#and he needs to apologize for making her scared

[cursingtoji]

cw: office au, nanami x loser!reader, semi public, oral, praising, slight emotional dependency? geto version gojo version

nanami is so in love with the little office loser. he doesn’t give you much attention when you first arrive, just another presence in the office. then he starts to, unwillingly, listen to the conversation of others about giving the new clumsy girl a little rough time.

nanami watches from the corner of his eye as you quietly accepts your boss’ request to work overtime, he frowns as your boss implies under many corporate jargons that it’ll be unpaid and you should do it for the team.

“so naive” he murmurs watching you smile.

he can’t help but become infatuated with you when watching your skirt raising when you try to reach a tall shelf in the communal kitchen.

“here” he catches the coffee beans bag for you, without even needing to extend his arm much. nanami arrives so quietly that his voice scares you and you take a step back bumping into his strong body behind you and leaving a tiny squeal out, “sorry, are you okay?” he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“y-yes, thank you” he gives you space and you turn around looking at him over the thick frame of your glasses. it reminds nanami of those ads where a gorgeous woman has a pair of glasses down her nose and the caption says something like ‘single hotties in your area’. he then understands the appeal.

he keeps himself busy most days, so one day as soon as he sends an email he relaxes on his desk rolling his shoulders and looking around just in time to watch you knock a box of staples off your table. he raises from his seat to go help you but he gets a call at the same time so he sits back down to answer it while keeping his eyes on you.

you kneel picking the small items one by one. he likes seeing you on your knees. then you push your chair and crawl under the desk, trying to reach a few staples that went under the cabinet, at this point you’re with your head down on the carpeted floor and your ass up, nanami watches it with lusty eyes, just agreeing and humming to whatever the person on the phone is saying while wondering if you remember you are wearing a skirt. he watches in awe the black semi transparent pantyhose you have on stretch at the back of your thighs and the panties peeking out from underneath it.

when you get up your hair is messy and your face is flushed, you don’t think most of it, just glad to have caught every little staple. meanwhile nanami pulls his chair closer to his desk so you don’t see the volume in his pants when you pass by after basically flashing him.

nanami knows he wouldn’t last long with you around. one night he also stays overtime and you, being the extreme people pleaser you are, bring him some coffee and different sugar packets since you don’t know how he takes his coffee, but even with this simple self-assigned task you still manage to screw up and spill some on his pants immediately apologizing and getting on your knees to clean it with your sleeve. the friction on his upper thigh is making him grow hard but your teary eyes is what pushes him over the edge.

“nanami-san, don’t go home too late” the last person in the office says stepping on the elevator and waving goodbye.

“have a good night” the blond manages to say over the desk divider that hides your figure. finally knowing you two are alone kento throws his head back and allow his muscles to relax and enjoy the warmth of your mouth as you suck him.

“that’s right, sweetheart, good girl” he praises with a guiding hand on the back of your neck. it’s so good to have someone praising you in this place that your eyes water with joy. kento never meant to nut in the office but here he is, watching his cum run down your chin.

you take the small bin under his desk to spit the incriminating evidence of his pleasure so you don’t have to swallow it, “here, let’s make the clean crew think that’s matsuda’s” kento switches the bin with the one under his coworkers desk.

he hates to admit but over time he starts to look forward the times you feel overwhelmed and come to him for affection.

which leads him to the tiny copy room way too many times, making you hold the edge of your skirt and pulling your underwear and tights down to eat you out on top of the copy maker.

“keep quiet, darling” he warns knowing fully well how thin the walls are.

although you have done many unspoken things to him in this office, nanami still flusters you. every time he’s near, your thighs start to shake and your clit throbs untouched.

“come here, i’ll show you” he motions you over his desk when you ask for help with a task. you watch him perform it on the computer screen, “now you try it” he moves his chair a bit to give you space to use his keyboard and as you bend over slightly to replicate his steps he uses the opportunity to feel the skin of the back of your legs since today you don’t have any tights.

“go back, click here” he corrects still touching you, his hand comes higher, laying just under your ass cheeks, “why are you shaking? type the code there” he says like he doesn’t have a hand under your skirt.

“s-sorry” you say when making a mistake.

“it’s okay, start over” he commands, now playing with the hem of your underwear, it’s hard to do what he showed you when you can’t even guide the cursor right.

nanami pushes the material of your underwear into your folds making out the shape of your pussy through it.

“do it again with this file” he points sounding so collected it makes you even more nervous, he rubs your core so lightly, it’s almost like he’s doing it for his own pleasure, like he’s trying to make out the shape of your clit with the tips of his finger only.

“save it, and send to yourself�� as you finish the task he starts to pull down your underwear looking around to make sure no one is watching when he helps you step out of the white lacy material, “well done” he bends to pick your panties, giving your leg a quick kiss — since that’s the most he can do in the office during the day—, and putting the soaked fabric in his pocket.

“thank you” you smile and slowly make your way back to your desk, though your boss calls you middle way about a mistake you made on a file and to come to his office, now you wonder how you’re supposed to make it through the day not only without underwear but also dripping wet.

[maskedbyghost]

i had a dream about a Simon/ghost x fem!reader story based around the song Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush last night and I needed to type this out before I forgot lol

so its basically ghost having a nightmare that scared him deeply, causing him to wake up in a panic. the reader was already awake because ghost was breathing heavily before he woke up and the reader was worried for him. Once he wakes up, the reader could hold him closely (like cuddles) so that he knows he's safe with her. while the reader is comforting him, she could tell him that if she could swap places with him, she would (like in the song). And after he calms down, ghost could tell her (the reader) how much he loves her and appreciates her for making sure he's ok and he's all fluffy and genuine about it.

thank you for this idea, i hope you like it :)

it’s the quiet sounds that stir you first—the shallow, uneven breaths beside you, the way the bed shifts as simon thrashes just slightly. it’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this, but every time, it feels like a piece of your heart twists and breaks for him.

"simon," you whisper, reaching over, brushing your fingers lightly against his arm. his skin is warm under your touch, but he’s tense, locked in whatever nightmare holds him.

when he wakes, it’s sudden, his eyes snap open, wild and disoriented, like he’s not sure where he is. his breath comes fast, shoulders heaving, and for a second, he looks right through you.

"baby," you say again, voice soft, pulling him back to the present. your fingers trail up to his cheek, grounding him, until his eyes find yours and something shifts. he’s here, with you, no longer lost in the dark.

"’m sorry," he murmurs, rubbing a hand over his face, as if he can scrub the fear away. he looks almost embarrassed, like he’s ashamed to let you see him this way. but you don’t let him pull back—you scoot closer, curling your arms around him, holding him tight.

"don’t apologize," you say gently, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady, frantic beat of his heart begin to slow. "i’m here. you don’t have to be strong right now. just…let me be here for you."

he shudders against you, his breaths still shaky, but he doesn’t pull away. his head tilts down, forehead pressing into the curve of your shoulder, like he’s holding onto you for dear life. his arms wrap around you, strongly, like he’s anchoring himself to you.

you stroke his back slowly, fingers tracing calming patterns. "if i could take this pain from you, i would," you whisper, voice breaking just a little. "if i could trade places, i’d do it in a heartbeat. i'd go through every nightmare if it meant you didn’t have to."

he stills, his grip tightening, and for a moment, you feel him tremble, the words sinking deep, breaking through some guarded part of him that no one else has ever touched. "you’d do that?" he murmurs, almost like he can’t believe it.

"every single time," you say, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. "i’d do anything to keep you safe."

there’s a long silence, and when he finally speaks, his voice is raw, barely more than a whisper. "i don’t…i don’t know what i did to deserve you," he says, the words rough with honesty. "you’re always here, always looking after me, even when i’m a mess."

you reach up, cupping his face, meeting his eyes with a gentle smile. "you don’t have to deserve it, simon. i’m here because i care about you—because i love you."

something softens in his gaze, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to memorize this moment. his thumb strokes your cheek, and he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"i love you, too," he breathes, the words carrying all the weight he’s never said out loud. "i don’t say it enough. i don’t know if i can…but just…thank you. for being here, for being you."

he pulls you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. you hold him in silence, feeling his heartbeat slow, the tension finally easing from his shoulders. for tonight, you’re his shield, his safe place, and that’s more than enough.

---------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Regrets & Apologies -Oneshot

Word count: 2338

“For fuck’s sake Bucky,” Y/N huffed, running her hands through her hair.  “I understand that you feel protective over me, and I love and appreciate that about you, but my god if you follow me to the grocery store again–”

“So sue me if I’m worried about you,” Bucky retorted angrily.  “If the wrong people were to find out you’re with me–”

“Don’t,” Y/N said.  “Stop it.  I don’t want to have this conversation again.  You are a free man, in both mind and body.  And in case you forgot, I can take care of myself,” she said, holding her hand up as a ball of fire emitted from her palm briefly before closing her fingers around it, making it disappear.

“I know you can,” Bucky groaned.  

“Then you obviously don’t trust me enough to do it,” Y/N said sadly.  “And I don’t know what’s worse: being tailed at all times because you don’t trust other people, or knowing you don’t trust me to be able to handle danger by myself.  You know what?  Never mind, the second one is worse,” she sniffled, her emotions getting the best of her.  “You’ve seen me in the field, and you still don’t believe in me?”

Bucky’s eyes widened.  “No, no that’s not it at all.”

Y/N shook her head and shut her eyes tight.  “I can’t do this.  I’m taking a walk.”  She turned and started heading for the elevator.

Bucky was angry, and now hurt, and reacted badly.  “Fine, go run away from handling our problems!”

“I don’t have a problem, Barnes,” Y/N shot back at him, punching the elevator button then walking inside, turning to look at him with near-literal fire in her eyes.  “It’s just you.”

Her glare haunted him as the elevator doors closed, leaving him alone on their shared floor.  Bucky tried to breathe evenly, the panic setting in at not being near her.  He knew he had a problem, he just wasn’t willing to admit it.  Ever since they had first started dating each other his protectiveness had kicked into overdrive, making him follow her while she was out running errands to make sure she was okay, constantly checking in, and even worse, getting in the way on missions because he wouldn’t leave her side.  She was well trained and had her powers to protect her, yet he for some reason was constantly on edge and afraid of losing her to something in his past.  God I need more therapy, he thought.  He paced back and forth in their apartment, trying to let her go on that walk alone.  They both needed space to cool off and think.  He had to let her be.  He had to show her he could trust her.  Bucky let out a loud yell in frustration and holed himself away in their room.

***

2 hours later

“Doll, I’m sorry, please come back home.  Let’s talk about this.”

***

4 hours later

“Okay, I’m trying not to freak out, but you need to text or call and let me know you’re okay.  Where are you?”

***

7 hours later

Bucky was rocking back and forth on their bed, holding himself as he held his phone tight in his flesh hand, waiting for it to ring or buzz.  It was almost 11:00 at night, and he hadn’t heard from her.  Something wasn’t right.  This wasn’t normal, even during a fight.  She would at least let him know where she was and that she was safe, even if she didn’t plan to come back that night.  He felt like he was in withdrawal, the unknown eating away at his heart by the second.

The phone rang and he nearly threw it from how bad it scared him, but he quickly answered it.  “Doll?  Where are you?  Are you okay?”

“Is this James Barnes?” A voice said.

Bucky froze.  “Yes.”

“This is Dr. Harris at Mount Sinai Hospital.  Miss Y/N Y/L/N is here.  She just went into surgery after being struck by a car in downtown Manhattan.”  Bucky gasped, a chill running down his spine.  “You’re listed as her emergency contact.  I would suggest coming down as soon as possible.”

“I’m coming now.  Doc, how bad is it?” he asked hesitantly.

“She was stable going into surgery.”

That wasn’t a good enough answer for him, but he choked back a sob in relief that she was at least still alive and fighting.  “I’ll be there soon,” he said quickly, then hung up.  Bucky ran through their floor, gathering things for himself and for Y/N, then had Friday inform the other Avengers about what was going on.  When he reached the parking garage he flung the duffle onto his back and hopped on his motorcycle, revving out like a bat out of hell.  He reached the hospital in record time, parking then running inside inhumanly fast.

Bucky dashed to the receptionist desk.  “Y/N Y/L/N, just got into surgery, what floor is that on?” he barked at the receptionist.

“Visiting hours are over, sir,” the receptionist said, barely glancing at him.

Bucky smacked his metal arm onto the counter, making it crack and she jumped and stared at him.  She seemed to recognize him and shrunk back when she saw the metal hand.  “Floor number.  Now,” he demanded.

“Four,” she whispered.

Bucky gave her a curt nod then ran over to the elevator.  He pushed the button and took the elevator up to the fourth floor, his entire body feeling jittery with anxiety.  When the doors opened he ran down the hall to the second reception area.  “Y/N Y/L/N, in surgery.  Dr. Harris called me?” he huffed at the nurse.

The nurse’s eyebrows raised in recognition then turned and picked up a phone, dialing a number.  ���Dr. Harris?  Y/N Y/L/N’s emergency contact is here.”  He hung up the phone and turned to Bucky.  “He’ll be right out.”

Bucky nodded and stepped back towards the chairs in the waiting area in front of the reception desk.  A couple of minutes later a man came walking down the hall.  “Sergeant Barnes?” he asked Bucky.

“Dr. Harris?” Bucky replied.

Dr. Harris shook his hand.  “She’s still in surgery.  They’re fixing a major fracture in her tibia, along her shin.  Otherwise she was really lucky with a minorly fractured collarbone.  No other injuries.”

Bucky sighed, his jaw tightening.  “That’s…that’s good.  What happened?”

Dr. Harris minutely shrugged.  “From what the paramedics said, she was in a crosswalk and some idiot came barreling around the corner through the red light.”

“Were they caught?” Bucky nearly growled.

“Yes.  They had the good sense to not hit and run,” Dr. Harris said.

Bucky nodded.  “Okay, good.  So…what now?”

“She’ll be in a boot for six months, and she’ll need a wheelchair then crutches during that time until she heals enough to walk.  Her collarbone will be set with her arm in a sling, and that’ll take about 10-12 weeks.  It’ll be a lot of physical therapy and patience, and she’ll need a lot of help.”

“No problem.  She has plenty of help,” Bucky said quickly.  “When will she be out of surgery?”

“Should only be about another hour,” Dr. Harris said, glancing at his watch.  “The surgeon will come out when it’s over and give you an update, then when she’s put in a room for recovery you can see her.”

Bucky nodded again and thanked him before Dr. Harris walked back down the hall.  Bucky paced the waiting room for another few minutes, his phone pinging over and over again with texts and calls coming in.  He finally sat down then started answering the messages, giving the Avengers reaching out to him an update.  When he was done he leaned back in the chair, his head thudding against the wall.  He fought back tears, but a few fell through his tightly shut eyes.  He was feeling a million things at once, unsure of what emotion was going to win out in the end.  Was she distracted from their fight that she didn’t see or hear the car coming?  Or was the driver just an idiot, like Dr. Harris said?  He’d never forgive himself if he was to blame for this, even partially.  

***

An hour later Y/N was out of surgery.  Bucky was now surrounded by the rest of the Avengers, waiting to hear anything.  A different doctor came walking out of the double doors down the hallway and Bucky immediately stood and walked over to her.  “How is she?” he asked quietly.

“Y/N is doing great,” the surgeon said with a smile.  “Her leg was set beautifully, and the collarbone was a lot more minor than we thought.  She’s in recovery right now.  We’ll monitor her there for about half an hour then we’ll be moving her to a room.  The reception nurse will tell you which one soon.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said and shook her hand.  

Forty five minutes later the nurse directed him to her room.  Bucky jogged to the room number and walked in as another nurse was getting Y/N set up.  The nurse gave him a short, polite smile.  “The anesthesia will take a little longer to wear off.  She should wake up soon.”

Bucky thanked the nurse as they walked out, and he walked over to Y/N.  She was hooked up to multiple machines, tubes sticking out from her hands and one hooked into her nose.  She was sleeping soundly, and his heart broke as he looked over the bruising peeking out from her hospital gown near her collarbone, her left arm in a sling.  He slowly lifted the blanket covering her legs and saw the boot on her left leg, the skin looking badly bruised and scraped up by her knee.  He set the blanket down and pulled up a chair by the wall to her right side, sitting down and reaching for her hand, holding it firmly.  All the emotions came flooding back and he started crying as he looked up at her face.

“Babydoll,” Bucky sniffled.  “My babydoll.”  He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, holding her palm up to his face.  “Please wake up.  We need to talk about all this, and get over it, just like we always do.  Please?  Please…”

“Buck.”

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he saw her eyes fluttering open.  “Y/N?” he whispered, standing up and looking at her.

Y/N’s head turned to look at him, making her wince.  “What happened?” she asked.

Bucky sighed heavily.  “Do you remember anything?” he asked.

Y/N frowned, blinking slowly.  “I was walking.  Then I heard tires screeching.  Then…pain,” she said.

Bucky nodded.  “You were hit by a car,” he said, his hand reaching up and tucking her hair back.  “Some idiot turned the corner too fast and was not paying attention.”  Y/N frowned deeper, then tried to sit up, gasping at the pain.  “Woah, babydoll, no no no.  You’ve got a minor fracture in your collarbone, and a broken leg.  You need to stay still.”

Y/N’s head leaned back as she hissed through her teeth.  “Well that sucks,” she groaned.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh.  “I know.  But I’m gonna be here to help you every step of the way.”

Y/N relaxed against the bed and looked up at him sadly.  “I’m sorry.  About the fight earlier.  And that I didn’t answer your texts.”

Bucky shook his head quickly.  “I’m sorry.  You were right, I’ve been way too overprotective, and it made me not trust you to take care of yourself.  Though, in my defense, you did just get hit by a car while I wasn’t around to help you.”

Y/N grinned, biting back a laugh.  “True.  But you can’t always be my hero.  Life happens.  Shit like this happens, no matter what we do to try and stay safe.  You have to trust me enough to know that I’m going to do my best to come home to you.”

Bucky’s lips tightened as he fought back more tears.  “I know, I’ll work on it.  I promise.” They stared at each other for another moment before Bucky leaned forward and nuzzled her nose with his.  “For now, just kiss me once, then I’ll kiss you twice, then kiss me once again.”

Y/N hummed at his song reference.  “It’s been a long, long time,” she whispered before angling her head up and kissing him softly.

***

“This is so humiliating.  Every single time,” Y/N griped, holding onto Bucky’s arms as he helped lift her carefully into the bathtub, keeping her left leg that was wrapped in saran wrap above the water.

“You don’t need to feel embarrassed, Y/N,” Bucky said as he eased her down, making sure to prop the broken leg over the edge of the tub before grabbing the soap and lathering his hands.  He reached out and started at her legs first, making sure to get all the little nooks and crannies up her body as he washed her.

“Well, I’m embarrassed,” Y/N said with an annoyed tone.

“You’re healing really well, but it’s only been three months.  Tibia fractures take up to–” “Six months to heal, yes, thank you Dr. Barnes,” Y/N huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.  “Possibly longer.  I get it.”  Bucky sighed and gave her an arched eyebrow.  Y/N’s face softened.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know you’re frustrated, doll,” Bucky said, pulling her arms apart so he could wash her stomach and up her chest.  “But you know I don’t mind helping you.  None of us do.  And this, especially, is my favorite helpful thing to do,” he smirked as his hands washed over her breasts.

“You’re shameless,” Y/N laughed, swatting at his hands.

“But you love me,” Bucky said, leaning forward and kissing her.

Y/N kissed him back.  “Yes, I do.”

[clubsmarties]

"Ugh," Juju rolled her eyes and sighed. This she knew. "It was peer pressure from the people there. They spooked them into thinking it wouldn't work. That stress from the job would pull them apart and would get them to hate each other like it did to so many others before them. It was just nonsense and these two bought into it. They didn't realize that they were always built different."

She shook her head but understood. "I'm an only child but I do have Laurel and I've treated her like a sister. I get the protective mode. It's why I didn't let your brother drag her down. I can jump in to defend her. He doesn't scare me. Agency boys don't frighten me. If someone comes for her then they better prepare to square up. I bite back." Releasing a sigh she shrugged. "So I understand where you're all coming from. It doesn't mean I agree with the tactics."

"They're both that meme of idiots in love." she said that lovingly. "These two will risk their own lives if it means the other gets to live. Believe me, I wrangle Laurel in a lot of the time. It's that love and dedication to each other that proves they're not like anyone else. No matter what they're loyal to the other. I agree. I'd very much like for them to find a new career. But you can only lead a horse to water not make them drink it."

She shook the apology away quickly. "No, don't do that. You have nothing to be sorry for. Least of all apologize for your brother's bedside manner. He needs to do it himself. Not to me either. But to Laurel. I can't say I've lost anyone close to me. So, I can't even begin to imagine how different I'd react if I was in your shoes but I do understand fear over someone not making it. Your brother isn't the only one who could leave. Laurel has been in my life for years. I can't even begin to think about what happens if I lose her. So I get it."

"No sense at all." Inez couldn't help but join in on her laughter, beginning to feel ridiculous for the intense attitude she carried since arriving here (only increasing with her brother's encouragement). "Mhm, I'm inclined to agree." She had not seen her brother with that goofy smile, not the way he had when he talked about her. "We never really understood why, it just seemed bizarre that they broke up right before they began their time at the academy." Inez didn't like to pry, so she didn't ask much, and didn't question when they remained friends. "It's not that simple," but explaining it wouldn't be easy. "Do you have any siblings? It's impossible to not jump at their defense, even when there's no one to blame. Oddly enough, we find someone to blame." Some siblings, like Isaac, more than others. Inez usually tried maintaining neutrality, but she did tend to side with her siblings when needed. "We just want to protect him, but you may have a point. It sounds like they were both pretty torn up." Pretty confirmed, upon hearing how she kept his sweaters on. Isa had mentioned he always had the same blanket wrapped around him during their calls.

Inez was only half-surprised when Julia confirmed she was still in love with him. She hadn't asked her brother anything related to feelings or dating, knowing there was probably more to the story if they were still best friends and even lived together. But, hearing someone else confirm her vague suspicions was vindicating. Making Isaac understand would be a whole other thing though. "No, it's not that. I didn't think the love was lost, I just didn't expect both of them to be so...devoted, to the point of risking their life. They can't keep doing this, putting each other at risk. I'm grateful, of course, but it's not good."

Clown party of the century seemed too accurate, especially knowing she missed a good portion of it, and only knew what Isaac had shared thus far. Then again, it seemed Isaac was too clouded by his emotions to provide an accurate retelling. "I apologize, for our behavior." It was the first time an actual apology came from her lips, on behalf of the entire family. "I do see that you guys care for him and her, being here all this time. I see that, and I do appreciate it. As mentioned, we're just very protective of our family. We've lost too much, the thought of losing another puts us in a spot where we don't recognize ourselves."

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

@hammerhead96 I AM BITING THIS! I am so sorry it took 45 years <3

Anselm Vogelweide x gn!Reader • Rating: PG pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: You paint Anselm's portrait.

Warnings: Fluff, Anselm has siblings here, I'm just making stuff up, little bit of jealous!Anselm, kissing, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2311

“Stop moving.” You glare politely at Anselm over the canvas.  

He smiles sweetly at you from his position on the chair in the middle of the room. The large floor length curtains are drawn, letting in the late morning sunshine. He’s sat at a slight three quarter angle, his scared side facing you. 

It had been his sister that had commissioned you, Adela Vogelweide, a gift for his birthday. The fact that she’d chosen you had surprised you. You knew she had enough personal wealth to hire practically anyone in the world for whatever exorbitant amount they wanted and still consider it small change. 

Adela had seen some of your pieces at a local gallery showing, the curator an old friend of yours, where she had quite loudly enquired about the price of your largest landscape. Paid three times the asking amount, and then said it was still undervalued. 

She had called you up personally after convincing your friend to let her use their phone. The first words she’d spoken to you when you picked up were, “Why are you underselling yourself?” 

Adela was brazen and kind, with a quick temper she had never directed at you. She dyed her hair black, something she delighted in telling you, except for two streaks that framed her face, those she kept in her natural grey. She had also delighted herself in telling you all about her older brother Anselm, and what a nuisance he was, a rapscallion, but a loveable one. And wouldn’t you be a dear and paint his portrait? 

This was your fourth sitting.

“You said I could move a little, my dear?” He gives you a cheeky grin. 

You poke your head around the canvas again, purposefully benign a little more dramatic than you truly need to be, because you know it amuses him. 

“Emphasis on a little.” 

His smile widens. “Am I moving too much?” He feigns innocence badly. 

You give him a look. “Yes. Stop fidgeting.” 

“My leg.” He pouts, and rubs his thigh. 

“Anselm.” 

“Yes, my dear?” 

“That leg is not the one with your brace on.” 

He chuckles and then quickly puts on a mock serious expression. “Can’t my other leg hurt? My, my, this is most uncaring of you, and here I thought you such a sweet person.” 

“Well, you thought wrong then, didn’t you?” You carry on painting, adding a little shading. Most of the sittings so far were just to get a feel for him as a subject. You’d completed several rough sketches and paintings, and taken umteenth reference photos. 

“I don’t think so, my dear, I’m a very good judge of character.” 

“Would you say that runs in the family?” You ask nonchalantly. 

“How so?” 

“Is Adela a good judge of character?” 

He pauses for a moment and then nods, “She is.” 

“She warned me about you.” You say offhandedly and Anselm cackles with glee.

“Did she?” 

“She did.” 

“How marvellous. Did she tell you I’m a wretched and depraved lust filled bloodthirsty tyrant?” 

You pause, “No.”

“What did she say?” He strokes his beard slightly.

“That you were cheeky.” 

He tuts. “Now, that is a gross misrepresentation, I will have to have words with her.” 

“Don’t get me in trouble.” You giggle. 

“Now, now, my dear. She’ll most likely tell me off for some reason, probably for my playful, but oh so charming treatment of you, wouldn’t you say?” 

You give him another look and he laughs. 

“You disagree?” 

“Stop fishing for compliments.”

“Ah, but I must. You haven’t said one kind thing to me all morning.” He folds his arms, pretending to huff. 

“First, that is untrue, second, stop moving.” 

He grins, “My apologies,” and puts his arms back down. “My dear Adela does love to scold me, despite being the younger sibling. You would think she was twelve years my senior, not junior… It is the different father I think.” He smiles fondly. 

“You have different fathers?” 

He nods, “You are enquiring about the surname yes?” 

You nod as well. 

“Well, my mother is Magdalena Vogelwiede, the only child of my grandfather who lived past infancy. She kept the family name and refused to change it when she married, not that any of her husbands would have dared to argue with her, besides all of them coveted the prestige of being part of the Vogelwiede family. All of her children were given her last name.”

“Do you have other siblings?” You ask, still holding your paintbrush but you have given up most pretences of actually working. The way he talked was almost hypnotic. Soothing. You could happily listen for hours. 

“I do, I had an older brother, Wilhelm, who died very young. When my father died, my mother remarried and had Adela and Helena. She divorced my step-father when Helena was two, shame, as I was quite fond of him. She didn’t marry the father of my youngest sister, Libeste. But that was a very good thing, he was a terrible bore.”

You smile, delighting in the fondness in his expression. “Is she still with us?” 

He nods, “She is, going very strong. She lives in Italy with her suitor, a toy boy.”

“Toy boy?” You snort. 

“He’s only sixty eight.” He chuckles. 

“Scandalous.” You grin. 

“I like him very much, his name is Alvin, like the chipmunks. Which is what he said to me the first time I met him, a very sweet man, utterly besotted with my mother, the poor fool.”

“The poor fool?”

“She bullies him so,” Anselm sighs fondly, “But he does love it. So I think they are meant to be with each other.” 

You barely manage another five minutes of painting before Anselm has to take an emergency meeting. He apologises profusely and kisses your hand when you leave. You do your best to hide your giddiness when his lips touch your skin.

The following Thursday you’re back at his house, mansion, just about to get out of your car when your phone rings. Adela. 

You press accept. “Hello, Adela.” 

“My darling, how are you? Are you well?” Her voice practically purrs on the other end of the phone.

“I’m good, you?” 

“Fine, fine, listen, I am having a small get together tomorrow night, I will send a car for you. Yes?” 

“I,” You pause, ever so slightly taken aback. “Well…”

“You are free of course?” 

“Well, I was going to work on the portrait-”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, you have plenty of time, I understand art works can take years.”

“I don’t think it’ll take me years, I mean-”

“See? You are already ahead of schedule then my darling, 8pm the car will come. It’s a small thing, barely a hundred people, casual dress. And I mean it, wear jeans and a t-shirt if you want, or nothing at all.”

You open your mouth to speak and close it again as she continues.

“I simply must introduce you to my son. Anyway, see you then, ciao!” 

She hangs up before you can even say a word. 

You’re setting up in the ground floor study when Anselm comes in. His expression is stormy, you would almost say bleak if it wasn’t for the hard look in his eyes. 

He sits on the chair without his usual exuberance, muttering a quiet “Good morning.” 

You pause, still setting up your easel. Part of you isn’t sure if you know him well enough to ask about what’s bothering him, even though he’s been nothing but forthcoming and charming with you. You swallow down your anxiety.

“Are you okay?” 

“Hmm,” he nods and doesn’t look at you.”Perfectly well.” 

You bite your thumbnail nervously, but don’t ask again. You set up the rest of your equipment in silence. 

The quiet is odd. You realise you’re so used to hearing him talk, to being swept up in his tales that now the room seems hollow and barren without them. Cold and sterile. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks loudly, echoes sickeningly. 

Nothing seems to be going quite right, your colours are wrong, the shape irregular. 

You’ve been working for around twenty minutes when Anselm finally talks. 

“Has my sister invited you yet?” He’s a little gruff, a huff in his voice.

“I’m sorry?” You look up from your work.

“Invited you… to her gathering tomorrow?” 

“Oh, erm,” You stumble over your words, the hard look he gives you is practically alien, so unlike his usual smiles. “Yes, she called me just as I got here.” 

Anselm’s expression hardens. For a moment you don’t think he’s going to speak again. “She wants you to meet David, her eldest.” 

You pause, not sure if you should reply, but you do anyway. “Yeah, erm, she mentioned it briefly… not that I really got a word in.” You laugh weakly, maybe he was annoyed at how long it was taking you to start on the painting? “Honestly, I was planning on working on your portrait, but I didn’t really get a chance to refuse the invitation.” 

He hums again, sighing and slumps down a little in his chair. “He got divorced last year, you know?” 

It takes you a full minute to realise he’s talking about David. 

“Clean break, his ex-wife was very reasonable. No children.” He sighs again, “A perfectly eligible bachelor.” He runs his hand through his hair, pushing his curls in a completely different direction. 

“Anselm,” you tut, briefly forgetting the tense atmosphere, you walk around the easel and towards him, your hand outreached to fix his hair before you catch yourself. You stop, pausing right in front of him.

He looks up at you with soft eyes. “I apologise, my love. I did not mean to disrupt your work with my bad mood.” 

“It’s alright,” you smile slightly, “We all get annoyed.” 

“I’m sure you are rapturous in anger, all dragon fire and destruction.” 

You snort. “I am not.” 

He smiles and leans forward, pressing his head towards your hand. “I am sorry I disturbed my hair.” 

“It’s fine,” you lightly run your fingers through his curls, careful not to catch or pull as you move it back into its previous style. You motion for him to sit back so that you can position the last few rogue strands. You touch his hair for a little longer than absolutely necessary, swallowing as you press your fingers deeper. 

Anselm breathes in deeply, closing his eyes for a second and presses closer to your touch. 

“Is your nephew getting engaged or something, does Adela want me to paint a portrait of him too? Is that why I’m invited?” You ask innocently as you finally adjust his hair to your liking. You drop your hand to your side, a little disappointed that you no longer have a reason to touch him.

He opens his eyes slowly, staring up at you with a small frown. “My sweet, are you being serious, or pulling my leg? Because if it is the latter, I must say it is poor form considering my injury.” He motions a little dramatically to his brace.

“What?” You shrug a little, trying to work out what the hell he’s on about.

A small smile pulls at his lips when he realises you are being sincere. “My dear Adela wants to set you up with David, tomorrow is a formal introduction of sorts.” 

You pause, a little dumbfounded and Anselm chuckles. 

“My, the look on your face, you do not seem pleased.” He, however, is the happiest you have seen him all morning. 

“Here,” Anselm stands, “I’ll get my assistant to bring you a photo of David,” the tease in his voice is undeniable. “So that you may gaze about the face of your future beloved.” 

You finally find your voice. “Anselm.” You scold.

He grins wickedly, turning to face you fully. “I do love it when you use that tone with me, my sweet. Admonishing me does suit you.” He steps a fraction closer, raising his hand to lightly brush your cheek with the tips of his fingers. “I would happily die a thousand deaths to be under your thumb.” 

You swallow. “I don’t want you to die a thousand deaths… or be under my thumb.” You say softly, trying to say that you want him safe and alive and of his own strange but endearing free will.

But Anselm’s expression falls and he lowers his hand, mistaking your words for rejection. “I apologise again-”

Panic grips your chest and you blurt out the first thing that comes into your head. “But you can be under me if you want… as in…” Heat rolls over your face and you screw up your eyes. 

He laughs happily, stepping closer again so that you are chest to chest. He lightly traces your bottom lip with his thumb. “May I kiss you, my love?” 

With a giddy rush of energy, you lean forward and press your mouth to his in a soft, sweet kiss. Anselm moans happily, wrapping one arm around you. When you break the kiss he leans his forehead against yours. 

“Please forgive my foul mood earlier, I was… distressed.” 

“Why?” You tease, a sugar rush of happiness overtaking you. 

“Because I thought you were going to spend the rest of your days riding my nephew instead of me.” 

You snort, unable to stop yourself, and quickly cover your mouth with your hand. 

“Oh no, please, let me hear you laugh.” He gently takes your wrist and litters your cheeks with kisses, until you’re giggling uncontrollably. 

“Well, I’ll have to let Adela know there’s no need for me to go tomorrow.” 

Anselm tuts and raises an eyebrow, “I don’t think so, my love, I think it will be much more exciting to turn up on my arm and then proceed to make out messily on every available surface.” 

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

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@musicalnacho @buckyssugarchick @howellatme @sapphossongbird

[casteliacityramen]

Previous post (mini recap)

"Can we talk?"

"That depends if you'll yell at me and take off again."

"Depending on what you say, I just might."

[PART 1 OF 2]

"... Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know how to, without... that... happening. It was sheer coincidence that led Ingram’s descendants to keep coming here. I didn't think you'd believe me," Ray responded telepathically.

"I still don't."

"I have nothing to gain by lying to you."

She hates that part of him, how he manages to sound so disingenuous while still telling the truth. There's always something underneath the surface, but he never goes there unless she pokes and prods. She could have ended that explanation right then and there, but she continues.

"But not telling me that the Dewott that I've seen every other night was a Matsumoto this entire time? Keeping that to yourself is okay?"

One of the many problems of an infinite lifespan means that there's no longer agency to anything. There's no immediate need to address any personal matters when they theoretically have all the time left in the world.

He figured that he could have talked to her further down the line, when they both settled down and processed all of their feelings... Or so he thought. 

Touchy subject or not, it was starting to sink in that he should've talked about this sooner. Granted, he never would have guessed that the circumstances would have led them to where they were now. Neither of them imagined that today would’ve gone like this.

"Of course not...

... But can you blame me when you reacted like you did?"

"Alright, asshole, I came to apologize but if you’re going to-"

"You scared me."

"Rio, when you were released, when you found me again, you sat on that seat and you said…”

“... Nothing.”

The two of them sit still, time grinding to a halt while Ray’s eyes roamed the space underneath his hands–as if the grain in the wooden countertop was magically providing him instructions on how to organize his words.

Gods, he wished.

"You were so quiet, it was unsettling. You’ve never been one to shy away from talking about how you feel, so I know that something went terribly wrong. A Matsumoto stopping by every now and then seemed so inconsequential at the time. But… the more I thought about telling you, the more I second guessed myself.

So I left it unspoken. I had a feeling you would be angry with me and I was right... But I never thought you'd be furious.

We carried on quietly for the past six months because I wanted you to take the first step. I figured that you’d be ready whenever you felt like you it, but I should have told you about this without having to make you dredge up the past by yourself."

I'm sorry."

"This is supposed to be my apology about yelling at you, you prick." Rio telepathically mutters, not expecting this level of genuine introspection from him. "How am I supposed to follow that?"

She watches as Ray visibly laughs off the tension in his shoulders. She lets out a short huff in response, turning back to the counter.

"I thought I was fine. I thought I was better than this–above it all. We went through something like this before, back when we first started. I thought we’d shrug it off like we did last time, but then I snapped like a toothpick today."

Ray watches as her face scrunches up in a cocktail of negative emotions. She seems like she's physically struggling to get anything out, which is an effort that didn't go unnoticed by Ray.

"I think running a ramen stand as a rockruff is exactly how I am now: absolutely useless. I'm not allowed to be useful. I'm not allowed to do my job as a Shepherd.

And that's a good thing, because now I can't stop thinking about all my mistakes--all the people I failed to protect. There's no use in a guardian angel that loses faith in herself."

She turns, facing the street, thankful that it was relatively empty at this time of hour.

“So... I sat here, on this very stool, watching every day as everybody moved on with their lives without a care in the world. Ordinary people who seem to be doing fine without me.” 

Rio shakes her head at the term "ordinary people,” laughing bitterly as she turns back around.

“I know I’m being stupid. A carefree life for everyone is what we work so hard for, yet I feel so… so pissed off at them for being none-the-wiser.

Imagine that: being mad that peace is the new ‘ordinary.’ Angry that these people don't know what it's like to live with the constant threat of death, even though none of them deserve it. It makes me feel like a shitty shepherd.

I thought it'd be easier if I slept through those moments, but every other time I fall asleep, I have a nightmare. When I try to think of anything else, all I can think about is how this all started. I thought about all the things we did to get to this point. I couldn't, and still can't, stop thinking about everything I did wrong back then and now.”

Ray heaves a heavy sigh, partly because he feels relieved that she's opening up to him, but another partly because he knows exactly what she's talking about.

“Yeah.”

She didn’t need him to say anything else. She knows that he knows. She'll tell him the full extent of what she went through and what she's going through, but that's for another day. That isn't the purpose of this specific conversation, after all.

She paws the empty glass around on the table sheepishly for a long moment. Finally, she gathers herself and turns to him.

“I’m sorry I made you cry.” 

“I know.”

“Thanks for putting up with me.”

“You’ve been there for me. I wouldn't have it any other way.”

[Next]

[bennie-jerry]

My Beef with Wanda Maximoff - An MCU Rant

Sorry not sorry, I will ride the Wanda-ain't-shiitake train till the wheels are worn out. I do not care what her fangirls say. And if you're legitimately going to be so overly offended just from me disliking a FICTIONAL character, I highly suggest you click off, make some tea, and watch a Ghibli movie.

How many times does it need to be said? Just because someone suffers from some form of (small or big) trauma, IT DOESN’T GIVE THEM A PASS TO DO EVIL SH—

I really REALLY sincerely hope there's lore or bits I'm missing here (and if so, PLEASE tell me because I WANT to be wrong so BAD). But from what I know and remember, I feel as though I have every right to be disgusted with who Wanda is as a person.

It frustrates me so much how this carmine-colored narcissist will whine about people being scared of her, but she does stuff only a scary person WOULD do.

Purposefully setting the Hulk off so you could use him as a wrecking ball on innocent civilians in Johannesburg during Age of Ultron? Seems scary as heck.

Literally warping the universe itself to hunt and kill a teenager who did nothing to you during Multiverse of Madness? Seems scary as heck.

Brainwashing an ENTIRE town JUST so you can live in delusion about your man not being dead during Wandavision? Seems DOUBLE scary as heck.

Don't even try to defend what she did in Age of Ultron. Even if she supposedly didn't INTEND to have civilians killed, she sure as HECK didn't seem all too sorry that it happened. She wasn't ‘regretful’ that she did it. She was only ‘regretful' when Bruce confronted her on it. She has the nerve (the utter AUDACITY) to hate Tony Stark for the same CRAP that she does (if not worse, which let's be honest—it’s worse).

At least Tony Stark DIED out of an effort to save everyone, whereas Wanda usually tends to only help others when it benefits HER.

Wanda is nothing more than a Multiversal brat with a god-complex and no one can tell me otherwise. If something does not go 100% her way, she completely acts out and throws a reality-warping tantrum.

“Oh, but she tried to fix everything in Wandavision!”

Yeah, only after finding out she was BRAINWASHING people!

How the FREAK do you reality warp an ENTIRE town (especially at the large radius she used her magic) and expect NO one to be under mind control? Would you NOT try to fly around the premises to see if ANYONE else was there?

Once again, even if this was an example where she didn't INTEND for it to happen, then that proves another great flaw that she has.

Wanda hardly (if ever) thinks through her actions. And then when her actions bite her in the butt, she has the nerve to be surprised. Wanda almost never (and I'm being generous here) considers how her actions harm or affect others until it turns around and affects HER.

She did not deserve Vision, he was too good of a man for her, sorry not sorry.

Just the stuff she did even BEFORE Multiverse of Madness is enough to not like her.

Let's not even get into the fact she never ACTUALLY apologized to Bruce Banner for everything she put him through. All she said at most when he confronted her is, “I know you're angry…”

Oh wow, REALLY? I couldn't POSSIBLY understand why Banner would EVER be angry at you for essentially brain-raping him (going into his mind and memories without his CONSENT) and using his worst fears against him to trigger Hulk so you could use him like a personal killing machine, further lessening the very few support systems he already HAD. She should feel grateful Banner immediately didn't throw her through a wall upon seeing her.

“But she became an avenger and helped them in Endgame!”

I could not give less of a DOOKIE about the fact she did that. Wanda fighting Thanos was literally the ONLY option she possibly had if she didn't wanna turn into dust along with the other half of the population. Sure, she also did it because she was forced to kill her boo BECAUSE of Thanos, but let's be honest—she would've had to fight him regardless. Her handing Thanos’ butt to him (while a very cool scene) doesn't prove JACK about her character.

The fact she ever BECAME an avenger after effectively traumatizing the MAJORITY of them is mind-boggling to me.

“Oh, I'm sorry I weaponized all of your traumas against you for my own personal gain because I wanted to work with a genocidal robot, can I join you guys?”

“Sure, Wanda! Come into the team and we'll pretend like you didn't do a darn thing!”

(The fact this isn't even ALL that she's done is absurd, I can still keep going—)

Don't even get me STARTED on Multiverse of Madness. And before anyone tries to say, “She did it so she could have a reality with her children!”

BRO, HER KIDS WEREN'T EVEN FREAKING REAL—

Wanda Freaking Maximoff wanted to murder a TEENAGER all for some children that were not even ACTUAL people. And when she did have them, didn't she make them FIGHT against the military in Wandavision or am I mistaken (which I VERY MUCH hope I am because what the he---)?

I do not care whatsoever what her reason is or what trauma she went through. Attempted murder of a minor (ESPECIALLY in this case, a minor who didn't even do anything) is inexcusable to me.

There is no way in frog fingers you guys are ACTUALLY trying to justify and/or downplay a grown ADULT trying to murder a CHILD (because that's what America was—a CHILD).

(Her and Miguel O'Hara would get along GREAT, when's the collab--)

And by then, she had ALREADY brutally murdered a whole bunch of people and probably corrupted the multiverse even FURTHER than she already had.

It wasn't until an ALTERNATE version of her (who ACTUALLY had her kids) told her to sit the [BLEEP] down (I'm paraphrasing here, but you get my drift).

Wanda is NOT a victim.

Is she a good villain? Yes.

But this witch isn't a victim. Not anymore at least.

She doesn't apologize for her actions. She doesn't take responsibility.

She doesn't reflect on what she does.

And even when she DOES finally do ANY of those things in ANY capacity, the damage is already done. In fact, it's not JUST done, it's also BURNT inside the oven causing smoke to go everywhere.

There is no rhyme or reason you could pull out that will convince me to be anything short of angry with this character and I'm so tired of her fans trying to defend her just because she was a lab rat and lost her man.

Once again, it's not bad to like a character that does awful stuff. But please, for sanity sake, STOP acting like they're a lost little angel BECAUSE you like them. I know they say "hurt people hurt people" but that still doesn't justify doing bad stuff just because bad things happened to YOU.

[adozentothedawn]

Got a very nice comment on my fic (thank you so much @serenbach86 :D) and started thinking about more possible Hadria exploits (including the possibility of her becoming a Hadrian at some point, at least sometimes. We'll see.) and the longer I think about it the worse her decisions get. Corvo is going to have a fucking stroke learning all of that and just how much dumb luck this child had.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

if dorian didn't show up, do you think louis would have shot minnie?

I do. I know some people think either he wouldn't have or he would've missed so that's why the writers had him shoot Dorian instead, but mmmmmm no, I don't personally think so. I like to think that if he had taken the shot, his shaky hands would've caused him to shoot her fatally.

Mostly because I'm already so normal about the fact that of the Ericson crew, Marlon and Louis are the only ones with a body count. Well, that we know of, but shown to us in the game, at least. Plus, we know it's Louis' first kill.

Like yeah, Clementine and AJ become part of the crew and they have bigger body counts, and if we're counting indirect kills caused by actions, then Tenn has a count... and I guess everyone has blood on their hands for blowing up the boat... but I'm talking about killed directly with a weapon like....... I lied, I'm not normal about that at all, Louis and Marlon are the ones who have killed someone in Louis' route. I'm also not normal about the fact that Louis kills Dorian and then even as he's clearly in shock, he tries to go with Clementine to get AJ, and then later on when they talk about it, he says it feels like bile but not quite and he's glad he has it in him to do it.... listen, listen, listen... I'm obsessed with that.

Anyway, so if Louis shot Minerva, I think he would've accidentally killed her and can you imagine? He's already enough of a mess after killing the woman who pinned him down and tried to cut his finger off [or succeeded] but he knew Minerva, they were friends before the twins were taken. Even Violet couldn't kill her even though that would've been the smarter thing to do, and we know thanks to meta knowledge that killing her would've saved lives, but Violet couldn't, and I don't think Louis would intentionally either.

Speaking of Violet, if Louis killed Minerva, I hate to think about what that would've done to Vi. I think she might've actually left at that point, like what was planned before it got changed to her being burned. I don't think she would've attacked Louis over it, though, like yeah she attacked Clementine in the cell but Louis? I don't know, but I don't think so just because it's Louis and he'd be a mess about it anyway.

Though if he did kill her, it would be a neat parallel to draw... y'know, because Louis forgave AJ for killing Marlon even though he was pissed and heartbroken, and Violet was annoyed with him the entire time... but could she ever forgive Louis for killing Minerva? Y'know? We already have a similar parallel with AJ shooting Tenn, but still.

If Clementine killed Minerva in that moment, though, then I could see Violet attacking her since in her eyes, Clem proved her right.

So yeah, I get why they added the Dorian kill to his route. It adds another compelling element to Louis as a character, but we also need Minerva alive for episode 4; Louis can't kill her, he can't miss, and he's not going to stay with her because we need Violet to stay on the boat and him to be on shore for all routes.

[neurotypical-sonic]

thinking about bpd amy

[lesbianpegbar]

ayane you need to get a grip. ayane please. for me

[cloneboywonder]

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

[multishipper-baby]

Thinking about how the whole Deya situation resolved because having the family fight makes me big sad :c

[bruciemilf]

Bruce doesn’t know when violence stops being violence to him.

When he’s 4 years old, he pushes Oliver Queen off the swings, because it was his turn, and if talking wouldn’t work, this would.

Martha holds his face , gently, when he has to write an apology letter.

“If you want to participate in cruelty, you can’t cry when you become a victim of it.”

He also punched Sophia Falcone for calling Selina an ugly word, and his small fists ache after, but it doesn’t feel wrong.

His mama grins, small but proud, and Alfred makes his favorite tea, and Thomas tells ‘nice shot, babe’ while gently wrapping up his bleeding knuckles.

He remembers Oswald Cobblepot coming over, seeing him, and handing him ten bucks while cackling.

Gotham teaches him young.

They were out, — Thomas never lets Alfred leave home without him, not even for trivial little things like grocery shopping. And where his father goes, Bruce goes, tied to his hip like an extra limb.

There’s a man, — and he’s holding his wife by the hair. Bruce knows because he can see their rings glowing in the grey sunshine. They’re like Alfie’s rings.

She has bruises on her face, and her neck, and he’s scared for her. Thomas gently puts him down, and Bruce asks if he’ll call Mr. Policeman Gordon.

And Thomas unlocks his wristwatch, slides it over to his knuckles.

“This is how Waynes do things.”

Alfred tries to take Bruce awayand Uncle Oz stops him. When he watches Thomas punches and stomps on that man’s face until his legs stop twitching, he understands.

As Batman, Penguin hands him a 10 dollar bill, still wet with blood, when Bruce takes him to Arkham.

“Your daddy didn’t need a mask. “

[bigbuffjoonie]

SCREAMS

Okay now that I’m more normal, this fic was so thrilling! Going through the mountain pass I was holding my breath too! The feeling of dread just building up until The Splashes just -chef kiss-!! Loved everything about this and I cannot wait to see pt 2! 💕

The Obsidian Pearl (I)

— pairing: mermaid seokjin x (f) reader — word count: 7.2k — warnings: yandere, descriptions of death/blood/violence — summary: Sailing through The Dead Man’s Passage is a death sentence and the whole crew knows it. But with the ship’s stocks dwindling fast, your captain is left with no other choice. When a haunting melody makes the crew jump ship one by one, you find yourself alone with the demon lurking in the murky red water. As the creature beckons you to jump into the icy ocean – “come to me, pet” – you find that you can’t do anything but obey.

“Captain, this is a bad idea.”

A hush falls over the deck, a few whispers being passed back and forth between the crew as they watch you challenge the captain’s decision. There’s an audible gulp somewhere behind you as the captain pins you with a hard gaze, his jaw clenched tight with annoyance.

He taps the map that’s spread out in front of him, voice leaving no room for argument as he says, “This is the fastest route.”

“That may be, Captain, but it’s not worth the risk. Haven’t you heard the stories? The numerous crews that have gone missing after sailing in this area? There’s a reason it’s called The Dead Man’s passage!”

Keep reading