#and regardless even a ''joke'' is still a death threat in the eyes of the law

[coockie8]

I didn't realise who this was until I went to block them, but bogleech found me on DA

Yeah, not shocked in the slightest they don't remember me, that's the privilege these guys have; they get to throw heinous paedophilia accusations at survivors, tell them they deserve to die over fiction and then just move on with their life like nothing happened.

TW: CSA mention, Incest mention

In case you can't tell; with everything else going on my life right now, I have no patience for this left. Don't want a survivor to dump their trauma on you? Don't claim drawings of an imaginary friend are equivalent.

[kalpasio]

Beauty and Decimation

The Permanent Guest

A Kalpas x Reader fic loosely based on Beauty and the Beast, Chapter 2 below!

It was well past noon. You weren’t completely sure of the time, but the sun had reached and passed its apex when you had sullenly looked up from your book. Elysia had come by in the morning to bring you breakfast, and in the afternoon for lunch, but you were starting to get worried. Her joking promises that you weren’t a prisoner were doing very little to ease your mind, and the longer you stayed, the more anxious you got.  

What if they were waiting for you to let your guard down? Maybe the castle truly housed a beast as the rumors said, and you were to be his next meal. Maybe Elysia had taken your story and was searching the town for the men who had chased you out here in the hopes of a handsome reward. Worries ran rampant in your mind, yet your only option in each case was to wait. The chances of you finding your way out of this place were slim, and the chances of making it out without being seen were non-existent.  

With the sun setting, you figured it must be close to six in the evening when you heard talking outside your door. Probably Elysia with dinner if you had to guess. Marking your place, you set down the book you had been reading, and stood to face the door. When it opened, you found that your guess had been half correct; Elysia was on the other side, leaning around a man you had yet to meet.  

You could easily see where the stories of a beast came from. His shoulders nearly filled the doorway, and he had to stoop slightly to avoid brushing the lentil. Though you couldn’t see his face under the mask he wore, you were certain the look in his eyes was crazed, or very close to it. Frightened by the appearance of someone so intimidating, you stumbled back and found yourself landing back on the window seat. Part of you feared that continuing to sit was horribly rude, but a louder part of you refused to move any closer to the beast. 

Elysia seemed to be the calmest of the three of you. With an easy smile sent your way, she tugged on an arm so muscular her hand didn’t make it halfway around. Still, it seemed to be enough to have the beast stop from moving forward; not that he couldn’t kill you from this—or any—distance. 

“See Kalpas? Just a guest visiting for a few days! No hunters, no nasty witches, or silly villagers.” She spoke as though talking down an angry dog, but you found it hard to believe her calming tone was doing any good. It certainly wasn’t making you feel better.  

In the back of your mind, you recalled ‘Kalpas’ as being the name of the prince that had lived in this castle before it fell to ruin, but that had been almost a century ago. Even if you couldn't see his face, the man before you didn’t look anywhere near 100. His hair was a silvery white with brown near the ends, but there wasn’t a gray hair in sight. You also failed to recount meeting any grandpas with enough strength to lift someone like Elysia straight off the ground the way Kalpas was doing right now.  

She hardly seemed to slow him down on his march towards your seat. Your back was fully pressed against the glass at this point. Apart from breaking the window and falling to your death, you weren’t getting any further away from the current threat. And you didn’t think he’d let you get away with dying that easily. As he stalked closer, all you could see was the brown and orange mask that seemed reminiscent of the family crest hanging above the fireplace.  

“Get out.” 

You couldn’t exactly move with how he had you pinned into the little window seat right now, but after hearing that growl, you were willing to do just about anything to get out of this place. If given even an inch of space, you would bolt. You weren’t sure if it was your heart that had risen up your throat, or bile, but you felt sick regardless. 

Kalpas had danger radiating off of him right alongside a suffocating heat. Fear for the man made you deaf to the reassurances Elysia was spouting to the both of you. A second voice joined in, followed by a third, but you couldn’t hear them over the blood rushing in your ears. It wasn’t until all of your surprise visitors left that you were able to do anything other than gape in terror. 

“Uncle Kalpas really isn’t that bad.” The soft voice made your head whip to the side. Rin must have wandered in while you were waiting for your heart to return to a reasonable pace. She already had everything laid out and was holding a teacup for you to take. Once it was placed in your unsteady hands, she grabbed her own cup and sat next to you on the window seat. There was a little chip on the lip of the teacup, but she spoke again before you could comment on it. 

“Mobius hates when he gets like this. ‘Too much work,’ she says.” Rin took a thoughtful sip, reminding you of your own waiting cup. “I don’t know why she’s mad. Hua does all the cleaning anyway...” 

“Rin,” you started cautiously, wanting to get answers without getting kicked out. “How long has Kalpas lived here?” 

“Ninety-two years we’ve been trapped here.” A new voice broke in so calmly you weren’t even startled. “May I have some tea Rin?” The girl jumped off her seat and set about pouring another cup for the stranger while you stared. Simply being in the same room as him had you relaxing—the opposite of what happened with Kalpas. 

“My name is Su, I’m the valet, though no one has needed one in quite some time.” He pulled one of the chairs from the small table off to the side and turned it to face you. While Rin handed off the tea and returned to her seat, Su continued. 

“A century ago, prince Kalpas was at the forefront of the battle against Honkai. He and his followers had recently overrun a camp that had been causing the kingdom quite a few headaches.” You remembered reading about the battle in numerous books the library in your village offered, but the words coming from the man before you were much easier to believe than the exaggeration bound in leather. 

“To celebrate the victory, prince Kalpas—begrudgingly—hosted a feast. Truly, he was not one for such celebrations. I highly doubt the years have made any difference, but still; at the time, the prince was loathe to welcome so many guests, so the list of those invited was quite limited. 

One of those omitted from the list was Lady Aponia, a duchess nearby. What we soon found out was that she was also a sorceress. She was by no means an ally to the Honkai, but she regarded Kalpas’ destructive behavior with distaste. This latest attack had left much of her land burned and the years’ harvest was little more than ash.” 

Aponia was a name you had only read once before. Very few books contained information on neighboring nobles because there were very few nobles to write of. If Aponia indeed was a sorceress, she would have been erased from history the moment she was found out, only making Su’s story more believable. There were acres upon acres of land to the north of the village that remained untouched. Every farmer who attempted to claim a plot found their crop withered—as though the ground itself was cursed. 

“Kalpas alone was responsible for the fires, and all in attendance that night were made aware. Aponia entered the castle, bringing with her a silence that left a chill in your bones. Our prince held no fear for her, but I truly wish he had.” Rin shuddered next to you, as though the memory of that night still haunted her, even after all this time. 

“Aponia cursed us for prince Kalpas’ lack of concern for her people. We are to walk these halls until the day he learns what it means to care for another.” 

“And yet he remains as stubborn as ever.” A sigh came from the doorway, causing you to jump and spill tea all over yourself. Luckily, at this point, it had grown cold, but the sharp nails and pastel green hair of the figure that entered had you biting back a yelp as though you had been burned all the same.  

“You are no different Mobius,” Su’s voice took on a slightly more hostile tone. “All these years and you still insist upon scaring our guests.” 

“What else is there to do in this stuffy old castle,” she almost sounded forlorn. You would have felt bad about her situation if she wasn’t so carelessly flicking the hands on the mantle clock, her claws leaving gouges in the wood.  

“Besides, after the fuss they caused getting Kalpas all wound up like that, I think they deserve a little scare.” Su seemed ready to argue, but Mobius cut him off. “Dinner will be ready in another few minutes. You’ll be joining Kalpas in the banquet hall. Rin can show you the way.” 

Joining him? You were quite certain Kalpas would only share a meal with you if your bones were the main course. It seemed unlikely that someone who had been ready to kill you for intruding would suddenly turn around and invite you to their dinner table. 

“Elysia is only using you as an excuse to get out of her chores,” Mobius rolled her eyes. “Bringing the food up here is a waste of time. If you’re going to be staying here, you’re not going to be a nuisance.” 

“I didn’t mean to—” you started, but Mobius interrupted again.  

“Didn’t mean to impose, blah blah,” she mocked you, “It’s too late for that, little guest. I’ll have Eden come get you dressed. You’re expected to be in your seat in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.” 

Flipping long curls over her shoulder, Mobius stalked out. Su stood to follow, only giving you an apologetic glance before departing. Rin softly held your hand, pulling you from the terrifying whirlpool of thoughts in your head. Her smile was reassuring, and you clung to it as your only source of comfort for the rest of the night.  

If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought Eden was the lady of the house. Everything about her was so perfect yet genuine, bringing you a sense of peace even Su would envy. She spent the full fifteen minutes finding the perfect outfit and ensuring you were beyond presentable.

            “First impressions last!” she told you; as though you hadn’t already gone through quite possibly the worst introduction possible with prince Kalpas.

            “He’ll get over it,” she told you in a tone so sweet you almost believed her.

            “Remember to enjoy yourself!” she called out, just before the doors shut, cutting off the light and joy surrounding herself and Rin, leaving you with only fear and despair that clouded the room containing the prince.

            Food was already laid out, making it apparent that your seat was to be as far from Kalpas as possible. The length of the table meant you had to squint to see him clearly, but it also meant you would have a second’s warning before he could kill you. What you could possibly do with that second was a different matter.

            Shadows cast from the massive fireplace covered the face of the prince, blocking his eyes from your view even without his usual mask. Out of respect—and most definitely not terror—you kept your eyes focused on your plate, convincing yourself that there was no one at the table but you. For the entire duration of the meal, the room was silent. It was only when you finished—unsure whether you should leave or wait for your host to finish—that he spoke.

            “Elysia is demanding that you stay.” Your head snapped up in time to catch a stray tongue of flame reflect off of a wicked looking eye. “It seems you’ve gotten yourself into quite the bind, little guest,” he taunted you like a rabbit caught in a trap. “Which do you fear more? The beast or your lover?”

            The fire crackled, attempting to break the silence to no avail. With a nervous gulp, you gathered your thoughts and spoke.

            “It would be a lie to say I do not fear the beast more,” your answer drew a grin full of knife-like teeth, showing the prince’s pleasure at hearing your words in the most threatening way possible.

“Yet,” you spoke again, all fear gone from your voice. “I would rather die than return to town.”

At that, Kalpas threw his head back with a bark of laughter that left your blood chilled within your veins. Tilting his chin down just so, you could see the firelight bounce off of every scar. It became impossible to tell if the burning in his eyes was coming from within himself or was merely glare from the light. Despite the terror clawing at your heart, you kept your gaze locked on him, refusing to look away, even if he was to be the last thing you saw in this life.

“Then you would live with your fear?” His drop in tone did little to ease your anxiety, but you nodded regardless. Again, those horrid teeth appeared, ready to tear you limb from limb, but the prince didn’t move.

“Enjoy your stay then, little guest.”

(I don't have any notes written believe it or not) Su is supposed to be the valet (coat rack??) and Mobius, the mantle clock. Does this ever come into play in the story? nope! it doesn't matter, I don't know why I tried to relate them to characters. I don't know why I went with this theme???? Dear reader, if you understand please let me know because I am so lost and I'm the one who wrote it :(

[thewolfisawake]

Name: Risteard Gallochbar

Personality:

Risteard can come off as a typical noble from first appearances. However he has an unmatched diligence and tends to put the consideration for the overall good rather than personal gain. Not to say he completely selfless, he doubts any fae is, but he at least can see it's better to share a burden than to shoulder it alone. He tends to be one that likes to tease but knows that because of his position and demeanor...normal folks do not know what to do with him. The generals on the other hand tend to know he is either joking or provoking.

Background:

One of Balmoral's generals and the Vizier to the Crown. He is the voice that speaks to the king's ear...though he feels many times it goes unheard. He keeps an eye on trends of the people and a hand on the pulse of the citadel. But it is said that if Mhoirbheinn is the one that disposes of any physical threats, Risteard is the one that will rid of any other threats.

Risteard feels he had a chip on his shoulder for a very long time. This is because of his inherent risk as an existence. He was the child to a noble house in both the Unseelie and Seelie. It should have been near impossible to happen but this occurred during a stint of 'peace' between the two. And it led to a horribly bloody custody battle that he has never quite made peace with.

He was initially raised in the Seelie as his mother was a Seelie gentry. However in his childhood started a back and forth of stealing away. While this should have been a matter kept between the parents, it eventually escalated to assassinations and forced outside deliberation. It became a risk with the courts due to one side literally breaking into the other court to either attempt to murder the other parent or steal the child. A child, which is a commodity to fae to begin with and even more so to a noble.

And for Risteard...he wanted this end. For him, it was witnessing senseless violence time and time again. He had lost caregivers and friends that had been unlucky to be with him whenever his parents thought it time to 'bring him home.' He had grown discontent and sought a way. This led him to getting his parents to come to a middle ground--the mortal plane--to settle the matter. He would choose the house he would represent. But before he did asked for their promise to accept the outcome. Both parents were confident on him choosing them and thus agreed over a toast.

...only for the parents to have fallen dead within each other's embrace. Yes, Risteard orchestrated their deaths in order to end further bloodshed. He had also painted it as guilt on both of the parents. As for where he ended up, his Seelie parentage did not believe that it was lover's suicide and would not take him. His Unseelie parentage didn't truly believe it either but would not be deprived of an heir regardless. So with that, the ceaseless murder did stop.

But then came the other issue of being a child of two court: the question of his loyalty. There was always the thought of 'what if he's a spy' and Risteard sought to change their perception of him. And thought he could do so by proving himself. But he had done so over and over and over only for that question to plague him still. It made him resentful and hopeless in his situation. The former leading him to his rivalry with Balmoral.

He had been serving in the court when Balmoral had started ingratiating himself to the nobility. He knew that any non-noble would only be looking for boost somewhere. And expected the novelty to wear off but it never did. And then Risteard was worried that upstart like Balmoral was going to cause trouble. So he sought to take him down a peg where he could. So he would bring up something and sometimes it would throw the fae for a loop. However Balmoral would always return better than their last encounter and usually to force Risteard to cede.

How Balmoral convinced Risteard is considered another mystery amongst his generals. Especially since Risteard appears to be contrary to the king in most respects and vice versa. However neither ever considered it much of anything. Risteard was someone that challenged Balmoral constantly and held an understanding of the land and the people that he needed. And Risteard, if allowed to explain it his way, simply didn't want to be on the business end of Balmoral's sword. But if known truly, it was because Risteard had discovered how the kingdom was already in that fae's grasp and Risteard was willing to take the chance on a place where he could be free shackles that came with his name and have earned his place, his loyalty.

Miscellaneous:

Risteard is a master poisoner. He can understand most poisons presented to him. He also provides Solanine with the poisons she uses.

Yes, he and Bal are actually friends despite how it seems. They just act more like vitriolic best buds.

He and Bal actually have tea together where they...mutually have poison within it. It's to help give resistance and it's kinda a morbid joke between them.

He is actually quite disdainful of Mhoirbheinn because he's too unpredictable of a character for Balmoral's reign.

Ironically, they are considered other side of the coin for the other in some respects

Risteard does handle interrogations

He is something of a tutor to some of the generals as he is the technical most learned.

[mcwscollective]

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Anthony

Nickname: Angel Dust, Angie, Angel Cakes

Species: Human (before death,) spider demon

Age: 30s biologically

Birthday: Unimportant

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He / they / she

Location: Hell (died of a drug overdose)

Language: English

FAMILY

Parents: Dead

Siblings: Arackniss (older brother,) Molly (fraternal twin sister)

Children: None

Pets: Fat Nuggets (pig)

PHYSICAL TRAITS

Eyes: Light yellow with a pink iris (right,) black with a pink iris (left)

Hair: White fur with pink spots and stripes

Height: Around 8' tall with heels on

Build: Slim, thin, more than likely malnourished

Scars: None that he likes talking about

Tattoos: None

Piercings: None

Other: Has one very noticeable golden tooth and 3 pink dots beneath each eye (which look like freckles but are actually more eyes.) Three sets of arms, although the lowest set are retractable and aren't shown often)

PERSONALITY

Positive: Quick-witted, stylish, loyal to his friends

Negative: Sarcastic, perverted, irresponsible

General: Angel's heart is in the right place. He's good to his friends and he does try when he knows it's something that's important to those he cares about. He's not exactly caught up on modern times, due to the timeline that he'd been alive for, but he knows how to give people a chance as long as they don't approach him as a threat. That's not to say he's weak or quick to trust, however; growing up in a crime family taught him how to hold his own well.

Education: Nothing that matters now

Occupation: Adult entertainer (on film, on stage, and one-on-one)

Hobbies: Getting into fights, spending time with his pet pig, doing makeup

Likes: Fighting and causing general chaos, cooking, the color pink, drugs, flirting

Dislikes: His feet, the abuse he receives from his boss

Bad Habits: Smoking, drinking, taking drugs, has a habit of making crude / dirty jokes and innuendoes regardless of the company he has around him

RELATIONSHIPS

Friendships: His closest friends are the others in the hotel, even if they don't want to admit it, and his best gal pal

Family: Angel isn't close with his family, and that's fine with him

Relationship Status: Verse dependent, typically single(ish... he's still technically owned by Valentino)

Romantic Orientation: Homoromantic

Sexual Orientation: Homosexual (but he can overlook that detail for the right price)

Role / Position: Versatile switch. If you're paying, you make the rules

NAVIGATION

Aesthetic

Headcanons

Musings

NSFW

Pics and quotes

Threads

Verses

CONNECTIONS

Ship

[iironwreath]

Forge [Ulysses]

Jhira’s basement was as good as any for a ritual: it was private, magically protected, and dimly lit. Uly wrapped the darkness around her like it could protect her even though it made it more difficult to see. Most non-humans could see in the dark, but for the moment, she allowed ignorance: her limited sight made her fall for the belief that if she couldn’t see a threat, they couldn’t see her. She would take any small comfort she could, then.

Dicentra joined their hands over the pommel of their sword. The memory of the first time she did—what felt like a century ago now—welled to the surface. It was gone in the time it took Ulysses to blink.

“You’ve taken the plunge before,” Di said. “This is just another. I already know you have the courage for it.”

“Another plunge, different cliff,” Uly supplied. She meant to sound like she was joking but her voice came out thin. 

Di kissed her forehead and lowered herself to the floor, reclining flat over the arcane sigil with her wings fanning out behind to their full width. Uly adjusted her grip, wrapping the hilt in her fist. Standing over Di’s body with the intention of kind-of murder made her insides unexpectedly curdle. Living creatures, regardless of origin, wanted to avoid pain on an instinctual level.

“Where?” they asked. 

“Through the chest,” Di said, helpfully spreading her arms so the space between her breasts was bared vulnerable. She was still clothed, but wore outfits that revealed the iridescent tattoo there. 

Uly nodded, more to prep herself than anything. She raised the sword, its point aimed at Di’s heart. Di tensed minutely, then breathed out her mouth, relaxing. Uly sighed in time with her, shoulders softening. 

“It’s alright,” Di assured again. “I’ll be okay. We should finish this.”

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

Ulysses thrust down.

The sword pierced her, stopping when it met the ground through her spine. Di jerked, but didn’t cry, the only sound the wet puncturing of flesh and blood spraying from her lips. The runes etched into the sword’s face began to glow in contact with her blood—but not fully.

Di’s eyes remained limpid, alert, and wild with pain. “Again,” she gasped, air fighting its way up her throat. 

Uly yanked the sword out and plunged again, heart hammering but resolute, no way to go but forward. It felt wrong, on some level—she was destroying the body they’d mended together, one that had regenerated naturally over time. If she’d destroyed it early on so Di could remake herself in Hell, they wouldn’t have bonded the way they did. Their love wouldn’t exist, or would’ve taken longer to flower. 

The second wound arrived parallel to the first. Light bled from Di’s eyes, dimming from gold to corpse-grey. Her body ceased voluntary movement, head lolling to one side, slack in death. The illuminated runes grew in brightness.

She started to liquefy. It was like watching candle wax melt, skin dripping and limbs puddling. Uly wanted to look away, but stood frozen, her eyes two gaping holes in her face. Knowing what would happen made it no less gruesome.

Dicentra’s skin and hair lost their vibrancy, darkening into an inky black. The sword drank what Di became instead of letting her dissolve and evaporate, the midnight ichor webbing up the steel, heat lashing off of it. 

The approaching mass didn’t stop at the crossguard. It leapt over it, snapping around Uly’s waiting hand like a wolf’s jaw. She startled and cried out, tried to drop it out of instinct, but it welded her to the handle. It raced up her faster than it had the sword, sheathing her arm in living, writhing shadow. It burned—her skin boiled, encased in what felt like liquid glass. By the time it reached her shoulder, the pain was unbearable. The same blackness consumed her vision as she screamed herself raw.

Consciousness came as a surprise, trickling in some unknown time later. Through a blurry slant of vision, she saw her outstretched arm, and just past her fingers, the finished sword. Colour had been bleached from the world—her arm looked grey, remarkably unblemished, and anything beyond she couldn’t make out clearly. 

Her fingers grazed the blade. Completely cool, comforting against her feverish skin. A whisper of a thought caressed her mind—more of an intention, a presence, than a voice. It reached out to her as she had to it, but they didn’t quite touch.

She passed out again.

—

Ulysses woke properly on a single bed with a blanket drawn up to their waist. On the edge of consciousness, they had been blissfully unaware of their body, too in shock to feel much of anything. Now every sensation known to man came roaring back, and they wished they were unconscious again, too overwhelmed to pick out anything specific beyond pain and discomfort. She groaned.

A weight like two hawk feet settled on her sternum and two tiny nails peeled open the eyelids on her right eye. An imp perched there, staring at her with big, cat-like pupils. She growled at him, shaking her head to fend him off and open her eyes on her own. 

“Fucking finally,” he said, hopping back and launching into the air, then swooping out the door. It gave her space to examine her surroundings. What she remembered hadn’t been a dream—the room appeared in a spectrum of blacks, whites, and greys. A single taper was on a bedside dresser, unlit. She sat up.

The imp returned a minute later with Jhira in tow, rolling up her sleeves. Duty complete, the imp vanished in a puff of smoke. Jhira crossed to the window at the foot of Uly’s bed and split the curtains. The room exploded with light and colour even though she’d only opened them a fraction. Uly winced, shielding her eyes. 

“Welcome back,” Jhira chirped. “You must have questions.”

“Where is it?” Uly asked. Jhira pointed. Uly followed with her gaze, still squinting. Propped against a wardrobe was her sword. With the light of day, she could appreciate it in full. It had changed: where the crossguard met steel, the blade was caliginous. It transitioned into a deep red to carnation pink and ended in sun-white at a curved tip. The handle bore a pommel that vaguely resembled Dicentra’s namesake—an inverted heart, cut with facets like a jewel. 

“I’m more interested in your change,” Jhira said, gesturing to Ulysses. Uly glanced down in alarm; a swath of grey greeted her. She clenched her eyes, temples throbbing.

“Start small,” Jhira suggested.

She brought her palm in front of her face. Her skin was indeed an ashy grey, like a volcano had spit her out. True to a volcano as well, her nails were orange, tapered into claws. She followed her fingers up her arm—they were longer than she remembered.

She examined the line of her arm where it blended into shoulder. Slashes of orange marked her deltoid. The scar on her belly glowed faintly against her skin, shifting between all the warm colours of an open flame. She shifted her legs—they were off.

“Careful—” Jhira advised, but Uly tore off the covers. Her legs went on and on and—ended in hooves. Goat hooves, a pumpkin-orange that matched her nails. She tried to flex toes that weren’t there, ended up twitching and splaying them instead. Pain stopped her from feeling the full-blown force of panic, but it was there, nascent and ready to gnaw on her.

“Hells’ bells,” she muttered. “What the fuck?”

“I tried to warn you.”

“What am I?”

“A tiefling. I think.”

“How?”

Jhira shrugged. “I’m not sure. Dicentra will probably have some theories when she returns. I can’t think of what else you could be, and there are ways to test if it’s true. You’ll be more heat resistant as you are—did you see the room in black and white when you woke up?”

“Yes,” Uly croaked.

The newness didn’t stop there. Underneath her was a strange, elongated weight like her spine had been extended. A tail. It draped over the edge of the bed, brushing the floorboards, ending in a point instead of a flared end like Di’s, black hair climbing the outside close to its base. She willed it to move, but only the end did, slapping the bedframe with a weak clap.

She reached up tentatively, finding long, velvety-pointed ears. Behind that, gently corrugated keratin emerged from her skull. She followed their trail, curving forward before tilting away and into open air. They were balanced symmetrically, but the added weight made her headache worse and forced her neck muscles to work harder.

Ulysses was born anew, right down to all the awkward tenderness and fragility of an infant. The sword put her through the same stress and pain it had undergone, hammering her into a new shape and forcing a new substance between her cells.

“My mouth tastes like ash,” she said.

“There’s water by the bedside. How do you feel? Aside from the obvious.”

Uly reached for the water and swished it around her mouth. She swallowed, then drank again, washing down the dust caking her throat. “Depends what you think is obvious. I’m in a lot of pain. I feel heavy. Hard to process this with all that going on.”

“Understandable. I don’t think you should try and stand until you have more of your strength back.”

“Like hell I could stand right now.” Uly replaced the glass on the dresser. She’d had her fill of consciousness, but there was one more thing. “Pass it to me?”

Jhira gingerly picked up the sword by blade and handle and offered it like a royal ring on a cushion. Uly flexed her fingers before fitting the handle in her palm. It sat perfectly, was nearly weightless to her. Some of her alarm and pain cooled at its touch. 

Like before, a presence lingered, floating like a dandelion seed in the wind. With more awareness, she recognized it as Dicentra’s soul. Absent of physical form, but alive, breathing like she was at rest and rebuilding strength in her home plane. Her soul fragment resonated within Ulysses, their severed ends connecting like fingers seeking out their match, fortifying her heart. A slow pulse emanated from the jewelled heart in time with the breathing.

She would wait. She would learn. Discomfort would wane and novelty would become familiarity. Dicentra wasn’t the only one who needed time to recover, as it turned out. 

“I think it worked,” Uly whispered.

"As if you being a tiefling wasn't evidence enough," Jhira laughed. "Do you have a name for it?”

Ulysses lightly pressed the point to her chest, right where she’d stabbed Dicentra, the skin bending but not breaking. 

“Bleeding Heart,” she decided. “It’ll be called Bleeding Heart.”

[flevancian]

it felt horrible.

being trapped in such a place made of more unknowns and incognita than actual tangible answers for him to hold onto and consult, with no way to properly access the ope ope no mi outside of one or two techniques at best and his haki completely unresponsive to his pleas was something he could deal with —stressful but manageable, comparable somehow to a fight with seastone latched 'pon his wrists, for surgeon of death already had the misfortune of being all too knowledgeable of survival arts long before heartshaped fruit of desire oh so intrinsically hated by all - seas had received his bite within cold lands of endless snow, back when everything burned and ached and was oh so ready to loom over and claim his life the moment little hands would've lost their grasp on that given, fleeting morsel of hope.

not that he needed to actually move within the arrangements and guidelines of strict survival, really —whoever ruled with the lives of the many dragged within island's confine and played along as if they were but puppets and toys at their all - observing disposal for sure didn't seem to want them struggle that much or be in excessive distress to make their fun unenjoyable somehow, granting them roofs 'bove their heads and sources of income that somehow didn't involve any pillaging or activities more attuned to a pirate's ungrateful existence.

and yet, even if being merely a doctor was but a dream at home and a reality within those limited and overly observed confines, without being able to at least assess the condition of his crew it all seemed to just amplify tenfold —the sleeplessness, hunger barely hanging there as a routinely habit rather than a proper need, worries increasing just alongside pictorials of worst case scenarios having too much glee in reminding themselves of their presence to hold onto whatever still remained of his poor, shattered heart as if it hadn't been long broken and scattered across all four blues enough.

( he could only hope —just like back then, within swallow island's infinite snowscapes painted in red by fratricide's blood and his own screams, he could only cling to hope. )

alas hope was of no use when things such as this happened regardless of this being someplace akin to environment under cautious monitoring and control or the unruly, chaotic seas with its waves and magnetic irruences and hungry beasts and hungrier sailors who made of seafaring their life and purpose and freedom —teeth gritting at sudden threat made of a shoulder being grabbed and collar of yellow shirt, disgruntled groan off rosegold lips and gaze of dull oldcoin gold daring to roll in mockery of grimace. " oi, what the fuck is wrong with you ?! " last time he checked ghost of old flevance wasn't back within groves of sabaody nor he was in the presence of that redhaired idiot who loved to play invincible behind layers of overly elaborate metal, nothing he couldn't easily flick away with a simple hue of TAKT. " i've always had this hat, what are you talking a— "

eyes of ore darting back to assailant's only to widen in sudden and yet oh so painful shock, his own heart surely reaching a standstill because it couldn't be, it just couldn't be real, it had to be some sort of trick from uppermost echelons of that wretched rock surrounded by unsailable seas —it had to be a fucking nightmare.

" ... is this some kind of joke. "

@flevancian

the thing about life was, that although it had a certain way of undergoing unexpected twists and turns, there were still certain rules every human being must abide by. death was one such thing, and other than one source he only knew about from history, rosinante was certain that there was no way one could cheat ones demise, whether untimely or not. once dead, a person did not suddenly come back to life.

except that was exactly the case at this very moment. the big hand that should be unmoving ran towards his chest where his brother's bullets had pierced, the pain from the last moments of his life flashing before him as all he could do was hold on. hold on just long enough for that crying child to escape in silence. it had been his duty to follow through towards the end, and he could only die because he knew law was able to walk as a free person from thereon out. grow up. spite fate. become a remarkable adult. so how was he alive again?

the initial shock, however, only lasted mere moments. how long had he been gone for? how long had he left that child wounded in body and soul, left to fend for himself in the midst of the enemy's zone? no allies in the marines, no allies in the family. but law was a smart kid, he was bound to make it out alive.

wherever he was, it definitely wasn't rubeck island, nor did his surroundings resemble any of the other islands in the vicinity. could it be law had returned for him, that he wasn't actually dead and that the kid had managed to heal his wounds and brought him to a safe space? in that case he'd have to find him. but without fully knowing the situation he still had to be careful. after all, he had disobeyed orders, and would most likely find no help within the local authorities.

long and hurried strides brought his large form throughout the city streets, eyes franctically glancing around to find the smallest clue until he laid eyes on a hat very much resembling that the little brat would always wear. immediately rosinante feared the worst, and violently he grabbed the man's shoulder, twisted him around and held him by the collar. "what did you do to the little kid who wore that hat?!"

[vrisrezis]

So I just finished an Inside Job and I was thinking...

✨The group as yanderes✨

HORRIFYING IN THE BEST WAY

Cw; stalking, toxic relationships, non con is implied for andres and Gigi’s part?? Kinda?, definitely implied r*pe for myc, death threats, blackmail, implied grooming for JR’s bit.

This is not meant to romanticize abuse, or any other topics included in this.,

Reagan is the stalkerish kind of yandere, as you’d expect.. while Reagan in general I think would make inventions just to impress her love, as a yandere it’s way more obsessive, and it’s completely destroying her, her life and other relationships she has with other people. But hey, her work ethic has never been better:) It’s like all that matters is getting your approval, and as much as she hates to admit it she knows it. Those circles under her eyes are darker and deeper, and she gets extremely angry at you if she doesn’t get the reaction or approval she wants.

Brett likes buying you things, to the point of it being very overwhelming to handle. He gets visibly upset if he doesn’t get the reaction he wants out of you, or the validation from you that he craves. While personality wise he’s different than Reagan, and his attempts to get your attention are different, he is just like her in terms of what he wants out of that relationship and how he acts towards certain things. But unlike Reagan he can at least pull off seeming normal. When he doesn’t get what he wants, he tries harder, gets you even more gifts and even more. The man is relatively harmless, but you can quickly get annoyed and freaked out by his obsessiveness. He seriously won’t leave you alone.

Andre must admit, maybe he’s thinking about you a little too much? Even when he’s wasted out of his mind, even when he’s having sex with random sexy people you do not leave his mind. In fact, he remembers fucking this girl and moaning out your name on accident. It’s gotten to the point it’s ruining everything for him. Like seriously. He’s never been so committed to anything before, not even religion? But he can’t let himself indulge in this, so he starts to build some sort of shrine of you. It was in hopes that this feeling would go away and he could live normally again but alas, the feeling gets worse and it’s only a matter of time before he takes you for himself, whether you like it or not.

Gigi is a woman who likes power and control, if she wants something, she gets it. And she wants you, so she will get you. Regardless of whether you want her back or not, she is extremely bold and flirtatious and makes her intentions with you very clear. Even if you seem uncomfortable, she still persists. She is so determined to make you hers, she doesn’t care about what you want. She knew at some point you didn’t want this, but she’s been able to convince herself you’re just playing hard to get. She is obsessive and will not give up until you’re rightfully hers.

Myc never in a million fucking years thought the day would come he genuinely became so attracted to somebody he would become straight up obsessed with them but here he is. This motherfucker is so out of his goddamn mind and he knows it, he knows you don’t like him. He’s tried to get you to fuck him, didn’t work. He tried getting the both of you super wasted, even just you wasted and asking you to fuck him, didn’t work. He’s crazy enough to try to force you into things, or verbally convince you this is what you want. He grows tired, and eventually uses those mind powers of his to convince you to have sex with him, and finally date him. He didn’t want it to come down to this..

Glenn is obsessive, maybe not like Brett or Andre but he cuts quite close. He’s not exactly known for being devoted to somebody, not even to that ex wife of his. Sure, he definitely stalked her a bit but nothing quite like this. He’s never been so addicted to being around somebody. His jokes aren’t exactly known to be “PC” so his jokes towards you may not always be enjoyed. This annoys him greatly, his violent tendencies grow worse and worse the less you laugh at his jokes. It feels like you don’t get him at all! But that’s not right… you understand him more than anyone! So why are you refusing to get his joke? Are you trying to piss him off? To make matters worse, you’re playing hard to get. He may have to start asking you on a date with a knife at your throat if you don’t stop playing these games..

JR IS HORRIFYING! He is a powerful white man of course this man of scary. He can send all the blackmail he wants your way if you do not cooperate with him. But he’s not asking for too much is he? All he wants to do is be with you, to court you. He wants to take you on the finest dates, take you to the nicest places, spoil you, give you everything you could ever want. He’s being kind, he’s being generous. He’s so devoted to you, how could you ever say no to him? He is one that likes to manipulate you into being with him, from the moment he met you he was manipulating you into dating him though. He just knew there was something about you from the moment you two met. He has a bit of a habit of “degrading” you, well that’s what you call it. He thinks he’s simply helping you improve yourself:)

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Closed Casket.

Commissioned by the very lovely @99shadowcat99.

Pairing: Yandere!Demon Brothers/Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 2.4k.

TW: Toxic Relationships, Dehumanization, Codependence, Threats of Violence, Mentions of Death, Implied Imprisonment.

It was a closed-casket funeral.

For such a small detail, it bothered you more than it had any right to. You hadn’t been the one to arrange it, the one to speak to the undertaker and evaluate the damage – that was a responsibility that fell to her fiancé rather than you, a distant cousin, only brought up in conversations about postponed friendships and quickly thinning family trees. You’d done what you could to help, what a last living relative should do to help - paying for flower arrangements, speaking to financial advisors, sorting through her belongs and trying to guess at what might’ve held some sentimental value to someone more present in her life, but you never saw the body. No one ever offered, and you hadn’t known how to ask. She was gone, now, dead and buried, and you'd never gotten to see her, even if everyone who had said that it was probably for the best.

And it probably was. They were probably right. You wouldn’t feel any better, if you had.

And yet, you found it difficult to believe you could feel any worse than you did now, either.

Belphegor was curled around your arm. He had been since you came back from the Human World, slotted against your side, draped over your shoulders, and currently, splayed out on top of you, his face buried in the flesh just above your shoulder blade, his body forcibly tangled with yours in a way that was too awkward to be comfortable for both of you, a sacrifice he seemed more than willing to make on your behalf. You’d tried to shrug him off earlier, when he first decided there was enough space on the smallest loveseat in the common room for his strange, daily ritual, and when that failed, you’d tried to talk him into letting go, into loosening his grip enough for you to slip away when he fell asleep, into relocating to somewhere else, somewhere softer, somewhere with a pillow that could easily replace you when he was too busy tossing and turning to care, but Belphegor had always been so frustratingly picky when it came to where, how, and when he chose to sleep.

He’d chosen you, and he’d chosen like this, and he’d chosen now. There was little you could do to change his mind, after he’d already made it up.

Still, you tried. He wasn’t asleep yet, caught somewhere between permanently half-conscious state and a sleep deep enough to warrant medical concern for most living creatures, supernaturally inclined or otherwise. “Belphie,” You called, gently, pushing the temptation to try more forceful methods into the back of your mind. “Think you pick another spot? Just for today?”

“Can’t.” It was a simple response, his voice heavy with sourceless exhaustion, just as short and just as blunt as it had been the last time you asked. You weren’t sure what you’d expected, honestly. “You were gone. I can’t.”

Your frown deepened. You’d left for a week – nine days, at most. And Belphegor couldn’t have been awake for more than half of that. “That’s not--”

“He was lonely, sweetheart.” It was Asmodeus, this time, as he perched himself on the loveseat’s arm. He wasn’t any better than Belphie, nimble fingertips soon tracing aimless patterns over the side of your neck, the dip of your shoulder, taking up the space he could occupy since the space he’d like to was already in-use. “He’ll get better, in a few days. Once it sinks in that you won't be leaving again.”

You were out of practice. A month ago, you would’ve known better than to respond, than to ask questions to someone who took as much delight in festering doubts as Asmodeus did. A month ago, you would’ve brushed him off and found your way to Purgatory Hall for the rest of the night. But, it wasn’t a month ago, and you were tired. You were still thinking about that casket, and you couldn’t seem to think of much else. “What do you mean?”

“Oh?” There was a pause, a laugh, light and melodic and fluttering. You’d always liked his laugh. You could bring yourself to enjoy it, though, not right now. “No one’s told you, yet?”

“Don’t tease ‘em.” You hadn’t noticed how full the common room had gotten, not until Mammon spoke and you reflexively turned to face the sofa opposite to yours. He was standing, leaning against the back, his hands clasped in a way that’d put his anxiety on display far more transparently than his voice ever could. Beelzebub, too, his arms crossed over his chest as his attention shifted idly between you, the console in Leviathan’s hands, and the book splayed out in Satan's lap, his scowl serving as evidence of his annoyance. It always bothered you, how easily he grew frustrated by situations he chose to put himself in. It bothered you a little more, today. “Might as well spit it out, if you’re going to bring it up,” Mammon went on, shifting his weight, letting his eyes fall to the floor, then rise to the ceiling, then drift back to you. “There’s no point putting it off.”

“Weren’t you supposed to tell them, Mammon?” Beelzebub chimed in, absent-mindedly. If it'd been Satan, if it'd been Lucifer, it would’ve been pointed, malicious, purposeful. Beelzebub just sounded like he was trying to remind his older brother of something he’d forgotten. “You said you should be the one to do it, since you met them first. Then, when Lucifer said you wouldn’t be able to do it, you said that if the human threw a tantrum, you could just--”

“I didn’t say shit.” Mammon cut him off, his tone hostile, but it was a half-hearted anger, more petty than vengeful. “I said I could, not that I would, and Lucifer shot me down. If he hadn’t, there’d already be a deadbolt on every fucking door in the house. We wouldn’t be sitting around, talkin’ about it.”

“Every door?” Beelzebub looked confused. Then, he looked concerned. “I thought we agreed to just seal the exits.”

“I still think we should just use their bedroom,” Leviathan chimed in, never looking up from his hand-held. Something tightened in the back of your throat. Experimentally, you tried to pull yourself out of Belphegor’s arms, but he only held you tighter, and Asmodeus’ nails dug into your shoulder, rooting you back into place without a single word. “It’d be cool, kinda like a permanent save-point. We wouldn’t have to worry about baby-proofing the entire house, either.”

“We could use a leash,” Asmodeus suggested, never breaking his stare. He didn’t look away. You wished he would. You wished they’d, if nothing else, have the courtesy to wait until you’d left the room to start talking about things you didn’t know and didn’t want to know. “So we can make sure they’re always close by! Or, we could have Lucifer enchant a collar – having to hold a tether might get in way when I have to--”

“He’d never do it.” It was the first time Satan had cut in, but it was clear he’d been listening. His book was still open, his expression still concentrated, but he was tapping his foot, the disruption soundless against the thick carpeting, and you couldn’t remember the last time he thought to pretend to turn a page. He was listening, but he didn’t want to be. He was a part of this, but you doubted he’d every say as much out loud. You doubted he’d ever let himself admit he’d stooped to that level. “And if he did, we’d never hear the end of it. In a week, there’d probably be a new kennel in the catacombs, right next to Ceberus’.” He stopped, for a moment, shaking his head. For your own sake, your chose to believe the envy lingering behind his voice was his attempt at a bad joke. “You would prefer a bedroom, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”

He asked you a question. He was talking to you, now, directly, which was more than you could say for any of his brothers. It should’ve been an improvement. An opportunity, if nothing else, a chance to ask why Asmodeus was looking at you like that, why you could feel Belphegor’s careless smile pressing into your skin, but you hesitated, something catching in your chest. It felt too solid, too heavy, too rough and too jagged. It felt like it’d hurt to swallow down, later on, once the unease passed and you got over whatever scheme they’d planned out, while you were gone.

“I… What?” You weren’t sure what you wanted to say, but it came out as a question regardless, your reluctance blending messily with your confusion. “This isn’t funny. If you’re going to act like this every time I visit the Human World, I might have to stop coming back.”

Finally, Satan glanced up from his book. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said he was smiling. “Right. Because you still think you're allowed to leave.”

The rest of the room fell silent. Or, maybe it didn’t, maybe it was louder than it'd ever been. You didn’t know. You couldn't hear anything, not over the sudden ringing in your ears. “I’ll have to, eventually. It’s not up to me.”

Beelzebub shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’d be safer if you stayed in the Devildom. We can’t protect you in the Human World.”

Leviathan’s grip tightened around his console. In the background, you could hear the plastic shell start to crack. “We wouldn’t be able to see you. Not all the time. Not for more than a few weeks at a time.” He was quiet, for a moment. Then, he added, “It wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t… It wouldn’t feel like it does when you’re here.”

Mammon looked away, letting his head lull to the side. “You belong here, with us. You’re supposed to be here. We’re just doin’ you a favor. No one wants to watch you figure out how fucked you’d be on your own.”

And, finally, Belphegor groaned, exhaustion heavy in the gravely sound. He untangled himself from you, but the freedom was temporary, fleeting, his arms snaking around your waist, instead, his face soon gracelessly buried in your chest. His eyes flickered open, but barely, just enough to let him stare up at you through his eyelashes, a thoughtless grin pulling at the corners of his lips. He wasn’t divided, not like his brothers were. He didn’t try to pretend he was above holding you against your will. “You're not leaving again.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a threat. It was just a fact, to him. It was something that wouldn’t happen, that couldn’t happen, if only because his older brothers were willing to work so hard to make sure it didn’t. “We’re not gonna share you, anymore. We’re not gonna have to.”

You didn’t want to hear anything else. You didn’t want to be here, anymore, not if this was what it meant, not if it was going to feel like standing in front of that closed casket all over again, the urge to run and sob and scream silencing every reasonable thought you’d ever had. You didn’t bother trying to talk to Asmodeus and Belphegor, you didn’t bother trying to coo and edge and skirt around their anger, their unspoken threats, not anymore, not when your body was already standing on its own, shoving at Belphegor’s body and swatting at Asmodeus’ hand as he reached out, aiming to cup your cheek and tell you so gently to sit down and shut up. Beelzebub leaned forward, Mammon flinched, and you could’ve sworn you caught a row of long, pointed fangs flash across Satan’s sneer, but you didn’t care. You wanted to hit something. You wanted to yell. You’d wanted to ever since you came back to this damned house and its overly affectionate occupants.

“You don’t get to share me.” You couldn’t be shared. You weren’t theirs to share, even if they already seemed geared against the idea. You weren’t theirs to trap, either. You never would be. “I don’t need your protection, and you don’t need to see me, and the only place I’m supposed to be is the Human World. I don’t know what got into your fucked-up heads while I was gone, but you can’t just--”

“Sit down, (Y/n).”

You stopped mid-sentence.

Right. You’d almost forgotten Lucifer hadn't gotten a chance say his piece, yet.

He didn’t give you time to cooperate. There was already a fist curled around the back of your collar, dragging you back into your seat, the action so much more aggressive than Belphegor’s oppressive dead-weight or Amsodeus’ sweet, sickly temptation. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel Lucifer looming over you, standing tall, towering above his younger brothers as he took control of the room. You wondered if he’d been here the entire time, if he’d heard everything, rather than just your sudden outburst. You wondered if you should hope that he had.

“We missed you, while you were gone.” He didn’t sound mad. He didn’t sound mad, but none of them did, none of them sounded like they were plotting to keep you away from your home, your friends, the life you had outside of demons and angels and magic. None of them sounded dangerous, either, save for Lucifer. He’d always been easier to trust when he wasn’t pretending to be kind. “We’ve all been alive for centuries, and yet, you went and made a week feel like a small eternity. Do you know how difficult it is for a human to inflict that kind of suffering onto a demon?”

You didn’t answer. Across the room, Mammon laughed and Satan bristled. Belphegor melted back into your side, more than happy just to have his resting place scared into immobility.

“You’ll stay.” It was an order, this time. Not a suggestion, not a passing concern, but a command, something you would be expected to obey. He had the nerve to use that low, calm cadence, measured and pre-meditated. He didn’t want to let you convince yourself he was as prone to bluffing as his brothers were. “You’ll stay because we want you to. We’re willing to use force, but there’s no need for that. Is there, love?”

You nodded, your body tense and your eyes glassy, and Lucifer rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a row of knuckles delicately pressed to your cheek. A miserable reward for such an unwilling sacrifice, but Lucifer didn’t seem to mind. It certainly didn’t stop him from leaning in, his lips brushing against the top of your head, his voice falling just low enough to make something sharp and cold shot down your spine, as he went on.

“It’s not like you have anything to go back to, anymore.”

[kiyosamu]

back up.

---♡---

pairing: rintaro suna x female reader

genre: dark, angst, (slight) enemies to comfort, some comedy in the beginning. // one shot, 3.9k words

synopsis: being the younger sister of the miya twins definitely has its advantages and its... disadvantages. sure, it comes with all of the teasing from both them and their friends, but it gets more serious when people hold grudges on them and try to take out their anger on you.

content warnings: descriptions of assault, threats, sexual assault (no penetration), violence, injuries

---♡---

“Osamu!” You screeched, attempting to push your older brother off of you. “Get him off!”

Atsumu had tackled you to the ground and was sitting on your back, cackling with satisfaction as he pinned you down.

“I can’t help ya.” Osamu smirked as he walked by. He sat on the couch adjacent to you and Atsumu with an amused glimmer in his eyes. “Shouldn’t have eaten his pudding.”

“Why do you care if I eat his pudding?!” You growled, thrashing around under Atsumu to get some kind of leverage while he sat on you with all of his weight, rendering your limbs useless.

“If you eat his pudding, then he eats mine.” Osamu shrugged, “And I hate it when he does that.”

“Take it up with him! I just grabbed whatever was closest. You guys are so weird with your labeled food!” You tried to throw a punch at Atsumu and he caught your fist easily, snickering when you let out a loud whine. “Atsumu, get OFF!”

“No can do, kiddo.” He grinned, “Ya know what happens when you eat our food.”

“I’m gonna tell mom.” You mumbled.

“That’s dirty. Don’t bring mom into this.” Osamu interrupted and you shot a death glare at him.

“Stop involving yourself! I don’t need your commentary.”

“Don’t be such a tattle tale.” Atsumu teased, finally easing up on you and taking a bit of the weight off of your back. You gasped dramatically as you could finally take a full, deep breath.

“Thank you, god. You’re heavy.” You said quietly, deciding to fully submit and just lay down on the living room floor.

“Did you just call me fat?!” Atsumu gasped, crawling over to your face to look you in the eyes.

“Yes.” You nodded. Atsumu immediately turned to Osamu, who burst out laughing at his offended expression.

“Laugh it up, ‘Samu. If I’m fat then so are you.” Atsumu muttered as he finally stood up to take a seat next to Osamu on the couch.

“I can’t stand either of you.” You mumbled, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at them.

“Why’s baby Miya throwing a temper tantrum?” A familiar, monotone voice was coming from the entry way. You hadn’t even heard him come in.

“None of your business, Suna.” You glared at the tall boy. He responded with a crooked smirk while he walked in with his hands plunged deep in his pockets.

Suna was over at your house almost every day. He also teased you as much as your brothers did, if not more.

“Jeez, what’s with the attitude?” He snorted, “You sound like Atsumu. I swear you’re triplets.”

Suna jumped over the back of the couch and plopped down between the twins. You sat up, looking at the three of them for a second before getting up and retreating to your room.

“Aw, come on baby Miya. Where are you going?” Suna called after you while you walked down the hallway.

“I need to get ready. I’m going out tonight.”

You retreated to your bedroom and sat down at your vanity. Before you could even pull out a hair brush, Osamu had burst into your bedroom.

“Where ya going?” He asked, leaning against the doorway.

“Out?” You replied, getting up to sift through your closet for something to wear.

Your friend had set you up on a blind date tonight. Your mom had held your brothers back a year and since you were only 10 months apart, you were all in the same year. This meant you all had the same classmates, knew all of the same people, and they were constantly in your business.

When your friend had told you about this guy, he sounded too good to be true. He had gone to another school that was a bit further away, but since you had all graduated a few months prior you figured a bit of distance wasn’t that big of a deal. After all, you were all adults now.

“Out where?” Atsumu asked, pushing the door open all the way and standing against the other side of the frame.

“On a date…” you muttered. The moment you said that, your brothers came in and promptly sat on your bed.

“Where are you going?”

“With who?”

“Where did you meet him?”

“How old is he?”

“Is he picking you up?”

“How long have you known him for?”

“Oh my god.” You groaned, pointing at your door. “Can you guys get out? I need to get ready. Why are you asking so many questions?”

“Believe it or not, kiddo, we just want to make sure you’re safe.” Osamu said, standing up and walking over to pat you on your head.

“Ugh, ‘Samu, you guys don’t have to treat me like a kid still. I’m an adult now, you know.” You said, crossing your arms.

“But you’ll always be our little sister.” Atsumu smiled. “Mom can’t keep track of all of us all the time. So we need to do it for her.” His words were genuine. Even though the three of you bickered and teased each other, you were protective of each other. You knew your brothers would do anything for you.

You’d never tell them, but you’d do anything for them, too.

“If anyone needs keeping track of, it’s you two.” You smirked. Atsumu rolled his eyes and Osamu shrugged you off.

Your brothers tried to pry more information out of you, but you only told them the bare minimum. After all, you barely even knew anything. You didn’t even know his name.

“So? Where’s she going?” Suna asked as the twins came back into the living room. He was sprawled out on the couch and flicking through the tv channels.

“That restaurant downtown. The one a few bus stops before your house.” Atsumu said with crossed arms. “She won’t let us drive her.”

“I’ll take the bus with her.” Suna shrugged, “It’s on the way, so I’ll make sure she gets there safely.”

“Good. Then you can tell us who she’s meetin’ there.” Osamu smirked.

Whether or not Osamu had asked, Suna was planning on finding that out regardless.

“Call is if you need anythin’!” Atsumu called to you as you walked to the door.

“We’ll come! Just call us, okay?” Osamu added.

“I’ll be fine, but thanks. I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.” You said loud enough for them to hear you in the other room. “Love you.”

“Love ya!” They replied in unison.

—

“Are you sure you’re not just spying on me?” You mumbled just loud enough for Suna to hear you from the seat behind you.

“Just decided to go home, baby Miya.” He replied, leaning forward. “Why? Do you want me to spy on you?”

“No!” You turned around and squinted your eyes at him. He looked back at you with a playful smirk and then went back to paying attention to his phone.

You got off the bus and hesitated for a moment, half expecting Suna to get off after you.

Except he didn’t.

You sighed, feeling the nerves creeping up and realizing you really were all alone now. Meeting a man you didn’t know, and unsure of what to expect.

You looked around and pulled out your phone to check the message from your friend again to refresh yourself on the characteristics of your blind date.

Dark hair, about 5’10, dark green eyes, ah-

“Miya, is it?” A man fitting the exact description was standing in front of you, a rose in hand and suspicious smirk across his lips.

“Yes, sorry, what’s your name?” Your voice was trembling and you had no idea why. You chalked it up to nerves, but it might’ve been the uneasiness you’d felt when you made eye contact with him.

“Daishou Suguru.” He said melodically. He handed you the rose and lightly pressed his hand to your lower back. “Shall we go inside? I have a table for us.”

You nodded, walking inside with him.

——

“So, Miya, any relation to those twins?” He asked, leaning in with his chin on his palm. He stared at you intently as if he wanted to soak in every word you were about to say.

“Oh, yeah. They’re my brothers.” You smiled. Even though they irritated you, you always liked to talk about them. You were proud of your brothers and all of their accomplishments, and talking about them was easier than having to come up with things to say about yourself.

“Ah,” Daishou nodded, thanking the server as she passed your dishes to the two of you. “Those two are real shit talkers, huh?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, a bit too casually for the occasion and realized you’d never even heard this guy’s name prior to tonight. “Wait, why do you say that?”

You were familiar with pretty much all of the volleyball players that your brothers had faced off against. Inarizaki’s own team were like family, but the other teams were around so often you’d gotten to know quite a few of the players from other schools just by going to the games and tournaments.

“Played against them once.” Daishou mumbled, the previously warm expression in his eyes was gone. “I don’t know which one I hate more. The mouthy setter or the spiker with the ego.”

You got goosebumps when he spoke these words. These weren’t normal rivalry grudges. This sounded like pure, unprecedented hatred.

You started to feel uncomfortable.

You hummed in acknowledgement. You weren’t sure how to reply, but you wanted him to know you’d heard him and were listening.

“So, how are you going to make it up to me?” Daishou asked. You froze, looking up at him.

His previously cold expression was warm again, cheeks round with a big smile. “I’m kidding.”

“Oh,” you giggled nervously and decided to focus on eating your dinner.

The rest of the evening went by okay. Little comments like that would have you unsure if there were ulterior motives, but when you’d try to look into it you’d see a happy smile from your date. Maybe he really was just joking, and was nervously trying to make you laugh.

When it was time to go, Daishou paid for the both of you and you left the restaurant together.

It was dark outside and pouring rain. You sighed, looking down the street at the empty bus stop. The bus wouldn’t be coming for another 20 minutes.

“Let me wait with you for the bus.” He smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist again. “I wouldn’t want you out here all alone.”

You reluctantly accepted but tried to keep your distance. While his arm was around you, your arms were crossed and you were trying to stay as far from him as possible. Something was off, and you wanted to get as far away from him as quickly as possible.

You sent your brothers a quick text to let them know which bus you’d be on.

“Let’s wait over here. Out of the rain.”

Before you could reply, he grabbed your hand and yanked you down a small alley. It was covered by the overhead of the buildings roof, but was pitch black.

“I had a nice time tonight.” Daishou purred, pressing his body against you and trapping you against the cold brick wall.

“Yeah, me too…” You said quietly.

Only a few more minutes.

Daishou leaned down, trailing his hand up your chest and wrapping his long fingers around your throat. Your breath hitched and you felt tears well up in your eyes. You knew something was wrong. You knew something was going to happen. Your gut feeling was never wrong.

You tensed up, preparing to punch him the moment you felt pressure from his fingers. Instead of choking you, however, his hand rested gingerly on your skin and he leaned down to kiss you.

You kissed back, completely uninterested but not wanting him to know that.

“So, you are easy.” He smirked against your lips. He grabbed your hands and held them against the wall. His tongue started to force its way into your mouth and as you tried to break away, his body pressed into you harder, making you unable to move.

“Please stop,” you whimpered, “I don’t- I don’t want this.”

“Just relax.” He dug his fingers into your wrist, holding both of your hands together with just one of his, and using his free hand to move down your body and fondle your chest.

“Daishou- I-“ you gasped when he bit down on your neck. It didn’t feel good at all, and was just a swearing pain.

“You know, it really is a shame that you’re related to those two.” He muttered against your skin. “You’re a pretty girl. Probably would’ve liked you had your shitty brothers not have been such dicks.”

“Please, please just get off-“ You sniffled. You fought your brothers all the time, so why couldn’t you get him off? Why were you tensing up? Why were you crying? Just push him off, just push and run.

“Shut up.” He muttered. He slipped his hand into your pants and you let out a sob.

“No, no! Get off of me! Stop!” You were crying now, your voice getting louder as you attempted to break from his hold.

Unfortunately, he was just too strong for you. He smacked you across the face and pressed his palm to your mouth.

“I told you to shut up.” He growled. “Blame the twins for this.”

You were sobbing now. Completely terrified as this man assaulted your body in this dark alley and all you could think about was how badly you wanted to get out of there. How badly you wished your brothers had spied on you, how much you wanted them to protect you in that moment.

Daishou glared at you as your wails got louder, pulling back and slapping you across the face so hard you thought you were seeing stars.

“That’s what happens when stupid girls like you don’t listen. Now be quiet!”

Your vision was blurred and dark and you thought you were about to pass out when you felt the weight of his body completely lifted off of you.

You immediately felt relief, not in the form of safety by any means but you felt like you could somewhat breathe again. The blow he’d given you to the head had you feeling dizzy and you sunk to the ground against the wall.

“You fucking-“ *whack*

“piece-“ *whack*

“of shit!” *whack*

You squinted your eyes open at the familiar voice. The same voice that had annoyed you earlier that afternoon. The voice that immediately gave you a sense of safety in that dark alley.

“Suna..?” You barely managed to squeak out. You were sure he didn’t hear you considering you could barely hear your own voice.

“You’re going to regret this for the rest of your life.” Suna spat, landing another punch directly to his face. “If you have issues with someone, take it up with them like a fucking man.” He growled. “Instead of preying on their little sister. You’re pathetic.”

Suna stood up off the ground and all you could do was watch through squinted eyes and your knees pulled to your chest.

He pulled something out of his pocket, it shined under the street lamps and you weren’t sure what it was. He grabbed Daishou by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to stand up before pressing the object against his throat.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just kill you right here.”

You closed your eyes, covering your face in your arms when you heard Daishou start to sob. He sounded like you did a few minutes ago.

“I’d go to jail for her, no questions asked. Trust me when I tell you that I won’t hesitate.”

Suna was much bigger than him. Stronger. Taller.

“Hey,” Suna growled, pushing him against the brick wall. Daishou looked as light as a rag doll when Suna was throwing him around. “Answer me when I’m talking to you.”

“Please- I don’t- I’m sorry-“ Daishou choked out.

Suna laughed. A completely genuine laugh that made your skin crawl.

“Are you? Are you sorry?”

You looked back up at the two men, closer to you now and you could see that the object Suna had against his throat was a knife.

“Suna, wait-“ You tried to say to him, but your voice was still shaky and quiet.

Daishou was sobbing now, tears flowing from his eyes and wails ripping from his throat.

“Not so tough when you’re the one on the receiving end, huh?” Suna glared, putting his knife back in his pocket and throwing Daishou back onto the ground.

“Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.” Suna said in a dark, low tone you hadn’t heard from him before. “And if you ever come near her again, I really will kill you.”

Daishou scrambled to his feet, holding his head and trying to stop the bleeding on his face that was surely from one of the rings Suna was wearing on his fingers.

You trembled against the wall, staring at Suna’s back as he watched Daishou leave. As soon as he was out of eyesight, he quickly turned to you and crouched down.

“Hey, it’s okay.” His voice softened, his gaze was kind and he hesitated before touching you. “Can I help you up? Can you stand?”

You nodded weakly and he crouched down, putting his arms under yours and standing you up. You could feel your legs wobbling and held onto his arm for support.

“Ugh,” He sighed, the pain in his voice coming through when he saw the true damage that’d been done to you. His hands carefully put you back together as best he could. He buttoned your shirt and pants back up, and shrugged off his jacket to put it on you instead.

You grabbed onto the sleeves and pulled them over your hands. It was even bigger than your brothers’ jackets, and you sunk into the soft material trying to grasp onto any little piece of comfort you could get.

Suna picked you up and held you against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he supported you from under your legs.

“How did you know where to find me?” You asked, your voice still quiet and strained.

“They told me what bus you were taking home so I came to make sure you got on okay. When it came and left without you I got worried and looked around, and then I heard you crying.” Suna let out a stressed out breath, “You know, I really would’ve done it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” You said, closing your eyes. You couldn’t even process what had just happened and didn’t know what you would’ve done if Suna wasn’t with you right now.

——

Suna’s house was only down the road, and you agreed to go there and get cleaned up before heading back home.

“Here,” Suna handed you a pair of comfortable pants and a t-shirt. “They’ll be way too long on you, but it’s better than your soaking wet clothes you’re wearing now.”

“Thanks…” you accepted the offer, stepping into the bathroom to change.

When you came out, Suna had changed too, but his eyes widened with shock when he saw the extent of your injuries.

He swore under his breath and approached you. When he reached out and touched your neck, his cool hand soothed the sting of the deep bite Daishou had embedded in your neck.

“Can’t believe he fucking bit you.” Suna’s voice was so quiet he was practically whispering, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or just thinking out loud. He trailed his hand around your throat and pressed his fingers on the deep bruises forming from when you’d been choked.

“That helps,” you sighed, leaning into his touch. Suna pulled his hand back as if he wasn’t even aware he’d been touching you.

“What do you want to do now? Should we call Osamu and Atsumu? Want me to take you home?” He placed his hands on your shoulders and continued looking you over. Suna brushed your hair out of the way, inspecting your face closely and grunting when he looked straight on at the black eye starting to appear.

You winced when his thumb grazed over the side of your head and he immediately pulled back.

“You were hit really hard. You should go to the hospital.”

You shook your head. “I don’t… I don’t want to go anywhere. Not right now, anyway.” You stepped over to his bed, sitting on the edge. “Can I just lie down?”

Suna nodded and pulled the blankets open, gesturing for you to crawl into his bed. He pulled the blankets on top of you and patted your arm.

“I’m just going to go into the kitchen to get a glass of water. I’ll shut the light off so you can rest a bit.”

The moment you couldn’t feel his presence in the room anymore, your mind travelled back to where you were earlier that night. Being attacked in a dark alley and suddenly you were feeling suffocated.

You sat up, gasping for air and Suna ran in, turning the light on and sitting next to you.

“Its okay, it’s okay,” He murmured, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into him. He stroked your hair and let you cry out your fear as long as you needed to.

“I don’t…” You sniffled, “I don’t know what happened. When you left I just felt so scared all over again.”

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, pressing his cheek against the top of your hair.

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

Suna nodded and stood up to go turn the light off again.

“Wait, where are you going?” You felt the panic start to take over again when the bed dipped down beside you.

“I’m right here.” His voice was kind. The Suna you’d known to always tease and annoy you had been replaced by something you could only describe as being your safety net.

Maybe this side of him was always here, and you just hadn’t ever noticed.

You laid back down beside him, moving close and nuzzling into his chest just like you had when he was carrying you. He wrapped his arms around you and softly trailed his hand up and down your back.

“I’ve got you, okay?” He whispered, “You’re safe with me. I promise. Just try and get some rest and we can worry about everything in the morning. You’ve been through enough tonight.”

You nodded and felt the relief wash over you. You knew you had a lot to deal with tomorrow, but having Suna by your side made it seem a little less scary.

Thinking back, he always was by your side. He would defend you when the twins would get too rough, and was definitely guilty of giving guys an intimidating glare when they’d try to hit on you.

You sighed, soaking in the feeling of his warmth.

You knew that from them on, you wanted nothing more than to be on his side.

And for him to stay on yours.

[epickiya722]

I'M JUST DONE!! 🌌💥👊

No, 'cause I will never understand people who want Uraraka Ochaco aka Uravity to be nothing more than Midoriya's wife at the end of the series so they can have babies.

One, they obviously were not paying attention to the fact that this story is how Izuku became the greatest hero. Not him being a husband or a dad.

A hero.

As much as it's joked about, at the end of the day... MY HERO ACADEMIA ISN'T A LOVE STORY.

It's a Shonen about a society where people have powers. An action story! It DOES NOT NEED ANY ROMANCE TO BE A FINISHED STORY!

On that note, if you seriously want Ochaco and Izuku to be together at the end of the story just so they can have babies, go ahead and unfollow me. Block me. Whatever, just don't come to my blog anymore.

Believe it or not, Ochaco did not pursue her education to be a hero because of Izuku. She did it because she wanted to take care of her parents. Which as IIDA stated is rather selfless of her. (Agreed.)

That is an example of her making her own choices without the need of being the "love interest".

You know what, a pattern I notice with anti BKDKs with Ochaco is that she can't seem to exist unless she's Izuku's girlfriend. Look, you can dislike BKDK, personally I don't give a damn. But why at the expense of Ochaco?

What? She can just be friends with Izuku at the end? What if she turns out to be lesbian? Or ace?

"But what about the scenes where she blushes and --"

Obviously, you're living under a rock. Some people do have that period of time where they think they're attracted to the opposite sex or even have attraction at all before they realize "Hey, maybe I'm lesbian. Maybe I'm ace. Maybe..." and so on.

When Mina shouted "it's love", that was just planting an idea of what Ochaco was feeling. Did it mean it's romantic love? No!

Also, Iida was also mentioned and I'm sick of ya'll turning a blind eye to that.

SHE HANGS OUT WITH IIDA, TOO. As big as Iida is, some of you be acting like he's invisible.

She has a meaningful relationship with him, too. Oh, but I guess he's not the main character and a "stick in the mud" (WHICH IS FALSE!!) then he's not important.

Alright, okay.

Oh! I have something else! And it pertains to Katsuki!

It is very clear that him and Izuku are connected, their relationship is the most developed in the series. However!

Just like with Ochaco, Katsuki is still his own character. He has his own moments that do not involve Izuku.

He is his own character.

With that said, regardless of how My Hero Academia ends, I DO NOT WANT TO SEE ANYONE UPSET ABOUT BKDK NOT BEING CANON AND CALLING QUEERBAIT OR SENDING DEATH THREATS TO HORIKOSHI OR ANY OF THAT BULLSHIT!!

I do not need to see a repeat of SK8.

Again, this is a story about a kid becoming a hero. NOT SOME ROMANCE!!

At the end of the day, within the story, romance does not fucking matter when SOCIETY IS IN SHAMBLES BECAUSE SOME GUY IS CLAIMING HIMSELF TO BE ALL POWERFUL, THE DEMON KING, WHATEVER IT IS!!

These characters are trying to SURVIVE. THERE ARE KIDS FIGHTING IN A WAR!!

And some of you are worried about them not kissing?!

In my opinion, the best thing Horikoshi could do is leave ambiguous endings to ships. Like no ship becomes canon.

BECAUSE YA'LL ARE INSANE!!!

I have my ships, too, but damn. I rather see the big bad get defeated and the kids get the break they need and graduate!!!

Also, just because two characters don't kiss, doesn't mean the ship isn't canon. A romantic relationship doesn't have have be about kissing and sex, jeez.

Really, actions can be platonic or romantic. It just depends on how those who initiate those actions feel.

I really need some of you to OPEN YOUR MINDS. READ SOME FANFICTION IF YOU WANT SOME ROMANCE!!!

Calling Horikoshi or any other mangaka and creator "messy" for not giving you ship content when it's not even the initial intention especially if their story isn't even a romance is some entitled ass bullshit.

[deafeningbasementcolor]

Four Walls and a Roof Make the Entire World - Yandere! Uvogin x Reader

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, violence, choking, kidnapping, threats of death towards the reader, mentions of blood, and implications of reader being really resigned/depressed I guess.

Please respect my wishes and do not interact if you are a minor, thank you. 

You resist the urge to scream as his hands yank open your thighs roughly, his body moving between them as his hands impatiently pull you closer by the abused flesh they hold. You’ll surely be bruised tomorrow, but tomorrow is the least of your worries as he enters you without any preamble. Despite it being months since he stole you away, you never got used to being fucked so harshly by such a big man. Every time he screws you, you feel as though you’re being ripped apart. This time is no exception, and your pussy burns painfully from being forced to endure his cock as it begins to pound into you. That really does make you scream finally, and he punishes you for it by pressing his lips roughly to yours. He practically drools down your throat, with how sloppy the way he shoves his tongue into your mouth is. 

You just take it like one of those sex dolls made for men to fuck, and that might as well be what you are as he grunts and groans aboves you. You can’t see above his broad shoulders, so you close your eyes and let your mind wander as the pain dulls. Something is lubricating his way now as he thrusts in and out of you, you do feel a natural inkling of arousal from the feeling of him inside of you but you don’t know if that was enough to make you wetten around him this quickly. Normally it takes a bit longer. Who knows, maybe you’re bleeding? If you are, you’ll know by how much he coos at you when he’s done using your body. 

You hate it. You hate him. 

You could never tell him that though, or else you’d have a repeat of what happened when he first took you. You had been so stupid then, thinking that demanding he return you home would work. It had not, despite his claims of worshipping the ground you walk on and his supposed desire to give you everything you want in life. Instead, he had grabbed you by the throat with one of those humongous hands of his. He had shoved you up against the wall while the pressure of his grip made your vision blur and panic set in within you. Efforts to try and pull him off were just pathetic, your attempts to yank his hand off doing nothing but strain your own wrists. 

“If you ever try to fuckin’ mention leaving here again, Y/N, I’ll just go ahead and break your neck. It would be better that way, then to have you runnin’ around out there where much worse than a quick death could happen.” He had let go of you then, before you really were close to any risk of going unconscious. You know now that he wouldn’t have dared go that far, gentle with you besides the raping and the threat of death if you ever dared attempt an escape. You know that he wasn’t just trying to scare you either. Uvogin has never lied to you, and his frequent words of a world that would easily crush and destroy someone like you in the early days when you would constantly cry and ask for a reason for why he had taken you let you know that he really does believe it would be better to let you die in his hands instead of you suffering all the other torments he thought awaited you in the world outside. Nevermind that nothing so horrific as what he imagined out there had happened to you in the many years before Uvogin had met you. 

It doesn’t matter anyways. You don’t want to die, so it’s easier to just go along with what his demands were. They were easy to obey anyways, even if you destroy your own heart in the process. Take his cock like a good whore when he wanted. Let him kiss and hold you as he desires. Fetch him his beers from the fridge obediently. In return, you get treated like a princess. A princess who gets fucked dry on the couch, but still. Didn’t he indulge you in buying you whatever you asked for? Didn’t he laugh even at your most annoying jokes, when you finally came around enough to attempt humor? It could be worse. 

As more time passes and you begin to grow used to your life here, trapped in a house you don’t want to know how he procured, it almost begins to sound nice. He loves you so much, it’s clear by how those thoughts of you being ruined hurt him. Even the promise of a death at his hands if you run is a showing of his affection, his desire to make sure you die painlessly in the hands of someone who loves you. 

Or maybe he’s just a fucking monster and you’re developing coping mechanisms in trying to find a connection to him. It doesn’t matter. He’s close to finishing now, pumping into you faster than before. You know the telltale signs of him being close to the brink of it by now. All it means for you is that you’ll know soon enough if he ripped you by if his cock pulls out of you bloody. You almost hope it does, regardless of the fact that that would mean an embarrassing visit from Machi as your captor demands she look between your legs and see how bad it is. You haven’t interacted with anyone but Uvogin in a long while, not since the last time he accidentally got too rough with you. You just would like to see someone else’s face, even for just a moment. 

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Reverse batfam headcanons please centred on dickiee

i think about this entirely too often but yes yes of course.

languages were simultaneously the most simple and most complex thing dick had ever encountered in his long nine years of living. everyone in circ d’caleé spoke multiple different languages, and they'd lived in each other's shoes for so long that the travelling troupe developed their own little language, a mixture of everything and anything that could be understood. in addition to that, everywhere they went, dick picked up local dialects and accents with a tip of a hat and flip of his feet. of course, that made it a bit difficult to properly communicate when he had to live with the waynes. while bruce, tim, and jason could speak a smattering of other languages, english was what they defaulted to first and foremost. damian was fluent in both arabic and nepali first and formost, those just happened to be two languages that dick didn't speak very fluently. cassandra was just now getting the hang of spoken language with a bit of sign language thrown in. so the first few months of dick's shiny new home in wayne manor, everyone fumbled around words and phrases and vague gestures until they settled into hesitantly speaking french and attempting to convince dick to learn fluent english.

jason didn't like having a younger brother, he didn't. especially since that little brother was dick grayson. after all of the heartbreak and loss and weight of malediction bruce had lived with his entire life, jason could almost proudly say that he was one of the few people in the world to drive bruce out of his head, to get him to smile while taking jason out for ice cream, to sit him down and watch football with him, to make him laugh. and then here comes this upstart little brat who couldn't keep both feet on the ground for the life of him and thought football was actually soccer and who could make bruce laugh like it was fuckin' easy. who could so easily clamber up bruce's shoulders for a hug and beam as bruce ruffled his hair and sob into bruce's chest in the middle of the night when everyone was supposed to be asleep. jason had spent years coaxing bruce out of his shell, step by painful step, and dick made it happen with two backflips and a cheeky pun. it made jason's blood boil, the way dick never appreciated what he had, what he could do. the brat had taken to following him around, both in the cave, staring with awe as jason went through training routines, and in the manor, hopping into an armchair and asking jason to read a book aloud for him. it was irritating, just like it was irritating when dick popped jason's latest baking experiment into his mouth and loudly exclaimed how utterly delicious it was, just like it was irritating when dick dragged him to the aerial set bruce had installed in the batcave and asked him to watch his new routine. no matter what the rest of jason's stupid family said, dick was definitely not growing on jason. they could take their smiles and coos over the two "babies of the family" and shove them up their asses.

dick didn't understand why exactly bruce was so overprotective over the smallest things. he never let dick travel anywhere alone, regardless if it was as far away as france or as close as the one gelato place left in gotham. it was so unfair, because dick heard that bruce let jason run off to ethiopia of all places, and only went after him because cass had told bruce about it the minute jason left. he never let dick hang out with his friends, no matter how much dick asked to have a sleepover at wally's or go hang out with donna. on the rare occasions he said yes, they were only allowed to come to the manor. it was unreasonable, because bruce let tim run wild with young justice, despite the stories of tim going crazy after everyone in his team had died. tim wasn't crazy, as far as dick could tell, just a little paranoid and high-strung. also everyone on his team was alive, so dick didn't know what roy was talking about. cass didn't really want to go out anywhere, preferring to stick in gotham with her and tim's friend stephanie, but she had free reign over the city! and dick wasn't allowed to fight any major threats by himself at all. damian had battled deathstroke at his age, and dick was pretty sure damian was still in contact with the league of assassins, but dick couldn't even fight penguin with bruce insisting he be there for backup. he was so overprotective it made dick's blood boil.

being around dick physically hurt tim sometimes. not the crass (yet still somehow funny?) jokes jason made about dick jumping into body-slamming hugs and crash landing into laps so fiercely that even tim could feel it. but it hurt,,,,emotionally, so to speak. dick was just,,,,,dick was so much like stephanie, it ached. to be more specific, stephanie before. steph before she'd desperately bid for bruce's attention and landed herself at black mask's feet for her troubles. steph before the power tools dug her life away bit by bit until she was just gone. steph before she'd come back with green eyes and rage splitting at the seams of her scarred skin. steph before she realized that black mask had killed her and put tim in a wheelchair for the rest of his life for trying to avenge his best friend, and bruce had done next to nothing. tim would sit in his clocktower and force a smile onto his face as dick rambled on and on about the most meaningful of meaningless things, as dick shoved new foods he'd never tried before into his face, as dick laughed loud and bright and clear, trying to forget a time when steph would do the same. she smiles now, grabs lunch with him and cass, wakes up on days when there isn't any green in her vision, but she'll never be who she used to. and tim prays that there never comes a day when dick ends up like her.

dick feels,,,,,isolated sometimes, compared to the rest of his new family. or no, maybe isolated isn't the right word. set apart, maybe, or differentiated. both damian and cass had spent their lives being beat and broken and put back together supposedly stronger than before until they were almost wiped away entirely. steph and jason had both grown up poor and hungry and flinching back from their fathers, bending under gotham's merciless weight. (then steph had died, and come back worse than ever imagined.) tim had grown up lonely, had learned to fend for himself, had turned his name into a half-revered, half-feared whisper even when his legs were taken from him. maybe dick could have related a bit to bruce, but bruce had put himself through so much hardship and so much suffering in an attempt to keep himself from ever being hurt again. in contrast, dick hadn't gone through nearly as much. he'd been happy before the circus came to gotham, happy and cared for and loved. but that didn't mean he couldn't still help. he could sit and listen as they raged, because their anger couldn't touch him; he had no part in it. he could coax out smiles from their stone walls and laugh enough for all of them put together. he could take a name that had previously only been associated with death and heartache and turn it into the light and joy of gotham. he could dust the stillness from the curtains and breathe life back into wayne manor. and that, for him, was enough.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @comics-observer

[breezymichelle99]

2AM | Pierre Luc Dubois

Summary: You fight with Pierre Luc before a game. There had been too much stress with playoffs lately that he doesn’t realize he’s being an ass. but he finds a way to make it up to you. 

Warnings: angst, cursing, couple fighting, Relationship struggles, Crying, I'm sorrys, Female recieveing, sort of Hand Job, domish PLD, dirty talk, Threat of Orgasm Denial, Sweet PLD, (not really a warning lol.) 

You and Pierre Luc had been together for 2 ½ years. You'd been with him through his struggles with Columbus and through being traded to Winnipeg. You'd follow him anywhere. And he had never been more grateful to have you by his side through it all. But with the Jets making it into the Stanley Cup Playoffs the pressure had never been greater for the team or for Pierre. 

And your relationship was beginning to feel the stress of the season. Pierre had been extremely short with you lately and you were beginning to lose your patients with him. He was leaving for the arena, and usually you'd be drooling all over his pregame look but the two of you had been fighting all morning and you weren't In the mood to find him even remotely attractive right now.

But no matter how upset you were with him you still wanted to tell him you loved him and to have a good game, so you swallowed your pride and did so. He looked at you with sad eyes. Surprised by your words. "I love you Pierre Luc, please have a good game." You whisper. He kissed your forehead but said nothing in return, leaving you in silence. 

"Ughhhhh why was he so god damn frustrating." You slammed your fist onto the counter. You hated fighting with him because you were both so stubborn that it took forever for either one to give up and apologize and usually it was you because you couldn't stand it. You went to the bedroom to change before heading to the arena, to show your support for your boyfriend regardless of how mad you were at him. You threw on your "13 Dubois" jersey with black Jeans and cute booties, grabbed your bag, and headed out.

You got to the rink and walked down towards the ice hoping that getting around his teammates would have changed his attitude but it didn't. LB, the Jets goalie skated over towards you and began chatting with you. You thought nothing of it as you laughed at his jokes, touching his arm gently as he told you something Hilarious that Pierre had said to him earlier that day.. You stop laughing when you see the death glare you were getting from Pierre. A whistle blew in the distance, LB said goodbye, you shouted have a good game and then you were greeted by one angry PLD. “What the Fuck was that?” he shouts at you making a scene. “What was what? I was talking to YOUR teammate about YOU!!!!.” you shout back. “It’s not like I was making out with him or something like Jesus Christ, maybe if you wouldn’t have slammed the door in my face when you left tonight, and talked to me like an adult , then I wouldn’t have to talk to someone else.” you yell..eyes from around the arena gravitating towards you two. “So now this is my fault?...” you interrupt him, “You are acting like I was standing out there on the ice kissing him, YOU are my boyfriend Pierre, even if you are acting like a jackass right now you still are the love of my life. I'm not going to sit here and have you talk to me like this, I'll be at home when you decide you wanna grow up.” you shout at him once more as you head out of the arena. 

“Babe.” you hear him call to you but you just keep making your way out of the arena before you cause an even bigger scene. “Dubois.” you hear the coach yell at him, you look back to see him watching you leave the arena. You get back to your car and you sit there behind the steering wheel for a few minutes trying to catch your breath, tears welling up in your eyes. You loved that man, so fucking much. Like if you didn’t you wouldn’t have uprooted your life in Columbus to follow him here. You understood there would be difficult times, and things wouldn’t always be fun but it seems like lately you hated each other more than you loved each other and that wasn’t something you were proud of. 

You got home and you threw your purse onto the counter, stomping up stairs to remove your shoes and jeans. Crawling into bed at 7pm because you were just sad and upset and you didn’t want to be in this stupid fight with Pierre anymore. As you laid there in bed in his jersey you thought about how you two never use to fight, ever…how you always use to communicate with each other, and when you didn’t agree you worked it out, it just seemed lately that everything was a fight and you knew it was because of the high pressure of the season but you HATED it! 

You pulled Pierre’s pillow from his side of the bed into your chest, quietly sobbing. How did you get here, alone in bed crying instead of cheering wildly at the playoff game. You fell asleep in tears not even bothering to turn on the game or care if they won or lost because at this point Jets Hockey was ruining your relationship and you were not a fan. 

Pierre played like crap. He hated when you were mad at him, and maybe you were right if he stopped acting like an asshole and like everything was always your fault, Maybe he wouldn’t have found himself in this position; down by a goal and you nowhere to be found. You were the best girl he had ever known; you always rolled with the punches and you never ever gave up on him, and you loved him; always. You followed him to Winnipeg without question, took care of him when he got injured right after being traded, had his back when no one else did but for some reason he continued to feel the need to push you away when things got stressful for him. He knew he fucked up today, he knew it deep down in his soul and he also knew he deserved to play like shit tonight even if it was costing his team. 

The buzzer sounded at the end of the 3rd period; the Jets losing. Pierre slammed his fist against the wall as he skated off the ice into the tunnel.  He headed in but did not change. The rest of his teammates headed for home and he headed back onto the ice. He needed to clear his head before he went home. It was almost 1am before someone from the arena staff came out and told him he needed to go home. He hadn’t realized the time. “I'm sorry.” he says, grabbing his gear and heading back into the locker room. He took a quick shower, and turned out the locker room lights as he headed for home. He tried to call you but there was no answer. If you were mad at him before you were probably really mad at him now, thinking he wasn’t coming home. 

When he got home all the lights were off and you were nowhere to be found. He saw your purse thrown on the counter and knew you must be here somewhere. He left his bag by the door along with his shoes. He hung his suit coat on the back of the chair and he headed up to the bedroom, where he found you sound asleep in his jersey. The Dim light from the tv glowing in the background. He smiled. He turned off the tv and climbed into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you tight and kissing slowly on your neck. He hears you begin to wake up. “I'm mad at you.” you groan quietly. You hear him chuckle as you finally open your eyes to look at him. 

You look over at the clock on the bedside table. 2AM. “Did you just get home?” you ask him as you rollover in his arms looking into his gorgeous eyes. He smiles half heartedly. “Yeah, I worked out after the game. I needed to clear my head.” he says with a loud sigh. There was a long silence before he began to speak again. “I'm sorry.” he admits. His long fingers tracing over your cheek. You melt into his touch. 

He notices that you’ve been crying. Fucking idiot. He thinks to himself. “Pierre…” you pause because he stops you with a long passionate kiss, slowly he pulls his lips from yours as he begins to speak again. “I'm sorry.” he repeats. “I was a complete asshole, not just at the arena but this morning too. I've been under a lot of stress lately with playoffs and not producing as much for the team as I should be and I took everything out on you and I fucked up. You are my world, babe. Literally. I love you so fucking much and you deserve a better boyfriend then you’ve been getting lately and I promise to get my shit together. I fucking swear because I can’t lose you.” his eyes are staring at you so lovingly and so sadly that you felt bad for leaving him at the arena tonight. 

“You will never lose me baby.” you whisper, running your hand over his cheek as he looks down at you.. “I know it’s been tough lately, I know you’ve been struggling but you can NOT shut me out! I love you, Pierre alright, no matter what.. Even when you're acting like an ass, which by the way you should apologize to LB he was just being nice to me.” you say with a smile. “I don’t want you to have to go through these things alone okay, just talk to me I've got your back, always. I’m sorry for yelling at you and I'm sorry that I make it tough for you to love me sometimes because I'm so stubborn, but I really just want what’s best for you..” your words trail off with a moan as Pierre’s kissing you again shutting you up. 

You feel his warm hands under your jersey attempting to pull it over your head but gives up momentarily to try another tactic. “Pierre.” you whisper quietly. “Come on babe, you can’t stay mad at me forever.” he whispers onto your skin as he slowly begins kissing down your thigh now. “Mmm, I can try.” you groan as you feel his long fingers hook under the elastic of your panties pulling them down and tossing them to the floor beside the bed. He is looking up at you from between your thighs now. “We’ll see about that.” he smirks as he licks his lips. 

He knew there was one sure fire way to get you to forgive him. Your hands fell into his curls as he licked a long strip from your clit to your entrance. “Ohhhh Piereeeeee.” you moan loudly pulling his curls between your fingers. You feel him smirk against you as his tongue continues to work. “Fuck baby, your so wet for me already.” he couldn’t help but smile knowing alll too well you couldn’t resist him. You moan his name once again as his thumb begins slowly stroking slow even circles over your clit. “Fuck Babe.” you call arching your hips into him. “GOD Pierre I'm…” without another word he’d make you cum.”Fuck you taste so good.” he moans savoring the taste of you on his tongue.  “Lean up.” he demands seconds later. You do as you're told. He practically rips his jersey off of your body, tossing it to the floor. His lips kissing up your body till he reaches your lips, your taste yourself and moan into his mouth.your hands grip his shoulders as you feel him on your thigh. You reach between your bodies. He groans loudly against your neck. 

“Mmm you want to be inside me don’t you baby.” you moan in his ear as you palm him between your bodies. “Yes, please baby, please.” he begs and you smile as your hand continues to work him. His head drops into the crook of your neck as he moans biting your collarbone. “Fuck please baby.” you smirk listening to him beg for you now. You bite his neck, sucking a deep purple bruise into his skin that you knew would get you in trouble in the morning. 

You wondered how long he’d let you make him beg before he’d had enough; turns out he wasn’t a very patient man. He grabbed wrist roughly, shoving it above your head. “Enough teasing.” he growls. Your eyes light up. “Or what?” you challenge him. There was silence for a minute as he thought about what your punishment would be for being such an insubordinate little brat… “baby girl if you don’t learn to behave I’ll have you right on the edge so many times with no sense of release you’ll be begging me to let you cum.” His voice was deep and dark and raspy and almost made you cum like a command. 

You swallowed hard. “I'm sorry.” you whimper. “What did you say?” he asks, eyes boring holes into your body, with how intense they were looking at you. “I'm sorry, sir.” you repeat your answer with a smirk. “That’s what I thought.” he says with a cocky grin that had you almost begging for him now. His long fingers teased your nipples as he paid you back for teasing him. “Mmm Baby.” you moan. “I want you Pierre.” you beg for him. “Say it again.” his voice is a growl on your skin. “I want you inside me, Pierre please.” you beg him again. He’s getting everything he wants as he listens to your words again and again as you repeat them.   

“As you wish baby.” he groans as you feel him deep inside of you in a second. “Fuckk.” you cry out as your hips collide with his rough and sloppy, both needy for each other. Your nails are digging deeper into his shoulder blades with every thrust. You wrap your legs around him pushing him deeper into you making you both moan out loud into the darkness of your bedroom. “I love how my cock feels so deep inside of you, how you take every inch of me so fucking well.” His words are dirty and sexy and for a moment you almost don’t recognize this Pierre but something about this commanding side of him, demanding every single inch of you had you falling even more in love with him.  

“Fuck Pierre, cum inside me please.” your words barely make it out of your mouth as you find yourself tightening around him. “Fuck baby, cum for me, cum all over my cock.” he growls fucking you harder into the mattress, the rythm of his hips was erratic and careless and despreate for you to cum. You toss your head back into the pillow as you scream his name as he fills you up. “Fuck baby.” he moans his head tossing back as his rythm slows and practically stills inside of you. Bodies hot and sweaty, breathing erratic and uneven. He lays there a few minutes savoring how he feels inside of you before he pulls out of you. You whine. He can’t help but smile. 

He leans down to kiss your forehead as you lay naked and satisfied in his bed. “I love you and I’m so sorry.” he says. You feel the bed move as he leaves it, returning a few minutes later with a towel to clean you up. You kiss him slowly as you get up, placing the towel in the hamper as you walk to the bathroom. You notice a set of your own deep purple hickeys on your neck and chest. Your fingers trace them gently. You clean up a bit more and slide on one of Pierre’s Winnipeg Jets T-shirts before returning to bed with him. You crawl into his arms, head on his chest. 

“I hate fighting with you.” you say looking up into his gorgeous eyes. He smiles. “Me too baby I really do. It sucks but it’s because we’re both so damn stubborn.” he chuckles. You knew he was right. You smile.   “True.” you sigh. “I know that things are stressful right now, and the last thing I want to do is add more stress.” you say, leaving soft kisses on his chest, his fingers running through your tangled hair. “I know babe. I need to learn to stop shutting you out and just talk to you about shit going on instead of just taking it out on you.” he pauses because he sees you smiling. “I mean you taking it out on me isn’t all bad.” you smirk. He leans down and captures your lips with his, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back. 

He stops kissing you. “I love you Pierre Luc Dubois. I hope you never ever forget that.” you whisper as you try not to yawn. It is well after 2 am now and the two of you have another busy day tomorrow. “I love you more my love, forever and always.” he whispers, leaving soft kisses in your hair. “Forever and always.” you quietly repeat as you fall asleep on his chest. He pulls you into his arms tighter, snuggling his body in with yours as he too would fall asleep. The future in Winnipeg looking very bright for you both. 

The end.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Unbreakable

Jiang Cheng is going through his correspondence when suddenly his second in command barges in.

“Jiang-zongzhu, it’s—Nie-zongzhu is here,” he stammers and Jiang Cheng frowns at him.

Sure, after what happened, everyone should be wary of Nie Huaisang, but it certainly doesn’t require this amount of fear.

“Did Huaisang say what he wants? He didn’t send a letter,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, getting up because surely letting Nie Huaisang wait, despite his lack of an announcement of his impending arrival is not the right answer.

“Not—not Nie Huaisang, Jiang-zongzhu. It’s—Nie Mingjue is waiting for you,” his second stammers and okay, that finally gets Jiang Cheng’s undivided attention.

“What the hell,” he breathes out, reaching out for Sandu. “Is he attacking anyone? How the hell did he get out of the coffin?”

“Truth be told, Jiang-zongzhu, he doesn’t appear to be dead? There are no traces of resentful energy on him at all, and he seems very much alive.”

“Impossible,” Jiang Cheng breathes, because Nie Mingjue is dead.

He rushes up to the main entrance, his second following closely behind but Jiang Cheng comes to a stop as soon as he sees Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue grins sheepishly at him as Jiang Cheng stalks up to him, his grip on Sandu tight. He’s not going to take any chances with this.

“Hello,” Nie Mingjue says with a slight bow.

“You’re dead,” is what Jiang Cheng greets him with, because he doesn’t have time for these stupid niceties, not if Nie Mingjue could possibly be a threat to him and his Sect.

“It appears that I am no longer dead,” Nie Mingjue replies with a slight shrug and Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at him.

“That’s impossible.”

“Well, then I should fit right into your Sect, shouldn’t I?” Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem to be joking and Jiang Cheng tilts his head in question.

“You have your own Sect.”

“A Sect that Huaisang is leading very well. I’ve—gone there first, of course, but—” he trails off with a shrug. “Huaisang has things handled and I never got to figure out what I want to do besides being a Sect Leader.”

Jiang Cheng supposes that makes sense, but it still doesn’t explain what Nie Mingjue is doing here, though.

“Why come here?” he demands to know and Nie Mingjue looks away.

“I can’t go to Lanling. I know that your nephew is Sect Leader now, but I can’t—” his voice breaks and Jiang Cheng feels bad about even asking.

Of course he can’t go there; it’s where he died, where his murderer kept his head of all things as a personal amusement.

But still—

“Why not Gusu then? Lan Xichen is in seclusion, but I would guess that he would be over himself to see you again.”

Nie Mingjue flinches at the mention of Lan Xichen’s name and Jiang Cheng feels bad about that, too now.

“I don’t—I can’t see him,” Nie Mingjue admits. “He didn’t listen to me, didn’t trust me when I told him what Jin Guangyao had done and I can’t—no.”

“Alright,” Jiang Cheng agrees easily, not wanting to upset Nie Mingjue any further, because he still isn’t sure what he’s dealing with right now.

Nie Mingjue seems alive enough, but one can never be too careful with this kind of thing.

“It still doesn’t explain why you came here, though.”

“While I was dead—or undead—I had a lot of time to think,” Nie Mingjue lowly says. “And I realized that I failed you, especially.”

Jiang Cheng is torn between agreeing with that and denying it immediately, but before he can say anything, Nie Mingjue goes on.

“I know what it’s like to be thrusted into positions as Sect Leader too young and too violently and yet I didn’t reach out to offer you help. And I realize that making amends now is far too late, because your Sect is one of the greatest I have ever seen, but I thought, it can’t help to try.”

Jiang Cheng squints at him.

“Are you a ghost? Are you unable to move on because you feel like you have unfinished business here?”

“I am not a ghost,” Nie Mingjue easily replies and offers up his hand for Jiang Cheng to inspect.

Jiang Cheng does take it, because he has to make sure that there’s no danger from Nie Mingjue, and when he checks him over with his qi, it seems like Nie Mingjue is speaking the truth.

He’s alive and well.

“The problems with your qi-deviations?”

“It seems death solved that for me.”

Jiang Cheng takes a few moments to scrutinize Nie Mingjue, who graciously allows it to happen.

“There’s nothing you have to make up for, and—like you said—I don’t need your help anymore,” Jiang Cheng finally tells him and Nie Mingjue grins sheepishly.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I want to get to know you better,” he says with a shrug and now, that, finally takes Jiang Cheng aback.

“There’s nothing to know,” he hisses, because he doesn’t need whatever this is. Pity or something else, it doesn’t matter.

Jiang Cheng did well enough on his own for years.

“I think there’s a great deal to know,” Nie Mingjue gives back immediately and then simply holds Jiang Cheng’s gaze.

It’s Jiang Cheng who breaks first.

“You truly are unbreakable, huh?” he mutters. “Your will, your spirit, even death couldn’t keep a grip on you.”

“I know it’s unfair, and that there are other people you’d rather see come back but it’s not like I had a choice in this,” Nie Mingjue lowly says and Jiang Cheng winces.

He didn’t mean it like that, and he doesn’t actually hold it against Nie Mingjue that some miracle brought him back to live.

Most people Jiang Cheng knows deserve a second chance, and seeing as Wei Wuxian already got one, it’s not that absurd to figure Nie Mingjue got one, too.

“If you want to stay here, you’ll have to work,” Jiang Cheng declares after a moment, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You will not be a freeloader in my Sect.”

It looks like Nie Mingjue wants to laugh at him, but he manages to hold it in.

“Alright.”

“You get one week to familiarize yourself with my Sect and how it works. After that you will either choose a work, or I’ll assign you one.”

“Works for me,” Nie Mingjue gives back but when Jiang Cheng is about to turn away to show him to his quarters, Nie Mingjue reaches out to stop him.

“I wasn’t lying about the fact that I want to get to know you. I know it’s audacious of me to make demands of you—especially since I am no longer a Sect Leader—but I’d like to take at least one meal with you. Or maybe just afternoon tea.”

“Cute of you to think that I have time for afternoon tea,” Jiang Cheng shoots back but then he sighs. “Fine. Lunch, then. I tend to forget about that and then my second yells at me, and like this everyone is happy, right?”

“Sounds good,” Nie Mingjue agrees and then finally Jiang Cheng can do something again.

Even if it’s just showing Nie Mingjue where he will sleep for the foreseeable future.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng offered Nie Mingjue a week to get to know his Sect, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem to need that much time.

“I’d like to work with the kids, if you are open to that,” Nie Mingjue says on his third day over lunch and Jiang Cheng almost chokes on his food.

“Kids?” he says, once he stopped coughing and Nie Mingjue seems defensive.

“I like kids,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed, but shouldering on regardless. “It was just never—with my family history it didn’t seem wise to have any,” is what he finally says and Jiang Cheng guesses he can understand that.

If his line was destined for a violent and early death, he wouldn’t have kids, either. Not that he has any regardless of that.

“The class with the babies needs some help,” Jiang Cheng says, instead of voicing his other thoughts and he wonders what he did wrong when Nie Mingjue frowns at him.

“You’re teaching babies?”

“What? No, of course not!” Jiang Cheng immediately gives back and then he laughs, embarrassed that he said it like that. “It’s just what I call the youngest ones. They are barely six, but want to start training early. Usually those are the ones with the most potential, but at that age—” he shrugs. “They are all babies.”

“I see,” Nie Mingjue says and smiles softly at him.

Jiang Cheng did not need to know that he has dimples, and he certainly doesn’t need them directed at himself.

“But if you give them any silly ideas, I’ll assign you to the kitchens instead!” he huffs out, trying to hide behind his tea, but he thinks he’s probably not that successful when Nie Mingjue laughs.

“I’ll try my best. Huaisang was the one with the silly ideas, anyway, so they should be safe.”

“We’ll see about that,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, but then he gets distracted when Nie Mingjue asks some more questions about the harvest season that is almost upon them and lunch flies by like that.

Jiang Cheng finds himself thinking that he could get used to this.

~*~*~

Nie Mingjue is good with the kids. Jiang Cheng was worried that they will be scared of him, or that he’ll be too rough and strict with them, but the kids clearly love him and Jiang Cheng would never admit it, but he spends at least ten minutes every morning just watching Nie Mingjue interacting with them.

It’s adorable how they think they can climb him and it’s impressive how he makes it into an exercise for them.

“You’ve been watching me with the kids,” Nie Mingjue says one day over lunch and Jiang Cheng tries his best to fight his blush.

“I’m checking in on the work you do,” he shoots back and it makes Nie Mingjue laugh.

“Sure,” he easily agrees, but Jiang Cheng knows that Nie Mingjue doesn’t believe him one second.

“You’re good with them,” Jiang Cheng finally amends and Nie Mingjue shrugs.

“I like them. I like working with them. They are so excited about everything.”

Jiang Cheng has seen that, too—Nie Mingjue indulges the kids more often than not. And Jiang Cheng is in no position to scold him over that, because he used to do that as well.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, and very decidedly does not think about Nie Mingjue with the kids anymore.

It’s getting hard, to see him interact with the little ones, and Jiang Cheng has caught himself more than once already, thinking it to be the most adorable thing he has ever seen and he raised Jin Ling.

Nie Mingjue smirks at his harsh tone, and they don’t speak again for the rest of the meal.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng isn’t quite sure when having lunch together turned into taking all three meals together and he’s also not quite sure since when he talks about Sect politics with Nie Mingjue. But he can’t stop it, because it’s so nice to finally have someone who he can just vent to and Nie Mingjue does have pretty insightful ideas most of the times.

Still, Jiang Cheng shouldn’t be doing this.

Nie Mingjue will get tired of him and Lotus Pier eventually, and then he’ll move on. Most likely back to Qinghe Nie before he’ll make up with Lan Xichen and then Jiang Cheng won’t see him again.

It’s how things in Jiang Cheng’s life work, after all, and it wouldn’t do at all to get too used to Nie Mingjue’s presence.

“What are you thinking about?” Nie Mingjue suddenly asks him and Jiang Cheng almost chokes on his tea. “You have your serious face on.”

Jiang Cheng refuses to acknowledge that it’s been ages since someone could distinguish his serious face from his normal face and instead simply shrugs.

“Nothing. Work,” he amends when Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow at him.

“You want to know what I think you’ve been thinking about?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng resolutely shakes his head.

“No.”

“I think,” Nie Mingjue still says and even Jiang Cheng’s glare doesn’t deter him, “that you’ve been thinking about me.”

Jiang Cheng immediately flushes and he knows it’s futile, but he still snaps “Don’t be so self-centred,” at Nie Mingjue.

“But am I wrong?” Nie Mingjue wants to know and Jiang Cheng jumps to his feet.

“I have work to do,” he hisses, but just when he’s about to storm away, Nie Mingjue catches his hand in his.

“Wanyin, when will you finally let me court you?” Nie Mingjue asks and with that question he takes all the wind out of Jiang Cheng’s sails.

Deep down he had known that this was coming; Jiang Cheng might be dense and he might be blacklisted from every matchmaker ever, but he’s not that stupid and Nie Mingjue has not been that subtle.

“You’re going to go back to your Sect eventually,” Jiang Cheng says, staying turned away from Nie Mingjue. “Or to Lan Xichen, or to simply wander. It’s not like—this is not permanent.”

“Because you don’t let me make it permanent,” Nie Mingjue tells him. “I can visit Huaisang whenever I want and I still don’t want to see Xichen and we can wander together.”

It sounds nice; nice enough that Jiang Cheng turns back around to him.

“If I say yes, are you going to vanish into thin air, because you are in fact a ghost and this will fulfil whatever unfinished thing you still had going?” he asks, feeling only slightly ridiculous about it.

“I am not a ghost, Wanyin. I’m real, and I got a second chance at life, and I want to spend that chance with you. I’m not going to vanish just because you say yes.”

“Who says I’m going to say yes?” Jiang Cheng grumbles, but he can’t help but to tangle their fingers together.

“Aren’t you?” Nie Mingjue asks with a smile and tugs on his hand so that Jiang Cheng sits back down again.

“Even if I do, it’s only to courting,” Jiang Cheng reminds him when Nie Mingjue leans in. “And to nothing else.”

“Not even one celebratory kiss that we are finally starting our courtship stage?” Nie Mingjue teases him, still so close to Jiang Cheng.

“No,” Jiang Cheng decides, but then he leans forward and brushes his lips over the dimple on Nie Mingjue’s cheek. “There.”

“That hardly counts,” Nie Mingjue grumbles, but he doesn’t take what Jiang Cheng isn’t yet ready to give and Jiang Cheng smiles at him for it.

“Sweep me off my feet with your courtship and we’ll see about a real one,” Jiang Cheng says, despite how it makes his face burn, but it’s worth it when Nie Mingjue beams at him.

“Deal.”

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[detectivemarvelingcomics]

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Ch. 5]

Alternate Dimension AU

TW: Language, Mentions of Death, Descriptions of Violence, Scar Mention, Mentions of Suicide/Suicidal Thoughts

CW: OC Use, See the OC Guide [Here]

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Batfamily x Batsis!Reader

(5/?) [Previous] | [Next]

[DC Masterlist] | [Not Your Classic Vigilante Masterlist]

YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her)

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: Boop boop, I’ve been re-reading Batman DC Rebirth, hehe, and jfskherejwr I’m starting to remember why I loved reading comics in the first place!!

Not Your Classic Vigilante: @gabytodd​ @peachydoki @marshmallow12435​ @escapenightmare​

Disclaimer: This series is originally by @fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)

27 July 2022

The chiming of the grandfather clock in the foyer resounded throughout the manor. Alfred’s eyes scanned the newspaper, looking for anything on the family of the house or anything else amiss. Aside from the usual headlines of “[Insert Bat-Person Here] Saves the Day��� there was nothing entirely eye-catching. Alfred placed the teacup down gently, the small click bouncing off the walls regardless, and he sighed. The manor had always been quiet, granted, but there are some days he wished that there was some more life around the area. It was strange, he could take the best care of any plant inside the silent walls and still they’d wither within days.

Then came a sound he hadn’t heard in quite some time. The familiar knock at the door startled Alfred. It was a simple tune, but it nevertheless sent chills up his spine. His hands shook almost, a sudden fear in them, while he grabbed onto the rifle hidden next to the bookshelf. A familiar but foreign sound put him on edge, it had to be a trick of some sort, some sick joke from the Joker perhaps, regardless he understood it as a threat. A memory flashed in his head as he made his way to the door.

~

19 May 2009

At the ring of a doorbell, Alfred picked the rifle up from the floor, Bruce had mentioned earlier that a few acquaintances of his were starting to get antsy, and for him to be ready if anything were to occur. He hid it easy behind the door as he opened it.

“Ah, Miss Kyle,” Alfred visibly relaxed when he saw you step inside.

“Bruce’s turn to watch the kid,” she says. She bent down to your level. “Give him hell for me,” she handed handed you the usual small bag of your belongings.

“I will,” you skipped inside and Alfred bid your mother goodbye.

“Well, Miss (Y/N), what shall we— Oh, goodness, give that to me!” Alfred moved the rifle out of your hands and placed back in its usual place. He didn’t even know how you picked up the thing, it’s a lot heavier than anyone would think given both the fact that it was loaded and from age alone. Not to mention he would’ve most likely been ripped to shreds by Selina, or even violently reprimanded by Bruce. And he didn’t even want to think about what your siblings would do. Strangely, despite outward circumstances, you were the baby of the family and everyone cared for you deeply.

At the very least, he’d like to think so. But there was a voice at the back of his head that you’d grow rather differently in comparison to the other Waynes. Such was clear whenever Alfred would be in charge of your care.

“Okay, okay,” a young (Y/N) smiled. “So you know it’s me, and you don’t have to hurt yourself trying to reach for that big thing again, I’ll knock like this, okay?” You explained while you knocked on the door five times in a simple rhythm.

“If you insist, Miss (Y/N),” Alfred pats your head gently.

“Okay, I’m going to go play with Jason!” You said loudly, running up the stairs. There is a slight thud that echoed around the manor followed by a quick “I’m okay!” Before the echoing sound of a door opening and slamming shut.

Alfred chuckled lightly before sitting back down. You’ve always been oddly observant, probably a product of your mother’s teaching, and no doubt you must’ve seen him blow his back out bending over to pick it up at least once, age never really caught up to Alfred until recently. But there were days when he could just watch you run around the manor and absorb some of that youthful energy.

“Cheeky girl, she is,” he sighs and continues on with the paper, marking interesting articles as needed and circling things for Bruce to look into later.

~

27 July 2022

Alfred rested his hand on the lock. Who would be at the other side of this door? It was more of the tune that was the most jarring, having heard it for the first time in years, he was in near shock. He steeled himself, anything was fair game behind this wall of mahogany and he had to be ready. Of the family he was the one who took it upon himself to grow from what happened to you, he had seen many a time how members of this family came and went then came right back, but the one that returned was almost never the same as the one who left. He reached for the rifle that was leaning on the wall next to the front door and slowly he unlocked it.

The sight before him nearly put him into cardiac arrest.

“I thought I told you that you didn’t need to grab that if it was me,” you said softly. You eyed the aged rifle, it didn’t even look like it could fire more than two rounds at its old state. Alfred had brought it back with him from his time in the British Special Forces, stating that it was a lucky object that he treasured, but the thing looked more like a hazard now. You remembered the thing even backfiring on him if anything.

“I must be dreaming,” Alfred’s voice wavered.

“Uhm… Gosh, I promise I had this entire thing planned out,” you rocked on your heels, “but now I have no clue what to say,” you shifted awkwardly and pressed your lips together. “Can I come inside? It’s really cold out here…” You brought your hands up to your arms and rubbed them up and down.

Alfred is a tough one, years of being in this family trained him so, and if you were going to duck under his radar then you’d have to be extra careful. Your siblings were another story, it was easy to get things past them so long as you stayed in character, but Alfred? He’s been through too much bull shit to just buy the story you gave Jason. You knew this immediately when Alfred moved to the side and allowed you to walk in slowly, almost unsure of whether or not you still belonged there. Honestly, you didn’t

“Where’s dad?”

“In his office at Wayne Industries, Miss Wayne,” Alfred says kept his responses brief. You didn’t know whether he had just stayed the same from when you last left or if he was just putting on the front for what was, at most, an unknown entity standing before him. You knew Alfred, and you knew he was smart enough to look twice at your arrival and the events leading up to it.

“What’s with the formalities, Al? What happened to just calling me (Y/N)?” You laughed. Even now it felt weird to hear him call you by that, it made you feel alienated, in a way, and you really considered Alfred more of a parental figure than Bruce ever was, or ever could be. “Geez, the way you’re looking at me makes me feel like I died and came back.” You tried to hold back the sarcasm in your voice.

“Apologies, Miss (Y/N),” Alfred eyed you wearily. You could tell he was analyzing you, and you couldn’t blame him. But when the sound of a jangling collar descended the stairs, your attention was automatically diverted to the ball of energy that, truthfully, you found surprising that he was still here.

“Titus!” You squealed. The large dog ran up to you and nuzzled his head your leg. If there was one thing you missed from this universe, it would’ve been Titus, the one living thing in this house that was always excited to see you, at the very least. Aside from Dick, but his appearance at the manor was always conditional and never for a long period of time before he’d go back to Blüdhaven. “Aww, hi, buddy! So cute as always, aren’t ya?” You rubbed behind his ears and he slobbered on your jeans, and although it was slightly disgusting you really did enjoy playing with him.

“Titus, heel,” Damian growled. He marched down the stairs. Just from one glance alone and you regretted coming back at all, you knew it, you knew as soon as you saw him you’d want to stay home. He had grown so much, goodness, you were never one to be too sentimental, but Damian always had a special place in your heart. You were blood-related, nothing would ever change that, and you’d always felt more of that “normal sibling” relationship with him than with any of the others, but that originates largely from bias. “I don’t understand why…” Titus didn’t move from your leg. Well, shit, you were hoping that you could’ve just had Alfred let you wait for Bruce in the bat cave, got the data on the justice league, then skipped out of this universe with Alex and Carter, but nope, you’ve so far run into Jason and Roy, Alfred, then Damian. At least you knew that the others don’t care much for returning home.

“Hey, Dami, how was school?” You smiled. Damian walks up to you slowly and then proceeds to circle you, looking for something that was amiss. Then his eyes moved to your neck. There was a visible scar across the front of it. You usually cover it up, actually, it’s not something you want to remember, but to make the conscious effort to hide it would bring suspicion to a group of vigilantes who were trained to find flaws. “Oh this thing? I just looked in the mirror and saw it, I’m not quite sure how it got there, don’t worry, I’m not suicidal or anything,” you chuckled. Damian finally wraps his arms around you and you stiffened. You haven’t really been one for much affection like this, as of late, and to get it from someone who didn’t traditionally do it, you wondered what state you left him in. And you knew Damian to be one who tended to be more averted to things like this, and you couldn’t deny that this, this felt nice. There were always times you wondered how the youngest Wayne had been holding up, you were his closest confidant at one point, and now you wondered what you were to him.

Sometimes you thought how much of a horrible person you must’ve been, leaving them all behind and when you got the opportunity to come back you just chose not to. You wondered what they were like when you left, but truthfully you usually did your best to push it to the back of your mind. The dead should stay dead, in your opinion.

“That was random,” you finally said before hugging him back. “Everything alright?”

“Master Damian, she doesn’t know.”

“You’re an idiot,” he finally musters out. You grinned awkwardly and rubbed the top of his head.

“Ah, I was worried for a second,” you said. Damian lets go of you and tugs on Titus’ collar.

“I’m going to go sit here,” he says quickly. He falls on the stair step and Titus sits next to him. You could see the cogs working in his head, moving to and fro and processing, yes, that was the right word. You wondered what it was that he did to properly think things through, you wanted to sit him down and pick apart his thought process simply because of how interesting it all was.

“Would you like me to call your father, Miss (Y/N)?” Alfred has his hand on the phone.

“Nah, it’s okay, I doubt he’d come anyways,” you sighed. Maybe you could convince him to let you into the cave but with Damian here, you’d have to reconsider your original plan. “I just came to apologize to you guys, it’s not fair I dragged you into mine and dad’s mess, you know? I think two months is long enough to be mad, right?” Two months, it was the time period that Alex had recommended.

“Has it really been two months, Miss (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, I think he’s learned his lesson,” you beamed.

“Alfred!” Tim calls out. Great, here comes another one, and one of the more observant of your siblings who was only second to Cass when you originally lived in the manor. Tim was one you had learned to be weary of a long time ago, you were never able to get anything past him and he wouldn’t even give you the chance to, the number of times he figured things out before you yourself did was remarkable. He walks in to the main room. “We’re out of coffee.” His eyes land on you and he rubs them tiredly.

“I believe I left it on the shelf, Master Drake.”

“On second thought, keep it,” Tim says, maintaining eye contact with you. You were beginning to remember why you dreaded coming to the manor. The stares. It felt like they were psychoanalyzing you, trying to pry into your brain and figure out just what made you so different from them, it sickened you sometimes but you didn’t dare call them out on it before. Hell, if you weren’t in character, you would’ve called them out on it now. Every time you thought back to them, your family, all you could remember was the constant interrogations, you knew they meant well, they had to, but now you couldn’t differentiate it from the borderline infantilization just because you didn’t put on tights and grab a gun. “I’m starting to hallucinate.”

“Gosh! I’ve only been gone for two months and you guys are treating it like I’ve been gone for years!” You stamped your foot on the ground. Yeah, you’re never doing that again, no wonder they treated you like a baby. “Geez, are you guys that mad at me?” Your expression wavered slightly. Step into the role, it’s not as hard as one would think.

“Hey, I left my mask in the ba—” Dick stops half inside the manor and half outside the manor. Alright, just throw out the plan in its entirety, why not, there’s no point. All you needed now was for Jason to run in.

“Master Dick, why don’t you take a seat,” Alfred offers. Without closing his jaw he follows Alfred to the couch and keeps his eyes trained on you. Great, another set of eyes. At least you knew Dick wasn’t going to cast you out.

“Guys, (Y/N)’s alive!” Jason shouts, helmet under his arm and guns in his hand. There he is. He looked around at his brothers and shut his hanging mouth.

“Oh really, Todd?” Damian snarks. “I didn’t notice.” You looked around them with wide eyes.

“Alive? I never died? What?” You stumbled on your words. You controlled your expressions well, you just realized how shaky your story is, but granted you also have to remember that you’re as confused as they are. Dick stands up and waves at his brothers.

“Family meeting in the bat cave, (Y/N) stay with Titus.” Seriously? Dead sister comes back and already they’re keeping her out of the loop? You weren’t really surprised, but you still were a little disappointed.

“Hey!”

“Love ya, sis,” Tim says as he passes by you. He quickly back tracks and pats your shoulder, then returns to the bat cave. The rest followed after and you slouched on the couch. Once the bookshelf moved back into place you placed your hand on your heart.

“I’m in,” you whispered. You waited to hear back from Alex, but you figured he was probably busy, he’d get into your head at one point after this. You usually hated communicating this way, telepathically, that is. It all felt so violating and, luckily, Alex agreed. But in what is now a high risk mission such as this then there are just some exceptions that would have to be made. You just hoped that he didn’t pry too much into your mind.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone’s Symphony | Prologue | Hades

Hey lovelies— this will either be a long fic or a short series, depending on how it best plays out. I decided to upload a sneak peak— let me know what y’all think and do enjoy!!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 2.5k (and counting)

Next

Master List

“Barnes, you’re on protection detail.”

He must be dreaming— he must have fallen asleep with the tv on again. That’s been happening a lot lately; he’s trying to catch up on normal life. On all the shows and movies and music he’s missed throughout the years. He’s trying to catch up. Or maybe he’s just trying to drown out the silence. It doesn’t matter why, to be honest, all that matters is that he is asleep and what he is hearing and seeing are the workings of a bad dream. There was a marathon last night. Yeah, there was. Movies— a few of them. Something about bodyguards. He’s just dreaming about the movies.

Right?

Wrong.

“You’re to make sure she is secured at all times during the next three days— do not leave Miss Y/l/n’s side under any circumstances. Understood?”

Bucky blinks twice, his brows creasing as he stares down his commander, a stubby, burly man with beady eyes. It’s a trial run— he can’t say no. He wants to, he just can’t afford to. Not if he wants a job. Still, he sees no reason for this to be on him. He’s a soldier— a good one. A dangerous one. Watching over little girls isn’t in his job description. He’s a fighter— a monster.

“I need an affirmative, Barnes.”

He bites back a scowl. He’s not trying to get demoted, he knows he’s on thin ice. But, like, isn’t there anyone else? Hell— Wilson is right next to him! Surely he’s better. He’s charming, at least. A flirt. He would be perfect! Wilson would keep her safe. So would he— maybe. Definitely from the threat. From himself, though— well, three days is a long time to avoid sleeping. Even for him.

“Barnes!”

Damnit.

“Understood, sir.”

Wilson’s amused chuckles sound from beside him, his hand landing like a ton of bricks on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky contemplates the repercussions of punching the smug bastard in the middle of a briefing. It can’t be more than a pay dock. He isn’t making that much anyway, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. It would be worth it to wipe that grin off his face. But, no, he can’t. He’ll have to do it later.

“Someone’s on babysitting duty.” Wilson snickers, pressing his fist to his mouth to hide his goading from the commander. “Remember Barnes; no candy after seven.”

“Shut up, Wilson.” He grunts back, just barely stopping his metal arm from flying out and smacking him— from squashing him like the bug he is.

“Think she has a bedtime?”

“Think you could shut up?”

Wilson flexes his fingers, holding them up slightly. Just enough as to not get caught ignoring the briefing but also enough to make sure Bucky notices. “Woah—” he says under his breath, that stupid smirk still heavy in his tone— “someone’s touchy today.”

“It’s a bad decision and you know it.” He says it simply— gruffly— it is the truth after all. He’s dangerous.

Wilson’s face softens, the glee filtering from his tone. “You’ll be fine, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, he just clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want to have another conversation about this. You’re a good person. You didn’t mean to do it. It’s not your fault. It might not be his fault but he still did it. He still feels it. That makes him bad— if not morally than at least physically. He’s a liability.

“Y/n Y/l/n—” Bucky focuses back on the commander; he may as well learn what he needs to do— “the twenty-five year old heir to the biggest communications technology manufacturing companies in the world. They do dealings with a range of chief institutions including our own White House—”

If Bucky’s teeth weren’t pressed together hard enough to make him wonder if they’re going to disintegrate, then his jaw would be on the floor right now. She’s the what? Did he just say twenty-five? He can’t even remember what he was doing at twenty-five— whatever he was doing it certainly wasn’t that. Granted, he probably doesn’t really want to remember what he was doing. Soldier things. Dangerous things. He shakes his head, huffing out a breath of air.

“Her immediate family have all turned up dead within the last six months—”

Bucky flinches— this time his jaw does drop.

“Holy shit.” Wilson mutters from next to him— Bucky can only nod. No more jokes about babysitting then.

Some pictures appear on the screen behind the commander, each one more gruesome than the last. It is nothing overtly sinister— nothing he hasn’t seen before— nothing worse than anything he’s seen before. Or worse than what he, himself, has done. He shivers, staring at the photos. Two men and a woman, each with a scarlet circle blown through their foreheads. What the fuck.

“Other executives have been found dead as well—” more pictures, more bullet holes— “She is the last one. We don’t know who or why— our mission is to find out, execute, and above all keep Miss Y/l/n alive—”

The pictures change, finally showing the woman who is to be in the soldier’s care, and his heart stops. Not for any normal reason, though— not because of how obscenely beautiful she is or because of the way her eyes pierce through the junky projector as though she were actually in the room with him. Not because of how soft she looks or how he can see the pink sheen of her lip gloss or the way those glossy lips are curved into an open mouth smile— like the picture had been taken mid laugh. No. His heart stops because of how god damn fragile she looks.

In the picture she seems to be at a University with some friends of hers. They’re backed against a brick facade, shoulder to shoulder like some sort of preppy mugshot. It’s probably supposed to be comical— Wilson lets out a hmph next to him, clearly seeing it as well— but Bucky can’t find it in himself to laugh. Not given the circumstances. Regardless though the picture gives him the information he needs to know; that she is a head shorter than the males in the picture. That seems normal— a head isn’t much in the scheme of things. The size difference is nothing.

Nothing unless, of course, you’re a giant super soldier whose genetically modified to be larger, stronger, and faster than the average man. Deadlier than the average man. He won’t be just a head taller than her— he’ll be at least two. Maybe more. And that’s just the height— he doesn’t even want to think about the rest. He is going to be stuck for three days, in what will most likely be a cramped safe house, with a girl who he could potentially break by bumping into her too hard. He can see it now: he takes the corner too fast and the next thing he knows she’s sprawled at his feet, her limbs bent at grotesque angles and her glossy lips flattened. All because he didn’t think to check.

This is going to be a long three days.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As it turns out, there are no safe houses— not legitimate ones at least. What there is, however, is the Wilson’s old family home in Delacroix, Louisiana— a semi falling apart, two-story build with robin's egg blue, fading paint. It is nestled deep into the bayou, hidden meticulously between towering trees. It is miles from any main roads and on the bank of a mostly dead river. Foot traffic is scarce and boats rarely pass on sunny days, let alone during the rainy season— the season it just so happens to be. Perfect.

Well, the location is perfect. The rest is a god damn shit show.

“You ready?” Sam doesn’t look at him— he knows better than that, opting instead to continue staring out at the bayou from behind the wheel.

Bucky, hunched over in the passenger seat, eyes also locked on the blue home, shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Sam sighs and Bucky tries not to tense at the sound. Please, not another lecture— not right now. He tries to ignore the man, gaze pouring over what he assumes is supposed to be a charming porch. Under a dim but sturdy awning there waits a white swing with a long bench seat and some floral pillows. Across from it are two rocking chairs swaying softly in the Louisiana breeze. One has a matching blanket draped over the back. It is supposed to look cozy— he knows it’s supposed to and he is sure to everyone but him that it is cozy. To him, though, it looks like everything he doesn’t have. Like warmth and sunny days and peace. Things he wants and things that make his skin crawl because of how foreign they are to him.

“You’re not going to hurt her.” Sam taps his hand on the wheel, sounding out a pattern that plays more like bullets ricocheting through the cab of the truck than whatever melody it actually is.

Bucky grinds his teeth together. Now he’s looking at the window beside the porch. Is it a kitchen? A mudroom? A den? He isn’t sure, there’s a white curtain pulled across the frame, blocking his vision from whatever waits for him on the inside. Blocking his vision from her. For a moment he thinks he sees the curtain move— a shadow of a hand passing along the edge. He turns away— he doesn’t want to scare her if she’s trying to size him up before they meet. It’s the least he can do. God only knows how terrified she already is.

His stare lands on Sam— an invitation for the soldier to finally look away from the bayou. “But I could, right? That’s what matters here— I could hurt her.”

“No, Buck, you couldn’t— you wouldn’t. You aren’t evil or whatever it is you think you are.” Sam raises a brow and Bucky scowls— it always feels like he’s in his head.

Of course he would never tell Sam Wilson that— like a dog left to fend for himself, he would rather fight.

“Don’t pretend like you have any idea what I think.” He can’t find it in himself to feel guilty for snapping— isn’t that what wild animals do?

Ever the patient animal rescuer, Sam rolls his eyes at the bite. “You’re a good man, Barnes.”

Bucky stares back for a minute, not sure how to even broach an answer, before breaking, snapping his gaze back to the inviting home— his kennel for the next three days. He clenches his jaw, trying not to slam his head against the dashboard for being an idiot. Even Bucky understands that it’s bad when he breaks the stare first— he’s been told before that he has a staring problem. He just doesn’t want to look Wilson in his eyes and explain to him exactly why he’s wrong. Maybe it’s just easier to let him think what he wants.

“Whatever.”

Maybe he wants just one person to truly believe that he isn’t the bad guy— even if he doesn’t believe it himself.

“I thought old people were supposed to be mature.”

Bucky flashes him a forced grin, one that tastes like the three hours of sleep he got last night and the five hours of self-loathing, shoving open his door and following it with his foot. “That’s me— the mature one.”

Sam barks out a laugh; either Bucky’s grimace— grin— worked or Sam is choosing to ignore it. “You’re old, not mature— there’s a difference, pal.”

“Hmph.” Bucky jumps out of the truck, yanking the duffle bag over his shoulder as his boots sink into the spongy grass.

His skin dampens immediately, a combination of the marshy climate and the grey clouds hanging above his head. A few droplets fall against his face and he slings a hand over his brows, turning towards his fate for the next three days. Without the barrier of the truck between him and the house, he almost feels like a normal man again. The weak, destructible kind. Theoretically, if the house were to fall on top of him right now he would survive. He would be pinned under the rubble, yes, but alive. It just doesn’t feel like it— it feels like he would be crushed. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end— his hackles rising as he tries not to bare his teeth— or fangs— at this new kind of threat. If only people could see him now; The White Wolf afraid of a charming, bayou home.

What a joke.

He shakes his head, pushing the passenger door shut with a sharp clang. Of course he isn’t afraid of a house— then he really would be an idiot. No, he is afraid of something else entirely— something much more sinister. Bucky is afraid of suburbia; of normalcy. What, with a metal arm and a brain hardwired to kill— it only makes sense he would also be programmed to steer clear of anything half-way decent. Especially pretty, fragile girls with glossy lips. Fuck. He squeezes his eyes closed, his vibranium fingers clenching around the strap of his bag. What is he even doing here?

A familiar, mechanical buzz fills the air and he cracks an eye back open in time to see Wilson leaning his head out of the passenger window. “Look, man— it’s three days. The fridge is full, the wifi is on, and it’ll rain so much she’ll probably nap the entire time. Pretend you’re at home doing whatever it is you would normally do. You’ll be fine.”

Bucky nods, sticking to his guns and letting the soldier believe what he wants. He tells himself again that it is because it is easier that way. “I gotta go, Wilson.”

With that he pushes his way to the door. His feet sink further into the grass with every step, curling around his ankles as though trying to warn him against entering the house— or trying to save the poor girl inside. He can’t decide. Warning or trap. Both. A warning for her— the princess; the little girl in the forest— and a trap for him— the rabid wolf. He steps onto the porch, his boots echoing off the concrete. To him it’s booming. He doesn’t want to think about what it must sound like to her, especially with everything the commander said she’s been through. A giant coming to kill her is his guess. Movement to the left catches his eye, the curtains shifting again, and his neck flushes.

“Hey Buck?”

He sighs— again— and turns over his shoulder for what he hopes is the last time— he just wants to get this over with. “What, Wilson?”

He knows before the man speaks that the cheshire grin on his face can mean nothing good— still he waits for the answer.

“Remember to tiptoe.”