking about for a second, either. in the first case, it was hugo strange’s fault *the ever lurking creep* but it showed how dangerous it is to give jonathan ideas, esp when their main gimmick revolves around him being directed at a single, specific task. the sort of task that would also make him feel powerful on top of it tii. an’ if there is a rule, you never make guys like crane feel like this or they’d readily bite the hand that feeds them. then, the second comic literally shows that jonathan pretty much woke up an’ decided to be a god of fear. just like that. gordon should have organized it somehow too. he didn’t care how. inside his brain this all must have made a lot of sense. an' it's so randomly ambitious coming from him. i suppose after bruce's back got broken, smth inside jon's brain also kinda broke in a new ways. his king of fear was beaten. so being master of fear no longer enough. therefore, he just skips a step *or a dozen* an' decides jump straight to godhood.

an’ well, while all cranes are too committed to their delusions in those moments, it’s the comicverse!jonathan who brings it to a new level. he’s way more dangerous in that state vs the other two, as he seems to have ‘broader’ schemes. he’s also way more openly sadistic during those times too. compared to when he has a meltdown an’ his emotions are all over the place, maniacal crane is actually literally a spiteful lil beast an’ he doesn’t stop for a second to think about anything, that doesn’t fit whatever delusion he’s currently under. he’s really freakin’ scary, when stuck inside his own head. an’ quite frankly, i don’t think that bruce can do anything besides stopping him. can he get creative with those methods? for sure, but i think, that it would be harder to make this version of jonathan to kinda follow along. he’s more paranoid an’ distrustful. so strung up, that it feels like he would sense the fact, that the bat wants to distract him somehow. doesn’t mean, that he won’t get distracted anyways, even knowing this lol. but where arkhamverse!scarecrow needs to be contained, comicverse one needs to be tired out. which you know, might mean that batman has to actually fight him, until jon eventually would lose his focus / make a mistake. or he can tire him out in other ways. i feel like the comicverse!crane is prob the most horny version out of three as well, when he has a manic ep. all that adrenalin *an' self ego stroking* would essentially give him a tent, an’ bruce can pretty much distract him with more carnaval things, even if jonathan would most likely talk crazy talk basically the whole time. y'know, smth like ‘let me taste your terror’, while getting down to suck a dick lol. or 'let me show you what real fear is like' an' do smth suggestive, even if he totally means all of this seriously. basically, spew the sort of talk that is hilariously intense, but idk how sexy it is in actuality, bc usually bruce being the sexy an’ flirty one. but either way, i feel like fighting / fucking *usually both of those things* be the way for bruce to handle the situation, bc jonathan won’t just be ‘kept’, when he’s like that. at least not by the bars or rope. gotta use arms an’ body weight [wink wink] 

now, BTAS crane seems like nearly the most harmless one in comparison to his other two versions. but i think, it only seems this way, esp when he’s kinda in the beginning of his path to utter madness. BTAS pretty much conveyed to us that jon, while clearly touched in the head, wasn’t actually as deeply mentally disturbed in the beginning as what he see becoming of him later on. he was mostly low-key sadistic in nature. an' it just happened to be that his sadism wasn’t physical, but rather he loved causing mental distress. it’s only by writers notes an’ such, that we finding out that he was also bullied like comicverse!jonathan, but unlike him, he doesn’t seem to be hyperfocused on his bullies, but instead taking his anger out on everyone else who wronged him later in life. or well, the ones, that he felt had wronged him. so when he enters the state, where he's maniacal an' delusional ... welp ... it's actually almost better, than when he's calculated an' in control of himself.

his actions are less coordinated. his plans have more holes in them. an' in comparison to both arkhamverse an’ comicverse cranes, BTAS jonathan doesn’t really can do much fighting. he’s short, thin an’ pretty much useless in a hand on hand combat lol. but i imagine, that it’s very challenging to catch him as he literally runs around, screaming nonsense an’ throwing stuff at bruce. totally ‘adult’ fight right here. but i think, that it’s rare when BTAS jonathan can prove to be actually dangerous in this state. he’s more scary, when he knows what he's doing an' less emotional at that. when his mind focuses on whatever terrible experiment, he’s about to conduct, that's when he's really threatning. maniacal crane is more of volatile an' jerky an' loud, than anything. bruce will just have to endure being screamed into his ear about how amazing an’ horrifying jonathan is an’ how the bat should bow down to him an' kiss his boots lol. naturally, bruce’s approach can deviate as it relies on specific factors, but i think, that he usually just kinda ignores jon, once he catching him. therefore, it automatically becomes jon’s sole goal to force the bat to pay attention to him again. which in itself already distracting him from anything else. bruce's biggest struggle prob be keeping straight face, when jonathan would tell him that he's lord of despair an' horror incarnate an' all of this, while being pretty much a lil twiggy gremlin. but in his defence, i have a feeling that once jonathan is maniacal *whichever version*, it's actually the time when he demonstrates that he's way stronger, than people think he is. at least, i feel like there was a reason why both bruce an' robin dragged jon into arkham an' not just bruce. gremlin or not, but once he escapes, it's hard to catch him an' he even puts up a fight too.

either way, i suppose, bruce is really lucky that his villainous kinda bf have a tunnel vision, when it comes to him. it clearly a slower burn for BTAS jonathan, but the other two are literally only interested in fear an' batman, an' nothing else. so making them spend their maniacal periods in batman's company is the best solution for the gotham.

[firecrackerhh]

I don’t think sending people death threats is right or whatever, but I’m not gonna pretend like the people crying about our very fucking existence haven’t done the same exact shit.

But of course, antis don’t have shit to say when WE get fucking harassed, fuck us right? Maybe we would be kinder to them if they showed any respect for us! But noooooo, fuck that, god forbid they don’t virtue signal every wretched hour about how every little aspect of the show, fandom and creator included, pisses them the fuck off at all times and how awful we are and how dangerous to society we are or whatever the fuck you mentally ill weirdos believe.

But the second we give them back that energy they wanna play victim? Spare me. Play in fucking traffic or something.

“But that’s-“ what? Is it mean? Am I hurting your wittle fee fees? 🥺 oh you poor fucking babies. Cry to someone who gives a fuck.

It’s not like any fan who tells these people to off themselves is gonna actually do it, antis live off of spite and hatred and frankly anyone with such rancid opinions as them tunes us the fuck out anyway. It’s the ones who don’t y’all should be worried about.

I just wish these people could stop being such fucking hypocrites. Like you can’t bitch and moan about death threats when you’re in a group of people who routinely say that others should die over fictional fucking bullshit.

May I remind you all that this fandom wasn’t half as bad before these miserable fucks came in and started their whining and crying over their bad faith takes on everything involving the show? If anything, these people love the drama, they love the attention, it’s probably the only reason why some of these bastards wake up in the fucking morning! But sure, cry like our negative attention isn’t what you want.

Sure, it’s the hazbin fans that routinely send death threats, say racist shit, act homophobic, whatever, yeah, it’s always the fans right? Never antis, no, not them, pure cinnamon rolls they are./sarcasm

Clean up your own fucking house before you judge other people’s dumbfuck.

And yeah sure, Squidiot apologized for whatever bad shit she’s said and done in the past, but to be honest with you folks, I don’t believe this bitch for a second.

Lmao the same bitch who claimed that Viv was going to destroy society with her fucking cartoons thinks sending death threats is bad when by her own ‘logic’ (if you could even call it that) the only way Viv’s “society ending” cartoons would stop being created is if she died.

I can’t imagine being such a fucking tool to where I don’t fucking realize “hey…maybe this group of people routinely sending death threats to people over fictional bullshit isn’t the group I belong in” but then have the balls to say to the world “Vivziepop’s cartoon empire should fall!!!” Or whatever wacko shit without realizing the consequences of such a statement.

And just for the sake of clarity, yeah, clearly I’m not the pinnacle of kindness myself, I’m beyond aware, but Christ, at least I don’t directly send people death threats or whatever, like yeah, I’ve said bad shit before, I’m not denying that, but at least I don’t send it to the people I’m mad at.

If an anti sees my posts and that makes them angry that’s their own fault for looking at my shit to begin with.

Honestly the fact that most of those pictures of “harassment” the anti showed of non-Hazbin fans is at most fans telling the person “can you shut the fuck up” is kinda evidence to me these people are babies.

Like statistically I know there’s gotta be some subsection of fans who do send death threats on the regular and that shit isn’t ok, but shitty people are in every fandom my dude, it’s kinda inevitable, maybe stop whining that the hazbin fandom doesn’t do enough to remove people from the fandom and focus on your fucking behavior.

As if removing people from any fandom is even really possible, definitely for a fandom the size of Hazbin. It isn’t like we vote in leaders or something, it isn’t like Viv is Zeus and the big Hazbin accounts are Olympians, at most you can warn people of a person’s behavior, ostracize them even, but that doesn’t guarantee they’ll stop watching the show or engaging in fandom in other ways or with a different group of people or something.

People are awful, so most fandoms are toxic waste dumps, the hazbin fandom isn’t special, neither are antis, we’re all varying degrees of awful, it’s just a matter of what degree you are, and I think being an anti is significantly worse than any fan of a stupid fucking cartoon.

Giving off some real “I have the right to free speech!” Energy tbh. Like we all have an opinion my dude, doesn’t mean we’re obligated to endure your horseshit.

But on the bright side, that free speech bullshit applies to us as much as them, truly nothing is more American than telling a bitch to shut the fuck up over their bullshit-ass opinion. God bless America.

🧨🔥~Firecracker out~🔥🧨

[practically-an-x-man]

Your OC's are surprised by a knock on their door, and when they open the door, Jess is standing there, out of breath, hair a mess, smears of blood crusted dirt, torn clothes. She hands you a simple cardboard box, well sealed with duct tape. It's light and doesn't rattle or anything.

"Protect this! Don't open it! No matter what you hear! Ill be nack once I've lost them!"

And then she runs off.

How do they react?

Ooooh, fascinating! Thank you!

Rae: Is confused, but places a small shield around the box and sets it on the kitchen table. She's a little jittery from adrenaline, and wants to run after Jess to help her if there's some sort of fight, but Jess is already gone and it's probably better that Rae stays with the box.

Robin: Puts the box in the kitchen pantry, underneath a bag of flour - it's well-hidden, and a place she figures most people wouldn't look. If anyone comes to investigate, she's got a damn good poker face from being a professional actor, so she just stays calm and continues with what she was doing until Jess comes back for the box.

Madison: Drops the box on the nearest flat surface, grabs her knives, and runs after Jess. She's not sure what this whole box ordeal is about, but it seems like Jess could use a bit of backup

Ophelia: Is kind of absorbed in one of her projects, so she ends up leaving the box in the care of her actuators with the same instructions - protect it, don't open it, and alert her if anything particularly dangerous/startling happens. Then she gets back to work, since leaving the box with her actuators is really the safest option she's got.

Gia (look who got added to the lineup!): Starts to run after Jess, since this is really stressful and she's really tried to get away from action like this, but she's already gone and Gia's left standing on the street with the box. She ends up shoving the box into her patch of clover - it's hidden by all the greenery, and she'll be aware if anything happens since she's linked to the clover. Nothing else really happens, but she's so torn up with anxiety about the whole ordeal that she can't get any work done.

Jasper: Seems to be catching a few weird empathic flickers from inside the box, and that's... very strange, and they really want to open the box... but they restrain themself and put it on top of a high shelf where they can't be tempted.

Kestrel: Is also extremely tempted to open the box, through some inner trickster nature of theirs. Settles for shapeshifting into a roly-poly and wriggling in through a crack in one of the seams, but it's so dark that they can't actually make anything out. Shifts back to human, sighs, sits with with the box until Jess is back.

Katherine: Sets the box on a table and tries to distract herself by doing a little sketching. She's still unfocused, though, and can't stop wondering what's in the box that could possibly be so important... but she won't open it! Jess gave her very clear instructions, and it looked important!! But if one of the gods wanted to look inside and maybe guide her pencil a bit, give her a hint... well, she wouldn't complain.

Quinn: Opens the box the instant Jess is out of sight. I mean, c'mon, the temptation is just too much!

Eris: Also opens the box immediately, though more out of spite than curiosity. Excuse you, you don't get to just drop some weird responsibility on them without so much as an explanation! It could be nothing more than a box of paper clips and he'd still open it just because Jess told her not to.

Nikoletta: Stores the box in the shadow realm, where nobody can access it except for her. It's in there for a while, and when Jess finally comes back, the cardboard is all stained with shadows, but otherwise seems to be completely undamaged and safe from whatever threat she was running from.