#blood mentions

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 30:

"It's okay just to say 'I'm not okay'."

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | "Not much Longer…."

Fandom: Bat Family

Prompts used: All

Ive been reading dpxdc but am not confident yet, so heres some OOC Bats, based mostly on Wayne Family Adventures, tried angsting some new people for once! I have only read Duke in WFA so hes probably the most OOC forgive me. But let me know, Id love to hear from ya'll on any of my posts :)

TW for blood and injuries, near death experiences

…

"I am never letting you talk me into this again."

Tim glares at the far wall, hanging by his feet, arms tied to his chest. He's in civvies, and his brothers WILL owe him a new outfit after this.

"Oh come on, you were the perfect bait!" Jason's voice comes through the comm, barely holding back his snickers.

"Hush Little-Wing. I'll take you to your favorite coffee place- at a reasonable time- to make up for it BabyBird." Dicks voice is far more sympathetic and even tinged with the anxiety that comes with seeing his brothers in harm's way.

"Then Jay owes me a new outfit." He murmurs a tad petulantly.

"TT, I still think we should have snuck in instead of this, convoluted, plan."

"That would have been fine if we had known where they were located, hence this plan." Duke yawns as he finishes his sentence, pulling a double shift for this case.

"Next time, someone else can be the hostage." Tim grumbles as a headache grows with all the blood rushing to it.

"Whatever you say Timmy." Jason placates mockingly.

"Is anyone else concerned about how long they've left Red Robin alone?" Barbara's exasperated voice comes through the comms, bringing everyone back.

"The lack of blood in my legs should definitely be considered." Tim comments, swinging slightly to try and look around.

"Well, it looks like everyone is-"

"Leaving the building!" Duke cuts Dick off, Jason curses,

"Looks like we got some rats to catch!" He calls, leaping from his hiding spot before the others could react.

"Hang in there Tim, we'll be back!"

"I regret my existence."

"TT is that all?" Damian is a millisecond behind Jason, Dick and Duke give each other an eye roll of comradery, before they are following.

They put up a fight. Seemingly desperate to escape- though it's not super odd- they seem more scared of not being able to leave than of the Bats themselves.

"Not much longer…" The anxious mutter comes from the goon closest to Signal.

He’s quick to pin him, nerves flying in his gut, telling him that they were missing something important.

“Until what?” He pulls his best Batman voice, tired gravel helping him hopefully.

Pinned against the building, Signal doesn’t really need an answer from the goon, the light gives him a glimpse of exactly what he needs to know, but the answer comes anyway,

“B-bomb...”

“Guys, we’ve got a situation! I’m going in for T- the hostage!” Duke catches himself throwing the guy to the nearest Bat, “Find the bomb!” He dashes into the building.

“A bomb?” Tims voice groans, “I am owed several coffees, thank you.”

“Maybe focus on not blowing up first?” Duke's voice is strained, not yet so nonchalant with these types of threats.

“The goons are ready for transport, we’re headed to the device, just stay calm Duke.” Dicks voice is level, and Duke takes a breath to match it.

Tim is partway untied, having been working on it since he’d been hooked, his face is flushed but he gives a lopsided grin- likely to comfort Duke.

“Signal, my man, come to hang out?”

“Har har, let's get you down.”

He steadies him as his feet touch the ground, head spinning and body reorienting, they haven’t even taken a step yet when the whole building shakes, rickety floors and creaky walls groaning with the effort.

“Uh, guys?” Duke cautions, worry skyrocketing again.

“Time to move!”

Duke doesn't need to be told twice, he scoops Tim into his arms with a grunt and finds himself sprinting once more.

“Blushing bride was not on my list.” He mumbles, hand holding his head as the other tires to keep him stable.

“Don't worry, sure it doesn't count when the blood had no other option.”

“You’d be surprised.”

The floor is crumbling as another tremor wracks the old bones of the place. He makes the decision to find the nearest window, taking the Bat route out, and sending a prayer to whoever listened that they all made it out.

“You’re ok… ‘s good…” Blood is a second skin, Jason's jacket torn to shreds as glass and wood alike protrude from his body.

“Todd.. you're…” Damian looks up at the unhooded vigilante, minor damage to himself as he see the crushing weight his brother keeps off him.

“Relax kid… Won't die frem the same ting twice.”

“Jay! Damian!” Dick coughs, the bloody hero shoving at the beams across Jays back until the two can get free. “Are you guys okay?”

“S’fine, lets get baby brat outta here.” The slur comes and goes from his tone, whether from a given effort or otherwise they can't tell. Shifting nearby has them tensing, before a light shines at them,

“Oh thank the Gods.” Duke is dusty but unharmed, moving debris ever so carefully to give them a path out.

“M’place s’closest.” Jason murmurs, leaning heavily on Damian who hadnt moved from his side.

“I can not carry you Todd, stay awake.” The youngest mutters despite his stance.

“M-“

“It's okay just to say ‘I’m not okay’.” Duke interrupts quickly, taking the lead as Dick takes the rear.

“...could be better.” He concedes.

“You are not this much bigger than me. How?” Tim swims in the borrowed shirt and sweats, as does Damian, but neither seems keen to take them off either as they plop onto Jason's couch.

In the kitchen, Duke, Jason and Dick patch each other up carefully, channeling Alfred as best they can until they decide the trip is worth it. Jason grits his teeth as another stitch pierces his skin, Dick muttering a thousand quiet apologies in several languages. Duke keeps his eyes on his own job, if for nothing else than to keep from cringing and hurting Dick.

“We’re bringing the girls next time. This never happens when they're around.” Tim grumbles, ice pack on his face.

“I beg to differ.” Dick mutters.

“Is night shift always like this?” Duke ties off his last bandage and goes about cleaning up.

“Meh.” He gets several, so so hand gestures and a tutt and groans to himself.

“We’re alive, goons apprehended, I'm calling it a win.”

[percy-eats-souls]

I decided to write a nice, silly, and whimsical little story with Mars and Echo! Hope you guys enjoy it! it's definitely heartwarming! Teehee :3

TW: Death, blood, violence, and other very angsty stuff :3

-3rd person-

Echo walked out into the battlefield; Mars walked out from her side of the arena. They looked at each other for a few seconds before a loud voice was heard, "Welcome ladies and gentlemen! Here tonight in the Battle-Nexus we have Mars, the heir of sorrows. Then we have Echo, the angel of death!" The arena was filled with sounds of cheering, mutants were chanting Echo and Mars' names.

"Tonight, these two warriors will be fighting until there is only one left standing!" The announcer exclaimed, the crowd was full of roars and cheering. Echo and Mars looked at each other with shock, they definitely were not informed about that. This wasn't right, Echo tried to reach the announcer or try to see if Big Mama was watching her so she could try to call it off. The battle was already starting.

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

-1st person-

I unsheathe my scythe as I got into position, Mars did the same with her spear. 'I can't fight my best friend, maybe I'll just tell her to fake it so she can get away without actually dying...' I thought to myself quickly, I snap out of my daydream and see Mars run up to me and try to strike first

I instinctively tried to grab the blade, 'how stupid of me...' The blade cut my hand; blood dripped from it as I let go almost immediately. I hit the spear away with my scythe before trying to make a hit on her myself. I twirled my weapon as I dodged and rejected her attacks, I tried to make conversation since nobody could hear them over the sounds of metal clanging together and the very loud roaring.

"Mars, just fake being dead and you can escape without either of us having to die." I try to convince Mars; a look of desperation was on my face. Mars didn't like that idea though, "I can't do that! It'll be noticeable because there won't be any blood on me or any slashes!" Mars protested. We fought a bit more before I finally pinned her to the ground, I had to talk her into this now or else people will start suspecting things.

My scythe was to her neck, Mars' spear was laying on the ground next to her. "Mars, please, I can't let my one and only friend die on me. So, just please, please fake it...I know what I'm doing." I practically beg her; it wasn't enough though. I feel myself hit the ground from being swept off my feet, I was the one being pinned now.

"I'm sorry Echo...I can't do that; I have a contract, and I can't violate it or else my family will be in danger! This is the only way, Echo." Mars glared down at me; her eyes glowed in the shadow that covered her face. I looked down at the spear as it was pulled back and was now about the penetrate my neck, I grab my scythe and before I even can think...

The sound of Mars' heavy breathing was heard as I finally open my eyes, I had just impaled her with the other end of my scythe. Mars dropped her weapon as she looked at me, I drop it immediately and stand up to try and help her. It was no use. I look up as I see Big Mama watching this happen, she glared at me, expecting me to finish the job.

I look down at Mars before dropping her body, she tried to crawl back to me, begging and pleading with her last breaths for me to help her and how sorry she was. I didn't listen, I felt betrayed, broken, like our friendship meant nothing. I pick up my scythe one last time as I raise it and stab the sharp end into her back.

Her body went limp as I step back, my vision started going blurry as I fall to my knees. I feel uncontrollable tears start to fall down my cheeks like waterfalls. I felt like a monster...I was a monster

I WAS A MONSTER

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

I'm so sorry this was so short. it looks really rushed too so I apologize for that as well!

-Percy

[videcoeur]

❝ I was there and I saw what you did. ❞ (Croc or Doffy)

"So?" Was that supposed to be a threat? Blackmail? This gal must be out of her mind to challenge him. As he looked at her though, he realized he must be misinterpreting. There's absolutely no way in hell something as squishy and puny, and beneath him, thinks they can intimidate him. Maybe he misread her tone. Maybe she was admirative?

She must be. After all, he made quick work of that man within 0.2 seconds. His guts and limbs were all over the alley, but none of the blood reached Doflamingo. Not a stain on that flamboyant pink coat, white striped blouse and flashy orange pants. He looked perfect, as usual, while the rest of the alley looked like gorefest.

"You have something to say about it, maybe?" Though Mel couldn't see his eyes behind his glasses, she could probably guess from the way his face was turned toward her that he was staring directly at her face.

Better answer fast, his fingers are twitching. She might even feel the web of threads slowly wrapping around her frame.

[twistedmeru]

Mermay, please rest I missed the 4th joke day!

Day 5-Revenge….

He was alone, the waters of the ocean around him. Not a soul really was watching him, but he always felt like he could never move. Two days ago he had abandoned Briar to talk to that… thing by themself. And now he’s being punished for it. He was alone and stuck in the boat while Briar was out ‘buying supplies’ they had abandoned him back! This was cruel… he hated being alone. But, at the same time it was where he felt comfort the most sometimes. He wanted more friends but never could he really feel comfortable having them. 

“Hey Bro! Whatcha up to hmmmmm~?” 

And almost as if on cue a new voice chipped into the mind of our poor Zetsu, one he was not fond of hearing. 

“What do you want, Osiris? I-look I’m back on time and everything. Even have the weird scale you wanted me to collect which I had to do while Briar was sleeping. They’d kill me if they found out I dived without telling them, especially at night.”

And as Zetsu speaks, for once without a break in his voice. Not even stuttering which was uncommon for him, Osiris took his time practically dancing his way into the deck. Tapping his shoes and humming to himself, smiling as he approached his twin brother. The only difference between them? A single strand of hair Osiris left white today.

“Good good! You did your job again! However, this time I need a little bit more from you.” 

“What more are you going to take this tim-“

And before Zetsu could turn around to face his brother he felt the metal railing of the boat meet his head and then he was out cold. Osiris had placed his hand onto the back of Zetsu’s head and used a small bit of energy to pull and send his brother’s head into the railing. Blood was leaking onto the floor as he had hit one of the railings locks.

“Ah ah ah! Can’t have that now can we!? Come on bro no need to dirty the deck, I’m the one cleaning it. After all, it’s time for another switch~” 

Osiris proceeded to place a hand in front of his brother’s forehead and the blood from his cut began to be pulled off his face, as was the blood on the deck collecting it into an orb before plopping it into the ocean and seeing it disperse quickly.

“Anyyyyyyways, I’ll be seeing you in about… a week? Maybe longer, but for now? Ciao bro~” 

Osiris picked his brother up, sling him over his shoulder and then proceeded to dump him into the ocean…. As a shadow passed under close to the dock and then was gone. 

“Now then, let’s fix this up.”

Osiris proceeded to spin his hand in front of his face shifting the single hair back to the same color as Zetsu’s and then coughed lightly before he began to sulk just like Zetsu was as he was abandoned by Briar…. 

Meanwhile….

Briar had just parked their car in the dock’s temporary parking area. The old one was being remodeled so as an apology to everyone who lost their paid spots, they were gifted a set of tickets to purchase gear and other supplies for multiple voyages if used in the allotted time limit. Which led to the currently packed car of food and snacks, along with some new fishing gear too! Even some books for Zetsu to use to learn a bit more about navigation.

Taking what they could at first was easier than trying to grab everything but it worked out as they saw their mini boat in the distance annnnddddd… witnessed Zetsu practically burying his face into the railing on the top deck. At least until he fell off and fell into the water causing a scream and splash as Brair ran over to check on her partner. 

“Zetsu!? Idiot!” 

As they dove off the pier and soak themselves before they see him swimming upwards absolutely fine…… forgetting Zetsu is still a more experienced diver than they are at this point in time. Sometimes he surprises them with so,etching they always tend to forget, he never acts confidently even when he should. He’s a great navigator, but constantly reviews the basics and remarks upon his own correct maps with bad marks. Never giving himself any actual credit for success. He’s a complete stick in the mud. Top of his class, and yet he didn’t have any speech to give. 

Following him upward Briar surfaced and proceeded to berate him slightly.

“Dork! What the heck was that!? What if you had hit a rock or something!? Come on already, why were you even on the top of the deck as if you were abandoned like a lost puppy or something?”

“We-well you-I… but I thought you had abandoned me. I spent the entire time hiding under the deck while you talked to that thing! I had abandoned you then and you had every right to abandon me now! It… it only made sense if you would do th-that to me after that…”

And Briar sighed as by this point they had climbed back onto the deck and were staring at Zetsu in the water looking down like a depressed puppy abandoned by their owner.

“Seriously… what would you do without me sometimes? Come on dork, let's get back and dry off. We have a long two weeks ahead of us!” 

Briar offered a hand to Zetsu picking him up and helping him out before they proceeded to grab a bag, and then look deviously at Zetsu.

“Ummmm… what’s that face for?”

“Oh I know exactly how you’re going to pay me back for that scare.”

And shortly after leaving the dock after stocking up on everything the duo could need, there was one very specific thing that was able to be seen on the front of the ship.

A man painted in white and black. Acting as if they were trapped in a box…. While seeming slightly annoyed by it. As Zetsu was now the afternoon entertainment.

[starii-void]

going to chb must be crazy like imagine sharing a camp with

-one of the strongest demigods ever who's saved the world like at least 3 times, fought multiple gods & titans and WON (and is a tartarus survivor)

-the literal main architect of OLYMPUS who's also saved the world multiple times (also tartarus survivor)

-THE lord of the wild who's also close friends with the first two (and has helped save the world multiple times)

-an emo kid from the 1930s who again helped save the world and is also a tartarus survivor (TWICE)

-a son of apollo who survived tartarus with nothing but cargo shorts and sheer will (pun intended)

-the main designer and builder for the argo II, also the first hephaestus kid to have fire powers since hundreds of years ago (did i mention killed gaea? no? yeah he did that too)

-a girl who somehow charmspeak-ed gaea into falling back asleep (also side note daughter of super famous actor because why not)

-pretty much everybody is a two-time war veteran

-THE GOD APOLLO who just sometimes comes down to visit in the form of a teenage boy

-did i mention dionysus, god of wine madness and theatre

-also chiron, trainer of pretty much every greek hero ever

[jeonseoguu]

i need him to be covered in blood more often

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy one year anniversary to In Stars and Time!

[mugiwara-lucy]

Kamala will make the FUNNIEST president in all of American history 😂

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 29:

"I only sink deeper the deeper I think."

Scented candles | troubled past resurfacing | "What happened to me?"

Fandom: Voltron

Prompts used: all

Oof so this ones a little rough, but it was what I could come up with. Yell at me if you will :)

TW for implied abuse, injuries, blood mentions but not major.

…

The candle is oddly shaped- though he couldn't tell you what he thought it was supposed to be shaped like- and sat innocently in the center of the dining table. It was a gift, for some reason, and Lance felt like it was a test of some kind. It wouldn't be first.

Lance doesn't lite it, not today, he'll wait until HE says it's okay. Just to be safe.

The candle is lit, HE is gone again, and Lance has just awoken, the smell is new and fills the space so fully it's suffocating. He feels a headache building and turns to bury his face in his pillow.

/

"Leandro! Don't go too far! Pequeño bribón, Lancito!" The voice is worried but fond. (Little rascal)

"I'm fine mama! I'm gonna-" a shriek, cuts off the sentence, blurred view of tumbling down a rocky hill.

"LEANDRO!"

Something snaps, and pain erupts up his arm, there's blood- his arm?

/

Lance wakes from the light doze confused, a phantom ache in his arm. He sits up, cautiously dragging his sleeve up, he stares like he'd never seen it before, and wonders if he had. Scars litter the tan skin, old and newer, healing bruises doing little to hide them.

He presses on one-

/

The boy beside him holds his arm tenderly beneath cool sink water,

"Hermano, it's not that big a deal, I burn myself all the time, so do you!"

"But I burned you! I didn't-"

"Didn't mean to? I know, I was in the way and the pan was bigger than I thought. Give me a cookie and we're all good."

/

He gasps, the teen burned into his eyelids. His heart aches and his head pounds, as he tries to place where he knows him from. He'd looked like Lance, not like HIM, or the weird people on TV, he looked like Lance-

Human.

He had been human, like Lance. Lance was a human, who knew other humans at some point. He stumbles to his feet, dizzy as he makes his way to the bathroom, he splashes water on his face and meets his own eyes in the mirror. One Brown, one Blue.

/

"Think the team will notice, beautiful?"

Perhaps, if they can look up for a moment.

"Ha! You are not wrong there… maybe I can find contacts, switch back and forth and see who notices first…"

Amusing, they do claim to be observant.

The mocking in her mental voice makes Lance chuckle again.

"Don't worry Blue, I'll always appreciate you even if they don't."

And I you.

/

He stumbles back, hands in his hair as his head seems fit to burst with how harshly it pounds-

/

Cub, breathe.

"I shouldn't be c-cold. Why is it s-so c-c-cold?"

I have raised the temperature, you are within the safety of my walls, I will not let any harm come.

"R-red, why m-me? W-why is i-it always m-me?"

I wish I knew cub… you do not deserve it. I am here.

/

Blue, Red, voices, presences in his mind, how could he forget about two whole presences in his MIND! What is going on?!

He struggles to dress himself, the clothes ill fitting- HE likes them loose- but he manages, he doesn't have shoes- he doesn't leave this place- but the cloth on his feet resembles socks. SOCKS how did he forget what SOCKS were!? He slides into the main part of the building, his eyes fall on the candle and the purple flame-

/

Seventh wheel.

Too many paladins.

Leave the math to Pidge.

Not now Lance!

I told you to stay out of this!

Lance! Don't ever scare me like that again!

Lance, I'm sure you can find something to do without getting into trouble hm?

Mighty paladin, fallen before my feet, mine I shall make you, my quite the feat!

/

"What happened to me?" He's curled up on the floor, tears tracking down his face.

His heart thumps heavily in his chest, longing for something, he needs to get out of here. He had a life before this- however complicated it seemed- but if he stayed, he may not have a life after.

The Alien that had been parading around here, talking about some life they had together, making up quiznaking BS about life long mates, was a phonier phony than he thought.

Lance had not lost his memory in some weird accident, it had been on purpose! Maybe…. he still didn't know, but HE would be back eventually, and HE would surely be mad again. Lance needed a way out.

"Alright memories… I only sink deeper the deeper I think. So chill out for a minute, bueno? Bueno…"

He drags himself over to the table, snuffing the candle-

/

Burning.

Burned flesh.

It fills his nose.

Everything's bURNING!

HELP!

/

"Mierda!" Blood dribbles down his chin, lip sore and throbbing where teeth had bitten through skin.

Out. A way out. Come on Lance, you've been cleaning this place as long as you can remember- ha- there's gotta be a way out!

He starts with the front door; biometric lock, Lance can't find a panel to open.

The windows; thick, tinted, none openable, does not break with a chair, no ground in sight.

No back door. No laundry chute, no neighbors he can hear, no skylight, Garbage chut-

Garbage chute!

Disgusting, but his only option.

The thing is large, to fit the large bags he assumes, it does not smell, it seems pretty clean considering, but Lance can only assume what's at the bottom. Rotting food, alien bugs, an incinerator!? This could be a terrible idea.

But… it's his only one. He grabs the biggest knife from the kitchen, wraps it up to hopefully avoid stabbing himself, and stares at the chute. He sits in it awkwardly, his brain niggling on the idea of a 'slide' but Lance doubts this will be fun.

His scream is a squeaky breathy thing, to remain as quiet as possible and still release his terror as he goes down into the dark unknown. Falling for several long moments before a light appears and he slows his descent with protesting skin burning all the while.

His chest heaves as he stares at the opening, a pile of trash bags, no heat, he sends a prayer to whoever's listening, and falls.

.

.

.

He must look like a loonatic, running around as he is with no idea where he is or why. But he stops for no one, no rushing memories coming to him at anything he registers before him. He runs, he doesn't look back, everything aches, but he pushes, he's been through worse-

Gods he's been through worse.

He only slows as he reaches some sort of port, spaceships coming and going. He has no money, but he will be leaving this place, if it's the last thing he does.

He doesn't see the screen beside him light up with his face:

Missing:

Paladin of Voltron

*image*

"What happened to me?"

Tips or info sent to xxxxx

He doesn't look back.

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[pennyrunner]

And part 2 of NSFW Yan preferences!

Again, nothing too wild or in detail. Mentions of blood play, so mild blood TW?

NSFW under cut!

Audrey:

-Pure domme

-Firm, not overly gentle but usually not super harsh(unless you ask...or deserve it)

-Likes bondage

-Sugar mama(please let her dress you up in what she buys you)

-Loves lingerie

-*cough*mommykink*cough*

-Praising

-Likes both princesses and brats

-Degradation or pampering depending on your behavior

Elliott:

-Switch, whatever his partner wants to do

-Needy as a sub, gentle as a dom

-Open-minded and likes to experiment

-Doesn't like to do anything too mean or degrading though

-Doesn't want you to hate him

-Hesitant, but if you assure him you'd like it, will give it a go

-Would probably enjoy spanking more than he'd think

-Likes getting tied up, but please don't treat him too roughly!

-Also, cosplay

Elias:

-More dom-leaning than his brother, but still a switch for the right person...

-Likes submissive people in bed

-Enjoys bondage and light degradation

-Cute outfits or fancy dresses/suits get him going

-Or adorably embarassing outfits(super frilly, lacey, etc.)

-Likes thigh-highs and stockings

-Teasing

-Likes toys

-Nippleplay

-Secretly enjoys being bratted...and getting dommed

Anton:

-Dom, despite his more sheepish attitude

-Guy flips a switch when you're alone

-He'll let you push him around outside the bedroom, but in there he's the boss

-Gentle dom, though he can get carried away

-Size kink

-Loves pleasing his partner and is very good with his hands and mouth

-Will do pretty much anything you want him to with a few exceptions

-Begging, both ways

-Loves his partners voice, wants to make you moan for him~

-Also...hair. Will not elaborate right now lol

Edwin:

-Dom

-Prefers submissive partners, but likes to work for it

-Openly enjoys brats and putting them in their place

-Can be firm, usually not overly rough

-Medical/science play?

-Glove kink

-Likes to "examine" you

-Fake sympathy!!

-Overstimulation

-Likes drool and tears

-Obligatory daddy kink

Morrison:

-Dom, likes subs

-Surprisingly rough and scary

-Very demeaning/sarcastically sympathetic

-Likes being in charge

-Pretty selfish lover, though he does enjoy giving you pleasure, too

-Medical play and restraints

-Loves syringes and taking your blood

-Light pain play/impact play

-Pet names!!

Ottolie:

-Switch, though she prefers being submissive or power bottoming

-Big sadomasochist, loves being pushed around or bullying her lover

-Just wants to do whatever she can to please her partner

-Likes cosplay and lingerie

-Also likes praise and degradation equally

-Painplay

-Tries anything once

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Continuation to This Post :]

------

It was always so strange to hear adults argue.

Grown up fights never seemed quite the same as the trivial spats her and Dipper sometimes had. They were similar in some aspects, yes; Adults and children weren't as different as people liked to think. Mabel had seen adults verbally lash at one another with vicious words just as low hanging and petty as the ones she'd sometimes see kids the same age as her use. Adults arguing was essentially just a louder, angrier version of children fights.

And yet, there was somehow... more to it. Grown up arguments always seemed to weigh so much heavier in the air, and for so much longer than she'd ever thought possible.

Sometimes, the weight would leave quick and early, practically gone by the next morning. However, occasionally, the weight would stay; and grow heavier, and heavier over the years. Until it came to a point when the weight was nothing but a choking, stifling presence that seemed to fill every room in the house and buzz deafeningly in your ears like an unpleasant static that made your head pound.

Then, one day, the pressure would burst with a loud yell, a slam, and a bang, and start building up all over again. It was a cycle Mabel was much familiar with.

Her Grunkle Ford's "Mystery Shack" didn't have that air.

The shack's air smelled like burnt out candles and cheap discount Halloween fake blood, with a hint of real blood underneath the stinging scent of old wood and aged parchment. It wasn't necessarily a very nice air, certainly not in any way the fresh, crisp, clean air of the streets of Piedmont, but it smelled more like home than she'd ever felt back in California. It just smelled like... Grunkle Ford.

She liked her Grunkle Ford. He was super weird; with an even weirder Uncle as his roommate. He checked her and Dipper's arms and legs every morning "just in case someone broke in at night to steal a sample of their bloods"; he despised overly sweet foods (baffling, truly); and he had exactly 27 locks installed on the front and back door respectively that he could unlock all in under a minute with his really fast extra fingers. He reminded her a little of Dipper on some occasions, no matter how much the latter liked to deny the similarities (although, bar the demonic obssession).

However, last night, the air suddenly grew heavy.

Grunkle Ford had a fight.

Mabel hadn't heard it, and she hadn't seen it, but she knew there had been one. She was an expert recognizing the signs; she could always tell.

When she had awoken that late morning, the stuffy summer air had taken an even more sour note than usual, and had become a touch heavier than it should have been. Either that meant Grunkle Ford had just recently finished up a ritual, or a particularly rowdy argument had taken place; and Mabel knew that Grunkle Ford only performed his rituals between 2 to 4 AM, when he thought the twins were well asleep.

It was strange, to feel that same heavy air push down upon her temples and pound that same painful rhythm of a mounting headache as it used to do so often back when Mabel was in California. It had already happened a few times at the shack, but this one felt... heavier, than usual. She didn't think she would have to encounter the discomforting weight again this summer, away from her parents. Yet here she was. Aching.

She knew Gunkle Ford and Uncle Bill fought and bantered. With Bill being a permanent resident trapped within her Grunkle's mind, she couldn't imagine how they wouldn't. She didn't think even she could keep her cool if she had Uncle Bill as her brain roommate 24/7.

In any case, their interactions in front of the twins were mostly a mixture of exasperated resignation, or irritated tolerance, mostly from Grunkle Ford. Their occasional volleying exchanges of vitriol doused insults and words were short lived, and brief most of the time, especially when in front of the kids. They were nothing like the long, loud ones that could go on for hours back at her house in Piedmont.

Even so, there were some times when Mabel would see Grunkle Ford late in the evening, red faced and tight fisted, stomping down to the basement and disappearing into his lab there with a deafening slam of the rickety wooden door. She recognized that slam. He didn't want the twins to hear the argument.

Even if they could hear anything, what little they could glean always seemed to be only side of the argument, with Grunkle Ford yelling curses at Uncle Bill inside his head. She always did wonder what happened inside Grunkle Ford's head. Although, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. She couldn't imagine the state of the mind of someone who sometimes forgot to eat or sleep for almost a full week until someone reminded him.

The entire day passed with that same, tense air choking the atmosphere. Dipper had dragged Mabel and himself to some adventure in the forest, but it seemed to her that he was just trying to find excuses to stay out of the shack for the time being. Even he seemed to feel the unnerving heaviness of the air.

That night, underneath her sheets, Mabel pulled out the worn and well used wooden art mannequins Dipper and Grunkle Ford seemed to keen on using to summon Bill rather than their own shadows. With her trusty golden glitter pen (that she knew Uncle Bill loved despite what he claimed), she gently drew a closed eye upon the blank wooden face of the little model.

The eye opened, and she spoke:

[demigods-posts]

headcanon that percy and annabeth have a relationship contract they made after they got together once the war came to pass. they outlined it on paper in percy's bedroom. typed up a final draft using sally's laptop. and printed out and laminated it at the local library on their two month anniversary. and they abide by it like it's the law.

[iwander12]

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hi! I wanted to say I absolutely adore your art and headcannons! I wanted to ask if you would be interested in making a headcannon for our lovely harbingers where there is someone trying to sabotage their relationship with the reader like for example the person is saying that the reader is cheating or is saying mean things about the harbingers and that they have ,,proof" it is if course a lie. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't want to tho!

(Absolutely genius idea! Sorry to keep you waiting! I’m a slow writer…)

✦ When others try to sabotage your relationship with them

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

(tw: general mentions of violence and blood. sfw) 

Being intimate with a powerful Fatui Harbinger provides the illusory dream of having riches, power, and status. Some watch you with hushed murmurs as you accompany your beloved with linked arms, looking all elegant beside him. Perhaps some people cannot comprehend how such a ruthless Fatuus can even court someone like you. Others simply cannot comprehend that status and money is not a key factor in your relationship.

✧ To crossfire with Pierro is to go against every single Fatui Harbinger. The Director is known far and wide as a man of cold words and power beyond the seven nations. All valuable intel and actions are reported to him first and foremost, as even the top Harbingers bow before him. You, on the other hand, were not meant to bow before him. The Jester shall never let you lower your head, because it is he who shall stoop to worship you. 

However recently, a certain rumor reached his ears. His spies related to him info that certain Fatui soldiers, some lowly commoners at the bottom of the ranks, are spreading uncouth jabs about you and Pierro. Intel states that these fools think you infiltrated the Fatui and The Director’s inner circle by some intimate provocation and seduction; that you’re in it for the money and status.

Pierro’s gloved hands gripped the papers. Nevertheless, his expression is placid as always. 

Thus, the culprit now sat in Pierro’s office, trembling as the room oozed with murderous silence. The Jester never raised his voice, nor did he question the man who “joked” about you. The fellow kept spitting apologies, begging for mercy. He knew it was futile to lie or waste the Director's patience.

And the Jester? It took everything in his power not to get his gloved hands bloodied. To hear someone accuse you - his most cherished, as a shallow harlot? Consequences shall be faced. Calming his boiling turmoil, Pierro continued to conduct himself professionally:

He made sure the man and his entire generation met their oblivion. 

With the recruitment of his best spies, he ascertained that the culprit’s disappearance was not felt by a single soul, his entire family gone, and all traces of spread rumors eradicated. Above all, it was orchestrated so that you would remain unaware that anyone dared to tarnish your reputation.

You carried on with your life, blissfully unaware and undisturbed. Even now, you came in knocking on his office, asking: “Long day at work, honey? I can bring you some tea or coffee if you want.”

The Jester's smile returned, throwing away some crumbled documents into the trash can - “A tea break would be excellent, my divine.”

If it’s blood that needs to be spilled to protect you and his private affairs, then Pierro won’t think twice. 

✧ For Il Capitano, the way of the blade speaks more for its wielder than words. If you wish to prove your stance, you better be prepared to face the First Fatui Harbinger, as his might will test you in a relentless duel of strength. So what do you think happened when Capitano overheard someone calling you “weak”? That his beloved does not deserve an ounce of his attention, because you are a meek being compared to the Harbinger? 

His hand instantly found its place on the hilt of his claymore. He left no room for negotiation or doubt. He marched straight towards the culprit, unsheathed his weapon, and pointed the sharp point of his blade straight at the person.

“If you are so confident to spit such insolence about them, then you must be equally confident with your strength. Let your blade speak.”

The poor fool tried to defend himself with excuses. But his mocking meant nothing to the Captain’s weapon. Before you know it, there is an ongoing duel initiated by Il Capitano. The witnesses know that whoever is on the receiving end of his wrath has no chance of surviving. Not when a single swing of his weapon causes craters on the ground.

The man was about to collapse, accepting his violent demise. But just as Capitano was about to unleash his final lesson, your voice rang out amongst the crowd.

“Hey! Cease this commotion at once!” - you stepped up, your expression stern as you stood in front of your beloved. In a rare moment of vulnerability, the Captain’s already stoic body language shifted. His claymore was sheathed back to its place.

“My beloved, you shouldn’t have seen this…”

“And yet I did. It would’ve reached my ears anyway. What did I say about temperamental duels, Capitano? Morons are not worth it.” 

“He called you weak. I cannot allow it.”

For a minute, Capitano kept his head hung low in reverence. You stood with your arms on your hips, scolding him. Was it not for your intervention, that person who vocally mocked you would’ve been lying dead now. Instead, you spared the offender, and the man was allowed to flee in humiliation. 

The conflict was eradicated, and Capitano's imposing demeanor showed he didn't regret his actions. Considering how even Capitano bowed to your words, the accuser realized - you are not weak. Because if there was one person who made the First Harbinger go motionless then it was you. 

✧ Today was a good day for Il Dottore, but you weren't sure why. He was a tad clingy, his steps laced with a sense of giddiness. Giving you extra squeezes while hugging, smothering you with longer kisses on the cheek. Even as you sat idly in his lab, you watched him as he worked on some paperwork with a grin.

Thus you questioned him, lazily strolling around his lab and observing the countless tools or vials. But he waved off his excitement, tapping his pencil over some papers - “Nothing of major importance, but I did have something interesting happen recently.”

You raised an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue.

“An idiot made a pathetic attempt at spreading rumors about us.” - You stopped in your tracks, going still as you held some miscellaneous container with what seemed to be tissue samples. The Harbinger continued: “Some fool spoke behind your back; stating that anyone who is close with a heretical scholar is bound to be equally insane. They thought that if their words didn't reach you, then it's of no consequence.”

Your expression fell somber with each word Dottore spoke. He said it with such profound avidity, that his voice demonstrated threatening intent behind them. So he continued. “But you know me, dear. Nothing goes past me. Vile nicknames are nothing new to me. My work is not for the faint of heart, and those pesky cretins enjoy concealing their fear with profane titles. And they can call me whatever they want. However, I won't allow them to call you names. Not because of my work.”

You averted your gaze sadly onto the samples of veins and organs in vials. You pretended to inspect them, but your sorrow was more prominent. You suspected Dottore already did something, hence his unusual giddiness today. Thus, you inquired in a soft whisper - “So… what did you do?”

“I handled it, naturally.”

“...You did? What happened? To the person who said such things, I mean.”

“What happened? Dear, you're holding them in your hands right now.” - Il Dottore beamed, pointing at the vials of organs you held. 

✧ Today, Scaramouche was eerily silent. You were accompanying him during one of his work expeditions, aiding him with certain formalities regarding his Fatui subordinates. The 6th had soldiers working under him, and although he did not care for their training, he did not tolerate any incompetent weaklings.

Therefore, you decided to lend a hand. You helped conduct a training program for his underlings, making sure all standards were met. It’s not the first time you did so, since The Puppeteer often placed you as the second in command whenever he was absent. And the Fatui soldiers did not conceal their thrill - it’s like you were their favorite substitute teacher who was more cheerful and forgiving than their superior.

Either way, Scaramouche saw that the mission was going smoothly. But soon, lightning would strike. A certain Fatuus, an agent in training, was getting too charmful with you. It was during the usual training assigned by you, and this person was focusing more on his conversation with you than his training:

Telling you how you are a remarkably skilled person. How it’s a marvel to see someone so delightful as you working alongside the Balladeer. How you shouldn’t waste your time with someone as aggravating as Lord Harbinger Scaramouche. He’s even leaning closer towards you.

You smiled uncomfortably, your attempts at polite disagreement did not work with this agent. Yet now you felt the static in the air, and that’s when you realized - Your beloved heard all of it.

On this usual, unassuming morning, Scaramouche walked silently and struck a man with lightning. All eyes turned towards the commotion as you stood behind the Harbinger. His fists were clenched, sparks of electro crackling from them.

He may have been silent the whole day, but don’t mistake his silence for impassivity.

“Next time, know your place,” - he seethed, standing over the person who endeavored to sweet talk you. He permitted his subordinates too much leeway, now they dare charm you with empty flirts. Scaramouche would’ve stomped that man’s head if he wanted, but he wouldn’t create such a grotesque scene in your presence. Instead, he turned away, held your hand, and pulled you away.

He gave you a day off, his mind already conjuring plans to deal with his underlings later. At least he scoffed out an apology. Not for what he did; he does not lament that. Just a small ‘sorry’ for giving you a quick fright. The lightning strike was very loud, after all. 

✧ Pantalone often gets invited to luxurious meetings or extravagant galas. Any party that is attended by the richest man in Teyvat is a guarantee to make high-society elites turn heads. However, considering your prolonged relationship with your darling Pantalone, you know he secretly despises these social gatherings. Therefore, he takes you with him. Dressed in your finest, Pantalone proudly shows you off to the pompous aristocrats.

People would watch enviously, thinking to themselves: The Regrator’s sweetheart, spoiled by his riches. Your attire is as glorious as his expensive suit. His arm is tenderly linked with yours, always offering you his hand like a true gentleman whenever you two walk. Even as he conversed with various business partners, he always had to make sure his hand was around your waist or your hand.

This dotting behavior made certain ladies of Snezhnaya jealous. They could see you were not a noble-born, nor were you used to the attention during such gatherings. You just timidly accompanied him, and Pantalone kept rambling about you and your benign achievements. Childish, really. You’re probably someone who just ran after and clung to the Harbinger until he relented to keep you. Therefore, a group of ladies initiated the conversation: 

“It’s a pleasure to meet a man such as yourself, Lord Harbinger.” and “Why, a man of your status is probably seeking some interesting company. Oh? You are with someone? My, my, I did not notice them.” or “Surely you desire connections worthy of your status, sir.”

Pantalone had mastered the art of courteous smiling, yet even his act was about to crack. He noticed the way these ladies tried to stand too close to him, pretend you were not in the picture, or even passively mock you. Their insolence stenches, and noticing your silent discomfort caused his heart to sting. But he had a plan.

“Why yes, you are right,” - Pantalone smiled with his charming looks “I do value my time, and it’s important to not waste it on shallow conversationalists. Oh, but it’s such a shame that the people in front of us are just that. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Pantalone turned to you, his arms encircling your waist while speaking such backhanded comments with triumphant smiles. The ladies’ smiles fell instantly, and you tried everything to avert your gaze. “Um, Pantalone? Maybe we shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t bore ourselves with such lowly individuals? Hmm, I agree. There isn’t much to do here anyway, only the greedy will seek something in this superficial gathering. Oh well, let’s go so I can take you to dance, dear.” - Pantalone concluded in his usual enamoring tone “Ladies, if you would excuse yourself.”

In this world, the 9th of the Fatui Harbinger doesn’t excuse himself - others do. Therefore, he took you away, scoffing and checking up on you with hushed whispers. Pantalone was offended. Why do they assume it was you who desperately sought out the rich Harbinger? Little do they know it was Pantalone who used to run and seek your attention just to be yours. Honestly, they’re discrediting his neediness for you. 

✧ Should anyone meddle with Tartaglia’s personal life, they are picking up a brawl. Someone dares to flirt with you? His fists are ready. Someone said something unwelcoming about you? Anything in the vicinity can be used as a weapon. Someone endangers his relationship? Their life is now in danger.

Of course, you’re the one who consistently yanked him out of these fights. Usually, it’s nothing serious, as when you scold your boyfriend for such reckless behavior it ends with his heartfelt words and apologetic chuckles. He finds solace in embracing you from behind, gently enfolding his arms around your shoulders, reassuring himself that all is well.

However, Tartagia is still a Harbinger. Away from home, he’d personally search for intel on the culprit who dares to offend your relationship. Names, records, locations, anything to keep tabs on those who think they can drag his family into bloodshedding matters. Tracking is of no issue, after all, when he was still a young rookie, training as a Fatui agent was just the first step.

Once he determines the offender, he’ll pay a discreet visit to them. And this time, without you dragging him away from fights, there is no place for mercy or jests.

At night, Childe returned home, cheerful as the sight of you getting ready for bed welcomes him. Yet in the dim lights, you’d gasp and approach him with concern, catching traces of smeared blood on his face or hands.

Ajax would just smile; he didn’t need to explain. Instead, he would quietly approach you from behind and envelop his arms around your shoulders in quiet stillness.

[hankandmonty]

“Remember when we died?” Is such a raw line. Happy D20 eve

I forgot I had a rain version thank you for coming to my Ted Talk