#and when he does he just manifests they crumple and just let him do all the work

[tinfoil-jones]

Hey what would happened if Stan didn't cut their twin bonds? (You know the angst potential is big lol)

Let's first look at the reason Stan severed it; he didn't want Ford to feel what dying felt like. But lets say the twin bond didn't manifest last minute like it did in the story - the reason it manifested in the first place is because Stan asked Bill to tell Ford that he loved him if he ever asked about him (Caryn told Ford later on that to manifest the bond you had to remember how much you love the other person). But maybe this time he didn't humour Bill at all and just ignored whatever Bill was saying.

Ford would have had a massive panic attack for somewhere between 5-12 minutes, it would have stopped abruptly once Stan's heart started again, but he definitely would have been shaken up because he didn't have a history of panic attacks and he hadn't been doing or thinking about anything particularly stressful at that moment.

This time he would have listened to Caryn's full phone call instead of hanging up on her because he wanted to ask her if he'd ever had episodes like that when he was young, and he supposed he could bear having to listen about whatever harebrained scheme of Stanley's she was about to tell him about.

But she tells him through tears that Stanley died in a car accident and please Stanford won't you go to his funeral, Shermie can't make it and your father can't handle it.

One of the things the twin bond gives them is the ability to uncannily know when that the other is still alive, even in face of all evidence otherwise.

Ford refuses to believe Stan is dead, he cannot be swayed even though he can't properly explain why (because he didn't know the twin bond was a thing). So he refuses to go to the funeral on principle.

If anything this just makes Ford mad, because he comes up with a theory all on his own that clearly Stan must've faked his death so internally he's like Really Stanley, you faked you own death? Did you do it for sympathy? Did you hope I'd show up to your funeral and sob all over the place like some soap opera? Your tricks and manipulation won't work on me.

There's two branches from here; one where Stan does come to Gravity Falls, and one where he does not. This is because there's two unconfirmed theories on why he even came to Gravity Falls; either his broken end of the twin bond was trying to drag him over to it's other half, or the weirdness magnet of Gravity Falls drew him in because as someone who died but came back, and also having a Bill-shaped imprint on his psyche, Stan is an anomaly.

First branch: Let's assume it's the weirdness magnet that brought Stan to Gravity Falls. Just like in the story, Ford comes across him. But instead of planning on initially ignoring him, Ford goes full-on angry and aggressive. So he goes over to Stan and starts demanding why would he ever fake his own death, how could he be so selfish and cruel to do that to their Ma and Shermie. It's not like Ford himself was hurt (in the grieving sense) because again, he always knew Stan was alive. An Amnesiac Stan is just standing there confused as to why this guy is yelling and screaming at him, but his fight/flight/flee response doesn't kick in because as shown before, Stan subconsciously associates Ford with safety and would never assume Ford was going to hurt him in any way.

But this time, he's wrong; Ford does. He throws a punch or something at his midsection because Stan is 'playing dumb' and when Stan crumples over, he doesn't get back up because Ford failed to realize until he looks at his fist and see's it covered in blood that Stan was already injured, and Ford just made it a lot worse (because at the start, Stan had three stab wounds and was implied to have enough blood loss to warrant a blood transfusion).

Now Stan is in the hospital and Fords been arrested for assaulting and hospitalizing a man, and no amount of "wait he's my brother" is getting him out of county jail. Once Stan wakes up, he's going to freak out and run from town entirely, never to be seen again. He'd experience a sense that whatever he was looking for, he can never have (he could only handle rejection so many times without his memories), so he gives up being a wandering vagabond on Earth and probably reaches out to Rick again, and settles down somewhere in space because again, Stan actually had a pretty decent thing going on in space.

Ford would be released from county jail because it's not like the victim is going to press charges seeing as he fled from the hospital, and now his guilt and confusion is just mingling with the anger that didn't go away. So as he usually does, he absolves himself of fault (burying his own guilt and sense of loss deep down where he can just pretend it doesn't exist) and goes back to how his life was before, except now his entire family thinks he's crazy because he insists that Stanley never died so Shermie probably has an even more distant relationship with him than he originally did and the mystery twins never get sent to him. So this time around, he never feels the need to bring Fiddleford back into his life, and his only consistent friend is Bill Cipher who is never forced to respect Fords boundaries and limitations.

Stan would probably be living as a space / multiverse outlaw for about thirty years, and would die for real around the same time the OG series would have started because luck runs out and trouble catches up to you eventually. And then fifty-seven year old Ford, still a lone researcher, gets another panic attack, and when it ends he's hit with the realization, this deep knowing, that Stan is actually dead this time. This time he would ask his no-boundaries-respecting-ass muse what that was about, and since this is the first time Ford ever directly asked Bill what happened to Stan, Bill finally tells him what really happened thirty years ago and Ford is horrified because his brother was legitimately an amnesiac and he chased him away forever.

Second Branch: In this one, the only thing that kept Stan in their dimension / planet in the first place wasn't the weirdness magnet, but his broken bond trying to find it's other half. Without that broken bond, Stan never would have left Rick's side.

And there's no point in getting upset with Bill because… well, he doesn't have a Get Out of Pact Free card, so Bill is just going to continue to drink up his pain because pain is hilarious to Bill and well you didn't care for forty years Fordsy why be upset now?

And not leaving Rick's side would end in disaster because it's like Stan said, he and Rick would either kill each other or get each other killed. And in this case, they go off on some dumb adventure that ends the both of them around the same time Stan should have appeared in Gravity Falls, and Ford goes through the whole 'oh-god-Stan-is-dead' panic attack again. And again, he questions Bill who tells him what actually happens, so everything that just happened in the above scenario is speedrun, except now Ford can spend the rest of his life being sad about Stan instead of being mad about it like he was in the above scenario. Because Bill said it himself, Ford would be haunted if Stan died.

So yeah, Stan severing the bond was the best-case-scenario. The 'moral' of the story I guess you could call it, is Stanford and Stanley learning how to love each other again, or at least seeing selfless acts of love from each other.

Stan severing the twin bond was a selfless act of love on his part. His greatest fear and worst nightmare was dying alone and yet, without hesitation, still chose to sever the only connection he had because he didn't want Ford to suffer.

[kitkatt0430]

Okay, so time has come for me to watch Mask of the Red Death part 2 - here's hoping this goes better than the last episode.

Stream turned white as soon as I went full screen. I feel like this is an omen. Anyway, let's restart and try again.

So far so good, I can now see the previously on. So full of plots I don't care about compared to so few the ones I do.

Okay, so I guess we're starting with the CCPD, but it's hard to care about the CCPD with David and Joe gone. I can never remember any of the officers though I recognize at least a few background recurring characters and Kramer just hasn't really grown on me all that much. That said, I'm glad someone remembered that Kramer has powers because hey, she uses copying Roy's powers to pretty good effect, even though doesn't work for long.

Allegra arguing with Hartley, Jaco, and Keith (Goldface, I just got tired of using his nickname all the time) over leaving Blaine behind feels hollow because odds are Blaine isn't dead anyway. Like I said last time, no body? Probably not dead.

Everyone's tired and scared, Barry's been nerfed, but at least Iris has her head on straight. Keith speaks for me when he says "I always liked you" to her. :D

Iris is definitely the brains of the operation. That said, if all the power was basically out, how did they get the tech working to interface with Cecile's powers. That was a big problem last episode and no one ever fixed it. Maybe something hit the cutting room floor that shouldn't have?

Cecile feels that someone is out there in lots of pain and oh apparently Blaine's still alive. Surprise. Anyway, he's clearly been tortured and I do get why Barry wants to rescue him. If there is one thing Barry has that is stronger than his speed, it's his guilt complex.

Khione - Well fine if you won't save Blaine, I will.

Hartley - I cannot let my new friend-shaped person go into danger without me.

*snicker* I mean, that's basically how fast Hartley caves and he goes from angry/annoyed voice to his softer voice. Finally, Hartley and Khione friendship showing up again.

I mean... maybe there's some guilt about Caitlin mixed in there, but Hartley never liked Caitlin in this timeline. Respected her, clearly yes since he went directly to where he thought she'd be for help a few episodes earlier, but doubtful they ever got along well. And now she's gone, so they'll never have that chance. But I do think he's just genuinely fond of Khione for herself.

Jaco folds next. And then Keith, but he's not happy about it.

Kramer - You won't be able to hack our satellite. 'Cause ARGUS upgraded it.

First... since when does the CCPD have it's own satellite????

Second, ARGUS' firewall crumples like tissue paper. There is a joke there about Cisco's inability to secure shit.

third... where the heck did all the Red Death suits come from? Did they spawn like rabbits between episodes???

Barry is right to tell Khione 'no' when they're going into danger and she has zero combat skills.

Since when has Allegra had x-ray vision. Was this something she gained when I wasn't watching last season? Or at least had foreshadowed??? (Probably not on both counts.)

Oooh, Hartley's enhanced hearing comes up again.

Jaco - Feels like a trap to me. Feel like a trap to anyone else?

He is immediately correct. Red Death arrives to monologue!

Okay, so the suits are psychic manifestations apparently? How does Barry even know that? But then how does Ryan know about the vision of Savitar stabbing Barry that almost killed him two seasons ago???

Oh, hey, Grodd is here. And apparently he's connected to evil Ryan now? And the Gorilla City gorillas are gone now, so lets feed that guilt complex of Barry's huh?

And then the band with the Rogues breaks up. Can't blame 'em, but I know they'll be back later.

Iris and Khione talking is lovely. Iris gives Khione some good advice. I just wish we'd gotten these interactions with Caitlin instead.

Was Khione kissing Blaine to activate her healing powers on him (or whatever that was) necessary? I swear if we get Khione/Mark Blaine as an end game ship I will be so fucking pissed off.

Time for a Joe West pep talk for Barry. Or for Barry to pep talk Joe? I do love their father-son relationship. But I knew that Joe wouldn't be a series regular anymore this season, so I suspect this is him bowing out. Or the start of it anyway.

I do love how much use Nash's teleporter is getting in these two episodes. I miss the Wells characters, but it does feel a little like Nash is still there helping them. Just a bit.

Grodd blaming Barry for being alone isn't really fair - Barry isn't at fault for that and it's not like Grodd ever let Barry know what he'd discovered about the Gorilla City gorillas. And I think on some level he knows that and that, more than Barry's speech, is what sways Grodd. He can look into Red Death's mind. But he can look into Barry's too.

Red Death's episode long break down continues. And somehow Barry got his speed back from Grodd? Whatever.

More speedster running/chase scene/fighting. It is pretty fun the way it's done, though. And the Rogues showed back up to help Barry, as I predicted. :D

So does real Ryan! Woo, so good to finally see her. And she nullifies evil Ryan's speed for a Batwoman vs Red Death fight.

Jaco - We'll help out anytime.

Hartley - Ehhh...

Jaco - Anytime.

Hartley - Okay, why not.

I... don't know that I liked the cheesy fourth wall breaking joke the Rogues ended on though.

Chester fanboying over real Ryan is hilarious. And I like how Ryan and Iris low key fangirling over each other was cute too.

So where was real Ryan all this time? I... don't think anyone ever said.

There is so much unexplained in this episode.

Joe leaving to raise Jenna is the right call, but I hate that he's apparently semi leaving Cecile to do it? He's done the single parent raising a daughter before. He deserves to raise Jenna with her mom too. Not just on the weekends. And how do they afford any of this anyway? Joe is retired, so what is their income even looking like?

So much unexplained.

Oh no. Oooooh no. Chester/Allegra is happening. Make it stop. They still have no chemistry. At least Barry is still his usual oblivious self about it.

I... do not like how they find out Iris is pregnant. I mean, it is a bit funny that Khione didn't realize they didn't know yet when she blurted it out, but still. Iris deserves better than the writers are giving her once again.

Anyway, that's it for the episode. It was better paced then the last one and I enjoyed it more, but there were a lot of plot holes in there. So many plot holes. I can't say I really like how the Red Death arc ended.

But Hartley, Jaco, and Keith were fun and it seems like they'll show up again later in the season? Here's hoping anyway.

I feel like a number of things in this episode would have gone better with foreshadowing. Grodd's involvement, Allegra's x-ray vision, the Red Death clones (psychic whatevers)... And other things just needed an actual damn explanation. Especially real Ryan showing up out of nowhere at the last minute. Where was she? In the timeline that Red Death came from? Took a wrong turn in Albuquerque? Where was she this whole time??? We know she was missing, so what the hell?

I think the biggest problem is they were trying to do too much at once in these two episodes and thanks to how poorly paced part one was, they squashed too much into part two.

Anyway, teaser for the next ep shows discussions about the pregnancy happening early - so there's probably concern that the baby she's pregnant with won't be Nora? And then Khione training her powers, which seem to be healing but cold? I'd be more interested if the person training her wasn't Blaine.

His first intention after Khione was born was to kill and replace her with Frost. So Blaine helping Khione figure out her powers is not what I'd call a great idea. And it looks like we may be heading into Khione/Blaine territory, which... him using Khione as a replacement goldfish for Frost, even hypothetically, creeps me the fuck out.

So I might not watch the next episode. Or i might just skim it/skip around looking for good parts. I dunno.

[noirrest]

im having many thoughts about 🐈‍⬛🐆 introducing grim, the ghosts, and sam to their family on purpose and then trein and lucius on complete accident

,, anyways heres the,, uhh,, family tree,, but its literally just 7 mentally ill beasts + 1 unreadable guy + 1 guy who couldnt be related to them in any way shape or form but they just like him + literally just a cat thats extremely simplified and i word vomit about common occurrences in the tags

trein [58], the dad who replaced the other dad who isnt even a dad

the ghosts [why arent dont they have personalities yana. i need more yana.], theyre like the cool grandpas who give you money and tell you old stories about the good old days, and then when you go in for show and tell and talk about them people don't believe you and they have to come in and show actual proof that they did in fact do that shit

muhammed [26], the previous dad but hes literally the oldest brother so take it how you will

sam [25], the second oldest brother because theres to much trauma revolving around uncles for them to classify him as one

elvira [19], we know you're stressed just go to bed bitch damn. for a mf whos supposed to protect an entire species/country/world, you sure do pout a lot

tanya [19], why do you act so mean 🤨🤨 just admit you have various traumas and move on bitch damn. we know you scratched that lion after you and that crocodile dared him to do something admit that to shit

mikau [17], a literal fucking nerd. no one knows if hes ace or literally gets no bitches and thats the only way i can describe him

ezekiel [16], why are you 16 and damn near built like dwayne the rock johnson who hurt you

asra [14], literally just antonio madrigal from encanto. why do you look like you got in a fight with an overblot monster and lost constantly

grim [idk the equivalent of 9 in monster years], why did elvira find the equivalent of a fucking goblin and somehow convince tanya and the ghosts to keep him. hes always on thin ice with damn near everyone he knows hes just kept out of trouble because hes easily bribed

lucius [is he the same age as trein or no], the pet that isnt a pet, the family also has to much trauma revolving pets. why are he and trein the only ones with common sense when it comes to humans. also why does he have spa appointments ur like 27 years past your prime

[electronicinfluencerdinosaur]

I really think Tim wants to suppress those feelings for Lucy because it’s MORE than what he felt for Isabel. Honestly it’s all encompassing and this guy isn’t built for that level of self realization. Also really that’s soulmate love. It’s actually perfectly encompassed in the small details. The stares. The longing. The hurt. Tim is gone for Lucy that is certain and why this one is rough is because he has been hurt so deeply. He does have the insecurity of the people he loves leaving him. He has the hurt of being unloved enough to be abandoned. His dad, Isabel, Rachel left him, and now Ashley. He probably doesn’t see himself worthy of Lucy either. He’s got his own trauma manifesting in wanting the safety of a person like Ashley. Ashley proved in her breakup she wouldn’t hesitate to leave him when the going gets tough. She literally became Isabel. Lucy meanwhile went back. He is more in his feelings that we can imagine. He saw Lucy be the person who wouldn’t leave. Even through their awkwardness. Tim is so scared of loving someone the way he is going to end up loving Lucy. He kind of already does but is too afraid to accept. The way we know it’ll ultimately happen. Ten years his junior, a subordinate officer, stubborn, she challenges him to be better, literally calls him out consistently, emotionally intelligent, persistent, and fiercely protects those she loves. Oh man, I saw in that hospital scene Tim realizing she is the person he wants and feels like he can’t have. Now we need him to understand he can be happy. Lucy knows he is it for her too. And perhaps she’s never been in love that way either. Well we know she hadn’t because Tim also crumpled her walls. Remember when Tim told her in S1 “ I refuse to let fear let me do something I’d be ashamed of in the light of day”. Tim also pushed her as a cop and human being. He gave her the safety to be fearless. He was a warm blanket of protection. Cliche but yes the fierce protector. Also one who listened to her. Sometimes in silence or oddness he was just the person to get her entirely. Lucy is also realizing that’s a soul mate. Really I know it sucks to have a slow burn but it’s so deep with these two. I hope they get it all because they deserve it.

[cursed-domain]

Experiments

Mahito x Reader, WC ~3.9k

Mahito’s been testing out his powers for a while now. He wants to do something different with his latest victim. Something a little more... human.

warnings: NSFW and Dark Content - NONCON if that is not your thing do not read any farther. You have been warned. Also fear, tears, kidnapping, possessiveness, oral sex, biting, slapping and uh. Mahito. I think he deserves a warning of his own.

You stayed out just a little too late last night. And you walked home alone. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that was a bad idea, but - the bar was right down the street from your apartment building, and your friends were - well, they were scattered, and they were hard to find, and you were sure that you could walk straight if you only tried. Your heels were only a couple inches high. 

Maybe you’d somehow fallen right down a drain in the sidewalk last night. Maybe it was too dark to notice, and you were more tipsy than you thought. But that theory doesn’t fit with your last memory aboveground. It doesn’t explain the presence you felt behind you, the feeling that something heavy and hateful had manifested right over your shoulder. 

Most importantly, there are no scratches or scrapes anywhere on your body. You can’t have fallen. You were brought here. Hidden away beneath the street into a tunnel you had no idea existed. And your host has been kind enough to keep you in perfect condition. You’re not even dirty from where you’ve clearly been crumpled on the floor - somehow, the stone corridor is perfectly clean.

As you sit up, all these thoughts run through your head in a matter of seconds. Your shell-shocked stream of consciousness doesn’t give way to panic until a hand from behind you lands on your shoulder. Its owner doesn’t even let you scream - he claps his other hand over your mouth before you have the chance to open it, and leans down so that you feel his hot breath in your ear. “Boo.” 

You strain against his hand when you hear his voice. It doesn’t sound - well, you’re not quite sure what you expected a kidnapper to sound like. Maybe a lower voice. Certainly a sinister one. But he just sounds excited and mischievous, like a child who’s gotten away with a prank. So lighthearted in what is, for you, such a dire situation - it sends a shiver up your spine to imagine his grin.

You don’t have to imagine for long. His hand slinks from your shoulder up your neck, taking root in your hair and yanking your head back so you’re forced to look up. It is dim in the tunnel, but you see his face clearly. You register, in a far-off place in your mind, that it is pretty, almost feminine. Your impression is that his face is far too fine compared to the coarseness of his mouth and his hands, even with the strange scars stitching their way across the unnaturally smooth skin.  

“Don’t look so terrified. Or do. I kinda like it.” Your eyes stretch even wider. “Yeah - I really like it, actually. Stay just like that.” When he speaks for longer, you notice the eerie quality of the cavern - the way it causes sounds to echo and reverberate down its walls. Farther down, you hear the drip-drip-drip of dirty water hitting the floor. But here - not even a drop. It’s as if the space has been cleared of its usual filth, just for you. “Okay,” he says, “I actually wanna hear you, too.” He doesn’t wait for a response before taking his hand from your mouth and letting go of your hair. 

Your heels - they must have fallen off. Or he took them off. In any case - you can run. You know it’s pointless as soon as you stand up. You know even the time you take to rise to your feet is enough for him to grab onto you again. But you have to try. So you do. You’re surprised to get any distance at all. You’re shocked to have made it ten paces - twenty - thirty. Even sprinting with the adrenaline-spiked speed of someone who fears for her life, this shouldn’t be possible. But you find yourself starting to hope. You’re fast, and maybe he was caught off guard. Maybe, just maybe, you can make it to the light you see shining at the mouth of the tunnel. It’s not that far away. And once you’re out there, on the street, he won’t be able to do anything. You’ll make it home and forget this ever happened. Even now, you’re wondering if it’s all a dream. If you’re going to wake up once you hit that light - closer now, so close - snug in your bed, wondering how you managed to make it home last night but relieved that you did. Yes. That has to be it. This isn’t real, and you’re going to escape it so, so soon -

A rush of cold air streaks past you, and your captor appears in front of you, grinning as he blocks your path. You try to step to the side, but he’s already there. Back the other way - he beats you again. You feel your will collapse in on itself as he steps forward and snakes his hand around your waist, laughing unabashedly as you struggle. “Not bad,” he says. “Of course, I gave you a pretty big head start. But still. You run pretty fast for someone who could barely walk the night before.”

You’re so close to him that you’re sure he must be able to hear your heart pounding. Despite your best efforts to hold yourself back, you find yourself looking up at his face again. His eyes are pretty, too. But they’re mismatched - one is a light gray and the other is deep blue - and unblinking. Seeing them up close only makes his presence more unnerving. He grins crookedly as you make eye contact with him, staring back without saying a word.

“What - why -” you break eye contact, choosing instead to stare at the ground where his bare feet are nearly on top of yours. “Please. Let me go.”

“Nuh-uh. No way.” He pushes you back at arms length and leans over you, his face coming so close to yours that your eyes unfocus trying to look at him. “Haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Done…”

“Mhm.” He takes your shoulders and turns you around, giving you a light shove to get you moving. You shudder - your dress has an open back, so his hand didn’t just touch your clothes, but your bare skin. And it’s so short, too. He’s probably staring as you walk, tracing your curves with those unnatural eyes. He looked down when he had you pressed up against him. He didn’t even try to hide it. 

“That’s far enough.” You stop, not even daring to turn around. He slithers around you instead, dragging his hand over the back of your dress again as he passes, keeping a hold on you and pulling you close again. “You’re gonna help me out with some things today, alright?”

When you hesitate, his long fingernails tighten against your skin. He’ll draw blood if he presses any harder. “What…what do you want?”

“I’ve been doin’ some experiments down here.” His nails drag down the curve of your back, only stopping at your hips. “Been learning what I’m capable of. I’ll show you the other test subjects if I have to but… I think I’ve already convinced you to cooperate, right?” He tugs on the hem of your dress, sliding his fingertips underneath the edge of the thin fabric. “You don’t seem ready to meet anyone right now, anyways. Not as if they’re really in a state to talk to you.”

You stare blankly, resisting the urge to squirm as his hand trails up the back of your thigh. Not for the first time, you wonder if you’re going to be leaving this place alive.

“Lots of room down here,” he says. “Plenty of dark corners. But I think I’m gonna keep you right here.” 

“Please..” you say.

“Hmm?” He smiles a second later, once he understands. “Please don’t kill you, right? Don’t mutate your pretty body and then throw you somewhere no one will ever find you?” Your mind amends mutate to mutilate. The intellectual victory does nothing to comfort you. “Don’t worry. ‘m not gonna do that. Not yet, anyways.” His nails are scraping very high on your thigh, now, and the other hand is weaving its way through your hair. His fingers seem to bend strangely around you, as if they have no set form at all, as if they’re molding to best fit your body as he claims it piece by piece. “You’re just gonna help me out a little, okay? “You’re gonna help me figure out what else I’m capable of.”

He grips the top of your head and forces it up and down, mimicking a nod, laughing impishly as you glare up at him. “So sweet of you. We’ll take this one step at a time, alright?”

You don’t understand until he leans over you, running a fingertip across your lips to part them slightly before meeting them with his own. You try to recoil, but the hand toying with your dress runs up your back and presses you forward, forcing you deeper into the kiss instead. It’s unexpectedly gentle, at first, but as your body is forced flush against his it becomes more messy, more hungry. He shoves his tongue against yours and grips your hair tight enough for it to hurt, only drawing back for long enough to bite your lip and watch a string of drool drip across the faint indent he’s left behind. You gasp for breath until he swallows up your mouth again, using his tongue to reach every place he can. 

You stay in place even when he relaxes his grip. He only stops to speak once he has, it seems to you, tried every kind of kiss he can think of - fast, slow, shallow, violent, hungry, sloppy. “You’re doing good,” he says, flashing the same smile as before. “Good start. Amazing, really…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear his thoughts, and the softer smile is replaced by a cold grin. “Take your dress off.” 

“Wh -”

“Take it off. Take off whatever you have underneath it, too. I don’t care about seeing it.”

“But -” 

“But - but -” He laughs again, practically giggles as he mocks your faint protests. “You don’t wanna die, either, do you?”

Mute, you shake your head.

“Actually…” He turns you around again, and you think you hear him sigh faintly as his hips snap against yours. “You’re taking too long. I’ll just do it myself.” He gives you no time to react before tugging on the zipper of your short dress, so violently that it hitches on the teeth and nearly breaks off. Only the second time does he do it right, pulling it all the way down in a smooth motion. The dress only covered from your lower back to a few inches down your thighs, anyways, and now even that protection is stripped away. The front of your body is exposed, too, as he tugs the thin garment along with your panties down to the stone ground beneath your feet.

Every muscle in your body tenses as his own bare skin collides with yours, his worn pants pulled down to rest alongside your dress. “Didn’t even wear anything beneath the dress up here,” he mutters. He reaches from behind you, groping your tits with no regard for the way you whine and squirm. “Making it so easy for me, aren’t you?”

“No,” you gasp. “Didn’t wear anything there. I should have -”

He claws his nails over the delicate peaks of your breasts, and you bite hard on your lip to keep from crying out. “Interesting. That’s a sweet spot, huh?” You shiver as he clamps down on you again. “You got any more I should know about?”

“No…” You lie, as if anything you say now will help you. He’s tracing every inch of your skin already, down your stomach and hips and up your thighs, squeezing and pinching when you least expect it, mapping you out like you’re the first person he’s been this close to in his life. 

“You sure?” He taps his fingertips along the creases that connect the tops of your thighs to your body, pressing close against you and breathing hot in your ear. Making sure you hear and feel his excitement. “We’re gonna test that out, too. So spread out your legs. They’re getting in the way.” 

You clench your fists tight and do as he says, shifting on either side to allow him easy access to every part of you. Still, you reflexively pull your hips back as his fingers climb their way towards your cunt, cringing when your sudden motions make his cock pulse against your skin. 

“What’re you doing that for?” He cups his hand between your legs, ending your desperate attempts to squirm away. “Not like you’re going anywhere, right?” He pulls his hand back, showing you the wet sheen that’s rubbed off on his fingers. “I don’t think you would even if you could. But if you want, I’ll let you run again. Give you ‘til the count of ten before I start chasing you. Maybe even twenty or thirty. Maybe I’ll let you see the street before I drag you back here.” He lets go of you, grabbing your arms and using them to turn you back the way you ran before. “We’ll do it now, actually. Run! I’ll be not-quite-right-behind you.”

You shake your head. 

“Come onn. It’ll be fun. Or - well, I’ll have fun.” Your feet stay rooted to the ground. He looks genuinely disappointed, for a moment, as if he actually expected you to take him up on his inane offer. “Fine.” He shoves down on your shoulders, and you follow the motion, crumpling down to your knees with no resistance. “You can entertain me this way instead, then.” Now that he’s in front of you again, you look for the first time. You’re equal parts curious and repelled by the stitch-like markings that continue down the rest of his body. If you were thinking clearly, you’d wonder if they were perhaps tattoos, and why anyone would choose to do something like that to themselves. But the crisscrossing lines guide you far too quickly down the length of his frame, forcing your curious eyes down below his hips before you have the sense to close them. 

He tilts his head, sizing up your expression before flicking his eyes down your body and then back up to meet yours. “You’ve definitely done this before. So do it right.” Your eyes are almost as wide as your mouth as he closes the last inches between you and him. “Make it feel how it’s supposed to.” You nod blanlky as you wonder how you’re supposed to fit him all the way in your mouth. Maybe you won’t have to. He’s so obviously inexperienced, so eager… maybe you can end this quickly. 

You drag the tip of your tongue up the underside of his cock, forcing yourself to look up at him as you give the same slow treatment to the sides and the tip before taking the shaft in your hand. He stares back, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your mouth as it works over his cock. He’s breathing harder already, less than halfway into your mouth, almost letting the breaths tip over the edge into moans as your tongue flicks up his length again. It takes a concerted effort not to close your eyes, to not let your resolve crumble. 

It has started to happen already. He was right in his crude assessment of you - you do know what you’re doing - but you’ve never been so terrified with a cock in your mouth, never felt like your life depended on your ability to please the man in front of you. Your strokes become sloppy as you let panic edge into the corners of your vision.

“Fuck,” he groans. Your one free hand clenches into a fist as he grabs you at the nape of your neck and thrusts forward, holding you still as he forces his cock back into your throat. “Fuck.” You feel him writhe in your mouth just as his fingers did in your hair, molding himself to the contours of your throat as he fucks your face over and over, only becoming more frantic as you start to struggle against his hand, more frenzied as you gag and drool around him, until finally - finally - you’re tugged forward one last time, your lips pulled taught as hot liquid spurts down your throat. He keeps you there as you continue struggling for breath, sliding his thumb over your bottom lip and smearing your drool across your face. 

When you’re finally allowed to pull back, you wrap your arms around yourself, shrinking inwards as you whisper, “Please. May I go now?”

“Huh?” He crouches down until his face is level with yours, crossing his arms over his knees as he sinks to the ground. You try to keep your eyes on his face - it’s practically glowing, his eyes wild and bright, their contrasting colors even more apparent. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart. Just taking a little break.” 

You freeze for a second before scrambling backwards. It’s absolutely stupid, but - he said he wanted you to run. So he won’t get mad at you for trying one last time. And maybe it’ll work this time. Maybe you’ll get out. Maybe he was lying and he’s actually ready to see you go. Maybe seeing you run naked and sobbing onto the street will be enough to satisfy him, and he won’t chase you any farther.

He gives you five paces before pouncing, pinning you to the ground with one hand wrapped tight around your throat, turning you over so he can see the fear written on your face. “Guess what?” He whispers it into your ear before sinking his teeth into your neck, nearly hard enough to split your skin open. You feel something hard pressing into your stomach, swelling as you cry out in pain. “Break is over.” He drags his tongue over cheek and traces it down your jaw before kissing you right where the bite mark still glows red on your skin. Using both hands to pin your wrists down at your sides, he drags his way down your body, running his tongue over your breasts, your navel, around the triangle between your thighs. “I usually don’t care much about what’s fair, but - I really think I should return the favor.” His eyes flit down to your legs, squeezed tightly together. “Try to relax. This is supposed to be fun, right?” He works two fingers between thighs and prys them open. 

You hold back a whimper as he dives into the space between, dragging the flat of his tongue voraciously over your hot cunt. He’s sloppy, ignoring the way your eyes are glued to his face as he tests and probes your cunt, teasing the opening and forcing his tongue inside, giving no pause before swallowing the sheen left behind. You have to squeeze your eyes shut. You have to tell yourself not to give in to the heat sweeping through your core, not to accept even a tiny bit of pleasure from the man defiling you, but - it’s so, so difficult. So strange to feel someone so obviously selfish pleasing you, even if it’s by accident, even if it’s just for his own enjoyment - you can’t stop yourself from pushing your hips shamelessly against his mouth. Can’t stop yourself from moaning as his fingers find your clit. 

He pulls away, laughing at the whine that escapes from your mouth. “Tastes better than I thought,” he says. “But you  - you’re reacting just like I thought. It’s like your mind’s melting away.” He pinches your clit between two fingers, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head. “You’re being controlled by this now.”

You just manage to shake your head. “No - no. I’m still - I don’t -”

He pounces on top of you again, thrusting his fingers into your open mouth. “Shhh. You don’t have to talk. That’s not what you’re here for.” He grinds against you, his cock already pushing at the entrance to your cunt as he fucks your mouth with his fingers, nearly making you gag as he pushes relentlessly into your throat. “You’re here to help me out, right? And you’ve been doing so good. So good for me.” You don’t want your stomach to flutter at the praise. Not here, not from him. You try your best to ignore it, tell yourself to close your eyes as he all but fucks your thighs. 

When you try to screw them shut, though, he puts his pinky right on your eyelid and drags up, forcing it to flutter open again. “Ah-ah,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. I wanna see how this makes you feel.” He presses his hips hard against yours, guiding himself nearly all the way inside you in a single motion. “Fuck.” His eyes nearly close as he savors the feeling of you tightening around him, but he keeps them open just wide enough to see your lips open wide, forming an O around the fingers still scraping against your tongue. “I’m keeping you here forever. Understand?” The drool from his fingers smudges across your cheek as he grabs the sides of your face, squeezing as he shoves farther inside you, over and over again, only spurred on by the sloppy noises he hears every time the two of you connect. “Gonna be - gonna be my fucking toy forever. I’ll keep you on a fucking leash if I have to.” 

All you can do is whimper and blink back your tears. He brushes his tongue across your face, licking them away as they overflow. “You look so scared. So mad.” He’s slowing himself down, now. Making it last. “It’s cute. Stay just like that, okay?” He presses on the corners of your mouth, forcing it deeper into a scowl. “So fucking cute.”

Your eyes match the anger he’s forced onto your mouth. Somehow, this moment feels worse than everything that’s come before. He’s playing with your face now. Trying to make it his, just like your body. And something about that - it breaks your daze. And your arms aren’t pinned anymore. There’s nothing you can do to make him stop, but. You feel the overwhelming urge to do something.

You reach up and slap him. Right across his pretty face, turning it sharply aside just as his cock buries itself all the way inside your cunt, reaching farther than you thought anyone ever could. His eyes widen, and his grip on your face tightens to a vise. You think that just once, you’ve managed to shock him.

Your faint sense of victory fades when you feel his cock pulse unmistakably inside you. 

“Oh -” he sighs blissfully as he releases inside you, and you go limp as he collapses into your shoulder. A moment later, he turns his head and whispers in your ear. “Very interesting.” You can practically feel his grin radiating against your neck. “I’m definitely keeping you, now. So many things to try…” You squirm as he shifts on top of you, his face hovering right over your own. “And you’re gonna help me with every single one.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Mind of a Child

Prompt: Ok so to make for all the Roman Angst I've requested heres some minor angst/fluff. Again I apologise for all the Roman Angst I've been requesting. Prompt: Roman was a mess. You see there's something that happens to sides if they reach a breaking point that they can't handle. Logan was lucky he finally realized it was time to talk about his feelings and look after himself after the wedding but Roman didn't. So after he sinks out from that awful conversation he finds himself beginning to feel really dizzy and as if he's getting younger and smaller. The next morning when Patton and Janus go to find Roman and comfort him they don't expect to see a five year old curled up in an oversized prince costume terrified to death. So there's only one solution to show how much all the sides value and care for their little Prince, help him destress and look after himself. - meltheromanstan

Fluff and angst time, m'dudes

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, but it all gets cuddled better

Pairings: found family ain't going anywhere

Word Count: 6047

He wants to go back to the way it was.

He just wants to go back.

He just wants to be loved again.

He wants to go back to the way it was.

Roman sinks out and lands hard in his room, bashing his knee against the wall as he crumples to the floor. His hair protests as he tangles his hands in the strands and yanks, trying to think. He lies on the ground, frantically breathing but his lungs won’t inflate properly and his nose starts to burn. He feels nauseous. Is he sick? He turns on his back and it goes away. Humming. You’re supposed to hum when you feel like this. He starts humming something, some parody song that’s stuck in his head. The twitching in his gullet starts to recede only to be replaced by dizziness. Why is he dizzy? He’s on the floor.

His hands flop limply out to the side as he turns back and forth, trying to make sure that he can breathe, that it won’t hurt, what’s happening to him?

A small voice that sounds like a demented version of Remus—a more demented version of Remus—whispers that he deserves this.

But Roman doesn’t know anything anymore and he’s so tired and he just wants things to go back to the way they were.

When there wasn’t so much to worry about aside from making sure Thomas was happy and that he could dream.

When all he had to think about was not hurting Thomas with his dreams and making them good dreams.

When heroes were good and villains were bad and that was it.

He just wants to go back.

He just wants to be loved again.

The lights in his room are too bright. It hurts to keep looking up. So he won’t. He closes his eyes and the dizziness abates, just slightly. He lies on the floor, the cool wood pressing into his back. He lets his head flop from one side to the other. It’s impossible to get comfortable. It’s so loud. It’s so much. He wants someone here with him. He just wants to be told it’s okay. But it isn’t okay. It hasn’t been okay for a very long time.

He wants it to be okay again.

————————

The Mindscape is quiet. Hardly anyone makes a noise as they move about the rooms, some still too on edge to start making peace, some too nervous about sparking another disaster, some too confused to try and navigate the minefield they’ve all found themselves in.

But everything has to start somewhere.

Patton and Janus are the only two on…pretty much alright terms when the morning comes. Virgil is locked in his room. Remus’s brand of chaos is nothing helpful right now. So the two of them take a deep breath and go try to find Roman.

Patton took far too long to put the words to it and Janus would never admit it, but when Roman isn’t around, or when he’s not talking, it’s much harder to cut through the monotony of silence. For better or worse, the prince is impossible to look away from, impossible to ignore. And yes, maybe that has to do in part with how Creativity and the Mindscape work together, not to mention the manifestation of the Sides, but Roman is Roman. And if they’re going to start making any progress on getting back on their feet and getting back to normal, they need to get Roman back.

Patton probably thought that Roman would be easy to apologize to. Not just because it’s worked in the past—although Janus would hiss if he said that wasn’t part of it—but because he knows he’s the one who messed up. Roman likes sincerity, Patton knows what things went wrong, he knows he’s at fault here, a lot, and it won’t be as easy as one apology and everything will be fixed, but it would be a good start.

Janus knows Roman. For better or worse, he knows Roman. Knows what buttons to push, knows when not to push them—or so he thought—and knows that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to do what Patton can’t. Cite the good of the others, the good of Thomas, possibly even the good of Roman if he’s that stubborn. Or he’s a convenient punching bag if Roman needs to lash out before he can start putting the pieces back together if it needs to come to that.

But that’s not what happens.

What happens is Patton knocks lightly on the door and asks if Roman would let them come in. There’s no response. Janus speaks up, says he knows Roman is in there, please, they do just want to talk. Patton sets his hand on the door, just to rest there, maybe coax Roman to come to open it, when it swings open.

Their mouths run dry as it opens fully to reveal Roman’s costume on the floor in a heap.

And no Roman.

Janus muffles a curse and turns in a swirl of black fabric as Patton rushes inside, dropping to his knees by the abandoned costume and searching frantically for any sign of Roman.

What he finds makes him gasp.

Janus whirls around as quickly as he’d turned away to see Patton there, kneeling on the ground next to a tiny child clutching Roman’s sash like a red blanket.

“H-hey, kiddo,” Patton says carefully, trying to regain his composure, “what are you doing here?”

The child shuffles. “It’s my room.”

“This is Roman’s room,” Patton says as Janus carefully closes the door.

The child nods, rubbing the sash across his chin. Patton’s brows furrow as he watches the child’s gaze dart to Janus and back, then to Patton’s hands on his knees. He looks back up at Patton and clutches the sash tighter.

“Do you know where Roman is, kiddo?” The child nods but doesn’t make eye contact. “Can you tell me where?”

The child nods again but doesn’t say anything. The tip of Janus’s tongue starts to tingle. His eyes widen and he starts to walk over, raising his hands when the child’s gaze snaps to him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, crouching down to make himself a little smaller, “I’m just coming over to you.”

The child stays very still as Janus crouches down beside Patton. Janus tilts his head back and forth as he considers the way the child clings to the sash, the way he seems to be somewhat engulfed in the remains of the costume, and the way he keeps looking fearfully between Janus and Patton.

“…Roman?”

Roman’s gaze turns to him and Janus could cry.

“Wait—Roman?” Patton gasps and his hands fly to cover his mouth. “Oh, kiddo, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Don’t overwhelm him,” Janus warns under his breath as they watch poor Roman flinch a little. Patton takes a deep breath and softens his voice.

“Hey, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you. We won’t hurt you, we promise.”

Roman’s grip on the sash doesn’t waver but his eyes lose a little bit of their frightful sheen. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Janus takes off his glove, ignoring Patton’s look and—perhaps—the fact that Roman might not remember what this means. “I promise too.”

Roman looks back and forth between them. “…okay.”

Patton smiles and lets out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. He does have to restrain himself from reaching and pulling the cute little prince into his lap but Roman’s normally defined face is now all chubby cheeks and puppy dog eyes and—no. No.

“Are you okay, kiddo,” he asks instead, still careful to keep his voice soft, “are you hurt at all?”

Roman shakes his head, still clutching the sash.

“What about in here,” Janus asks, laying his hand on his head, then his chest, “or here?”

Before Roman can answer, however, his stomach growls loudly. Janus chuckles.

“That’s enough of an answer for me. Shall we get you something to eat, little prince?”

Roman shakes his head so hard he almost knocks himself over. “Not a prince!”

They both freeze.

Not…not a prince?

Roman is The Prince. He’s Princey. The Prince of Thomas’s Dreams.

“What do you mean, ‘not a prince,’ kiddo?”

“Not a prince,” Roman insists, staring at the ground, “couldn’t—I couldn’t be a prince so…I had to start over.”

Something tugs at a dark place in their chests. Patton glances at Janus. Janus shakes his head slowly.

“Okay, then, Roman,” he says instead, “but can we get you something to eat?”

Roman glances around at the mess of the costume around him. “Clothes?”

“I’m sure someone as creative as you can make as many clothes as you like,” Janus smiles, watching carefully to see Roman’s reaction.

Roman looks at Patton. “What do I make?”

Patton’s smile slips a bit. “Whatever you want, kiddo.”

Roman frowns. “But what do I make?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to tell me.”

Oh. Oh, dear. Patton’s smile fades, replaced with a slowly growing awareness of what’s going on. “You don’t need my permission, kiddo,” he says firmly, leaning down a little so Roman’s eye level is the same as his, “you are allowed to make what you want to make. What makes you happy.”

“What is that?”

Patton is going to cry.

“Why don’t you make what you think would be the most comfortable,” Janus tries, shooting a glance at Patton and laying a hand on his arm, “maybe to go downstairs and get something to eat in?”

Roman thinks for a moment, then he rubs the sash against his cheek and a t-shirt and shorts appear. But they aren’t red. They’re just grey. Janus smiles and stands.

“There you go,” he says, “well done.”

And oh, if the way Roman’s head jerks up in a quick moment of shameless eagerness doesn’t make that smile a little more sincere. He holds out a hand to the little one and Roman takes it, standing slowly as they begin to lead him out of his room.

“What would you like to eat,” Patton asks as they get Roman sat down, “how hungry are you?”

“What can I have?”

“Well,” Patton says as he starts to open and close cabinets, “we’ve got pasta if you want a full dinner, we’ve got crackers, cereal, pretzels, fruit, quite a lot of options.”

“…can I have pretzels, please?”

“One bowl of pretzels coming right up!”

Janus sits next to him as Roman begins to eat the pretzels. Patton comes to join them, sitting a little further away as to not crowd the poor kiddo. He exchanges a look with Janus as Roman continues to eat.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Janus looks up just as Virgil and Logan come down into the living room, talking between themselves. They trail off as they notice Janus staring at them.

“Can we help you?” Then Virgil’s eyes land on Roman. “Holy—“

He slaps a hand over his mouth and glares at Janus. Janus raises an eyebrow and slowly lets him go.

“Rude.”

“But necessary,” Janus says, folding his hands and drawing himself up. Virgil gives him a strange look but refocuses on Roman.

“So…who’s the kid?”

“I believe,” Logan says softly, the way Roman hasn’t looked up at them once and instead continues to eat pretzels almost mechanically not escaping him, “this is Roman.”

At the mention of his name, Roman looks up slowly, meeting Logan’s gaze with more than enough trepidation to set Virgil’s fingers buzzing. Logan tilts his head and waves a little. Roman just stares at him.

“Hello, Roman,” Logan says, still in that very soft voice, “it’s good to see you.”

Roman waves back. Then he glances down at the bowl of pretzels and twists his hands together.

“Are you full, kiddo?” Patton takes the bowl when Roman nods. “Good. I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Roman glances around, shifting a little in his grey t-shirt. “Can I go back to my room now?”

“Of course you can,” Janus says, “would you like one of us to come with you?”

Roman shakes his head quickly. A little too quickly. But he’s been given permission to leave so he scoots off the chair and all but scrambles up the stairs. Logan watches him go, concern written over his features. Virgil waits to hear the soft click of his door shutting before rounding on the others.

“Why the hell is Princey a child?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Patton sighs, stretching a little and rubbing his face, “Janus and I just went up to try and talk to him and found him like that.”

“So it didn’t happen after the wedding?”

They wince and Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I may not have been there, but I know what happened. And no,” he says, raising his voice a little when both Patton and Janus try to say something, “I’m not interested in your excuses. But if you’re gonna try and tell me you don’t think it’s related I will throw a chair at your head.”

Patton bows his head, twisting his hands together in his lap as shame and guilt color his face. “He…he said something.”

“What did he say?”

“That he couldn’t be a prince,” Janus finishes, looking at the table, “and that he had to start over.”

Fuck.

“A-and he felt like he needed my permission for…everything,” Patton continues, “and Virgil, he looked so scared.”

“Of course he did.”

They turn to look at Logan, still staring up the stairs with gentle concern on his features. Virgil pokes his arm when he doesn’t continue right away.

“Roman’s sudden de-aging is likely due to stress,” he explains, looking back at them, “and thus the initial mindset he had when he regained consciousness as a child was fear. Fear of not knowing what to do or of doing something wrong.”

Patton gulps. Virgil shoots him a soft look and he nods slowly. “I…we were going to talk to him. We…I have been putting pressure on Roman since…it’s been a long time.”

“I think we all have.” Virgil’s gaze darts to Janus who is still all drawn up and inspecting his glove. “And you can turn that off, please.”

Janus sighs and Logan has to blink at how much his character shifts. Janus tugs nervously on his glove and straightens his hat.

“Roman is incredibly fragile right now and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Keeping that off around him is probably a good start.”

“We will need to ask Roman how much he remembers.” Logan adjusts his tie. “What he does remember will dictate how we need to help him.”

“Praise and reassurance.”

Logan raises an eyebrow at Janus who shuffles under his gaze.

“Praise and reassurance,” he repeats, tugging on his glove again, “he…he likes having a sense of structure. To know he’s doing something right.”

The regretful undertone to the words tells them all exactly how he knows that.

“We cannot let him believe that we are only behaving this way toward him because we believe he needs to be fixed,” Logan says firmly, “because that isn’t true. If this is a result of Roman feeling…unloved, then we must show him that he is.”

The word ‘unloved’ gets stuck in his throat and he clears it. Around him, the others are showing similar signs of discomfort.

Roman…their Roman. The idea that he wouldn’t feel loved—that he doesn’t feel loved sits strangely. Like a puzzle piece that just doesn’t fit, even though it has to go there.

While this lovely conversation is happening, of course, they’ve forgotten that there’s someone else who’s noticed the absence of a singing prince.

Remus doesn’t bother entering his brother’s room the normal way, instead sinking straight through the ceiling, fully intending to drive his elbow into Roman’s stomach.

What happens instead is he lands on Roman’s mattress with a dissatisfying thump as a tiny thing squeaks and scurries under the desk.

Remus sits up, frowning at the trembling figure underneath Roman’s desk and peers closer. Did Roman make a new pet for them to join on adventures? Is this one of the villagers that got too hurt and needed to be brought back here to recover?

Only when he sees the eyes peering shakily out at him do his own widen in realization.

“Roro?”

“R-Remus? Re?” And fuck, yeah, that’s Roman’s little head poking out from under there as he scrambles out. “Re? Are—are you back?”

Remus blinks. “Sure, Ro-Bro, I’m back, what—oof!”

A pint-sized pugilist rams itself into Remus’s stomach and knocks him backward onto the bed as his arms instinctively fly around the mass. He looks down, panting, only to see little Roro shaking with the effort of holding onto Remus as tightly as he can. His ribs are starting to protest when Roman turns his head and a cold nose tucks itself right into the crook of his elbow.

“Hey, hey, Roro,” Remus croaks, clumsily petting Roman’s head, “you’re okay. I’m right here, you got me good, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You—they said you were never coming back—everyone hated you, I—they made me say I didn’t like you—they said I was you but they don’t like you and I—I’m sorry—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your rolls and buns there, Roro, take in some oxygen before you pass out on me.” Remus wraps his arms gently but firmly around his now-panicking little bother—brother, pulling him securely into his lap. He has to pry Roman’s grip off of him a little but quickly reattaches the little limpet. “There you go, see? You got me! I’m trapped! I can’t go anywhere!”

His jokes don’t seem to work. If anything, Roman clutches him tighter, trembling in his hold.

“You gotta breathe for me, Ro-Bro, come on…in and out, you can do it.” Remus starts to take big slow breaths, feeling Roman start to copy him. “There you go, Roro. Just like that.”

Little Roman dissolves into a shaking and trembling puddle, cold nose buried in the crook of Remus’s neck as hot tears begin to trickle down his cheeks.

“Hey, hey, what’re those for? You’re safe, Roro, I gotcha, you got me, we got each other. We’re not playing right now, I’m not trapping you, what’s up?”

“Y-you’re—you’re back,” Roman wails, “you’re back, you’re back, don’t go—“

“I’m not going anywhere, Roro, I promise.” He gives Roman a light squeeze. “I’ve gotcha.”

Remus is very glad he actually washed his hands this morning as he begins to wipe away Roman’s tears. His hands are damp within moments but he keeps going, letting the little limpet wipe his nose on his costume and not giving a single flying fuck. Roman’s red nose keeps sniffling so Remus lays back against some of the pillows, heaving the little beast on top of him to have him settle down. Roman does, eventually, slumping into a sprawl all over Remus’s chest. Remus rubs his little brother’s back and nuzzles the top of his head.

“D’you want to tell me what this is all about, Roro?”

Roman mumbles.

“I can’t hear you, Ro-Bro, you gotta speak up.”

He can feel Roman’s throat work against him. “I couldn’t be the prince so I had to start over. Couldn’t—couldn’t do it right.”

“Do what right, Roman,” Remus asks, slowly tightening his grip on his brother again, “what couldn’t you do?”

“Kept messing up. Messed everything up.” Roman’s voice starts to choke off again. “Had—hadda make it right. Wanted to go back to—to—to—when it was okay.”

‘Okay.’

Yeah, nothing about this is ‘okay’ right now.

“Well,” Remus says, resolutely ignoring that for the time being, “why don’t we do something fun?”

Roman nods eagerly, pushing himself up so fast his hands slip and he falls face-first down on Remus’s chest again. Remus chuckles and helps him sit up.

“Wanna go into the Imagination?”

Roman’s smile falters. “We need permission.”

“No we don’t, we’re Creativity. That’s our domain. We run it, we decide when we get to go in!”

But Roman shakes his head stubbornly. “N-no, we—we have to ask first. And I don’t want you to get in trouble f-for me.”

“They can try and make me be in trouble,” Remus sniffs, “but it won’t go well for them.”

Roman looks up at him, expression changing as he slowly reaches up to cup his hands around Remus’s face. “I wanna be like you.”

Remus’s chest clenches. “You want my mustache?”

Roman makes a face. “No. I want—I want to be as sure as you are that nothing bad can happen. I want that.”

Ah, fuck. They had a joke going when they were—well, when both of them were smaller that Roman got the Ego, Remus got the Pride. He never—well, kids hold ideas and let them go. He tossed that one over his shoulder a long time ago. Roman, it seems, never did.

“Hey,” Remus says instead, reaching to cup Roman’s face in his hands, “you’ve got it, Roro. It’s yours too. You just gotta look for it.”

“But that’s hard.”

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy,” he says, fighting back a joke that he knows Roman won’t understand.

“…you’re really smart, Re.”

“Well—“ he chucks him lightly under the chin— “you’re the one that taught me that.”

Roman’s little face smiles and oh, Remus could rip his fucking thumbs off.

“If you don’t want to go into the Imagination we could always do something here.” Remus jumps off the bed and starts rifling through his ideas. Well, most of them aren’t…something he would do when Roman is this small. “…paint?”

There it is. Roman’s face lights up and he scrambles off the bed to join Remus. “Painting? Can we paint together?”

“Sure. One big canvas, let’s see, you wanna help make it?” They put their hands together and slowly draw a big rectangle in the middle of Roman’s room. “Good job, Ro-Bro, it’s just the right size.”

His brother almost glows at the praise. “Now all we need is—“

“Paint!”

They both turn to each other with their hands full of it. Roman has several bottles clutched in his little hands and Remus is juggling an armful of tubes. They drop them all over the floor and Remus rubs his hands together.

“What’re we gonna paint?”

“The canvas!”

“Yeah, I mean—“ Remus’s jaw drops open when Roman just pours paint onto his hand and smears it across the canvas— “whoa.”

Wrong reaction to have. But the second he sees Roman’s brilliant grin start to fade, he jumps straight on the fuck-that train and grabs another bottle. Soon they’re smearing paint all over the canvas. They end up creating a pretty good gradient of pinks and blues and reds and oranges and yellows. Then Remus grabs a green tube and just squirts it right onto the canvas.

“Hey!” Roman rubs his cheek. “You got paint on me!”

“I think you got paint on you.” Because when your brushes are your hands and you rub your face, paint goes onto your face.

“It was green! You put the green on me!”

Remus grins, bending closer and pretending to examine Roman’s cheek. “I dunno, Roro, I can’t see any green on there.”

Roman grabs a tube of red paint—

“Whoa, hey, there—“

—and squirts it onto the canvas. But mostly Remus.

“Oh, that’s it.”

The two of them spend the rest of the time splashing paint around, not caring about whether it gets on the actual canvas or the canvases they’ve made out of each other. Remus ends up with red splattered across his sash—not a bad look—and a bright blue handprint on his chest. Roman ends up with some green in his hair and streaks of purple down his arms. They’re laughing too hard to be spiteful about it as they chase each other around the canvas, each trying to get their hands on the other first.

If Roman never sees the others opening his door a crack, only to smile and leave them be when they see Remus and the paint with him, it’s perfectly fine.

Remus ends up using his size to his advantage and scooping the little monster up into his arms. He spins him around, laughing maniacally as Roman shrieks and squeals. He holds onto his brother’s arms, head thrown back as they whirl there.

“I win,” Remus pronounces as he sets Roman—carefully!—back down, “you lose.”

Roman giggles, reaching up to poke Remus’s nose with a bright red finger. “No, I win!”

“We both win.” Remus shakes his head only for some of his hair to stand straight on end—the only straight thing in this room—from the paint. “Uh…we should wash this off.”

Roman examines his paint-colored self, his gray shirt and shorts now absolutely awash with rainbow. “Yeah, probably.”

Remus looks at him and gently touches the fabric with his fingers. Roman’s eyes widen as the fabric changes from having paint on it to the colors being part of the fabric itself.

“Whoa! That’s so cool!”

Remus chuckles. “You’re welcome, Roro. Now let’s get cleaned up. I’m sure you’re gonna get hungry in a little bit.”

They make their way to the shower where Remus gets them out of their paint-covered clothes and squeaky clean. Roman’s eyes start to droop as Remus massages the shampoo into his hair.

“You can close your eyes, Ro-Bro, I gotcha.”

And if little Roman is so tired he can barely keep his eyes open long enough to put on pajamas after they get out of the shower, then Remus will happily carry him to bed. Of course the little limpet decides to latch onto him but there are worse fates. He resigns himself to being a personal pillow and stretches out, rubbing Roman’s back to help soothe him to sleep.

There’s a soft knock on the door and Logan eases it open. Remus has a quip on the tip of his tongue at the way the nerd’s expression melts at the sight of little Roro.

“Asleep, then?”

“Mhm.”

Logan glances at their painting. “I must say…it’s spectacular.”

Remus looks at the painting. An abstract swirl of colors and splatters that looks like the perfect chaotic nonsense. He’s more proud of it than expected too.

“He seems happy,” comes Logan’s soft voice, calling his attention back as he sits on the edge of the bed, “or…happier.”

Remus runs a protective hand down Roman’s back. “He said he missed me.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that��being suddenly reverted to an age where you two were together would—“

“No,” he says firmly, “he missed me. When he was big too, Lolo.”

Logan winces. “Oh, dear.”

“Has he told you why this…happened?”

“Not me explicitly, no.” Logan looks up and waits. “Did…did he tell you?”

“He said he wanted to go back to when everything was okay.”

Logan’s eyes widen. Oh. Oh, dear. “He…the last time he was okay…”

Remus’s sharp nod only confirms it. Logan lets out a breath as Roman’s hands twitch in his sleep. Unbidden, the impulse to reach out and squeeze comfortingly rises up sudden and sharp and he reaches out, covering the little one’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“He wasn’t supposed to get hurt,” Remus whispers, “when—when they took us away, they—they were allowed to do whatever they wanted to me, but—but not my brother.”

“Never again,” Logan promises low in his throat, touched by Remus’s sudden display of vulnerability, “you won’t be separated.”

Quite frankly, as he watches Remus tighten his grip on Roman, he’d like to see the others try.

As it turns out, that isn’t anywhere near their realm of possibility. When Roman wakes a little while later to them talking quietly with a rumble in his stomach, Remus carries him downstairs as Patton starts making dinner. Logan has to hide a smile at the way Virgil mouths ‘oh my god’ and Janus stuffs his fist up to his mouth to hide the coo. Patton clumsily answers Remus’s question about whose night it is to help—his—and gently asks Roman if he can set him down.

“You won’t go far?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen the whole time.”

“Here,” Virgil calls, holding out his arms, “I’m the softest thing in this room. Give him to me.”

He’s gonna regret that later but not right now. Not when little Princey is deposited into his lap and promptly snuggles right up to his chest and sighs. Virgil wraps his arms around little Roman and sits back against the couch, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone as his breath warms the top of Roman’s head.

“V-Virgil?”

“Yeah, Princey?” Virgil winces when Roman tenses. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot. What is it, Roman?”

Roman’s hands clench and unclench in his hoodie. “Do…do you miss the other me?”

Well. Don’t start off easy or anything, kid.

Does he?

He’s gonna be honest, he does miss Roman. Misses the banter, misses the confidence, misses the warmth of walking into a room and seeing Roman there. He misses the feeling that Roman would always come up with something, even when things seemed hopeless he would be there to try.

But even though he’s had this Roman for two minutes, he already knows he’d miss him like a lost limb. This Roman, who is all clumsy affection and easy smiles and soft cuddles.

“I miss him,” he decides on eventually, “but you’re my Roman too.”

Roman’s little face is too cute. It’s illegal. Who allowed this?

“Your Roman?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says, giving the boy’s hair a gentle tug, “you’re our Roman.”

Roman’s hands tug gently again. “E-even if I’m not a prince?”

Ah. Virgil sits up a little and pulls Roman into his lap properly. “You were our prince because we thought that was what you wanted to be.”

“Even if I wasn’t good at it?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Virgil swallows the curses and pulls Roman into a tight hug, muttering into his shoulder.

“You were good at it, Roman,” he mumbles, “you were the best prince. You were the best prince because you were our prince. And you were our prince because you were Roman first.”

He can feel Roman’s jumpy little breaths before he’s hugged with a ferocity that takes him by surprise. But he’s not complaining.

“So I can be a prince?”

“If you want to be.”

There’s a pause during which Virgil pointedly does not make eye contact with Janus, before Roman speaks again.

“…I, uh, I think I’d be okay with the nickname, then.”

“Princey?” Roman nods and Virgil grins. “Okay, Princey.”

When he pulls back, there’s a little smile on Roman’s face that stays throughout dinner.

“Well,” Patton says as they start to clear the dishes away, “I’d say it’s a good night for a cuddle pile, wouldn’t you?”

“A splendid idea.” Logan closes the dishwasher. “Down here?”

“Might as well.” They start to organize, Logan directing the creation of the mattress and pillows, Patton and Virgil moving the blankets. Roman looks around for a moment, waiting, before Janus beckons him over to the last of the fading sunlight by the window.

“We,” he says gently as he coaxes Roman to lie down, “have the most important job.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re the ones that get tired first.” To prove a point, Janus lets himself yawn, big and wide. Sure enough, little Roman yawns too. “When Logan tells us all where to go, it’s our job to start being tired so the others have an easier way of settling.”

“That sounds like we have an excuse to fall asleep.”

“That too.”

Roman giggles and it makes Janus’s chest feel light.

“Come here, little prince,” he murmurs, opening his many arms to gather the little one to his chest, “there you are. You look tired, go ahead and close your eyes, it’s alright.”

Roman shifts a little in his grip. “…Janus?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Are…are you gonna take care of me?”

Janus pulls back a little, enough to cup Roman’s face in his hand. “Of course, sweetie, I will always take care of you.”

“N-no matter what?”

“No matter what.” He leans down to gently knock his forehead against Roman’s and press a chaste kiss there. “I’ve got you, little prince.”

The weight of the acts gone without acquittance sit heavily in his stomach, but with Roman cradled tenderly in his embrace, they start to get a little more bearable.

“Come on, cuddle bugs,” Patton calls, hands stroking gently through their hair, “let’s get you onto the mattress.”

Janus uncurls first, only for Roman to blink sleepily up at him.

“Do you need to be carried, sweetie? Is that it, little prince?”

Roman nods and blearily holds up his arms, letting out another squeaky yawn. He makes a few grabbing motions at Logan as he adjusts the last pillow.

“Ah, come here, little one,” Logan murmurs, picking him up, “let’s lie you down, shall we?”

The others join them in their pajamas, Roman’s head in Logan’s lap as he sits against the foot of the couch. Logan’s hand tangles in his hair, nails dancing over his scalp to encourage him to sleep.

“You’re safe, little one,” he promises, “just close your eyes. We’ll be right here for you when you wake up.”

Roman blinks up at him lazily, eyes wet with sleep as he nuzzles into Logan’s stomach. Logan keeps up the soothing rhythm of fingers in his hair, nails across his scalp, until the little one yawns away and closes his eyes. Only when sleep begins to call to him too do they shift, one of Roman’s hands on his chest, the other in Remus’s shirt as his head tucks into the crook of Logan’s shoulder.

The little prince falls asleep, surrounded by the warmth of his family.

————————

Roman blinks awake.

His ceiling doesn’t look like his ceiling and there’s a weight on his stomach that definitely isn’t a pillow. He cranes his head up to look around and his mouth drops open when he sees a slumbering Virgil lying with one arm around him. He turns his head a little more and comes face to face with Logan’s sleeping visage. Remus’s whistling snores are in his ear.

He risks sitting up a little farther, only to see Patton and Janus at the edge of the frankly giant mattress they’ve seem to set up on the floor of the living room. The two of them are almost protectively positioned, guarding the rest of them from whatever would plague them in the night.

His head is a little fuzzy and he can’t remember much of how they got here. Flashes come to him. Pretzels, paint, something about the word ‘prince.’

But, right now, with Logan’s chest rising and falling as Janus mumbles something in his sleep, he can’t be too bothered to worry about it.

Roman settles back down onto the mattress and closes his eyes. As he drifts off to sleep, a small smile touches the corners of his mouth.

For the first time in a long time, he feels okay.

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[inarizakibabe]

Grocery Shopping

The squeaky wheels of the shopping carts usually made Suna cringe when it came to grocery shopping but recently grocery shopping has become a lot of fun. Sat in the seat in front of him was his two year old daughter Yua clad in her pink bunny onesie, the little bunny ears flopped down on her head. Normally this was a trip they would make with you but Suna felt it was time for some quality daddy-daughter time even though his little pumpkin wasn't very talkative.

"Do you want oranges sweetheart?"

The ears on her outfit flopped back and forth as she enthusiastically nodded her head yes and reached for the bag of cuties her daddy picked up.

"Papa open please." Suna opened the bag and peeled an orange for her. "Thank you!"

Her little smile was infectious and Suna couldn't help but chuckle. "You're welcome my little bunny. What else did we need?"

"Juice!"

Suna raised an eyebrow at his daughter who smiled innocently at him with her cheeks full of orange.

"Mommy said no juice this week since you finished all the juice last week. Do you want pediasure?"

"No juice? Please papa? I won finid it 'gain."

Suna had prepared for this moment ever since she was born but now that it's here how could he possibly say no to that adorable face? He'll just have to face your wrath when they get home.

"Alright baby. Apple or grape? Or do you want a different one this time?"

"Apple!"

Suna picked up a pack of apple juice boxes for his angel then quickly left the aisle before something else forbidden could catch her eye.  

“Do you still have mommy’s list pretty?”

A crumpled paper covered in orange juice was pushed in his face. “Here daddy. Dirty.”

Suna took a picture of the list then threw the paper in a nearby trash can.

“Alright baby let daddy know when you see water.”

If anyone asked him back in high school if he thought he’d be in this position Suna would’ve immediately deemed that person as crazy, but now that he’s currently in this position he wouldn’t change a thing. Maybe add another mini him or two. If he’s lucky his son might be on the way after last night.

“Daddy!”

“Yes pumpkin?”

“Uncle!” A chubby finger pointed behind Suna and he turned to find Komori shopping with Sakusa trailing behind him. “Two uncle!”

"Hey it's mini Suna and big Suna. What up you guys?" Komori smiled walking over to them to shake little Yua's hand. "Did somebody get into the oranges again? You're all sticky."

Yua giggled into her hands as Komori pinched her little cheek. "Uncle Umi here."

Sakusa smiled the best he could when the little girl offered up her last orange slice to him. "Thanks but why don't you eat it for me."

Yua smiled big and ate her last orange slice before holding out her hands to her father. "Papa dirty."

Suna pulled out a wipe from her little backpack and cleaned up her hands for her. "All better?"

"Tank yu." Yua smiled before turning back to her uncle Komori and asking for ups.

"No (y/n) today?" Komori asked while picking up Yua.

"She had a late night last night so we decided to do the grocery shopping today." Suna took the basket from Komori and placed it in his cart as the three resumed shopping. "We left before she woke up so she should call me soon."

Komori laughed then turned to face Suna. "That late night wouldn't have anything to do with you would it? At least call me to take my niece before you do such things."

"(Y/n) is still fertile so number two should come easily. Why wait when Yua's getting older? I'm sure she'd like a little brother or sister to play with." Suna smirked.

"That's fine and all but don't rush it. Two of you is more than the world needs right now." Sakusa grumbled behind the group.

"Ignore him Suna. I caught him and Yua cuddling the last time they were both at my house. I'm sure he's more excited than you are for baby number two." Komori laughed.

Sakusa rolled his eyes "You guys talk about the woman like she'd pregnant now."

"We're manifesting." Suna sparkled. "Besides I doubt (y/n) is gonna get pregnant again before Ichika does. I've been manifesting for you too Sakusa-san."

"Go manifest somewhere else. Kids are trouble." Sakusa pouted.

"You say that because Atsumu's son peed on you last week." Komori smirked when Sakusa's pout got deeper. "I forgot to tell you but I had a dream about fish Kiyoomi, and you were in it."

"Some people just want to see the world burn." Sakusa sighed picking up a pack of oreos.

Komori laughed and checked on Yua who seemed ready to fall asleep in his arms. "Just imagine it Suna-kun. Kiyoomi with a mini him. I hope it's a girl. You should see how soft he is with Yua."

A sly smile crosssed Suna's face at the thought. "You're supposed to record moments like those Komori-kun for memories. You can show Ichika-san that Sakusa-san is ready for fatherhood."

Suna and Komori laughed as the three men continued shopping for the things they needed. Eventually they made it to the cash register getting ready to go their separate ways. After sorting out who got what and getting groceries in their cars Komori placed a sleeping Yua in her car seat and waved Suna bye. After making it home and carrying in the groceries and Yua, Suna found you still asleep in bed. Maybe he did do too much last night but thoughts of a bigger family made him smile and leave a kiss on your forehead as he pulled you closer to him for cuddles.

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

wild, or that time of the month

a john paul jones x fem!reader oneshot

summary: That time of the month and the timing couldn't be worse since you have to play happy hostess tonight. But maybe John can help release some of the tension.

notes: nsfw, discussion of menstruation, blood, but also genuine curiosity and love for the menstruating body 🥺

a/n: Um yeah. I like period sex and I hope you do too. It's also my birthday and while I was hoping to have the next bit of Wildflowers up, that didn't manifest so. Happy birthday to me 🥰

"I can’t believe I’ve never seen you like this."

You bury your head further into the pillow and tighten your knees up to your chest. Cramps don’t normally lay you so low, but today, you find yourself unable to think about anything else. It’s the aching in your legs that you can’t abide.

You climbed into bed an hour ago at John’s behest after he found you crumpled in the bathroom with your forehead pressed against the porcelain tub. At first, you protested; there was a laundry list of things that needed to be done and you only had so much time. You can’t afford to be down for a whole day. Tonight, of all nights, you’re having friends over for dinner to see the new house. But he was adamant, always is, and as soon as you slipped beneath the covers, you knew he was right.

The door creaks open and John peaks his head in, the grocery list you scribbled this morning at the kitchen table in hand. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Are you feeling any better?”

You don’t reply with words, just groan.

“That’s not reassuring,” he chuckles and sits at the edge of the bed beside you. John pushes your hair back from your face, the pads of his fingers grazing your throbbing temple. “I’m going to go pick up the things on your list, but your shorthand is more like an enigma cipher.”

You can’t help but smile.

“I would hate to mistake baking powder for soda and ruin the evening,” he says.

You reach for the list and screw your eyes together to see through your haze.

“Would you like to cancel, darling?”

“No, we can’t, it’s too late for that,” you sigh. “Hand me that pen, will you?”

He does and you begin to rescript the list.

“Are you sure? They’d understand.”

They would, you’re sure of that. But you both have been looking forward to this for weeks, the house finally staged to your liking, the garden in full bloom, the two of you settled into a joyful domesticity. “I’ll be better by then.”

“You were muttering to yourself earlier, ‘I want to die, I want to die, I want to die,’” John quotes you somewhat melodramatically, but with a hint of worry in his voice.

You look to him; his lips are pursed together and watchful eyes trying to discern if you’re being honest about your state. “Don’t worry too much about me, I’ll…” you clear your throat, handing the list back. “I’ll be up and about by the time you get back.”

He takes the list, folds it, and slips it into his pocket gingerly. You are entranced by the way his fingers are so precise, even for pedestrian things. “I hate to tell you, but I’m not very convinced,” John says.

You aren’t really either. The cramps are aggressive, sending furious ache all the way down to your ankles. "If you could refill the hot water bottle on your way out.”

“Of course,” John answers. He knows he won’t change your mind on this, even if he wishes he could. He leans down and kisses you on the lips chastely, before leaving with the hot water bottle.

It’s only one kiss, one ordinary, habitual kiss, but it’s left your body confused. There’s a perversity to your time of the month always, the painful ache mixed with an intense level of desire you don’t normally seek to sate with John. Not when you’re so fresh into your period. You do so privately and quickly, which often alleviates some of the pain. Although, it has crossed your mind that with John’s assistance; perhaps you could get even more relief from both forms of ache.

You sit up in bed and press a hand to the outside of your underwear, giving yourself a gentle wave of pleasure. Once John leaves, you’ll delve your hands inside and scratch the itch, wash your hands, and be up and about by the time he’s back. He’ll probably look at you with raised eyebrows as if you’ve been resurrected from the dead.

John returns a bit later with the hot water bottle which you gratefully take from him and put into your lap. “Anything else? Before I go?” he asks with a smile.

There is something about him right now that you’re finding hard to resist. The way he provides his willing ministry is so genuine, so kind. You want him to destroy you.

“John…” you say and slip a hand against his slim waist.

“Yes?” his voice glides upward and his eyes narrow as if he knows where you’re going.

“Could I ask you for a big favor?”

John nods. A lock of his hair falls from behind his ear.

“You can say no.”

“You’re really selling this so far.”

You flush. “Well, you’re a very…you are very quick to please me and I don’t want you to feel pressured if – “

“What are you getting at, Y/N?” John asks with a crooked smile. It only makes you want him more.

“Would you maybe…” you trail off. “Could you…” You’re too afraid to say the words. You don’t want to sound stupid. You lean your face into the lower part of his belly and groan.

John laughs, “Love –”

“Could you fuck me?” you say, muffled into his shirt.

“What?” John asks confusedly, unable to hear you.

You take a deep breath and repeat, “Could you…fuck me?”

“Stop that, say what you need to say,” he mumbles and leans back to see your eyes.

You must rip off the bandage. “I said could you fuck me?!”

His eyes widen.

You recoil uneasily. “…please.”

“Um…”

“Like I said, it’s alright if –“

“No, no, I just didn’t expect that, I – “ John stops short. He looks away from you a moment, searching for the right thing to say. “That would make you feel better?”

You nod, “Yes, I think so.”

“You’re sure?” He’s skeptical. And you’re unsure if it’s resistance.

“Only if you –“

“No, no, Y/N,” John interrupts. The bridge of his nose goes red. “I’m embarrassed to say that that is something I’ve always really wanted to do.”

You notice that the fabric around his crotch has slightly tensed and you smile, “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I don’t know why,” he half-laughs, “But there’s something about you this time of the month that makes me kind of…wild.”

Wild. Now that is a word you didn’t expect him to use in this context. You imagine that while you’ve been quietly pleasuring yourself beneath the sheets, he’s been hiding in the bathroom to try and quell his desire as well. You get to your knees before him on the bed and lean your front up against his. "Pheromones," you say with a devious smile.

"Is that what it is? Because it's powerful stuff," John replies dryly, all to aware of his erection and your awareness to his erection.

You tilt your head up so your lips are only a bit away from his jaw. “We’re idiots.”

John laughs, “Yes, we are.” He rakes his fingers through your hair, cradling your head in his hands. “But are you sure? I don’t want to hurt – “

“Just take good care,” you say and hang your hands on his wrists. “I just need you to take care of me.”

You knew that’s what he wanted to hear. A soft breath escapes him as his glassy blue eyes take in each of your features, one by one, before kissing you. The desire hefts forward again inside your aching middle, scattering the tension down the front of your thighs. Just the thought of him being inside is a relief in and of itself. You clutch at the front of his shirt and bring your groin to his. John’s erection is unrelenting and ready for you, but there are new strictures now. You pull back from him to his dismay, a dazed look in his eye from the pressure between your throbbing centers. “You’ll need to get a towel, love,” you instruct him gingerly.

“Mhm, right, right,” John agrees and flits away from you quickly to the bathroom, retrieving a light green towel. You regret the pastel scheme you chose for the bathroom linens now, but there isn’t time to lament that.

John unrolls the towel at the end of the bed. He pulls on the corners and smooths out any wrinkles in the towel and then looks to you eagerly. “Can I do anything else?”

You smile sweetly. He’s nervous, a combination of wanting to do things properly for you and the unflinching arousal that’s now built up in him. You crawl to the end of the bed before him and lift your arms. “You can take this off of me.”

“I can do that,” he grins, sliding the flowery fabric of your housedress up your thighs, to your waist, and up over your head. He drops it to the side of the bed and then brings his eyes to your nearly naked body. You’re suddenly feeling self-conscious, remembering how different you see yourself in the mirror this time of the month. But John’s admiring you in the same way he always does, a small crinkle between his brows and lips parted so slightly, like there are a million things he could say and he can’t pick out just one. He lets out a longing sigh, “You're positively, incredibly sure?”

“Stop asking me that and take off your clothes,” you laugh and lunge for his shirt. The two of you feverishly negotiate his clothes off, hands knocking together, hair falling in your eyes. Finally, he’s naked; his pale skin blemishes with chill and his ruby nipples harden. You caress his lips gingerly. “You are so good to me, John,” you whisper and run your hand up from his hip bone to his ribs to his clavicle. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

John doesn’t respond with words. He takes your head in his hands and hungrily kisses you with his blushed and beautiful lips. Wilting, you follow his lead, slow, graceful, until you’re on your back and John is eagerly thrumming against your entrance. His hands glom onto your breasts; he drags them down your front to your waist to the top of your underwear. He pauses. “I’ve never done this.”

You look at him incredulously. “Yes you have.”

“Not with extenuating circumstances such as these,” he mutters.

“Extenuating circumstances? What do you expect is going to happen?” you laugh. “Barbarism?”

John blushes. He’s a good man, but there are things that good men don’t go out of their way to understand until they must. “Look, I just don’t want to make a mess.”

“Let me do it then,” you offer and try to pry his hand off your underwear.

But John stands firm. “No, no, I should do it. I need to know how to do it.”

“You don’t need to know, it’s –”

“You’re making me nervous, Y/N,” John says manically, his smile betrayed by his jumpy eyes.

You throw your arms up over your head and sigh, “John, just do it, I want you inside me now.”

John’s going red. “You’re just adding to the pressure, god –“

“My eyes are closed. I’m not looking,” you laugh and scrunch your eyes closed. “Christ, you’d think you’re a virgin the way you’re trembling.”

John huffs with slight umbrage at the comment. You feel him dragging the panties down your legs. “Okay. I think I did it.”

You blink your eyes open and find him fixated on your sanguine center.

“Huh.”

“What did you expect?”

“Don’t know really. Is it – I can’t believe I’ve never seen you like this. You get one every month after all.”

You consider John's contrast a moment. His brow is threaded together and his eyes are curiously examining you, yet his cock is firm and angrily swollen as it waits to be enveloped. And you feel just as frustrated as his lower, eager parts. You wrap your legs around him and give him a gentle pull toward you. “John, you’re going to make me feel so good.”

“Really, because this is –“ his eyes widen a bit, still on your center. “I mean, barbarism, you were right.”

“John!” you whine.

“Every month, hm? Dear god, now I understand so much. Thank you for the englightenme…” he can’t finish his sentence as you lift your hips up to meet the tip of his cock and it rushes through your dripping core. John doubles over slightly. “Okay, okay.”

You drop your hips. “I’m in need, John. Need.”

“Need,” he repeats, shaken back onto task. John rests his hand on your knees and positions himself at your entrance, ready. He doesn’t expect how easily he slides in, gasps when he’s entirely inside you without even trying. “Oh my god.”

You smile at the relief of fullness and let out a moan. “There. Was that so bad?”

John shakes his head, mouth agape as he watches his small undulation in and out of you. “Is that alright?”

“Can go faster if you want,” you reassure him, resting your hand on his.

He follows your instruction; your extra slickness gives him an ease of speed that he isn’t totally in control of. You relish the wet sounds as his pelvis meets yours again and again and again. You feel like you’re soaring. It’s an easier feeling than ever before, the gentleness that your body is granting you with release. A joy, a true euphoria of letting go. Tensions slip away through your fingertips as you let John take control.

“Your eyes are…”

Rolling into the back of your head. Your tits bounce with each pulse inside of you.

“God, you look amazing.”

“Keep going.”

John takes your legs and positions them onto his shoulders. He pauses to catch his breath, eyes not leaving yours. He leans a kiss into the inside of your ankle and his hands slide down the length of your legs to your soft backside; he caresses it gently. “You alright?”

“More than.”

“You feel incredible,” he murmurs, a thrusting pattern returning. “Oh, Christ.”

Your angry garbled center has dissipated into fluttering exhilaration. You realize now that on the bathroom floor, this was the kind of death you were begging for and you start to laugh. The oncoming release creeps over you, heat all the way into your cheeks, fixing to burst. You reach as best you can to hook your hands around his thighs and moan out his name. You can see how it singes down his spine, electricity, hearing his name raggedly shunting from your mouth. His eyes squeeze shut, and he bares his teeth, tucking his chin to his chest. Oh, he’s close.

“Whatever you want, do it,” you say; your stomach muscles start to shudder. “Whatever you need.”

John’s eyes shoot open, and he stops, only long enough to sling both your legs over his right shoulder. You’re tighter now than before, gripping onto him, and this tightness sends both of you reeling into a groan. Your name, his name, god’s name, a curse, a prayer, it’s all right there in the way you’re convening at this sacred time in your cycle.

It’s the way John’s fingers curl around your thighs, clenching you even tighter around him, that joins you together into a shared, heaving and thunderous orgasm. John’s eyes go wide; his hips spasm forward as he spills into you, the groan of a fresh bruise from his lips. And you gladly accept each errant drop with your tight, wet warmth. You whimper with the angelic release.

John watches you, unwound and unburdened, so opposite how you’ve stalked around the house since you awoke this morning, and puts a gentle hand where the two of you meet. His thumb brushes through your sweated pubic hair. “Did that feel good, darling?”

You nod wordlessly.

“Did it help?”

You nod harder with a loopy sort of grin.

John chuckles. “Why have we waited so long? For this?”

“Because you’re scared of me,” you drone softly, your eyes shuttering to rest in the glow.

“What?! I’m not scared of you.”

You smile. “Yes, you are. ‘Oh, oh, what do I do with your panties? Am I going to hurt you? Are you s-s-sure?’”

“That’s not ‘scared’, that’s –“

You interrupt him. “I’m not fragile or delicate this time of month, John. I just need extra love even when I don’t deserve it.”

John goes silent and cocks his head against your feet. “Well, you’re always deserving of love.”

You flush and hide your face in the sheets. “You know what I mean.”

“You can be difficult," he concedes.

“That’s a kind way of putting it.”

“Downright mental, sometimes.”

You snap up to sitting and nudge at his cheek with your toes. “Would you like to remain celibate indefinitely?”

John laughs, “You’re proving my point!”

The two of you jab and rib a bit longer before John collapses beside you and pulls you into him entirely, his lips hovering right in the crook of your neck. "Even when you're driving me mad, I love you, darling."

You sigh contentedly and let him languish on your neck with soft, chaste kisses before you are both reminded that the time is ticking and the afternoon will be the evening in the blink of an eye if you aren't careful.

After you disentangle, you help clean John off; he watches, intrigued by the rusting redness that sheathes him (“Welcome to the barbarism,” you tease). Then, you leap up off the bed with a stretch. “Well, I feel much, much better.”

“Yeah?” John says with an adoring look in his eyes.

“Oh, yes, I could do the shopping even,” you shrug and find his pants on the floor, pulling the list from his pocket. “Let you take a rest.”

John sits nakedly, casually on the towel with an ironic sigh, “Thank you.”

You go to him and cup his chin in your hand. “I owe you the world, John, I really do.” You kiss his forehead and then begin to flit around the room to pull an outfit together.

John sits, lost in thought and quiet, as you rummage through the dresser drawers for another pair of clean and comfortable underwear.

“Y/N?”

You give him a look over your shoulder. “Yes?”

“What if we cancelled dinner tonight?”

You frown, “But I’m feeling much better.”

“I know, I know, I just wonder if that energy could be used…” John trails off and then clears his throat. His looks to his feet. “For different matters.”

You pause and a smile cracks onto your face despite yourself. “Are you suggesting –“

“I told you,” he sighs. His eyes laze onto you with a hungry, lip-biting smirk. “You’re making me feel wild.”

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @princesspagey, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @edal-weis, @ritacaroline, @salixfragilis, @rogerfuckintaylor, @kyunisixx

✨ For more of my writing, visit my masterlist. ✨

[whumpmatsus]

3e w/ Choromatsu?

Ultimate Whump Writing Meme! / ACCEPTING!

3. Acute non-infectious conditions

E: Appendicitis

HECK YEAH this got......... way too long lmao

so story time, in my senior year of high school I had to have surgery to have my gallbladder taken out, and when I went to the hospital that morning, they actually thought it might be appendicitis

so some of Choro's pain here is based on what my pain was like that morning because it was my worst most undeniable 'attack', it was that squeezing pain that came from my side all the way around to my back and kept me up most of the night before, I hadn't got much sleep because of the pain

but I remember trying to sleep a little at the hospital; shortly after I got there they'd given me some medicine to drink and then like ten minutes later I threw up, and not long after that they took me to get a scan, and after I got back from that and we were waiting for the results I think I slept a little bit

so obviously appendicitis and gallbladder disease are different things, but since my pain was initially mistaken for appendicitis, I drew on my memories of that a bit to describe Choro's pain XD

ANYWAYS STORY TIME'S OVER, HERE'S SOME SOKUDO FOR YOUR SOUL 💚❤️

-

It’s not unusual for Choromatsu to wake up not feeling particularly hungry. For whatever reason, it’s only once he starts eating that his hunger kicks in.

What is unusual, however, is when he wakes up feeling full-on nauseous.

When his stomach hurts as soon as he opens his eyes in the morning, it makes him think that maybe he’s getting sick. It can’t be that he overate the previous night, because otherwise it would have been bothering him while he was trying to sleep. It could be food poisoning that just took a while to manifest, or it could be the start of the stomach flu.

Whatever it is, it’s horrible. The sensation is just an immense amount of achy discomfort coupled with a distinct nausea. It makes him wince as soon as he sits up, sliding an arm around his middle. “Shit,” he whines under his breath, rubbing lightly in an attempt to ease the pain. He’s got work today; he can’t be getting distracted by this while he’s trying to do stuff.

Maybe he should call off… he’s never done that, though, and he doesn’t really want to. What kind of employee decides not to go to work because their tummy is a little upset?

It’s about the time they all typically wake up nowadays, so his movement and noise rouse his older brother next to him. “Mmm, Choromatsu…?” Osomatsu shifts around before stretching his arms. “Morning…” He yawns and sits up, then seems to take stock of the position his little brother is in.

“Hey, are you okay?” He sets a hand on Choromatsu’s shoulder. “You got a stomachache or something? No worries, I’ll grab the newspaper and walk you to the bathroom,” he jokes, brushing a finger under his nose.

Choromatsu groans. “That’s not funny, Osomatsu. I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

Those words get the attention of any of the brothers, if only because at least one of them has puked in the futon before and it’s a pain to clean up. Osomatsu is out of bed in an instant, crouching as he tries to sling Choromatsu’s arm around his shoulders. “Okay, let’s get you to the bathroom then.”

“Ow!” Choromatsu hisses when he stands up. The discomfort is a lot worse now that he’s straightened up, to the point where he wants to crumple back into the futon. “Sh-shit… Osomatsu…”

Any other time he’d be embarrassed and unwilling to be so vulnerable in front of any of his brothers, but it’s so painful, it’s not like he can hide it. “It really hurts…”

Osomatsu frowns, careful to support Choromatsu as he walks them both out of the room down the hall. “Does it still feel like you’re gonna be sick? If it’s nausea and it just got really bad when you got up, you probably would have hurled as soon as you got up. It looks more like you’ve got a side stitch.”

He groans, leaning against Osomatsu. “L… like a pulled muscle? But I wasn’t exercising, I was sleeping.” That’s kind of how it feels, though. That kind of agonizing ache in his abdomen that hurts with every move.

“Well, no, but maybe you moved wrong. Sometimes that happens to me, I wake up and I know I pulled a muscle by moving around weird in my sleep.” Osomatsu gives him a careful pat on the back. “Here, let’s sit down in the bathroom. Sometimes it helps if you breathe really deep and slow. I can try rubbing it, if you want? When I get one of those, that makes it feel better.”

Choromatsu’s mind is still a little dazed while Osomatsu guides him into the bathroom and into a sitting position on the toilet. “Maybe… I-I only have a few minutes to sort this out, Osomatsu. I have to be at work in, like, half an hour.”

The scoff Osomatsu gives as he gently presses his hand against his brother’s stomach is dismissive at best. “Listen, I know you want senpai to notice you, but if you don’t feel well, you should stay home and rest. If you wake up feeling like crap, you shouldn’t be forcing yourself to go into work.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Choromatsu mutters. “You’re allergic to work. You touch the job adverts in the newspaper and practically break out in hives.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean you need to go full workaholic now that you’ve got a job.” Osomatsu’s fingertips move around a little, trying to rub out the muscle cramp they’re both convinced he’s got. “Even though I know this is stupid… I kind of worry about you, Choro. You worked through a pretty nasty cold a couple months ago and your cough took forever to go away. You might’ve felt better sooner if you’d taken a few days off when it was really bad. You gotta take care of yourself, man.”

The way he says it makes Choromatsu feel a little guilty. Despite trying very hard not to make anyone concerned about him, it seems he’s done the exact opposite. If Osomatsu remembers specific incidents where Choromatsu didn’t take the best care of himself while he wasn’t feeling well, maybe he has a point.

He quietly shifts Osomatsu’s hand, replacing it with his own. It doesn’t even feel like this is helping that much. “You don’t have to worry about me, nii-san,” he mumbles. “I appreciate it, but this time it’s not that serious. You’re probably right that I just slept funny. It doesn’t feel like I’m gonna be sick anymore, and I’m sure once I start moving this’ll work itself out. I can’t skip work just because I have a little stomachache.”

When he lets his hand up, he cringes and wants to grab his stomach immediately. God, it just hurts so bad. “Aaah… you should go back to bed and get some more sleep. I’m just gonna… brush my teeth, wash my face, get dressed… have a couple bites of toast and head to work. If you really want, you can baby the hell out of me when I get home at 3 P.M. If you just let it go for now. Okay?”

“Geez. You’re making me sound like some overprotective mother hen. Or, y’know, you.” Osomatsu sighs and stretches his arms again. “Mmmm, I guess you’ve got a deal. But you better have your ass back here at 3 P.M. on the fucking dot. I’ll have the hot water bottle and some tea ready. You want mint or ginger?”

The idea of putting anything in his mouth sounds so gross right now. Choromatsu is half certain that if he tries to eat more than a bite or swallow more than a thimbleful, he’s going to be sick to his stomach. He knows Osomatsu will feel a little more ‘in control’ and won’t worry as much if he accepts a little bit of fussing, though. Besides, tea is good for when you’re not feeling well, right? “Probably mint.”

He gets to his feet and manages to stay there. Hopefully the pain will fade once he actually gets out the door and into the office. “Alright, I’m gonna see if I can’t get going. I’ll see you when I get home, okay?”

“Oooookay.” Osomatsu makes a show of throwing an audible kiss toward his brother. “Push that paper, Choromacchan!”

He grumbles a little, though he does lift his hand as if to ‘catch’ the kiss thrown his way. “And you behave yourself.”

A snort echoes behind him, and he can’t help but smile just a little as he shuffles off to start his day; violently hoping he feels better once he gets to work.

-

As it turns out, things go steadily downhill from the time Choromatsu gets to work, unfortunately.

The nausea returns in full force, and the pain in his stomach hasn’t gone away a bit. In fact, it’s worse now, and it’s migrated to be almost exclusively clamping down on his right side like a vise. The whole morning he’s felt like something is squeezing, squeezing, bearing down with the lower right side of his belly and around to his back with its claws. It’s the worst pain he’s ever felt, and makes it near impossible to focus on his work.

He toughs it out for about three and a half hours… then, five minutes before he’s scheduled to have his lunch break, the pain and nausea explode into something unbearable. Rather than risk having to empty his stomach in the trashcan, he runs to the bathroom and ends up vomiting what little he ate earlier.

Of course, his manager gently reprimands him for coming to work sick and tells him to go get some rest, to come back if he feels better tomorrow.

It’s humiliating, blowing chunks in the work restroom and then scurrying out of the office to go collapse into bed. How is he this sick already? Most of the time if he wakes up feeling not quite right, like he’s coming down with something, it doesn’t really hit him until the next day.

It takes all of his strength to get home. He just feels so horrible. By the time he pushes the front door open, his face is contorted in agony and he’s doubled over in pain, with his arm pressed into his stomach as if that’s going to help anything.

“Mom,” he calls weakly. “Mom? I-I need help getting into bed…”

Everything falls apart now that he’s home, and he crumples into a little heap near the doorway. Hot tears start to spill down his cheeks, stinging his eyes. “Mom? H… help…” he tries again. This time his voice cracks. The pain in his stomach has blossomed into something wicked, like there’s a white-hot fire poker in his side and he can’t get away from it. It feels like he’s sweating, the nausea won’t let up, and he’s actually a little dizzy.

He’s never felt this sick or been in so much pain in his life. Where’s his mother? Or his father? Where’s anyone?

After what feels like an eternity, a pair of hands are set gingerly on his shoulders, trying to prop his head up. “Choromatsu?? Holy shit, what the fuck happened?”

The tears are blurring his vision, but when he lifts his head briefly he sees, and he knows by the voice, Osomatsu. Okay, good. You’re safe now. Your big brother’s here. He’s gonna take care of you. He’ll help you into bed and get you some tea and put the hot water bottle on your stomach. He’ll make you feel better.

“I got s-sent home because I threw up at work,” he wails, throwing his head back against the wall. “My stomach h-hurts so bad… I think I’m really sick… I wanna go to bed. C-can you take me upstairs?”

“The fuck…?” He can hear the frown in Osomatsu’s voice even if he can’t fully make out the expression. “Choro, if your stomach hurts, you shouldn’t have your hand against it like tha―”

He tugs Choromatsu’s arm away from his middle, and all hell breaks loose. As soon as his arm is pulled back, it feels like his stomach is on fire, prompting a howl of pain along with a fresh round of tears. “FUCK!!”

As Choromatsu falls into a sobbing mess, Osomatsu almost jumps back, startled by the outburst. “Shit, Choro! D-does it hurt that bad? All I did was move your arm!”

Choromatsu is too preoccupied with the excruciating pain shooting through his stomach to answer, so Osomatsu pushes his bangs up and presses a palm to his little brother’s forehead. “Holy… Choromatsu, you’re burning up! Forget going to bed, I’m taking you to the hospital!”

Part of Choromatsu wants to argue, but he can’t deny that if he’s got a fever and pain this bad, getting medical help isn’t the worst idea. He wants this to be over,so that’s the fastest way to figure out what’s going on and how to make it stop.

So he doesn’t even try to argue. He just holds onto Osomatsu and cries, then curls up in a ball of anxious misery in the backseat as his big brother drives him to the hospital as fast as the speed limits let him.

-

It’s a miracle Osomatsu doesn’t complain about nobody helping his baby brother, because it takes a couple of hours for them to really get any kind of answer. By the time they do, it’s just past 3 P.M., when Choromatsu would normally be due home from work. It’s almost ironic.

They can both tell the staff are trying their best, though; it just takes time to get things done. Emergency room nurses are in and out of the bay for about half an hour ― drawing blood, getting history, giving Choromatsu an IV to manage his pain. The doctor comes in briefly to do an examination, consisting of putting pressure in different places on Choromatsu’s stomach, looking over the chart, and asking him questions about the pain. Then he disappears.

After Choromatsu has a little calmed down and the pain seems to be less intense, the main nurse who’s been dealing with them comes in to talk to them. She says the doctor handling his case thinks, based on the exam, that it might be appendicitis, so she’s here to cart him down for a CT scan to confirm.

Choromatsu is still anxious and in a lot of discomfort, and the look in his eyes when he asks if his brother can come with them kills Osomatsu. Out of all his little brothers, Choromatsu is usually the one who doesn’t readily admit to wanting Osomatsu’s company, and here he is, sick and in pain, begging for it. Even worse is the nurse’s apology that the CT scan room is a small area, so Osomatsu can’t really be in there.

Oh, Choromatsu plays valiant, forcing a smile onto his face and telling Osomatsu that he’ll be fine by himself, then. But the way he squeezes Osomatsu’s hand tightly before the nurse rolls him down the hallway in the wheelchair shows, at least to Osomatsu, that his little brother really, really wishes Osomatsu could come with him.

The scan doesn’t actually take too long, though. Choromatsu is back in his little bed within twenty minutes, with the nurse telling Osomatsu that Choromatsu did great, and that the doctor and CT tech will review the scans and get back to them as soon as possible. For the next couple of hours, Choromatsu should try to get some rest if he can.

Those minutes pass quietly, too slowly; thankfully, poor Choromatsu is able to doze off and on into an uncomfortable sleep. Osomatsu realizes as soon as he settles in that… shit, the two of them are in the fucking hospital and he hasn’t told anyone else because he’s been so frazzled over Choromatsu.

While they’re waiting for the doctor to come back, he texts Totty first, asking if he can get a hold of the rest of their brothers and their parents. Luck must be on his side, because glued to his phone as he is, Totty replies within two minutes, immediately worried about Choromatsu and assuring Osomatsu that he’ll take care of letting everyone else know. Totty’s at work himself, but he says he’ll let his boss know that he has to leave. With any hope, everyone else will be here soon too.

With that done, Osomatsu spends the rest of his time trying to distract himself with apps on his phone, and running his hand through Choromatsu’s hair to keep him calm.

After what seems like an eternity, the doctor returns to the bay, pulling the curtain aside. “Matsuno-san?”

Choromatsu has been awake for a few minutes, exhausted from all the excitement and still in pain. The good thing is that everything is much less intense than it was when he first got home. Even though the pain is still there, thanks to the medicine and Osomatsu’s presence, it’s faded into something much duller. “Yes… h-hello again.”

“How are you feeling?” The doctor is an older man, the kind of person with a gentle smile and sympathetic eyes. “You look less anxious, so that’s good.”

Choromatsu nods. “Yeah… I’ve gotten a little sleep.”

“Good, good. Well, I have some good news and some bad news.”

Choromatsu’s hand instantly reaches for Osomatsu’s, and Osomatsu is right there to take it. “Y… yeah? Um… bad news first, p-please.”

The doctor chuckles. “If you insist. The bad news is that you, young man, are probably going to need surgery.”

“S… surgery…?!” The color drains from Choromatsu’s face. Never in his wildest dreams would he think he’d be looking at going under the knife. Some pills, maybe an IV for a few hours, but surgery?

The doctor reaches forward to gingerly pat Choromatsu’s knee. “That’s part of the good news, though, because your condition is very much treatable. It is, however, also time-sensitive given the kind of symptoms you’ve been having. We’ve confirmed with the scans that our initial suspicions were correct; you definitely have appendicitis.”

“And… and that’s… I-I need surgery for that?” His hand squeezes Osomatsu’s, so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t break his brother’s hand. “It’s… it’s that serious??”

“Unfortunately, in most cases, yes. Occasionally we try antibiotics with some people, but that’s usually only if we catch it very early, before the symptoms get advanced. To be honest with you, I don’t believe they would be effective in your case.” He sighs and takes a seat near the bed. The look on his face suggests that both of the brothers ought to listen very, very carefully to what he’s saying.

“Your appendix is so inflamed and infected, I’m concerned it might rupture. If that happens, it happens quickly, and it’s going to spill the bacteria into the rest of your body. You would almost certainly end up with a blood infection, which have a tendency to be fatal.” He shakes his head. “Although we can certainly try antibiotics if that’s what you want to try, surgery is your best bet at avoiding the complications which might pose a serious risk to you.”

The room is deathly silent for what feels like far too long. There are sounds from outside, beeping and machine noises and people calling over the intercoms and footsteps and the crying of a child who’s being treated in the next room over, but everyone here isn’t making a peep.

It feels to Choromatsu like his heart is trying to escape his chest, beating so fast he can barely remember to breathe. Even though the pain is unbearable and the idea of possibly dying looms over him, surgery is… surgery. It means he’ll be knocked unconscious and someone will be cutting into him and have their hands on his insides.

He can feel tears pricking at his eyes, and his hand shakes as his fingers tighten around Osomatsu’s. He doesn’t even know what to say or how to respond.

The doctor pats his knee again. “Would you like me to give you a few minutes to think about it? You and your brother can talk it over.”

Choromatsu nods, but it’s Osomatsu who actually speaks. “Yeah, please. And just so you guys know, our other brothers and our parents should be here soon, so just… send ‘em back when they get here, if you could?”

“Of course, no problem.” The doctor gets up, taking his clipboard with him. “If you decide to go ahead with the surgery, although it is considered a major operation, it’s less of a worry than you might think. The surgery itself only takes about an hour, and if there are no problems, you should be able to go home tomorrow night. Then it’s just a couple weeks of rest. It’s a very low-risk procedure. But, I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes to talk about it. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, he slips wordlessly out of the room, leaving the two of them by themselves.

Neither of them speaks for a minute. At last, Osomatsu breaks the silence in a softer voice than Choromatsu has ever heard from him. “Choromatsu… you need to have the surgery. You know that, right?”

All the shock crumbles into nothing, leaving behind only terrified anxiety as tears start to roll down Choromatsu’s face. “I-I know,” he sobs. If it’s between surgery and potentially death, there’s no real choice for him. He doesn’t want to die. “But… but I’m scared, Osomatsu-nii-san…”

“I… I know you are, Choromatsu. I am too and I’m not even the one who’s fucking sick!” Osomatsu has moved closer to the bed in a heartbeat, pulling the third eldest into a hug. The way the hospital wristband scratches at his neck when Choromatsu returns the gesture, weak and obviously still hurting, sends shivers up his spine. It’s like a punch in the gut to think that one of his little brothers needs surgery or he might die.

What else can he do right now except hold Choromatsu and tell him it’s going to be okay?

“I’m so scared…” Choromatsu presses his face into Osomatsu’s shoulder. It feels like his whole body is shaking, and the anxiety he felt during the CT scan was nothing compared to how he’s feeling now. “H… how can I b-be this sick…? I thought it was j-just a stomachache! And now I need surgery?! I don’t want to have appendicitis… I-I want the flu…”

Osomatsu bites down on his lip and rubs Choromatsu’s back. “… Hey. Choro, listen… it’s… it’s okay that you’re scared, you know? We can be scared together. But being scared doesn’t mean you can’t be brave. You’re gonna be just fine. They’re gonna take you in and fix what’s wrong and when you wake up, I’m… I’m gonna be right here, okay? And so is Mom… and Dad… and Karamatsu, and Ichimatsu, and Jyushimatsu, and Totty… you can do this, Choromatsu. I know you can.”

Choromatsu thinks maybe Osomatsu is saying this for himself, too. His mind is racing so fast, from one thought to the next, his hands are shaking, he feels so small and helpless and why, why, why him? Why did this have to happen? Why did he wake up with a stomachache and six hours later he’s in the emergency room, getting ready to be cut open?

He knows he has to agree to the surgery. If he doesn’t, it’s too unpredictable.

He holds onto his big brother and weeps. He lets himself feel small and helpless.

-

The rest of the family is there before the doctor comes back.

Osomatsu fills them in, because Choromatsu is still crying too hard.

Matsuyo cries along with him, coming over to hold her first and third sons.

Totty starts to cry too, and wriggles into Karamatsu’s embrace for comfort even though Karamatsu is misty-eyed himself.

Matsuzo might have tears in his eyes, but they’re blinked back before anyone can even think to mention them.

Ichimatsu doesn’t say a word, and Jyushimatsu seems content to cuddle into him rather than look at his poor big brother in the hospital bed.

When the doctor comes back, Choromatsu hasn’t stopped crying. So Osomatsu is the one who again speaks up.

The surgery is scheduled for just a few hours later. Waiting longer than that would be too risky.

This time the minutes pass too quickly. It’s time for the operation before any of them know it. None of them are prepared. The entire family is huddled around the bed as Choromatsu is wheeled away, kissing him and squeezing his hand and saying they love him.

Choromatsu gives one last, frightened look toward his oldest brother.

Osomatsu leans down, presses a kiss to his baby brother’s forehead, and says simply, “See you soon.”

-

The first thing Choromatsu notices upon waking up is the steady beep of hospital machinery.

The second thing is that someone is holding his hand, and when he eases his eyes open, it turns out to be Osomatsu. (As if it could have been anyone else. He did promise.)

The third thing he notices… is that his pain is gone.

Well, sure, there’s a little soreness from where the surgeon made incisions and where he’s got stitches. But that vise-like, burning pain in his stomach has vanished, there’s no more nausea, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t even have a fever anymore.

He’s tired, and thank God, that seems to be the worst of his problems at the moment.

“Heyyyy, Choromacchan. Welcome back!” Although Osomatsu is grinning, worry is written all over his face. He shifts his hand from Choromatsu’s to run his fingers through his little brother’s hair. “Didn’t I tell you I’d be right here?”

Choromatsu lets out a soft chuckle that makes him wince thanks to the movement from the stitches. “You did. Thanks.” He glances past Osomatsu to find the rest of his family, and gives a weary smile. “Everyone else is sleepy, huh?”

“Eeeyup. But nii-chan is awake to greet you! Maybe I should wake them up in a minute?” He hums in thought, his hand pausing. “How you feeling? A little loopy from the anesthe-whatever-it’s-called?”

“Haha, yeah… a little bit. I’m tired. But… I feel a lot better. My stomach doesn’t hurt anymore.” Even though he feel better, it’s a struggle to keep his eyes open. He kind of wants to go back to sleep; seeing his brothers and parents resting with each other makes him want to cuddle and sleep against one of them. “Hey… will you… get into bed and hold me for a little bit?”

Osomatsu snorts. “Well, that’s the drugs talking. I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, though… I don’t wanna accidentally mess up your stitches.” His hand hurries to resume stroking through Choromatsu’s hair. “But I’m right here, okay?”

Choromatsu’s eyes slip closed, and he feels his big brother press a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m right here, Choromacchan. I’ll always be right here.”

[draggingthedregs]

Hello! Absolutely adored your protective Kanej fic, especially how you managed to make it meet the middle ground in a dignified manner. I was wondering if you could do the same with the topic of jealousy? Would you be willing to write a fic about Jesper's feelings for Kaz, and his pov on Kanej falling in love, with a healthy dose of jealousy? Maybe a bit where he and Inej bond over their feelings for Kaz? Totally understand if you don't want to, but thank you either way!

a/n: ah! thank you so much! i’m so glad you enjoyed that lil fic!! i also really loved your ask and was really excited to write it. i’m actually on vacation right now and didn’t bring a laptop so i hope you don’t mind that it’s in the headcannon type structure (i did get slightly carried away but what’s new)! so yeah! here ya go <3

Inej had been gone for nearly a month, her first voyage on The Wraith proving to be a success

And all of Ketterdam felt her absence in the darkening shadow of gloom that followed Kaz Brekker.

The Dregs were careful to keep every toe in line, for fear they would find a cane breaking the bone. Even Jesper managed to tone down his charm

Though he wasn’t sure if Kaz’s anger was the whole reason.

When she’d left, they had all gone to the dock to see her off

Jesper slung his arm around her shoulder, pulled her tight, and made her laugh with one last terrible joke

Then he watched as Kaz said goodbye, in whatever twisted way he was capable. It didn’t sit right with him.

The way Kaz spoke to her, how he held her hand, hell- how he looked at her. As if it were the first and last time he was seeing her.

Jes watched until he couldn’t any longer. Something had balled up inside him, manifesting itself in his pounding chest and heated cheeks

He recognized the feeling

It was the feeling of someone else winning at Makkers Wheel, of watching someone make Wylan laugh, of his revolvers in anyone else’s hands.

it was the feeling of jealousy

It warmed his skin and froze his bones. He hated himself for it.

It wasn’t as if he loved Kaz the way she did, wanted him the way she did. But you’ve been here longer, saved his life just as many times.

Then she was gone, disappearing into the sea like she’d always been good at. And a dullness settled in Kaz’s eyes as he headed back to his city.

Now, as they all approached the dock once more to welcome her home, Jes felt anxiety flipping in his stomach

Wylan must have noticed, taking one of the hands that he’d begun to tap along his thigh

The dock was crowded, a mess of ships coming and going, and still they knew which ship was hers as it sailed smoothly into her berth

And through the thick, bustling crowd they knew their Wraith by silhouette alone. Her grin was wide, her hair down and curling in the salty air.

Jesper laughed, his anxiety forgotten, as he grabbed her and lifted her off the ground

“Is it possible you got smaller out there?”

Inej laughed now. “Is it possible you’ve gotten taller?”

“Just prettier. But I see how that would be confusing.”

He let her go and Wylan reached for a hug. As they spoke, he became aware of a dark spot ebbing into view

And so did Inej.

She looked up to him, taking a deep breath as she scanned him in his entirety

When Jes followed her gaze, he could see that Kaz was doing the same to her

Then, Kaz reached a single hand out, every inch deliberate. She watched him with careful eyes until he gave a single nod.

Jesper was sure he didn’t make up the near desperation on her face as she rushed toward him for an embrace.

His hands wrapped around her frame slowly, pulling her closer and tighter to him. There was a hitch in his breathing and Inej looked up at him, but Kaz didn’t pull away.

As he watched, he could feel the ball of jealousy rattling once more

Wylan cleared his throat, “All of your things you left at the house are still there. You’re both more than welcome to eat with us tonight.”

Then he tugged at Jespers hand and off they went. He had turned back once to see that the pair separated, but the intensity on both their faces remained

What are you even jealous of? She deserves to be happy. That’s all that should matter to you.

It was dark by the time Inej snuck inside the Van Eck mansion. She approached the sitting room from behind, nearly scaring them to death

“Hope i’m not too late?”

After Wylan recovered from his heart attack, “Of course not.”

Jesper mustered a nod, unable to shake his feelings this time

Inej came around and sat in an open chair

And suddenly Wylan was up. He squeezed Jes’ hand and gave him a small smile. “I’ll just be in the kitchen cleaning up.”

Of course he noticed. My merchling has decided to be observant.

The two of them left sat silently for a bit, letting the crackling fire fill the air, then, “I missed you... I missed being here.”

Her eyes were already on him when he looked up. Inej gave him the barest smile and shrug.

“Well- I’m impossible not to miss.”

She laughed, pulling her legs up underneath her. “Fair enough. How was it here while I was gone?”

Jes let out a scoff. “Kaz didn’t tell you anything?”

“Not about Ketterdam, no.”

“Well it’s been shitty. He’s been worse than usual, if that’s even possible.”

He could see the look on her face as she registered that he was upset. Inej turned to the fire then.

“You know-“ He immediately regretted it. “I couldn’t begin to guess what he has over you but he isn’t worth it, Wraith.”

“Jesper. You’re being mean”

“To who? Him?”

She turned to face him now, her face severe. “To me.”

It was then that he crumpled.

Jesper fell inward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. “I’m sorry- I just-“

You just what? What could you say to dig yourself out of this? Why do you even feel like this?

Then she was beside him, taking his hand.

“Jes, what is it?”

Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t lie to her. And he couldn’t control what he said next.

“You’re too good for him- we all are! And- and yet we all just go along with it all! For what? It’s not like we get anything back, he doesn’t even-“

“Care?”

Jesper looked up at her again.

“Look- I know how he is. He’s cold and frustrating and nearly impossible. But he’s also loyal and fierce and he would do anything for his crows. I think that’s what we all stick around for.”

“Is that enough?”

He could see her turning his question over in her mind.

“I wasn’t always sure but- I believe so. And if it isn’t, then we’ll revisit this conversation. Surely you can see that things are changing.”

Despite his anger or jealousy or frustration, Jesper couldn’t ignore that she was right. When isn’t she?

Kaz was changing. Between Per Haskell and Pekka Rollins, Inej leaving and becoming a barrel boss, he was different.

“Call me crazy. Call me too optimistic or pious for my own good, but there is something in him. Even if it’s buried deep.”

Jesper interrupted, “Very, very, very deep.”

Inej laughed. “I know.”

“I just want something in return sometimes. It feels like running on water and getting nowhere. The rest of us- that’s friendship, but him-“

“It isn’t the same. I understand that. Though he does feel something for you... something deeper than friendship I believe.”

He thought back to the clocktower of the Geldrenner, to the intensity in Kaz’s eyes. What do you think my forgiveness looks like, Jordie?

He nodded, supposing he wouldn’t start doubting Inej today.

“You aren’t alone, Jes. I know how you feel...”

That, he hadn’t even considered. Of course she knew how this felt, probably better than anyone.

“How do you do it, Inej? How do you love him?”

To his surprise, the Wraith smiled. “I love Kaz as he is, in every way. Not the boy he was or the man he could have been, but who he is right now. Ketterdam needs him like this just as much as it needs you and me as we are.”

Jesper hadn’t known Kaz before he had become the Bastard of the Barrel and he’d always had a difficult time placing him as a child. He couldn’t picture a young Kaz, coffee eyes and black hair glinting in the setting sun as his little legs carried him home.

But he figured Inej could. She always saw the big picture, the city from above instead of a single grimy street.

“How long will you be in Ketterdam?”

She shrugged. “As long as I’m needed here and not somewhere else.”

“Waffles in the morning then. On me.”

Inej laughed. “Jesper paying for breakfast? Things really have changed.”

It felt like a weight lifted off him as he laughed with her. “Dont get used to it.”

They stood, hugging for a brief moment.

“Goodnight, Jes.”

Then, he watched as she melted into the steady shadows with ease, as though she had never missed an evening in the mansion.

[babbushka]

HELLO!! So happy Sinday is up! Could I request a fic where an officer/general is flirting/thinking about the Empress, and Dom!Kylo gets jealous/mad?? I’m totally chill if you don’t want to :) thanks so much! -Salem

hi there! I saw your posts about the throne sex with supreme leader Kylo, and absolutely love it. I was wondering if I could request a one shot/Drabble/head cannon (whatever you want) about throne sex/cockwarming? Totally okay if not! Thanks so much.

Hi there! I’m so glad you’re opening up Sinday again!! I was wondering if I could request something with a jealous! Sub! SL Kylo Ren and his empress? Thanks so much :)

(1.6k, Violence [straight up murder but only in the first bit!], NSFW [finger-fucking, force-fucking, throne sex, cockwarming, dirty talk], possessive behavior, big jealous evil Kylo)

You had thought, that the meeting was going well. Well enough anyway, everyone perfectly civil. A lot had been discussed, much had been agreed upon and plans were approved. Things would start to happen now, an expansion of the Order would begin, and with it Kylo’s rule.

With it, your rule.

You were present at the meeting of course, you’re present at all of the ones that you can attend when you’re home on the starship. It looked as if it was about ready to come to a close, when suddenly and seemingly without any provocation, one of the senior officers begins to choke.

Eyes snapping to Kylo immediately, you’re ready to ask him what’s wrong when you see the look on his face. It’s a look you haven’t seen in a long time, one of pure unbridled anger, rage. The room thrums around you, the Force singing, pressure on your inner ears making them pop, with how angry he is. The General chokes and sputters, his face beet red, the veins in his neck bulging out so hard you’re sure they’re bound to burst. He flails, legs kicking out from under him, and everyone watches with ramrod stiff backs, not daring to make a move, not daring to take one single breath.

Freezing him in place, Kylo rises from his throne, descends the few steps until he’s at the same level as the other senior officers. Kylo grabs the old General’s face, forcibly turns his gaze to look at you.

“Take a long look,” His voice is dark, otherworldly, the Dark Side of the Force flowing through him as his grip on the General’s jaw is so tight that it cracks, snaps, and the General screams. “It’s the last one you’ll ever have.”

With that, the man’s scream is silenced, and his body crumples to the floor.

“Out, all of you.” Kylo snaps, energy crackling around his gloves, sparks snapping as his hands clench and unclench out of fists.

The officers file out, carrying the body of the General with them. Kylo doesn’t care what happens to him, he can be thrown out of an airlock and he wouldn’t be missed. The Force is still crackling around Kylo, even as he storms back to the throne, sits down harshly against the brutalist architecture of the thing.

“Come here.” He pats his thigh a little aggressively, and you can’t deny the way your pussy clenches from the anger, the heat in his voice.

You are almost always in control, but in moments like these, Kylo truly was the Supreme Leader, and you had no desire to disobey him. Straddling his thighs, you slink your body against him, curling and curving your shoulders in to cover him in a cage of your body, your lips pressing small kisses to his neck and jaw.

“Talk to me.” You whisper, wanting to know what the hell happened.

You should’ve expected the answer, but it still makes you warm with pride when he tells you, “He – I – he was thinking about you. They don’t get to think about you like that.”

“Like how?” You rub his chest, the thick padded material of his tunic only enhancing his already massively wide frame.

“Naked, subservient, suppliant.” Sparks snap and fly as the lights give out in the ceiling above you, the room starts to shake, his anger returning and manifesting in electrical failures as the surge of energy rips through the throne room. “Not on my fucking watch. Not in this galaxy or any other. Show me your cunt.”

You do as he tells you, lifting up the fabric of your dress’ skirt. You’re wearing comfortable underwear, and a pair of invisible hands tears them straight through, exposing your soaked pussy to the electric air around you.

Almost immediately, he’s biting off his glove and roughly thrusting three big fingers inside your pussy, making you breathe out quick little gasps to accommodate the stretch. He’s got his eyes trained on it, determined and focused, watching his fingers disappear into you, feeling the tight hot wetness of your walls around him.

“Thank you Kylo, you’re so good to me, protecting me like this.” You moan, your pussy dripping for him. You loved it, loved when he killed for you, loved when he let his possessive streak break through the carefully curated calm he operated under. There was something wild and dangerous and primally attractive about him when he snaps, and you never cease to appreciate when he snaps on your behalf.

“You’re mine.” Kylo growls, reading your thoughts, thrusting his fingers in a little harder.

“All yours, claim me, show them all just how much I belong to you.” You stretch your neck for him, and he latches his mouth to your pulse point, sucking and breaking the blood vessels in your skin to leave dark marks in his wake.

He fucks you fast and hard with his fingers, the squelch of your cunt echoing across the throne room. Kylo leans back, his legs spread under you, the Force holding you up. You can feel the tendrils of it, the wisps of untethered energy snaking around your body, and you welcome it gladly. It sings, and so does the bond you share with Kylo, pulsing and throbbing like your pussy on his fingers.

“I’m the only one that gets to do this.” Kylo seethes, jaw clenched so tightly, the possessive jealousy flaring up, only growing stronger, stoking hot hot hotter, “That gets to feel you like this.”

“Yes, yes Kylo, only you -- only yours.” You gasp and moan and writhe on his body, your legs spreading as far as they can go to allow him better access, your hips widening, body relaxing for him to take those fingers deeper.

“I’ll kill them, every last one of them who dares to disrespect you that way, who dares to think even for a moment they can have you the way I do.” Kylo’s eyes are frantic with lust and love and power, power so rich and deep that it makes you moan.

“More Kylo, give me more.” You egg him on, encourage him, hips gyrating and grinding down onto his hand.

“I’ll kill them!” Kylo shouts, all his energy pent up with nowhere to go, and you immediately tangle your hands in his hair, kissing him.

Your bodies move together in time, and soon you’re overwhelmed with the feeling of him, overwhelmed with how he’s electrifying you from the inside out.

“I’m going to come, do you – should I wait until you’re in me?” You pant, forcing your eyes open even though your vision is blinded by pleasure, spots and stars beginning to creep across your gaze.

“No, come on my fingers I want to watch you fall apart.” Kylo shakes and the room shakes around you, anything that isn’t bolted down goes flying as he kisses you harshly, tears welling up in his eyes, “You’re so beautiful, the most beautiful creature in the universe.”

“Kylo!” You gasp then, because you feel something shoving its way up through you, reaching the very deepest parts of your pleasure, alighting all your nerves, and you cry, sobbing around the stimulation, how good it is, how pure, “Kylo the-the Force – I – ”

“Shh, I know, do you want it? It wants to protect you just like I do, it’ll do anything for you just like I will.” Kylo’s almost deranged with his love for you, he caresses your cheek with a trembling hand as his other hand busies itself with your clit, your whole body convulsing in his lap as the Force fucks you fast and hard. “Do you want it?”

“Yes,” You wail, “I want it, I want you, Kylo – yes!”

It explodes through your nerves, every single cell of your body crashing with pleasure, and you scream his name, over and over again, just from his fingers and the extension of the universe that he wields, that he fucks you with until you’re a sobbing trembling mess. You come, gushing hard on his hand, until the sloppy slick feeling of his knuckles against your walls pulls away, and you’re gulping down breaths with the biggest, blissed out grin on your face.

With your body pliant and soft, he pulls his cock out. It takes a minute or two because of all the fasteners of his trousers, but it’s hard and angry just like him. You settle down on top of it easily, your pussy perfectly stretched and well fucked enough to take it without any effort, and you cry against his neck, pleasure dancing through your bones still.

“You’re going to sit here, just like this.” Kylo turns his face to kiss you, to kiss up your hot tears, to caress you and calm you and bring you back down from this high he’s given you. “And everyone who comes in is going to see what a perfect woman you are, and I’m going to come in you all day, until you’re filled to the brim, and everyone will know it’s my come.”

His voice is gentle and soft, he’s no longer angry, having gotten it all out through your orgasm.

“Yes.” You agree, cozying up against his chest, resting your head against his shoulder, your arms limp and loose around his neck, as love pounds through your Force bond, a constant feedback loop of adoration and reverence, so much that you can’t tell what comes from you or what comes from Kylo.

It doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as everyone knows where it ends – with the two of you together, “Yes they will.”

[generallypo]

in all sincerity, kim dokja makes me happy and he deserves to be so too :^(

incoherent yelling and sobbing under the cut. these fEELINGS will not be contained aaauuunnghhh. 

------

anyway i binge-read all 500+ chapters of ORV this week and i honest to god feel bad for this -- completely! fictional! aghhhh -- guy. in case you haven’t figured it out, the following is some spoilerly shit

i went in expecting a fun, brainless power trip fantasy for dudes with an isekai addiction. instead, it turns out ORV is actually a gigantic, self-deprecating prank on the entire genre itself. kdj plays more into the sad -- if high-functioning-- clown trope than the sexy, edgy, chuuni bastard type i was prepared to laugh at. there were -- gasp! -- female characters with personalities! parents (aka ADULTS who act like ADULTS) who actually survive and feature prominently! adorable children! a real sexy, edgy bastard! a power trio with amazing fashion! sexual tension and bickering! friendship! life and death bonding! 

*breathes in deeply* fouND FAMILYYYYYYY.

like, yeah, the plot around the first few arcs seems a little aimless, but the buildup is worth. the world-building is pretty decent. there’s discernible effort put into the fight scenes, and i can appreciate that. but -- but! what i stayed for were the characters -- namely, the fantastic OT3 of KDJ, HSY, and YJH -- who come together despite their initial rivalries and end up saving each other’s asses, like, every other day. granted, the other characters don’t get as much focus, and they do fall into certain character tropes.. 

but a trope done well is nothing i would gripe about. every significant character in ORV has a coherent, and more importantly, respectful take on their respective trope. maybe it’s because sing-shong is actually a married couple, but all the interactions between even minor characters are a convincing blend of awkward rambling, suggestive humor, sharp remarks, and casual banter. in other words, this cast of mostly working adults (plus a teen and two kids) talks like working adults. the relationships built throughout the story are, frankly, some of most realistic of its genre. sing-shong has managed to craft a dynamic that undoubtedly brims with fluffy fondness all around, but also drips with sarcastic tension, with unspoken urgency, with a wariness that softens into sincerity over the course of many, many chapters. it’s the kind of progression that makes even stock characters read like more than just the 2-bit villain or comrade or love interest. here, we have relationships both straightforward and not, strained or otherwise, romantically-oriented as well as decidedly the opposite -- and then numerous others scattered along the spectrum with the freedom to shift either way. 

it’s also an interesting point of note that our MC kdj actually does not end up with a stated romantic partner, much less a conventional heteroromantic harem. he gets teased about that fact from time to time, but it’s with less of the sleazy shonen locker room humor one would expect and more of the good-natured ribbing you’d find among friends or that one especially nosy auntie at the yearly family reunion. kdj is a grown ass man. in the background, i applaud his maturity, and he handles all the prodding like a champ. 

so instead of finding and fulfilling his horny, he builds himself a wealth of loving family. yeah, there are beautiful men and women around him. yeah, they unequivocally adore him. but they’re also adults, and they have priorities, too -- which are not so much finding a way to bang kdj’s brains out and more so simply keeping the damn guy alive. this is truly not ‘oblivious mc with his thirsty, sex kitten harem’. it just so happens that a guy proves himself to be unflinchingly gentle and capable in an apocalyptic setting despite his broken self-esteem, and lots of people find that attractive, romantically and platonically. 

it.. kinda makes sense? he’s a hard worker, thoughtful, and good with kids. kdj is the kind of guy you know would make a reliable partner, and anybody with eyes can plainly see and appreciate that. 

and it’s not that our MC’s a total brick wall. in fact, it’s likely the opposite, and he’s just too darned repressed to admit it. from what has been implied, kdj does indeed recognize and accept love, or at least a primitive concept of it. i like to imagine that the kind of love that he ends up seeking out simply manifests itself more easily as acceptance and safety, as warmth and a home of people to return to every day. even better, the people who surround him know this, and they give him exactly that. it’s refreshing, and honestly, really sweet.

(as a side note, i really, really do appreciate the cosmic bi energy radiating off of kdj, who canonically earns the title of being loved by all and is all but in name married to yjh and hsy. he also respects women and small children and honestly anyone who isn’t total scum to him or his family. i respect that.)

but the happy stuff aside, you know it it just ain’t ORV without the generous screaming dollop of angst. admittedly, there’s self-sacrifice, injury, lonesome wandering, more sacrifice, some epic fighting, reunion and confrontation. all of it is a lot to digest, sure, but never does it feel entirely hopeless, or truly, truly heart-clenching. ORV, up until the final act, is a mostly light read. you relax in your chair, thinking that nothing beyond this point can disturb you. 

yeah fucking right.

------

and then the beginning of the end arrives. when the squad finally break through to their ‘ending’, the scene that kind of breaks me is the reveal of the Most Ancient Dream. it ties so much thematically into the little tidbits that we get of kdj’s past, and it though it feels like almost a joke that the source of the goddamn apocalypse is a kid with bruises smeared across his skinny ass body -- it’s such a pathetic picture that it’s kinda poetic, actually. you’re left mystified but somewhat convinced, like a math problem explained halfway through. this.. child.. is a villain somehow, isn’t he?

and then 999th turn uriel speaks up, and she. just. hugs him. 

[[You are this universe’s most powerless existence, aren’t you.]] 

that. that gets me. kdj’s reaction immediately upon this revelation? absolute murder. seeing him essentially self-destruct upon realizing that all these people he’s surrounded himself with -- some who continuously proclaim their loyalty and affection for him throughout their journey, some who suffered eons of war and loss and trauma because of his existence -- not only forgive his younger self but smother him with unconditional acceptance and love is stifling, is too vulnerable and exposed and he simply can’t cope -- it’s so telling of his true mentality, of his crippling insecurity and crumpled sense of self-worth. kim dokja is a liar, through and through, so much that he fails, or perhaps refuses, to comprehend the veracity of others’ kindness and love towards himself. 

by some miracle, the events at the end of the world somehow resolve.. or so it seems. there is a departing train, a liberated team of ex-gods, and a child rousing from his slumber. in the aftermath, i am left shaking. somehow, despite the ending having been (happily?) reached, there’s still another chapter ahead. what is this witchcraft?

------

and then ah, yes -- the epilogue arc. i teetered on the edge of being critical for a little bit there -- is that display of deus ex machina, of sad, self-sacrificing nobility a bit too egregious to be acceptable? is this some wild last let-me-yank-this-outta-my-ass plot twist to drag out the chapter count? i sincerely thought that the arc before it would have been the finale. i was wrong. thank god.

anyways, as an answer to the above: no, and no. i stake my firm claim on the belief that the epilogue arc was meticulously planned out well in advance of its release, confusing and time-warpy as it is. i liked it. tremendously. even if it entirely invalidates all of kdj’s supposed development (”haha lol yeah sure i won’t sacrifice myself or anything anymore guys don’t worry about me” -- KDJ, at some point because he’s a lying rat bastard). actually, our beloved MC disappears for a large chunk of this arc, and i think it’s great. in his absence, the other characters not only go absolutely fucking nuts, but they have to figure out this new problem on their own, even if the lure of peaceful complacency in the newly saved Korea might convince them otherwise. 

and then the whole time paradox thing comes around. yjh goes to space, hsy saves the only life she can, and kdj grows up. the crew waits, holding onto their hope even if it bleeds them dry. sing-shong does a damn good job of illustrating their fraying calm, their lurking madness, the unseen but pervasive depression that seeps in from kdj’s absence. the kids lose their father, lhs and jhw lose their reliable leader figure, ysa loses a best friend and confidant, lsk -- as distant as she pretends to be from her son -- loses her only child. and then there’s hsy and yjh , who are essentially bereft of the other half of their existences. their pain is palpable, is grounded in the hopeless, gnawing frustration of an utterly meaningless victory. emotionally, ORV hits all the right -- if agonizing -- beats.

however, a story can’t sustain itself just through its pathos. i’m happy to say that ORV doesn’t drop the ball after the first milestone, and after all the hurt, the characters do leap straight back into action. even better, the plot holes actually do get patches, and the poetic cycle of writer, protagonist, and reader comes full circle by making use of all those supposedly throwaway characters from the myriad world lines. 

at the end of the road, there is a distinct sense of unity, of a delicate but undeniable cohesion to the world lines and their origins. sing-shong lets us guess a little here at the finish, but there’s just enough information to feel hopeful. maybe there never had been a definite start -- or finish -- to the story of kdj company, and... that’s okay. everybody ends up where they were meant to be, where they fought and struggled to reach. it’s.. almost like a happily ever after, if we’re allowed to dream of that.

------

now, i realize, this was all an orchestrated maneuver.

i’ll take it.

to me, all of this work sounds like someone put some serious thought into this behemoth of a plot. it cements the entire original premise of the story. it suggests -- but never explicitly confirms! -- the possibility that breaking free of the cycle is possible through the exact same system that sustains it. it’s terribly interesting -- and inspirational! with all the dramatic revelations and life-threatening scenarios  and the cast’s resigned acceptance of them that essentially make up ORV’s entire mood, there’s still that last hint of rebellious and righteous anger that lights up the whole damn nebula. it’s like the kdj company blasting away at the heavens just to yell into the nether: we’re not looking for the happy end, but the free one. stay alive.

it’s subtle, and yet it’s such an emotional gut punch. i came away with the most ruinous, frustrating, bittersweet sense of longing in ages. i pined. for these fictional darlings. god, i am weak.

so. yeah. ORV is pretty good. flawed, but ambitious and impressively thought out.  i’m stoked that the webtoon is making pretty good progress, even if it’ll take an eternity and a half to meet that monstrous chapter count. i’m still gonna follow it. hell yeah. 

------

(by the way the idea that secretive plotter and co are literally gonna take care of and raise baby kdj and spoil him and be the best friggin family a kid could ever want does things to me. protect him. he’s suffered too much. let at least one worldline’s version of him know happiness. and actually, aLL OF THEM DESERVE DOMESTIC BLISS TOGETHER IN A BIG OL MANSION WITH SUN AND FRESH AIR AND TENDER FAMILY MOMENTS UGH)

------

and there you have it, folks. you made it to the end. in the far, far distance, i’m cheering you on and crying my eyes out in gratitude. thanks for tuning in!

[thebiscuiteternal]

I had an evil thought on twitter and way too many people encouraged it, SO-

“Collecting the Pieces”

Mild Horror, Family Secrets, Mental Instability, Magical Fuckups, Sangyao-lite, Nie Huaisang Doesn’t Know Yet, Jin Guangyao Is About To Know More Than He Ever Wanted To

__________

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang.

It manifests in small signs at first.

Little things like how he would look at a person, but not at them, green eyes dull as if he wasn’t actually seeing who he was talking to. The unnaturally pale tint to his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes. The fact that his robes had gotten heavier over thr last several months, trying to hide that he was getting thinner.

The incident where he had lost consciousness in the middle of a discussion with Ouyang-furen and had only been saved from cracking his skull against the floor by the reflexes of his head disciple was… concerning. But like all of the other symptoms, it could easily be tallied up as exhaustion from lingering grief and having so much responsibility dumped onto an unprepared back.

But then...

Then there are the conversations none of them can hear. Those moments where he sits with his head slightly bowed, staring at nothing and lips moving silently.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and for those not of his sect, his presence has gone from mildly concerning to downright unnerving.

Jin Guangyao has to point out to his father more than once that they have only just averted the conflict with the previous sect leader; to bar the new one from the discussion conferences just because he seems strange would be an insult tantamount to inviting war, even if Nie Hengbai does seem to be doing all the talking for the Nie at the moment, his sect leader a quiet little shadow at his side.

He finds it a unique opportunity to observe, in fact. Everyone is so unsettled by the mere fact that Nie Huaisang converses with empty air that no one has apparently thought to find out what he is saying when he does .

The seating arrangement isn’t ideal. The only person besides his own disciples who doesn’t seem to be scared off by Nie Huaisang’s unnatural behavior is Jiang-zongzhu, who pointedly settles himself on the opposite side from Nie Hengbai and scowls at all gossipers, their host included. His height half-blocks Nie Huaisang from view.

But still, Jin Guangyao can see.

And as he watches the words fall unheard from Nie Huaisang’s mouth, he feels a chill slowly creep up his spine.

‘Da-ge, come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I'll be good. Please come back. Please, Da-ge…’

He is glad that his sleeves hide the involuntary clenching of his hands.

While he knows better than to completely dismiss a possibility, no matter how small the odds, his mind nonetheless rebels at the first idea to enter it. It cannot actually be Nie Mingjue's resentful ghost haunting his little brother. Even if it had been whole, if he and Xue Yang had not scattered it with the man's physical pieces, it is decidedly not Nie Huaisang that the man would be tormenting with his presence if he were capable.

Isn't it?

And yet, he cannot shake the cold in his bones.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he will seek out the source.

---

"San-ge?"

Nie Huaisang blinks at him, eyes glassy and confused. He tilts his head questioningly like the birds he is so fond of, then slowly regains awareness of his surroundings and smiles, looking more like himself.

Jin Guangyao forcibly clamps down on a shudder. "It's good to see you, Sang-er," he says, allowing himself to adopt the regional address since they are nowhere near the judging eyes of Koi Tower. He reaches out and sweeps the younger man's hair out of his eyes, then tuts in concern. "Are you still not sleeping well?"

"Ah-" Nie Huaisang flinches and looks embarrassed at the gentle chiding. "It's… nothing, really. Busy times and too much paperwork, that's all. Can I get you anything?"

"I just need to look over some map records, if you don't mind. A handful of small sects have brought a problem to my father, and I'm afraid our own records are… a bit lacking."

The younger man simply nods, accepting the excuse at face value, and Jin Guangyao isn't sure if that says something about Nie Huaisang's state of mind, or the Jin sect's reputation for ignoring anything that isn't expenditures or debts to be collected. Either way, when Nie Huaisang reaches out to tug his sleeve, he goes willingly and tries to ignore the slightly unsteady sway to his friend's pace.

Even though the poor end to his relationship with Nie Mingjue had been loud and public enough that the whole of the Unclean Realms knew about it before the day had even ended, he is apparently still a familiar enough face that barely anyone pays him mind.

Indeed, most of their worried glances are directed towards their sect leader.

He refuses to examine the possible reasons why that might be settling sour in his stomach.

They are still a few halls and turns away from the library when Nie Huaisang lets go of his sleeve and puts a hand to his head, looking even more pale than before. Jin Guangyao catches him before he can topple into the wall and then bites his tongue when green eyes slide over him, gaze unseeing.

“Sang-er?” he asks cautiously.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes don’t clear, but he seems to still be at least halfway lucid. “I’m sorry… I don’t feel well. I think I need to stay here. You remember the rest of the way, don’t you?”

“I do, but this is no proper place for you to rest.” He leans around the corner and waves over a passing servant. “Would you assist Nie-zongzhu to his room, please?”

“Of course, of course,” the woman says in a tone that conveys she is apparently -unfortunately- used to this. “Come along,” she says, taking hold of Nie Huaisang’s hand and wrapping a steadying arm around his waist, as if guiding a lost child, and he follows her lead without complaint.

Jin Guangyao watches them go and squashes that sour feeling when it threatens to churn.

Answers.

Answers first.

---

The library he needs, he has decided, is not the primary library, the one that Nie Huaisang had been taking him to. No, he seeks out the room buried so deep in the Unclean Realms that no daylight reaches it, that he had only stumbled upon by accident back when he had been employed here.

Lighting the only lantern in the room with a flame talisman, he finds that nothing has changed since the last time he was here other than a thickening of the layer of dust.

Swallowing hard, he straightens his back and starts with the family records.

---

‘After much deliberation and testimony from the physicians and healers involved in the care of the first young master, it is the advice of the sect elders that- ’

He has relit the lantern twice, and he’s fairly sure it’s long past dinner when he sinks into a chair and slaps the open scroll down onto the table, feeling lightheaded and shaky.

A spirit-tethering.

Until he had seen the books Lan Xichen carried from the library of the Cloud Recesses, such a thing had been the stuff of fantasy stories. Even in the vaunted Lan texts, it was only described in abstract theory.

And yet there was apparently enough foundation to it that a serious proposal had been made to cast such a thing between a pair of children to keep Nie Mingjue from being torn apart by the saber he’d bonded with far too young.

He forces himself to keep reading, feeling his stomach sink with every passage.

Nie Haoran had argued viciously against the idea for two years, even offering himself as the tether, only to be shot down due to his own unstable health. He had only given in when his son had experienced his first qi deviation at eleven years of age.

Eleven years old.

Nie Huaisang would have only been five.

Jin Guangyao bites his tongue again and presses the back of his hand to his mouth to forcibly swallow back the bile that bubbles up in his throat.

The mechanics of the matter only make the horror of it even more stark. The only ones who would have been able to undo the tether would have been the brothers themselves. He finds notes, plans, all written in Nie Mingjue’s sharp-edged calligraphy, of how he would set his brother free once his own health became too compromised but before his mind was too unstable…

But he hadn’t done it.

Hadn’t been able to do it.

He’d deteriorated too quickly.

Instead...

Nausea continuing to roil in his guts like a thunder cloud, Jin Guangyao rolls up the scroll and shoves it back into place with enough force that it crumples, practically fleeing the room even though there is no monster there to escape, just-

It is indeed dark outside as he traverses the hallways, barely able to restrain himself from running.

No one answers when he knocks at Nie Huaisang’s door. He sucks in a sharp breath to ground himself, then carefully pushes it open.

The room is as stark as he remembers from his last visit. Though he knows he Lan Xichen have both offered to help, Nie Huaisang has yet to start replacing any of the possessions that his brother had burnt. There is a tray of food on the table near the bed, untouched and probably long cold.

The person he’s seeking is curled up on the bed on top of the covers, still fully dressed. Fingers twitch and scratch at his own arms as he shivers, most likely in the throes of a nightmare.

His lips are moving.

Jin Guangyao doesn’t dare read them.

He closes the door behind him and crosses the room to the bed. Nie Huaisang doesn’t react to the dip in the mattress as he sits down, nor to being pulled and shifted until the younger man’s head rests in his lap. When he gently removes the guan from his hair and begins combing out the braids, however, the fit finally eases, the anxious lines of Nie Huaisang’s face smoothing out as he calms.

Jin Guangyao closes his eyes for a moment and sighs.

He now knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he knows he is at fault.

He could lay the blame elsewhere. He wants to. The elders who’d made the proposal... Nie Haoran for allowing it... the healers who’d carried it out… It is most tempting to blame Nie Mingjue for having not undone it as soon as they were both grown.

But no. The fact of the matter is that Nie Huaisang’s condition can be laid at his feet. Had he not hastened Nie Mingjue’s death… He doesn’t regret that.

He refuses to let himself regret that.

But this…

Grief could be moved past.

Missing pieces could not.

He opens his eyes to find Nie Huaisang has shifted to curl against him, and he allows himself a small, weak smile as he begins carding his fingers through silken hair again.

He knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and perhaps he can’t fix the damage already done, but there are still things he can do. Information he can find, pieces he can move or remove. He can make things easier.

“It will be alright,” he murmurs, then leans down and gently presses a kiss to the sleeping young man’s temple. The gesture makes Nie Huaisang snuggle closer in his sleep, and his own smile gains strength.  “I took care of er-gongzi before, I will be happy to take care of zongzhu now. He is my responsibility, after all.”

[caretaker-au]

Chapter 06

Chara stirred, their bleary eyes cracking open. The windowless bedroom provided no clues as to the time, so they clicked on their phone, squinting at the harsh blue light.

4:51 AM. They had only been asleep for a couple of hours.

Chara sighed and flipped the phone face down on the nightstand. They rolled over and reached towards Asriel’s side of the bed, but their hand splayed across empty sheets. Distant laughter twittered from somewhere outside the door.

They bolted up, their senses surging with adrenaline. The murmur of familiar voices could be heard down the hall, something that would be normal if not for the bizarre time of day.

Chara slipped into suitable clothes and stole to the bedroom door. They doubled back for their knife, hiding it in the waistband of their pants with their oversized shirt on top. Just in case.

The moment they stepped outside their door, Chara felt their chest tighten. On the other side of the house-- down the hall and past two entryways-- Asgore, Toriel, and Asriel were seated at the dining table. They were fully dressed and chatting softly but excitedly over tea and the leftovers of a cake Chara had baked two days ago. At the head of the table was Frisk, a small smile on their lips while they listened to Toriel and Asgore argue over the best way to make hot cocoa.

Frisk’s eye caught Chara’s movement and the child froze, their eyes widening. Toriel trailed off mid sentence, and leaned over the table to follow Frisk’s stare down the hall. Asriel and Asgore followed suit.

“Oh, Chara! I’m sorry, we didn't mean to wake you,” Asgore said with an apologetic smile.

Chara swallowed, willing themselves to approach. “What… is this.”

“You have met Frisk already, yes?” Toriel gestured to the child, oblivious to how the color had drained from their face, “When we heard a human was imprisoned here, we decided to check on them right away. Did you know they were never given supper? Captive or no, a child needs to be cared for.”

“After having a little chat, we brought them here,” Asgore continued, “And don't worry, we have things completely under control.”

Chara came to a stop just within the entryway of the living room. Their neck felt stiff as they turned their head to look at Asriel. Their voice shook, “You told them.”

“No, it was an accident--” Asriel floundered, “I didn’t mean to. After you went to bed, Mom caught me pacing out here. She-- you know how she is-- she got it out of me and woke up Dad. I wanted to bring you along too, but you were so sick before and I didn't want to disturb you.” Asriel took a breath, “And… and… I mean, we were gonna tell them soon anyway, right?”

“Frankly, I'm a little disappointed you thought you couldn't trust us.” Toriel added, “You know you can depend on us.”

Unable to meet their eyes, Chara looked down at the floor in an attempt to regain composure. “I cannot believe I didn't expect this,” they muttered, “You always fail me the first time around, Asriel.”

Frisk and Asriel shared a quick glance.

“What?” Asriel couldn’t hide the offense in his voice, “Chara, listen: I'm sorry for telling Mom and Dad so soon. But it ended up okay! Frisk explained that this was all a massive misunderstanding.”

“No. You listen.” Chara cut in, their eyes laced with intensity. They pointed at Frisk, “The human is manipulating you. I cannot stress enough the danger it poses. Is it not enough that it assaulted me upon our first meeting? Or need I remind you what one of its kind did to your arm, Asriel?”

Asriel touched his scarred arm. If anyone had a reply, no one said it out loud.

“Right,” Chara nodded, “Now step aside and I will escort the human back to its cell.” Chara began to approach the head of the table and Frisk shrunk back in their seat with a quiet, “No, please--”

“Chara, wait.” Asriel stood and held up their hand, bringing Chara to a halt. “Frisk is different. I think they are one of the good ones. Like you.”

“We are nothing alike.” Chara spat.

“I would not be so quick to say that!” Toriel jumped in, “Frisk was telling us how they came here. This child has no family, no home, but they have a good heart and deserve a second chance.” She set her large hand over the top of Frisk’s hand, and Frisk clutched it back.

“And I know we agreed that the Underground has no room for dangerous humans,” Asgore rose from his seat to stand behind Frisk’s chair, “But Frisk explained they thought you were going to… well, hurt them. I’m sure that wasn’t your intent, but that explains why you two didn’t get along. Frisk was just scared.”

“Hey, I know! Why don’t we start over from the beginning? Chara, Frisk, you two should introduce yourself to each other again,” Asriel said. Undaunted by Chara’s glare, he walked behind Chara and rested a hand on each shoulder, giving them a slight push forward.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Toriel beamed. Frisk gave Toriel a frantic look, shaking their head. The resistance seemed to only bolster Toriel’s confidence. She stood from her chair and reached a hand out to help Frisk down, “It is all right, my child. You are safe with us.”

Frisk weighed the encouraging looks of the Dreemurrs against Chara’s glower. Tentatively, they took Toriel’s hand and climbed down from the tall chair.

Now unblocked by the table, Chara noted Frisk was no longer dressed as they were before: they wore only the leggings they had beneath their shorts and a faded green striped shirt. Chara’s old shirt from when they were thirteen.The wretched thing had managed to infiltrate the royal family in less than one night.

Frisk stepped forward with hesitant optimism and Chara closed the gap in turn.

“Hello,” Frisk began, forcing a smile, “My name is Frisk.” They raised their hand, but Chara didn’t take it. Frisk kept it suspended and closed their hand into a thumbs up. “I hope we can get along.”

Chara looked from Frisk’s hand to the delighted, traitorous smiles of Dreemurrs. The caretaker sighed, running a hand through their bedraggled hair before leveling their gaze back at Frisk.

Chara spoke in a soft voice. “Erase this.”

“Huh?” Frisk raised an eyebrow, but Chara had already changed their stance. In one decisive motion, they drew their blade from hiding, and slashed across Frisk’s throat.

Pandemonium followed the spill of blood.

Toriel shrieked, grabbing Frisk as they crumpled to the ground. Chara tossed the knife to the side moments before being charged by Asgore, who thrusted them up and against the wall. The impact was jarring, stars briefly manifesting in Chara’s vision while they tried to take in the chaotic aftermath.

Asriel was frozen in abject horror, fixated on the blood pooling on the hardwood floor. Toriel called his name three times before he broke from his trance, looking over to his mother.

“Asriel, help me!” she shrieked. Still shell-shocked, Asriel stumbled forward and dropped to his knees, lending his healing magic to the dying child.

“You are wasting your time.” Chara muttered, but their voice was drowned out by unintelligible threats from Asgore.

“Mom…” Frisk rasped, blood gurgling from the cut in their throat.

“I am here, child,” Toriel choked, “You’re going to be alright. Stay determined…” Frisk’s vision swam with delirium, and their eyes listed towards Chara. For a moment, they met the eyes of their killer. Then, they were gone.

Frisk’s soul manifested above their body, casting the room in harsh red light. But before the Dreemurrs could comprehend what they were seeing, it shattered in a flash, a breathless silence following in its wake.

“Finally,” Chara sighed. All eyes locked onto them, and Chara responded with a sly smile, “Everyone, I’ll see you earlier.”

“You killed them!” Asgore roared, slamming Chara against the wall again for emphasis, “You killed them!”

“Yes. I know.” Chara said, scowling in pain and irritation. They looked back at Frisk’s body, “I am getting pretty good at it.”

“I should tear you apart, Chara!”

“Then do so, Asgore,” Chara replied, “It does not matter. All of this will end soon.”

“Asriel!” Toriel sobbed, still trying to heal Frisk, “You need to get help!” Asriel was trembling, his breath reduced to short, tight bursts. Toriel grabbed her son by the shoulder, shaking him, “Asriel, go get help!”

“I’m sorry,” Asriel whimpered, tears running down his face, “This is all my fault.”

Toriel let go of Asriel, and turned to her husband, “Asgore! Call for help now!”

Asgore released Chara, who stumbled to the floor. They had barely regained their balance when Asgore grasped them by the arm, hauling them towards the landline phone. “What should we do with Chara?”

Toriel’s eyes were dark with grief and rage. “Get them out of my sight. That is not my Chara.”

chapter 06 // end

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[good-rwbyaus]

Unnamed Crack Time Travel Fic. Part 3 [first] [prev]

After Salem united all four relics, the gods descended and judged Humanity to be unworthy, obliterating all. Ruby desperately activates her Semblance to avoid the blow and, as a result, becomes only one of two people remaining in Remnant. Months later, the two employ a plan to travel back through time.

Chronic!Backstabber!Syndrome!Cinder, DoneWithEverything!Ruby, transcended!Ruby, crack time travel AU. - mod lilac

p.s this thing seriously needs a name. 

Everything had been a blur after Ruby laid eyes on her Mom, her Mom that had been dead for a good part of her life suddenly here in the flesh. She was so out of it that she completely missed the part where Cinder convinced her Mom and the rest of her company to go back home - and that she’d take her to Patch for a check-up with a doctor.

How Cinder knew her Mom, Ruby didn’t know. Why her Mom trusted Cinder to any degree was also something that eluded her. Nothing was right in this universe - nothing at all.

After Ruby was absolutely sure that the rest of them were out of earshot, she turned around and hissed at Cinder, “What did you do?!” 

“What do you mean?” Cinder tilted her head, confused and appearing slightly hurt, “Are you okay, Ruby? I know it can be a bit confusing when you have amnesia, but trust me when I say that I have your best interests at heart.”

Ruby paused at the concerned expression on Cinder’s face before shaking her head, “No. Sorry. I’m fine.” She turned around to face the forest path leading to Patch - and missed the bright ecstatic grin on Cinder’s face as she manifested a glass knife into her hands. 

Cinder lifted up the knife silently. And with a single motion, she mercilessly stabbed down at her young charge’s back. Happiness lit Cinder’s eyes as the blade encountered no resistance - but she quickly paled as she noticed that she did not draw blood but a flurry of petals instead. The girl she just attacked just turned her head with a mildly annoyed look.

And then everything went topsy-turvy to Cinder as she was buffeted away by a gale of red petals.

“Best interests at heart, my cute ass!” Ruby crowed at Cinder triumphantly,  “I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist stabbing me in the back.”

Letting out a small pout, Cinder could only dematerialize her dagger in defeat. Her best shot after two years of planning and she blew it. “I can’t help it. It’s a nice back.” 

Ruby rolled her eyes at Cinder’s reply. “Does stabbing people in the back really make you that happy? Can’t you try...to like not?”   

“Yes it does,” she affirmed before shrugging, “As for your other question....why mess with what works?”

“Ugh. There’s no reasoning with you,” Ruby clicked her tongue, “Also, not that I’m complaining, but why’s my mom alive? And why does she trust you so much?”

“Well, that’s because I saved her life,” Cinder responded smugly, theatrically shifting her weight on the balls and heels of her feet and not giving any more information past that. 

“...And how’d you do that?” Ruby had no choice but to play along.

“Oh you know. Salem bragged about how your mom was the prototype for those talking Grimm, so I asked how long ago she’d been experimenting. Put two-and-two together and knowing where Salem would be at that time, I managed to save your mom from certain death,” Cinder smugly said, tilting her nose high.

A moment of silence fell between them.

“...Thanks,” Ruby said with a soft smile, “I mean it.”  

“And then when she was all grateful and saw me having Emerald and Mercury around, I told her that I always wanted to be a godmother,” Cinder continued proudly, “And she made me your godmother. And now I’m in charge of you brats’ training.”

“Wait. Why did you want to be a godm-” Ruby paused for a moment, eyes widening in disbelief. She stared dully at Cinder. “Did you seriously save my mom just so you could stab me in the back and call it training?”

“Nooooo...” Cinder said before crumpling under Ruby’s dubious gaze, “...yeessss?”

Ruby just facepalmed at the admission and groaned in frustration. The sky reacted to her displeasure, fluffy white clouds turning into a sinister gray. The faint rumble of thunder reminded Cinder that the small twelve-year old girl in front of her was still Remnant’s goddess, even if the events that led her there hadn’t quite happened yet. 

“So...” Cinder hummed as she changed the subject, “you gonna go smite Salem right now or you gonna pretend to be a harmless 12 year old kid?”

“Well I was going to run away from home and look for Salem,” Ruby admitted, “Not that I can permanently destroy her with the power I currently have but I’d get some satisfaction beating her up after all the crap she’s put me through.” She rested her hands against the back of her head, “But you know, since you did save my mom, I would like to be a normal 12 year old kid for a while.”

“What?” Cinder said in surprise, “I thought you’d be all gung-ho about saving the world as fast as possible. You know, being the hero.”

“Eh, your perspective changes when the entire world starts hunting you and your team for a promise the Queen of All Grimm would never keep. And in the end, didn’t she destroy the world?” Ruby rolled her eyes, “I’ll save the world eventually, but it’s not them I’m doing it for. Besides with me around, no one’s gonna be able to hurt my friends and family.” 

“Do I count as friends and family?”

“...Did you murder anyone you weren’t supposed to?”

“I murdered my abusive stepmother and stepsisters again. Which was just as satisfying as before, might I add. And I definitely remembered that I didn’t have my Maiden Powers while I was at it too,” Cinder lifted three fingers as she recalled, “And I st-”

“That’s suspiciously specific,” Ruby squinted her eyes. 

“-abbed Rhodes just to say hi. And afterwards, I pi-”

“Who the heck is Rhodes?”

“-cked up the kids and hung around Solitas and Atlas. Pretended to be a researcher for a while and stole all of Watt’s future ideas and reported them as mine.”

“How’d you do that?”

“He was pretty whiny back then about how Ironwood ignored his genius. And very vocal about his ideas and why they were so genius, so I just “beat him” to his ideas.”

“So you stabbed him in the back for something he’ll do in the future?”

“Mad about it?” Cinder rose an eyebrow.

“After what he did to Penny. Not really,” Ruby laughed, “I’m just surprised you didn’t literally stab him in the back too.”

Cinder harumphed.

“I’m not stupid. Stabbing Watts in the heart of Atlas? Even with Emerald, I won’t be able to get away. Besides... I can’t get enough of that smarmy idiot being frustrated that a woman half his age is besting him in brains.”

“Because you’re stealing his ideas.”

“Well, maybe he should’ve been smart enough to prepare for the eventuality that someone would go back in time and screw him over,” Cinder said smugly.

Ruby shook her head as she was once again reminded that she was not going to beat Cinder in shamelessness. 

“Any other changes?”

“Not really. I went to Vale. Saved your mom by making Salem have the mother of all temper tantrums. And then you regained your memory by getting hit in the face by Mercury’s boot. Nothing else really.”

“Glad you didn’t change that much then,” Ruby said as she let a breath of relief, pulling out her Scroll. 

“Screwing over Watts took up a lot of my time. And then saving your mother. And then screwing over Watts,” Cinder said, “And still failing to properly stab you in the back.”

Ruby blinked as she looked over her Scroll.

“...Cinder?”

“Yeah?”

Ruby held the Scroll so that Cinder could see it. A video with the headline “The Grimm vs SDC: Theories as to why the Grimm are specifically targeting the company” is seen. 

“This counts as nothing else?!” Ruby deadpanned. 

[tokoyamisstuff]

Just My (Blood) Type - Hisoka x Ghoul! Reader⭐️—__—💧

A/N: I’ve started to rewatch HxH again, and you guys need to suffer for it. Sorry. That stupid Crossover-idea had been stuck in my mind for some time, and October a fitting time for a reveal, right?

Of all the f/o I ever had, that damn Clown is my guilty pleasure.

Summary: At first sharply cutting off Hisokas flirtatious advances, you soon realize that there’s more to him than just a repulsive murderer.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of past abuse, Blood.

Noticeable: Gender Neutral! Reader (not 2 GIFs tho), POC suitable (no mentions of blushing, etc...), I used all the Hisoka GIFs I could find

Fandoms: HxH, Tokyo Ghoul (kinda)

Words: ~2400

“The second participant to arrive at the goal is No. 13, Y/N Y/L/N” a robotic voice announced via speakers. “It took 3 hours and 27 minutes.”

So this was the end of the Trick Tower already, huh?

Not really as great a challenge as you hoped for, but whatever. That fact really wasn’t a surprise, considering that you were a Nen-User.

This whole exam up until now was a piece of cake more than anything else. Nothing exciting or challenging at all for a change.

You sighed loudly, your audible disappointment echoing through the great and almost empty hall. 

Only a dim light would brighten up the prison cell, and there didn’t really seem to be anything to kill time. So you sat down right where you stood, back leaning against the cold stone wall.

At first, you wouldn’t even bother asking yourself who had entered the goal first - until you heared an all too familiar voice.

“Congratulations. ★ I’ve expected nothing less of you.”

Goddamn it.

Before you could even find a sassy remark, the man itself already stood in front of you. Looking up, nothing less than a broad welcoming smile was playing on his lips.

“Mind if I take a seat?”

Your posture immediately stiffened as you pulled your knees tightly against your chest. 

“Yeah. And now get lost!” At least he didn’t underestemate you - otherwise it could mean your imminent death.

He wouldn’t even try to conceal his bloodlust, does he?

Ever since you first met, you gave it your best to not cross his way throughout the whole Hunter Exam - yet for some reason, he seemed to be enjoying your presence, almost as if searching for you.

“My, my...” Instead of keeping his distance, the man just sat down right next to you, making himself at home. “May I ask what I’ve done to deserve such hatred directed at me?”

Only now you realized that the Nen you emitted was an open book to your feelings.

Hopefully he didn’t notice that you were afraid of him...any hint of weakness, and you’d probably be done for.

Yet still: Hisokas voice had always been so tender and kind - a huge contrast to his true self, you thought.

That was not the only contradiction surrounding the mysterious magician. And you knew a things or two about that kind of behaviour yourself.

Only one thing was sure to you: That man was dangerous.

It was obvious what kind of monster was right next to you - his prey. How could this man stay so perfectly calm and contain himself, considering the fact that he radiated this huge amount of bloodlost?

This could only mean this was his natural state of being - and the fact alone made you shiver.

Not answering him, your eyes wandered everywhere but his direction. You remained silent as you scanned the room for any exits, but to no avail.

The two of you were all alone - for 68 hours at max.

Only god knows when the other participants will arrive and end your misery of that unsettling closeness.

“Rumor spreads that you’re planning to become a Head Hunter” the magician tried to engage in a smalltalk, putting his hand on his chin. “Why would that be?”

“Don’t play the fool, Hisoka.”

You were sure that he saw you using nen back in the Milsy Wetlands at least once, so it should be pretty obvious to him: There simply wasn’t any other choice for you to live without a guilty conscience.

“No, I honestly don’t understand” he chuckled, trying to get your attention. “Why someone so innocently looking would want such a profession, I mean.”

Gulping harshly, you now dared to meet his glare. “Look: Stop fucking with me. If you want to kill me, do it quick - but stop strolling for time, or whatever wicked game you’re playing right now.”

Of course you’d struggle, maybe even put up a fight - but in the end, Hisoka was so much more experienced than you.

And you knew damn well opposite to you, he was enjoying spilling the blood of innocents if it had to be.

For a brief second, all of his pretence dropped and he looked shocked, a little bit offended even.

“And why should I do that?”

“Drop the act” you retorted harshly, “It’s annoying. I know all stories about you, even saw you kill before my very eyes. You’re a murderer. I bet, for the likes of you, killing comes to you like breathing.”

“You’re one to talk” he answered, not sounding any less polite, “I could feel your bloodlust throughout the whole tower.”

Now your face dropped as well, and only now you felt how you were shaking - not out of fear, but anger.

“I took that as an invitation” the mage spoke playfully, letting his tongue run over his lips. “Your bloodlust lures me to you every time. We’re not that different, are we? I knew from the very first second.”

What a pain in the ass. And you were not talking about his demeanour. No.

You were simply disappointed in yourself.

For years and decades, you had principles goddamnit! Certainly you’ve never really been a saint, but...well, ever since you first found yourself lost in those golden eyes, you threw your moral compass overboard.

How could you dare to betray yourself like that and feel anything else than remorse for such a vile being?

Why the hell did you feel so damn attracted to someone you simultaneously wanted to either punch or run away from?!

“And what the hell do you want from me, then?! Why are you telling me all of this?”

“I’m just curious” he smiled, face leaning closer to yours.  “That’s all.”

You crossed your arms, now awkwardly relaxed yet still annoyed. Furrowing your brows, you just had realized that Hisoka actually managed to engage in a conversation with you.

“You first” you almost gnarled, staring him down expectantly.

“Why not?” he shrugged as he began shuffling his cards in the meantime. “There’s no greater reason behind my doing, my dear. It’s true: I enjoy killing. But I don’t do it all random. I have standarts too, you know? The people you saw me kill in here were an exception: They were way weaker, but they surrounded and attacked me first. Simple self-defense.”

Yeah. Of course.

It would’ve been way too easy for him to simply escape or at least make them unable to fight without decapitating them, but he chose otherwise.

Hisoka wrang out a twisted sound, almost like a cruel laugh as he awaited your reaction.

“Sounds like a cheap excuse. A murderer is still a murderer.”

“Tzch. What a shame.” Your words didn’t really touch him - not that you expected them to awake any kind of regret in him. “I thought you to be different than the others. Smarter.” 

You had to admit: Usually, Hisoka won’t lay a finger on innocent or weaker people. Most of the time - if he needed something from them, at least - he was very curteous, even. Or he’d simply act like they didn’t exist, sparing them from a cruel fate.

But that was part of his facade, too: A selfish man who could both be pleasure and doom, considering what would be to his favor.

“And what would that ‘standarts’ be?” You rose an eyebrow, still irritated that you kept conversating about such a useless topic.

“Good you ask” he pointed his index finger in the air, almost as if lecturing you. “I think most people are like me in a way, maybe just not so extreme. They desire to compete with powerful enemies.”

Yeah, that much is probably true - especially in the world of a Hunter.

For some people, there’s nothing better in this world than the adrenaline rush of a real fight. Especially when they need to get all out - mentally as well as physically - to survive.

You on the other hand wished you even had such a choice, and if you had, you’d obviously choose a peaceful life instead of that of a suicidal idiot.

But to each their own, right?

“Want to help me out?” He meant the card house he was building, handing you over some cards as he continued explaining. “I’d never simply kill a person that isn’t prepared or doesn’t accept a challenge. An opponent needs to give it their all - it has to be a battle between equals.”

A shaky moan escaped his throat, face tiwsting in excitement - almost seeming aroused - as he stated “My greatest pleasure comes when such people crumple to their knees and look down upon their disbelieving faces as their plans fail!”

“You really are creepy” was your plain answer, placing the last layer of the card house on top. “Do you know that?”

“Of course. I’m mad, not stupid.”

So this is what this is about.

“Now’s your turn, dollface.” The fact that he still maintained his usual, sly attitude, as well as the nicknames made you more flustered than you wanted to admit.

“I’m not human.” You revealed this fact as if it was nothing, throwing your hands into the air as if you had been catched. “At least not fully. Not anymore. It’s hard to explain, really.”

“I’m listening.”

That caught you off guard: You just dropped this huge bomb of a fact - and instead of being taken aback, he’s intrigued more than anything?!

Well - it’s Hisoka. Why are you even surprised?

It took you a while to collect all of your thoughts, since this was the first time you’d ever tell someone about your past. And gladly, Hisoka just sat there in silence, invested in his cards until you were ready.

“Long story short: I was a child slave. No need to spit out all the details, but you can imagine. Hard times, torture, abuse...I was on the brink of death when my Nen manifested as some kind of defense-mechanism.”

Now you felt like you were experiencing a headache. It was nothing new to you - this happened whenever you tried to surpress the flashbacks.

Burying your head into your hands, tears of regret filling the rim of your eyes, you forced yourself to continue.

“I knew nothing about Nen, yet as if naturally, I made a Restriction and Pledge on that day: The blood of the guilty must be shed. I’d do anything to get the power to achieve this. And whatever kind of higher might determinds the conditions, it took that sentence of mine very literal.”

“So you’re-”

“...a Ghoul, yes. My hatred was powerful enough to save my life, yet the price I had to pay for this power is something I can’t take to this day. So I’ll become a Head-Hunter and still my thirst for blood only on the bodies of criminals worthy of death.”

You’ve expected any kind of reaction: Disgust, scorn, scolding you for doing something so reckless - even attacking you right here.

However, the mage suddenly broke out in huge amusement, his muscular chest having as he laughed loudly and heartily. “You’re not very good of a story-teller.”

There was no time to react, your baffled self only able to look as Hisoka grabbed one of the cards out of a whim, infusing it with Nen.

But instead of attacking you, he cut his wrist without even twitching: Deeply enough to draw blood, yet not to leave a scar.

“Well, you must be hungry, right? Long day, many fights...”

You wanted to object, but instead of syllables your throat suddenly felt dry as if strangulated with barbwire: Seeing him licking his own blood from the card turned this invitation into sweet torture.

Usually it was no problem for you to hold back, even for weeks if it had to be - but for some reason, you desired his blood more than anyones ever before.

“No need to be shy” the man cooed, presenting his wrist to you. “When was the last time you ate?”

The blood was already dripping to the floor, making you desperate as you closely watched every drip. “W-Why are you doing this?”

“I want to see it, Y/N. Do both of us a favor, won’t you?”

There was no use in struggling against your instincts - and as soon as your tongue gently incorporated the red liquid, there was no going back.

Involuntarily, your fangs dug deep into his flesh, yet all that came out of Hisoka’s mouth were ecstatic groans - you weren’t quite sure if it was because of the pain or the strenght of your Nen.

How humiliating.

You despised that appearance of yours: Red irises, the rest of your eyes just a black pit. Together with those flame-like wings made from Nen, most people would say you came from hell itself.

But Hisoka wasn’t disgusted in the slightest - no, quite the opposite.

“Beautiful.💖”

You felt a pet on your head, long fingers digging into your hair as you finally let go off of his arm. “No, you can keep going until you’re satisfied. I heal quick, it’s no problem.”

He didn’t mean your appearance - to Hisoka, only power was attractive.

But still: Never before someone had seen you the way you were now and called you something else than a monster.

Licking your lips, you noticed that his blood tasted sweet: A lot like bubble gum. That was a surprise.

Pulling you over to his lap, Hisoka’s lips needily crashed over yours - and you didn’t reject, rather melting into his touch while he explored your mouth, tasting his own blood on your tongue.

His grip was tight and gentle at the same time, fingernails digging deep inside your flesh so he’d be able to control his murderous instincts.

He felt warm. And somewhat safe, even though that sounded ridiculous considering the situation.

After a while, your bodies would finally part again, leaving you both to gasp for fresh air. Your mind was still clouded by all those confusing emotions - yet Hisoka, pleased by the outcome, seemed to be very much petrified:

“This may be the beginning of a wonderful friendship.”