#and by failing to save everyone who owned his heart

[nevermeyers]

“When it's your time to go, make sure you're surrounded by others”

[trianglegoddess]

I'm Still Standing

The League felt like they had a strong sense of Phantom’s power. After all, they wouldn’t have asked him to join the team, otherwise. He’s strong, he can fly, and due to his supernatural nature, he’s amazing on recon and stealth missions. He’s also incredibly reliable, and smarter than most people give him credit for. He’s a natural hero, a more snarky Captain Marvel, some news outlets have been saying. Always saving people with just the right words to say, with a humble smile on his face. 

Phantom, with all of his power, seemed untouchable in every definition of the word. 

And then they got invaded by Darkseid. 

It wasn’t the first time Darkseid had invaded Earth, but it was the first time bringing armies so large, the first time he’s attacked all over the world to spread the League thin. It is single handedly the worst alien invasion Earth has ever had. 

Batman, bleeding out on the sidewalk, Wonder Woman knocked unconscious and restrained by a nearly egregious amount of henchmen, Superman, weak from the kryptonite Darkseid had shot him with. Thankfully it had missed all the important bits, but with that bullet inside of him, Superman was also down for the count, as well as dozens of other League members. 

If it hadn’t been for Phantom, they would have lost. 

Phantom, who’s never been seen without a smile on his face until now. Phantom, who’s never had so much as a scratch on him, until now. Phantom, who has only ever been known to be kind and compassionate, even to his villains, until now. 

Usually there’s this sort of warm, comforting feeling that radiates from Phantom. It feels like a nice breeze on a warm summer’s day, a nice cup of hot cocoa, your favorite song. It’s a feeling of safety, as if everything will be alright just because he’s there. 

Here, though, something else, something much stronger, is radiating from him. It practically rolls off of him in huge waves, making those conscious around him more aggravated, more on edge.

Phantom pulls himself off of the ground. His suit is torn, and his green blood splattered on himself and the ground. He spits a glob of it out, along with a tooth. 

“Still, you stand,” Darkseid says, as if tired. “Do you not tire in the face of your own demise?”

“As long as I’m still standing, you won’t ever win,” Phantom says. His voice is low and threatening, reverberating eerily off of the broken infrastructure that surrounds them. It sends a chill down everybody’s spines, though if Darkseid is affected, he doesn’t show it. 

“Your comrades have fallen, your militaries have failed, and you have no other help arriving. Pray tell how one singular human will be able to take me down!” 

Phantom doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he walks forward so that his friends are behind him, and braces himself. Darkseid, unable to contain his own hubris, lets Phantom come closer. 

Phantom takes in a deep breath, as if he’s about to speak.  

Instead he wails. 

Any remaining glass shatters, raining down upon them as green sound waves push back the offending forces. 

And it’s loud, of course. The ears of Darkseid’s minions are bleeding, and many of them are either dying because it’s too much for them to bear, or they’re killing themselves to give themselves some modicum of relief. But it’s also more than that, more than noise. 

It’s mourning. 

The first feeling that overwhelms everyone is anger. Phantom’s anger at Darkseid, at the destruction, at the fact that he just can’t catch a fucking break and it’s not fair. The second, is the sadness. It weighs down upon their shoulders, suffocating them like smog. It invades every part of their being-their lungs, their joints, their very hearts-and it presses and presses and presses until there’s very nearly nothing left. 

Phantom still pushes on. He is nothing if not persistent, driven to fight, driven to protect his people, his team, his friends, his family. No mortal being could ever hope to have a lung capacity like this, but Phantom is no normal mortal, and Darkseid is finally starting to come to terms with that. 

The last wave of overwhelming emotion is more of an idea than it is an actual feeling. It’s not a threat, per se, but a promise. A promise to do everything in his power to destroy Darkseid and his forces permanently and with prejudice. A promise that no matter how hard Darkseid fights, he will not win. 

A promise that, if knocked down, Phantom will stand back up, and he will not lose. 

Eventually, after what feels like eternity, the wail dies down. There isn’t a single member of Darkseid’s army that’s still on their feet or in the air. Phantom collapses down to one knee, and bright, white rings flicker around his person for just a moment, before he wills them away and stands back up. 

It’s less walking towards Darkseid, and more stalking. They are not on equal footing. Phantom is the predator in every sense of the word, his anger and grief still radiating off of his body in ways that Darkseid is unable to comprehend. 

“Do you yield?” Phantom asks. His eyes are blazing green, burning into Darkseid’s very soul. It is a sort of animalistic, primal instinct deep within him that tells him, run, run as fast as you can. Darkseid’s hubris, however, remains unmatched. 

Even as he stares Death in the eye. 

“I do not,” Darkseid says. He tries to get to his feet, but his body won’t listen, still weighed down by the effects of Phantom’s wail. 

“Then as Phantom, King of the Dead, I hereby condemn you for the rest of your afterlife.”

“Don’t count your eggs yet, boy,” Darkseid spits. “I’m still alive.”

“No,” Phantom says, in a tone adjacent to someone who’s giving their condolences, “You’re not.”

Phantom gestures beside them, and Darkseid spares a glance and sees…Himself. 

His corpse is splayed on the ground, blood spurting out of his ears, nose, and eyes. He stares lifelessly up at the sky. The blood is still leaking down the sides of his face. 

“You’re dead now, Darkseid, and therefore under my jurisdiction. Due to your extensive list of crimes you will not receive a hearing, just your eternal damnation for the sins you’ve committed.”

Phantom waves his hand, and green chains and manacles appear on Darkseid’s wrists and ankles before he’s dusted out of existence, sent to his eternal punishment in another dimension. 

As soon as he’s gone, Phantom collapses to his knees. 

He’s not sure how long he’s there, sitting in the blood of those he’s killed, before Wonder Woman comes over. She’s covered in gashes and bruises and blood that isn’t hers, but she still stands tall and proud. A battle won is a reason for celebration, after all. 

He glances behind her, sees Superman taking Batman into his arms and flying off. 

Diana doesn’t ask him questions about how he’s feeling. A victory is a victory, sure, but not without its price. 

Instead, she holds out her hand. Danny grasps it, and allows her to help him to his feet. 

“As long as you can stand, you can win,” Diana says. “I think I’ll have to use that for my next big speech.”

“By all means,” Phantom tells her. “Just be sure to credit me.”

“Deal.”

[ventique18]

???: "Now now, Malleus. You're turning up the tension a bit too much. You'll scare off everyone."

Lilia: "Boo!"

Grim falls over from shock!

Lilia: "Wahaha!! Long time no see, all of you. Are you doing well?"

Grim: "Lilia! Don't scare us like that!"

Malleus: "Lilia, were you too excited to even regard me? ... Come here."

Malleus: "... Everything that happened was because of my own shortcomings. Words fail to express how deeply regretful I am for the trouble I've caused everyone."

"Please accept my sincerest apologies, from the bottom of my heart."

"To the people of the International Council of Magic, The Land of Dawn, Sage's Island, The Island of Woe, Briar Valley... And of course, to the gentlemen of Night Raven College."

"I am deeply grateful to your generosity for giving someone like me, as flawed as I am, a chance to learn from my mistakes."

"In order to meet your expectations, I shall never forget to reflect upon myself, and do my utmost to never repeat the same mistakes."

"And finally..."

"Silver, Sebek. Come forward."

Both: "Yes, sir..!"

"The fact that I can spend this moment with the people I love, like this,

"Was because you two had the courage to stand up to me."

"When a king loses his way, those who do not fear him and seek to tell him right from wrong are those who are truly loyal... is what Her Majesty the Queen said."

"For your loyalty and for everything you've done, I shall bestow upon you a gift."

Ohhh! He formally gave them their knight's armor!! Apparently they were supposedly destroyed in battle, but Malleus had them specially repaired for them. He wasn't able to retain the high-tech stuff inlaid by the STYX people though LMAOOO.

So then Lilia makes a joke about how Mystium is so precious in this day and age that if Sebek and Silver melted their armors, they'd sell it for enough to build a mansion or two. They have emergency savings now!

Sebek and Silver screamed that they will never do that LMAOOOO.

Malleus: "And one more thing."

"On behalf of Her Majesty the Queen Maleficia, I formally bestow upon you the title of Knights of Briar Valley."

[chaoslifeforme]

The blurb shared is fascinating. It's like I felt what Davrin and the creature did.

Tag to anyone seeing this that's not already tagged and gets an idea from any part of this post.

I originally did think of how it fits my Rooks (especially Veryl), and I may write a little something about them... someday, maybe. However it's Davrin week, so I hope it's okay if I just talk about how fitting the lyric is for in game Davrin.

Major Spoilers for the game of course:

"I'm prepared to sacrifice my life, I would gladly dot it twice"- from the song "Mercy" by Shawn Mendes. Even from the most general look, the preparedness asserted in the lyric is a third of the wardens motto. "In Death Sacrifice" say the wardens, reminding themselves in every refrain of what they are working towards. The song repeats it too. The singer and the wardens drill this idea of their own mortality being a tool to maintain their nobility. No one shows this better than Davrin.

Davrin needs a specific purpose. The wardens gave him that and he's itching to give back not just to the wardens but also to the world. Even when he becomes more disillusioned with the wardens later in the game he's still embodying that core belief. The moral checkmate of being so certain of your cause that you are willing to die for it. Davrin literally tries to die for it at least twice in game. Three times if he leads the distraction team. (You know what they say, third time's the charm... ouch, we cry).

The first time where Davrin tries to save everyone at the expense of himself in game is at Weisshaupt. He has a banter with whatever companion Rook brought with them about how ready, "prepared" he is to do the right thing. We can't really argue it's the wrong thing to do, because it seems the only way anyone left survives. He nominates himself to lose everything to save everyone, since there's no way out. The noblest of sacrifices. A purely good motive of trying to save not only the remaining wardens, but also the whole world. There is truly no better way to go. Even if the sacrifice cuts deep and he tears up about leaving Assan, he is fulfilling his purpose.

Davrin is also a man who watched the symbol of the purpose he dedicated his life to (Weisshaupt) being destroyed and overrun by the very forces it's meant to stand against. He's lost most of those sworn to work with him. How many of his friends do we think we arrived just in time to watch die? How many of the bodies we ran past were people with whom he argued about who would die so the rest could live? How many demoralizing losses can one man take in the span of minutes/hours? Of course, he would gladly give up this pain. All he has to do is lose a little more and it'll all be over. The world will be slightly better off, and the pain of grief will not be his burden for much longer.

And then the First Warden shows up, and maybe he won't have to lose anymore. Maybe he gets to raise Assan. Maybe Davrin will have to mourn more than just the symbol of his purpose. Except Ghilanain intervenes.

He will actually have to do it, unshed tears in his eyes, sword in his hand, and resolve in his heart. Years of training that built his capabilities and solidified his certainty about his purpose, all leading to this moment. This is what it was all for.

We could count this as the second time he's "prepared to sacrifice his life", say he's already proven he "would gladly do it twice". However, I am counting Weisshaupt as one for my sanity's sake.

So when things don't go to plan when he's still here after all that he's shocked, betrayed, lost and many other understandable emotions. How is he suppose to go on when the fortress, the physical representation of his purpose couldn't. How can one person grieve so many lost? How could Davrin have failed to make the noble sacrifice? It was not supposed to go this way. Was he somehow not noble enough? Something went wrong with his sacrifice. He has to fix it.

And Rook talks him out of that, reminds him he's still needed for Assan. One conversation sure can't fix everything, but he keeps trying. For Assan, for Rook, for all his lost friends.

When another archdemon shows up, this is Davrin's chance to fix it. To fulfill his purpose, to give everything and save everyone. He starts preparing in obvious and physical ways, like working out with Taash, but also in less obvious ways. After Blood in Arlathan, we get the first outing that does not have the excuse of being for Assan. It's just two friends drinking magic/drug tea. He says it's because of Antoine, but what if this is a way to ensure Rook has good memories of him? Or a reminder to Davrin that he's sacrificing more than just time with Assan, he's also losing time with Rook. A way to get as much as he can from life before he goes, for real this time. Something went wrong when he killed Ghilanain's archdemon, but it won't happen again. It will go right this time.

As glad as he is to be filling his purpose, he's also more aware of what he's losing. Weisshaupt was unexpected chaos. The strike against Elgarnan is planned, he can actually appreciate the time before he goes. Once the griffins are rescued, he even tries to see if Assan will leave to join his family. An example of being willing to make slightly smaller sacrifices on Davrin's part. It's also one that could make his later larger sacrifice easier.

Those are the two times where Davrin tries to sacrifice his life for certain in game. He's truly "prepared to sacrifice" his life and he does "gladly do it twice", at least. Without counting the choice. He's a perfect martyr but also a really complex character and I can't stop trying to give him the chance to learn to live without the goal of sacrifice. To live for himself, to build more of his own purpose which we only get to start to see in game.

Thursday Bangers!!

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

This week we are going a little Warden flavored with our lyric for the upcoming Davrin Week hosted by @datvcompanionweeks. Please consider contributing to their amazing projects even if it's simply be reblogging or reading a work.

Of course your offering doesn't have to be Davrin flavored but you guessed it... mine will be!

I'm prepared to sacrifice my life I would gladly do it twice - Mercy by Shawn Mendes

No pressure tagging @himluv @thedissonantverses @mythals-whore @serensama @whispersleo @tarasmom @hedwigoprah @becausedragonage @kindlyfeline @davrinsleftpectoral @fenrelmercar @plasticfreckles @kai-dimir @teamtakagi @a-mumbling-nerd @fiberpunk027 @larknnightingale @jenn2d2 @hyperions-light @tkwritesdumbassassins @feelslikepants @trash-nerd @cute-ellyna @brennacedria @lottiesnotebook @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @operative-arrow @librivore42 @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @fireheartedpup @mikylechase @bonesandivy @vime5 @notyourmamasdeerbat @griffongrey @master-of-the-elements @chaoslifeforme @carrieing0n @lotusrhys @serstolas @beachhotdog

And if you are reading this...

You

Reminder if you want to be added/removed from the weekly tag list just let me know. Also please tag me when you post your bangers I love to read and share them (though I also browse the tag)

Davrin has never known what it's like to lose. To feel helpless. But as the beast pins him beneath its mass of fur and muscle, for the first time he feels true fear tingle up his spine.

But there is hope as he spies the glint of his sword just outside his reach. Knocked from his grasp by the monster's fierce tackle. And he debates if he can grab for it faster than the wolf can react. Before teeth can tear muscle from bone and his life will end in a final pitiful cry.

Not that he is afraid to die. Wardens are meant for this purpose. Prepared to sacrifice their life. He would gladly die, twice even, if it meant slaying the danger threatening his forest.

There's a split second where he hesitates. His eyes meet the violet irises of the beast’s, and he's transfixed on their glow. Something familiar, akin to recognition between them, stays his hand. A warmth that starts deep in the pit of his stomach and spreads throughout his limbs. And he finds himself unwilling to move despite the hold on him loosening.

Maybe it's madness. He's heard of the Taint consuming hunters in time, though most die well before those years come. But whatever it is, it seems to have seized the creature as well.

His brow furrows in confusion as the weight shifts off him as the wolf leans back on its haunches. Head tilting in an almost intelligent way. As if it is debating his existence. As if it now contemplates further harm.

He knows he should grab his weapon and strike the killing blow, but he simply sits up and watches. Both of them staring, waiting for the other to make a move. Until the beast bows its head in a sign of acceptance. And for a moment, a foolish desire so strong seizes him that it takes everything in him to fight it down. His hands tingle to reach out and touch. To run his fingers through the brilliant white fur. To make a connection that he knows will alter his life forever.

There's a small eternity as they silently sit there together. Until some unspoken thing seems to pass between them. When the very air seems to shift. A gasp escaping him as the monster begins to transform.

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 3 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking. ( need to edit this later because I'm exhausted right now)

word count: 3.5k

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If the intruder had made another noise then hadn’t been able to hear it. Not over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Dread washed over you, the blood in your veins turning to ice as you were struck with a sudden realization: 

Either you fought for your life, here and now. . . or you died. 

Your throat locked up, and suddenly you found yourself unable to say anything at all. Shouldn’t you be screaming like a madwoman? Had he seen you undress for the night? Had he been lurking in a corner or a closet as your attendants had run your bath? Was everybody in on this? 

Every nervous smile and antsy movement came rushing back to you. Betrayal slapped you in the face so hard that it stunned you back into motion. 

The knife that you had hidden away in your room after breakfast was shorter than you would have liked- minimal reach, meaning you’d have to get up close to the attacker. Still, you somehow managed to kick the sheets off of you in order to lurch to the side before he was able to brandish his own blade. You heard it cut through the air, the loud tearing of the pillow where your head had just been perched a millisecond ago echoed through the pitch black room. 

You moved towards the door, bare feet against ice cold marble, and finally began to open your mouth to scream for whatever guards were sure to be stationed near the guest quarters. 

“I wouldn’t bother,” The man’s voice sneered, a smile evident in his voice. “No one will save you.” 

There it was. The truth. 

Everyone hated you, but you already knew as much. There was very little you could do in your nightdress- no way you could properly fend off an attacker without any shoes on your feet. Even worse, you had no shield. 

“Why are you doing this?” You questioned, raising the knife so that you were holding it defensively in front of you. You hated how pathetic you sounded with your voice shaking like that. Still, your hands held strong. 

Under immense trauma and stress like this your body had gone into autopilot. Again and again your training has been hammered into you. You must remain calm. Act with surety. 

Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. 

You waited, listening to see if he was getting close to you. The bed creaked, the attacker stepping into a single ray of silver light that had escaped through the blinds.

 It was a guard. 

So this was planned. You should have known enough. You would have thought that Feyd would have been the one to orchestrate the whole thing, but his earlier warning had made it clear to you that he hadn’t wanted you to perish. At least not like this. 

He didn’t say anything else to you before his arm came barrelling down. You stepped to the side, almost tripping over the fabric of your dress in your panic. The cutter blade struck the wall behind you, and in the man’s blind fury he left his side completely defenseless. You surged forward, the knife tightly clutched in your hand, and brought it down hard on his arm. He cried out, the sound nearly deafening you as it echoed off of the empty walls. 

“You bitch!” His weapon clung against the ground. 

Still, his uninjured arm struck against the side of your face. The world tilted beneath you as you stumbled backwards, your spine cracking against the dresser drawer as your knees buckled beneath you. Pain. It felt like he had just drilled a hole clean into the side of your face. No one had ever landed a blow to you like that. The guard took advantage of your stunned state, moving forward so that he could wrap his meaty hands around your throat. 

You needed to use the Voice. He had to stop. . . but his hands were squeezing too tightly. Your lips moved but little more than fearful croaks escaped you. Tears pooled in your eyes at the pressure, at the pain, at the fucking fear that was threatening to swallow you up whole, whole, whole until you were nothing. Your nails scrapped against any bit of skin that you could find. He hissed in pain, using the weight of your own body against you as he slammed you against the dresser where he currently had you pinned. 

You kicked out your legs, desperately trying to find a foothold so that you could wrench yourself upwards. If you were in pants then you might have been able to save yourself, but your bare feet slid out against the loose fabric pooled underneath you. The man had struck when you had been most vulnerable. He was killing you. 

Your eyes widened, the tears finally spilling past the thick wall of your lower lashes. He was killing you. He was killing you. He was killing you. 

With the ringing filling your ears, you hadn’t heard the commotion outside of your door. Only when it slammed open, light from the hall flooding in, did you realize that someone had been alerted. The hands around your throat loosened just enough for you to take a deep, wheezing breath in. 

“Help me.” But you couldn’t reach the correct frequency, not when your vocal cords were so damaged. 

Still, with bleary eyes you stared up at whoever’s large form filled the doorway. Begging them to save you. 

And so they did. 

The world just fell away, like ink on wet paper- it all bled around him. All sound and sight ebbed away, the only thing visible in his rage being your tear filled eyes. Feyd had seen looks of pure terror on the faces of men he had bested countless times before. It never meant much to him. The lives he had taken never weighed heavy on his shoulders. He never cared much for anything aside from his own ambitions. He had goals- found minor joy in sharpening his mind and his blades. 

 He had carried his memories of you from childhood with him into adulthood, each glance and nervous smile acted as a balm that soothed any future traumas or worries. He knew that one day he would be standing exactly where he was right then, with you within arms length. 

This wasn’t what he had pictured throughout the years though. Nothing could have prepared him for what he was currently witnessing. 

Women bled the same as men did. He never felt overly-noble when it came to protecting them, no matter how weak or frail they looked. Feyd understood that it was survival of the fittest. People lost their lives every day in much crueler ways than suffocation. . . 

But the guard had his hands around your throat, and in that moment Feyd no longer saw the proud woman that had managed to nearly knock him off of his feet earlier. No, in that moment you looked just like that six year old little girl he had always cared for so dearly. You looked exactly how he had left you- scared, fragile and innocent. 

Feyd-Rautha wasn’t quite sure what love was, but he could imagine that it must be what he felt for you. Losing you was an impossibility, he’d never let it happen. He couldn’t. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

An eerie sort of calm befell the room, the only sounds being your shaky breaths as you tried to fill your aching lungs with air. The guard didn’t answer him, only stared with fearful eyes up at the Na-Baron. He was looking Death right in the face. 

“Was it your idea to attack her in the middle of the night like this?” Feyd took another step into the room, which had the guard scooting back awkwardly on his knees. “You were going to kill her in the dark like she was no better than an animal.” 

He hadn’t even been brave enough to face you with the lights on. 

Feyd, without turning around, used his foot to close the door behind him. Once again the room plummeted into pitch black darkness. There was a shuffling sound in front of him, the man trying to get to his feet as fast as he could to put some distance between the two of them, but it was too late. Feyd followed the source of the noise and reached out, grabbing the man around the stomach before sinking his blade deep into his neck. A sick wet gurgling noise caused you to let out a small cry. Still, the blue eyed man wouldn’t be offput by your disgust. 

He had to pay for what he did to you. 

And so he dislodged the knife easily, the sharp blade gliding through muscle and skin, and then stabbed again. And again. And again. The guard moaned in pain, trying his hardest to buck and fight Feyd off of him. Even when the man’s legs gave out from under him Feyd followed him, falling to his knees so that he could continue his ruthless assault. 

The Na-Baron grit his teeth, eyes wide as his knife continued to find purchase in the corpse beneath him. The bastard had caused you to suffer. He had hurt you. Feyd didn’t stop there either. He stood up and made his way out into the hallway. 

The rage had made a home somewhere deep in his chest. He didn’t know what to do with so much anger. He needed. . . he needed to make everyone atone for what they had done to you. Did they think that he would approve of their lame assassination attempt? 

“You heard everything and did nothing!” He screamed out at the other guards who stood in the hallway. 

His hands were coated in blood, his black shirt and night pants soaked through, clinging to his skin. All they could do was watch him, unable to say anything at all. Feyd knew that they could not deny his claims. They had all been in on this from the start. 

And so he raised his blade again and did not stop until every man in the hallway was long-dead. 

Not a word had been said since the incident. You didn’t even complain when Feyd had all but dragged you through the halls, rather you followed him as emotionless as a doll. The blood of the fallen marred your arms and crisp white nightdress. It was as if your body had gone into auto pilot. Your mind was lost to you, as you felt as though you were floating off somewhere far away. You no longer existed at all. 

You were just a hollow shell now, in a state of shock that had you shutting down completely. 

Where was he taking you? You didn’t know, nor did you particularly care anymore. 

The guard’s final breaths had sounded wet, probably due to the blood in his lungs. The blade hitting bone. His moans of pain. Those sounds still echoed in your ears, and you were positive that you’d never be able to get them out of your head. 

You’d never witnessed anything like that in all of your life. Someone had been killed mere feet away from you. And yet you weren’t sorry for him. You searched yourself for even an inkling of pity and came up short. The bastard got what he deserved. 

“Why did you have to do that in front of me?” You managed to mumble out. 

Tonight would soon become a memory that would never abandon you. Even in old age you were certain that you would be able to recall every gut wrenching detail of tonights events. When the door leading out to the doorway had opened and illuminated the room, Feyd’s sins had been revealed in full to you. 

The guard was unrecognizable. He no longer looked human to you, his insides turned out. Your betrothed had quite literally gutted your attacker in front of you. 

Your bare feet tracked blood on the floors, the long skirts of your nightgown soaked with another man’s blood. 

“I killed him for you. I wanted you to experience every moment of retribution.” He didn’t turn around to face you as he spoke. Instead he kept his eyes on the hallway, the pupils of his pale blue eyes blown out wide. 

You cast a look down at the hand that was holding your arm in a vice-like grip. He was shaking. It was almost as though he could feel your eyes on his hand. His trembling fingers dug into your soft skin. 

Feyd released you once the two of you were alone in a room together, closing the door behind him and locking it for good measure. You stood there, motionless as you followed the line of his jaw with your eyes. The muscle there ticked a few times as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. He was still agitated, you could tell. 

“You’re starting to bruise.” He motioned towards his own neck. 

Your hand flew up to your throat, poking at the tender skin. It felt hot under your touch- sore too. It would serve as a reminder of how close you had come to death. Tonight you felt nothing. . . but what about tomorrow? Would you ever be able to sleep again? 

“How did you know that I was being attacked?” Your suspicion was beginning to build back up again. There were just too many coincidences. 

“You think I had something to do with this?” He sounded agitated. There was no hint of his usual sarcastic lilt in his tone. 

You’d never seen Feyd like this before. He actually seemed. . . offended but your gentle accusation. 

“You can’t answer my question with yet another question. How did you know I was being attacked?” You might have been in a state of immense shock but you still had some wits about you. 

You were locked in a room with a murderer, and the possibility that he had a hand in your assassination attempt was high. Once again you found yourself utterly defenseless. If he tried to attack you now there was no way that you’d be able to defend yourself. Not only that but your throat was wrecked. You could barely talk at the current moment, meaning you couldn’t even depend on the Voice if you needed to. You were as helpless as a child in the wake of Feyd’s power. 

“I see you in my dreams sometimes.” 

Anyone else would have called him insane, but you were used to Paul’s dreams. They’d been getting even more vivid as he aged. So Feyd had a dream that you were in danger? You found it difficult to believe that he would go out of his way to come to your rescue. Still, here he was. 

“Is that why you warned me today at breakfast?” The pieces were finally beginning to fall into place. He’d known something was going to happen since last night. 

“Yes,” He tilted his head, seemingly deep in thought. “Something told me to go and see you.” 

You didn’t have it in yourself to question him further. You’d have to be satisfied with his answers. What you really wanted was a bath and a fresh change of clothes. One last look at your soiled clothes had your nose wrinkling in disgust. The smell of blood was thick in your nose- so strong that the iron scent almost smelled sweet. You gagged outwardly, putting your hands on your knees as you suddenly dry heaved. 

“You realize that he couldn’t be left alive after what he had done, don’t you?” 

Of course you did. That didn’t make it any better though. Your fingers stuck together, caked in blood, as you balled them into fists at your sides. 

“Bath.” Was all you said, already looking around the room that you assumed was his living quarters for any sign of a tub. 

He didn’t make any complaints as you closed the bathroom door behind yourself. Feyd gave you the time to process everything, didn’t knock on the door even once as the minutes ticked by. You stayed in the water until your fingers pruned and rubbed your skin until it was raw. Blood was everywhere. Under your nails, between your toes- it had even soaked through your dress and now caked your lower legs and thighs. 

You threw on a thin cotton robe you found neatly folded on a small towel rack, tying it tightly around your waist before you built up the courage to face your fiance again. 

“Take me back to my room.” You were eager to fall asleep. 

You’d been through too much. The thought of having to be conscious was tiring in itself. If you could close your eyes and sleep for the next ten years then you would. 

You missed your home. You missed your parents and Paul. You missed stability and security. Your life felt lost to you now. 

“This is your room now.” He was laying on the bed, already in a change of clothes. He seemingly took a bath himself while you had locked yourself away. There was no trace of gore left on him now. 

Your mouth went dry, palms pooling with sweat. Surely you were understanding him incorrectly. 

“You can’t expect me to sleep in the same room with you. We aren’t married.” There was absolutely no way your parents would approve of something like this. 

“I don’t trust anyone besides myself with your safety.” 

You didn’t trust anyone. Especially not Feyd. 

“Why should I be expected to sleep with you? I don’t feel comfortable-” 

“I will kill anyone that lays a finger on you again. Let that pile of bodies act as a warning to anyone else that tries. That’s why you should be expected to stay here with me. Get in the bed.” He seemed tired. Aggitated. 

“No.” You held strong. Never in your life had you slept in the same room as a man, let alone someone like Feyd-Rautha. He’d sooner kill you in your sleep then anyone else would. 

“Come here.” His tone caused you to jump. 

You had to bite your tongue as you approached him, sitting down awkwardly on the bed before you finally succumbed to his wishes. The bed was softer than your own, which you immediately envied. The soft mattress enveloped you, and all at once the tiredness you hadn’t felt until then finally sank in. 

You didn’t put up much more of a fight. Your eyes were beginning to close on their own accord. Feyd was watching you, turned on his side so that he could get a better look at you. It was then, for the first time ever, that you fully noted how beautiful he was. Up close like this he was even more striking. Blue eyes, full lips and pale, flawless skin. 

One thing that went unnoticed by you was the fact that Feyd didn’t turn the lights off. 

Without having to ask. . . he didn’t turn the lights off. 

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[fictionalmenmistress]

I haven't seen anyone else talk about it, so I wanted to share that Logan's rant monologue insulting Wade in the Honda Odyssey, before Wade decides to beat him up and they ~fight~ all night... that so clearly to me, was Logan projecting. It started as a tempered rant to cope with how annoyed and pent up he was, with the heat of everything and with Wade's muchness that makes him, him, but the longer he went on, the more he started ranting and exposing himself in the process.

"THE XMEN REJECTED YOU, AND THEY'LL TAKE FUCKING ANYONE!!!" That was my first hit, that he was referring to himself. He sees himself so lowly, so failed, that's canonical to the film. And canonically, he didn't even quite originally feel worthy or want to be with the XMEN. Didn't feel like there was a place for him there, a place for him anywhere. One of his biggest healings was Professor X not giving up on helping him believe that he deserved to be there, was wanted, was worthy, was a good guy. That's canon to his character. So we know he was speaking about himself. He was chewing Wade out, but he was also talking and focusing moreso on what upset him about himself. (He sees himself as just any jo shmo, when he IS literally THE X MAN ㅠㅠ)

He was seeing himself in Wade, how he "can't even save a relationship with a gd stripper", (he sees himself as not able to save anything either, and he's angry for that more than anything else he's angry or annoyed at) projecting SO HARD as he pieced together saying it out loud, that Wade was exactly like him. Logan hated himself for not saving anything. For being a "loser", a "failure", for all of the same reasons he was lashing out at Wade for. He was so angry and annoyed by Wade reminding him of himself, because he related to him. Wade was his reflection, in his eyes, calling him out so loudly with his own behaviors. And he hated himself. He deeply was suffering with that hatred for himself, and as a result, he lashed out on Wade when really he was chewing out himself, inside, admitting it.

"God's CRUELEST JOKE, IS THAT YOU *WONT* DIE ALONE. BECAUSE YOU! CANT! DIE! SO THE REST OF US HAVE TO SUFFER YOU THE REST OF OUR EXISTENCE!" (something along that.)

He didn't know for sure that Wade can't die. He picked up on that Wade can't be killed. Logan is the one who can't die. They are two flipped sides of the same immortal power coin. When he finished his screaming at him, and everyone was silent at how cruel and shocking the confrontation and his words were, I was sinking with a very empathetically whispered "oh, Logan..." Because I felt his misery. I immediately picked up on him really talking about himself, and I think that was genius and layered. I was upset for how awful that was to say to Wade, heartbroken for Wade taking that to heart, and I was heartbroken that Logan was saying that because he believes that about himself. Because they are, oddly, a lot alike. Very compatible.

This scene here:

I read that Hugh said that Ryan wrote that. He's brilliant with these films. It was so genius. I really needed to share this and bring this thought, meta, analysis to light. For all of us to have.

Is Logan mad at God's "cruel joke" of his immortality, yet ability to feel so much pain through it still? Yes. He punched the roof in rage, because it's not fair. Venting his own pain. He sees his powers, his own and Wade's too, empathetically, as their curse. The curse of being the one who lives, and the guilt with that. The one who can't die. The one who lives, who is forced to live, while everyone who "deserves to live" dies. And WILL die, around them.

"And You can't die. That's on all of US!" Logan says, clearly referring to himself living forever... And "us" being the people HE loved. He saw himself as a burden for existing with them, for them. He deflected that onto Wade, as if the people in Wade's life must feel that way too, but didn't really mean that. He meant it about himself. Logan believes he was a burden on the people he loves, the people he lost. That's probably why he left too, and didn't come back when they called out for him to. He distanced himself to protect them, and protect himself from that fear of rejection that he feels is so imminent, and them not having him, is the one element that led to none of them surviving without him. He was always the key. He was always wanted, and he was always important and needed. He just couldn't ever believe that.

Man, that's why it became so personal for Logan too, when he was shown Wade's photograph of his family. Because HE had a family, and he would do anything now to save them. Just like Wade. He held that photograph all night, he went and got it when it fell out of the car, he kept looking at it. It became personal for him, when he identified with it. That Honda scene really was their turning point of everything. That's when Logan cared with everything. He got it. Wade is the him he couldn't be. But now he can.

I dropped some heat with this one.

Extra little personal context/thought notes: Maybe I just spotted it because I have a natural knack for psychology, I'm hyperobservant, highly empathetic and deeply feeling, and I'm also years experienced of my parents and whole family treating me the same exact toxic lashout way almost every other day. That's a workweek for me to see through toxic lashout anger BS. These are not my gifs!!! They were created by another amazing account. I will refind their @ and tag them!! >>> It's @landoslastnerve ! Thank you friend! 🤍

Also wanted to include someone's tags from those gifs:

.

[sunderwight]

SV fic where Shen Yuan transmigrates into the former sect leader, Yue Qingyuan's shizun, right before Yue Qi shows up at the selection trials.

Shen Yuan is not sure why he's in one of his all-time hate-reads, let alone why he's gone so far back before the story actually begins (his system appears to be malfunctioning? something about an error and emergency backup...?), but he's making the most of it. This despite the fact that being a sect leader is a much more prestigious and political role than he likes.

But Shen Yuan is, at heart, actually a pretty good teacher, and he's spent enough time witnessing administrative work secondhand that he can competently tackle most of his duties. Whatever he can't handle, luckily there are other masters on Qiong Ding who always seem eager to curry favor by volunteering at the least hint that they should. Apparently his predecessor was known for being kind of cold-blooded and ruthless. (Shen Yuan gets checked for possession and it's concluded behind his back that he most have lost some of his memories, again, but also everyone kinda prefers this version anyway, again.)

But, so, he picks Yue Qi at the trials without even realizing at first who he's selecting, but just because that kid seems really determined to get in and clearly has been through it. Reminds him of Luo Binghe. Even when he puts it all together, all he feels mostly is kind of bad about it? He never thought Yue Qingyuan was sufficiently villainous to merit his end, even though he didn't blame Binghe for it either. He was always a mystery, an apparently kind person who nevertheless had some inexplicable fondness for the scum villain, turned a blind eye towards his abuses, and got dragged down with him. Shen Yuan feels even worse when he actually gets to know his solemn, smiling, secretive little disciple.

Yue Qi is very determined to advance, and as quickly as possible. Shen Yuan admonishes him. Obviously this kid has a protagonist-like aura and a similar drive to get places quickly, but you can't speedrun your disciple era, Mr. Future Sect Leader! There's no montage mode! Most of his attempts at intervening meet a brick wall that is Yue Qi's impenetrable smile and polite deference if he even hints at displeasure (this kid's gonna make a great politician one day), but Shen Yuan changes tactics and starts manufacturing excuses for breaks, taking Yue Qi on him with trips off the mountain and finding reasons to stop at local festivals and hot springs and etc. He can tell something's off with the quality of frustration that his disciple sometimes expresses, with how there's fear to it, but he's at a loss for the cause and it's difficult to get Yue Qi to talk. Despite appearances, he's actually very distrustful of adults.

When Yue Qi asks to claim his sword early, Shen Yuan says no. He remember how reputedly powerful Xuan Su was, and his disciple definitely needs a stronger base if he's going to pull a sword of that caliber. But he suspects this won't go over well, and when he catches Yue Qi sneaking off to Wan Jian Peak on his own, his disciple finally breaks down and admits that he needs to get strong in order to save his most important person.

Shen Yuan is moved. The way Yue Qi speaks, he's certain this person is a young maiden whom his student has fallen in love with. Truly, the sect leader was so very similar to Luo Binghe at heart! He must have failed in the original story, and that contributed to his difficulties and sorrows later on. Of course Shen Yuan will help him rescue his sweetheart!

Even if his sweetheart is... surprisingly butch? And is a slave owned by the Qiu family, and, wait a second, that name is kind of familiar... oh.

Oh dear.

Shen Yuan is internally screaming even as he helps buy Xiao Jiu out of bondage, even as he gives Yue Qi money to get his newly rescued friend all cleaned up and suitably dressed for the trip back to Cang Qiong, even as he buys the boys tanghulu for a treat, even as the System cheerfully informs him that his new quest is to get Xiao Jiu accepted onto Qing Jing Peak, even as Yue Qi tears up for the first time when he thanks him for helping.

He can only get to sleep that night by consoling himself with the knowledge that his generation is going to retire well before Luo Binghe and The Plot actually show up.

The System: (〜￣▽￣)〜

5 Years Later:

Huan Hua Palace Master: Sect Leader, we need your help! A terrible Heavenly Demon has come to threaten the whole of human society!

Shen Yuan: That's not possible. He isn't even born yet.

HHP Master: What?

Shen Yuan: What?

[alexiroflife]

"trance"

fluff, slight crack, modern!sukuna, whipped & clingy sukuna, itadori family!

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: sukuna, a man who rarely attempts to keep his thoughts to himself for the sake of others, makes his infatuation with you everyone else's problem when he's high

to sum it up: sukuna's fried, and naturally all he wants is you

WC: 3,258

Warning(s): mentions/use of marijuana, suggestive themes, horny ass sukuna who has no decorum in front of his family

You know Sukuna is no better than any other man who you have caught the attention of in the past. No matter the time of day or the occasion, the salmon-haired man is quick to intrude on your personal space, invading your unsuspecting body with the wander of his large hands over your frame until you find yourself returning to the default state of being at his will.

Sukuna proudly takes ownership of his infatuation with you too. Rather shamelessly, he's got an arm wound over your shoulders and locked around your neck or hands firmly splayed on your waist, bringing yours to his and keeping you there for as long as he deems necessary.

He would never say so out loud, but it is evident by his body language and the way he strays from being more than ten feet away from you that he is attached to you at the hip. Sukuna is an aggressively clingy man, for as long as you belong to him, he is taking advantage of your closeness, of your body, of your time, mind, heart, and soul.

Even so, when Sukuna is in the proper state of mind, he still remains somewhat calm with his actions and how he presses himself to you. He will appear almost angry with affection, but silent save for a few commands to relax your body or to stop stubbornly attempting to push away when you feel crowded, though you never have any luck in that regard anyway. He is more reserved, more contained with his confrontations as though touching you is the easiest, most soothing, and most familiar thing he has ever done. Sukuna has a tendency to skillfully mask his truest emotions with a viel of apathy and air of indifference, despite how his body speaks for the things he fails to verbalize.

And now, of course, while Sukuna is not at all in any realm close to withholding a proper state of mind, or state of sobriety more accurately, his body betrays him tenfold and acts on its own will while his mind is on the backburner, hazily numbing itself with the passionate buzz of the smoke that was dragging from his lips and past his nostrils.

Sukuna often fails to take into account the appropriate time and place to engage in or say certain things, for he feels that if there is something he wants to do or discuss, no company or environment could shift his will to do so. Arrogant with pride, Sukuna operates according to his desires, and all those who know him are quite familiar with his rather inconsiderate antics.

That is why the crimson eyed man is splayed out on his brother's sofa, legs spread dangerously far apart with his arms thrown over the back of the furniture. Blurry lidded eyes stare off in a heavy daze captured solely by you, who are maneuvering about his brother's kitchen alongside Choso, who is helping you locate the baking sheet for the cookies you have been yammering on about baking all day.

You can feel his eyes burning into your skull from a mile away, and you are wildly too accostumed to this routine of his for you to pay the notion any mind. You are far too focused on your own task at hand to meet the fiery, lust consumed gaze that your boyfriend has locked onto you.

His eyes, unfathomably red, trace the outline of your figure slowly as though drinking in the sight of you, savoring it so that he can taste it on his tongue long enough for it to linger until he can get his hands on the true, physical flavor of you.

There's a darkness in the way he checks you out from across the room seated next to Wasuke, who glares angrily ahead of him with a twisted scowl at whatever channel has been randomly flicked to in the stupor of Sukuna's high. It almost feels as though the room is charging with the volcaic tension that Sukuna's body emits from its place in the living room, for his obsession with you manifests into some sort of beast before everyone's eyes when he is under the influence of weed.

And despite being surrounded by family, Sukuna can do nothing but watch you with that hungry glint in those hues of blood red, paying no mind to how easily the room can read him.

Truthfully, Sukuna does not even feel that he should be blamed for the way he is eye fucking you now. You decided upon yourself that it was a good idea to visit the Itadori home with a thick cardigan slipping down the skin of your shoulder to reveal the tank top that hugs your midsection and tits tightly, which you only vurther expose when you decide to strip the outer fabric off with complaints of being warm. Your graceful arms stretch to grab the kitchenware out of Choso's hands to set aside on the counter, your bare neck craning gently with the tilt of your head and a concentrated pinch of your brow as you mix raw ingridients into a bowl with your hands, kneading the thick pasty mixture through your soft fingers. You have to be doing this on purpose, Sukuna decides, for you are far too captivating for him to turn away

Sukuna's lashes flutter with a slow blink and the stroke of his fingers over his mouth and chin. You look practically edible standing there, the overhead light of the kitchen illuminating your frame and epmhasizing your otherwordly, enticing beauty. Of all the many ways he has come to learn he can devour your body, each scenario flitters through his fuzzy brain the longer he stares at you, his pupils expanding with possessive want.

You flicker your eyes upward momentarily when you feel a particular shift in the atmosphere, and when you do, you meet your boyfriend's piercing eyes from afar. Your brows quirk and your lips tug to the side with nervous judgment when you catch that dangerous glimmer that can only mean you will not make it out alive when the two of you end up alone.

With slightly widened eyes, you slowly turn your eyes back to the cookie dough and a curious Choso standing beside you with oil spray for the pan.

"You okay?" the twenty-one year old questions slowly and you shake your head.

"Your uncle looks like he's gonna kill me," you exhale anxiously in response. Choso looks up to find what you are referring to, and his face sours when he catches wind of Sukuna's expression.

"Freak," he mutters under his broth with the clench of his jaw, passing the spray over to you amid his sickened glower.

As if beckoning him subconsciously, the brunette watches in something akin to horror when Sukuna lifts his arms from behind him and pushes himself up gradually to his feet. He appears to move in slow motion, hands tucked into his pockets and eyes still glued permanently to you as he saunters his way into the kitchen with heavy strides.

You keep your gaze down, pretending to be entirely too occupied as the salmon haired man slips into the space directly behind you, the strong scent of weed sinking into his cologne wrapping over you. Sneakily, warm palms snake over your hips. They still there a moment, gripping experimentally before trailing around and over your stomach, opting to cling to you this way as he steps his chest to your back and curves his nose toward you cheek.

He takes in a deep breath, inhaling you graciously as his hands wander over your stomach. You feel the tip of his nose and the whisper of his lips graze your skin as he lenas himself down toward the crook of your jaw and neck. His actions are sluggish, a representation of his current state of mind, and he pulls you into his embrace as though he had been seeking so for years on end.

"Can I help you, Kuna?" you murmur, gripping a ball of dough into your palms and rolling it.

He does not say a word. Only a low grunt escapes his lips and vibrates against you, his eyes falling closed. He seems to crowd into you closer, though you are unsure of how that is possible when he already has you tucked into him so securely.

"Just stand still," his voice rumbles into you, lips pressing to your ear in a soft kiss in between his slow words. "Let me feel on you."

You grunt softly when his lips touch your cheek, veiny hands smoothing over your abdomen in gradual circles, one hand sliding back to sooth down the top of your thigh and back up again. "Sukuna," you hiss as heat pinches your body. "Stop, I'm trying to bake," you lean over to shrug away, but he's following you, chasing your lips to the side and crushing his weight down into you, pecking over your jaw.

"No one told you to stop," he murmurs. "Keep going."

You bite down on your tongue, attempting to hide how flustered you have become by Sukuna's behavior, especially in such an open space. You expect nothing less from him, and neither does his family, but hell, he never knows when to quit and it absolutely kills you.

"Leave her alone," Choso rolls his eyes, shuffling away from Sukuna's bulky figure pushing past him to get to you. "She just said she was doing something."

"Yeah, and get a god damn room!" Grandpa demands bitterling from the couch with the raise of an agitated fist.

"You're scarring your family, Sukuna," you say flatly in between the uproar of hatred toward the salmon haired man, to which he lifts his head from you briefly with a mischievous smirk snaking onto his face.

"They'll live," he grins.

"At this rate, you'll be the very thing to keep that from happening and push me closer to death," Grandpa fumes.

"One could only hope, old man."

"Eat shit."

An amused chuckle rumbles through Sukuna's chest and against your back, practically rattling your ribcage. "Can't you all be nice to each other," you sigh as Sukuna turns his focus back down to you. His arms tighten around you, his caress of your stomach over your tank top ceasing to fasten his arms around your waist and drop his forehead to your shoulder. He sways you slightly back and forth, droopy eyes glazing over at the feel of your plush body against his.

"We can't be nice if we constantly get on each other's nerves, (Y/n)," Choso says tiredly. "Or more specifically, if Sukuna pisses us off."

"But that's damn near every day," you raise your brows with a twitch of an amused smile as you proceed onto rolling the next few balls of cookie dough.

"Exactly."

You shake your head, lifting your arms slightly as Sukuna's burly arms wrap up under yours. "Your family hates you, baby," you comment slyly.

Sukuna clicks his tongue, grumbling as he shifts with you. "I don't give a fuck," he murmurs. "What perfume are you wearing?"

"I'm not wearing any perfurme," you scrunch your brows in confusion at his abrupt shift. "Why?"

"Mm," he hums. "You smell good."

"Okay," you tilt your head away when his lips peck over your neck, his teeth eventually sinking down to nip at you. You flinch. "Get off, weirdo!" a giggle slips into your demand, your face scrunching when a hand comes to cup the side of your face to refrain you from moving away from the invasion of his kisses.

"For fuck's sake," Wasuke hisses under his breath.

"Let's go," Sukuna suddenly mumbles into you.

You turn your head to peek at him over your shoulder quizzically. "What?"

"Let's go, woman," he repeats, speaking directly into your ear. "Want to taste you. Now."

"Woah," your eyes go wide as Sukuna moves to feel you up again, thick fingers brushing the hem of your tanktop and grazing over the sliver of skin beneath. "You can't just say things like that," you scold, eyes darting over the room in panic though your own body is beginning to betray you. "Behave."

"Like hell you actually want me to," you can feel him smirk as the sly words leave his mouth, and you shiver, putting aside the last ball of dough you needed to roll. "Come on, peach," he urges rather gently, tilting his head over your shoulder to find the connection of your gaze with his red eyes. You look back up at him, eyes glassy enough for Sukuna to determine that he is getting to you. "Don't be rude."

"Sukuna, you're distracting me," you groan.

"Relax," he urges, "Enough complaining and relax."

His instructions fall on your ear as though he is attempting to coax you into submission, which he has a keen tendency of doing even when he is fully coherent. "At least have the decency to wait until we go home to act like this."

"I shouldn't have to wait for something I already have."

"Around your family, you should!"

"Quit worrying about them and focus on me."

"You make it impossible not to when you hover me like this."

"Good," he kisses the back of your ear. "Now let's go."

"Later," you smile with the emphasis. "I haven't even washed my hands yet."

Sukuna stretches his arms forward from under you, cupping over your wrists from either side and guiding your hands to the left whre the sink resides as Choso busies himself with tidying up a bit. You watch your boyfriend reach to flip the faucet on, then guide your dough coated hands under the water gingerly.

You inhale sharply, ducking your head to conceal your smile as his thumbs smooth your palms clean with the addition of some soap. You can feel his chest pressing into your shoulderblades and the weighted exhales the spread through his body. His head hovers over your own, eyes turning back to admire you as he mindlessly continues to wash your hands.

"God, is that (Y/n) over there? I hope that idiot isn't clobbering the poor girl," Jin's voice speaks up from behind you all at the front door, which had swung open moments before. You all watch him and Itadori shuffle into the space, the teenager clad in his baseball practice uniform.

"He's washing her hands," Choso deadpans, turning to greet Yuji as he walks into the space. The said boy furrows his brow and looks over at the huddled pair of the two of you.

"Really? Why? That's... oddly nice of him," he tilts his head.

"No the hell it's not," Gramps chimes in from the couch, having tuned into the family conversation with the return of his son and grandson.

Sukuna ignores the comments getting thrown around about him, his mind's only sole focus being you and the way your hands trickle over with water within his own.

"All of you shut up. I'm speeding things up," Sukuna slurs, and all heads turn to him.

"Are you high?" Jin raises an unimpressed brow at his twin.

"Stay out of my business."

The living room and kitchen combined erupt into lively chatter as voices overlap one another and some argument about some sports team ensues after an argument about Sukuna's habits. The cookies long having been tucked into the oven flood the space with an intoxicating scent, and as you move around to make sure the space is tidy when you are done, Sukuna does not let go of you once. He's stuck to you, rolling his hands over your hips and kissing across your shoulder, performing rather uncharacteristically gentle as he handles you as though cherishing you in his senses' heightened yet blurred state.

The red eyed man is especially hot on your tail when you step away to the bathroom. The second you make it into the space to prepare to examine yourself in the mirror, the door is clicking shut behind you and Sukuna is making his way over with a gleam of entranced greed.

You go to press your palm forward to catch his chest before he can completely approach you, but your strength proves inefficient against Sukuna's as he pushes back against your hands, lips curved in a lazy smile.

"You need to calm down," you nod with a nervous smile, squeaking when he flies his hands downward to tightly clasp your waist and pull you into him swiftly. "Seriously! Stop looking at me like that. You're gonna get us in more trouble."

"Be quiet, gorgeous," he purrs when your body collides to his with a thud. He hums, sliding his fingers past your hair to settle on the back of your neck, his thumb clasping over the front in a soft squeezing motion. Your smile dwindles slightly as he drags your head forward, his lips parted with a toothy, satisfied beam as you melt down before him. "Give me a kiss."

"No," you breathe out as though you had been holding in air.

"Why? What's the matter with you, girl?" his sultry voice questions rather teasingly.

"It's never just a kiss with you," you whimper. "And I'm not doing anything at your family's house with all of them standing twenty feet away."

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking about them? Hm?"

You chew down on the inside of your lip, eyes flickering to Sukuna's lips. "You never listen."

"I'm listening," he murmurs, brushing his mouth against yours. "To that little heartbeat of yours racing whenever I touch you."

"Kuna," you whisper, his hand giving your neck another soft squeeze. His heavy stare envelopes you in its fuzziness, his surroundings an air of buzzing nonsense yet you are the clearest thing that appears before him, your scent, your body, your face.

"Kiss me, peach," he orders lowly again and you shiver.

"Just one kiss-"

"Mhm."

Sukuna captures your lips in his before you can even finish your sentence, his aroma wafting into you so intoxicatingly that you believe that you yourself could get high off of your boyfriend's presence.

He melts into you, smoothing his mouth over yours passionately, firmly, softly. You cling to his back, leaning backward as Sukuna pushes further into you, his hand catching the back of your head so you don't lose balance with his weight. He's lethargic and heavy, slow with the prying of your lips apart and the slip of his tongue against yours, with the tilt of your head and the generous exploration of his hands over your frame. You almost do not think he can breathe, that he is fighting off air to keep his lips connected with yours.

You release a soft moan when his sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip to drag it out, eyes peeled open slightly to watch the blissful expression of your face.

"Sukuna," you mutter his name once more, only this time, you are unsure if it is a plea or another warning.

The salmon haired man bends down to tuck an arm under your butt, wandering you over to the bathroom counter and seating you atop the granite.

He cages you beneath him with his hands planted on other side of you. "That's right," he smirks. "Keep saying my name like that"

He presses back into you, and you wonder to yourself as you succomb to his will why anyone in this house allows Sukuna to smoke around you, knowing the recurrent outcome.

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)

Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".

(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)

He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.

Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.

"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"

Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.

To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.

So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.

But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.

He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.

Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.

Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.

They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.

And it's all him.

Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.

This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.

But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.

He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.

Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.

And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.

Speaking of love, let's talk about that!

No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.

And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!

Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?

Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.

He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.

He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.

The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!

He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.

His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".

And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!

He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).

And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?

And of course, as the Bible itself says:

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

(John 15:13)

And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Too Sweet

Grumpy!Buck x Sunshine!F!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Synopsis: Based on Too Sweet by Hozier, you’re a probie at the 118. You meet Buck during a rough patch in his life. Despite the distance between you two, he comforts you after you couldn’t save someone on a particularly difficult call.

Warnings: mentions of death, depression/grief, angst, hurt/comfort, cursing

A/N: This takes place around the time of season 2, but follows canon very loosely. Thank you so much @munsonsmixtapes for reading and helping me with this fic!

You feel paralyzed, you’re hardly able to move your legs to get off of the truck. You’re stuck, standing next to the truck in your full gear and everyone moves around you. They shed their layers of equipment and talk about dinner and you feel like you could scream. But you’re stuck, feet firmly planted as if you're lost in your own head. You’re playing back in your head everything that you just witnessed, and you can’t even fathom that it had been real.

Everyone has noticed that you need space, so they don’t crowd you. They’re concerned- of course they are. But they know all too well that you need to process this like they had to. Buck hangs up his coat in his locker as he watches you, seeing how you look so lost. He shakes his head, ignoring his urge to reach out to you. You think he hates you anyways. He thinks you’re better off talking to Bobby, or Hen- hell, anyone on the team other than him.

Buck didn’t start off on the right foot with you and he has been fumbling ever since. He was abrupt, and distant. He’s sure that you thought he was just an asshole. He couldn’t bring himself to get closer to you. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint why.

Deep down he knew why, but he would never let himself acknowledge it. He was jaded- bitter after being abandoned by Abby and he’s sitting in his own self pity that he just deflects everyone away. Including you- especially you. Who just up and runs off to Ireland and doesn’t tell their boyfriend until their bags are packed? Abby apparently.

Buck had made a genuine connection. He finally felt like he was getting his act together, finally turning his life around and he feels like it was almost stolen from him. Or worse- none of it has actually been real. All the progress, everything he felt with her- that connection, was it even as real as he thought it was? Were they even still together? God, he’d been miserable and he made it everyone else’s problem lately.

When everyone settles at the table to eat dinner, Buck notices you’re the only one still not changed out of the clothes you wore on the call. Your face is still covered with grime and hair sticks to your forehead from sweat. You’re staring at the table in front of you, still completely zoned out. Buck opens his mouth, wanting to say something to you- anything. His words fail him yet again. Bobby beats him to it.

“You should go wash up,” Bobby says gently from across the table. The tone of his voice, commanding yet firm, snaps you out of your daze. You blink, like you’re coming out of a trance as you look around. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and they offer sympathetic half smiles. It enrages you even more, and you hate that you feel this way. You aren’t yourself right now, and you don’t know how to get back to that. Maybe it’s all too fresh, but you’re scared you won’t find yourself again after that.

With a nod agreeing with his suggestion, you get up without a word and head to the women’s locker room. Everyone eventually settles back into their own conversations, talking about nothing in particular while Buck can’t shake you from his mind. You’d been here for only a few months, you’d hadn’t seen the worst of this job yet and it’s breaking his heart to see you like this after months of just- he doesn’t even know how to describe it. Light? Joy? Optimism? Sunshine? Basically, everything he hasn’t been since Abby up and left. He swears he sees that same fire in you that he used to have before everything changed.

•••

The first thing Buck noticed about you was your smile. It was the first thing everyone saw. Beaming and bright eyed, you walked in that first day like you dragged the sun in behind you. With your duffel bag over your shoulder and your brand new uniform, you strolled in like you’d been there a million times before.

Abby had been gone for a couple of weeks, and Buck felt a constant tension in the back of his neck from how poorly he’d been sleeping. He hated being home, because he was reminded of how lonely home actually felt. Then when he was at work, the long stretches in between calls left him too much time with his thoughts. He was hurt, confused, and betrayed. It played on a constant loop in his mind- just seeing her suitcase and how nonchalant she was about everything.

“Hey,” you introduce yourself for the first time, extending your hand out to Buck. He’s so lost in his own self pity that he doesn’t even hear you at first. He reluctantly shakes your hand, noticing your grip is stronger than he anticipated. You ask him a question, and he misses it. He doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself. You give him the benefit of the doubt.

Everyone welcomes you with open arms, and you’re quickly whisked away on a tour before Buck even realizes that you’re gone from in front of him. Just like that, you bounced in and out of his orbit for the briefest of distractions before he’s back to his silent brooding.

He watched from a distance, hanging back the rest of the day, as everyone seemed to be captivated by you. You were so… nice. You were sweet and even tempered and personable. You weren’t what he was expecting. He didn’t expect someone like you.

He didn’t expect to be thinking about you this much.

“She’s great isn’t she?” Eddie asked, walking over to his locker and finding Buck there. Buck shrugs, not wanting to talk.

“She’s a little, um,” he takes a second to think about his words. “Delicate?”

Eddie furrows his brow, and shakes his head in confusion. “No, what are you talking about?”

“She just seems a little… I don’t know- naive, maybe? She seems a little too wide eyed for a job like this.”

“It’s her first day, don’t you think you should give her a fair chance before saying shit?”

“I’m just saying,” he says, coming off a little more defensive than he means to.

“What are you saying, Buck?”

“Is someone like that really someone we want out on a call? You need to have thick skin.”

“You aren’t sounding like yourself,” Eddie begins to say. It’s not the first time he’s wanted to talk to Buck about this. He’s been so closed off, stuck in this negative spiral and he won’t let anyone in no matter how hard they try to pull him out.

“I know you don’t know me,” they hear a voice behind them say. Buck’s eyes widened when he realized that you heard him. “I’m going to carry my weight here, and I passed the same test as everyone else. I know what I signed up for. I appreciate your concern for your team but I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t up to the task.”

He knew he fucked up.

•••

You scrubbed your skin until it felt raw, and you stood under the hot water of the shower until you couldn’t physically stand it. No matter how hard you tried, you felt like you couldn’t wash it all away- you couldn’t get clean enough. The feeling of it all still lingered on your skin as you let the harsh stream run over you.

You’d changed into fresh clothes- another LAFD shirt and a pair of your sweatpants when you reemerged to join the group in the break room. Your hair was still wet from the shower and it was leaving a large water stain on the back of your shirt, making the material cling to you. Usually, the feeling of the wet fabric on your back would drive you crazy but you can’t find it in you to care.

Hen and Chimney were playing a video game you didn’t recognize and Eddie hovered behind them, waiting for his turn to sub in. The three of them were screaming at the characters on the TV, too wrapped up in the game to notice you there. You checked the clock on the wall- it was so much later than you realized. You missed dinner, and the realization of how hungry you were was enough to make you want to cry.

You notice on the table, there’s a plate wrapped in aluminum foil. They saved something aside for you. It brings you just enough comfort that you could kiss whoever thought to keep it. It’s easily the best thing you have ever seen in your life. You don’t even say anything to anyone as you stride over to the table, so relieved to be able to eat something. Buck smiles to himself- he can’t help but feel a tug on his heartstrings, knowing that something he did made you that happy.

You take a seat at the table, and you can’t remember spaghetti ever tasting this good. You practically wolf it down, and it's the most content you’ve felt in hours. When your hunger is finally satisfied, you wash your dishes and decide it would probably be wise to join the group. You didn’t want to be alone in the quiet of your bunk. The thought was enough to fill you with even more dread.

The only seat open is the space next to Buck on the couch. Hesitantly, you decide to make your way over and take a seat. He scoots over to make room for you and he swings his arm over the back. Neither of you say anything at first. You don’t know what to say- what can you even say?

•••

You were never an early riser, but it was something you trained yourself to adjust to. You liked being the first one up, taking in the early morning alone. It was peaceful. The past few weeks, you’d get up first before anyone else on call and make yourself coffee. It was nice.

You still had on your plaid pajama pants you slept in and one of your LAFD shirts with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you were moving about the kitchen.

Buck slept terribly. He’d stayed up way too late so he could call Abby. The call was short, and it felt like she had been rushing him off of the phone. He’d been feeling so disconnected, and abandoned. It felt awful- feeling her slipping away without a care while she left him stranded here. He didn’t expect anyone else to be up.

He’d never admit it, but he watched you maneuver around the kitchen longer than he probably should have before making his presence known. The way you shuffled your feet across the title, the way you kept your blanket wrapped snugly around you, the way your hair was undone from sleep… all of it, he just- he found it so endearing.

He didn't want to ruin your morning when you would realize that he was also up.

“Oh, hey,” you say, sounding a little shy when you finally see him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I guess so,” he shrugs, walking into the kitchen. “You always up this early?”

“Pretty much.”

The awkward silence is enough to make him want to shrivel up into a hole. He hates that he can’t pull himself out of this.

“Do you want coffee?” You ask him, and he nods. He walks past you to get a mug. It’s the first time you notice… well, him. The morning quiet gave you the first opportunity to actually look at him.

And he was gorgeous. Suddenly, you’re avoiding eye contact and feel a different type of nervousness stirring inside that you try your best to push down immediately.

You move out of his way so he can pour himself some, and you walk over towards the fridge. “How do you take it?” You ask.

“Just cream,” he says. “Thanks.” You hand him the carton from the fridge and your watch as he checks the date and sniffs it to make sure before pouring it.

“How about you?” He asks. He hands the carton back to you.

“How do you think I take it?” You ask, sitting up on top of the counter.

“Probably a shit ton of sugar,” he says, offering a smile. Was he teasing you? “If I had to guess.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, pretending to be offended.

“I mean,” he begins with an exhale, and you swear for a moment you watch his eyes trail up and down your figure- like he was trying to figure you out (or check you out), “just your personality, you know? You’re sweet- I mean you strike me as someone with a sweet tooth.”

“You’ve been quick with your judgements about me, Buck,” you say back, your tone lighthearted, but you don’t miss the way his face flushes red. “Just cream,” you say, holding up your mug like you’re showing off a trophy.

•••

“I wish I could tell you that it gets easier,” Buck whispers to you after a few moments of the two of you sitting in silence. “You don’t ever get used to it- but, you learn to compartmentalize, you know? You have to tell yourself you need to be all in, because there’s going to be another call. You have a chance to save them, and that’s the important thing to focus on.”

It’s the nicest Buck has been to you since you’ve met him. It almost takes you back, not even realizing at first that you’re the one he’s talking to so gently. You can offer a weak smile, but he’ll take it.

“Thank you,” you mumble, still sounding exhausted. He knows you’re still beating yourself up over today.

“You did great out there,” he says, turning his body more to fully face you. “No one could’ve anticipated that’s how it was going to go down. You can’t let yourself shoulder all this guilt.”

“She died, Buck,” you mumble, keeping your head low. You can’t meet his gaze. “She died, and I was the one trying to help her when she did.”

He nods, way too familiar with how you’re feeling to even express it well enough. You remind him so much of how he felt after his first call that went like this.

“I know how hard it is,” Buck says, “The sleepless nights, the nightmares, the what-if’s that play in your mind about all the things that you didn’t do- it’s torturing yourself. You need to just focus on doing your best, and being present for the next call. You couldn’t save her- we don’t know if anyone could. But, none of today was your fault- it was no one’s fault.”

•••

Buck had originally planned on Abby being around for the Firemen’s Ball. He wasn’t sure if he would have actually convinced her to be his date, but in his mind, he was supposed to be here with her.

Third wheeling with Maddie and Chimney surprisingly didn’t make him feel better- what a surprise.

He watched, nursing a beer, while Maddie and Chimney, Hen and Karen, Bobby and Athena danced… it felt like everyone here had someone but him. And it fucking sucked.

His eyes flick over to see you dancing with Eddie. Whatever he’s saying to you has you laughing so hard you’re throwing your head back, and he holds you steady so you don’t trip on your dress. Jealousy stirs inside him, wanting to be the one making you laugh like that- but he pushes the thought away immediately.

He may not have heard from her in weeks, but he’s still technically with Abby. He’s not that guy anymore. He ignores the knot in his stomach as Eddie twirls you and you smile at him. He has no right to feel this way, and yet, the feeling continues to linger as he silently watches from the table.

He takes out his phone, wondering what time it is Ireland. He feels this impulse to call her even though he knows she won’t answer. He opens her contact and just stares at it. His emotions are all over the place. He doesn’t know what he wants- he just doesn’t want to keep feeling like this.

“You don’t dance?” Suddenly you're sitting next to him, checking in on him when no one else has yet. He locks his phone and looks at you.

He’d never admit it- never in a million years, but you take his breath away. He’s never seen you like this. He always thought you were cute, attractive obviously, but tonight you look- he can’t even find the perfect word to describe it.

“I just don’t feel like it,” he shrugs, clearing his throat, trying to be nonchalant. Suddenly he’s embarrassed that he’s just been staring at Abby’s contact and that he was a minute away from leaving. Now, he wouldn’t leave. He can’t. Not when you’re going out of your way to make sure he feels included.

“So I can’t convince you?” You ask, a small pout on your glossed lips and he almost caves. He shakes his head.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tries to insist.

“I want to,” you smile. “Please, for my sake? Eddie found another partner so, please? I need you.”

When you say it like that, he’d do anything.

“Fine,” he grumbles, offering you his hand. You smile, practically giddy as you both walk towards the dancefloor.

It’s a slow song, easy to sway to. He rests his hand on the small of your back, guiding you as you both dance. For the first time all night, he lets himself relax. He ignores the thought about how perfectly your bodies fit together when he pulls you in close. He also ignores the way his phone was vibrating in his jacket’s breast pocket- the first time he’s content to just let the call just go to voicemail.

He can’t put his life on hold anymore.

•••

“You’re being really nice to me,” you observe, looking at Buck, almost suspicious of him. It makes him laugh, and you think that might be the first time you’ve heard his laugh. You ignore the way your face turns warm.

“Have I really been that bad?” He asks, scrunching his face up in disgust at himself.

“No, not really,” you say, trying to smooth things over.

“I’ve been a dick, you can say it,” he jests and it makes you smile. Actually smile.

“I know it hasn’t been personal,” you shrug, still trying to keep the peace. He scoffs.

“Maybe it has been… maybe a little bit,” he confesses. “And I’m sorry about that. I just- I’ve been in a rough patch, and your… um, cheeriness. Just reminded me of how unhappy I’ve been and that wasn’t fair to you, like at all.”

You shrug, pulling your knees up towards your chest. “I get that,” you muse, thinking over his words. It’s not much, but you appreciate that he’s opening up to you- even if it’s only a little bit.

“Even now, you're being too nice to me,” he points out. “I think you need to be mean to me, it’s only fair,” he teases, making you giggle. “Yell at me, hit me or something please,” he begs with a laugh and you shove him playfully.

“Ew, no, you’d probably be into that,” you jest, making him smirk before laughing harder. He couldn’t keep up the straight face he’d been trying to hold.

Suddenly, the air feels lighter, it’s finally cleared and the walls are finally down. Buck and you were closer after that night, and it helped him find the clarity he’d been bogged down looking for all these months.

At the end of that 48 hour shift, his first stop was to mail a letter he’d written to Abby. He finally felt like he was ready to move on.

He was hesitating, the letter was clutched tightly in his hand as he walked to his car. He looked at how he had written her name on the envelope- and he was second guessing everything. What if he did this and he would come to regret it? Could he open himself up like that again?

“Buck!” He heard you call from across the parking lot, running to catch up with him. Your voice cut through any of his doubts. It brought him back to reality. “Here, you forgot this,” you say, holding out his phone to him.

It’s so funny how he went from never letting his phone leave his hand, to letting it go to voicemail, to completely leaving it behind. Progress shows up in funny ways like that. He’s strangely proud of himself as he thanks you for running it out to him.

“Thanks a lot,” he smiles, slipping it into his pocket. “Hey, um, listen- are you doing anything tonight?” He asks.

“No, nothing. Why?” You ask, tilting your head at his question.

“There’s something I need to take care of first,” he says, “but, after that- I want to take you out, if you’d let me.”

“I’d like that,” you reply, a smile gracing your face and it takes all of his will power to not kiss you stupid. He can do this the right way, he knows he can. This time, he thinks he’s got it right.

“Cool, uh, that’s great,” he says with a grin, fumbling his words.

“Pick me up at 7?” You ask.

“Of course,” he replies. God, suddenly he’s got butterflies. Maybe starting over won’t be bad, especially when you’re looking at him like that.

[alikesical]

imagine being long-time friends with Bruce, either a childhood friend that was his saving grace in all the galas he was required to attend, or someone he met in his short time he spent in med school that he just clicked with

either way, you were attached to the hip to the point when Bruce returned to the manor without you, Alfred was sure to ask if you'd be attending dinner later or if you're feeling well

you'd had been such a stable in his life since he met you

you, who is a creature of habit, even if the only habit you had was changing your mind on how to live life or how do something

you, who could see right through him

you, who could tell if he's lying when everyone else failed to

you, who he though as one of the most important people in his life

and Bruce?

Bruce is the bestest friend you could ask for

Bruce, who is always ready to listen and comfort you in his own unique way

Bruce, who you rant to about any inconveniences you might have, and he just listens attentively

Bruce, who you knew to care about everyone and everything a little bit too much, even if in the eyes of Gotham he was just Brucie Wayne, billionaire

and then he became Batman

not that you knew of course

the only thing you knew was that one day, he started being distant, not picking up calls, not answering messages

and when you actually went up to him and demanded he explained himself, he just answered he's busy and doesn't have time

of course you were hurt and furious and couldn't believe what you were hearing, but if that was what he wanted, then so be it

so you left, tears streaming down your face, not noticing the hurt in his eyes, the decision he had to make to keep you safe

and just like that, the only things you learned about Bruce was from the tabloids

and life went on

you got a job, made some new friends (which did not stop you from staring at pictures of you and Bruce wondering where it went wrong), got a house in a relatively nice area (as nice Gotham can be), and never noticed the dark figure looming near your bedroom window, making sure that you always were safe

Bruce, on the other side, did what he knew best

he kept to himself, an antisocial recluse that occasionally showed up in philanthropic galas, and never attempted to contact you even if his heart ached

Batman, the new local vigilante, however, knew everything about your life

he knew you left for work strictly at seven in the morning (even if you hated waking up early)

he knew on fridays you went out with your friends and stayed out nearly the whole night, him always looming near

he also knew how you bragged about being the luckiest person in Gotham since nothing bad had ever happened to you, no break ins, no muggings in the streets late at night, no stolen wheels from the car you tried so hard to save up for (an intention of a smile always graced his face when he heard you, partially because he was glad you were happy, and partially because he thought it was funny that you didnt have a clue as to why nothing bad ever happens to you)

and you, of course, had heard about batman, the mysterious figure keeping the streets of Gotham safe, getting nothing in exchange

you admired him, sure, he was a hero after all, but you also thought he was silly in a 'he must have so much free time in his hands, he put on spandex and went to fight people' way

and that was it

you both fell into a different routine each (always sparing a thought about each other, this part was common)

until one afternoon

you were drinking tea, sitting on your couch, reading a book you swore you would have finished ages ago, until a knock on the door echoes through the apartment walls

and behind the door, you see Bruce, 3 years later, drenched by the rain, holding a boy, no older than 8, sleeping in his arms, a pleading look in his eyes

so you let him in, no words spoken, not that they were needed, fully agreeing to be a part of whatever he got himself involved in before he even asked (not that he would ever, he didn't want to burden you with his problems after all)

because even 3 years of no contact later, Bruce Wayne was your friend, and you wouldn't leave him when he was in need.

pt.2 pt. 2.5

[tragic-ships-tournament]

Tragic Ships Tournament Quarter Finals

Propaganda under the cut!

Enjoltaire:

"Okay so the whole thing with them is that Enjolras is like the leader of the Les Amis; he believes in the revolution in his heart and soul and his being. He is a shining beacon of hope like Victor Hugo calls him Apollo in the book. He believes in freedom and in the future and that beyond the barricade, there's a new tomorrow waiting for them. Grantaire, on the other hand, doesn't believe in anything. He's a drunk and a cynic and he doesn't believe in that new tomorrow. If nothing had something to offer, Grantaire would stop believing in nothing. When he offers to do something to help the Les Amis, he gets distracted and drunk and I think he ends up playing dominoes? It might have been cards. Anyway, that's Grantaire. BUT Grantaire believes in ONE thing. And that ONE thing is ENJOLRAS. No matter how cynical and pessimistic Grantaire is, he believes in Enjolras. If Enjolras is Apollo, Grantaire is Icarus flying ever closer to him. And then at the end. When their revolution has failed and they are facing down the barrel of guns. Grantaire gets up and stands next to Enjolras and asks if he can hold his hand so that they can die together, and they do. It's heartbreaking and heart wrenching and Icarus brings the sun down with him as he falls."

Madohomu:

"madoka magica aired 12 episodes in 2011, with a sequel movie titled “rebellion” released in 2014. it’s been over 10 years since then, and these two have become the face of yuri. if someone makes a meme about loving yuri and makes a collage of example ships, madohomu are 100% gonna be present. video essays, fanart, fics, music videos and all kinds of fan projects featuring them are still wildly popular on all social media platforms.

but let’s talk about them (without going into too many spoilers, so this will be about the thematics in their relationship). they are light and darkness. the ying and the yang. forever intertwined. one would not exist without the other, yet they cannot exist together. for madoka has too much love for every living thing and too little for herself. and homura has too much love for madoka it blinds her to everything and everyone else, and she struggles with deep self-hatred. madoka has forsaken her own existence for the world, and homura has forsaken the world she created for her. the show has a lot of religious imagery, and madoka is akin to a god; there’s a shot of homura, who grew up catholic, kneeling at the feet of a gigantic statue of madoka, praying, but her hands stain her clothes. because if madoka is god, then homura is lucifer - specifically, iblis, the muslim version of lucifer, who loved god so much he betrayed him, for he’d rather defy him than bow to his creation, humans. and homura would rather defy the sanctity of madoka’s wish, rather than obey its laws, for she will take madoka’s happiness in her hands, if she refuses to. in the movie, dolls representing homura’s inner machinations yell, “gott ist tot”, for homura’s god, madoka, dies in the movie, when homura remembers that madoka was human first, and godhood was something she reached to save everyone, against her best interest and happiness. their relationship is one of love, kindness, obsession, devotion, hope, faith, worship - they are the thesis and the antithesis, the beginning and the end, the alpha and omega, an unstoppable force and an immovable object. forever locked in a struggle, never fully embracing, for madoka will always sacrifice herself for the world, and homura will always doom the world and herself for madoka."

[platonicaxaxe]

Deathtrap & Bob

Bob Reynolds (sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Summary: When Yelena's ex assassin friend meets Flustered Bob

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist here

The mission had gone south—fast.

Electric ropes sizzled and crackled around the wrists of the new Avengers, rendering even Ava’s phasing abilities useless. Sparks danced around them with every movement, sending sharp zaps up their arms if they dared to tug too hard.

“W-What are we going to do?” Bob Reynolds muttered, panic starting to creep into his voice. His eyes flicked around the warehouse, scanning for options—but the restraints were advanced, alien-tech fused with Stark-grade modifications.

“Can't you go Sentry for now? We could use a little assistance here, Bobby,” Alexei grumbled through gritted teeth, his thick Russian accent making his frustration sound even harsher.

“Sh*t!” John Walker spat, violently twisting against his binds. “We're sitting ducks!”

In front of them, the masked assailant—an ex-HYDRA enforcer with too much pride and too many weapons—paced smugly, twirling a blade in his gloved fingers. His voice dripped with arrogance.

“The new Avengers,” he sneered, circling like a predator. “You look less like a team and more like a failed science experiment. Tell me—who's going to save you now?”

That’s when Yelena caught it—a whisper of movement, a shift in the shadows behind him. Her eyes narrowed, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Her,” she murmured.

Without warning, a figure emerged from the dark—fluid, silent, and lethal. Before the attacker could register the threat, a black boot cracked into his jaw, sending him stumbling back. The woman moved like smoke and fire—her strikes deliberate, precise. She was dressed in tactical black, a utility belt slung low on her hips, two daggers flashing at her sides.

Bob’s eyes widened.

She didn’t just fight. She danced. A whirlwind of kicks, elbow strikes, and dodges followed. She ducked beneath a wide swing, catching the attacker’s wrist mid-air and twisting it with a sharp snap. He cried out, but she didn’t stop—she pivoted, slamming her knee into his ribs and finishing with a spinning back kick that knocked the wind out of him.

Steel met steel as he managed to draw a blade and slash toward her. But she caught his arm, redirected the momentum, and drove his own blade into the floorboards beside him. Her movements were liquid grace and coiled danger—like a panther stalking its prey. The attacker growled in frustration, throwing wild punches now, desperate to regain control.

But she was faster.

A dodge. A sweep. Another elbow strike. Then she spun behind him and wrapped her arm around his throat in a brutal chokehold, whispering something in his ear before slamming his head into the wall. He collapsed in a heap.

Bob stared, absolutely stunned.

“Wow,” he breathed, the word slipping out of him involuntarily.

Everyone turned.

Yelena grinned. John raised an eyebrow. Alexei chuckled and gave Bob a knowing nudge.

“She’s Y/N Y/L/N. Former Widow. Dangerous. Deadly. Looks like Bobby’s got a crush, eh?”

Bob blinked, caught somewhere between awe and flustered embarrassment.

“I—uh—no, I just… she’s really... efficient.”

Y/N turned toward them, finally locking eyes with Bob. For a moment, everything else faded—the electric ropes, the ruined mission, the jeering villain on the floor. She gave him the smallest nod, eyes flickering with amusement.

“Let’s get you out of those ropes,” she said coolly, already pulling a slim blade from her belt.

Bob’s heart was hammering harder than it ever did in battle—and for once, it wasn’t because of the Sentry.

The last crackle of the restraints faded, and freedom surged back into the group’s limbs. As the team shook off their bindings, Y/N had already crossed the floor and pulled Yelena into a tight, familiar hug. They clung to each other like war-weathered sisters—battle-hardened but still breathing.

“It’s been a while now, huh?” Yelena murmured against her shoulder, her voice cracking slightly despite the smirk tugging at her lips.

Y/N pulled back with a chuckle. “Too long. You still keeping that pet fox alive?”

Yelena scoffed. “He’s not a fox, he’s a man. But close enough.” She jerked her thumb toward the others. “Come on. Let me introduce you to the circus.”

Y/N turned, arching an eyebrow as her eyes scanned the misfit team of modern heroes. “This your new crew? You’ve got upgraded.”

She gave Bob another lingering glance that made his chest tighten.

Yelena motioned with both hands, giving a mock-formal bow. “Everyone, meet Y/N Y/L/N. Codename: Deathtrap. We worked together in the Red Room.” She lifted her fingers in sarcastic bunny ears around worked. “She’s the reason I have scars on three ribs and a deep trust issue.”

“Guilty,” Y/N said with a small smirk. “But she gave as good as she got.”

Alexei raised his brows. “Deathtrap? Now that’s a name.”

John Walker gave a low whistle. “That explains the takedown back there. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Y/N gave him a smile that was all teeth. “I don’t have a good side.”

Bucky stepped forward, giving her a long, assessing look. “James Barnes,” he said calmly. “Or Bucky. I’ve read your file. Didn’t think I’d meet the Deathtrap in person.”

“Flattered,” she replied, shaking his hand with a solid grip. “Though most of that file’s probably blacked out.”

He nodded once. “The interesting parts usually are.”

Ava Starr, who had been inspecting the still-sparking remains of the electric ropes, stood up and joined them. Her expression was unreadable, eyes narrowing slightly at Y/N. “Ava. Ghost. I’ve heard of you. We’ve almost crossed paths—Germany, four years ago.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Ah. That intel extraction. That was you phasing through the safe house walls?”

Ava gave a small nod. “You left a knife in my exit route.”

Y/N’s smirk deepened. “You dodged it. I’d say we’re even.”

Ava blinked, then let out a reluctant chuckle. “Fair enough.”

Bob, meanwhile, had been silently watching the exchange like someone hypnotized. Every time Y/N spoke, his brain seemed to shut down a little more. When she finally turned her attention to him again, his heart almost launched out of his chest.

“You’re Bob, right?” she asked, stepping closer, arms casually folded.

He stood straighter, instantly awkward. “Uh—y-yeah. Bob. Bob Reynolds. That’s me. Um, well, most people just—uh—call me Sentry. Sometimes. When I'm... you know, doing the thing.”

Y/N looked amused. “The thing being flying through the sky or tearing through cosmic threats with your bare hands?”

He laughed nervously. “Y-Yeah. That one.”

“You were the one who said ‘wow’ earlier,” she said teasingly, the corner of her lips twitching upward.

His face went crimson. “I-I mean—yeah. But I wasn’t—uh—it was just—you were—very effective.”

Bucky coughed into his fist to hide a grin. Ava rolled her eyes but didn’t try to hide her smirk.

Alexei snorted. “He’s malfunctioning.”

John leaned toward Bob with a smirk. “You alright, man? You look like someone short-circuited your brain.”

Y/N stepped even closer, her tone dropping just slightly. “You blush like someone who hasn’t seen a woman throw a punch before.”

Bob blinked rapidly. “I’ve seen lots of women throw punches. Just—yours are... different. Not in a weird way! In a good way. Great way. You’re... really cool.”

Y/N extended a hand toward him, eyes glinting with amusement. “Well, ‘cool’ is a first. Usually I get called terrifying. I’ll take it.”

He shook her hand quickly, his palm a little clammy. “N-Nice to meet you... Deathtrap.”

Her grin widened. “Likewise, sunshine.”

Yelena leaned over to Ava and whispered with a knowing smile, “This is going to be fun.”

Bob Reynolds wasn’t exactly built for New York.

He tried to follow Bucky’s advice. Take walks, breathe real air, let your senses ground you. But New York wasn’t calm—it was chaos on caffeine. Car horns. Footsteps. Shouting vendors. The city was a living, breathing entity, and to someone like Bob, who kept a literal god lurking behind his ribs, that energy didn’t soothe. It poked at him.

He wandered anyway, shoulders hunched beneath his hoodie, hands buried deep in his pockets. The buildings towered over him, and his thoughts did the same. Every footstep was a distraction from the storm in his head. The Void, the therapist had said. Give it a shape. Name your tension. Understand what triggers it.

But Bob wasn’t sure how to explain to a civilian therapist that the black hole inside him could shatter worlds.

Then he saw her.

Through the dusty window of a modest music shop on 12th and Avenue B, her silhouette moved with casual grace. She looked... normal. In a city of noise, she was the only part that seemed silent. Y/N stood by a vinyl shelf, fingers dancing over the records with the same precision she’d used to break bones and disarm threats just weeks ago.

He froze.

It was her.

Deathtrap.

The woman who haunted his thoughts ever since she rescued him and the others like it was just another Tuesday. But here, she wasn’t the assassin. No weapons. No tactical gear. Just jeans, a sweater, and a tote bag slung over her shoulder. She looked like someone you'd pass on the street and never think twice about.

He did, though. He stood outside that shop long enough to draw glances before finally dragging himself away.

But the next day, he returned.

And the next.

It became a routine—his own little ritual.

She always followed the same path. Groceries from the tiny mom-and-pop market with faded signage. A short stop in the music shop. A fruit vendor tucked behind an old brick building. Then down a narrow alley where she’d vanish without a trace.

Yelena had warned him. “Her location will never be found, Bob. She lives in shadows. It’s what we were made for.”

But he couldn't help it. Something about her presence grounded him more than any therapy or Sentry-enhanced meditation ever had.

On the fifth day, he timed it just right.

He kept a quiet pace half a block behind her, head low, hood up. Her steps were confident but unhurried, like someone who’d memorized every crack in the sidewalk. She stopped to buy a few apples. Talked briefly with the vendor, who clearly knew her by name—“Miss Y/N, the usual?”

Bob smiled faintly. Even Deathtrap had a usual.

Then came the alley. He watched from across the street as she turned in and—

—vanished.

No sound. No trace. Like a ghost slipping back into the shadows.

He approached slowly. The alley was narrow, grimy, flanked by fire escapes and stacked crates. But when he stepped inside... there was nothing. No door. No gate. Just a brick wall at the end and the wind weaving between trash bins.

Bob frowned.

She was gone.

His pulse ticked faster—not out of fear, but out of fascination. She’d disappeared the way she lived: clean, quiet, and deliberate.

Back in the open street, he exhaled and shoved his hands back into his pockets. His mind raced.

Maybe she was just a habit now, like his morning coffee or the way he checked every dark corner before entering a room. But the truth was simpler, and more dangerous:

Y/N wasn’t just a fascination.

She was a comfort he didn’t understand. A calm in his storm. The first person who made him forget—for even a moment—that he was Sentry. That he was The Void.

She made him feel like just... Bob.

And that scared him more than anything.

Night had passed like a restless whisper. Bob tossed and turned, the plan echoing in his mind: Tomorrow, I’ll say something. Just talk. Be normal. Human.

So the next day, he found himself in the music shop again, pretending to browse through vinyl records. His fingers hovered over an old David Bowie album he didn’t recognize, heart pounding as the little bell above the door rang.

She walked in like she belonged to the place. Like the world was hers and no one had noticed yet.

Bob turned a little too fast. “O-oh, you’re… Y/N, right?” he said, the words tumbling out like broken piano keys.

She glanced up from behind her sunglasses, and a sly smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Hey, Mr. Sentry Guy.”

Bob’s face lit up pink—noticeably so. He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. “That obvious, huh?”

Y/N stepped closer, casually thumbing through a rack of jazz vinyls. “I know you’ve been following me.”

The world stopped for a second.

Bob’s heart slammed against his ribs. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything. I just… I saw you. And then kept seeing you. And I didn’t know how to… stop.”

She turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable, yet not cold. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you into that alley and snap your wrist.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “T-totally fair. Would’ve deserved it.”

A beat passed.

Then she gave a light shrug. “But you didn’t exactly hide it. And you kept your distance. So, either you’re really bad at surveillance or really curious.”

“I—I guess I’m both,” he said sheepishly.

Y/N tilted her head, examining him for a moment. Something about his awkwardness was... honest. Genuine. A rare find in her world of veiled intentions.

“You wanna go somewhere?” she asked, slipping a record under her arm.

Bob blinked. “U-uh, sure! Yeah. I mean—as long as you don’t, you know, kill me.” He gave a weak laugh, clearly trying to lighten the tension.

Her lips twitched into a smirk. “No promises.”

Bob swallowed hard.

“But if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it past day two of following me,” she added smoothly, already walking toward the door.

“Right. Comforting,” he muttered, trailing behind her like a very confused golden retriever.

As the door closed behind them and they slipped into the blur of New York’s streets, Bob realized something unsettling yet thrilling

Y/N straddled her matte black motorcycle with practiced ease, kicking the stand back as the engine gave a low purr. Her helmet sat loosely under her arm. She looked at Bob over her shoulder, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Come,” she said simply, as if this wasn’t the most normal request in the world.

Bob blinked. “Y-you know how to… do this?” he asked, stepping toward the machine like it might bite him.

Y/N’s eyes glinted with mischief. “You think I’d own it for show?” She patted the seat behind her.

He gulped, awkwardly climbing on. The bike shifted slightly under their combined weight, and Bob flailed to balance himself, gripping the seat for dear life.

Y/N turned her head, her voice amused but firm. “Hold on, Bob. Or you’re gonna fall.”

“O-okay,” he mumbled, frozen in place. Okay, okay, okay. After a moment’s hesitation, he carefully wrapped his arms around her waist—tentatively, like she was made of glass.

But she wasn’t. She was made of steel and sharp corners, and she felt real. Her jacket was worn leather, warm from her body, and the second his hands touched her, his brain short-circuited.

Her waist was small.

His face went hot like a furnace, his ears nearly glowing red.

Y/N revved the engine and didn’t say a word about it. But the tiniest smile ghosted on her lips as she took off into the blur of the city, the wind rushing past them.

Bob, behind her, hugged tighter out of instinct, his heart hammering wildly against his chest. He was sure she could feel it.

He smiled—like an idiot, like a schoolboy, like someone who had no idea how he’d gotten so lucky.

He didn’t know where they were going. But for once… he didn’t mind.

The motorcycle rumbled up the winding path, gravel crunching beneath the tires as they reached the top of the secluded hill. City lights blinked in the distance like scattered stars, far enough to feel free from it all, but close enough to know the world still spun.

Y/N killed the engine with a smooth twist, the sudden silence almost startling. Bob sat still behind her for a second longer, his hands still gently around her waist until he realized—and practically jumped off the bike.

“Right—sorry—got carried away,” he muttered, stepping away and rubbing the back of his neck like it would hide the heat rising to his cheeks.

Y/N slid off gracefully, removing her helmet and shaking out her hair. “You didn’t die. I’m impressed.”

Bob chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, well, that’s new for me.”

They stood there for a moment, a breeze ruffling their jackets. The night air was cooler up here, filled with the scent of pine and distant rain. The hill overlooked a slice of the city—silent, glowing, unreal.

Y/N walked toward a flat stone near the edge of the slope and sat down. Bob followed, settling beside her, his legs crossed, hands fidgeting in his lap.

“You come here a lot?” he asked, glancing sideways.

“Sometimes,” she said. “When I need to remember I’m not just muscle memory and ghosts.”

Bob didn’t know what to say to that, but somehow… he understood.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. The wind whispered through the grass, and the city below seemed impossibly far away.

Then Y/N spoke again, her voice softer now.

“I know what people think of me. Deathtrap. Widow. Assassin. Most days, I don’t even correct them. It’s easier that way.”

Bob looked at her, really looked. Her profile against the moonlight was sharp yet tired. Like someone who’d built armor out of necessity, but never learned how to take it off.

“I don’t think that,” he said quietly.

She turned to him, eyes searching. “No?”

He shook his head. “I think you saved us when no one else could. I think you’re smart and terrifying and… kind, even if you try to hide it.”

That caught her off guard.

She blinked, then scoffed lightly. “Kind. That’s a new one.”

“Well, you didn’t kill me. That’s a start,” he teased.

She smirked, but it quickly faded. “Why do you keep following me, Bob?”

He hesitated. The answer was simple but heavy.

“Because when you walked into that fight… I couldn’t stop watching. Not because of the way you moved, though yeah, that was incredible—but because you were fearless. You moved like someone who had nothing left to lose… and somehow, you still chose to help us.”

Y/N’s eyes lowered. Her fingers traced the edge of the stone beneath her.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to see another team get slaughtered,” she murmured.

“Maybe,” Bob said. “But I think… you wanted to feel needed. Even just for a second.”

That silence again—but heavier.

Then she whispered, “It’s dangerous, letting people need you. It always ends the same.”

Bob looked at her, heart twisting a little. “But… what if it doesn’t this time?”

She didn’t reply right away. Just stared out at the horizon, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she turned to him.

“Careful, Bob. I break things.”

He smiled softly. “So do I.”

And for a moment—just a moment—their eyes held. No hero masks. No code names. Just Bob and Y/N. Broken, maybe. But not beyond repair.

They sat in silence for a while, letting the night settle around them. Bob had never felt so calm and nervous at the same time. Y/N, usually so composed and unreadable, seemed a little more human tonight. A little softer around the edges.

The wind tugged gently at her hair as she looked down at her hands, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on her glove.

“Do you ever feel like... you’re two people?” she asked quietly. “Like there’s the version of you that everyone knows. And then the one no one sees… not even you sometimes?”

Bob swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “Every day.”

She glanced at him, her expression thoughtful.

“I wasn’t always 'Deathtrap', you know. I used to be a violinist. Ballet, too. My mother loved the arts. She wanted something gentle for me.” A bitter smile touched her lips. “Then the Red Room took that away.”

Bob’s brows furrowed, the weight of her words settling heavy between them.

“They turned me into a weapon,” she said. “Taught me how to kill without blinking. I was twelve the first time I—” She stopped, jaw tight. “Anyway. I survived. Barely. I escaped years ago, and since then… it’s just been survival. No towers, no team, no second chances.”

Bob was quiet for a moment, then said gently, “You deserved more than that.”

Y/N gave him a look that said you don’t know me well enough to say that. But her eyes weren’t as cold as they used to be. There was something breaking through.

“What about you?” she asked, tilting her head. “What’s it like being the guy with the golden glow?”

Bob exhaled, chuckling humorlessly. “It’s… a nightmare, sometimes. Sentry’s not just power—it’s chaos. I don’t even fully understand him. Sometimes I think he’s protecting people, and sometimes I feel like he’s trying to erase me.”

Y/N turned fully to face him now, brows drawn. “Erase you?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s like I’m just a shell for something cosmic. When I’m Bob Reynolds, I’m anxious. Shaky. I can’t sleep without seeing all the things I’ve done… or could do. But when I’m Sentry? I’m unstoppable. And that scares the hell out of me.”

Y/N’s voice was soft. “Because you don’t want to lose control.”

“Because I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he whispered. “I’ve done things I don’t remember. Things I don’t want to remember.”

Their eyes met again—two people made into weapons by forces beyond their control, now trying to live in a world that only sees the surface.

Y/N reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small music player—old, scratched, and obviously used for years. She offered him an earbud.

“I don’t let just anyone hear my playlists,” she said lightly.

Bob blinked, surprised, then took the earbud with a quiet “Thanks.”

The music was soft. Classical. A violin piece—melancholy, haunting, but beautiful. He closed his eyes for a second, letting the music wrap around him.

“This was yours, wasn’t it?” he asked.

She nodded. “It’s what I play when I need to remember I was more than just… Deathtrap.”

He looked at her, really looked—past the guarded eyes and the calm exterior. And she let him.

For the first time, they weren’t Sentry and Deathtrap. They were just Bob and Y/N.

Two people who had been through hell, finally finding a moment of peace—together.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hmmm just imagine Jason Todd with a girlfriend pretty and kind like an angel and everyone is just shocked because 'how they're a couple??"

Think I went a little of ask for this one 😂 🦦

Jason calls you his angel for a reason.

You’re sweet, you’re kind, you’re downright beautiful/gorgeous and withheld an equally sweet, kind soul that bleeds through everything that you did or said. When you met Jason he was on the cusp of unconsciousness, finding him just slumped at your front door, severely injured. Anyone else who knew better would’ve left him but no, not you. You brought him -THE RedHood- into your house and home out of the kindness of your heart and patched him up as best as you could.

Heaven sent is another name of endearment that Jason called you and it held true on a plethora of occasions where he would find himself being dragged back at your doorstep, and it wasn’t long after that did Jason finally allow himself to pursue a chance at happiness by your side, and he’d be damned if it wasn’t the best decision he’s ever made in his entire life because being with you had been nothing short of a dream for Jason. A dream he never thought he’d get to live with the fucked up ordeal of having came back from the dead.

However when his family manages to catch wind of this because nothing stays secret for long, not by a long shot, their first thought was; how?

This wasn’t a slight towards Jason or his character but they couldn’t help but feel as though they’ve blinked and missed something extremely pivotal for this to have become the end result. They weren’t the only one to share this sentiment though as even Jason would be taken aback by your differences and often wondered if you were too different for your relationship to work.

It does however and it was one of the only times where Jason was grateful for being wrong for getting inside his own head, and just before he possibly ruins the best thing that has ever happened to him in a long, long while by self sabotage too. God only knows how much Jason would’ve hated himself for doing such a heinous thing to someone as underserving of such treatment as you.

So when Dick asks him one day ‘how did you manage to get someone like them?’ Whilst gesturing to you as you talked with the likes of Duke, Stephanie and Cass and getting along. Jason couldn’t think of a clear answer that would be enough to satisfy his brother’s curiosity because how was he meant to answer that question without it sounding generic and unoriginal.

‘Did you use any offhanded tactics to get them to be in a relationship with you?’ Damian asks and Dick gives him a look, only for the younger of the two of them to shrug his shoulders. ‘It was only a simple question Grayson.’

‘Yeah, just not one you ask when your brother comes home for the first time in months, and in a relationship nonetheless with the epitome of sweetness.’ Dick replied before looking over to Jason who was looking over at you with soft yet protective look on his face, but before Dick could say anything about how nothing was going to happen to you whilst in the Wayne Manor, Jason had already found the answer he has been looking for the entire evening.

‘They saved me.’ In the moment he said those words you looked over at him, Dick and Damian and smiled brightly that it never failed to knock the air out of Jason’s lungs upon seeing it. His angel, his heaven sent, the face he is blessed to see first and last thing in the mornings and late nights where he gently scolds you for staying up for him before kisses you in gratitude for doing so anyway.

Dick seemed content with this answer and meanwhile Damian looked visibly indifferent, he made a noise that said that he was also satisfied with this answer, just in time too as you came over to Jason and subtly held his pinkie with your own as you kissed his cheek. ‘You didn’t to tell me how cool your siblings were Jay!’ You began when Dick decided to join in on it too as he looked as Jason, betrayed. ‘You didn’t? Why not? Is it because you want your lovely partner to always be biased towards you?’ He pouts.

You chuckled and patted Jason on the bicep as you addressed Dick. ‘I’m always going to be bias towards my Jason.’ You admitted, causing a wave of warmth to flood Jason’s entire body upon hearing your confident confession. ‘For he is simply the best man I have ever met and that will never change.’

‘Never?’ Dick asked.

‘Never.’ You answered.

‘Even if he may be in the wrong sometimes?’ Damian asked this time and you shrugged, still smiling. ‘Not all of us are perfect beings and that’s a reality I’d accept rather than one where we’re all without flaw, physical or otherwise.’ Jason felt as though he might combust from your words alone but managed to compose himself enough to press a kiss to your temple to whisper against it. ‘Thank you baby.’

‘Anything for you Jaybirdie.’ You responded in kind, feeling him take hold of your hand, intertwining your fingers together as you rested your head against his bicep as you both continued to talk with Damian and Dick.

Yours and Jason’s relationship may not be what many expected it to be or make logical but why should it when you and Jason were more than happy together?

[keicrocker]

A Few Things About Jazz Phantom

other posts

1. As the name suggests,

this AU is about Jazz becoming a half-ghost hero instead of Danny.

According to Butch Hartman’s canon, not everyone exposed to the Ghost Portal survives and becomes a halfa. He even mentioned that if Sam and Tucker had been exposed, they wouldn’t have survived. However, Jazz’s strong resolve to protect what she cherished carried her through, and eventually, she became the new ghost hero.

2. She tries her best to keep Danny as far away from ghosts as possible.

3. She’s fundamentally stronger than Danny Phantom was at the start.

Physically, Jazz is more capable than Danny. She’s smarter, and unlike Danny—who had to learn everything through trial and error—she already had indirect experience from observing ghosts in action. She knew what they could and couldn’t do long before becoming one herself.

On top of that, her resolve to protect the world is just as strong as Danny’s.

That said, she is a model student, so she might not be as flexible in her thinking or as quick-witted as Danny when it comes to getting out of tight situations.

4. She doesn’t put a logo on her jumpsuit.

I actually think initials look pretty cool. However, considering how I view her personality, I feel like she wouldn’t put one on.

Unlike Danny, Jazz doesn’t call herself “Jazz Phantom.” She’s constantly paranoid that Danny might figure out her identity. So, she tries to choose an alias that wouldn’t remind him of her at all.

(I’m honestly not sure what name would be best. I went with Invis-o-Bella for now to keep things as close to canon as possible, but I also like some of the names others have suggested. Still debating!)

—And that’s actually why I scrapped the idea of her having initials on her suit. She’d at least avoid putting J on it, which means she’d have to engrave an entirely new name’s initials instead. And ugh, I really don’t like that idea. (Damn my canon-obsessed self.)

But that’s just my take! If anyone wants to explore their own ideas for this AU, go for it. It’s not like I’m the first person to come up with the concept of Jazz being a halfa. I have no intention of making any sort of disclaimer over it.

5. Jazz tries to protect Danny but also keeps her distance from him as a ghost.

She knows that the closer she gets, the more danger he’s in. But the moment he’s in real trouble, she can’t help but go ghost to save him.

In this AU, the two siblings’ relationship as humans is more distant compared to the show. This is entirely due to the time gap between them.

Jazz had already found out about Danny’s secret identity and spent all that time bickering with him, looking out for him, and seeing firsthand that despite his grumbling, her little brother was kind, heroic, and stubbornly good-hearted. She had also built up their bond through their shared ghost hunting experiences.

But now, all that time only exists in Jazz’s memory. Danny never experienced any of it.

To Danny, Jazz is suddenly an overprotective and overbearing sister. Sure, he still loves her and knows she cares about him, but come on—he’s a thick-headed teenage boy!

Just starting high school, failing in academics and sports, and unpopular among his peers, Danny was already dealing with a depressing teenage life. In the original timeline, he gained confidence by becoming a ghost hero. But in this AU, he never gets that moment.

Instead, he ends up feeling even more insecure. Compared to himself, his sister seems so much more—smarter, more capable, and now even a hero. It creates a weird sense of inferiority in him.

As a result, he finds himself idolizing the ghost hero while distancing himself from his sister.

(But don’t worry—their relationship will improve!)

more to come?

[tired-biscuit]

gosh I just ready your princess and knight work and I’m so obsessed with this dynamic <333 kinda want to see the roles reversed and knight being the one eating princess’s pussy…..

he’s not supposed to be here.

inside your chambers, inside your bed, inside you. and yet here he is, with his head between your legs; pushing two fingers knuckle-deep into your warmth that he deems sacred, somehow upkeeping a satisfyingly steady rhythm despite the nerves and hesitance.

said hesitance is showing on his face. it makes his brow furrow, turns his eyes dark with questions. he thinks he’s ruining it, ruining you. tarnishing your innocence with his filthy touch, when you’re supposed to be saving it for someone who’s worthy of taking it. someone with blue blood running through their veins, someone with enough riches to provide even more lavish things than you’re used to owning already. someone who actually possessess the ability to marry you in this godforsaken kingdom.

someone who’s not him.

alas, you’ve made your decision. your devoted knight, your sworn protector, is to be the one to take everything from you. your purity, your devotion, as well as your heart. a common man equipped with a sharp blade and a courageous spirit, who would kiss the very ground you walk on from how strongly he worships you. he’ll even kneel at your feet like a dog - all you have to do is ask.

so you do ask, however not for him to kneel. no, instead your hips stutter, back arching off of the expensive bedding you’re lying naked on as you attempt to push closer to your lover’s mouth and fuck yourself on his fingers.

devour me.

he obediently listens to your silent plea, burying his nose into the delicate hairs between your legs while he presses his tongue against your clit. his stubble scratches your inner thighs as his lips envelop you, spreading soft, unsure kisses. he licks you slowly, taking his time, like he’s savouring the taste of you and trying to convince himself that he deserves it whilst he curls his fingers deep inside you in the process. there’s a faint squelching sound because of the action.

your mind swirls in response, thoughts running a mile a minute before coming to a sudden halt when he adds further pressure and begins to suck on the sweetspot gently, pulling it further into his warm mouth. jolts of lightning rush down your spine with each pull and delicate nip of his teeth. you can’t possibly stop a breathy moan of his name from escaping your lips as you grab a fistful of his hair.

it might be the middle of the night, but not everyone in the castle gets to sleep at such an hour - the knight is well aware of this because of the long nights he’s had to spend awake near your door as your guardian. so he pauses his blasphemous ministrations that you’ve somehow lured him into executing, pulling away from your sweet mound with a quiet pop! of saliva, trying to not pay any mind to the pesky hardness that has appeared in his pants and that is now trying to persuade him to hump the bed like some wild animal attempting to find release.

“please, princess,” he whispers, resting his sweat-riddled temple against your thigh. he’s so visibly frazzled and his lips have a wet sheen to them because of your excitement. it only spurs you on, and when you wiggle your hips, the sight makes his cock twitch and his voice hoarse as he adds, “someone will eventually hear us if we do not put an end to this soon.”

“let them hear,” you say, still panting. you reach down and place both hands around his wrist, attempting to push the fingers that he’s still got inside you even deeper. “i’d scream your name in every room of this wretched castle if only you’d let me.”

heat engulfs the knight’s face in a matter of seconds as he swallows down the deep groan that bubbles up his throat. hearing you, his future queen, speak of such vile things never fails to make him lightheaded and so hot and bothered that he can barely control his urges. you want to scream his name? for everyone to hear?

he gets so distracted by taming the fantasies that have now begun to plague his mind, and that he’d never dare turn into reality, that he barely takes notice of your hand finding its rightful place on the back of his head.

“my confession appears to have sparked hunger within you, my dear knight,” you utter softly, pushing down. “i order you to eat.”