#but he's still a walking freaking tragedy

[sarascamander]

Just a reminder that Five died without getting a hug, thinking Diego hated him, Lila used him, and he only got 6 years of "normal life" but even then he was lost and without his family after 40+ years in the apocalypse, and spent another 6+ in it without them. Again.

[charnelhouse]

I imagine Red telling Price she’s pregnant and his immediate reaction is “have you told Simon yet?” (He uses his real name because of it being a personal matter) and Red is confused as fuck cause he knew

But red breaks down and says yeah he’s freaked about it

And price tried his best to comfort her (I think Price is the male equivalent of the mom friend)

Price watches Red during the meeting. Her gaze is distant, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. He’s known her for ten years. He’s seen her at her absolute worst. He’s seen her holding her insides with her hands. He’s seen her after being held captive for weeks.

Never once had she resembled the broken thing she is at that very moment.

No - that’s not entirely true.

He’s only seen her this terrified once before, and it was during a mission. A civilian kid had been hit - blood spurting from his neck, and Red had lost her cool. She’d fallen to her knees, palms flying to the boy’s throat as she attempted to staunch the bleeding.

“Fuck-fuck,” she muttered, tears in her eyes, chest hitching. “You’re alright-you’re fine, honey.”

It had been Simon who pulled her away. “It’s over, duchess,” he murmured. “It’s over - you can’t do anything, love.”

It had rocked all of them. Cool, imperious Red Fox had cracked, splintering apart as she clutched the child’s hand. For Price, it felt like being privy to something he shouldn’t. Afterward, she'd hid in her room for a week. Simon had been the only one allowed in.

As he observes Red from afar, Price kneads his neck, disturbed by the number of knots he's accumulated from sleeping wrong.

Fuck - he's getting old.

Today, she looks just as scared as she did then, desperately tense and full of distress. When he ends the meeting, he walks over to her. She hasn’t left the table though the others have escaped to training. He pulls a chair out and takes a seat. It creaks under his weight, but she doesn’t appear to notice.

“What is it, Red?”

She blinks down at the table. There’s sweat beading her hairline, and he realizes that, up close, her pallor is sickly.

He gently places his knuckles against her brow to feel for fever. She doesn’t flinch.

“Red,” he says. “What-

“I’m pregnant,” she reveals flatly before dragging a hand through her hair.

“Have you told Simon?”

Her eyes dart to him, her expression surprised.

“You think I didn’t notice?” He chuckles quietly. “He follows you around…touches you whenever he assumes we aren’t lookin’. I’ve seen what he does to the people who’ve hurt you. I’ve seen what’s left of them.” Price sighs as he squeezes her shoulder. “You both can be bloody loud, too. The walls are thin.”

Her mouth drops open, but then her nose wrinkles in embarrassment. “I guess we can be.”

Price scratches his stubble thoughtfully before crossing his arms over his chest. “Never thought Simon would make noises like that to be quite honest.”

“I wouldn’t say-

“Yah know Johnny mimics him? Puts on whole shows at breakfast impersonating what Ghost sounded like the night before.”

“You’re lying!”

“I might be.”

He isn’t.

She shakes her head before offering him a devastating smile. She’s beautiful; a fact he always thought would hinder her in this line of work, but she’s only shot through the ranks.

“So have you told him?”

Immediately, she shuts down, and Price curses himself for diverting too quickly. He’d done a fair job of distracting her.

“I did,” she admits after a beat.

“And he’s run off to go kill somethin, then?”

“First chance he got.” She blows out a breath before dropping her face into her hands. “He freaked in the Simon Riley way: stone-faced, guard up, escaped to the hills.” The words are muffled by her palms, but he still hears them.

He strokes her back, mindful of the small skull tattooed across her shoulder. “He’s not upset. I’d bet anything that he’s just confused. You know his past. He thinks he’s a homing beacon for tragedy.”

“He’s not,” she growls, stubborn and hot. “I can take care of myself. I chose him. He doesn’t need to be in this constant state of anxiety that he’s going to lose me.”

Easier said than done. She’s being deliberately obtuse and he’s unsure why. She knows Simon better than anyone. She knows the dark, insidious things that rot his past. Tragedy after tragedy. It’s so horrible that it could almost be funny. Almost, but never quite.

Price isn’t sure how Simon is even still standing.

Red exhales sharply as she stares off into the distance - focusing sightlessly on the direction that Simon has gone. Always. Constant. She’s grinding her teeth, but her longing is blatant.

Ah. Yes. She’s why Simon remains upright and alive.

Price clears his throat.

“Aye, but a baby makes shit complicated, Red. You were the only person Simon had to worry about. He had one thing in the world someone could take from him. Now he has two.”

She frowns. “I don’t think it’s like that.”

Price leans closer. “He’s in love with you.”

She glances at him suspiciously, and he suddenly understands that maybe neither of them comprehends this small fact: they’re both batshit insane over each other.

“I’ve known him a long time,” he reminds her. “He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.”

The corner of her mouth lifts. “How can you tell?”

“His eyes say enough.”

After a moment, she grabs his hand. “Do you think he’ll be okay…” She vaguely gestures to her stomach. “…with this?”

Price thinks she may just burst into tears, and that is something he can’t have. He wants to punish Simon for leaving her like this - for being unable to stand his ground and reassure her. But he also knows that Riley has been through literal hell. He’s died in every way, but physically. He can’t blame the man for needing space to get his head on straight.

There’s a lot on the line - many decisions to be made. He squeezes Red’s hand, rubs a soothing circle with his thumb. He says what he believes: “He loves you, darling. That will be enough.”

[crossingthedreams]

false hope — gregory house x f!reader

masterlist | day 15 (@angstober) — false hope 

summary:  a little hope is effective, a lot of hope is dangerous. what is true for revolutions, it’s also true for relationships. 

word count: 1k

warnings: angst, drug use, mentions of overdose, no use of y/n. 

“Hope, it is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective, a lot of hope is dangerous”. 

Interesting how a quote said in a context about authoritarian governments can also apply to relationships, you thought.  

In a relationship, if your hopes are too high, the chances you’ll make an Icarus of yourself, fly too close to the sun and burn are considerable. It’s good, healthy to expect certain things — that he’ll remember your birthday, that you’ll go to a movie together, and so on and so forth. Too much of this, too much hope, is certain to doom not only the relationship, but it's bearer’s mental health. 

Every time one hopes too high, they are bound for disappointment or to have even higher hopes in the future, which will also inevitably lead to disappointment. 

You had come to this realization at a young age, and it made your life easier in many ways. Hope is a very dangerous feeling. 

You were older now, but not as old as your man. His graying hair and beard were so attractive, it made him look so mature. Too fucking bad he constantly acted like a child. You were able to laugh it off most times, like when he teased you for being younger. He enjoyed when you could tease and taunt him as well, such as the time when you put Barbie decorations on all of his canes.

You had fun. Until you hadn’t.

He always had a pill problem, ever since you met you saw him take the tiny bottle from his coat and pop a pill or two every other hour. 

It was fine, until it wasn’t. 

The first time he threw up on you, the first real crisis you had, was almost a year ago. You stood by his side through it all, even when everyone told you to leave. Even Wilson mentioned how hopeless this was for you. 

To hell with them all. You had done something you promised you wouldn’t: you chose to have hope. Not only a little bit, but a lot. Enough hope for you and the recovering pill addict man you loved so freaking much. 

Seeing only his potential for growth, and potential was there, it was easy to feed yourself false hopes. Hope is dangerous when it’s too much, but a false hope is always a tragedy. 

What a tragedy it was when you were cleaning the coatroom of your shared apartment and found a secret stash of his pills. And what a fucking tragedy it was when you drove yourself to the hospital where he worked to confront him.

You stormed through the reception so quickly, you didn’t hear or see Cuddy calling your name. You were sure you looked terrible. Still in your cleaning-mode clothing and a pair of ugg boots, you looked like a teenager going through a first break up. Your nose was stuffy and red from the tears you cried, and you had a gigantic frown on your face. 

When the elevator’s doors opened on his floor, you marched up to the glass doors and tried to walk in and yell at him in front of his fellows. You knew their names, but didn’t bother with it right now. You just stood there, waiting for him to see you. 

His gaze met yours, and your world stopped. He knew what you knew, and it was clear to both of you this would be an argument. 

He motioned towards his office, and said something to the three doctors. As he left, the tallest one complained about something and your man just flipped him off. Any other occasion, you would have laughed. 

Now, you couldn’t bring yourself to smile, let alone laugh. You walked into his office, and used your gray coat to hug yourself. It was cold in the street but, somehow, it was colder in here. 

“I found your pills”, you said in a normal tone, surprising even you. You were sure you’d scream and cry and throw something at him, but no. No screams came to you. This was too exhausting. 

You extended your arm and gave it to him. He took it, looked at the table and placed it at his desk like they were nothing. Like they didn’t almost destroy him, destroy you. You just shook your head as he called your name.

Tears began to flood your eyes, but you didn’t want him to see you cry.  

“I understand how this looks like”, he began, but stopped when you scoffed. 

“It looks ridiculous, that’s what it looks like, Greg!”, you exclaimed, frowning once more. You hoped you didn’t look as broken as you sounded at this moment. “You promised me it was over. Was all that you gave me false hope?”

“I also gave that cute handbag”. 

You scoffed again, motioning towards the exit. 

“C’mon, it was just a joke”, it was his turn to exclaim. You turned back to meet his distraught expression. 

You both stood in silence for a heartbeat before he continued: “It’s unbearable sometimes. It’s why I have that hidden out. That’s all”. 

“I don’t think I believe you”, you said, feeling the tears stream down your cheek. This was all too much. 

You hadn’t realized you reached your breaking point up until now. You saw the face of the man you knew you loved and you felt more exhausted than ever. The constant fear of him falling down the rabbit hole, of him not being the person you knew he could be — it was enough.

You refused to look at him again for now, because if you did, all you’d see is the drug addict who almost killed himself the year before. 

There was a reason why you only let yourself have so much hope. You were reminded of that fact on the drive home, when your heart felt like it would stop beating on your chest. 

[lizzychanstuffss]

Hey! I got a prompt for you: let's say that the reader comes from a place where courting braids are a thing. Their people usually has long hair and it's tradition that someone would braid their SO's hair. Reader is hesitant to bring it up since their former partners never did it because they found it silly or too time consuming. I think Astarion would love the idea of braiding reader's hair and would probably go overboard and come up with complex braids or add decorations into the braid (feathers, beads, jewelry and all that jazz). Baby boy wants to express his creativity and is happy that you trust him with something so important to you 🥺

And if the braid comes undone, oh no what a tragedy, he's just gonna have to do it again! 😉

If it's too silly or too much of a hassle, feel free to say no tho. I just thought it would be so freaking cute ☺️

This so cute omg I need to write this.

Astarion x Tav!reader GN

set post-game so spoilers

Requests still open!

Finally, after all the adventures of mind flayers and tadpoles, you were happy to finally settle down with your lover. Astarion was happy with the predicament too, even if you also wanted to find a way for him to walk in the sun again...but he suggested you should take a break first, or else your body might start falling apart.

So you took his advice and the two of you had been taking things slow for the past few months. You two had the rest of forever to find a way for him to be in the sun again, there wasn't a real rush. So with that in mind you finally started wearing your hair down more often, it was already rather long but the length really showed now that it wasn't tied up or braided to keep it out of your face.

But there was one thing you couldn't stop thinking about. It was something that was prominent in the area you grew up in and was something you hoped you would be able to continue with whoever you ended up in a relationship with. But considering your relationship with Astarion was forged in the midst of chaos it was never really the time to bring it up to the vampire.

But tonight the man saw you looking over a book. It had instructions for several different styles of braids but all of them were too complex for you to do yourself. You hadn't even noticed that Astarion had been behind you until he placed his hands on your shoulders giving you a peck on the cheek. His eyes glanced over the page and it instantly caught his attention.

"My, my what's this?" His knuckle stroked the page inquisitively. Looking up at him you smiled.

"Ah just some braids, where I'm from there was something called a courting braids..." You trailed off a bit slightly embarrassed at the thought of it. Astarion gave your shoulder a slight squeeze urging you to continue.

"Uhm well, when two people are courting one of them will braid the other's hair...it's a bit silly saying it out loud" You look away from him as you speak only to have him gently move your chin to face him, a frown formed on his face as he spoke.

"Darling, it's not silly if it's something you care about...and frankly it sounds rather fun" He paused. "Would you like me to try one of them?"

"Well, if you want to?" You smile up at him and suddenly Astarion seems so excited. The two of you get into a more comfortable position so he could properly do your hair. He gets to work looking at the guide for the braid and twisting your hair gently into the shape on the page. Once he's finished Astarion marvels at his work quite satisfied with himself.

"Oh my I do say you look rather dashing in this style" He chuckles before grabbing two hand mirrors handing you one and he holds the other to get a good look at the intricate braid. His handiwork is honestly remarkable, must have been from his skills in embroidery  transferring over to another.

"You did a wonderful job Astarion~" You smiled as you looked at it. Turning to face Astarion, he was still rather excited by this new found talent he had discovered and it gave you an idea. "How about you do another more complex one?" Suggesting to him and his eyes seemed to light up at the prospect.

"Are you sure?" His eyes were filled with a sense of light at the prospect but he couldn't help but ask if it was really alright. He was still cautious about such things but you couldn't blame him, it’s not like though healing from trauma was a one fix all. Of course you give him an enthusiastic nod.

Then the man sets off to work trying another braid from the book, something much harder to replicate for certain. As you sit there his hands playing with your hair is a rather soothing experience, it takes a while but eventually he finishes this one. It's slightly rougher as he is still getting used to the process, but it demonstrates such skill and talent regardless.

-

Over the next weeks, Astarion continues to braid your hair. Sometimes he puts in flowers or ribbons or whatever other decorations he thinks would look nice against the color. Today he chose a more simplistic braid instead of his normally complex art pieces. But as you went about your day the braid ended up coming undone.

You were a little distraught as all his hard work became undone. Upon seeing this Astarion wasn't upset at all in fact.

"Oh dear~ such a shame I have to braid it all again" His voice was dripping with sarcasm and sass. Scoffing a bit in response to obvious tease, but then sitting in front of him.

"Alright, let me see what I can do" he smirks a bit letting the hair fall where it may and then getting started on something a bit more secure. As he works his magic looping the hair in on itself, adding a ribbon to help keep it in place.

Once he was finished he proudly showed off his work, a smile making its way across your lips as you take in his work. "You are quite skilled at this, love.” Turning to him you gave him a gentle kiss which he reciprocated in kind.

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Bubble Therapy - Eddie Munson

Eddie Munson x Original Female Character

Summary: Eddie is filthy and now that he's home from the hospital he no longer has an excuse to stay that way. Also, Eddie has never had a bubble bath before :(

Tags: Fluff, Love, Joking, Banter, Angst, Spicy references, Small amount of Spice, inner healing/healing Eddie's inner child, Mommy!kink/Mommy!Dom if you squint, Basically Eddie has Mommy issues.. and Daddy issues.

TWs: past child abuse, past child neglect, drug references

Words: 5.2k

A/N: This story sits canonically after, Aftermath and before Drop Out but should be able to be read as a standalone. More notes at the end.

~~

Eddie was sulking.

Karmen could tell as she popped her head around the corner of the bedroom door and looked in on him curled up on his side of the bed. Above the covers as she had instructed. The sour look on his face as he glowered at the wall made her feel a little sorry for him but more than anything, it made her want to laugh.

He was being juvenile. 

“Alright, I’m ready for you.” She called, catching his attention as cross eyes flicked towards her and then back to the wall. As if to check if she had been speaking to him. As if they weren’t alone in her house on a random Thursday night.

As if she hadn’t said she was walking away to get things ready for his bath.

“Do I have to?” He asked rhetorically, sullen face pressing his lips together as she answered simply that yes, he did.

He had been home from the hospital for a week now after his ordeal in The Upside Down or as Karmen knew it, the car accident. 

He was currently staying with her in her home. Having freaked out when he’d returned to the trailer. She and Wayne hadn’t managed to get him to sleep there more than one night and she wasn’t really sure how much of that he had actually spent sleeping.

She understood. He hadn’t been back there that she knew of, since he’d seen a girl murdered right in front of his eyes in the living room he’d grown up in.

She didn’t want him to have to stay there if he didn’t want to. She was more than happy to house him. She just had one, simple condition. 

That he washed at least once a week.

Wayne had helped him into the shower when he’d returned to the trailer and he’d sat in the bottom of it like a petulant child as Karmen scrubbed him top to bottom. Albeit gently as he was still healing. It was his first proper wash since he’d woken up alive in the alternative version of the trailer park. Half eaten and covered in blood.

He’d been cleaned up somewhat before he was rushed to surgery back in the real world and he had been sponge bathed during his hospital stay. But nothing had quite compared to the feeling of washing away weeks worth of grime that he hadn’t even realized was still hiding on his body.

That being said, he wasn’t keen to do it again.

It had taken a lot out of him and while he was getting better at moving around on his own, he was still very sore and sorry. He was shaky on his feet and the feeling of the water hitting his skin in the shower had quickly grown overstimulating. Making him want to scream but instead all he could do was silently cry as Karmen apologized over and over for making him do it.

He’d found his words again shortly after returning to Karmen’s house. Having been effectively mute for the majority of his hospital stay. He hadn’t been able to talk, to tell her everything that was happening with him. His brain had been blocking his ability to speak in the way it used to when he was a child.

Nonverbal.

They had called it. He was nonverbal during his hospital stay. But after getting to come back to a familiar place that hadn’t been tainted by a horrific tragedy that he was reminded of everywhere he looked. The block in his brain had started to fall away. To dissolve and reabsorb itself as words that he couldn’t form days earlier fell from his lips with ease. Small at first, one word answers until this point in time where he was again, much to everyone’s relief, speaking full sentences.

Although he was still keeping things close to his chest. He could talk and that was what mattered to his loved ones in the moment.

The only downside being that a verbal Eddie was an argumentative one.

He wasn’t afraid to say he didn’t want to do something and when Karmen had brought up how dirty he’d gotten just lying around the house during the week he had immediately felt defensive and made a snippy remark about how that reflected her housekeeping skills more than his personal hygiene.

He’d regretted it instantly. Seeing anger flash in her eyes and watching as her jaw set together hard. A frustrated exhale through flared nostrils prompted him to apologize quickly and profusely as she told him she was going to organize a bath and made him promise to not get under the covers in her bed while his feet were so disgusting.

She’d calmed down in the time it took her to organize his bath. She knew he didn’t mean it and if he’d been in his right mind he never would have said it even if it was something he thought on the inside. Which, considering the state of his own bedroom, she highly doubted.

Either that or he was the world’s biggest hypocrite and she wouldn’t hesitate to point that out if he doubled down. 

She knew he was defensive because he hadn’t enjoyed his shower at the trailer and he was dreading going through that again. His anger was reactive and while that didn’t excuse it in general, she gave him a pass in this particular instance and put her energy into making this a nice experience for him so that hopefully he wouldn’t fight her so hard on getting clean in the future.

Karmen nodded at him again when he didn’t respond to her answer. Walking into the room to stand next to the bed and waiting with thin patience for him to move.

“Ugh.” He groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Something he’d still been struggling with a week earlier. “Okay.” He moaned, unable to keep the reluctancy from his tone as Karmen held out a hand to help him up.

“Bring your cane, we’re going to the main bathroom.” She reminded him, picking up the cheap walking stick she’d bought from Melvald’s the day after he’d returned home and placing it in his other hand. 

Eddie had grumbled about using it. But conceded after it had saved him from fall that maybe it was best.

He still hated it. But he was aware that it was temporary and that there were people out there who weren't so lucky as to be able to put their cane down after a couple of weeks. He tried his best to be grateful knowing it would end eventually.

“What?” He asked, more of a whine than a word. “Why not in here?” He complained, nodding towards the ensuite and watching as she cocked her head at the question.

“I don’t have a bath in there.” She answered plainly, as if it was an obvious answer.

“A bath?” Eddie asked with a scowl.

Oh no. 

He already didn’t want to shower but an actual bath was worse somehow.

“Yeah.” She replied, jerking her head towards the doorway of the bedroom. “I told you I was going to run you a bath.” She said tiredly, shaking her head at the way he muttered to himself.

“I thought it was a figure of speech.” He admitted quietly.

“Well what did you think I was doing that whole time?” She asked incredulously, shrugging at him as he mimicked her, shrugging his shoulders back.

“I don’t know…” He replied earnestly. “Toilet.”

“I was gone for like twenty minutes!” Karmen exclaimed, offended. “The water pressure here is shit by the way.” She added with a snicker.

“Not an unusual amount of time for you.” Eddie smirked as her mouth fell open in disbelief.

“Stop sassing me.” She warned him. She had let the first remark go. But commenting on her toilet breaks was too far. Even her boss let it go when she made it back to her desk after twenty minutes of reading Garfield… And he was paying her! 

“I tried to do a nice thing for you. Come on, it’s all ready for you.” She said, shaking the hand she held out for him to take.

“I appreciate it but…”  He began, trailing off as she gave him a pointed look and he decided it was better for him if he just started getting up instead of arguing.

He could argue about it on the way to the bathroom.

“It’ll get cold while you sit here whining.” She cautioned as he placed his hand in hers.

“Wouldn’t want that.” Eddie replied wryly, rolling his eyes.

“No you wouldn’t.” She agreed, knowing he was being cheeky and choosing to ignore it because he was agreeing with her point of view.

“Oh why, are there lots of bubbles?” He asked sarcastically as he grunted through the pain of standing, using her hand and his cane to steady himself.

“Of course.” Karmen answered with a laugh as she turned towards the bathroom and tried to pull him behind her. The heavy weight of Eddie not moving forced her to halt.

“What?” She asked, turning to face him. Baffled to find him frowning.

“No, nothing.” He replied quickly, shaking his head and limping closer as Karmen cocked a brow in his direction.

“No, what? What’s wrong?” She asked gently, placing a hand on the uninjured side of his chest and ducking into his view as he shrugged at her.

“Nothings wrong I just… I’ve never had a bath with bubbles before.” He answered simply. Staring into disbelieving eyes as she blinked at him dumbly.

“You’ve never had a bubble bath?” She asked after a moment of surprised silence. More of a shocked statement than a question.

“Nope.” He replied simply.

“Like, not even as a kid?” She asked, stunned, as he shrugged again.

“My parents couldn’t afford fancy shit like that and playing with me in the bath wasn’t exactly Wayne’s brand of parenting.” He chuckled. “Thank God.” He added under his breath, making her huff out a laugh.

“Oh my God…” She said empathetically. “Well what are you waiting for then, come on?” She encouraged, tugging on his hand as she turned back towards the bathroom.

He followed behind her quietly. The soft drag of his foot and the dull thud of his cane against the hardwood announcing his injured gate as he limped along behind her at a pace that he felt she must find infuriating in her healthy state.

They made it to the bathroom eventually.

Eddie’s brows shot towards his hairline as Karmen nudged the door open and steam began to seep out from inside.

“Quick.” She instructed him hopefully. Knowing full well that he couldn’t actually move very fast but he could at least pretend to try.

He did pretend to try. Grunting as he shuffled past her into the small room at the same pace as he was moving before but taking smaller steps so it seemed like he was moving faster.

She smiled to herself, pulling the door closed behind them to trap the heat and gesturing for him to keep moving so they both had room in there.

She couldn’t see his face but she knew he was smiling. The tone of his voice gave it away as he whispered a small:

“Wow.”

“You like?” She asked, as she began to scoop her hair into her hands before pulling it up to the top of her head and securing it in a loose bun with the scrunchy on her wrist.

She was already starting to sweat in the small space and needed her hair off her neck immediately.

“Yeah.” Eddie answered simply, emotion in his voice as he turned to her with watery eyes. “I like.” He added with a pout as she smiled up at him, feeling satisfied.

“Good.” She said as he turned back to the bath. The water was as high as she could justify letting it go without knowing it would for sure spill over the sides when Eddie got in. The bubbles were piled high atop the surface, coming up at least seven inches above the rim on the tub and fizzing away in the silence of the small space.

The aroma in the room was delicious. She’d used some of her favorite bath oils. Christmas gifts from her lazy brothers that were actually thoughtful gifts from her Mother. She’d mixed them with the muscle relaxing salts she’d bought from the pharmacy and the children’s bubble bath she had on hand for when she babysat. She’d spent a lot of time on her knees, fluffing up the water to make sure the bubble bath had worked as intended, if not better than.

The light was still on in the small room but she’d lit candles that rested on the sink and the windowsill. The little lights flickered around and threatened to extinguish under the change of air pressure from them both entering. They were adding to the yummy smell in the room. 

Eddie squinted to read the name of the one closest to him.

Confetti Cupcake.

No wonder it smelled so damn good. He wasn’t a stranger to a good cupcake.

Karmen leaned down and gently removed his cane from his hand. Making sure he was steady before leaning it up against the side of the shower just a foot away from where he would be sitting in the bath.

She knew Eddie was grateful that he wouldn’t have to use it forever but he relied heavily on it for now. She wanted to make sure it was easily within reach for him at all times.

“Now, let’s get you undressed Honey.” She said softly, not missing the shiver that ran down his spine at the words. The tender way she’d spoken them awakening something inside of him briefly before he pushed it back down and leant against the sink to brace himself against being knocked over as she squished around him so she was facing his front.

“You like that?” She asked knowingly as she reached for the hem of his shirt. His tongue darted out to lick at his lips as he averted his eyes. Nodding at the question as she smiled to herself at his response. 

Eddie wasn’t sure exactly what about it he liked. Just that he knew he most certainly did like it when she spoke to him like that.

Like she wanted to help him. 

Like she cared and helping him wasn’t just a chore she had to get through so she could go and do whatever she actually wanted to be doing.

Like he wasn’t a chore.

More than that. Like she enjoyed taking care of him and he was the something that she wanted to be doing. 

“You know I’ll take care of you for as long as you need me to Sweetheart.” She said as she began to lift the hem of his shirt. Pulling it up towards his chest as he hummed in reply, not trusting his voice.

What if I need you to take care of me forever?

Eddie wanted to ask as he lifted his arms as high as he could. The muscles strained as he forced them up further than he had lately in an effort to be helpful. 

“What if I just want you to take care of me?” He asked instead, as the fabric of his shirt brushed against his lips and he bent forward to help her pull it over his head. Grateful for the fact that she couldn’t see his face as he felt heat rise up his neck at the query.

“For as long as you want me to, then.” Karmen answered simply, shimmying the shirt over his unruly mess of hair and finally freeing him of his cotton prison. “Pants off next.” She added, as he straightened himself. Peeking through the curls that still covered his face and watching as she tossed his shirt towards the hamper.

Eddie reached for his waistband, hands making it there before hers could and pausing on the elastic as she placed her own on top of his and looked up at him to see what he was thinking.

He looked down at her sheepishly through the gap in his hair and she chuckled to herself. Raking her fingers through it and brushing it out of his face and back behind his shoulders.

“You’re wearing sweatpants.” She reminded him gently, making him frown as she leveled him with her questioning gaze. “You’re not hiding anything by keeping them on.” She explained, eyes flicking away from his and towards the obvious tent at his crotch that was just a hair shy of brushing against her belly button.

“I am, actually.” He responded, eyes following hers to the elephant in the room and watching as it twitched in response to being spoken of. The fabric covering the tip slowly discoloring as his wetness seeped into it on the upward kick. 

“Oh, nevermind.” He murmured, hooking his thumbs under the waistband and lifting it out and over his erection before loosening his grip on the pants altogether and letting them fall from his fingers to his ankles. 

“You really liked that huh?” Karmen asked slyly, her voice sultry as she spoke. A satisfied smirk crossed her lips as she watched his cock jerk at the question. A bead of pre-cum dripping down his head and falling to the floor to further soil his sweats.

Eddie didn’t answer, flustered by the teasing. He hadn’t been expecting anything like that from her when he’d walked into the bathroom and still wasn’t to be honest. But he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to the way she spoke. When she knew exactly what she was doing to him and lowered her voice to a raspy octave that tickled something inside his abdomen. 

When she whispered about loving to take care of him and how easy he was to love.

It drove him insane and she knew it.

Thankfully she stopped there, holding out her arms and placing firm hands on either side of his torso. She encouraged him to use them to steady himself as he stepped out of his pants.

He did so with little grace. Wobbling around as he balanced on each leg and used the souls of his feet to push the fabric down and off his ankles until finally he was free and completely naked. 

Almost ready for the bath.

“Bend down for me please.” Karmen instructed, leaning over to grab something off the sink and holding it up to show him.

Eddie nodded, tilting his head forward and closing his eyes as she raked her fingers through his hair again and pulled it into a bun similar to her own on the top of his head.

He stood back up when she let him know she was done, turning to look in the mirror and seeing the foggy outline of his ridiculous hairdo. 

Large messy bun atop his scalp that was still a little too far back for his bangs to be pulled into. His forehead still covered by them. 

He snorted at the stylish do.

“Here.” Kam nudged him to get his attention again, holding up the simple piece of elastic fabric that she used to keep her hair out of her eyes when she did her make up and handing it to him to put over his head as she turned her attention back to the bath.

Eddie pulled it down over his eyes and let it sit around his neck for now while Karmen moved to the side to give him room to head towards the bath. 

He took a shaky step, holding onto the sink on one side and Karmen’s arm on the other as he lifted his leg over the side of the tub. Hissing as his foot parted the bubbles and he placed it into the warm water.

“Careful.” Karmen said absently as he lifted the other leg experimentally. He knew to be careful. Of course he was being careful. He was doing everything in his power to avoid getting hurt and being forced to go back to that wretched place he’d finally escaped earlier in the month.

Eddie heeded her warning anyway. Taking an extra few seconds to prepare himself before lifting his other leg into the water and slowly sinking down. Holding tight onto Karmen’s arms as he lowered himself until he was sitting firm against the bottom of the tub. His iron grip loosening on her as he stretched out his legs and grimaced apologetically at how hard he had been holding on to her.

She waved him off, even though she knew she’d have at least one bruise. She chose this for him and wasn’t about to hold that against him when he was just trying to steady himself. 

“Lie back.” She said as she pressed a hand on his chest and encouraged him to lean against the wall. His body slipped slightly and made him jolt in alarm before he caught himself and let out a sharp exhale of relief. His back touching against cool tile as wet hands pulled the fabric from around his neck up and over his bangs. 

It held them out of his eyes brilliantly and took away frustration he hadn't realized he’d been feeling when he could suddenly see properly and nothing was touching his face or neck.

Karmen produced a stool to sit on. He wasn’t entirely sure where from but he had a hunch she’d stored it in the shower. It was the one she sat on when she babysat her friend’s child Jack who was still too little to take baths on his own.

He was surprised when she’d told him what it was for when he’d originally asked almost a year ago now. Jack was three at the time, nearly four currently and she still sat with him while he bathed.

Eddie couldn’t remember a time when someone had sat with him in the bath as a child. Maybe they had when he was really young and he just couldn’t remember it. But what he did remember was from when he was around the age Jack was now. So he didn’t have much hope for that being true.

He remembered playing until the boring water went cold and then calling out for someone to help him. He remembered the way he shivered as he waited for someone to come. Eventually finding his own way out, not without incident and being chastised for getting water on the floor. For slipping in it. For being hurt and more importantly, for moving. 

Because he was supposed to be stuck.

He hadn’t understood that as a child. But as an adult he knew it meant that he was left there on purpose. Because they knew where he was when he was in the bath. They knew he was playing by himself and couldn’t just walk in on them doing whatever it was they wanted to do while he was stuck in the tiny room by himself, wishing someone would come and sit with him.

“What if you’d drowned?” Wayne had asked him once when he was a lot older. Disbelief on his face as the topic of how the hell his parents had managed to keep their shady dealings from him for long had arisen and Eddie had explained one of the ways he’d remembered.

Eddie had just shrugged in response. 

He guessed they didn’t care…

He looked up at Karmen as she sat down on the stool, rummaging around in the drawers beside her and he couldn’t help but wonder if this is what it would have been like if he’d had a Mom that wanted to do bathtime with him as a child.

Minus the raging erection of course.

But even that had begun to relax the second it hit the water. Tension he didn’t know he had been holding onto seeping from deep in his bones as he followed Karmen’s lead and let himself rest against the wall.

“Here we go.” Karmen said cheerfully as she shut the drawer and held up a clean hand towel and an empty plastic cup. She placed the cup on the edge of the bath and caught Eddie by surprise as she dipped the towel into the water.

“What’s that for?” He asked as she lifted it out. Letting it slide along his body as she pulled it up and over his torso like a small blanket.

“To keep you warm.” She explained. “Also dicks float and it’s unsettling.” She added, making him laugh.

“Mm.” He agreed, looking down at the scratchy cloth that now covered his modesty and most of his scars as she scooped up some water in the cup and poured it over the towel to keep it from going cold. 

Eddie shuddered as the warmth spread over his chest. The water brushing against his skin and relaxing his tense muscles.

He huffed out an involuntary sigh. The sound made Karmen smile as she continued to scoop and pour water over his torso ever now and then and he let his eyes flutter closed. The bubbles fizzed around his body. Tingling against his goosebumpy skin and adding to the experience in a way he hadn’t anticipated. 

He’d always looked at bubble baths through the eyes of an excited child rather than the weary eyes of an adult with aching joints.

“This is nice.” He mumbled, lips barely moving, eyes still shut as he fought the sudden overwhelming urge to sleep. To let himself fall into unconsciousness in his watery bed and float into nice dreams in a way he hadn’t since before everything had gone down.

“I’m glad Baby.” Kam murmured back, her volume low on purpose to keep in line with the calmness of the room.

Eddie’s cock twitched in response to the term of endearment. 

Lord she did know exactly how to work him up but he couldn’t tell if she was doing it on purpose now or not. They both ignored his twitching erection. Eddie, willing it away as Karmen, smiled to herself at his eagerness starting to die down again.

While an orgasm was never unwelcome when it happened upon him, he was far too relaxed to be bothered with trying to procure one at that moment.

Maybe after his bath when they returned to the bedroom and Karmen finally let him under the covers again. But right now he was relishing in her attention of a different kind. Being nurtured by her in a way that healed something long broken inside of him. Something he hadn’t even realized had been damaged when he was small. 

It was nice.

To feel cared for.

Not just to feel cared for but to feel worthy of being cared for. Not just looked after as a means of keeping him alive but nourished and allowed to grow in a way he should have decades earlier. 

He hadn’t realized what he had been missing all this time. A part of that was hugely depressing. Something he struggled with a lot since he’d met her. Realizing what it truly felt like to be loved and the epiphany that he’d never felt it before. 

Not truly.

Wayne loved him. He knew he did. But not in the way Karmen did. Which, he supposed, would be yucky and illegal.

Regardless of the fact that there was a silent agreement in place that Eddie did not consider Alan to be his Father anymore. That Wayne was his Dad through and through. He wasn’t biologically Wayne’s child and he knew deep down that there would always be this disconnect between what the love of a Father should be and the love Wayne felt for him.

That being said, the love of a Father was something Alan was supposed to feel for him unconditionally and he didn't. There was a disconnect there too and Wayne had meant to use it to explain how much he loved Eddie. To point out that if Alan didn’t love him in the way he was supposed to, that there was this dissonance that wasn’t supposed to be there, as if Eddie wasn’t his son; then Eddie’s own logic was flawed and Wayne himself could love Eddie as much as he could his own son.

He had really only succeeded in pointing out to Eddie that Alan was one of the two people in the world that were supposed to love him wholly and unconditionally and he didn’t.

Wayne had accidently pointed out that Eddie was fundamentally unlovable. 

Even to his parents.

The realization had hurt him deeply. Wounded him worse than he cared to admit.

He had believed whole-heartedly until he met Karmen. Until he’d chanced upon someone that had taken the time to show him what being loved actually felt like.

Now he didn’t just struggle to feel like he was worth loving but also to comprehend that she thought he was as well. That she wanted to spend her time with him and it wasn’t simply out of obligation that she did so.

That she went out of her way to spend time with him and on him in ways no one ever had before.

She was for all intents and purposes the only person that ever truly loved him and he was so grateful for every second of her attention that he was allowed to have and savor. Every small drip of her affection that he could squeeze from her until she decided that it was enough. 

That he was too much and she was done.

Eddie opened his eyes abruptly. Shocking his brain into forgetting his train of thought by forcing himself to take in his surroundings without warning it first. A trick he’d learnt when he was younger and plagued by persistent nightmares.

It didn’t work so well for nightmares now. He couldn’t wake himself anymore like he used to be able to when he was a kid. But it still helped to dispel the negative thoughts in a moment when he shouldn't be or perhaps couldn’t afford to be thinking them.

“You okay?” Karmen asked from her place beside the bath. At some point she had stopped consistently scooping water onto his torso and sat back on her seat to watch him relax and wait for him to ask to get out. She had thought he was asleep and was about to take away the whole hand towel and rewarm it in the water when his eyes had shot open and he had stared at the end of the bath for a long moment without speaking.

He’d startled her but she didn’t show it. She wondered what he had been thinking about.

Eddie nodded without looking up at her. Her hands moving into his view as she peeled the wet cloth down from his chest and dunked it in the water by his side before replacing it. The heat of the towel against his chest calmed his racing heart as he exhaled a slow breath and let his eyes flutter closed again.

Yeah.

He was okay.

~~

More Notes: I don't mean to make Eddie seem childlike. He is struggling with trying to understand what it means to be loved and that brings up a lot of feelings about the things he should have had in his childhood and in a way, how he is realizing her can still experience them now for the first time as an adult and with work, be okay with that. Because he can't go back and change how he grew up or make his parents love him. So he will settle for experiencing these things at all. Even if it means they are filtered through an adult lens that he wouldn't have liked or wanted to be there when he was a kid. I hope that makes sense.

Read the rest of the series here :)

This series is so personal to me, so it means the world to me when someone let’s me know they enjoy a work from this series. If you guys liked this please pleaseee consider letting me know via comment, reblog, message, anon ask etc.  

Tags: @3ddi3-daydreamer @micheledawn1975 @munson-blurbs @wheels-of-despair @browneyes528 @stevemunsons

[strangerthingssteddiebrainrot]

A little ficlet I was just inspired to write at 1am lol

Listen

Despite dating a rockstar, Steve was a pretty private person. Whenever he went with Eddie and the boys on tour, he'd wear sunglasses regardless of the actual weather conditions. Sometimes even a hat if he was really done with nosy reporters trying to figure out what his connection to Corroded Coffins lead singer was.

But it's been a long time since '89 when the band first took off and in the glorious year of 1999 they were finally outed by a reporter disguised as a waiter at the restaurant they were eating at and got a picture of them kissing if the corner of the private booth they were hiding in. Sales and the band's popularity took a hit sure, but so many new fans, freaks and outcasts and people just like them filled the void that they actually bounced back with more popularity than ever before. So Eddie and Steve agreed to do an interview on a daytime talk show, set the record straight and talk about themselves and their relationship openly for the first time. They talked about how high school cliques nearly kept them apart, but the spring break of '86, for all its tragedy and death and near death, brought them together and they worked hard to stay together. A true love story if there ever was one. It was freeing actually, finally being able to be open and Out, and if their love helped people, that was just a bonus.

Which is how no one, not even Eddie or the band knew about Steve's voice. He'd never been a singer, too insecure and beaten down to trust that he was actually good at something besides swinging a bat (and an ax, and Molotov cocktails). It was something he was working on, but change doesn't happen overnight and even now, in his early thirties, he still had never revealed his hidden talent to anyone other than Robin. And like, it's not like she ever said anything either! They sang sometimes back when they lived in each other's back pocket and she never said he was good, so he just assumed he was not terrible! Maybe the fact that she had a crush on Tammy Thompson and her 'muppet giving birth' singing should have been a clue. Steve just thought love made you blind.

So when, during the encore performance of Corroded Coffins latest show, Eddie gestures to him to come on stage, Steve tried to refuse at first. He waved him off laughing, but Eddie was persistent and the crowd caught on, chanting his name to come onstage. So he gave in, and god did he stick out like a sore thumb, light washed Levi's with a navy Henley, glasses on cause he had a migraine the day before from squinting at everything, it the crowd still cheered when he appeared, Eddie smiled at him all dimples and the guys gave an exaggerated slow clap at finally getting him onstage.

Eddie took his hand, the other one still holding his mike, and the band started up a cover of Tainted Love, one of the few songs that both Eddie and Steve agreed kicked ass. Maybe the lyrics didn't really reflect how they feel for each other, but watching Eddie sing to Steve, there was no doubt the man was very much in love. And when he held up the mike to Steve on the second chorus, Steve couldn't help but sing.

And oh, how Eddie's face dropped into open mouth shock, Steve had to catch his hand to keep the mike level. A quick glance showed the rest of the boys looked just as shocked, the music only continuing by pure muscle memory. Steve almost stopped singing, panicked that he was ruining the show with his voice, but the crowd was going wild and he could see the cameras flashing, and Eddie, Eddie was coming in close, the chorus over and he leaned in to Steve's ear and shouted, "don't stop!" So he didn't. And they finished the song together and thank god it was the last song in their set. So when Eddie pulled away and gave his goodbye with the rest of the band, Steve quickly walked offstage and headed to the green room, heart pounding a mile a minute.

It wasn't too long before the rest of the band piled in, and Eddie ran right to him, grabbing his face and kissing him hard.

Finally pulling away after too short a time, Eddie beamed at him. "How the fuck did I not know that you can sing?!"

Mind still a little scrambled from the kiss, Steve took a moment to answer. "Huh?"

Not the most eloquent, but he was still reeling from the loss of those lips against his own.

"Yeah man, when Ed said he was gonna pull you on stage, not gonna lie, I thought you were gonna sound awful." Garath said, earning a smack on the head from Jeff and Martin (unnamed freak).

"Not how I would've put it, but, I thought there was a reason you never sang with us before. So yeah, that was an unexpected surprise." Jeff smoothed over, knowing that so sometimes Steve's insecurities got the better if him, having mediated several fights between him and Eddie in the past.

"Holy shit baby, you were so good! I almost didn't remember to sing cause I was too busy falling even more in love with the most perfect man on earth!" Eddie gushed, gently shaking Steve by his shoulders.

"Cute, but also, get a room guys." Martin laughed. "But seriously Steve, you have a good voice. I don't know why we've been hiring background singers for some of our songs when we could've just had you do it instead."

"Oh, well, I-I don't know. I never thought I was a good singer yeah? Not for like, performing? I just wanted to kinda, ride the high of tonight, if that makes sense." Steve said, blushing and a little overwhelmed at the attention, but trying to embrace it and take the genuine compliments he was getting (something he struggled to do on a daily basis, neglectful parents having left their mark).

"First of all, bite me Martin," throwing his band mate the finger, Eddie was still beaming which softened the blow, the others laughing at him. "and second, Stevie, baby, you sound amazing! Light, but still raspy and sexy as hell." Giving him a peck on the cheek, Eddie whispered in his ear. "Gonna sing for me later big boy? In bed maybe?"

And what could Steve say to that? So he just pulled Eddie in for more kisses, deepening them regardless of the guys complaining.

The next day, the picture that was making waves in the music community was of Steve singing into the mike, Eddie looking at him with starts in his eyes and his face completely lovestruck.

@steddieassheg0es @oakenorcrist

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Is it death who comes knocking? (is it a curse to always know?)

Day 1 of The Long Halloween - event masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 7.5k

genre: horror, fluff kinda, hurt/comfort

warnings: mothman damian, crime scenes, lots of vague / symbolic mentions of death, this is kinda a monsterfucker fic but it's sfw as always, reader gets a little stressy a little hysterical

a/n: daaaaaay one I hope we all like it <3 kiss kiss enjoy

"What are you staring at? Come on, move along -"

"What, am I not allowed to gawk?" you snap, making the young police officer in front of you freeze and blink owlishly. "God knows everyone else is." He glances around at your words, letting his eyes flick frantically over the growing crowds that surround the crime scene as the police lights bathe their stricken faces in red, then blue, and then red again.

The officer keeps speaking, trying his best to bark orders and demand that everyone move along and find something else to do other than stand and stare and poke around a crime scene. But you're not particularly listening anymore. Your head, instead, tips back so that you can look up at the night sky and the towering buildings of Gotham.

A shadow flickers somewhere overhead, as black as the darkened sky. You wonder, for just a moment, if it's him.

The Mothman.

"Go on, really," the officer's defeated sigh makes you snap your head back down to look at him. He arches a brow wearily and, after glancing around to confirm that most of the crowd is still gathered, you narrow your eyes at him. "Get lost."

"I'm just standing here," you press. "Just like everybody else."

"No," he crossed his arms. "I've seen you before. Anytime, anywhere some freak accident happens, anytime somebody dies, you're always here, nosing around." You take a step back at his words, pressing your lips together in annoyance. "Maybe," he says pointedly. "Maybe we should bring you in for questioning."

"For a freak accident?" you quip back. "Incredible use of police resources." You hope that he doesn't notice the way that you sweat at his comment, hope that he can't see the way that your heart hammers and lurches as you spin on your heel and march away, knocking shoulders with people in the crowd.

You hope that he can't see the flickering shadow overhead, and hear the faint sound of wings beating over the breeze.

The Mothman. 

If you ask anyone, he's a myth, a scary story that you tell when you're out in the dark with your friends and you want to give them a good fright.

He's the omen of death, it's believed, and if you see him, you're sure to die. When tragedy is about to strike, when death is about to reign down, the Mothman will appear on the scene, dark and wild and ready to see it through.

As you begin the long walk back to your apartment, you shove your hands into your pockets to ward off the oncoming chill of night, watching as your breath fogs out in front of your face. Flashes of the crime scene that you'd just left play over and over in your mind, the accident and the death and the Mothman, large and looming and deadly as he stares. 

You were so sure… you were so sure that this time, you'd get there quick enough, that this time you'd stop him from killing again. 

You go to step out onto a crosswalk, but an oncoming car honks and the sound makes you jerk back as you blink, stepping back onto the safety of the sidewalk as you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut.

As if it will help.

As if anything will make you stop seeing the things that you see.

They're visions, you suppose - nightmares of the creature and his killings, vivid, painful flashes and glimpses of the myth and the havoc that he wreaks. 

But the nightmares keep coming true and there's nothing that you can do to stop them. There is never anything that you can do to stop them. You're always just a bit too late, just a minute too slow.

It's crazy, you tell yourself. It's a coincidence. But you keep your lips pressed firmly together, even now as you cautiously peer both ways before hastening across the busy Gotham streets, your feet surer and quicker than the rest of you has ever been. You keep your mouth shut, because the threat of being thrown somewhere like Arkham is too real and terrifying for you to do anything other than spend your days scrambling, running and running and running and falling just short of anything.

You keep your mouth shut, even at night when the visions creep up and you find yourself plagued with images of things that haven't happened yet - deaths that are soon to occur.

And in every one of these visions, it's the Mothman who appears to carry out the killing. You're sure of it. It's always him.

As you step back into your apartment, flicking on the dull, yellow-hued light and standing in the silent entryway with windswept hair and frozen fingers, you think that surely… surely next time you'll get there fast enough. Next time you'll save a life.

But when you wake the next morning, there have been no visions. No twisting and turning agony, no spiralling panic and gasping, sweating fear. There's just… nothing. 

And when you wake the next day, there's nothing. 

And the day after that, and after that, and after that. Just… nothing. You think, sort of hesitantly, like a prey animal spotting food in a trap, that perhaps you've found some sort of freedom. Perhaps you've found a way out.

But then you wake, one day, when the sun is just barely cresting over the horizon and beginning to spill golden light onto the twisted, frantic city below, and your heart hammers in your chest as your lungs burn. Images of the dreams that you'd had, of the twisted visions that haunted you come to the surface, flashing through your mind over and over and -

And you grip your blanket with one hand while the other flies over your mouth so that you can muffle your own panicked breathing, so that you can smother any sound that you make. 

Because this vision was different. This time… this time you saw him, with clawed hands and feathered wings, climbing through your open window and stepping onto your faded, wooden floors. This time, the Mothman is in your home, and he is going to come to kill you, you're sure.

It's a panicked sort of thing, the way that you rip the blankets off of your frame so that you can launch out of bed and stumble into your living room to reach for the open window. You think frantically back to the visions and remember only the window, wide open like a maw, and spilled water on the hardwood floor, as if something was knocked over on his way in.

This has to be the window, you think to yourself as you slam it shut, locking the latch roughly. This has to be it, you think as you glance at the vase of flowers on the window ledge, the water reflecting the early morning light and shining through the glass.

And then surely, you think as you step back, twisting your hands nervously in front of you, surely he can't get in. Surely death cannot come for me today.

But perhaps you should've learned, by now, that not even you can stop death.

The way that you creep back to your bedroom is careful, and you stop in every other room to close and latch the windows shut - just as a precaution, just as a final safeguard.

The tension that sits in your shoulders and keeps your body taut has begun to ease a bit, and you've begun to feel like you can breathe again for the first time all morning, when you step back into the doorway of your bedroom.

That's when you see it. Your bedroom window has been opened, and the glass of water on your nightstand, right next to the window, has been knocked over, spilling onto the hardwood floor.

So it's then that you realize… you'd gotten the window wrong. He slinks through the shadows, you know, only appearing right before the death. If you'd just stayed in your room… he never would've just climbed into your home right in front of you.

Your hands begin to tremble and your breath freezes in your lungs as you realize that you only thought that you were closing him out, while you were really just letting him in.

And then it really hits you. 

There's something in your home, and it's here to kill you. 

You stand, frozen, your breath stuttering in and out as you stare at the open window and the cool morning breeze that wafts in, blowing your curtains out into billowing waves. You stand and you wait and you consider all of the places he could be hiding, all of the ways that he could climb out of the shadows and drain the life from you.

But time ticks by… seconds into minutes and nothing… happens. There's no sight of him, no noise of him. It's like he's not even really there. You begin to think, in a rather hysterical sort of way, that perhaps you really have just gone crazy, perhaps there's never been anything here at all. 

When your doorbell rings and the sound echoes shrilly through your home, it's enough to make you jump, your heart clenching painfully as you spin around to peer down your hallway and eye your front door. It's not real, you think. He's not real. You go to step out of your bedroom, chanting the mantra over and over in your head, but it's not quite loud enough to distract from the noise that can be heard from somewhere behind you - a rustling, soft sort of thing. 

By the time you've spun around to face the window again, it's been… shut. The window's shut and your glass is placed carefully back in its rightful place on your nightstand. And you swear… you swear that you see a blur of bluish-black feathers zipping away out of the corner of your eye.

The days begin to crawl on after that, the city curling in on itself and crushing you in a way that it never has before. You start sleeping with your windows locked, of course, circling the interior of your home day after day to make sure that every latch is secure and every curtain is drawn. But try as you might, there is nowhere for you to run from the visions, and they morph into spiralling images of his large, clawed hands tapping and scraping at the glass of your windows, begging to be let in. 

"Look, you really can't be here," the officer's voice is dull in your mind, somewhere far off and vacant.

"Hm?" you acknowledge as you crane your neck to look past him, staring at the yellow tape circling the newest crime scene in a tangled maze-like pattern. 

"Just… go home. You shouldn't see this. No one should." That makes you pause, makes you look at the officer and blink and stare until he sighs and wanders off.

No one should have to see this, you think, his words ringing through your mind. But you do see it, nonetheless. 

Go home, he says, the weight of it all echoing through you. How could you? When the Mothman haunts your dreams and threatens to claw his way into your home at night? You see it still, every time that you close your eyes  - countless swirling images of him in your apartment. They confuse you, and it makes you groan and rub your temples with your fingers as the officer glances back at you where you stand on the sidewalk, ever the onlooker, ever the bystander.

This accident… you'd seen this one too, of course. And you'd seen him, the Mothman. It's the same every time. He appears in your visions, looming like a towering symbol, and then someone dies. Every time. Every time except…

You clear your throat, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck as you stare out through the city, the moon beginning to arch high in the night sky as stars blink in and out overhead. 

These visions of the two of you are different. He never kills you, he never hurts you. He comes into your home, time and time again, but it's… gentle. A vicious, clawed hand smoothing delicately over your cheek. Lips pressed against your forehead. His wings wrapping around you as he pulls you close. The two of you in your bed and he -

A car honks somewhere near you, another one of Gotham's near-constant scuffles as tires swerve down the darkened, busy street. It's enough to make you jump, though, ripping you from the daydream that you'd found yourself in.

"Are you alright?"

"What?" you snap, flinching as you find the young officer standing next to you again.

"You look flushed," he points out. "It's like - are you blushing?"

"No!" you all but shout. "I'm going home." He might have responded to you, then. He may have shouted after you, some comment about how that's what he's been trying to get you to do the whole time. But you're not listening, too busy stomping away as images of the hulking, feathered creature plague your mind.

It's that night, of course, that you get a new vision. It's just as confusing as they always are, a tangled mess of images and objects jumbling together in your mind. You catch glimpses of your window - and you're sure that it really is the living room now. You see his clawed, feathered hand slamming against the glass of a window pane. You see the broken shards and the opening that's left behind. You see… a trail of blood on some of the sharp edges and you know that it must be yours.

Fortunately, it's Gotham, so it's not really out of the ordinary to want to install metal bars on your window. When you stumble out of bed just as the sun is beginning to climb up beyond the impossible wall of fog, it's with the intent of sealing your apartment off, closing your home off from the outside world. 

The city outside has begun to crush you, and you realize it, in a far-off, unfazed kind of way, when you begin installing bars onto the windows in your home. It's a cursed, entangled sort of place, and you can feel it start to ensnare you, getting tighter and tighter and tighter. 

First, it's your bedroom that's sealed off, then your kitchen, then your bathroom. One by one, every opening that you have to something beyond yourself is closed off, shut out, put away, until it's nothing but you and the nightfall and the large, looming presence of your living room window.

Easy to buy, yes, but difficult to install, you realize, as you struggle to wield the hefty metal. It shouldn't be a surprise, really, that one of the bars slips from your grasp and topples into the window. You should've seen it coming, you think ruefully, as you lunge to catch it just a moment too late, watching as it shatters through the glass, instead. 

But there's a panic in you now, as the cold night air comes swirling into your home, the window now a gaping maw letting in the city outside and below. You scramble a bit, the alarm of it all making you hazy as you reach for the metal bar, missing it to instead cut your palm on the broken glass of the window. 

You find yourself reeling, then, as you stare at the jagged edge that's now glistening with your blood, as you look down to your palm, oozing red and dripping down your arm and onto your floor, and you realize that this is what you'd seen in your vision.

But it's then that you hear it - that eerie, familiar tapping and scratching at the glass. The air freezes a bit more, it feels, as your breath catches in your lungs and your heart stutters. There's a part of you that thinks that perhaps, if you don't look up, it won't be real.

So it's against your better judgement, then, that you lift your head in a slow, shaky movement, letting your eyes trail up and up and up until -

Until you're faced with a huge, feathered hand, blackened claws curling around the broken glass and reaching into your home from the opening that you'd created. Night has truly fallen outside, rendering the world invisible as it's shrouded in darkness. You can't see him, can't make out anything other than the hand stretching out from the impossibly endless night. 

But the lamp on your living room end table flickers out a dull, yellow light, illuminating your figure for him. You may not be able to see him, but he can see you, and he reaches with a sharp, curling movement toward you. 

It hits you again, in that moment, terrified as you are. In all of your efforts to keep him away, you've let the Mothman right into your home. The further you pushed, the clearer the way in became.

There's some sort of commotion on the road below, then, it seems - some kind of accident, most likely, as there are shouts and honking horns and screeching tires. The noise of it all jerks you into action, makes you jerk back and stumble away as blood drips down your arm and your vision swims with panic. 

But it makes the Mothman startle, too, it would appear, as he pulls his arm back to slam his hand against the glass, just like he had in your vision. By the time you've scrambled forward to stare out the window, he's just… gone. 

You peer down towards the street from your window and see some sort of situation on the road below, people already gathered around what you're sure has to be a body lying on the sidewalk as police sirens wail in the distance.

It hits you, then, like a cold, dead hand clamping down on your heart. You brought the Mothman here. You gave him a reason to be here, and surely he's killed again right here because of you. The thought makes your knees buckle, and you slide down toward your floor until you're sitting on the cold hardwood as the epiphany of it all slams into you. 

No matter what you do, no matter where you go, he finds you. All of the effort that you're putting into keeping him away, all of the walls you're building up and the defences that you're crafting - you seem to actually just be bringing him closer. Somehow, in this twisted, tangled city, you've found a way to spiral around each other endlessly, your hands around each other's throats and doom carved into each other's hearts.

Instead of you haunting him, he's haunting you, now. You can't fight it. You can't stop it. You can't change fate. So you decide, as you sit on your floor with your palm oozing blood and the sounds of Gotham's chaos rolling in through your broken window - you decide, then, that you'll just run away. Surely, you think. Surely, there's only so far that he can chase you. 

"Look, really, are you alright?" the officer speaking to you squints at you a bit, eyeing you through the haze of dusk as the sun sets on another accident, another crime scene, another death. "Are you… ok?" 

You're trying to listen to him, really, you're trying to nod and smile and tell him that everything's fine. You want everything to be fine. But the problem is the vision that you'd woken up with, the one that had left you gasping and gripping your chest and tearing at your hair. 

It was a vision of him, of the young, green officer in front of you who'd spent these past months watching you spiral into nothing. You'd seen him, in vague, spinning flashes, getting into his car and driving home late into the night.

You'd seen the collision somewhere downtown, on one of the large main roads. You'd seen his car, crumpled and smoking as sirens wailed in the distance.

You'd seen him die, you're sure of it. 

"There's been an accident," you blurt out, and he raises his brows and glances around.

"Yes," he says slowly. "I know. That's… why we're here. You don't need to be, though."

"No, I -" you pause, searching frantically for something to say, some kind of lifeline to grab onto in this endless, gnawing place. "I mean - a different one. I hear that, uh, a couple of the main roads have been blocked off. Horrible traffic, it would take forever to get through."

"Oh," he says slowly, his hands a bit outstretched towards you, as if he's afraid that you'll suddenly keel over from whatever's afflicting you, whatever is giving you those shifting, panicked eyes and making you shuffle on your feet. "What, in this area?"

"Hm?"

"The accident," he reminds patiently.

"Yes!" you say, snapping your fingers. "Yea, uh, right… right up in, uh, that direction." He turns to follow your pointed finger, glancing down the street as you clear your throat and look at him expectantly.

"Huh," he says, a bit of understanding dawning on him. "Another Tim Drake problem, then."

"What?" 

"Drake. You know, he's that guy everyone around here talks about. More money than morals, works near here."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say bluntly before you bite your tongue, cursing yourself as the shadows spiral overhead and the city leers at you, the buildings closing in around you. 

"That… must have been what the accident was about, right?" the officer continues, suspicion creeping back into his voice. "You know… you know they say he's trying to find a way to bring back the dead."

"Beg your pardon?" you ask weakly.

"Yea," he responds easily, and you can tell from the sigh in his voice that he doesn't actually believe it. They never do. "He's a real mad scientist."

"You can't," you falter. "That's impossible. What's dead… stays dead."

"Apparently not," he quips back, but at your ashen face and swaying posture, he places a gentle hand onto your shoulder. "Hey, I'm - I'm only joking. He just causes a lot of problems for us, is all."

"Right," you respond shortly, forcing out a laugh that has his concern growing. "It's just, uh, it's just a normal accident up there tonight. Car crash, I heard. You know."

"Hm," he shrugs, pulling his hand away from you to cross his arms over his chest. "Yea, there's a few too many of those these days."

"I just think that, uh," you continue on, your eyes darting around the street, glancing at the towering buildings that loom high up above you. You rub a hand over your forehead roughly when you catch, or you think you catch the flickering shadow of a wing out of the corner of your eye. "I just think that the bridge is a better route to take tonight. If, you know, you - I mean… it's - it's the way that I'll be going… because of, uh, the accident, remember?"

"No," he says gently, his voice slow and a bit halting as he watches you with concern. "I… I don't remember that, because I don't even know… well… uh, thank you. You, um, you be careful out there, alright? Get home safely."

"Hey," you laugh, a hysterical sort of thing as a shadow flashes overhead and you duck a bit. "You be careful, you know?"

"What?" he asks, the bewilderment creeping up on him a bit too much, the unease of it all crawling up his arms and beginning to wrap around his throat as the city curls inward and casts darkness onto the two of you and the sun dips far enough below the horizon that its precious light is lost once more. "No, I - do you need a ride home?"

"No!" you all but shout. "No, sorry, uh, no, my car is just parked around the corner… and I'm leaving now." You spin around at that, walking swiftly down the winding, cracked sidewalk until you find your car, all but ripping open the door to climb in as the officer watches, bewilderment and concern carved onto his face. 

You're not sure how long you sit in your car after that, your hands gripping the steering wheel as you place your forehead against your knuckles and force deep breaths in and out of your lungs. Time drips on and you see, out of the corner of your eye, the city continues to darken as night wears on and the crime scene is wrapped up, police leaving in flashes of blue and red and blue again. 

But you've done it this time, you're sure. You've been quicker, you've been smarter. You've cheated death of another victim - held back the Mothman, if only for a single night. 

It makes sense to you, of course, for you to take the bridge home, yourself. The threat of the Mothman is an ever-present weight bearing down on your shoulders and you can feel yourself scrambling, like a prey animal finally caught in a trap, to try to get away from him. With the memories of your visions still rolling through your mind endlessly, it feels only right to finally settle yourself in the driver's seat and begin to turn away, away from the main roads and the locations of your nightmares and the looming, hulking, shadow of the Mothman.

Surely, you think. Surely, this time, I'll rewrite fate just enough to make it matter. Surely, this time, something will change.

There's a sort of anguish in you, then, when you arrive at the bridge and have to slam on your brakes and bring your car to a screeching halt. It's a misery that burns you, that crawls up your throat and strangles you as the tangled web of the city closes in further. 

The police are already there, illuminating the depths of the night with their lights as they circle a car crash. It's a cop car, in fact, that's part of the collision, crumpled and smoking and warped under the endless darkness of night. 

And it's his car, that lovely young officer that you'd spoken to so many times. It's his licence plate, as clear as it had been in your visions. 

Sirens wail through the foggy air and water rushes under the bridge and your heart hammers so loudly that you swear to god it could beat out of your chest in a minute. 

Beyond the accident, beyond the cars and the police that swarm the scene, beyond the death that permeates the air and rots the ground beneath you… beyond all of that stands the Mothman, huge and terrifying and staring straight at you. 

No one else can see him, you assume - the idea that you'd toyed with for so long finally coming to life. No one can see him but you. He stands still, unmoving, unbreathing, unflinching, his feet solid on the dark asphalt as his wings spread so wide that they brush against the sides of the bridge.

He stands, like an omen of death, like a symbol of your neverending failures, and he stares at you with glowing, yellow, unblinking eyes. 

An officer knocks on your car window and you scream, a short, shrieking noise until you snap your head around to look at him and sigh. He says something as he shines his flashlight into your car, but you just shake your head and roll down the window.

"Pardon?" you ask, your voice cracking. You're not looking at him, though. Your eyes are still trained, instead, on the presence of the Mothman, the mass of black feathers and razor-sharp claws and bright, yellow eyes boring into you. 

"You've got to move along," the officer repeats. "We're trying to get the ambulances through here, those drivers need medical attention."

"Medical attention?" you all but shout, ripping your eyes away from the Mothman to stare at the cop who's leaning down to talk through your window. "They're alive?"

"Yes…" he says slowly. "It wasn't a terrible accident. But - please, we really need you to move along. If you need to cross the bridge, that's fine. Just go now and go quickly, will you?" When you look ahead of you again, the Mothman is still there, standing like a statue guarding the tightrope between life and death.

It doesn't make sense, you think as you roll up your window without another word, driving ever so slowly past the officer and across the bridge. It doesn't make sense. If he's not here to kill someone else, then who…

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly enough that the leather creeks as you pass the scene of the accident, staring at the creature right ahead of you the entire time. You're going slowly, practically crawling over the bridge as the Mothman stares down at you, still unmoving. 

It's not until you're close enough to almost hit him that he finally shifts ever so slowly, stepping to the side so that he can watch as you drive past him. You don't look, of course, your breath stuttering as you keep your head facing forward, knowing that his yellow eyes are fixed on you as you drive past. When his wings, still outstretched and menacing, scrape their feathers across the side of your car, you suck in a shaky breath and wonder what it's like to die.

But nothing… happens. You drive on, over the bridge and away from the scene, and the Mothman simply stares, fixed in his spot, as you disappear down the winding, twisting road. Here, on the outskirts of Gotham, the large manor houses loom over you as the city retreats behind you and disappears in the thick, foggy night and the rolling tides of the water. It's greener here, trees sprouting up into forests in tangled, maze-like patterns, and there's something in you that makes you take a sharp turn, heading toward the woods. 

He's been following you, you know, trailing after you this entire time. You catch glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye as you drive, seeing the flicker of his shadow overhead, hearing the flutter of his feathered wings. It makes a sort of desperation begin to swirl in you, a panic begin to fester in your mind as you begin to drive into the shadowed forest.

When the trees are too densely packed for your car, you merely park and throw open your door, stumbling as you continue on foot. Any other time, any other person would say that this is crazy, that you're some poor, lost soul stumbling to their death, likely to freeze or starve somewhere in the woods after straying too far from home. 

But you've been far too lost for far too long to stop now, and running away, you're beginning to realize, might be all that you really know how to do. 

Perhaps you shouldn't be surprised, really, that you run directly into the creature, somewhere deep in the depths of this impossible forest. Perhaps coming face-to-face with him really was always going to happen, and none of the erratic twists and turns you took could have ever prevented it.

Perhaps, you think as he stands in front of you, huge and terrifying and dark as the night, his eyes shining in the haze, perhaps there is really nothing that you can do against fate.

You think that maybe you should run, maybe you should try endlessly to scramble away from this… to defy the inevitable. You're shifting on your feet, bracing yourself to bolt away from him, when he speaks, and the sound makes you freeze. 

"You cannot run from this any more than I can," he says clearly, and his voice is a low, smooth rumble. You stare at him, eyes wide as the air leaves your lungs in a punched-out gasp, and he continues. "That is the curse. You cannot run, you cannot hide… you cannot break it."

"Who are you?" you ask weakly.

"You know what I am," is his only response.

"Who are you?" you repeat, your voice louder this time as you step forward. He blinks, his yellow eyes glowing through the night, as you squint at him. "Or is your only name Death?"

"I… am not death," he says slowly, a frown tugging on his lips as you continue to walk toward him. When you get close enough and crane your head back to look up at him, you can even see his face under all of the feathers and shadows, and he looks… he looks almost human underneath it all. "My name is Damian… and I am nothing more than an omen."

You're not sure what possesses you to reach up, leaning onto your toes so that you can reach for his face, brushing feathers away until you can see him clearly. Smooth skin and downturned lips, furrowed brows and his eyes, his bright yellow eyes staring at you through the darkness. 

"An omen?" you repeat questioningly. He hums in affirmation, his knees slightly bent and his shoulders and back hunched so that you can let one of your hands smooth across his face. 

"I see them, these deaths," he continues in his low, rumbling voice. "I watch, but I cannot change. You… you understand this, do you not?" You huff out a surprised breath at his words, jerking back like you've just remembered yourself and stumbling to create distance between the two of you. He straightens at your actions, watching you carefully as you twist your hands together and feel, as if for the first time, the biting cold of the night. 

"You're killing those people," you say harshly, but he merely stares.

"I am not… any more than you are."

"What?" you say, and you feel the air freeze in your lungs. "I'm not - I didn't kill anyone. I just - I keep seeing it and I'm… I'm trying to stop it, I'm trying to save people but I don't -"

"You are not responsible," he speaks over you, and you swear that you hear an exasperated sigh from somewhere deep within him. "That is our curse… you must watch, but you cannot change. It does not ever change."

"Then why…" you falter, searching frantically for some sort of answer, some sort of way out of this tangled snare. "Why were you there? Why are you here?"

"I am an omen," he repeats. "Where death trails through, I am to appear."

"That's it?" you say weakly. "You just… you stand and you watch? Over and over again?"

"You…" he says slowly, "would understand that, I think." You laugh at that, a high-pitched, hysterical sort of noise that makes a bird somewhere nearby squawk.

"Yea, uh, I guess - I guess I would," you say as you rub a hand over your forehead in a harsh way, squeezing your eyes shut. You try to breathe deeply for a moment, try desperately to move the freezing air through your lungs, but there's something in you that's strangling you, that's tugging at your heart and making it beat strangely in your chest.

You're just starting to consider that maybe you really should just be thrown into Arkham when a hand, huge and clawed and ever so gentle, wraps around your wrist and brings your palm away from your face. When you look up at him with wide eyes, he's staring down at you, hunched over so that he can be close to your face.

"Why are you hunting me like this?" you ask quietly, your voice a tired whisper. His brows furrow together and he frowns again.

"I'm… courting you."

"…Pardon?"

"We understand each other, I think," he explains, straightening to look down at you while he keeps his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. His wings arc out behind him, blocking out the moon and the small sliver of brightness that it had blessed you with. 

"I don't… think we do," you respond hesitantly, but he just shakes his head.

"It is a curse, this life… to see but not speak, watch but not move. It is… lonely, this life. It is lonely to be us."

"So what, we…" you let your eyes dart around as his words wrap around you and make your head spin. "We just… I don't know, what, we're not alone when we're together, I suppose?"

"It is true," he says simply. "We are not alone in this place… you are not alone with me by your side."

"I thought you were trying to kill me!" you shout, pulling your arm away from his grip. He lets you, much to your shock, making a low, panicked sort of sound when he can't loosen his grip fast enough and his claws scrape against his skin. Your hand's already bandaged from the incident with your broken window, and now long, angry, red lines curl across your skin from him. 

"I have never killed anyone," he says quickly - firmly. "I have not."

"I thought -," but you cut yourself off, burying your face into your hands to let out choppy, shuttering breaths. The creature makes another pained, whining sort of sound and when you peek between your fingers, he's kneeling in front of you so that you're face-to-face, and his eyes… his eyes look so human as he stares at you with agony.

"I would never hurt you," he says firmly, but then his eyes glance down at the scrapes on your hand and he shrinks back. "Not - not on purpose. I would never lay a hand on you like that." You take a deep, shaky breath and look at him, your breath coming out in foggy gasps from the cold.

"What were you doing on the bridge tonight, then?" you ask firmly. "Why didn't that cop die?"

"I was not there for him," he says simply, frowning at you. "I was there for you."

"Then why did I see it? I saw him die -"

"Did you?" the creature cuts you off gently. "Or did you just… see him crash?"

"Well, I -," you falter, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment as if to try to see the visions again before looking at Damian once more. "I… the visions are always of death. Always except for that one and -"

"And?" he prompts. You just press your lips together, flashes of your visions with Damian running through your mind. 

"How can you think that something like this could ever work?" you ask tiredly, a weak distraction as you let your forehead thump against his feathered shoulder and revel in the warmth that radiates from him. He rumbles somewhere deep in his chest and he spreads his wings further to wrap around the two of you, cocooning you in heat and darkness as his eyes bathe you in a yellow glow. 

"Is there a reason why it should not?" he asks in return, letting one of his hands find your waist while the other lifts to your cheek so that he can stroke a knuckle across your skin. You huff a bit at his easy demeanour, but with your eyes closed all that you can think of are those visions.

"I - I've seen you," you admit.

"You have?" he asks mildly.

"Yes. I've seen you - us. I've seen…" but you trail off, thankful that the darkness can hide the heat raging in your cheeks.

"You're blushing, beloved," he points out, though, and you curse yourself for not thinking that of course he can see through the impossible darkness of the night. 

"Shut up," you respond quickly.

"Not… death visions, then, I suppose?" he asks, and your eyes narrow at the playful, near-smug way that he speaks. 

"Not quite," you grit out. 

"Well, that is delightful, is it not?" he says smoothly, his voice keeping that deep, low, rumble as he leans back to look at you more clearly. "That you've accepted me?"

"I have not," you say stubbornly, but you bury your face into his feathers again, hiding your face from view while he laughs. 

"Well, that is alright," he says soothingly, brushing a hand over the back of your head. "Is this a rejection? If it is not, I'll keep trying." You grumble something under your breath, turning his words over and over and over in your mind. Would it be so bad, you think, to not be alone?

"It's… it's not. It's not a rejection," you say weakly, and when you lift your head to look at him once more, you learn that monsters can still smile. 

It's several months later, past the time of year when the cold fully sets in, and then even further past when it begins to thaw - it's then, when the ground shifts as warmth rolls in and fog begins to get muggy and sticks to your skin, that you find yourself curled up on a little fold out chair on your fire escape. You're sitting with your legs propped up on the chair with the rest of you so that you can lean your chin on your knee and stare up at the stars, at the endless pricks of light that sit just beyond the reach of this terrible, cursed city. 

It's been one of those nights, where the visions just won't leave and they wrap around you and squeeze until you're tossing and turning and gasping for breath. It's one of those nights where you wonder why it's you who's cursed, why it's you who feels so caught in the tangled thread of life and death that runs through this city. 

It's one of those nights where you think, rather desperately, that there must be some way to change what you are and what's laid out ahead of you. 

But it is a bit different already, you suppose, as a fluttering shadow stretches overhead and you glance up to see the outstretched wings of the Mothman as he swoops and dives through the darkened night sky.

It is different, because there's a new routine that you and Damian have now, where you catch each other when one of you stumbles and falls. 

It is different, if for nothing other than the fact that neither of you face death alone. 

"What's wrong, my love?" Damian's voice rings down from somewhere above you, deep and smooth as you feel the warm night air swirling while his wings beat. He's rather graceful as he lands, perched on the railing of your fire escape, the weight of him making the metal groan and creak underneath him.

"What are you doing here?" you quip, but there's no real bite in your voice as you stand and lean into him, letting him wrap an arm around your waist while you press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

"Can't you sleep?" he asks in lieu of answering. When you sigh heavily and shake your head, a frown tugs at his lips and his yellow eyes blink down at you.

"Not tonight," you answer quietly, and you shrink in on yourself just a bit. The action is enough to make an empathetic whine sound from his chest before he wraps you fully in his arms and lifts you off of your feet.

"I'll stay with you," he says simply, but you huff a bit in his arms as he settles where you'd been sitting before, letting you curl into his lap while he wraps his wings around the two of you, sealing you into a little hold of safety against the looming horror of the city beyond the two of you. 

"Damian, you don't have to…" you trail off, and he looks at you pointedly when you sink into the warmth of his embrace, relaxing in his hold. 

"But why wouldn't I?" he asks simply. You do nothing but squirm and shrug a bit, toying with some of the feathers that cover his chest. 

"Isn't there somewhere else to be?" you ask quietly. A laugh rumbles from him as you press your face into his neck and bury your hands into the soft, bluish-black feathers. 

"Like where?" he asks, a hint of mirth in his voice. "Out there? Staring death in the face? What a thing to do when I have you right here." He says it so simply, always. And you suppose that, really, he's right.

Sometimes life, you suppose, just… is what it is. Sometimes there is no fighting what you are. But why do it alone? Why not do it right here, in the arms of a monster who's learned how to love?

[irondadfics]

So, I want some fics where Peter hides his identity from Tony and the Avengers, especially with identity shenanigans. I need something to read all night, after all. This includes fics where he's an intern. Longer fics would be appreciated! Only on ao3 please, my Kindle Paperwhite can't go on FF.net due to Cloudflare.

Fics that I already know about (so don't recommend them):

Hidden Truths by lostintheclouds321

Coffee, Interns, and Other Mysteries by sabertoothhousecat

Intern Spider by Emily_F6

Rise from the Ashes; Just to See You Again by Milstrim

Throwing Caution to the Wind by violetsunflowers (violet_sunflowers)

Just a friendly neighborhood spider by sarcasmismyweapon

Cluless is My Middle Name by pandaluna

Chasing a Spider by pandaluna

Adopting Identities by Thisisentertaining

Finding Home by Pink_Sunsets

Evasion by gammathetaalpha

Martian Child by Phiod_Muse

here’s some recommendations

Missing Links by spagbol99

The Rogues are back; Tony Stark couldn't even be mad about it - it was his idea after all. He's an Avenger and that means protecting the Earth at any cost - even if he has to deal with a certain star-spangled man and his sullen sidekick. After all, he's been through worse in his life; the loss of his wife and the disappearance of his son 12 years ago. Compared to that, this would be a walk in the park. Bucky Barnes is back on US soil as a free man. But freedom is more than just physical. On top of that, Steve is desperate for him to be the man he was before. The only problem is; that man is long dead. Peter Parker has been through the mill but he knows he just had to adapt, roll with the (many) punches and keep going. Spider-man is his safe place now, the one time he could truly feel like himself. Like he is making a difference. He'd make sure no one would suffer like he has, even if he has to track down the perpetrator himself.

Thunder and Attrition by magniloquentChanteuse

Peter Parker had been Spider-Man for five months and things were looking up. The beautiful and intelligent Gwen Stacy was showing interest in him. He found budding friendships with the Avengers. His reputation was growing in New York City. Spider-Man seemed to be at the top of his game and Peter Parker was finally regaining his footing after the death of his Uncle Ben. But as Gwen lamented his lack of attentiveness, the Avengers sniffed around Spider-Man's secret identity, and a mysterious man with a strange power and a terrifying plot emerged, Peter realized that he still had a lot to learn about leading this life he'd chosen. And with tragedy poised over his head, ready to fall, Peter was going to need to learn fast.

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

Homecoming AU. Ben and May divorced before Peter’s parents died, so when Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway. So he leaves. Simple. Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help. Peter isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to fight alongside Tony Freaking Stark, but he also isn’t going to let his hero know that his recruit is a fifteen-year-old homeless dropout. So they strike a deal. Peter will help Tony. In return, the mask stays on. And that’s when things get complicated.

[uftopia]

Okay I’m vibing with this c!dnf mpreg and need to add my two cents it’s a little angsty but fits the tragedy that is c!dnf

Dream and George had always talked about eventually starting a family but it was pushed to the back as L’Manberg became an issue and eventually because of everything they just forgot about it.

By the time Dream is thrown in prison, they haven’t talked for a month or so, Dreams last visit had been a bit steamy but they thought nothing of it, and then George starts getting sick.

He knows instantly that he’s pregnant, and has to deal with the fact that he cannot tell Dream out of fear, not sure if it’s fear for himself, for the people working in the prison or if it’s just a stupid hormonal reaction. He wants to visit, to tell Dream, but he also wants to hide, knowing how the sever may want to use their child to bait or hurt Dream and himself, so he hides and sleeps.

Dream in prison has no idea what’s happening, obviously, but he gets weird coded messages from XD and feels deep in his bones that something is up.

In the 9 months that Dream is in prison, people see George less and less. He did hover around the prison, too scared to go in, but eventually he disappears, everyone knows he’s asleep somewhere in Kinoko so they leave him be.

When Dream finally escapes with Techno, he goes with him to heal for a while, maybe a month or so, before going and finding George.

George had moved from Kinoko silently before Dreams escape to an old house that he and Dream built back in the early days to just relax in, which eventually became a safe haven for either of them to go to if it got dangerous. He has the baby here and tries to look after them with depleting supplies that he can’t go and refill.

Dream looks for Kinoko, eventually learning from Sapnap that George wasn’t there but if he was, Dream still wouldn’t have a chance of getting through, so instead he goes to this house in the middle of nowhere, a dusty compass in the bottom of his ender chest leads the way.

George hears someone approaching the house one day, but calms down realising it can only be Dream, before freaking out because it’s Dream who didn’t know George was pregnant and he has no idea how he’ll react.

Dream walks through the door, tired after a month of searching for George and finds… the house empty. Disheartened, he sits on the edge of the bed and notices the trapdoor to the cellar haphazardly closed.

Climbing down into the dark, it’s silent, and Dream nearly leaves until a small whimper echoes from the corner.

He pulls out his axe first, and a torch second, dropping the axe when he realises its George holding a baby close to his chest.

The baby starts crying, startled by the noise, and George quickly shushes them, turning to Dream with a glint of fear in his eyes, Dream’s heart breaks. Knowing that the child is his, and that the love of his life fears what he will do to them.

i was so invested in this i forgot i wasn’t reading a fanfiction lord i’m coming up

[listofwhyyouloveher]

hcs for the gang (separate) with an anxious younger fem reader? like maybe 12-13-14? Reader is used to people suddenly walking out or being pulled away of her life (her father died in a car accident, her childhood best friend suddenly had to move away, other close friend went missing, a cousin of hers died because of a sickness, etc, etc) so she's kind of constantly stuck in the mindset of "this could be the last moment togheter" (the boys are kind of obvlivious to reader's past with sudden departures). so when she feels like too much time has passed without anything bad happening to her she kind of just drops onto their side and cuddles up to them, shutting everything out completely and just kind of burning the memory of them and that moment into her head (like the way they smell, the clothest they are wearing, how warm their bodies are, how their voices sound, etc, etc) poor reader's just a traumatized bean lmao 😭

Summary: The Outsiders w anxious!reader

Warnings: anxiety mentions, mentions of death, mentions of loss

Author's Note: none

PONYBOY CURTIS

Ponyboy has always been helpful after the loss of your family. It was written in the news as a "freak accident" but to you it was your whole life being shattered.

In a way, Pony knew what you were going through, having lost his parents too. So he was your rock in such a desperate time.

You're life was genuinely a tragedy, you'd lost quite a lot. So you made him promise he'd never leave, and of course he agreed because there was little he liked more than you.

Although summer was unbearably hot, the winters always shocked you with their biting frosts and chills. You were huddled in a ball on the couch thinking about your past when Pony sat next to you. Immediately, you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck and shutting your eyes tightly.

Pony was used to your moments, where you shut everything out and just focus on him. He smelled like books, charcoal and faint cigarette smoke. Pony stroked your back gently, letting you absorb the moment.

JOHNNY CADE

Johnny has never felt the loss of a loved one, to him, he's never had many loved ones. However, his lackluster way of empathizing with you made a sincere impression on you.

You connected with Jojnny very quickly after your parents death and he was always willing to hold you when you got night terrors, or when you just couldn't deal with the world. He felt that in some way, you completed each other.

Tonight, you had another dream. It was a terrible cycle of having your family ripped from your life and out of your heart again. You sprung out of bed, warm and sticky sweat still fresh on your goosebump-ed skin. You dialed Johnny number and prayed to every god you knew that he was home.

He arrived at you door within 10 minutes, finding you curled up under your covers, shivering and shaking. He helped you sit up and wiped your tears. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him, just being there with him. His callous yet soft hands patted the bare skin of your shoulder, his rough denim jacket uncomfortably rubbing against your skin, everything about him you engraved in your mind.

SODAPOP CURTIS

Sodapop was no stranger to loss, and to dealing with the overwhelming grief that pours out. He had enough strength to help Pony get through it and with your parents untimely demise still fresh in your mind, he knew he needed to do it again.

For the longest time, he would hold you to sleep, comforting you, telling you that he'll never leave. He found equal solace in comforting you as you did getting comforted by him.

You made it your goal to memorize everything about Soda, as to never forget. He never wore hair grease at night so his hair smelled like soap and his skin smelled like wood and a mechanic shop. He always wore an unbuttoned button up and was always a little too cold at first. You would say you studied him like a muse, but in reality in his eyes you were the muse, the angel with decorated wings in a painting.

STEVE RANDLE

Steve never meant to get involved with the only girl in the gang. He feared that it would throw off the comfortable balance you had created for yourself. But the day he saw you crying on the curb, red and puffy lips and eyes, something tugged in his heart. He was by your side, asking what was pestering you. You showed him the scrap of paper that listed the dates of your family's death. It was if the ink was still fresh because the news shocked him too. He was reminded of all those nights he poured drink after drink for Soda, eyes brimming with tears that were too stubborn to fall.

He found himself in the same predicament, pouring you a big glass of hard liquor, watching you sip at it before down the whole glass. He sat next to you, unsure of what to do next when you silently rested your head on his shoulder.

His hair smelled like grease and his button up like motor oil, but it was a comforting, down to earth smell. Something in your stomach twisted and you felt your nose burn and eyes well with tears. Noticing this, Steve swung his arm around your waist, pulling you close, trying his best to comfort you, someone who'd been there for everyone in a way that was purely angelic. He wanted to mimic your soft touch and happy smile, so he let himself be consumed by you.

TWO BIT MATHEWS

Two-Bit had always thought of himself as a poor communicator and comforter, but the way you confided in him after the death of your parents bloomed a new love I'm him for being such a important person in your life.

It was no secret that he enjoyed being the one you relied on and he would often go out of your way to bring you thinks, soup his mom cooked, flowers he picked that he knew your dad grew in his garden.

He was sitting with you on your couch watching home movies your mom made, his hand gently patting your plush thigh when you curled into him. He smelled like pizza, probably his dinner, and the Disney princess perfume that his sister liked to wear. It was an odd combination but it was humbling, reminding you of a home you yearned for now that you lost yours. He gently wrapped his arm around you, smiling down at you, someone he loved as dearly as his family.

DARRY CURTIS

Darry was never the one to comfort. He found that he could get more done by bottling all the emotions up, pushing Soda and Pony to work hard through their pain. But he knew he couldn't do that to you, and in a way, he made Pony and Soda jealous by how he treated you, soft and feathery with kind words and patience.

He invites you over for dinner when Soda and Pony would go out together with the rest of the gang. Everytime he makes your favorite food and you sit across from each other. He stabilized you everytime your thoughts ran, helping you through this tough time. It was these moments that you tried to memorize, the smell of Darry's cologne mixing with your comfort food and the faint scent of the rest of the gang, you wanted it pierced through your very soul, staying there like a tattoo.

Darry reached for your hand, stroking your trembling fingers.

"You ok, kid?" He ask, voice soft like a small flame. You look up at him from your food, there's a bittersweet smile on your lips that he's seen so often. You interlock your fingers with his and cry.

DALLAS WINSTON

Dallas hates you. He tells himself that everytime he sees your smiling face. There was no hiding his contempt for someone so unbearably joyful. But he wasn't happy when you finally dropped your smile, when you fell to your knees, hands clenching onto nothing and tears falling from your eyes to the ground like bullets. He was there the day you got the news. There was no saving your family, there couldn't even be a proper funeral due to your lack of money.

He wanted to hold you, but Dallas doesn't hold, Dallas grips and tugs and rips at anything soft. So he merely sat with you while you cried, body trembling and racked with sobs that made your body ache.

He pulls a cancer stick from his pocket and lights it. The scent and smoke of unfiltered tobacco burns your already red eyes but it's a familiar feeling. He hands you a cigarette that you gladly take and he holds his lighter up to the end. His hands smell like smoke and musk, a woodsy scent that you find yourself almost reaching for. The comforting scent of a home.

[lovelykil]

You have done it now. . . *Sigh* Please write Killua and reader sharing umbrella, where reader is actually his crush (in japanese opposite genders under the umbrella, is considered a romantic gesture) Yeah. . . maybe even add reader taking Killua to her house (since it's raining too much) and even house is empty. So now we got flustered Killua who thinks if universe is on his side or just teasing him. (yeah yes I like liking in colourful way)

rain─

: ➛ killua

note; sadly I have 😔😔 I did not proofread this I was too tired

"...HUUH?!" The silverette exclaims out into the cold air, surprised and flustered at your unexpected gesture. The sounds of the tears from above hitting the black umbrella you owned rang in your ears as you tilted the handle toward him with a puzzled expression. The rain was loud but your confused face was louder.

"would you prefer to walk in the rain?" You ask, your brows scrunching together at his unusual behavior. Usually, when anyone offers help they take it but this guy..

"of course not! I just.." You observe his deep shade of blue eyes avert from your own, his cheeks reddening further as he hesitates momentarily. He stands beneath the roof of the school, firmly holding the strap to his bag slung over his shoulder.

sharing an umbrella with you? Did you even know what that meant?? Killua had the misfortune of forgetting his own umbrella at home and was going to deal the consequences on the walk back to his place but then .. by a miracle, he bumped into you.

was it really a miracle if he kept freaking out though? It was more of a tragedy for him, now his face wouldn't return to normal and his words stuck deep in his throat.

you just had show up.

"fine, whatever." killua steps forward onto the wet slippery ground, joining you beneath the umbrella. He takes the handle from your grasp swiftly to cover the both of you better since he is visibly a few inches taller than you.

It happened so quickly you blinked and suddenly your umbrella was in his care, "hey, wait—"

"you're too short to cover the both of us." He interrupts, taking a quick glance down at you. You look up at him with a frown.

"you're a bit rude, Mr Zoldyck."

"will you just walk already."

"maybe I will." The boy smiles to himself watching you huff and start forward, leading the way for him. His eyes gradually soften looking at you if only you knew how he felt and if only he wasn't such a coward to say it already.

the two of you left the school gates, bodies close and voices hushed as the rain gently fell around you like a soft, protective curtain. The world seemed to fade away, trees vanishing, buildings disintegrating, and the melody of the gentle rain slowly ceasing. All he heard was your light steps on the wet concrete and your soft breathing slipping through your sweet lips.

it was a tune others would find weird but to him, it was music to his ears.

. . .

"we're gonna get drenched if we don't hurry somewhere inside!"

"well, do you see any places near?" As the minutes went on so did the rain, the tears from the sky were now violent and harsh as the many droplets hit against your poor umbrella. Killua's loud question made you look around your surroundings. You immediately stop in your tracks and place your hand on his that held the umbrella over the both of you.

it was an innocent and accidental gesture but that didn't stop his eyes from widening and a shade of red coloring his pale cheeks. "my home! It's only a few blocks away we can stay there until the rain settles and you can go home." You point over in the direction of your haven and look over your shoulder.

"your h-house??" He blurts in his low, and familiar gruff voice but he was evidently taken aback by your suggestion not to mention your hand placement. You turn back around and snicker, removing your hand to shove him lightly in the shoulder.

"you can stay here in the rain if you want, it's my umbrella after all—"

"okay fine! Just.. hurry up!" He grumbles, his cheeks still stinging from earlier. You tug at the handle again, your hand touching his once more when you gaze over at him.

"try to keep up then!" You smile before dashing with him practically fumbling over his steps trying to keep up with your unexpected fast pace.

he could definitely outrun you but not with your skin touching his and your smile that left him speechless, this race was entirely unfair!

"hey wait idiot!" He shouts out in a firm tone but eventually once he catches up, his legs adjusting to the run a smile tugs his lips. A warm and playful one at that with the chilly air ruffling through his silver mane running with you.

in the blink of an eye, you arrived shortly at your doorstep. Your lungs tightened in desperate need of more air but you couldn't help but laugh with the silverette just making it hard for you to retain the air your body needed currently. Maybe it was the unexpected run or his endless insults during it all but you found it all so humorous as well as him. His eyes fluttered shut as he lets out strings of cute laughs. Your laughing fades slowly when you hear him, you've never heard such a cute laugh erupt from him.

he's usually quiet and reserved and mostly well, rude but now?

your eyes dilate at the sight, you feel your heart thump.

uh oh

"woah, who knew your laugh was so cute?" You muttered out, without thinking much of your actions until a few seconds later when he perked his head up.

his surprised ocean-like eyes peering into yours, he looked at you like you said something crazy. Which in a way you did? You nervously let go of the umbrella which left his hand cold as you swayed your hands in front of your face vigorously.

"I mean! Like not in that way! Or whatever you're thinking.. I didn't mean it like that.."

"uh?"

"l—let's just go inside now yeah??" You turn yourself around to unlock the door with pink cheeks and a terrible embarrassed feeling. Killua shakes the water off the umbrella as you unlock the door, his mind replaying your compliment like a broken record player.

did you really mean it?

"I don't think anyone is home so, we're alone I guess." You push through the door. You take off your shoes and rest them against the wall to step inside.

"ah, okay." Killua does the same, closing the door behind him. It takes him one step forward to realize what you said.

It was like a rock hit him on the head that made him alert again, "ALONE?" You swirl yourself around at his stunned voice about to reply when that same rock hit YOUR head.

"don't make it weird alright!"

"I'm not! Like I would want to do anything with you.." He murmurs under his breath taking your umbrella to set it on the counter and walk right past you. Your heart skips a beat when he walks past you, getting a whiff of his masculine scent. The pouring rain masked his scent, rendering it impossible to discern his true fragrance. Your head whips around swiftly from your nose having a mind of its own as you follow him.

"well what does that mean?" You hug your chest as he looks over his shoulder where he stands. He brushes off your question with a shrug, fully knowing exactly what he meant, he travels to your couch and sits upon it.

"It means exactly what I said, anyway you got anything to do here? I'm bored already." He's lying, he's actually enjoying your company in fact his stomach has tiny butterflies floating around just staring at you right now.

was he lucky enough to get so far with you? Thank god he forgot his umbrella.

you think for a moment then join him on the couch, grabbing the remote on the way. You flip the device on and look at him, "TV?"

the teen glances at you then the TV, he briefly sighs seemingly coming off as annoyed but it's quite the opposite.

"If I'm going to waste my time here then at least can we watch Attack on Titan?" You chuckle at his response, finding it amusing how a reserved person like him likes anime.

"didn't strike you as an anime person killua." You find Crunchyroll and scroll, grinning over at him. He prompts himself on the arm of the couch with his cheeks flushing at your teasing.

"I guess you just don't know me well then."

"hmm, maybe I don't. But I wanna." You softly mutter enough for him to hear. You gently place the remote on the table and smile to yourself, comfortable in the silent atmosphere with him after your comment.

killua simply hums a response, he covers his flushed cheek with his hand and eventually the growing warm smile against his skin. Would you be willing to get closer to him?

the trees briskly sway in the breeze as the rain continues to fall outside the comfort of your residence, only time will tell til the rain would cease you hoped it wouldn't happen so soon though, on the other side of the couch the silverette wished for the same.

you two comfortably watched the television sat at a reasonable distance yet so close in thoughts.

[collidescopeeyes]

Random Relationship Headcanons: Viego

- Wants to be near you literally all the time. Loves physical contact and will find any excuse to get it.

- He physically can't blush, which is a tragedy because otherwise you could see how flustered you make him :( you still catch him just staring at you with open adoration so it's ok though

- Gives you privacy if you ask for it but his default state is wanting to be around you. Kind of guy who would be thrilled to watch paint dry with you cuz it means you get to spend time together. Will follow you around until you pay attention to him, 100% sulks if neglected for too long but can't stay mad at you for long.

- Gets jealous easily but is working on not being so possessive, so he just gets clingy(er) if he's feeling insecure. It's kinda cute.

- Low key gets freaked out if he doesn't know where you are. His last love died painfully in front of him ok he's got Trauma

- Can tell immediately if there's something up with you, pls talk to him about it, he worries and he just wants to help

- Likes to read, from romance novels to historical texts. Goes through surviving texts from Camavor frequently, trying to jog his memory. Keeps a journal now, in case the mist takes any more memories. A lot of it is prose about how pretty you were today, a fair hand at sketching too.

- Likes animals, especially dogs and horses–royal hunts were a big family event growing up. Animals do not like him anymore, the mist makes them uneasy. It makes him sad sometimes :(

- Has strong opinions on wine and ballroom music. Will talk about the composition of a symphony for hours if you let him. Would love to teach you to dance.

- Used to care a lot about how he dressed, but those memories are still pretty fuzzy and he doesn't really think about it anymore–dying kinda puts vanity into perspective. Likes dressing you up though, and will definitely dress to match if you're going somewhere. He likes the idea of coordinated outfits.

- Gets moody occasionally, it all gets a bit much for him sometimes and he starts thinking about all his fuck ups. Alternates between sad and self-blaming to frustrated and kinda bitchy, but does his best not to take it out on anyone. Instantly feels bad and apologizes if he says anything out of line. Give him time, cuddles and reassurance and he'll start feeling better.

- Can't sleep without you in his arms. Doesn't choose to sleep often anyway (he gets bad nightmares), but will happily lay there all night watching you sleep. Doesn't like to admit that though bc he knows it's kinda weird.

- Doesn't need to eat or sleep or drink, but likes doing it anyway. The other wraiths in the isles are shadowy mist creatures because they're souls the mists have taken, and the bodies are somewhere else. Viego’s situation is closer to him ACTUALLY being the crown and just possessing his own body constantly, sort of like he'd possess anyone else’s. He's still technically undead though so his only real bodily need is the magic that's keeping him walking around

- The crown can't be moved, his head just moves with it. It's sort of like horns, except they're not actually attached to his head. Yank him around by it ;). He can demanifest it if he tries but it makes him feel numb and weirdly claustrophobic

- Speaking of, is claustrophobic. Man was trapped in a sword for like a thousand years; he was only quasi aware that whole time, kind of like having a nightmare or sleep paralysis, but it still makes him uncomfortable. Doesn't come up much since he just kinda mist teleports out if he starts feeling cramped. If it's ever for some reason necessary he will be holding you like an emotional support stuffy and you won't get a choice about it.

- His tears are black and dissipate into mist after a bit. It's very goth. Can control the amount of mist pouring from his heart; at its thickest it's almost like a small waterfall.

- Lets you put your fingers in his chest hole exactly one time. It was so cold you couldn't actually feel anything. He described it as akin to someone squeezing his heart.

- He can float but it takes concentration and he honestly prefers just walking. Also, he's tall asf. You need something off a high shelf, he's your man.

- His sense of temperature is fucked. He can tell if something's hot, but if you hand him an ice cube and a piece of wood he can't tell which ones colder without looking. Worries his hands are too cold for you since you always feel warm to him (they're not)

- Looking at his reflection weirds him out, and sometimes you catch him staring at his hands. Man doesn't have an introspective bone in his body though so he couldn't tell you why, but really he only sort of remembers what he used to look like and sometimes the dissonance gets to him.

- In the far far future of TIARW some of the restored shades will choose to stay in the kingdom, since apparently Viego was beloved by the people before his wife died and he went fully off the deep end. Viego gets the opportunity to redeem himself to his people and kingdom, and another shot at being king but older and wiser now. With you as his queen, he swears not to make the mistakes of his past and to rule with the best interests of Camavor in mind. Maybe I'll write an epilogue along those lines at some point.

NSFW (under cut)

- Look he's perma stuck in honeymoon phase he's Thirsty

- High libido. A menace if you let him be but 100% respects if you aren't feeling like it, he knows he can be a bit much. Does need lot of physical intimacy but that doesn't need to be sex necessarily, he just likes making you both feel good

- Despite this, doesn't jerk off much. It's being with you that gets him going, not that he specifically wants to get off

- He doesn't get tired. Like ever. 0 refractory, will just go until either you tap out or he's so overstimulated he can't anymore. Watching his cum drip out of you just gets him so worked up though so it's a vicious cycle

- He's got a filthy mind and will have you every which way he can think of, in every room you'll let him. Fav position is probably you riding him cowgirl though; he likes the view

- Likes leaving lovebites, but he lowkey feels bad if he bruises you by accident. He gets carried away and forgets his strength sometimes, you'll have to convince him you're fine. He heals too fast for you to leave marks on though, it's tragic :(

- He's touch starved, we all know this, he was trapped in a sword for a thousand years. In particular though, his neck is very sensitive, as well as his thighs and lower back. Doesn't like the area around his chest cavity being touched. Loves having his hair pulled.

- He's got experience. He was a heartbreaker in his youth and he figures out exactly what you like uncannily quickly

- Love love loves going down on you, he loves watching you and he gets to make you feel good, doesn't even care if he cums as long as he gets to eat you out

- Boss him around, he loves it when you take charge. Loves being both praised and degraded, will try so so hard to be good for you. Edge him until he cries, make him cum over and over, yank him around by the crown and tell him what a pathetic cum drunk slut he is, he'll take it all and beg for more <3

- Not specifically dommy so if you aren't taking the reigns he's the perfect combination of loving and so horny he can't think straight. Tells you how pretty and perfect you are while he makes a fucking mess of you.

- He's so loud. If he's not telling you how good you feel or how perfect you are, he's moaning and whimpering and swearing. Ask him a question and watch him struggle to put a coherent sentence together in real time.

- If you want to give him a task you know he'll fail, tell him to keep quiet. Fucks it up immediately and he gets SO upset, full tears in eyes begging to make it up to you.

- Will happily do whatever makes you both feel good, willing to try most things you want to. Hard limits, wouldn't like saying mean things or hurting you even as part of a scene (receiving tho, yes pls). Also, very mixed feelings about doing it anywhere anyone could ostensibly see you–on one hand everyone should know you're his and he's yours, on the other he'd have to kill them. It would be the only way, they gotta die.

- Aftercare is a must, whole nine yards, hot scented bath and cuddles and affirmations all around.

[bnha-more-like-bnh-gay]

Izuku having a day off, just to relax and class was not informed. Entire class freaks out thinking izuku went on another vigilante arc and run around like like headless chickens looking for him.

Izuku was found at an animal shelter were he was petting a therapy kitten

Izuku now is required to have a tracker at all times.

SORRY I TOOK FOREVER TO REPLY

But bestie, you are so correct 😭😭😭

Izuku is convinced by his mother and/or all might to take a day off

He doesn’t think much about having to tell anyone where he’s going or what he’s doing, but he wants to take a walk!

Well, tragedy strikes when someone asks if he wants to train or study with them. He’s Not In His Room.

He isn’t in his room????

Why isn’t Midoriya problem child izuku not in his room or anywhere to be found on campus right after a vigilante stunt?

Things devolve from there.

No notes this time, but is that a good or bad sign? Who’s to say?

Aizawa is so tired. He is loath to admit that he cares for his problem child, but he is still his to protect and where the fuck did that little shit run off to now?

Why can’t this small child with a literal hero complex just talk to him for once in his all too young life?

All might, despite being one of the ones to encourage izuku to take a day off, is very much freaking out

Where is his boy?

Where is he???

Class A is. So stressed. Aizawa doesn’t want them to help search for him, because he tries to remind them that it could just be nothing, maybe he went home to see his mother! That sounds like him!

But after a call to Inko, he is even more tired. Midoriya is not there. Inko is now worried as well.

He tells the class not to go searching for him, but nobody listens.

I like to think that inko is the most calm in this situation. She’s like, oh, he’s probably just going for a run or walking around! Yeah, he likes to be outside! He’s such an energetic kid! I’m so proud of him! And class A and the teachers are just in shambles

Eventually, they pass an inconspicuous little pet store on their search for the green bean

Someone sees a fluffy green head of hair and all but sprints into the shop with little explanation other than, “THERE!”

Izuku is none the wiser about the hectic day his friends and mentors have been having.

He had turned his phone off :(

He didn’t want to frighten the kittens if he got a call :(

They’re so soft, guys and they just want love and affection :(

Aizawa stalks up to the store in all his angsty ways like the grim reaper and tells izuku that UA is going to implement a system where leaving the campus requires a staff member to be told beforehand and to accompany the student. No exceptions.

It’s a shame no one had talked to nezu really. He had been watching the whole time. Ah, love and learn. Maybe next time

I love this prompt so much, dude 😭😭 thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed!!!!! Have a good and safe day/night/evening/etc!!!!

[nezz-cringe-crib]

LAWLIGHT HEADCANONS LAWLIGHT HEADCANONS LAWLIGHT HEADCANONS PLSS

Share your winsdom with us mortals

ALSO- Some L angst maybe? I like seeing him suffer bc he is my favorite blorbo and I love making my blorbos suffer

(only if you are comfortable with it, ofc. Don't wanna push anything :) )

OOOOUGHH AAAAAA ABSOLUTELY

i always suck at giving hcs off the fly, but here's some i've thought up of before and like to think about instead of sleeping :333 (be warned that they're all pretty vanilla lolz. my hcs are basic. i just like my blorbos.)

Lawlight hcs:

blorbbooo tiiimmeeeee :33 - i personally really like fluffy lawlight things, but a lot of those are usually for aus and everything (since i can't see them being very fluffy in the normal death note plot). but i like to imagine them having stupid teenage-like crush moments with each other. like maybe during the yotsuba arc or something, L wants more sweets but watari is already out doing something, so his dramatic ass is just whining about "oh woe is me....... there's nothing in the vicinity for me to munch on......... how will i ever go on......." and then to get him to shut up, light begrudgingly either bakes something for L (which could probably lead to a lot of silly shenanigans with stupid dorky smiles before light immediately takes it back and starts bickering with L again), or light convinces L to go buy some sweets from a bakery in town (and then L gets distracted because there's multiple sweet-filled stores and his greedy ass has to try all of them so now they're essentially just going on a date trip around all the sweet stores in town). - also to add onto that last bullet, there's this one fic i just read last night that was so stupid and adorable and i loved it. it's called "You can't have my name, but you can have my number" and i recommend checking it out if you like short and sweet fluffy fics. :] (and if you want more fluffy fics, go read everything @rawrlight has made. his fics are so fucking good please read them i am obsessed with them actually pleasepleasepleaseplease) - L is surprisingly good with kids and light won't admit it but he's kinda into it. - L nonchalantly shares food with light and light totally overthinks the shit out of it. - they totally pick at each other for everything. light picks at L for every unsanitary thing he does. L picks at light for having an unnecessarily long and complicated hygiene routine (i like to imagine he has a shit ton of hair and skincare products). anybody who walks past the bathroom while they're in it is bound to hear non-stop bickering. (or, if you really wanna match my freak, have matsuda open the bathroom door while they're getting ready only to see them in the middle of a fight. whether the pose they're in looks compromisingly homosexual is up to you my dear sillies).

uhhhhhh and that's all i can think of for now. awww zoinks.....

but now L angst headcanons yipeeeeeeeee :33333

L angst hcs:

ooougghhhh buckle up boyz... it's angsty tism time..... - i don't think L was ever good at making friends (this is very much a projected headcanon but shshshshshsh ignore that). despite being insanely intelligent and pretty damn good at whatever he sets his mind to, i don't think he ever got the hang of making deep, personal connections. and i feel like he wants to. throughout his whole life, maybe he wanted to make friends but it always just fell flat. maybe as a child there were times where thought he had made a friend, only to realize those feelings were not reciprocated. despite everything he tried, he was just never "human" enough to seemingly make all those lasting connections that he analyzes so deeply. and i think he probably gave up on trying at some point. and all of this is why i feel like his connection with light is so important. even though he knows it'll end in tragedy and that he will die by light's hand, he still can't help but feel... a little more human with light. and i think he'd risk death in order to feel like that one more time. - i don't usually like reading/seeing heavily angsty stuff, but i remember seeing somebody headcanon that they thought L went through solitary confinement as a child in the wammy house, and i always thought that was interesting. i'm not gonna expand on it though since heavy angst isn't really my vibe. (i love making my blorbos suffer, but not too much.) - yeah most of my L angst is him just being incredibly lonely. in the sense of "he doesn't cry about it (he's probably only cried once in his life and that was probably as a very young child), but there's always been some missing piece in his heart that just can't ever seem to be filled". - actually-- loneliness and his inhumanity. that's what i fuck with the most. though they kind of intertwine, so. yeah i kinda just sound like a broken record atp but sshhhhhhhhhhh it pays off (sometimes) i swear. - he also has a lot of religious trauma in my eyes (again, projection). i know he's not religious or anything, but i feel like he'd fit that song "Dear God" by XTC a lot. - oh and he also sulks a fuckton. he doesn't cry, he pouts and goes to stand in the rain while reminiscing on old memories. that's what his emo dramatic ass does and i fucking love him for it.

that's all i can really think of right now. hopefully that's somewhat entertaining. most of my headcanons are very basic compared to other people i've seen, but they are still special in my heart. :))))

[kissorkill16]

I Don't Care: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: The night Nicky stopped caring.

(P.S., for @limoks-blogs !)

Nicky walked through the Raven Brooks woods. It was a dark, cold night, and Nicky was wearing nothing but goggles, shoes, a shirt and shorts.

But he didn't feel cold.

He didn't feel anything.

He was just completely numb.

After all that's happened, from him getting kidnapped, to being accused, to being humiliated, to being haunted by a dark shadow, he just lost all feeling in his body.

Both physical and emotional.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he felt something looming over him. He stilled for a moment, not moving an inch, and he slowly turned around.

Crowface was standing right behind him.

But he didn't care.

He didn't scream, he didn't widen his eyes, he didn't flinch, he didn't even bat an eye. He just stood there, emotionless.

Even when the demon crow man pulled out his long, sharp dagger, he didn't even back away.

"Don't try to scare me.", he said.

Now it was the crow man's turn to stand still. He held the knife, but he didn't stab the boy, he just stood in place and looked at him.

"If you're going to do it, make it quick I guess.", said Nicky. "I know you want me to run, scream, try to escape, do anything. But I don't care anymore. I don't care about you anymore. I'm tired of living, I'm tired of feeling, I'm just straight up freaking tired."

Nicky stepped closer to the crow man.

"I'm tired of people bullying me, the different tragedies, losing my loved ones, my trauma, the shadow chasing after me, everything.", he said. "I don't care what you do to me anymore, I just don't want to suffer any longer. So..."

He sat on his knees, looking at the ground. "I'll just wait for you to do it."

As he waited, he kept looking down at the ground. He knew this was the right thing to do. At least he thought so, it's what Lucy and Mya would've wanted. If he died, he'd finally be with his friends again.

But Crowface hasn't stabbed him yet. He didn't even move. Nicky looked up at the crow man, and he just stood there, dagger still in hand.

"Well?", said Nicky, "What're you waiting for?"

The crow man stepped forward, and Nicky braced himself for the inevitable death. But instead of a knife stabbing through his head, he felt a hand on his shoulder and an arm pulling him close, trapping him in a tight embrace.

Nicky was confused, and then he heard a familiar voice come from the crow man.

"You're alright, my little wolf."

Bubba's voice.

Nicky felt his eyes fill with tears, and he wrapped his arms around the waist and buried his face into Crowface's chest.

"I will protect you, Nicholas.", said the crow man, "I love you so much."

As Nicky silently cried himself to sleep in the crow man's embrace, Crowface slowly lifted him up, wrapping his little body up in parts of his long cloak.

He decided he'd return the boy home...

After a few years of training to be his apprentice.

[naboman]

(Un)Broken

Synopis: In which Chifuyu reunites with the one he shattered countless school years ago, seeking redemption, but perhaps it's just too late to apologize." Pairing: Chifuyu Matsuno + Fem!Reader. Genders: Angst, Drama and Tragedy, Farce. Content Warnings: mentions of tryte of suicides, bullying and autodepressed.

Prologue: Broken Bones

[Start]

[Next]

"Broken"; Adjective, masculine Definitions: Made into pieces; fragmented, fractured. Examples: Me and you.

'Ah, yes... You remember? You put gum in my hair in sixth grade. After everyone started laughing at me, you thought you were the sovereign of the class; did you find it funny? Was it funny to see me running desperately to the bathroom to hide from the shrill laughter?

Freak.

Yes... Then I became your little pet, right? Because of you, my shoes are fraying. You threw them into the school pool and then hurled them from the rooftop. And why? Because I filled your notebooks with glue. And then you had to redo the homework all over again.

Now it wasn't so funny, was it?'

The few off-beat seconds seemed to last hours in Chifuyu's mind, who could do nothing as the girl passed a few meters ahead. The cold weather seemed to distort her image, who constantly let out sighs in the cold winter air. Even after three years, he could still recognize her. However, after the wearying misfortunes of the past, her striking and bright eyes seemed to have lost their shine over the years. As if her world had become grayer, darker.

He imagined she was living in a "faded coloring." Where the walls of her mind had gone from vivid and cheerful colors to cold and icy tones. The walls of her memories were peeled and trampled like the old paint that falls from the walls and crumbles, commonly without any value.

And amidst all those students, who quickly passed through the crowd in haste, Matsuno did not take another step. [Name] Tsubaki seemed so close, yet at the same time, so distant and alone. He wanted to go up to her and say some words of regret, which had been stuck in the boy's throat for a long time. But he couldn't. Why couldn't he? It was so simple.

As he wandered in his bitter thoughts, some intuition from the randomness of the mind made her turn her head to face the one who was devouring her with his eyes. That's when he saw. On the side of her cheek, there were some band-aids, and her right arm - hidden inside the coat thrown over her shoulders - was covered by a white cast. Broken. Who did that? And why did she seem not to care?

Indifferently, she glanced at him sideways, the blond wondered how many curses she had cast on him in that brief moment of eye contact. And whether she cast any curse or not, she wasn’t wrong, she had every right to hate him to the depths of her being.

And as quickly as she looked, she looked away. For some reason, he got the impression that as she walked, her steps only increased in speed and the rhythm of her light strides through the crowd. Soon, disappearing among the masses of uniforms.

Leaving him desolate with his thoughts, those that he had buried a long time ago in the back of his mind. In that dark and lonely corner, where the image of the girl drenched in dirty water with disinfectant was still vividly memorable, unfortunately memorable.

"Huh? " the thoughtful blond murmured, lifting his gaze to face Takemichi who was standing in front of him.

As he leaned his own weight on the stairs leading to the temple. It hardly mattered to him whether he was dirtying the Toman uniform or not.

"What the hell happened to you? You look all depressed " Hanagaki ventured to ask, needing to clear his doubt or he would lose sleep over it tonight.

And he didn't wish to make a call to Chifuyu in the middle of the night.

"Oh, that... " he murmured, glancing away, trying to dodge the question "nothing happened. Just remembered some embarrassing stuff ".

Takemichi made a point of sitting next to Chifuyu, soon giving the downcast boy a sympathetic smile.

"You can talk ".

Surprised, Matsuno thought over the offer. Soon, he agreed. After all, he had nothing to lose.

"Well... There's someone..." he searched for words to soften the subject, but everything seemed too confusing.

"Ah, I see. You've got a crush on someone!"

"No! Not at all! " he denied, stammering. But somehow Takemichi's deduction helped to lessen his nervousness "it's just that... Let's say you have the opportunity to apologize to the person you bullied, what would you say?"

"That was very specific " he commented, a bit shocked by the statement "and well... I don't know. I've never bullied anyone, i think".

"I kind of expected that... " he admitted, sighing in frustration, but now feeling less burdened.

It was like diving into a sea of regrets and for the first time feeling your lungs being refilled with fresh air. It was liberating.

"Well, continuing... " he cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to himself "this person came back to school, after three years. We had never seen each other again, nor had I had the opportunity to apologize. And also, I don't know how to do it."

Constantly, Takemichi watched the boy with blond locks tighten his fingers repeatedly; restless. Drawing in air forcefully, trying to sound uninterrupted and unshakable, when in fact he was just gathering strength to finish the story. But he was afraid. Afraid of judgment and what Takemichi would say when he finished pouring his heart out.

Then, Takemichi delivered a slap on the back of his friend's neck. The one who let out a grunt of pain, since he was caught off guard at such a vulnerable moment. Dragging his hand to his neck.

"What the fuck, what was that!? "

"Don't worry " Takemichi said, standing back up, extending his hand in a comforting gesture "if you're as sorry as you seem, then that person will surely understand."

"Takemichi... " he murmured in surprise, massaging the affected area.

"You're human. Everyone's an asshole sometimes " he considered.

"When did you become like this? "

"I don't know. Saw it in a comic."

Behind the wall, both blonds watched her water the school garden's flowers, while the watering can poured water on the dry flowers, [Name] watched the birds flapping their wings flying far away. Startled by the rustling of the tree leaves.

Chifuyu was not surprised. The girl had always had an affection for botany. And it reminded him of when he buried her cardigan in the soil of the small garden at the back of school.

Which didn't help much with what little determination he had left inside.

He shook his head, pushing away the thoughts. He didn't expect to see her working with a broken arm, although that effort wasn't enough to tire her or affect her recovery.

"Is it her? " Takemichi dispelled the pessimistic thoughts from the guy with just the tone of voice with which he spoke those words.

Matsuno looked in the direction of his crouched friend, hidden behind the wall, who couldn't take his eyes off the girl. She, who cared little about the environment around her, not even realizing the presence of the two.

"Yeah... " he answered in the same low voice.

"And what are you waiting for? Go there! " he encouraged, seeing a reluctant grimace forming on the other's face.

He didn't feel like giving in at the crucial moment of the situation. But he was apprehensive. His eyes glowed with determination, but this confident and resolute look hid fear. A suppressed feeling of being ignored or having his apologies denied – rightfully so, of course.

He peeled his legs off the ground and began to walk towards the girl, who was now crouched trimming the flowers and tossing the small branches into the basket. Slowly, he approached with his hands in his pockets, as if he were getting close to a skittish cat.

And when [Name] noticed the presence of the blond, she rolled her eyes, looking at him standing at the entrance of the garden. She couldn't avoid the surprise in her gaze, but shortly after, she stood up and put away the gardening tools.

Chifuyu felt a lump forming in his throat.

As he was about to start the dialogue, he was interrupted by [Name]'s velvety voice.

"Do you want something? "

He hadn't heard her voice in a long time, so much so that he couldn't even remember the tone and how her words used to be light and kind.

"Ah, yes... No! i mean no! " he declined, searching for words "are you about to leave?"

"Yes, I have a violin test today " she lied, holding the backpack between her free arm and turning to leave. She didn't plan to prolong the conversation more than necessary.

But before the young woman could take a final step towards the ring of plants - a.k.a. the entrance to the garden - she felt a hand on her shoulder, not with brutality, but rather a touch filled with patience and gentleness. However, it wasn't enough to prevent the shock. [Name] felt so much fear that she didn't even bother hiding the trembling of her hands.

Anxious. The feeling of uncertainty.

"Please, wait " he pleaded, softly "I'm sorry."

If she were in a favorable position, she would certainly raise an eyebrow. Unfortunately, as she was not in a position to do so, she simply waited for him to continue.

"Just know that I regret it. A lot! I wouldn't even be able to see you every day without saying this first."

She stayed silent, thinking about what she had just heard. The usual calmness that surrounded [Name]'s face didn't vanish for a second.

"And is this just for you to feel good about yourself? " she dared to poke where it hurt.

Although she was terrified, it was the only opportunity to be honest and let go of the docile demeanor she had adopted for Matsuno over the years.

"Don't feel bad, it's been a long time " she said, brushing her fingers on the basket handle, releasing the anxiety "it's not like you or I care. I don't want to be your friend or anything, just... leave me alone. " she added, swallowing hard, while he patiently waited for her to finish speaking "So... Please! Don't look for me anymore!"

She mumbled the last words. Summoning courage from where she didn't have it, she quickly moved away from the boy.

And as soon as she finished speaking, she dropped the basket and ran away in a hurry, without any direction. She just wanted to distance herself from Chifuyu as much as possible.

He failed.