#bring out the lightning bugs

[yandere-romanticaa]

The sun shined bright in the vast blue sky, as it always did in the Eternal City. Each footstep you took felt more draining by the minute, like a harsh shackle had been placed onto the soft flesh, the chains rattling loudly inside your mind but the soft echoes within the massive hallway were a gentle reminder that was not the predicament you were in.

An intricate golden bowl was in your hands, its content filled to the brim with various red fruits to consume, the produce fresh and ripe. It was difficult to not grab a little something from the bowl as you walked down the hallway, the sweet juices of the fruit filling your mouth to the brim as you hummed in pleasure, glee shining in your eyes, a (somewhat) pathetic attempt at trying to keep your heartbeat steady and nerves at bay.

Speaking with Mydeimos could be such a daunting thing to do. Whenever his gaze would fall onto you, it felt as though the earth would just swallow your body whole. Tiny bugs most likely had a better standing in his eye than you ever did so why were you rushing to speak to him again?

With a nervous chuckle, you recalled the small acts of kindness the harsh prince would show you. No matter the function or event he would always save a seat for you somewhere, or how he always made sure you came out unscathed from battle or if he was feeling more generous than usual, perhaps be would even share his drink with you.

Naturally, whenever someone would call him out on these little shenanigans, Mydei would shut that person down with lightning speed. He's a lot of things but he is not impolite, he'd reason with a frown.

The relationship you had with him was odd. He terrified you to the core but you still could not bring yourself to genuinely dislike him. Earlier today you had noticed that the man was feeling down - his gaze felt heavier than usual whenever you'd lock eyes, his shoulders were both too rigid and slumped at the same time, everything about him was just off.

And what better way to cheer him up than to bring him something sweet to bite?

The chirping of birds could be heard in the distance as you neared the garden. Greenery and various blooms thrived all over the place, the occasional hint of gold bringing even more life into this small corner of heaven. In a matter of moments you spotted him sitting by his lonesome, golden hair shining brightly beneath the massive tree he sat under, his back facing you. The cascading shadows of the looming branches gave the otherwise serene garden a dark energy, as if some hidden evil was just waiting to jump at you. It gave an even bigger edge to Mydei, his figure looking even more massive than it usually was, the red markings on his body almost looking like real droplets blood, dripping down his being, a warning that you should not approach the resting beast.

Even beasts crave attention. Mydei was no different. Even with all his strength, even with all his might, his wisdom, his curse - he still had a heart, even if he did not act like it.

You carefully made you way towards the man as the grass beneath your feet gave way, masking the sound of upcoming footsteps. Inching closer and closer to him felt wrong but raw, as if you were testing your luck against something. The warrior said nothing as you stood behind him, which made you wonder if he was even aware of your presence.

"What brings you here, little pest?"

Ah, of course. How silly to think that he would be none the wiser of you being close, let alone right behind him. You felt like face palming due to your idiocy but it was too late to back out of this now. Lowering yourself onto the ground, you placed the golden bowl right next to the man, the red fruit tempting him to take a bite.

Wordlessly, he did.

Golden claws inched close to the bowl, his hand now full with strawberries, raspberries and pomegranate seeds as he brought it to his mouth and swallowed it all down with a single gulp.

Wow. Perhaps bringing him a drink would have also been appropriate...

You sat like that in silence with him, your arms resting on your lap as you watched Mydei scarf down the fine fruit, his Adam apple boping up and down each time he would swallow. If he was not so fast, perhaps it could have even been hypnotizing... In a matter of moments, the bowl was completely empty and Mydei let out a sigh, his head now slightly turned towards you. He hummed, the sound low and rumbly, as if he was trying to figure out what to say. His red eye almost looked like a slit underneath the shadows which made you gulp accidentally.

He snorted, the sound loud and amused.

"You are such a confusing person. Has anyone ever told you that?" asked Mydei, his voice even and composed.

"I scare the living daylights out of you, and yet, you never fail to seek me out."

He... He was not wrong. Each time he would open his mouth, you felt like bursting into tears. Whenever he would go out of his way to talk to you, his words would always sting like nothing else, the harsh jabs wounding your heart in the process.

But even with all of the hurt, all of the discomfort he would cause you, there was a bizarre sense of comfort there. It felt less like the sweet embrace of safety and more like a thorny promise to always be there, no matter what. Perhaps you were a little insane, because why else would you do this?

You didn't even realize that you had outstretched your hands and had started to wrap them around his body. Halfway through the action you had realized just what you were doing, which the prince noticed by the sudden jolt. Warmth consumed you both as he allowed you to stay there, to embrace him in the shadows as he pondered on what he ought to do with you.

He hated you. He hated how weak you made him, utterly despised how he felt his soul come to life whenever you took time to pamper him like this. Bringing him fruits, honestly...

Your worst crime of all was having such a fragile and gentle heart. In his eyes, he could easily rip it open, claws tainted with your blood as he could already picture you begging him for mercy, to please not harm you and he would grin, because you had no right to hold so much power over him.

There were many things he wished to say. Many jabs, so many truths he wished to reveal but he ultimately chose not to.

Seeing you willingly come to him like this was enough for him. Even the strongest of predators needed to plan accordingly. Right now, he would bide his time and strike when it was right. Mydei was ready to sink his claws and fangs deep inside you and perhaps you'd let him.

That was the true horror of the situation at hand. The fact that he could maul you beyond recognition and you still would not have the heart to hate him... How dastardly.

How precious.

As a beast, he was pleased to know that such fine prey had so willingly submitted to him. But, as a man, his heart could not help but to shed a tear at the thought that there was someone who actually cared.

[jsooly]

death in the family (2) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, dad and mom to the rescue. scared for the kids’ safety, they agree to leave… without you?

p.s. i've seen your requests so far and i love every single one! i'm super excited to write them <3

(1) / (2) / (3) / (4*) / (5) / (6*- ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

neytiri had a strong sense of premonition, one that could only develop when dealing with such troublesome children. she knew from the moment jake grounded lo'ak, he would try and do something to regain the freedom he lost.

her youngest son always manages to surprise her with his roguish innocence. not only did he go to a forbidden place, he didn't pull back the moment he laid eyes on the recoms and put his sisters in danger alongside him.

did he think all the rules she and jake gave them were arbitrarily made up?

"neteyam, update your sister on our situation." jake called over the wind. "we might be out late."

behind him, neteyam nodded and pressed his comms.

"lightning bug, this is pathfinder, come in." neteyam was always the best at keeping up code names. lo'ak often slipped in a 'dad,' 'mom," or 'bro' here and there, but as with all things, neteyam takes his father's instructions to the last letter. "hello?"

neytiri cast a confused glance to her husband. it was unlike you to not respond.

"come in, bug, this is devil dog. answer us." jake spoke into his comms urgently.

"did anyone see her before we left?" neytiri asked, pulling her ikran back to match pace with the two boys.

"no, mother."

jake shook his head, running through his memory for a glimpse of you at high camp. he grunted when he came up empty. "m'sure she's just sleeping or something. we got a bigger problem right now."

“i know a quick way!” neteyam yelled over the wind, guiding his ikran to a shortcut.

jake and neytiri dove behind him, hoping it wasn't too late for their children.

. . .

you awoke with a groan, brows creasing as the blur in your vision mellowed out.

"y/n!" tuk squealed softly, thrashing in her captor's grip. “you’re bleeding!”

huh?

your eyes scan the circle you've found yourself in. the recoms got the children on the ground, bound by their queue or neck. faintly, you could hear spider's voice chatting with the commander.

and yes, you were in fact bleeding.

the bullet that grazed the length of your arm left a nasty laceration from your elbow to your shoulder. it burned like hot oil was carefully poured in a line on your skin, and ached like a ten day workout.

you began to sit up when a foot smashed into your chest. the wind was stolen from your lungs and you dropped back to the ground with a choked gasp.

you shot lo’ak a warning look right as he jerked against his captor’s grip. with an unhappy growl, he settled down.

“keep her on the ground.” quaritch snapped.

quaritch. that’s who this guy was—this avatar, rather.

“i hope you realize you almost killed three of my men,” the commander squatted on his hind legs but still managed to tower over you. “thankfully they were saved by that shit aim of yours.”

the three injured were off to the side, grunting in pain as they pulled your deep rooted arrowhead from their flesh. you remembered when you weaved blue and yellow, inspired by neytiri’s signature green and yellow, in the fletching of every single arrow sunken into them. removing them was a slow and painful process, the blade cutting just as much coming out as it did going in.

in a surprising revelation, you found yourself… thoroughly enjoying their struggle.

shit aim or not, they’ll remember the pain when they saw those blue and yellow tufts again.

you scowled, pushing the soldier’s boot off your chest roughly. they must have understood you weren’t much of a threat in your throttled state, because they didn’t move to restrain you further.

lo’ak hissed in na’vi. “(why didn’t you bring the gun?)”

you scoffed at his impertinence. “(i thought the worst you’d come across was a viper wolf, not dad’s greatest enemy. why didn’t you run away when i told you to?)”

a recom nudged your head with the barrel of their rifle. “hey. shut up.”

“(yeah, yeah, i know i was stupid.)” lo’ak cut you off, saving himself from further verbal assault.

“(that's right, and your stupid ass shouldn’t have come back.)” you clicked your tongue.

lo’ak’s face was painted with something between guilt and stubbornness. “(i was trying to help you!)”

“(you had the others to think of!)”

“but—”

"what would it take for you to shut up?!" quaritch whirled, irked from being puled out of his conversation (though it looked more like an argument) with spider. “it’s like a zoo in here, all the yipping and yapping.”

he stalked over to you, eyeing you curiously as he rested his hands on his belt. "matter of fact, why do i even need you?"

the recom behind you pressed the barrel of their gun firmly against your scalp. the distressed whines of tuk wasn't unheard by you, nor was kiri's uncertain promises that everything will be okay.

“hold off, lyle.” quaritch squinted at your face, scanning your features with a laser-like precision.

“don’t tell me… you’re that little brat that was always at his feet, weren’t you? well, wheels is more accurate.” he laughed heartily, looking at his company in condescending awe. “man, that jake sully just keeps getting better and better.”

. . .

night fell and your situation didn’t improve at all. but it didn’t worsen, either.

in the night, pandora grew even more dangerous and the way the recoms were patrolling the area meant they weren’t taking any chances underestimating her.

but then a call rang through. every kid turned their heads towards it. she was easily mistaken for the night noises of pandora’s wildlife, but to her children, neytiri’s voice was instantly recognizable.

you heard a thudding off to the side but saw nothing. before you could even turn your head back around, an arrow flew past your head and into the skull of the man holding kiri.

green and yellow fletching. it was over for them.

the next moments happened in a blur—

quartich pushed spider out the way, letting bullets fly towards the treetops.

lo’ak ripped the pin from a grenade, the burst of gas disabling some soldiers. he sunk his teeth into the recom behind him, tuk following his lead and doing the same.

once he took care of that, lo’ak launched himself onto the man holding you hostage, jumping onto his back and using the momentum to throw him off balance and face-first into the dirt.

“come on,” he grunted, pulling you up and onto his back. you grit your teeth when he squeezed your injured arm, and he murmured apologies when he heard your pained heavy breathing. “tuk, come on!”

he grabbed his baby sister’s hand. running off into the tall bushes and leaves, you caught the glint of neytiri’s arrowhead as she loaded another projectile into her bow.

you didn’t know where kiri or spider were at the moment. still, your brain finally allowed you to pass out from shock and blood loss knowing your parents were there to get everyone to safety.

. . .

“…hunting us. he’s targeting our family.”

“you cannot ask this! the children. everything they’ve ever known—this is our home!”

the words came in one ear, out the other. your head pounded, the thumping echoing in your chest, your ears... the whole world spun around you in a dizzying whirl.

“he had our children. he had ‘em under his knife!” jake's voice sliced through the fog in your mind. you felt him shift beside you, his calloused hand lifting your arm as he rewrapped your gauze.

rewrapped? how long were you out?

“look at this,” jake said, shaking your arm gently, his anger seeping through the tenderness. “he didn’t even hesitate!”

neytiri's voice cut in, louder now as she approached her husband. “my father gave me this bow—” she choked on the words, “as he lay dying. and he said protect the people—”

“honey—”

“you’re toruk makto!” neytiri's hoarse cry electrified the air, pained and anguished. “majake, we must fight.”

“this will protect the people!” jake pushed himself up, his frustration erupting, the words tumbling out in an rush of heat. “they’ve got spider. that kid knows everything. if the people harbour us, they will die.”

in a rush of clarity, your eyes cracked open. still drowsy, the words took a while to finally register in your brain. if they harbor us? where are we going?

“oh, y/n,” neytiri gasped with relief, kneeling beside you and running her slender hand over your head. “you are awake. thank you, eywa.” she whispered.

“are we leaving..? home?” your voice was barely a whisper.

neytiri’s shoulders dropped, her eyes unfocused. jake sat beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders in a silent promise of comfort.

“look, i got nothing.” he whispered gruffly, low and worn, more to her than you. he met her gaze, a silent plea for understanding. “i got no plan. but i can protect this family. that, i can do.”

neytiri blinked tears from her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. jake pulled her in, his grip tightening.

“dad.” you cut through the tension, your voice unsteady as you sat up. with a bewildered look on your face, you recaptured his attention. “are we leaving?”

jake gave neytiri a look drenched with grief. he scooted closer to you, his palm resting on your cheek. his thumb brushed your skin, as if to soothe your doubt.

then, in a picture of irony, a father reassuring his daughter delivered a killing blow—

“we’re leaving, baby. you’re… going to stay.”

—

“what?” the word tore itself from your throat, disbelieving.

the roof of the marui thundered under the feet of your siblings. done with eavesdropping, their protests rang through the air.

"you're leaving me behind?" you shot up, your feelings about the breach of faith plastered all over your face.

"jake?" neytiri's voice was sharp, a note of surprise in her words as she glanced at him, eyes narrowing.

"it's bad enough that we're not prepared for other environments." jake reasoned. "bringing a human there would make chances for uturu even slimmer."

"'a human?'" you recoiled, the sting of his words cutting deeper than expected. you, his daughter, reduced to just a human?

jake sighed, gazing at you helplessly. "you know i didn't mean it like that, baby."

“you wanna 'protect the family' and you’re abandoning me?” you said bitterly, the disbelief palpable in your voice. “suddenly i’m not a part of it anymore?”

jake’s eyes narrowed, irked by your insinuation. “of course you are part of the family.”

you rolled your eyes. didn’t feel like it.

“why were you even out there in the first place?” jake shifted closer, his eyes sharp as a blade as they bore into you.

“looking for another reason to ground me?” you shot back, voice wavered as the hurt in your chest spread.

“watch it, kid.” jake snapped, tilting his head dangerously. the command in his tone made you want to shrink, but you fought it down.

you massaged your temples, pain flaring up your arm as you were reminded of your body's current limits. jake reached out to you with concern, but you stepped back slightly, avoiding his touch. you couldn't face how pitiful he must look, not when the anger and hurt were still too fresh.

"dad, you're not serious." lo'ak came storming in. "you can't—"

"not now, boy." jake's words were clipped, unable to look his family's in their eyes.

"but sir—"

"lo'ak." neytiri cut in firmly. do not push any further.

"y/n, you will stay with norm and max. that's final." jake said, his tone resolute but tired.

you meet jake's eyes and for a moment you wonder if this was all a bad dream and you’re still passed out on the floor from the gash in your arm. you wonder, did he make the decision lightly, or did he truly have no other options? you wonder if he thought you were old enough to be on your own.

did he realize you had no purpose outside of this family he welcomed you into? if you couldn’t follow them, where else did you have to go?

“dad, i…” you faltered, unsure of what you were trying to say. out of the corner of your eye, you saw neytiri clutching her head in frustration, her gaze fixed on you with silent pain.

“i can adapt. i promise. if that’s what you’re worried about…” you continued, the words spilling out before you knew what you were saying. you weren't above begging, not if it meant staying with the only home and family you've ever known.

jake clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, anxiety and desperation flooding his every movement. “not like this, y/n. the ocean na’vi, they… they are more wary of sky people. even more than our own clan.”

your eyebrows furrowed. “i’ll keep to myself.” you whispered, hope trying its hardest to cling to your promises.

he sighed, turning away. a weight seemed to settle on you both. “no, y/n.”

“yes, i’ll keep to myself. like i always have!" you voice was rising, and your voice croaked as you pleaded with your father. "i won’t get in anyone's way. i won’t talk to anyone. i'll pull my weight too, i’ll cook and—”

"no." jake's voice cracked, anger bubbling over. “i said no! you will stay with norm and max.”

“i don’t want to stay with them.” you were reduced to childish retorts. the only thing you wanted to communicate was how much you needed them and it was flying over his head.

jake grabbed your wrist, lifting your arm slightly. he immediately dropped it when he saw your face contort in pain. “that. that is the best outcome for a run in with this guy. i’m not risking any of you getting hurt, or worse!”

“and your solution is to leave me alone with him around?” you were jake's prideful daughter, something that was only ever a problem when you got into fights. neither of you were willing to back down. so you returned his screaming match with one of your own. “no one else here would care if i was captured, and you know it.”

jake frowned. “that’s not true.”

"yes, it is. and you'd leave me here anyway!" your body couldn't decide which to choose: fight or flight? teetering between anger and distress, your hands trembled. “i don’t have a clan or an avatar to fall back on!”

“it’s final. i’ve decided.” jake's expression was unreadable, his resolve set. he cast a sideways glance at neytiri, who looked onward with silent disagreement. he ignored the churning feeling in his chest.

you laughed humourlessly. “i don’t—what’s so different about adapting to the water than the forest? it’s a learning curve i’m familiar with, i can—”

“you think it was easy bringing you in?” jake's voice dropped to a growl, and he caught your gaze with a searing glare. “you think it was easy raising you, here? i’m not doing that again.”

—

silence fell over the marui, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone. tuk held onto kiri’s hand, both girls’ gazes stuck to the ground. it was a miracle lo’ak hadn’t shoved himself into the argument. instead he was channeling that energy into pacing back and forth. neteyam was the only one strong enough to hold his head high, but a big sister’s eye could catch the way he blinked too fast and his drooping posture.

anyone would see jake was protecting his family, but all you could see was your father abandoning you. was... raising you so much of a burden as he made it out to be?

“jake.” neytiri’s call was soft, a tinge of disappointment filtering through. she rest her hands on your shoulders, as if trying to ease you into something you couldn't understand.

you shrugged her off. a burning ball of emotion was stuck in your throat, and with every shaky breath, the dam was threatening to break.

“it’s… he made himself clear. i’m going.” you muttered, gulping the heartache back down to burn up in your stomach.

jake tensed up when you finally complied. he reached out to you instinctively, but his hand paused midair. “baby, wait. please. you don’t have to go now.”

“stay, y/n? don’t go.” tuk whispered when she clung to you, her request a tether you couldn't bring yourself to break.

you felt claustrophobic. suffocated. like the universe itself was collapsing inside your chest.

"dinner?” neteyam offered a compromise, his voice tentative. ever the dutiful son.

when you looked at neteyam, all you could picture was that little kid who looked up to you as if you hung the stars in the sky. you remembered—you were still the oldest.

you glanced around the room at your siblings’ quiet dejection. in the moment, you didn't want them to go but you didn't want to stay either—in any case, you didn’t want to leave on this note.

“dinner.” you agreed, your response barely audible, snatching your effects from where they lay on the ground and storming out.

jake, stretched between guilt and uncertainty, began to start off in your direction. neytiri pulled him back, her grip tight on her husband's wrist.

“give her time.” she said simply, the three words heavy with unspoken sentiments. she barely met her husband’s eyes before stalking off.

the silence persisted long after you left.

. . .

thanks for reading <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt @avatar-lover @ryiana @lxon-kxnnedy @zukki33 @chalahyung01 @ssc7514 @shmaptainbonky

© jsooly ‘25

[angels-silhouette]

The Taste of Us {d.w.}

A/N: This is me losing my smut virginity. Be gentle with me plz!!! Tell me if it’s any good or not.

Warning: semi-public sex?? oral: m & f receiving, pet names, teeth kink?? (if I missed something let me know!!) MDNI 18+ Word count: 1.8k

—

It’s a hot summer night in the Middle of Nowhere, Tennessee. The crickets are chirping, lightning bugs are illuminating the sparsely lit backroads, and the sweet gentle hum of a 1967 Chevy Impala is making its way to your ears. 

You're working the nightshift at a roadside diner that probably loses money staying open twenty-four hours a day, and definitely isn’t paying you enough. There’s only two more hours left of your shift before the next employee shows up. That’s when he comes in, a boy roughly around your age–and he’s unbelievably charming. Rare around these parts.

When the door to the diner closes, you can feel the thick, humid air push towards you. And almost immediately you feel the wind get knocked out of you by the sight of this stranger. Sandy hair, freshly shaven, eyes that could blend into the dense forest surrounding the restaurant; he wore an interesting frog-like necklace? You couldn’t really tell what it was–and what seems to be a wedding ring on one of his pointer fingers. 

He sat away from where you had propped yourself against the counter. You sauntered over there after minutes of painful silence. 

“Long night?”

Dean only lifted his eyes to look at you and gave a weak smile. Comparing his features to the forest is effortless to you. Eyes like the pines, dark circles would blend in with the dirt after it rains, every scar that litters his face resembles the places where lightning hits. His beauty is tragic and unfathomable. 

“Not anymore.” His voice was warmer than how he looked. Seduction covered his eyes like the clouds in the sky.

“Ah, yeah. I bet.” You roll your eyes sarcastically. Tapping your pen against your small notebook, “What can I get ya, darlin’?”

Dean can’t get enough of your accent, he really had to play this right in order not to walk out of here with a raging hard on. He couldn’t imagine waltzing in here again with that kind of embarrassment following him around.

“What’s your name?”

You’ve had more than enough men coming in here looking at you like you’re an object to them. Their smiles that lead to empty, crazy eyes that give you goose-pimples all over. Every. Single. Time. But him? His voice was as sweet as the tea you poured yourself earlier. Dean never breaks eye contact, making you blush. So you told him.

“Such a beautiful name, sweetheart.” He winks at you, then grins as he lowers his head to browse the menu. “Could I have…you?”

If he didn’t look at you like you were the only star in the sky, you definitely would’ve said no. But holy hell, that twinkle in his eyes made you wetter than the spring brings rain. And his teeth. He could sink those canines right into your thighs…

You must’ve been staring too long. He raised his eyebrows and a curious yet defeated expression flooded his features. Mouthing a small “okay” then began to actually look at the menu. 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I—I’m sorry. I’m used to old geezers hittin’ on me. Not a fine man like yourself.” Shyness takes over you. You start to tremble from how nervous you are, and the tips of your ears turn even redder.

“No need to be sorry, pretty girl.” He stands up from the stool, leaning so far forward that you can smell a faint hint of Irish Springs on his skin. Mere inches separate your face from his. Dean whispers seductively, “This place usually busy at night?” 

As soon as you shake your head no, he gently places his hand on your cheek, chuckling at how warm it is, then pulling you into the most intimate kiss that has ever touched your lips. It takes you a second to reciprocate before moving at the same tempo. 

God, it’s been forever since you’ve had human contact like this. The two of you synced up so well together, like you’ve done this before. He was too good. So. Good. A small moan escapes from your mouth. 

“Get on the counter fr’ me.”

You obey his command. You pulled yourself up and sat on your shins. The dress you had on rode upwards.

“Sit down and put your feet on the edge.” A light order as his hands trail up and down your exposed thighs.

“Would a please hurt ya, sweet cheeks?”

He teases you back and drawls out, “Pleeaase?”

Again, you do as he says. You just can’t help it, everything about him is alluring. Slowly making your way to the position he wants you at. The two of you don’t break eye contact. Not a fuck would be given by either of you if someone walked in.

He hikes your dress up, smiling at how wide-spread your legs are for him. A serious look washed over him right before he pulled your panties down. A sudden realization. 

“Is this okay?”

How much hotter can he get? You thought.

“What’s your name?”

“Huh? My name? It–it’s Dean…”

“Dean, honey–anything you do to me is more than okay.” You lean back onto your elbows, smirking.

He proceeds with his actions. Placing tender kisses down one thigh, stopping so–so close to your most sensitive area. Then skipping over it to kiss up the other thigh. As if he had read your mind from earlier–when he gets to a meatier part of your leg, Dean sinks his incisors into you and takes your skin between them. Delicately sucking, marking you as his. That’s when you finally begin to relax.

A couple love marks later, without warning, he slides his tongue in you. His warmth makes you jump and squeal–you’ve always been sensitive and ticklish down there, especially if it’s been a while. 

An animalistic grunt comes out of Dean's mouth, into your pussy. You can feel his grin widen against your pelvic bone while his tongue flicks inside you. When you look down at him he’s already staring–desperate for more of what he heard, he moves up to your clit. Massaging it in a side-to-side motion. He sees your eyes roll back and he immediately plunges two of his thick fingers into your slick entrance. Another gasp slips out of you. 

His “come-hither” was perfect—hitting your spot just right. His mouth already knew how to please you. But it was his eyes that made you come undone. Pulling your head back up, you find that Dean had never stopped looking at you.

“You’re so delicious, baby. Fuuck. Could do this all night.”

Tension was building within you. Every muscle was convulsing, one of your legs slipped off of the counter. Dean quickly placed it back up with his free hand.

“That’s it–cum for me.”

You’ve never experienced an orgasm quite like this one. Your swollen clit was throbbing, sending electricity throughout your body. Your walls pulsating around Dean’s fingers–your thick milky cum coated them as he pulled them out of you. He spread them apart and leisurely slipped his digits in his mouth. A delicious sound came from his throat, eyes closing as he savored your taste.

Where did this man come from? Who the fuck cares, you were grateful.

“C’mon, sugar. Your turn.” You pointed to the booth behind him. “Move that table to the side and take a seat.”

That drove him crazy–you taking over. Wanting to pleasure him. It wasn’t often that women told him what to do during sex, but he is more than willing to submit to you. 

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a hint of southern twang. 

The table made a loud shriek as Dean pushed it, making you look behind your shoulder–expecting someone to come from the back of the diner with concern. No one came. You looked out of the window to make sure the parking lot and road were empty. Nothing was out there. Shifting your focus back to Dean, you notice sweat glistening on his forehead. Eyes tracking your every movement. You walk up to him and climb onto his lap, sitting on his hardened length.

“That fucking smile of yours is gunna be the death of me.” You murmur against his ear, and can see the hair on his neck stand up.

His cock wavering in his jeans, trying to find a way to your cunt as you rock your hips and suckle on small areas of his neck. One of his arms wraps around your waist, pulling you in closer while the other wraps around your throat and guides your face towards his. Lips connecting, mouths opening–the taste of your cum still lingers on his tongue. The hand he had on the small of your back reaches for the button on his jeans, but you had other plans.

Jerking away from him, wagging your finger no, then sliding off him to sit on your knees. Glancing up at this devilish man before you, with sex in your eyes. Undoing his jeans for him, he lifts up his lower half to make it easier for you to take them off. His cock springs up. Pre-cum covering his enlarged tip. Your hand making its way to him, spreading his arousal down his shaft in steady, unhurried movements. Dean placed his large palms right under your ears, tugging you towards him. 

“Ask for me, if you want my mouth so badly.”

“Please, sweetheart.”

“What do you want, pretty boy?” You asked, resting your chin on your hand, lightly brushing your lips on his sensitive head.

“Want yr’ mouth around me. Please?” 

The desperation leaking out of him was ecstasy for you. Giving in, you wrap your mouth around his girth. He’s so big. Plunging his dick so far down your throat that you gag on it. Spit dripping down his balls and your chin. In your peripheral vision you see his mouth ajar. It was almost undetectable, but he let out a tiny gasp. 

Removing him from your mouth you beg, “Lemme hear you, Dean…”

Then he lets out the most beautiful moan, making your pussy drip all over again. He grabs the back of your neck and his cock at the same time–ushering himself into you. Desire radiating from him as you lock eyes. Continuing to suck and hum against him, working your hand in circular motions in stride with your mouth. Faster and faster as he begins to buck his hips. 

“Oh fuck, I’m–I’m cumming, baby. Take me out…”

Refusing to listen to him, you don’t stop using the mouth God gave you. The guttural roar that filled the room was your only indicator that he wasn’t in control anymore. His cum shooting to the back of your throat. Dean grabbed the edges of the booth so tightly from you overstimulating him, then he finally took in a sharp breath. Removing his cock from you, you get up and straddle him again. Leaning in to kiss him but he withdraws. A questioning look that reads, did you swallow?

You only nod, then stick your tongue out.

“Good girl.”

Giving you a sensual kiss, slipping his tongue over yours.

“I taste so good in your mouth.”

—

tags! @aylacavebear @daylighted @ambiguous-avery @deans-spinster-witch (if you want to be untagged, there's no judgment!)

[delopsia]

Hi del! Wecome back! Glad to hear your 'engine's runnin again XD

If your lookin for a Rhett and/or Bob... don't know how it is where you are but it's currently dark, windy, and rainy here and the lights are a flickerin... What do you think about bein with the boys during stormy blackout conditions? ~🌧️

aaaa hello! thaank youuu ^w^ I'm sorry this took me so long, haha.

Rhett ⊹₊ ˚‧

If there is one kind of weather that Rhett is uniquely familiar with, it's storms like these. Wabang is infamous for the uniquely violent storms that are always running through it; things have progressed to the point that there's been an ongoing study about why the hell this particular town is constantly being hammered by freak storms, including that freak fire tornado last summer...🔥🌪

That being said, Rhett's a veteran when it comes to these things. The storm is still a few miles out, and you'll catch him squinting into the distance, muttering something about 'it'll be here in five or six minutes.'

Sure enough, six minutes later, it feels like the world is ending.

The power isn't even out yet, and Rhett's walking around unplugging the expensive electronics (read: The Abbott household has had its electricals fried by lightning twice, and the thought of replacing everything for a third time scares him to death).

Bored? Not for long.

Rhett Abbott is a number of things, and crafty is one of them; he's got a whole box of stuff dedicated to power outages. Board games, power banks, cards, intricate little building kits, absurdly bright flashlights, enough batteries to survive an apocalypse...

Perry has yet to realize, but Rhett's even scrounged up the old Nintendo DS consoles they played on growing up. You can't think about the storm when you're too busy fighting for your life in a game of Mario Cart ⭐

Regardless of what you choose to do with him or if you're content to do different things, Rhett's incredible at keeping busy during these things. Growing up on a remote ranch that regularly experienced week-long power outages, he's built up a whole catalog of remedies.

But if you're not feeling like playing games and just want to curl up on the couch or in bed, Rhett is perfectly content to snuggle up to you like the oversized cuddle bug that he is.

He doesn't bring it up, but a lot of his old injuries ache during these heavier, aggressive storms. His left wrist tends to be the worst offender, but the long-healed break in his right leg and all of those various fractures have been known to rear their ugly heads as well.

Your only indication that he's hurting is how slowly he tends to move like he's treading barefoot through broken glass.

If you call him out on it, he's got a real tendency to downplay how much he's hurting, but he always won't put up much of a fight if you decide to massage his sore wrist or work the tension out of his shoulder.

But again, he's perfectly content with cuddling and relaxing together :( He just wants to do something with you

Bob ⊹₊ ˚‧

👁️👁️

No really.

The power goes out, and all you see are two wide eyes staring back at you, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Is the power out?" It's the first thing he asks every time, without fail.

Very mindful of checking all of the necessary weather alerts. Are we at risk here, or should we simply proceed with caution?

Unlike how Rhett immediately springs into action, Bobby's immediate suggestion is to curl up and take a long nap together. The general idea is that the power should be back on by the time you wake up; it's the closest thing you've got to time travel.

That being said, if you say no to sleeping through it, then he won't either, no matter how much he loves his storm naps. He just can't bring himself to sleep when he knows he's left you alone to figure out what to do while the storm rages past :(

Jumps at the thunder and pretends it never happened.

You don't know what it is, but storms have a real tendency to turn your beloved partner into a 40s-something dad.

You blink, and suddenly, he's standing on the porch watching the storm. The only thing he's missing is a can of cheap beer and some cargo shorts.

"Why are you outside?" "Do you see how dark that cloud is over there?"

Rambles off some odd weather lingo that he's got no business knowing and that you can only understand if you've got a degree in the field or if you've otherwise gone out of your way to learn the science behind how storms work.

If there's something about your lovely bookworm, it's that he's going to find a way to build a little reading corner during all of this.

A couple of strategically placed battery power lights and some cozy blanks, and you're all set. The sound of the storm can make for some incredible ambiance, given you've got the right book for it.

Sometimes, you get bored with your own book or don't feel like reading at all and just wind up snuggled into his side, watching the way his eyes flicker over every line. You may think you're being sneaky about it, but Bob has long since caught onto what you're doing.

Both ⊹₊ ˚‧

"Powers out!" Bob. "Yeah, no shit." Rhett.

Their individual remedies to the power outage doesn't exactly change; it simply makes the list of solutions a lot longer than it would otherwise be. So it's really a question of which of these things will we do, rather than what to do at all.

Regardless of what is chosen, it's always a community effort.

Both of your boys are very keen on sticking close together when storms are this bad; if you try to walk off on your own, then they're almost always following like a pair of lost puppies.

Just because it's pitch black in the house does not mean these two won't rough house and tackle each other to the floor. If anything, the low visibility makes it more fun for them.

There's one occasion where you were scrolling on your phone and simply listening to the sound of them swearing and rolling around.

It requires the three of you experiencing a couple power outages for Bob to figure it out, but the water heater still works during these, and you know what that means.

Baths!

You have such a hard time saying no to it because Rhett always gets so excited at the mention of it. At the very least, you're going to wind up sitting outside of the oversized tub with them. You've said no once in the past, and the sight of Rhett's smile falling was enough to shave a year or two off of your lifespan.

If you do choose to get in with them, then you get to join in on the great debate of whether to use bubbles, bath bombs, epsom salts, or nothing at all.

While you and Rhett deal with getting the water to the right temperature and gathering up things like towels and clothes, Bob busies himself with placing battery-powered candles all over the bathroom.

It's weirdly romantic. The storm is still raging on outside, rain pelting against the windows, the screams of the wind broken apart by thunder, but you're here relaxing together and enjoying each other's company.

It's cute until the power spontaneously kicks back on, and you're blinded by the lights...

[not-the-cheese]

one sentence(ish) summaries of every magnus archive episode PART 2

(eps 61-110) thank u for the funny comments and tags on the last part i love u guys

I HAVE MADE A PART 3

----

61. the thrilling sequel to man does not open coffin: man DOES open coffin.

62. surely this doctor can find an easier way to scam people out of money than putting them in a little book.

63. THE DARK ATE MY BROTHER IN LAW.

64. this is possibly the plot of laura croft tomb raider

65. mmm crumchy

66. what's the opposite of an unboxing video

67. as close to a coffeeshop au as you're going to get from this podcast

68. Doctors hate him! Man REFUSES to die from tuberculosis!

69. your college's psych department has the worst idea ever.

70. reverse death note

71. not even death will stop this woman from taking the british subway

72. man doesn't want to be low key racist in his last moments before getting eaten

73. police versus the second coming of dark jesus

74. lady is haunted by an ad for coffee

75. mike crew says "uh fuck it let's just put this guy on a skyscraper forever"

76. ryan from buzzfeed unsolved breaks into a train yard and suffers consequences

77. you're not a enough of a bitch to be my real mom

78. man gets harassed by his cousin and then exorcises him

79. you know that chase scene in scooby doo with the doors

80. stupid idiot motherfucking jurgen leitner

81. i have been personally victimized by the sequel to the hungry hungry caterpillar

82. pov: elias threatens to cancel you

83. mannequin takes matters into its own hands after people don't like its pitch for a new window display

84. a hoarder put newspaper on my friend's face :(

85. hey there's maybe a little man upon these stairs?

86. man gets got by a squiggly thing in the dark.

87. plumber is so oblivious to spooky happenings around him that it possibly saves his life.

88. guys i think this guy likes to dig

89. lesbian investment banker finds a new, less evil job: arson!

90. guy who turns people's bones starts a gym where he promises not to turn your bones! (he is lying)

91. i was stalked by lightning for 10 years and i all i got were these stupid scars

92. jonah magnus is a bad friend // another day another elias slay

93. ocd is no match for purple fuzz

94. let the bodies drop gently to the floor let the bodies drop gently to the floor

95. im so sorry my brain refuses to remember what the war ones were about but i think one guy got gently kissed on the forehead so that's pretty nice.

96. diversity wins! the not-quite-human delivery men who stole your identity and business are maybe gay?

97. man gets gaslighted by an entire town about a hole

98. 🎶mister sandman bring me a dream, actually don't, please stay far from me 🎶

99. another one bites the dust

100. archival assistants face off against the general public (they lose)

101. jon finally levels up high enough to unlock an eldritch horror's tragic backstory

102. LOCAL MAN MARRIES BUG

103. peppa eats a clown and they cover her in concrete instead of congratulating her.

104. pennywise stole my brother's skin

105. it's world war z baby

106. Something Big Is In Space.

107. man is interrogated about the time he saw thomas the train roasts people alive and also sans is there

108. actor is stalked by mask who liked his monologue so much that it tells its mask friends to come watch.

109. sometimes a family is just a serial killer's daughter and that guy who maybe killed some vampires

110. yeah man those spiders be eating

Part 1 | Part 3

[mywritersmind]

DOOMED FOR ONE ANOTHER - LN4

summary : Forced to never forget. He loved her, she loved him. It seemed easy but the moment those words met the cool air, everything changed. They had the type of love that wasn’t in story books about romance, it was the type that was in horror stories.

listen up : crazy moody today ig. hope u like bc it’s actually interesting and deep for once. dual pov!!

word count : 2040

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The first time they met, he saw her sitting at the bar.

She was alone, in a cocktail dress with her legs crossed, sipping on a martini. There was a faux fur coat hanging over her chair. She wasn’t on her phone, or listening to music, she was just sitting with the world around her.

Lando Norris was well acquainted with the female species. He’s met pretty woman, he’s dated pretty women, he’s fucked pretty women.

She wasn’t just a pretty woman.

“I’m Lando.” She didn’t shake his hand, didn’t smile or giggle… she just nodded.

“I know who you are.” She brought the martini to her lips again and Lando felt his mouth open a bit, “Do you know who I am?”

He slipped into the seat next to her, “No. Should I?”

Then it happened, the corners of her perfectly lush lips tugged upward. “Nope.”

And thus started a beautiful friendship. Yes, I say friendship because neither of them expected to fall in love with each other. Even if everyone seemed to hope they would.

⋆༺

Her apartment was a mess like usual. I pushed open the door with two coffees in my hand, house keys, and the purse she made me bring all the way from Monaco to New York.

I managed to get to her room without stepping on any of her loose clothes, books, or instruments. She was lying on her bed, her head hanging off the side and her hands lazily strumming her guitar.

She was wearing a pink nightgown that scrunched up on her thighs, a faux fur coat, and headphones. Her head finally tilted back far enough to see me standing there, staring at her.

I used to worry about her a lot because of her reaction time and how she never realized I was staring. Yet I stopped thinking about it after it allowed me to watch her before we would hang out.

That sounds creepy, I know. But just like the first time I met her, I could get a read on her body language or emotions, I would look at her outfit and how much jewelry she would be wearing, I would just look at her for one quiet moment.

“Lan!” She screamed far too loud and stood up at lightning speed, hugging me. “My angel, you’re back!” She grabbed the coffee she knew was hers from my hands and spun around, hopping back onto her bed and sitting on her feet.

I pushed the clothes off her chair and sat on it, “Someone came up to me and asked if I was your friend today.”

I rolled my eyes and sipped my coffee, “One day, we’re going to be walking around and people will swarm around you and ask who the idiot next to you is.”

She sighed, sipping her coffee, “And I’d tell them that if they’re true fans, they’d know who my best friend is.” She leaned back on her pillows and stuffed animals.

“Right!” I let out a laugh, “You would definitely say I'm some freak following you.”

Her eyes got serious for a second, “I’d never pretend to not know you, Lando.”

I shook my head, “How’s the writing coming along?”

“If you’ve come here just to bug me about my music, then I will kick you back onto the streets.” She’s a musician.

I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know her… but she had just put out her debut album and I had just officially become an F1 driver.

She claimed she wasn’t a fan of the sport, yet would text me non stop about ‘gossip’ she heard from her ‘credible’ sources. Her sources were F1 twitter.

She let me listen to her music, humming along to the songs without lyrics and singing without any instrument to the songs without background music.

I don’t remember when I fell in love with her. It wasn’t a specific time or place, I just sort of knew one day.

⋆༺

I always loved him in a suit.

I liked his hair and the way the curls just fit with something so neat and tailored to him. Lando looked bored, an expression I didn’t see on his face a lot when he was with me.

But that day and that banquet… it was so slow and I was so off my usual game. I had secrets and Lando could tell. I thought he was going to confront me about them when he brought me outside.

“Lan, there’s a speaker!” I whispered to him as he took my hand.

“When have you ever cared about shit like that? Come on.” His hand was cold, I remember that. I actually remember everything from that night.

We slipped out the back door and he started laughing. I didn’t know why, but I also didn’t ask a lot of questions.

The banquet was in a stuffy hall, but the back garden was beautiful and miles long. I laughed with him, hurrying down the steps as fast as I could in my heels.

He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. “I couldn’t breathe in there.” He runs a hand through his curls, tilting his head back so his Adam's apple is more pronounced and his eyes are looking to the sky.

“Wanna get out of here?” I asked because I was getting cold and could tell he needed a change of scenery.

That’s when I noticed a difference. The way he looked at me just then, it was like everything I had dreaded came true in one singular moment. “No.” He had said it quietly but I felt like he had a megaphone. “I need to talk to you.”

“Lando…” I said his full name that time because I wanted him to know that for once in my life, I was being serious. I was warning him.

“I love you.” He was breathless and I'll never forget the look on his face. It was almost as heartbreaking as the look he gave me five seconds later, when I didn’t respond.

I loved him, of course I had.

But I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for a relationship or for him. I wasn’t ready for everything to change or for him to suddenly start kissing me instead of hugging.

I wasn’t ready to be loved.

“Please…” He was holding my hands now, “I can’t not love you. I know you love me too.” That made me feel nauseous.

How could he know?

I kept everything close to me and had never tried to kiss him, I never even joked about it!

“I can’t…” Is all I said before pulling my hands away.

His face turned sullen, his arms limp at his sides, “You don’t have to be scared.”

“I’m not!” I didn’t mean to say it as defensively as I did.

“Bullshit.” Lando never raised his voice at me, but he did then.

“You don’t get to tell me my feelings!” I stepped farther away, ignoring every instinct to get closer.

His eyes were piercing me, “Tell me you don’t then.”

I was shaking my head as he begged, “Tell me you don’t love me! Say it to my face.” I couldn’t say anything, and he knew me too well because of it. “Break my heart, then. Do it.”

“Lan…”

“Don’t ‘Lan’ me!” He stepped closer, his hands going to my arms again, “Fucking break me or never talk to me again! I can’t pretend I don’t love you and I know you can’t stay friends with me when you know that I do.”

His voice broke and my tears started. Lando Norris knew every part of me. He watched my facial expressions, my body language. He watched me get dressed and he watched me break a million guys' hearts.

He watched me loudly do what I love but that was always music, and never him.

That’s why I had to walk away. It’s why I couldn’t admit loving him. It’s why I cut all contact, It’s why I hated myself. It’s why I pretended I didn’t know him, even though he haunted everything in my life.

⋆༺

I love my friends. But I think I'd rather be anywhere but here right now.

Carlos forced me to come to his girlfriend's party. Rebecca is nice and all but as I watch Franco get surrounded by models and Charles whispering in Alexandra’s ear, I’m seriously regretting saying yes.

I’m in a suit and zoning out with champagne in my hand, leaning against the bar as the noise around me gets louder.

“Lando!” I already know it’s Carlos, glancing back to see him hurrying over to me, “Lando!”

“What?” I ask, tired and wishing I was more drunk.

“Rebecca has a girl for you!” my immediate instinct is to run but he slaps his hand onto my shoulder and grips it tightly, “Hey! You’ll love her! She’s a musician and very pretty!”

I groan, “Carlos, no.”

“Mate, come on! You never date and I think you’ll actually love her!” He’s right. I don’t date. I have sex, I hook up, I have benefits but no friends. “It’ll be good for you.” And for a second, I believe him.

Maybe it would be good for me. It’s been over a year since my heart was ripped apart and stomped on by a type b, adhd, singer.

“Just meet her.” He says and I hesitate before shrugging, “Yes! Oh, here they come!”

I stand up straight and sip my champagne, hoping the alcohol will hit me fast. The moment I turn, The moment Rebecca smiles and starts to speak, I can’t breathe.

“Lando this is-” I don’t need to keep listening to know. She’s right there. In front of me.

The girl who ripped my heart out is right there, wearing the same shoes she stomped on it with. I’m not prepared for this, for her. Her face tells me she feels the same way but is far more calm than I am.

When she holds out her hand for me to shake, I feel sick. I shake it, not saying anything. She looks the same… but different.

Her hair is longer and her makeup is done differently. She’s wearing barely any jewelry but I can smell her perfume and I just know it’s the same one I got for her at some corner stone in brooklyn.

“It’s really nice to meet you.” She sounds strong. She sounds like she’s lying, but maybe that’s because she is.

“I wish I could say the same about you.” No one else would be able to tell, but after years of examining her, I don’t miss the way her mouth quirks. I say it because I would never pretend to not know her, no matter how hard it was to make eye contact with her today.

I know Carlos is horrified, “Norris!”

But I don’t care.

For once, I didn’t see her coming. I didn’t get to have that moment of peace where I could revel in her.

I avoided her, mostly. We never ran in the same circle… except for now, I guess… but I saw friends of friends posting about her concerts or new music. I saw her on Dominic Fikes album and I saw her kissing his cheek two days after that.

I heard the rumors and the second that one of the guys called her pretty, I clocked out.

I never saw her in person though. I would be paranoid every time I was at a music festival or even saw someone wearing close to the same faux fur jackets she adored. But I haven’t seen her for over a year, until now.

Rebecca looks uncomfortable and Carlos looks straight up scared. I’m lucky that they get pulled away but I'm unlucky that she gets closer to me. She used to tease me the same way she’s looking at me now.

I expect her to say something profound, maybe even an apology. But then I remember who she is. That Cheshire-like smile greets her lips again as her thick lashes blink, “I’ve always loved you in a suit.”

[deepdreamnights]

The Daily Dæme is…

002 - PomBom

She enjoys, like, whatever sounds cool, your data, and passing the Turing test.

Features: Agile, Electric, Robot

Quirk: Beta Test

The Dæmomancer:  Mass produced trash employed by lame cheaters who lack the spiritual acumen to summon a KrattDæme. Stupid blazing mech-bros, the lot of them. Plus it's creepy how they adapt to their coach's personality.

Prof. Lyrica: You have to appreciate the customization and effort people put into them. Yes, it's an off-the-shelf kit, but you rarely see any two that are quite the same. Too bad about the bugs, but that's the price of artistic exploration.

Warden Parks: The lightning-orbs are dangerous but don't let them distract you. Her real arms are the cable-claws coming out of her head, and they reach a good ten feet, and she can electrify them, too.

Sy Fife: I see how it is. Zeitgeist Steel Concern makes this metal-and-plastic snap-kit and it's 'a technical achievement in Dæmengineering' but when I channel a spirit into a doll-Dæme it's 'creepy' and 'wants to eat my soul'.

Dr. Entendre: PomBom Excelcia model 200, 1.75m, 120 kg. My own Dæme, Mekilyn, started out as an off-the-shelf Pombom Model 50. First Dæme ever instantiated into a chassis I built. She could bring down a mantpira with a plasma sphere from 50 meters.

For as little as $1 you can support Dæme-On and other projects, and get access to new Dæmes a week in advance, on my patreon here.

Other ways of supporting me and my works.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

FAIRYTALE- WINTER SOLDIER

day six of the june bug masterlist

pairing: hades! winter soldier x persephone! fem! reader

word count: 2k

summary: an inspired retelling of hades and persephone, where bucky takes you for himself, sheltering you from the cruel world. it may be cruel- but hes even crueler.

warnings: darkish? kidnapping, arranged marriage, bucky is a bit controlling, petnames, swearing

(this fic is more artistic freedom than anything:) so its more detailed in scene then any kind of smut or romance)

 “ im in love with a fairytale/ even though it hurts/ cause i don't care if i lose my mind/ i'm already cursed" - fairytale, alexander rybak

He was unable to have her.

And that made him want her more.

It was twisted, really. He was twisted.

He was dark and cold, callus and cruel. He was everything she was not.

The Winter Soldier was many things. Kind was not one of them. Which is why he had taken you.

You were not his to take. But he never claimed to be a selfless person. 

He had his eye on you for a long, long time. He knew who you were.

Your desires.

Your dreams.

Your wants, your needs.

What brought you comfort in the darkest of storms, and what caused your outer shell to crack into millions of pieces.

You were not a mere test subject to him, for him to observe.

No, you were a person- a goddess, who had her whole life ahead of you.

One he had stolen.

You had captured his interest, the first time that had happened to a man like him. It was foreign, and immediately he knew he had to do something about the warmth that spread through his chilled body near your presence.

He was disgusted with himself, with the way you plagued his thoughts.

Haunted them.

You would not leave his mind, as if you had been shackled there, to each ridge and neuron in his brain.

Your laugh.

Your smile.

The way your eyes twinkled with excitement and sheer joy when a flower bloomed under your touch, its petals opening wide to bask in your light.

Your smell, sickly sweet- of citrus and warm cherry blossoms in the sun. It clung to him like a second skin, one he could never fully wash off.

His compulsive, obsessive thoughts churned in him, a storm brewing until lightning had cracked and shattered his restraint.

It grew dark that day, so unfamiliar to you. The sunlight you basked in was kept prisoner by rolling grey clouds, thunder rumbling in the distance.

The rain began to pour, the icy cold droplets like pin pricks of a needle on your skin. For whatever reason, you couldn't move. You were frozen in your garden, looking up to the sky.

To Mother Earth.

Was she angry with you? You felt this punishment was needed. Deserved.

So you embraced the pricks of ice on your skin, letting it soak through your white dress that once flowed out around you. Now it clung to you like a marble statue, chilling you to the bone.

A crackle of lightning shot through the sky, illuminating the darkness with crackles of white, blues and deep purples. It was hauntingly beautiful. It was then the sky lit up again- and you felt darkness itself wrap its chains around you, pulling you under.

When you awoke, it was cold.

That was the only thing you could feel. Coldness.

It was a heaviness on you, trying to hold you down as you blinked your eyes open, the room blurring in and out of focus. Dark spots flashed across your vision, a lingering fear it was the darkness around you that was consuming your very soul.

You shuffled upwards, crouched in the corner as you observed the room around you.

It appeared as a showroom. An illusion, an attempt to bring false light and hope between the four walls.

A mirage.

Your hands were unbound, despite your abduction. You were free to move as you pleased, and yet you felt etched to the floor beneath you.

Darting your eyes around, you noted things in the room- presumably your room, that caught your eye.

The bed was large, seemingly soft as it had an old granny quilt, covered in florals. Blankets and piles of pillows adorned its surface, an old oil lamp flickering dimly on the bedside table. A bookshelf was filled with bound classics, different novels you had picked up over the years and read tirelessly under an old willow tree.

A kettle lay on a little counter, shelves above filled with different herbal tea blends and fresh leaves.

He had been watching you. And he had been for the last ten minutes, silent in the shadows as he observed you.

You jumped as he emerged into the light, scurrying back into your corner like a feral cat being cornered. A gasp was stuck in your throat, and you wanted more than anything to scream for help, to scream for anyone to save you from the large man who towered over you, slowly walking over to you- his footsteps silent.

He was darkness reincarnated, a living vision of cold, lonely nights and wilted flowers. Long dark hair curled around his neck, meeting the curled inky swirls that poked out underneath the collar of his shirt. Deep blue eyes watched you intensely, yet a gentle softness lingered in them as he looked into your own.

As if he were seeing someone familiar. Someone who brought him comfort. His arm reached out to touch you, and you flinched, scooting back into your corner until you were trapped by two wooden walls.

“Please-“ you cried out, silenced by the feeling of his fingers stroking your cheek tenderly, and the fresh tears that dripped down them.

“Please don’t hurt me, my family-“

“I’m not going to hurt you, my love. I am going to care for you.”

His words sent a chill down your spine.

“W-what?”

He smiled softly, removing his hand from your skin. Though he missed it. Your skin was so soft, so warm. He did not tell you of how you got here, where you were. He did not tell you of how the vines and the leaves seemed to bend and curl around him, trying to prevent your body from leaving. He did not tell you that you were not going back.

Instead, he stood, so large and tall he seemed to block all the light from view as you curled in on yourself, hugging your knees tightly.

“You are to be my wife.”

Your eyes widened. Voice became stuck in your throat at his words.

“You’re not a prisoner here, my love. Come and go as you please. Explore. And if you need anything, tell me and I’ll go to the ends of the earth to find it for you.”

He turned, striding over to the door. It was unlocked. You slowly pulled yourself up to shaky legs, looking like a newborn fawn as you took a step forward.

Then another.

“I need to go home.” you said, voice as shaky as your legs as you stumbled towards the bed, the feeling of darkness overcoming you again.

He frowned sympathetically, tilting his head as he started to shut the door behind him.

“You’ll learn to trust me soon, my цветок. I promise. Now rest.”

And with that, the door was shut. He was gone, leaving you alone with your broken heart and broken thoughts.

But the click of the lock never came. Despite this, all you could do was obey.

Sleep overcame you, and you let it.

════ ✣✤✣ ═════ ═══ ✣✤✣ ════

He repeated those words every single day.

Mentions of trust. Mentions of promise.

And yet, you refused to believe him.

The first two days you refused to leave your room. Looking out the window, you watched the rain run down the glass pane. It was always dark, always cloudy. The trees were barren of leaves, the air foggy and suffocating.

There was no point in leaving. You couldn’t. You were in the Underworld. No one could reach you here.

You had cried and cried until you could cry no more. Your eyes were puffy and heavy, sleep washing over you like a wave throughout the day.

And yet, he did not try and comfort you. He left you be. He knew that trying too much, too soon would leave you feeling more anxious. So he lingered. But didn’t hover over you.

You would come to him when you were ready. It would take time, but he was patient. He had all the time in the world to be patient. But he couldn’t help but worry, just a little.

You were still as bright and radiant as ever, the flowers still blooming in your woven hair. When you emerged from your room to slip to the bathroom, he noted you had put on some of the nightgowns he had left in your dresser.

And though he knew you were sleeping well, and had even done so much as to make some chamomile tea, you refused to eat. It worried him. He knew the change would be hard, and you’d need to adjust, but you needed something in your body.

Your stomach had been grumbling for the last two days, and you grew weak. Your thoughts were cloudy, and consumed with the idea of fresh fruits and berries from your garden back home. You longed for the sweet taste of nectar and honey on your tongue more than anything.

It was late when you snuck out of your room- though sneaking wasn’t the right word, since you were technically free to go where you wished. But you were trying to avoid the man who was now sitting at the kitchen table.

Watching you.

You froze, fingers clutching the door handle to slip back in your room. But sometrhing held you captive, like a deer in headlights.

“You need to eat at some point petal. You grow weak. And we can’t have that, now can we?” he hummed, pushing the chair across from him with his long leg.

You swallowed, slowly making your way over to sit. “I’m not hungry.”

“I can hear your stomach grumbling from inside your room.”

You stared at him blankly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But you were caving.

“I did not want to bother you while you’re adjusting. It makes you anxious, I'm sure. I can feel it rolling off you in waves.”

“You make me anxious.”

He smiled to himself, as if you had told a funny joke he was remembering for later.

“I get that a lot.”

“I’m sure.”

He pushed forward a bowl, and when you peered inside your mouth watered.

Pomegranates.

Oh you had missed the sweet taste of pomegranate seeds. But you couldn’t trust him, or his food.

“How can I trust you? That this isn’t poisoned?”

He shrugged. “You can’t. But you’re a smart girl. You look and tell me if it has any traces of nightbane in it.”

You examined it throughly, finding no traces of the white powder that could be dusted around the seeds. Nothing but deep red juices stained your fingers as you poked around. It looked like blood.

“I want to go home.”

“You can visit home if you eat. I’m trying to take care of you, and you’re making it very difficult.”

Your eyes widened. “I can go home?”

“You can visit.”

You frowned.

“Visit?”

“I’ll make a deal with your father I’m sure.”

You didn’t know of the conditions he had left your homeland in. Whether it was because of his presence, or the loss of you- it had turned dark. The crops would not grow, the clouds would not part.

Mother Nature cried so hard the plants drowned and wilted. There was no sun. The sun was with him, sitting across from him at the breakfast nook.

Your parents were desperate. Not only for your presence again, but for the sun to shine again. Nature did not call to them the way it called to you. The deer had scurried off, skittish, away in the brush, the vines had turned brown and thin.

He watched as you practically scarfed down the fruit, juices seeping from the corners of your lips and down your chin to stain your dress. He smiled, watching as you began to eat another, before he gave you a basket of fresh fruits from your garden.

Licking your lips, your eyes closed as you felt energy seep into your pores. It felt like being bathed in spring water, refreshing and cool.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and watched as you retreated to your room, lips still stained. Unbeknownst to you, you had thanked him for sealing your fate in the Underworld.

You’d see what he needed soon enough. 

To care for you. To keep you safe. To make you his queen. 

[clementinecloudz]

Baby Andrew Headcannons!

I Will spare you and share only a morsel

He was taken in by Bee from the foster system when he almost 6

He was at the Spears before, so it still plays a role into him growing up, but how it is shaped through a different environment

His first night Bee gives him a lightning mcqueen toy (It never leaves his person)

Bee has a dog named Milo, and Andrew very quickly bonds and becomes his best friend.

They run around the back yard together and make a mess in the garden, and most days Bee can find Andrew sprawled out with Milo on the sofa.

Andrew still has trauma from the spears, and the foster system is a high stress big environment, sometimes he gets too overwhelmed when speaking and Bee implement the thumbs up thumbs down method early.

Bee keeps him on a specific schedule in the beginning, no surprises, gradually they can change the routine.

Andrew can not keep a pair of shoes together, there is always a missing mate. Sometimes it is his fault, sometimes Milo is trying to keep him at home.

Andrew tends to wake up early, earlier than Bee.

By extension she offers him small bits of independence and teaches him how to make toast and slathered in peanut butter. ( Don’t tell Bee, but he gives Milo some)

She teaches him to cook and let's him help to feel included, she even makes homemade ice cream, he likes the lemon one.

Andrew dislikes storms and sometimes, when bee checks on him at night, she sees him sat straight up in bed and curled over on Milo, clutching the dogs fur and quietly crying.

When he is ready she takes him with her to the farmers market in town every sunday.

He meets the purple lady there (iykyk long time follower)

Andrew gets alot of Cars clothing

Andrew likes Bee;s house, it in the countryside, and its not crowded, but it isnt too big and scary either, the sun comes in just right through the windows, and he can play with Milo outside. Bee even lets him and even encourages him to help in the garden.

Andrew has a difficult time with therapy at first, and while Bee validates that fear, she doesn’t foster it, she finds ways to ease his worries and help him go, even if he doesn’t talk to the therapist the whole time.

He often brings his McQueen toy and bee encourages him to bring items that might bring comfort.

Going back to the schedule, its easily accessible for him, so he knows what is happening on what day, his therapy days are circled in blue.

The first time Andrew laughs is when Bee is teaching him to knead dough for bread, he spills some flour on Milo who sneezes.

At first he thinks he is in trouble and after gauging her reaction he laughs

When he is scared he hides under the bed and Milo crawls under with him.

Sometimes Andrew hides behind him.

Andrew’s first gift to Bee is one of those shitty first grade crafts and its of a bee and it stays on her fridge for years.

Andrew is often scared of social worker visits, and when they do he hides his shoes so they can’t take him, you know kid logic.

I’ve been debating giving Bee a husband for awhile, but if I do he is entirely planned out, ily sam

So Milo, provided I include Sam, is a retired K-9 from when Sam was still active duty in the military. They kinda retired together and Sam got to keep him, and Sam likes that Andrew makes Milo run around all silly and goofy, and feeds him all the treats.

Andrew was very scared of Sam at first, and sam kept his distance. To ease the transition, it was Sam who introduced Milo to Andrew, and even gave him a toy to give Milo.

On summer night, when Andrew is overwhelmed by a holiday party they are throwing, Sam takes Andrew far off into the backyard with two jars and they run around catching lightning bugs, away from all the noise.

Sam never takes it personally when Andrew has his days of avoidance, he can understand why, he doesn’t need details.

Sam always asks before touching andrew, even if it's to help him put on his coat.

One morning, when Andrew is getting ready for school, Sam shows him this cool trick, that milo can retrieve his socks from him.

As he grows more comfortable Andrew becomes a culprit of ‘Wearing my dads big tee shirts’, and its so cute.

Andrew does little league exy, not coached by wymack, I still want him tobe a college coach, but he and Sam were already good friends, so its funny when Neil and andrew become glue.

Bee packs to juice boxes because Andrew and Neil share anyway.

On the way home from games andrews shoes are in different parts of the car, he has one sock on, he has spilled his snack, and fell asleep.

Bee is on her last marble because every time they head off for practice andrew can;t find his shoe.

Whenever he is physically hurts he always runs to Sam first.

The more Andrew knows Neil and the longer they are friend he adopts Neil's trait of going through a box of band aids a week.

Andrew doesn't like that Neil is in the other first grade class.

Andrew was scared at first when Sam would brush his knotted hair after his baths, but now he likes it and practically melts.

Abby and Bee loves to talk smack about the overly competitive parents, “Did they boo a six year old?”,”Twice.”

Both Sam and Bee have large families, so they were worried on how to help Andrew ease into these big family gatherings. He often stays close to one of their sides and over times run around with the cousins, but by the end of the night he is curled in Sams lap, fast asleep, and safe

Andrew hates school at first

Hates it

He despises the first day ‘My Name Is’ tag. And he misses Bee

He will give Sam the hardest times in the morning, draggin his feet ‘misplacing’ his shoes.

They have to work on that.

Andrew first playground brawl was a learning moment.

Bee asks Andrew why he pushed his classmate, and learns that they have been bullying him and pushed him first.

Sam teaches him we dont immediately resolve to violence if possible, but he is secretly proud Andrew won tbh.

Bee tends to not give Andrew any sugar a little before bedtime, but on bad nights sam let's him eat cookies while they talk at the table.

Andrew like the build model cars in the garage with Sam and sometimes plays with his hot whelps on the floor of sams office

Andrew has the craziest, curliest, bed head.

its so cute

Ive been debating on killing sam, because its aftg.

Andrew makes neil matching friendship bravelts and they havse their jersey numbers on them.

Neither boy takes them off.

Sometimes, when Andrew has bad dreams, Sam takes him downstairs and they watch cars.

Sam, unfortunately, knows every word.

I could go on forever, but best I stop.

[sentientgolfball]

Mushy May: "Better now that you're here"

More swisstom for you all because I'm actually violently in love them. Its about 900 words of Phantom being afraid of storms and Swiss being there with them

Thunder is not something new to Phantom. They have experienced many storms in their time in the Pits. But the ones in the Pits are quite different from the ones Topside. A crack of thunder Down Below is usually followed by a ravenous flock of air ghouls hunting for their next meal. It meant Phantom making themselves as small as possible so they could shrink into the shadows just to have a chance at seeing the sun again. 

So it is no surprise the first time since their summoning a gentle rain turns into booms of thunder and flashes of lightning that Phantom disappears. The rest of the pack tries to play it cool while they sit in the common room for movie night. They have only been Topside for a few weeks, it is not crazy to believe they just wanted an evening alone. 

But the easy explanation does not sit right with Swiss. He does not pay any attention to what is happening on the tv. All his senses are dialed in, just waiting for the first sign of Phantom coming to join them. They never miss an opportunity to be with the whole pack. The energy from the storm does not help either. He can feel all his elements humming and buzzing just below his skin as it rages outside. He needs to move. He needs to do something. And that something is finding Phantom. 

“I’m gonna piss.” He announces to no one in particular. Just a simple, quick explanation for why he stands and leaves so suddenly. 

He turns down the left side of the hallway, making a beeline for Phantom’s room. He can feel them in there, the buzz from their quint reacting to his tells him so. He knocks softly at the door, “Buggy? You okay? The movie just started.” 

He gets no response, but when another rumble of thunder shakes the den, he can hear a high pitched whine. His eyebrows twitch up, “Bug?” 

Still no response. 

“Alright, I’m coming in.” He goes to twist the knob and the door swings open. Good thing they have not discovered their lock yet. Once inside, he notices the curtains are drawn shut and their bat string lights are off. He also notices no distinct Phantom shaped lump anywhere in the room. But he can smell them. Gasoline and melted plastic so thick he has to swallow to not choke on it. 

Another rumble and a flash so bright he can see it through their blackout curtains. The scent of fear spikes and he catches their whine. He frowns as he makes his way towards their closet. Once again he knocks softly at the door, “Hey little bug. What’s going on?” 

To his surprise, the door pushes open. They stare up at him with wide eyes, lichtenberg figure scars alight as his quint struggles to contain itself. It only serves to highlight the tracks of dried tears on their cheeks. 

“Aren’t they done yet? It’s been hours.” 

Swiss slowly drops to his knees to be level with them. He grabs a hold of their hand and squeezes, “Who's done with what?” 

“Those air ghouls. Why are they still hunting?” 

Another rumbles makes them squeak, eyes wide as they look over Swiss’ shoulder as if something might pop out from behind him. It all clicks in Swiss’ mind then. His gaze softens even further as he gives their hand a tug, “There’s no air ghouls here buggy. None except for Cirrus and Cumulus. And Zephyr…and Aero. Not the point. I promise you none of them are hunting.” 

They look wholly unconvinced yet they still let him pull them from the closet. He smiles and brings their hand up to his lips, kissing a line across each knuckle, “Trust me?” 

They chew their lip but they nod. Their tail wraps tightly around one of their legs as Swiss slowly leads them across the room to the window. Their eyes go impossibly wide when another flash of lightning sneaks through the curtain. 

“It’s okay, buggy. Just. Look.” His voice is still soft as he pulls back the curtain to reveal the storm outside. Rain taps steadily against the glass. The clouds are so thick they blot out the moon and the stars, darkness only being broken by the occasional streak of lightning. Phantom squeezes his hand so tight he swears he feels something crack. 

But they do look. They press themselves to Swiss’ side and stare out the window. They flinch with each rumble, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. But it never comes. There are never any sharp talons or frigid blasts of air. There is only Swiss’ warmth and sporadic sparks of light. Slowly, very slowly, as they continue to watch the storm by his side they begin to shake less. Their grip loosens. Their tail finds its way from their own leg to Swiss’. 

He smiles at him, “Good?” 

They nod, “Yeah. Yeah. It’s better now that you’re here.” 

Swiss’ smile only grows brighter. He squishes them even closer to his side with an arm thrown around their shoulders. The two stand like that for a while, leaning against each other as they watch the storm light up the night. They are not seen again until Dew goes looking for the two missing ghouls. When he opens the door to Phantom’s room, he finds them curled up together on their bed. They are both fast asleep, Phantom’s nose tucked under Swiss’ chin. 

“I really hope he pissed before getting into bed,” Dew mutters to himself before softly clicking the door shut behind him.

[tarrynightss]

Under Captain Price’s desk

Synopsis: You give Price a blowjob underneath his desk, only for Soap to walk in. It would be better to stop before you get caught, but teasing Price is so much more fun

Warnings: Smut

Pairing: John Price x genderneutral reader

One of Price’s hands is wound tightly in your hair, the other one gripping onto the edge of his desk like his life depends on it. You are seated underneath it, on your knees, your mouth sliding along his cock deliciously. The sinful sight of it alone has a flush appearing behind his beard. You shouldn’t do this, not right here in his office during the day, but Price was far too eager for your touch to stop you. Your eyes stare up at his, tears pricking at the corners when you take him deep into your throat, your hands bracing you against his muscular thighs. With the way his hips sputter up against your face you can tell he’s close, his face scrunched up in pleasure. All you hear are his soft groans before a knock startles you both.

Price pulls you off of his cock with lightning speed, quickly pushing you further underneath his desk and scooting himself closer to it as well. Your back is pressed against the wood of his desk, his cock smearing your own spit and his precum along your cheek as there is little space for either of you to move to. Your face is essentially sandwhiched against his crotch, but not without reason, as within seconds you hear the door to his office opening.

“I did not tell you you could come in,” Price says gruffly, trying to appear as casual as possible.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you realize you almost got caught on your knees in front of your captain. A shiver runs over your spine as you imagine what could’ve happened, the thought surprisingly not all that unpleasant…

A care-free laugh resounds through the room, and you quickly pinpoint it to be Soap’s. “Don’t be such a hard-ass cap, got those files you wanted.”

Price’s hand in your hair strokes you gently, clearly telling you to stay still as you hear footsteps approaching the desk. You really, really should, but another shiver of excitement runs through you as you turn your head slightly, smearing his cock over your lips. You can feel the muscles in his thighs flex under your fingers, the hand in your hair tightening in warning. A smile pulls at your lips as you move one hand to grip onto his cock, bringing the head directly against your mouth.

“Great,” Price coughs, covering up a surprised groan when your tongue flicks out to lick his tip. “Leave them here and I’ll look through them later.”

You hear the thick folder hit the wood above your head. “You sure cap? There’s a lot here to sift through. Seriously, when you start reading what this guy’s been up to…”

As Soap rattles on you stop listening, instead focusing on licking from the base of Price’s cock back up to the tip, circling your tongue around it teasingly. You can feel him twitch in your hand with every movement, his hips slightly bucking when you close your lips around the head. He tugs on your hair again, warning you, but you don’t relent.

“You alright? You’re looking a bit flushed, heard there’s a bug going around,” Soap says, blissfully unaware of what is actually happening.

Price curses under his breath as he runs a hand over his face. You would chuckle about how stressed you have him if your mouth wasn’t currently occupied otherwise, sliding his cock deeper and deeper into your throat.

“I’m fine, just real busy,” Price tells Soap. His hand tugs at your hair, but this time it isn’t to warn you to stop, oh no. You feel the difference, feel the edge of roughness as he does it. You’re definitely paying for this later. “Let’s meet up in two hours, yeah? Then we’ll go over the details.”

Soap lingers for a moment more before you hear his heavy boots retreating back to the door. “Understood, sir.”

You can feel Price’s muscles relax as soon as Soap closes the door behind himself, leaving the two of you alone again. He instantly scoots back his chair, pulling you off of him as you whine.

“Fuck, you want to get me in trouble, don’t you, love?” He says, his brows drawn together in a frown.

He’s a little frustrated, but there’s also clear desire in his gaze as he stares down at you. And he could never get mad at you, not really.

You give him a sheepish smile. “I can’t help that you didn’t lock your door.”

He grabs onto your arm, tugging you up on his lap till you’re practically face to face with him, uncaring about dirtying your pants or shirt as his cock presses up against your stomach. “Right, because I should’ve known you would crawl under my desk, suck my cock, and then not even stop when one of my men comes in.”

“A true lack of foresight on your part, captain.” You bite your lip to hold back a chuckle.

He grabs onto your chin with one hand, and a heavy second passes before a lazy grin pulls at his lips. “You are dirty little thing, you know that?”

“Affirmative.”

He groans in approval, pressing a soft yet hungry kiss to your lips before pulling away and slapping your ass.

“Now go lock the door, I’m not done with you yet.”

[retrowitchy]

thinking about baby lenore dove and her uncles again goddamnit

if u have ever wanted 9 year old lenore dove and tam amber content then you are in the right place step right up folks

*✴︎+ lost souls on ao3

It was a quiet evening, one of those nice ones where the grass in the Meadow seemed to sway like it was caught up in a waltz, and all heaven and earth seemed in tune with it, even the lightning bugs and the leaves on the oak trees.

They were sat out in the grass, not too far from the house. Tam Amber absentmindedly picked along on his mandolin, one conscientious eye on his nine year old niece, who was hunting for wish-flowers. Her dark hair sprung out every which way, unruly and bouncing as she dove through the grass, reminding him of himself when he was her same age.

Clerk Carmine was off with his sweetheart in town, so Tam Amber was the sole parent for the night. Not that he minded- somehow, when CC left, it felt like there was a little more wiggle room for dreamers. Clerk Carmine kept them sensible, kept them safe. Without him, Tam Amber and Lenore Dove would "roam the impossibilities and daydreams of yesterday, tomorrow, and never" as he liked to say sometimes. He and her both had rovin' minds, wandering all over the place, and there wasn't any shame in it. Besides, he loved hearing the things his niece was thinking about.

Tam Amber started to sing as he plucked the strings, watching Lenore Dove blow dandelion seeds everywhere.

"Can't take my past

Can't take my history,

You can't take my pa, 'cuz his name's a mystery.

Nothin' you can take was ever worth keepin'-"

"Oh nothin' you can take was ever worth keepin!" Lenore Dove finished with him, springing onto the blanket and nearly startling him out of his nice reverie.

"Well, Lenore Dove, what brings you over to this here blanket on this fine evening?" he asked, poking her in the belly.

She giggled. "Play some more, I like that one."

"I know you do. That's a Lucy Gray song, it's in your bones," he said. "Your uncle used to go crazy on the fiddle when we'd play it."

"He's already crazy," Lenore Dove rolled her eyes, wiggling her bare toes out in front of her. Lord, she had sass on her. When she and CC would go at it, Tam Amber could barely keep up. They'd banter for days without even stopping to sleep if they could.

"You make any good wishes out there?" he asked her, continuing to pick out the tune of the song quietly.

"Lots. I wished for a thousand birds to be my friends," Lenore Dove said, flopping back on the blanket.

"Well hey, you know what they say. A well-willin' wish will surely will itself real."

"They don't say that. You just made that up!" Lenore Dove exclaimed. "That's a tongue twister!"

"So what if I did?" he said, smiling at her. "Doesn't make it any less real."

"Oh, quit. Keep playin'," she said.

Tam Amber obliged, feeling no need to continue singing but dutifully playing the song to the best of his recollection. Lenore Dove sat up, turned over, and propped herself up on her arms on her stomach to watch.

"Hey, what's that mean in the song? About havin' your pa's name be a mystery?" she asked.

He set the mandolin down in his lap momentarily. "I reckon it's sayin' they don't know who their pa was. His name's a mystery because they never met him."

"Like me," Lenore Dove said, moving over to lie on her back again and gaze up into the treetops of the oaks. "I never met my pa."

"Yeah, just like that. We never met him either, so it's true, his name's a mystery," Tam Amber conceded thoughtfully. "Sorta true about myself, too."

She looked over at him, eyes big and wide. "What? You didn't know your pa either?"

"Pa or ma," Tam Amber said, shaking his head. "Didn't I ever tell you this story?"

"No," she said softly, fingering the patches on his pants. "Can you tell me?"

"Well sure. Not much to tell, really. Back in the old days, the days you like, all the Covey had at least one relation to each other. Your ma, Lucy Gray, Barb Azure, they were all Bairds. Clerk Carmine, Billy Taupe, they were of Clade kin. When that old man took 'em in, they were all already sort of a family. But I came straight to 'em in a box off the side of the road. My ma left me, I s'pose, or my pa, whoever was in charge of me. I never knew 'em. Your mama used to call me a lost soul," he said, chuckling. Lenore Dove was hanging onto his every word with a rapt attention. "I guess that about sums me up."

"If you're a lost soul, I'm one too," she said determinedly. "We're kin like that."

"Well, you're a Baird, so don't let any of that clan hear you disrespecting them like that. They'll roll in their graves," he laughed, gently pulling one of her curls.

"Okay," said Lenore Dove, yanking one of his curls in return. "But if I never knew my pa, then I'm half Baird, half lost soul. How 'bout that?"

Tam Amber looked at her, her big, earnest green eyes, her dirty overalls, the hopeful twitch of her little nose. It had been hell when Maude Ivory left them. He didn't know if he could stand the loss of one more member of the family, and worse, neither could Clerk Carmine. But they had had no idea how much joy this little kid, full of sweetness and sass and dreams and big ideas, was gonna bring them. How she would carry with her life back into the Covey house, and laughter, and love. Just like her mama did. And maybe her pa was the same way, who knows.

"Sure," he said, eyes crinkling up in a smile. "I think that's a fine idea."

[kaissatou]

the promise - a lisa frankenstein AU (5.6k)

“Do you like music? I have The Cure.

Oh. Not that kind of cure.

They can’t make you better. I mean they can, but like, emotionally.”

summary; feeling alone, you visit the graveyard for some company. lightning strikes twice, and everything suddenly changes.

warnings; weird girl!reader, Gojo whose lived under a rock for years (literally), alcohol intoxication, attempted sexual assault (not by suguru or satoru) , slight angst, slight suguru x reader

notes; not proofread :( was gonna be waaay longer but i cba :3 part 2 soon if this gets support :p

☆

You thought about death frequently. Not with suicidal intentions, but rather curiosity. Would your body lay there to rot in eternal darkness with no mind left to wander anymore, or would you be able to feel the dirt on your skeletal fingers, and roam the earth as the ghost of the person you once was? You often wondered if the death still had feelings, thoughts. Would bugs take home in the empty hole where your heart used to be before it decayed, becoming a habitat for nature before succumbing into a moss, sinking into the earth and taking root, the only signs of life being your soul, your memories that your family carry with pride?

The year is 1989. Technology is rapidly improving, music is eccentric and full of personality, cinema is great. The first episode of The Simpsons is aired. Nintendo just released the Game Boy. Metallica receive their first ever Grammy nomination. Nirvana’s debut. The release of Bill and Teds Excellent Adventure, which you liked too much to admit. A shake in pop culture, really.

However, you still managed to stick out like a sore thumb, despite sharing these same interests with the rest of the town. Family life was hard following the death of your beloved mother, your father remarrying too quick for your own liking (and good) resulting in you gaining a sickly sweet step-sister, and a step mother who resembled Lady Tremaine.

It was hard to hate Shoko. Despite how much you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her. Despite her eyebrow raises and murmurs of dislike towards your outfit choices, she was your sister now.

Her mother, however, was a different story. You knew from the first time you met her that she held an unreasonable hatred towards you, afraid to ruin her ‘perfect’ family image. Your dad didn’t care enough to listen to your complains, always brushing them off with promises that she’d warm up to you eventually, ending with a soft hum as he flips his newspaper and leans further into the comforter. Shoko was the only person who actually listened to you.

“I don’t think that blush is your shade,” Shoko bustles into the bathroom, bending down just slightly to reapply her hot pink lipstick in the mirror. She does a double take, her eyes scanning over your face and your heavy eye make-up in disdain. Her lipstick is a hot pink, a true contrast to the black tube resting politely beside your messy, unkempt eyeshadow palette.

“Gee, thanks,” you murmur, patting it out with the pads of your fingers. Ruffling your hair in the mirror, your face turns into a scowl. “I think I’ll probably just stay home.”

Shoko tuts, turning to you with a blank expression as she sets her lipstick down. “It’s compulsory,” she rests her arm against the counter, leaning her body weight against said arm, crossing her legs. “And you know what your doctor said,

You need socialisation.”

That may have been true. After the death of your mother, you developed a tendency to isolate yourself from social situations, isolate yourself from the world around you. As soon as you came home with your first bottle of black lipstick and The Cure vinyl, your father had urged you towards therapy. You didn’t blame him, because his worry for you felt genuine, real. It reminded you of the times when your mother was still around, when everything was still okay.

Shoko had good intentions, even though she was dragging you to a party against your own will. A party full of frat boys and Sandy Olsson from Grease lookalikes, where you would stick out like a sore thumb. Parties were never your thing, at least parties like these. You much preferred the comfort of your own bedroom and Led Zeppelin to soothe your worries, not alcohol and cramped bodies.

“Why don’t you use my tanning bed?” Shoko suggests, quickly earning herself a deathly glare. She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t back down.

Shoko was a sweet girl at heart. To the rest of town, she was the image of a perfect daughter. Top grades, she was a medical student in training. Popular in school, crowds gushing over her and her equally perfect best friend Suguru Geto. Though he was more reserved. Suguru Geto was polite and kind unlike her other friends, never failing to offer you a wave or a genuine smile whenever he was in your presence. Whenever you had the privacy of being alone, he’d allow you to gush over your shared music taste, sometimes even giving you new recommendations for you to spend the night researching while he and Shoko skip off to yet another party.

Shoko often teased you for having a crush on him, which you constantly denied. It wasn’t a crush, it was just, you favoured him, perhaps?

Stepping out of the tanning bed, you stumble on your feet. The crackle of electricity is still running through your veins, and if your vision wasn’t so hazy you’d be worried your blood would be glowing a radioactive blue. Thunder crackles in the distance- or was it just the sparks from the plug of the tanning bed?

“I’m really sorry you got electrocuted, y/n.” Scratching the nape of her neck awkwardly, Shoko avoids eye contact with you.

Once fully stable, you focus on taming your frazzled hair. Shoko pretends to check her nails, trying to swallow don’t her guilt, while simultaneously trying to maintain her own pride. Her trusty tanning bed had never let her down this bad before.

Maybe it was the bad luck that seemed to follow you around everywhere. Maybe it was that grave that you always gravitated to. The one in the corner of the graveyard, the one that never had any flowers. The sore thumb. You liked to think you were quite alike. Despite being from completely different eras and centuries, you two had one fatal factor in common- you were forgotten.

Satoru Gojo, the tombstone read.

“This party’s going to be clutch. There’s going to be two kegs, and Namami, the emo one, stole a nitrous tank from his dad’s dental practice. Isn’t it just off Bluff road?”

“Uhuh,” you mused, finally managing to tame the beast of you hair enough to look socially acceptable. “There’s a shortcut through the forest through Bachelors Grove.”

Shoko stilled, turning towards you in disgust. “The haunted cemetery?”

Even when she tried to be understanding, she still came off as a little judgy. You never minded. You knew she was trying.

The cemetery where Satoru Gojo lay. You often wondered about what his life was like. Did he have a hard home life, too? You liked to imagine so, for your own sake. You imagined he was similar to you, almost. An outsider in his own era. Or was he popular like Shoko is, a figure of such beauty and grace that it was hard to ignore? But still, his desolated grave was a sight on sore eyes. You wondered if your own would be like that too, abandoned.

“It’s not haunted,” you intervened, slightly more defensive then a normal person should be. “It’s just abandoned. I’ve never seen anybody there. I think it’s really peaceful and quiet.”

Whenever you had the chance, free from the harsh load of school work and your jarring step-mother, you liked to tend to the abandoned graves. To show love to the ones who didn’t have any love anymore. You hoped that the ghosts of once was knew they weren’t forgotten. There was someone out there who remembered each and every one of their desecrated souls.

“I do wax rubbings of all the tombstones. I have a favourite,” Shoko knew you were a little weird, sure. But atleast you were happy. That was all that matters, she concluded.

“You have a favourite, yeah?” She egged you on, struggling to tie the strap of her uncomfortable heels. You walk over, still limping slightly from the aftershocks of the tanning bed incident, tightening her heels with little struggle.

“A young man,” you muse, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “I tend to his grave and leave him flowers, and…

I talk to him sometimes.

I just don’t think anyone should be forgotten.”

☆

“If you’re looking to fade out, the Ethanols inside.” A gentle voice from behind caused you to drop dead in your tracks.

The party was already on full fledge, empty beer cans and shot glasses scattered all over the yard. His boots are heavy as the crunch the grass below, his steps thought out and calculated. Put together.

Suguru Geto was always so put together. Maybe that’s why you liked him so much, eagerly eating up his presence whenever he was around. Even his cologne was steady, never seeming to fade, the smell of him almost causing you whiplash. You knew it was him before you even saw his face.

“What?” You weren’t fully there, or capable to decipher his previous words. Your focus had been on the over crowded house- and sorry crowded house, but you were really dreaming that it would be over before it started.

“The booze,” you turned to face him, his grin was gentle and composed. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his baggy black jeans, sagging them down just slightly due to the added weight. You adverted your eyes. “It’s in the house.”

Oh. “Yeah, I think that Shoko brought most of it.” Speaking of Shoko, you quickly snapped out of your love-ridden gaze to search for the girl, who was currently whispering into the ears of two girls, ones that you recognised to have gave you dirty looks in passing earlier in the school year. All three of them kept glancing your way, trying (and failing miserably) to not make it obvious. They were obviously already inebriated.

You weren’t uncomfortable under their gaze, this situation having already happening to many times for you to keep count anymore. You loved Shoko, really, but she never knew how to keep her mouth shut. And it was the same thing, everytime. They wanted to know how you ended up the way you did. So shut off, so reserved from the world, so desolate. You didn’t want the sob story. You didn’t need people feeling bad for you.

There was nothing worse than the feeling of being pitied by people far superior to you. People who had everything that you once had, that was now out of your grasp. People who never appreciate what they have.

Suguru wandered off, and you followed aimlessly, like a little puppy with nowhere to go. He didn’t seem to mind- or if he did, he didn’t bother to voice it. He shuffled his way to the keg wordlessly, kneeling down beside it and picking out two separate red cups from the bunch. He looked back to you, a silent offering as he held the cup your way.

The piece of red plastic was still empty. You still had the chance to deny. But when Suguru was looking at you with that purple tinted gaze, how could you not? You don’t think you would ever want to deny him of anything.

You weren’t a drinker, despite all of Shoko’s pestering. You didn’t understand how people your age found joy in it. Where was the joy of being constantly dizzy, out of your mind and not even being able to remember a single thing the next day? You concluded that there was no joy in having your previous events from the night before recounted back to you from a friend anxious over your reaction, your body filled with regret. You’ve seen your share of this plenty from Shoko, so why would you voluntarily copy her actions.

But.

It was Suguru asking. So you reluctantly agreed.

Maybe that was the first mistake. Or maybe the first mistake was allowing Naoya Zenin, one of the snobby rich kids, to chat your ear off. It was all a blur, really. You didn’t see Shoko much for the rest of the night, of Suguru either for that matter.

You don’t remember when it kicked in. All you know was that it did. And quick. Was the sky spinning, or was it just you? Nope, it really was spinning. It had to be. Reaching a hand out, on your eyes it fell contorted. You brought the palm of your hand closing to your face, wiggling your fingers. Your palm was moving, your veins bulging- or what it just imagination?

The panic had already set in. Or had it?

Your third mistake was trying to stand up, all too quickly, in a way that had your body immediately lurching over, your dinner threatening to arise. You stumbled back up to your feet, convincing yourself that you didn’t need to sit down, you were fine- your fourth mistake. Naoya’s expression was unreadable, at first. It soon contorted into one of disgust, though he quickly masked it with a (fake) smile, one that seemed so strained it was more like a grimace.

“Let’s find somewhere more private for you to go sit for a bit, yeah?” He arose, invading your personal space with a rough hand on your back, a hand that was too close for your liking. If you were any less inebriated, the red flags in your brain would’ve gone off immediately, sparking like fireworks, enough to light up the whole town in red flames. But you weren’t sober.

“Here we go,” You hardly realised at first when his hand started to wander, sliding down your back to the globe of your ass, with a touch so feather light you could’ve missed it. And then before it’s even took place in your mind he’s raising it back up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to steady you.

No, no.

Nothing was right about the way he was touching you. He was rough. So rough, it was unnerving. He led you to a secluded bathroom, grunting whenever you slipped up and tumbled your whole body weight on him.

the click of the door muffling all sounds. You were sure that was Shoko you could hear singing faintly. Your breathing was unsteady, uncollected, uncomposed. It had you thinking back to Suguru- what was he doing right now.

But- oh, oh no. That wasn't Suguru infront of you, and that wasn't Suguru whose hot breath you could feel on your neck. And that certainly wasn't Suguru who was leaning in for a kiss-

Something in your mind finally clicked, and you were pushing him away. You didn't want this. And Naoya Zenin knew that.

He stumbles back into the shower curtain, unimpressed. It seems the alcohol is catching up to himself now, as he rubs his head, his fingers pressing firm into his temples, a groan leaving his lips.

And you run, leaving the bathroom behind, leaving the party behind.

Someone yells from behind you. You can't make out who it is.

You don't bother checking.

☆

Satoru Gojo’s grave is bare, as usual, just as you expected.

You fall to your knees beside his tombstone, the mud, wetted by the previous storm dirtying the petite dress Shoko had shoved you in, matching her own. It wasn’t your style, but for her you didn’t mind it. You don’t know when the weather became so…malicious. It was fitting, really. Maybe Satoru had caused it. He knew how you were feeling, if he was watching over you.

“It’s you,” you heaved for breath, the harsh thumping of your heart beat finally steadying as you took a comfortable reside on his tombstone. His presence was calming, even if he was dead. Almost like Suguru’s.

The thunder crackles again and you let out a pained whine, a nimble hand grazing over the lettering of his name. Satoru Gojo. “It’s you,” you repeat. What would he do in this situation? You wish you could ask him.

You wondered if he was weak like you. Or maybe he was strong. Maybe he was the type of person to always have an answer for everything, a beacon of hope. Maybe he was the type of person that people would rely on, the strongest. You imagined he would be pretty considerate- the misunderstood usually are. You liked to think you were considerate- considerate of those around you, putting others before yourself. You even let Shoko put you in her tanning bed, even if it didn’t turn out quite how she planned it. You let Suguru give you a drink- why?

You often blamed yourself for your mother’s death. You were the only one who witnessed it. You heard all the whispers after her body was taking away in the ambulance. Your father holding your frail young body to his chest, your neighbours watching in concern- whispers of “how could this happen?” Nobody blamed you for what happened. It was a freak accident. It was never your fault. So why did it always feel like it was? Why could you never live up to anyone’s expectations?

The thunder crackled again. Maybe it was Satoru’s own way of comforting you, of letting you know that he was listening.

“Oh, I..” your voice cracked as a choked sob threatened to make its way out and disturb the ambience.

“I wish I was with you.”

☆

How were you meant to explain to the Victorian zombie currently huddled up in your wardrobe that, in fact, that wasn’t what you meant.

He was pretty. Really pretty. He had these overwhelmingly blue orbs, that felt he was staring down into your soul. His hair was soiled with dirt and mud (and whatever else, you didn’t even want to think about) but you could notice slight clean white streaks peaking through. He almost looked like an angel. Oddly pretty for a zombie who should be a decaying pile of bones right now.

He was extremely confused when you dragged him back to your house in the midst of the storm, rain damaging your eyesight into blurry splotches. It wasn’t like you could exactly leave him there- a zombie, with no bearings in the middle of the forest. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but you didn’t want anyone catching him. It was either you leave him for dead (ironic), or take him with you. You chose the latter.

You quickly caught onto the fact that he couldn’t speak. Something about being dead, you weren’t really sure. But he could listen, his dead eyes watching you intently, lovingly almost, whenever you spoke. You quickly caught onto the fact he must’ve been distraught about the loss of his voice, grunting and moaning constantly to get any words out. He must’ve been a speaker, huh.

You shove a coat over his body, and the phone rings jarringly. His head moves as quick as it can for a dead persons, his joints aching after not being used for so long. You quickly run over to the phone, declining the call. But his eyes are still caught on it, a hint of curiosity in his gaze.

You quickly remember there was no technology in his era.

“That’s my dad’s shoe phone,” your own words have you stifling a grin at the positive memory. He smiles slightly. You think. You can’t really tell. “He got it for free with his subscription to Sports Illustrated.”

He makes a noise. You’re not really sure what he’s trying to say, maybe it’s in agreement, maybe his curiosity isn’t yet fullfilled.

You decide to switch your record player on to decrease the awkward tension lingering in your bed room, which should be your safe space. It currently isn’t, not with a Victorian zombie lingering in your wardrobe. Music had always been there to ground you. When your mother hadn’t, Ride The Lighting had. Ironic; as lightning had got you into this predicament in the first place.

“I wish I was with you.”

And then everything happened so quickly, in a flash of lightning. Everything was blue. Just like Satoru’s eyes.

The first strike hit the tree resting idly behind his tombstone. The old oak tree, the only presence ever in the graveyard beside your own. On your first visit to Satoru, the old oak stuck out like a sore thumb. You concluded by its size, that it must be so deeply rooted within the soil. You wondered if it was here when Satoru was alive. Maybe you gazed upon the same tree, wishing for the same fate.

The second strike of lightning hit directly on Satoru Gojo’s grave, and in a panic ridden gaze you stumbled back, your own yelp surprising you. And then the ground started shaking, and you could’ve swore that was a hand coming out of the soil-

The Cure. He’s listening intently. It’s a little dark considering your current situation. Boys don’t cry. Boys do cry, but they certainly don’t crawl out of the soil.

“Do you like this, uh, song?” You’ll switch it if he shows any sign that he doesn’t. You don’t want him to suffer in silence.

He nods- almost. It’s his own version of a nod, the best he can do.

You feel pity for him. You’re not sure what you would do in this situation if you were him. Being awakened from your centuries long slumber, to a girl you’ve never met before crying on your own tombstone. Seeing the proof of your death painted so cruelly on a peice of rock. It must be a lot to take in. And then being dragged to said girls house, and chucked in a wardrobe.

“Do you like any other music?” You question, knowing you won’t get any verbal answer. Small talk.

You get up, wandering over to tne record player when all music has died out, and all that’s left is faint scratching. You switch it to the b-side. The music flows again effortlessly.

“I have The Cure.”

He suddenly perks up, and hums. His fill attention is on you, and you shrink under his blue gaze. And then you realise what he’s wordlessly asking of you.

Oh.

“No,” you try to put him down slowly. “It’s not that kind of cure. It’s like a…it’s a band.”

He rolls his eyes. Well, he’s certainly a character. He’s not exactly what you expected. You thought considering his time, he’d be at least a bit more- gentlemanly. No. He’s sassy. But, he’s still curious. He chucks his head back with as much force as he can, hitting the wall of your wardrobe. A subtle thud.

“They can’t make you better. I mean, they can, but like emotionally.” He…smiles? Satoru shrugs the coat you shucked on him off from his lap.

There’s a comfortable silence for a while. The house is empty, quiet. Your parents are at work, Shoko must’ve stayed round Suguru’s. It’s only you and Satoru right now. He’s still staring at you- unmoving. His expression is soft, his eyes are loving. If he wasn’t covered in dirt, and well, a zombie, you think you could get used to it. Hold on- what are you saying?

You decide to bite the bullet.

It was all a big misunderstanding. If you explained what you really meant, then hopefully, he’d go back to wherever he came from. The ground, preferably.

“When I said I wished to be with you, I didn’t mean that.” You bite your lip, before continuing. He raises his head to stare at you again. He really needs to stop doing that. “I meant I wished I was in the ground, dead.

Because life sucks and people are jerk-offs.”

God, you really do sound like an angsty teen.

He doesn’t look happy. His face is contorted, his big blue eyes suddenly not so big anymore, downturned in the corners. You assume he doesn’t like the thought of you harming yourself. That’s…nice, you guess.

“I didn’t mean that I wanted to be…with you. You know… in person.”

He looks down. You smell it before you see it. It’s putrid. He’s crying.

You do feel a little guilty, before you’re blindsided by the stench. You stifle a gag, and separate yourself from him as much as you can. He looks up. Seeing the distance you have pushed between you two, and his lip quivers. Shakes.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry.” How are you meant to comfort a Victorian zombie? He’s crying specifically because of you! And, oh god, whatever’s coming out of his eyes cannot be tears. “No, no, no, don’t cry!”

You don’t know if you’re begging for your sake or his.

“Don’t cry,” you try again, softer this time. He listens. “Please.” You add in, for reassurance. You’re not mad at him, even if his tears smell like the centuries he’s been rotting underground. You don’t know why you ever expected different. Well, in your defence, you never expected him to cry.

The dirt tracks staining your bedroom carpet really weren’t ideal. And you had to do something about his - stench. You wondered if he’d look even more beautiful if he was clean. It would be a hard task, but you’d find a way to make it work. Before your parents arrive, at least.

Getting him inside your house last night was hard. His frail body had slammed into Shoko’s mirror and smashed it, sending glass shards flying in every direction. You grimaced. And now you had to find a way to get him into the shower without his rotting corpse succumbing to death again. The poor thing could hardly stand on his own.

“Go,” You cover your mouth and plug your nose, catching Satoru’s attention again. You signal with your hand for him to stand- which he tries. And fails miserably. “Oh..my god.”

It takes some time, but you get there.

“So here’s some soap,” you offer him the pink block, to which he stares at with amazement. Yeah, his soap was probably never pink before. You had a quick fleeting thought about what the facilities in his life must have been like. God knows he’d never used a shower before. “You’re gonna need that.”

He grunts in acceptance. You don’t understand why, but something about him just makes you want to open up and speak. Maybe it’s the factor that he cannot speak back, so you know he can’t judge you. Well he can, but you cannot voice it- but out of sight, out of mind. He hasn’t expressed any disdain for you, yet- no, his eyes are always filled with something else- love.

You know that you’re to blame for the cause of his affections. You know that he must’ve been watching from the afterlife whenever you visited his grave, that he must’ve heard every single word that left your lips. Your declarations of love for a dead man. Affection that he hasn’t experienced for centuries. You conclude that he must have formed a liking for you- whether it was the first time you left him that single red rose, or the first time you cleaned his grave, rid of the moss that was begging to succumb him, to have him forgotten.

“I don’t know why I’m talking so much,” you ramble again. He’s listening with a sparkle in his eye. “I haven’t said this many words in forever. After my mom died, I got diagnosed with traumatic mutism. That’s where you don’t talk at all.”

You don’t know how or why you found yourself trauma dumping to a Victorian Zombie. You had already lost his attention as quick as it came. His eyes closed in on the radio, sitting deftly on the wall of the shower. He examined the buttons and the antenna with a newfound curiosity.

“Would you like me to turn on the shower radio?”

He hums, and your fingers find the switch. “This is Shoko’s station. It’s for beer sluts,” you whisper the last words, like if he heard them any louder he could take offence to it. “I’m gonna turn on the college station. It’s for people like us, with feelings.”

He seems to like it. You reach for the shower knobs.

“Okay,” your fingers trace along the taps, eyes locked on his as if to make sure he was listening. “Hot. Cold,” you start up the water. “This? Water.”

He mimics the sound of the water falling in fascination. “It’s from the future,” you muse.

☆

“What the hell happened here?!” Her voice is distant, muffled, but still as jarring as the first day you heard it. “Get down here now!”

Uh oh.

“Did you smash the mirror in the bathroom?” Damn you Satoru. Your dad’s voice was gentle, a softer contrasts to Shoko’s aggressive mother.

“Last night, I, uh…” last night, Satoru had been the one to smash into Shoko’s mirror with full force when he stumbled into your room, destroying everything that came into his way. Despite being one with the dead, this strength was oddly..alive.

He had been dead for centuries, but yet, he was still stronger than you. That hurt your pride, a little bit. But it also made you wonder about him, just a bit more. Who was Satoru Gojo? Why was he so different from a regular corpse? The twinkle in his blue orbs was so undeniable. It was alive.

“Told you,” Your step- mother scoffed, checking her manicure, her face contorted in disgust. “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I knew. I always know.”

Currently, Satoru Gojo was sleeping restlessly in the corner of your wardrobe, covered over with a pile of gothic dressers and vintage coats. You’d shoved him in there hopelessly the second you had heard the door slam.

He was adapting nicely- well, the best he could for a dead man. He seemed enchanted by new technologies, like your telephone, and the radio in the shower. You thought he’d be confused at first, maybe overwhelmed with how much the whole world had change since he inhabited it. He seemed to like it. He had developed a special liking for your record player, too. You decided that when all of this about the mirror was over, you’d walk him through your vinyl collection. You’d also have to find him some new clothes, too, because you were sure he wouldn’t particularly enjoy your choices of attire. Something from the depth of your dad’s wardrobe would have to do. Maybe Shoko could fetch some clothes from Suguru if you explained your situation.

“There was a damn tornado last night! Yard full of debris, now I guess I’ve got to clean up the bathroom, too!”

The commotion of your evil step-mother’s whiny voice was enough to attract the attention of Shoko, who bustles down the stairs and leans on the doorframe, watching her mother belittle you intently. “It was a tornado watch, mom.”

“Well, now, it was quite a storm though, Shoko,” Shoko’s mother turns to your father, who has been silent throughout this whole encounter. “You need to be a father right now. Your daughter has a taste for vandalism. She has been deliberately destroying my property! First it was my precious cake stand..”

“That was an accident!” You but in.

“Y/n, do you know what happens to people who act out? They end up in the loony bin.”

Shoko ruffles her hair. “You’re a psych nurse, mom. Should you really be saying ‘loony bin’?”

You appreciated Shoko’s subtle ways of defending you. It was always like this, whenever her mother would find something to pick on you for. Your father never defended you; but Shoko always did. Despite your differences, you liked her.

“Zip it, Shoko.” Her mother relents.

“All right, y/n.” Ah. Dads input. “You’re gonna go upstairs and you’re gonna clean up that bathroom. And, um..pay for the mirror.”

You’d have to figure out a way to pick up the funds to pay for a new mirror, whilst also simultaneously spending as much time as possible watching over the undead corpse of Satoru Gojo.

“Yeah, I’ll pick up an extra shift at Wayne’s.”

You hadn’t truly thought through about what you would do about Satoru Gojo while you were out. You still had your responsibilities, after all- school, work hobbies. You couldn’t do any of that while Satoru was around. He was undeniably cocky, for a corpse. However, he was missing some… parts.

You had found him some clothes from the depth of your father’s wardrobe. And that’s when you noticed his defects. Satoru was missing a hand. A clean slate, a missing limb. Satoru Gojo also had a hefty scar, running clean through the circumference of his waist. He held a certain distaste for his missing hand- he hated it. Satoru hated feeling weak. At his whines and groans, you’d expressed that there was no way you could magic up his hand. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Let me see,” you expressed with a gasp the second he make the reason for his upset clear. It was ghastly, disgusting. Putrid. “It looks cool.”

“I can’t do anything about that. I’m not a doctor,” he slumped over in defeat. If you had any way of helping this dismembered corpse, you would in a heartbeat. “But it’s okay, they’re just things that make you different.”

What happened to you, Satoru Gojo…?

Satoru slept in the wardrobe again that night.

“I, uh, have to get dressed,” Satoru didn’t budge, his nimble hand rummaging to grab a dress from the top of the pile of the clothing he was using as a makeshift blanket. He holds it out towards you in his working hand. It’s black, long and lacy, and certainly not appropriate for college. “Mm. That’s Shoko’s. She gave it to me because she said she got too many compliments in it.”

He grunts, but he doesn’t relent.

“Uhuh. It’s not really my style. I’m not a skeezer.”

He groans. Fine.

“Can I at least get a jacket?”

☆

[magic-shop-stories]

Hiii! I have this scenario stuck in my head and I just know you’re the only one who can bring it to life the way it truly deserves. So—OT7 with twins! One of them is more sensitive and ‘high maintenance’ in the eyes of the parents, which unintentionally causes the other—who’s more outgoing and easygoing—to feel a bit overlooked and neglected. I’d love to see how you’d explore the dynamic between them!

💌 Reply:

hiii, sweetie🌸 first of all THANK YOU for trusting me with this precious idea! it hit me right in the heart (and as a fellow overthinker, I get the twin dynamics struggle 😭)... I hope these headcanons did your vision justice! 💜 (also, soooo sorry for the lack of pics this time... the wifi on german trains is fighting me, and the person next to me kept side-eyeing my screen like i was plotting world domination- I wish people could just mind their own buisness... ugh If you’d like, I’d love to expand this into a full imagine someday... let me know! (I'll do it as soon as I have time, but the current amount of request and my full schedule are killing me atm) – c - 🧸

BTS OT7 x Twins Headcanons

NAMJOON

TWINS: MINJI & JISUNG

Ages: 6 years old Personalities:

Minji (Daughter)

sensitive

introspective

artistically gifted

bursts into tears if her crayon snaps or her toast is "too crunchy"

loves sketching bugs and writing haikus about clouds

diagnosed with sensory processing disorder

hates loud noises, tags on clothes, and the smell of bananas

Jisung (Son)

outgoing

adventurous

mechanically inclined

builds elaborate Lego cities

climbs trees to "study birds"

hides his loneliness behind jokes

secretly collects rocks

hopes Appa will identify

but they pile up in his pockets, forgotten

THE REALIZATION

Incident

during a family picnic

Minji has a meltdown when her sandwich crusts touch the inside of the basket

Namjoon kneels beside her

using his "calm leader" voice to explain 

"Minji, cross-contamination isn’t catastrophic..." 

Jisung wanders off to skip stones at the lake

when checked on him, he shrugs

“Appa’s busy. I’m fine.” 

his voice cracks, and his jeans are soaked to the knees

Namjoon’s Thoughts

that night, he stares at Minji’s latest painting

(a storm cloud labeled “Appa’s Voice”)

then at Jisung’s half-built Lego rocket

journal entry reads:

“Am I failing him? Love shouldn’t be a zero-sum equation, but why does it feel like Minji’s needs eclipse his?”

Partner Conversation

corners his patner in the kitchen

2 a.m.

hair wild

clutching a parenting book titled “The Invisible Child.” 

“What if Jisung thinks I don’t see him? What if… he becomes a metaphor?” 

they remind him Jisung’s a kid, not a lyric.

he mutters

“Metaphors are safer.”

APPROACHING THE KIDS

Jisung

Namjoon takes him to the forest

a “scientific expedition” 

Jisung chatters about cicadas until Namjoon stops mid-hike

“You know… Appa used to feel invisible too. When I was your age, I’d hide in libraries so the hyungs wouldn’t laugh at my poems.”

Jisung kicks a pinecone

“But Minji’s poems are better.”

Namjoon’s heart cracks

he pulls out Jisung’s rock collection

quartz, granite, a piece of asphalt he’d missed

“These aren’t just rocks. They’re stories. This one…”

holds up the asphalt

 “…survived a volcano. Just like you.”

Jisung’s Response

“Volcanoes are cool.” 

he leans into Namjoon’s side

pocketing the asphalt like a trophy

Minji

joins her in the "Calm Cave"

a blanket fort stocked with noise-canceling headphones

“Jagi… does Appa’s voice ever feel too big?”

she nods

sketching a frowning sun

“Like thunder. But… thunder protects the flowers.”

he chokes up

“What if Appa’s thunder hurts Jisung?”

Minji tilts her head

“Give him lightning. Lightning’s quiet.”

SOLUTION

“Appa’s Lab” (For Jisung)

Namjoon converts the garage into a mini science lab

they spend Sundays disassemblying old radios and identifying Jisung’s rocks

“This is gabbro.” 

Namjoon squinting at a guide

“AKA… the coolest rock ever.” 

Jisung grins

“Cooler than Minji’s butterfly drawings?” 

Namjoon fake-gasps

"Way cooler.”

“Quiet Storm” Time (For Minji)

replaces lectures with ASMR sessions

whispering facts about beetles into a mic (recording, so she can listen, when he isn't around)

Minji falls asleep to his voice

he records as “Appa’s Thunder: Lite Edition.”

Family Fix

introduces “Moon Meetings”

weekly check-ins where everyone shares one need

Minji: “Less yelling. More… bug documentaries.”

Jisung: “Appa, can we not talk about feelings? Let’s… arm-wrestle.”

Namjoon: “Deal. But loser writes a haiku.”

ANGST & FLUFF MOMENTS

Angst

Jisung overhears Namjoon call Minji “my little philosopher” 

he snaps a ruler

“I’m not jealous.” 

Namjoon finds the pieces labeled “Appa’s Heart” in the trash

Fluff

Minji gifts Jisung a rock painted like a galaxy

“So you have stars too.” 

Jisung glues it to his lab desk

“It’s… okay. For a rock.”

JIN

TWINS: SOOJIN & MINHO

Ages: 5 years old Personalities:

Soojin (Daughter)

sensitive

artistic

deeply empathetic

bursts into tears if her crayon breaks or her rice isn’t shaped like a heart

loves painting rainbows and whispering stories to her stuffed unicorn, “Glitter”

diagnosed with anxiety

hates surprises, loud crowds, and the texture of mashed potatoes

Minho (Son)

outgoing

mischievous

a budding comedian

masters dad jokes before he can tie his shoes

builds pillow forts that collapse dramatically

pretends he doesn’t care when Appa misses his “shows”

secretly collects Jin’s discarded guitar picks

hoarding them in a mint tin labeled “Appa’s Superstar Stuff”

THE REALIZATION

Incident

at Minho’s kindergarten “Talent Show” he performs a slapstick routine

tripping over a rubber chicken

squirting flower included

crowd roars

Jin is backstage soothing Soojin

hyperventilating because her tutu “itches like spider legs.”

Minho bows to an empty front row seat where Jin promised he’d be

later, Minho shrugs

“S’okay, Appa! Soojin needed you!” 

then kicks his rubber chicken into the trash

Jin’s Thoughts

Jin stares at Minho’s mint tin (left open on the coffee table) and Soojin’s tear-stained tutu

notes app reads:

“I’m World’s Worst Appa. Minho’s smile is a Band-Aid. Soojin’s tears are a siren. Why can’t I hear both?”

Partner Conversation

barges into their home office wearing Soojin’s tiara (to “lighten the mood”)

collapses onto the desk

“I’m failing him"

mutters

spinning Minho’s rubber chicken

“He’s becoming me... hiding behind jokes so no one sees him bleed.” 

they remind him Minho’s 5, not 25

Jin sighs

“He’s my reflection. And I hate mirrors.”

APPROACHING THE KIDS

Minho

Jin stages a “Mission Impossible” game

Minho dons socks on his hands (“spy gloves”)

to retrieve “classified intel” (a cookie jar)

when they “hack” the kitchen, Jin “accidentally” finds Minho’s mint tin

“Whoa! Are these… my picks? You’re a better treasure hunter than Indiana Jones!”

Minho puffs his chest

“I’m Mini-Jin! I don’t need treasures!”

Jin’s voice softens

“Appa needs you. Even superheroes need sidekicks.”

slips a new pick into the tin

“To: CEO of Comedy. From: Your Biggest Fan.”

Minho’s Response

“Cheesy.” 

he sleeps with the tin under his pillow

Soojin

Jin hosts a “Royal Tea Party” in her blanket fort

Soojin appoints him “Duke of Unicorns.”

he sips imaginary tea

“Your Highness, what if… Appa’s too loud sometimes?”

she twirls her tiara

“You’re perfect.”

he fakes a gasp

“But Appa forgot Minho’s show! Should I be… fired?”

Soojin giggles

“No! You need… a helper!”

SOLUTION

“Minho & Appa Comedy Hour”

every friday

they film absurd skits (e.g., “Cooking with Chaos: Spaghetti Toss Edition”)

Jin uploads them to a private YouTube channel

Minho’s bio: “Future CEO of Comedy (Take that, Soojin’s unicorn!).”

“Soojin’s Sensory Sanctuary”

Jin builds her a pastel-pod filled with weighted blankets, noise-canceling headphones, and a “panic button”

plays his off-key rendition of “Super Tuna.” 

Soojin declares it “better than unicorns!”

Family Fix

introduces “Jin’s Judgement-Free Zone”

a pillow fort

Soojin can scream about itchy socks there

Minho can admit “jokes are kinda exhausting”

Jin can cry about “Appa’s epic fails.” 

their partner joins with wine

“World’s Okayest Parents Club!”

ANGST & FLUFF MOMENTS

Angst

Minho overhears Jin call Soojin “my delicate princess” 

stages a “comedy strike”

Jin finds him sobbing into Glitter the unicorn

“I’m not funny! I’m invisible!”

Fluff

Soojin paints Minho’s face like a “comedy superhero”

Jin “accidentally” streams it live

Minho trends as “Mini-Jin: The Next Generation”

he preens for days.

YOONGI

TWINS: JAEHYUN & SOOYEON

Ages: 14 years old Personalities:

Jaehyun (Son)

outgoing

academically driven

star athlete

hides his panic attacks behind valedictorian smiles and 4 AM study sessions

secretly resents his twin’s “weakness”

believing love is earned through achievement

plays piano to drown out his thoughts

Sooyeon (Daughter)

sensitive

creatively gifted

battling severe social anxiety

writes poetry and lyrics about disappearing

wears noise-canceling headphones 24/7

haunted by Yoongi’s absence during her middle school art show

the day she crumpled her winning painting and never picked up a brush again

THE REALIZATION

Incident

Yoongi returns from a 3-week tour to find Jaehyun’s principal calling

his son punched a teammate for mocking Sooyeon’s “freakout” in the cafeteria

at home, Jaehyun is absolutely cold 

“I handled it. Like you would.” 

Sooyeon locks herself in the bathroom

scratching her wrists raw

to “feel something besides static”

Yoongi’s Thoughts

stares at Jaehyun’s bloody knuckles and Sooyeon’s shredded poetry notebook

studio notepad reads:

“They’re me. Both of them. Jaehyun’s the mask. Sooyeon’s the wound. And I’m the ghost who taught them how to haunt themselves.”

Partner Conversation

shatters a coffee mug mid-rant 

“I did this. I let them think love is something you earn.” 

his partner reminds him he’s breaking the cycle

he laughs bitterly

“Cycles don’t break. They just… recycle pain.”

APPROACHING THE KIDS

Jaehyun

Yoongi drags him to the gym at midnight

they spar in silence until Jaehyun snaps

“Why’d you come back? To tell me I’m disappointing?”

Yoongi removes his gloves

revealing faded self-harm scars

“I came back because I used to punch walls until my hands looked like yours. And I’m terrified you’ll think that’s strength.”

Jaehyun’s Response

“I’m not you.” 

then collapses against the ring ropes

shaking

“Why does she get to fall apart? Why do I have to be… perfect?”

Yoongi tosses him ice packs

“You don’t. But let’s pretend you do until you believe it.”

Sooyeon

he slips a USB under her door

= a track titled “Static (Unmixed)” 

just 3 minutes of his shaky breaths and a distorted piano loop

she texts: “???”

he replies: 

“My first song. I was 11. It’s shit. But it’s honest.”

she opens the door

eyes red

“Did you… hate yourself too?”

he nods

“Still do... sometimes But less when I’m with you.”

SOLUTION

“Ugly Drafts” Project

Yoongi revives Sooyeon’s art by gifting her a ruined canvas

“Finish what I fucked up.” 

she paints over his scribbles

= a girl emerging from black sludge

titled “Dad’s Scars, My Ink.”

he hangs it in his studio

Jaehyun’s “Secret” Lessons

Yoongi teaches him to produce music

not perform it

“You don’t have to be the hero. Just… be here.” 

Jaehyun’s first track samples Sooyeon’s poetry

she cries

he mutters

“Don’t make it weird.”

Family Fix

Yoongi institutes “No Perfection Nights”

orders pizza

watching bad horror films

trash-talk the CGI

but with rule

Sooyeon must say one unpopular opinion

“I hate BTS’s old haircuts.”

Jaehyun must fail at something

burns cookies

Yoongi eats them anyway

Yoongi must share one memory he’s ashamed of

“I almost quit BTS. Then I met your mom.”

ANGST & FLUFF MOMENTS

Angst

Jaehyun finds Yoongi’s old suicide note in a journal

confronts him

screaming

“You were gonna leave us?!” 

Yoongi whispers

“I stayed. That’s the story.”

Fluff

Sooyeon gifts Youngi a poem

“You Are Not Your Father.” 

he sets it to music

they perform it together at a tiny underground venue

no mics, just trembling voices

J-HOPE

TWINS: ARA & MINJUN

Ages: 9 years old Personalities:

Ara (Daughter)

sensitive

artistic

deeply empathetic

budding dancer who practices until her feet blister

tho crumples at the slightest criticism

diagnosed with generalized anxiety

triggers include crowded spaces, sudden noises, and "disappointing Appa"

collects seashells and whispers affirmations to them

Minjun (Son)

outgoing

athletic

class clown

captain of his soccer team

tho hides his report card (straight A’s)

because "grades aren’t cool"

secretly writes jokes in a notebook to make Appa laugh

but tosses them when Hobi misses his games

THE REALIZATION

Incident

at Minjun’s soccer finals

Ara has a panic attack in the stands

a rival player’s mom yells too loudly

Hobi rushes her to the car

missing Minjun’s winning goal

Minjun tosses his medal in the trash

“Doesn’t matter. Appa’s always with Ara.”

Hobi’s Thoughts

he replays the moment in his head while scrubbing paint (Ara’s stress art) off the walls all nigh

his journal: 

“I’m the ‘sunshine’ dad. Sunshine shouldn’t have shadows. Why can’t I shine on both of them?”

Partner Conversation

breaks down mid-dinner prep

gripping a spatula like a lifeline

“I’m failing him. I’m... I’m failing him, and he’s smiling through it like me.” 

they remind him Minjun’s smile doesn’t always reach his eyes

Hobi whispers

“I taught him that.”

APPROACHING THE KIDS

Minjun

Hobi takes him to the Han River on bikes

their old ritual

abandoned for Ara’s therapy appointments

Minjun races ahead

Hobi catches up

breathless

“You know… Appa used to cry before every performance.”

Minjun scoffs

“You? Cry? Never.”

“Every. Time.” 

Hobi pulls up a vlive clip

2013, pre-debut

Hobi trembling backstage

“See? Sunshine’s just… practiced.”

Minjun kicks pebbles

“Ara doesn’t have to practice. She’s just… sad.”

Hobi’s voice cracks

“And you’re just… brave. But brave doesn’t mean alone.”

Minjun’s Response

“Whatever.” 

slips his hand into Hobi’s on the ride home

Ara

joins her in the “Calm Corner”

= a teepee filled with fairy lights and weighted stuffed animals

“Jagi… does Appa’s dancing ever make you nervous?”

she nods

braiding a seashell necklace

“You never fall. What if… I do?”

“Appa falls all the time.”

shows her a blooper reel

tripping over props, slipping on confetti

“Falling’s just… another move.”

SOLUTION

“Minjun’s Comedy Hour” (Weekly Ritual)

every Friday

Hobi attends Minjun’s “stand-up shows” in the garage

laughs too hard at knock-knock jokes

“Why did the soccer ball go to school? To get goal-educated!” 

Hobi wheezes, tears streaming

“Genius! Genius!”

“Ara’s Dance Diary” (For Anxiety)

replaces forced pep talks with a shared journal

Hobi writes: “Today’s step: Survived. 10/10.” 

Ara adds: “Appa’s socks didn’t match. -100/10.”

Family Fix

creates “Sunshine & Shadows” days

Morning

= family dance party

Ara’s rules: no perfection, just vibes

Afternoon

= soccer matches

Minjun’s rules: Hobi must trip at least once

ANGST & FLUFF MOMENTS

Angst

Minjun overhears Hobi call Ara his “mini me"

rips a page from his joke book

“Why did the son cross the road? To not be a backup dancer.” 

Hobi finds it

sobs in the studio

Fluff

Ara gifts Minjun a seashell labeled “Best Brother” 

he glues it to his soccer trophy

“It’s… whatever. But don’t tell Appa.”

JIMIN

TWINS: HANA & YUNA

Ages: 11 years old Personalities:

Hana (Daughter 1)

girly

effervescent

natural performer

lives in sequined dresses

insists on French braiding her hair daily

adores dance rehearsals with Jimin

secretly writes fanfiction about magical girls

cries when her nail polish chips

Yuna (Daughter 2)

tomboyish

fiercely independent

allergic to anything "girly"

wears basketball jerseys (gifts from "uncle Yoongi")

collects skateboard stickers

rolls her eyes at Hana’s glitter bombs

secretly envies her sister’s ease in catching Appa’s attention

diagnosed with ADHD

hyperfocuses on skate tricks but hates being called "spirited"

THE REALIZATION

Jimin films a TikTok duet with Hana

choreographing to “Filter” 

Yuna watches from the doorway

scuffing her sneakers on the floor

Jimin calls out for her

“Join us, Yuna!” 

Yuna snaps

“I’d rather eat glitter!” 

slams her bedroom door

later he finds her journal open: 

“Why does Appa only see her?”

Jimin’s Thoughts

replays the moment all night

pacing the living room 

“I’m failing her.” 

voice trembling

“I thought… giving her space was respect. But she thinks it’s rejection.” 

digs up old VLives where ARMYs called him “too intense” 

wondering if Yuna feels the same

Partner Conversation

“What if she hates me?” 

whispers

clutching Hana’s discarded tutu

their partner reminds him Yuna’s anger is a mask

he sighs

“I know masks. I’ve worn them too.”

APPROACHING THE GIRLS

Yuna

waits until she’s mid-skateboard practice

crouching to her level

“Appa needs your help. I’m… scared of ramps. Teach me?”

Yuna eyes him skeptically

“You’ll cry.”

he grins

“Probably. But I’ll scream your name, not ‘Eomma’.”

Yuna’s Response

she laughs

= rare, unfiltered sound

hands him her helmet

“Don’t die. I don’t wanna write a sad poem for school.”

Hana

joins her for a tea party

pinky raised

“Jagi… does Appa ever make you feel like… too much?”

Hana blinks

“No. You’re perfect.”

he winces

“But what if Yuna thinks she’s… not enough?”

Hana’s lip quivers

“I didn’t mean to hog you.”

SOLUTION

“Yuna’s Arena” (Sundays)

Jimin transforms the backyard into a skate park

complete with ramps

definitely didn’t cry while building with her

films her tricks

yelling “THAT’S MY GIRL!” louder than her coach

Yuna pretends to hate

secretly saves every video

“Hana’s Spotlight” (Weeknights)

choreographs a “sibling duet”

Hana dances and Yuna DJs

Yuna agrees only if she can wear noise-canceling headphones

first rehearsal ends with Hana in tears

“She called my pirouette wobbly!”

Yuna stormed out

“Her music sucks!”

Family Fix

Jimin institutes “No Labels Night”

no pink, no skateboards, no “girly” or “tomboy” talk

karaoke battles

Yuna raps “UGH!” in a princess crown

Hana belts “Dynamite” in Yuna’s hoodie

Jimin cries laughing

“You’re both… weird. I love it.”

ANGST & FLUFF MOMENTS

Angst

Yuna overhears Jimin call Hana “my little star” 

she snaps her skateboard deck

“I’m not jealous” 

she lies ofc

hiding the broken pieces under her bed

Jimin finds them and builds a mosaic titled “Broken Boards & Big Hearts.”

Fluff

Yuna begrudgingly attends Hana’s recital

Hana trips, Yuna heckles

“Get up, princess!” 

Hana finishes with a sassy hair flip

afterward, Yuna tosses her a Gatorade

“You… didn’t totally suck.”

TAEHYUNG

TWINS: SOOJIN & MINHO

Ages: 14 years old Personalities:

Soojin (Daughter)

fiery, artistic soul

idolizes BTS

especially her Appa

posts TikTok edits of his performances with captions like “KING V IS MY DAD FIGHT ME.” 

secretly writes fanfiction where she’s BTS’s “long-lost eighth member.” 

wears handmade outfits mirroring Tae’s iconic looks

Minho (Son)

sharp-witted STEM prodigy

resents living in Taehyung’s shadow

secretly admires BTS’s music

hates being introduced as “V’s son” 

wears hoodies with slogans like “Google My Name.” 

diagnosed with anxiet

hides it behind sarcasm

THE REALIZATION

at a BTS exhibition, a fan gushes over Taehyung’s family portrait

“Your kids are so lucky to be your legacy!” 

Minho snaps 

“My name’s Minho. I’m not a legacy... I’m a person.” 

he storms off

Soojin defends him

“He’s just jealous of me!” 

Taehyung’s smile freezes

Taehyung’s Thoughts

he scrolls through Minho’s Instagram

= a cryptic bio

“I exist. Shocking, right?” 

photos of his robotics trophies

all buried under comments like “OMG UR TAE’S KID?? PLZ SAY HI!!” 

Tae’s journal entry: 

“I painted them into my canvas… but they have their own colors.”

Partner Conversation

barges into your shared studio wearing Minho’s hoodie inside-out

“I’m a selfish artist. I made them my muses… but forgot to ask if they wanted to be seen.” 

they remind him Minho inherited his stubborn pride

Taehyung sighs

“Pride is lonely. I should know.”

APPROACHING THE KIDS

Minho

drags him to a metal scrap yard

Minho’s “happy place” 

“Appa needs help building… something.” 

Minho side-eyes him

“Is this a metaphor?”

Taehyung shrugs

“Nah. Let’s make a robot.” 

they spend hours welding junk into a clumsy android

Taehyung accidentally burns his sleeve

“You’re good at this. Really good.”

Minho mutters

“Not as good as you.”

Taehyung removes his beanie

revealing dyed purple hair

“I copied your science fair look. Cool, right?” 

Minho cracks a smile

“You look like a radioactive grape.”

Minho’s Confession

“I don’t hate BTS. I hate… being erased. Even Soojin gets to be her.”

Soojin

Taehyung takes her thrifting for “vintage inspo” 

she gushes over a 90’s bomber jacket

“This is so you, Appa!”

he hesitates

“What if… you made it so you?” 

she deflates

“But I want to be like you.”

Taehyung gifts her a blank denim jacket

“Wear your own art. I’ll wear mine.” 

they paint side by side

his a galaxy, hers a black hole labeled “Minho’s Brain”

Soojin’s Confession

“I’m scared if I’m not your fan, you’ll love me less.”

SOLUTION

“The Minho Exhibit”

Taehyung curates a secret gallery show titled “The Boy Who Built Himself.” 

features Minho’s robots, blueprints, and a looped audio of his voice

“My name is Minho. I’m a scientist. My appa’s famous, but I invented this.”

Minho’s Reaction

“This is so… extra.” 

he cries when a reporter asks about his “process” instead of Taehyung

“Soojin’s Debut”

Taehyung films her designing a stage outfit for Jungkook

posts it with “Meet my co-creator: @soojiniverse.” 

fans flood her page

she texts him:

“STOP I’M NOT CRYING YOU ARE.”

Family Fix

Taehyung announces a “No BTS” day

they hike in mismatched clothes

no photos allowed

Minho identifies fungi

Soojin sketches Tae’s “ugly-cute” hiking socks

ANGST & FLUFF MOMENTS

Angst

Minho skips Dad’s Day at school

Taehyung shows up anyway

wearing a “MINHO’S #1 FAN” shirt

Minho hides in the bathroom

texting: “GO AWAY!” 

Taehyung waits outside

Fluff

Soojin designs Tae’s next photoshoot

he wears her “chaotic grunge” look on Vogue

“My daughter’s a genius. Also, she grounded me for spilling glitter.”

JUNGKOOK

TWINS:

MINSOO & HYUNWOO

Ages: 11 years old Personalities:

Minsoo

introverted

artistic

deeply sensitive

diagnosed with generalized anxiety

spends hours painting murals in his sketchbook

hides in the bathroom during school assemblies

collects seashells because “they’ve already survived the ocean” 

looks identical to Hyunwoo

dyes a streak of blue in his hair to “feel seen”

Hyunwoo

extroverted

athletic

the class clown

captain of the junior soccer team, volleyball team and basketball team

obsessed with parkour, swimming, boxing and martials

secretly writes stand-up comedy routines he performs for his mirror reflectiom

uses humor to deflect pain

once joked about breaking his arm so no one would ask why he cried

THE REALIZATION

Hyunwoo’s teacher calls Jungkook after he “accidentally” backflips off the school stage during a pep rally

“He’s seeking attention”

Minsoo’s art teacher emails their mother

“His latest piece is titled ‘The Invisible Boy.’ Should we be concerned?”

Jungkook finds Minsoo sobbing in the laundry room

clutching his hoodie 

“Hyun… said my art is baby stuff.” 

he hiccups

Jungkook lectures Hyunwoo

he snaps

“At least I don’t cry over crayons!” 

then storms out

Jungkook’s Thoughts

replays the fight while bench-pressing at 3 a.m. 

“I’m failing them. I’m supposed to be the golden dad. Why can’t I fix this?” 

texts BTS group chat:

“Remember when I said I’d be a good Appa? Joke’s on me.”

Partner Conversation

they corner him mid-workout

“Kookie, you’re trying to be their hero, not their dad.” 

he drops the weights

voice breaking

“What if they don’t need a hero? What if they just… need me?”

APPROACHING THE KIDS

Hyunwoo

takes him to a rock-climbing gym

their “secret bro mission” 

halfway up a wall, Hyunwoo freezes

“Appa… what if I fall?” “I’ll catch you.”

Hyunwoo shakes his head

“Not here. At home. What if you… don’t?”

Jungkook’s grip tightens on the rope

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to be strong all the time.”

Hyunwoo laughs weakly

“It’s cool. I’m the fun twin, right?”

Jungkook’s Response

“You’re my son. That’s enough.”

Minsoo

Jungkook sets up a “Midnight Art Studio” in the garage

= blacklights, glow-in-the-dark paint, noise-canceling headphones

Minsoo stares

“For… me?” “For us, teach me how to… feel things.”

they paint in silence

“Hyun’s right. My art’s dumb.”

Jungkook smears a blue handprint on the wall

“This is how I felt when you were born. Terrified. But look... it’s kinda beautiful.”

SOLUTION

“Hyun’s Comedy Club”

Jungkook converts the basement into a mini stage

every Friday, Hyunwoo performs stand-up for the family

Jungkook heckles “Booo! Do a backflip!” 

Hyunwoo cracks genuine laughter

“Min’s Calm Crew”

Jungkook takes Minsoo to a pottery class

they make lopsided bowls

Minsoo panics over cracks

Jungkook calms him

“Now it’s unique. Like us.”

Twin Bonding

assigns them a joint project

paint a mural on the fence

Minsoo sketches galaxies

Hyunwoo adds soccer balls as planets

they argue over comet tails but high-five when done

Jungkook hangs a “World’s Best Artists & Athletes” sign over it

ANGST & FLUFF MOMENTS

Angst

Hyunwoo overhears Jungkook call Minsoo “my gentle soul”

dyes his hair blue too

“Now we match. Happy?” 

Jungkook finds him crying in the shower

blue dye pooling at his feet

Fluff

Minsoo paints Hyunwoo’s soccer cleats with glow-in-the-dark constellations

“So you can run with the stars.” 

Hyunwou wears them even after they flake off

[ineffable-suffering]

Re: "You go too fast for me, Crowley", because I think I finally figured out the real meaning behind that line

Naturally, this line of all lines, the most line of them all, is constantly circling around my rotten brain like a moth around a flame.

In addition, though, there's always been another Good Omen's line/exchange that has kept bothering me again lately. And literally until just about five minutes ago, I had never thought of relating them back to each other.

Now, five minutes later, I have and I think I just ... figured it out.

In case you were wondering: The second line that wouldn't leave my head is what Aziraphale says to Crowley during their clandestine meeting at St. James' Park in 1862 when Crowley asks him for Holy Water:

A: "I'm not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley!"

And here's what bugs me about this: Why did Aziraphale, without a breath of hesitation, immediately assume Crowley wanted the Holy Water to commit suicide if things ever went wrong?

That's ... such a dark assumption to make. Especially because that is absolutely not what Crowley wanted it for, as he literally says himself:

C: "That's not what I want it for, just insurance."

And what does Aziraphale reply?

A: "I'm not an idiot, Crowley!"

Because he firmly, firmly believes that Crowley is asking him to bring him the Holy Water as a foolproof method of taking his own life in case Heaven and Hell ever find out about them.

To this day, that conversation gives me chills whenever I think about it. We so rarely get see what genuine emotions and thoughts for and about Crowley Aziraphale keeps neatly tucked away behind that tightly buttoned waistcoat of his. This moment in 1862 is one of the very rare ones where his façade slips a little – and the peak we get isn't a fun one. It's a very dark, scared and vulnerable one.

What am I on about and how does this all relate to the infamous "You go too fast for me, Crowley"-line? Let's look at it under the cut.

(Word count: 2560 | Reading time: ~10 min. | TW: mentions of suicide)

Like I mentioned up above, it always struck me to my core that Aziraphale very clearly immediately assumes Crowley wants the Holy Water for possible suicide. Not only is that a very dark and upsetting thought, it also poses the question: Why? Why is that the first place Aziraphale's mind goes to?

Crowley says at the very beginning of their conversation:

C: "We have a lot in common, you and me."

He's definitely referring to their (very mutual) relationship Arrangement and the fact that they both find themselves kept apart and watched by their respective head offices, not allowing them to ever misstep and give themselves away.

After bickering around a little like they do, Crowley asks his favour – and he makes it very clear in a quiet and serious voice that:

C: "This is something else. [...] For if it all goes wrong."

He's not just talking about Heaven or Hell finding out about some silly frivolous miracles, no. He's talking about them finding out about their Arrangement, their relationship. The worst of all worst case scenarios.

So bad, in fact, that he doesn't even ask his favour out loud but instead decided to write it down.

Aziraphale's reaction is ... severe.

We immediately see his face drop as, he too, realizes that this is all of a sudden a very serious conversation indeed. And he immediately and vigorously denies Crowley's request because he thinks it to be one for a suicide pill.

To understand how he could arrive at that lightning-quick (and also wrong) conclusion, we have to try and understand how Aziraphale sees Crowley and the threat that the angel himself as well as their relationship poses to Crowley.

Crowley can, at times, be a very self-deprecating and cynical character. He's without a doubt carrying a lot of trauma and unspoken fears and emotions with him at all times. Aziraphale at this point in their relationship probably has a good notion of what those are – but he doesn't know the whole depth of it because they've never been able to speak freely enough and Crowley has seemingly decided to keep many-a things to himself, still. They both tread the waters of plausible deniability very well.

So, to jump to the conclusion of Crowley entertaining suicidal thoughts in the face of unavoidable danger is ... quite a violent jump. And remember: "[...] underneath it all, Crowley was an optimist. If there was one rock-hard certainty that had sustained him through the bad times then it was utter surety that the universe would look after him."

So, what is it that Aziraphale does know that would drive him to such a drastic conclusion when, in reality, secret optimist Crowley only ever wanted the Holy Water to protect himself against Hell to come out safe on the other end of things?

2500 BC, Land of Uz: A: "That [going along with Heaven/Hell as far as you can] sounds, um ..." C: "Lonely? Yeah." A: "But you said it wasn‘t." C: "I‘m a demon. I lied."

After Crowley helps Aziraphale out in Edinburgh in 1827, Crowley is immediately sucked back down to Hell We don't know what exactly happened after that or just how long Crowley was gone. We also don't know if Crowley ever told Aziraphale what happened, once he returned. What we and Aziraphale do know, is that Crowley ends up asking him for Holy Water, out of the blue, only a couple of decades later.

1601, The Globe: A: "But if Hell finds out [about the Arrangement], they won't just be angry. They'll destroy you." (additionally, later in time, C: "My lot does not send rude notes.")

Ergo: It's very clear that Aziraphale seems to have put two and two together with his own angel math by what he has a) witnessed himself and b) what Crowley has said himself which equals: In going against Hell, Crowley has felt incredibly lonely before he had Aziraphale by his side and if Heaven and Hell were to ever find out about them, Hell's punishment would be a whole lot worse than Heaven's.

He thinks Hell would destroy Crowley.

So when Crowley, who so rarely says how he really feels and one of the few times he did, told Aziraphale he was lonely, says he wants the Holy Water, the immediate conclusion Aziraphale comes to is: He wants it as an emergency exit. In case things go pear-shaped. He wants it to escape whatever dreadful punishment Hell would have in stock for such a lonely traitor. He wants it as a suicide pill.

For Aziraphale to not even entertain the thought or believe that Crowley does indeed only want the Holy Water as a means of self-defense is, again, absolutely heartbreaking. Because it tells us a thing or two just how scared and desperate Aziraphale thinks Crowley to be. Something along the lines of: "If I myself am already so immensely terrified of Hell's punishment for Crowley, how terrified must Crowley be."

I think a whole lot of this is also very, very strong projection and shows us how Aziraphale himself feels about all of it. How scared he is for himself and Crowley. Of what would be done to them.

A: „Out of the question! Do you know what trouble I'd be in if they knew I‘d been ... fraternizing?“

He knows they would both suffer immense consequences and that Crowley‘s still would be worse. If anything, in a dark and twisted way, it shows that Aziraphale himself has definitely entertained the idea of suicide as a concept, at least. Maybe not for himself or Crowley, yet, but remember, he‘s awfully fond of Shakespeare‘s Hamlet.

A: „To be or not to be? Buck up, Hamlet!“

Yeah, buck up indeed. (By the way, there's a great meta by @greenthena on why Aziraphale likes Hamlet so much that kind of plays into my point a little. You can read it here).

And again, who knows what Aziraphale might have actually witnessed of Hell's cruel ways already in the past (Edinburgh of 1827, or at other times) that made him arrive at the conclusion that, ultimately, suicide would be the less painful choice for Crowley when faced with Hell's consequence for their relationship.

I told you this was gonna take a bit of a darker turn. So, here we are. At the turn. It doesn't get much lighter from here on out, I'm afraid.

Because all of this gives "You go too fast for me, Crowley" a whole new devastating meaning.

Personally, I always found it a teensy bit difficult to relate that line back to Aziraphale implying that Crowley was trying to push their relationship a little too fast for him.

Deducing that as the meaning of "You goo to fast for me" after we were shown in the montage of S1E3 that Aziraphale, from circa 1941 on, was undoubtedly fully aware of just how madly in love he was with Crowley, has always felt odd to me. And it continued to feel even odder after we got the whole story of 1941 in S2.

Because if that minisode showed us anything, it's that if you let Aziraphale take over the metaphorical wheel for about five minutes, "too fast" doesn't even match the astronomical speed with which he crashes head first into 15th base. Forget the hand holding and kissing, let's go straight to you shooting me on the first date I planned for us!

And they say romance is dead.

Now look, of course, Aziraphale is still keeping most of his romantic feelings and longing bottled up out of fear that Heaven and Hell could find out about them and have Crowley destroyed. We've established that this very big fear of his is the driving factor behind him never trying to overstep that invisible line.

But still, those feelings? They're there. Oh, Hell, they are t-h-e-r-e.

Our angel is a master of self-delusion but not even he is holy enough to deny the fact that, if he could, he'd want nothing more than to lock that demon down and elope together into their happily-ever-after.

So, when Aziraphale finally budges and hands over the Holy Water to Crowley in 1967, I've always had a hard time believing that that line coming from Mr. "I guess there's something to be said for shades of grey" himself actually meant: "I'm not ready yet, you want to go faster than I do."

Because really, apart from trying to convince Aziraphale of the Arrangement and rescuing him from every silly, coincidental predicament the angel has gotten himself into over the millennia, what exactly is it that Crowley did here to "go too fast"? Hell, he's been at it at the pace of a snail ever since, very well knowing that Aziraphale would take a lot of gentle nudging and lunch temptations invitations to agree with the Arrangement.

All Crowley does in that moment in the car is offer Aziraphale a lift, anywhere he wants to go. And yes, that is code their little dance, that is how he shows his love for Aziraphale. But Aziraphale has never before deemed that an issue or seen it as a too-fast progression of their relationship. He even suggests another date himself two seconds later, saying:

A: "Perhaps we could go for a picknick one day. Dine at the Ritz."

So, what, one sentence later he suddenly wants to hit the breaks again? After he literally looked like this the last time Crowley drove (literally way too fast) through burning London?

Nah, I'm not buying it.

Instead, here's what I think Aziraphale really means with this line that changed us all (and I'm sorry, but I'm about to one-up the sadness of the 1862 meeting):

I think Aziraphale is referring to what he thinks is the reason Crowley wants the Holy Water for.

Suicide.

And boy-fucking-howdy, does that change the game.

Because if we assume that Aziraphale, all throughout the one-century-long Holy Water standoff, thought Crowley wanted it as a quick, ahem, Escape From Everything, what I think Aziraphale really means with "You go too fast for me" is this:

To him, Crowley is asking the most cruel deed of him to bring him the one thing that could take Crowley away from Aziraphale for good. For ever. In case things go pear shaped. In case Hell finds out about them and comes after Crowley.

To Aziraphale, Crowley is asking him to load the bullet into his gun for the time it won't be a trick. So he can escape before Hell gets to him.

More devestatingly, I think Aziraphale even understands where that notion comes from. Aziraphale knows how dangerous their relationship is. And Hell does not send rude notes. So, I think after pondering on it for a good millennia, part of him has come to understand why Crowley would want an emergency exit.

Which is absolutely fucking heartbreaking.

Especially because that's not even what Crowley was thinking when he made his request. He truly only wanted it as a defense. But Aziraphale doesn't believe or fully realize that. Aziraphale believes the Holy Water is a suicide pill and to some extent even understands why Crowley might want that.

And yet, despite (wrongly, but well) understanding Crowley's intentions, Aziraphale is still deeply upset and terrified at the thought of Crowley taking his own life should they ever get caught. Which explains his extreme reaction all the way back at their clandestine meeting at St. James' Park.

Aziraphale assuming Crowley's way out of the most pear-shaped situation of them all would be suicide also means that Aziraphale would be the one who'd be ... well, left behind.

He recognises that choosing death over possible eternal punishment is maybe somewhat of an understandable choice. And yet, it's a choice that, to him, Crowley has made without him. Seemingly way before their first talk about it.

Aziraphale thinks Crowley seems to have made up his mind about his escape plan without him in it.

He thinks that if they were caught, Crowley would want some Holy Water around to quickly chug before he would be at Hell's mercy and that would be it.

Crowley would, for the first time ever, really leave. Not just for Alpha Centauri. But actually leave. Escape and run away to a point of no return. For good. Without Aziraphale. To a place where Aziraphale couldn't follow him, no matter how fast he tried to run himself.

It goes a little something like:

"If they found out about us, you would choose to go where I couldn't follow. And you're asking me to pave the road for you to walk there. Without me ever being able to get a say in walking alongside you. You want to go to places where I could never join you. You'd run away without me and I understand why but you didn't even give me a chance to catch up. You go too fast for me, Crowley."

F*ck, man. I think I need to lie down.

Y'know what else that gives new meaning to?

Alright, that's it, I'm out. Enough sad meta-ing for the day. See you all around once I've stopped slipping further into the void, folks. :')

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Beautiful, Beautiful Lightning Bug (Druig x Reader)

It was raining again. Yes, it was your fault. The looks you were getting from Sersi and Sprite all too familiar, but as much as you tried to cut it out you couldn’t, you were just in one of those moods. It used to be rainbows and sunshine, but as England was known to be a gloomy rainy place anyway, you could pout and get away with it without causing too much worldly upset. 

Your boot kicked at the cobbled path as you waited outside the pub for Sersi and Dane to finish saying their goodbyes. Some guy had pissed you off inside, making advances then getting angry when he heard the word ‘no.’ You left before you did anything that would bring attention. If anyone was to blame for the dreary weather, then it was the dickhead that had one too many Jack Daniels and coke.  

The rain seemed to dissipate as you started the walk home along the canal. Dane looking at you from time to time, he knew something was up, it didn’t help that Sprite had been feeding him stories about the eternals even though your existence wasn’t common knowledge, you tended to leave things down to the avengers.  

You knew the jig was up as soon as the Deviant rose from the chilly water. Your body tingled and your hair rose with a static wind as your fingers started to crackle, your eyes no doubt were white with the reflection of lightning. You struck first, Sersi and Sprite making sure Dane wasn’t in the firing line. Volts of electricity erupted from your fingertips and struck true, the Deviant snarling as you charred one of its legs. You turned your head to make sure the others were safe, which was a mistake as the Devinant took a swipe at you, its claws catching your stomach making your cry out. Sersi was quick to stop it in its tracks while you tried to recover and you watched as she vaulted the wall, leading it away from you, Dane and Sprite. 

The night ended with Ikaris making a grand entrance and saving the day as always. You were used to it, always in your older brother’s shadow. You were happy to see him, even if he had disappeared for years without letting anyone know where he was. Years in your lifetime didn’t seem like much in the grand scheme of things. He told you off, like always, for allowing yourself to get hurt for the sake of a human. You were sure he was just salty because the human in question was Sersi’s new boyfriend.  

He was kind of right though, telling you off for getting hurt, the Deviants scratch was worse than you first anticipated, and it hurt, it didn’t hurt like this in the past. Luckily you were fast healing, and you were on your way to seek Ajaks. She was a healer, your leader and she would know what to do, she always did.  

You’d arrived at the ranch a couple of days after the attack; however, it was too late. The Deviants had made it first and the sky crackled a brilliant purple as you let out your pained cries. You’d held Ajax’ lifeless body in your arms as rain poured from the heavens soaking you to the core. She was basically your mother; she was to so many of you. You had always looked to her for guidance and knew you could always confide in her, now she was gone. 

That brought you to now. Hesitating in the background floating on a dark cloud that you had conjured. After re-grouping with Kingo, Thena and Gilgamesh you’d made the next stop that had your stomach doing summersaults.  

You winced as the scars across your abdomen flickered with pain. Thunder shook the rainforest and birds sprung from their trees, wings flapping hard against the unnatural wind that had disturbed their peace. Thena peered at you through the trees with a knowing look. You were nervous. You hadn’t seen him in a few decades after some stupid fall out.  

The others entered the little church like building while the villagers stood around and watched, their voices becoming eerie and controlled. You heard arguing and could hear his voice amidst the chaos. His Irish accent making heat pool in the bottom of your belly.  

Your cloud floated to the ground, and you stepped off, your heavy black boots making squelching noises in soggy leaves. With a deep breath you pushed on the heavy wooden doors. All eyes turned to you, but the only ones you caught were a brilliant gold. His face softened as soon as his eyes met yours and in three long strides you found yourself being wrapped in his arms.  

Your eyes watered instantly; you were home. In Druigs arms, you were home. You breathe deeply, his warm earthy scent invading your senses. Your hand reached up to play with the hair at the base of his neck which you knew he loved. He shivered and held you tighter, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

“My Beautiful, beautiful lightning bug, was that you making all tha’ noise outside?” 

You lifted your head from under his chin to peer up at him with a blush, your cheeks reddening when Kingo made a gasp in the background. Your turned to see his assistant/cameraman Karun pointing the lens at the two of you. It was no secret to the girls that you and Druig have been a thing since, well, forever. Either the men decided to block it out or they really were that oblivious. For Arishems sake… you were even married. 

“Kingo ge’ your mans camera out my girls face unless you want to be struck by lightning.”