#but why is that man waterboarding himself

[mochinek0]

Drama-Bomb: Part 3

Marinette could feel the tension in the dining hall, as soon as she entered. A man, very similar to Damian, was at the head of the table. On his left was his mother and on the right were three gentleman; obviously his brothers from the way he described them. She could feel everyone's gaze on her immediately.

'Why did he decide now of all times to tell them about us?'

"So, how did you two meet?" Dick asked, immediately after Marinette had sat down.

"Dick!" growled Bruce.

"What we're all curious?" he defended himself, "Shouldn't we ask?"

"I see you gave them nothing." Marinette turned towards Damian.

"Was I suppose to?" he questioned, "I seem to recall a similar situation. Waterboarding would have been a better experience.

Mari giggled, "Maman was not that bad, not this quick, either. "

"Your father's size, at the very least, would have been enough." Damian recalled.

"I told you he looked big, but was a teddy bear." she smiled.

"Father is big." Damian stated, "You're father rivals Bane."

"Teddy Bear." Mari sang back.

Damian sighed. He knew he wasn't going to win this argument. He looked up to see his family was already examining their body language and mannerisms.

The Waynes remained silent. Damian and his girlfriend seemed close. She was teasing Damian and he wasn't getting upset. Apparently, he was secure enough to meet her parents. How long ago, they had no idea.

She turned towards Dick, "We met at university."

"How long have you been dating?" Tim asked next, "Apparently, Damian mentioned years? I was asleep when he told us."

"Two, almost three." she answered, calmly.

The Waynes sat there in shock. They knew Damian wasn't one to joke, but how had they not noticed him in a relationship for that long. How had he snuck out and left on dates?

'Have we gotten sloppy?'

Damian leaned closer to her, "They like to pry into every detail. They feel offended I was able to keep you a secret for so long."

Mari just giggled.

"What made you ask him out?" Jason questioned.

Marinette sighed, "Seems you've misunderstood. Damain asked me out."

She noticed that seemed to have caught them all off guard, even his mother.

Offended, Damian huffed, "I have eyes; thank you."

"Uh, De-Damian…same question." Jason spoke.

"Her creativity and intelligence." He announced.

"Huh?" Dick replied.

"We have business classes together." the youngest explained, "She has a unique way of looking at problems and strategizing her work."

"Why did you say yes?" Tim asked, quickly.

Damian's girlfriend smiled, "I like how honest he is."

"I mean," Jason shrugged, "that's one way to say 'offend people'."

"More like he is blunt with his words." Mari replied, "He doesn't mix his words or hide behind lies. It's not something everyone likes. People like to hear what they want, not what they need."

That wasn't the answer they had been expecting.

Talia sipped on her wine, "You know, Dear, you could do so much better."

"Mother!" Damian growled out.

Marinette remained silent and looked down at her plate.

'I guess everyone else thinks the same. They're all so quiet. His dad has just been looking at me and hasn't even asked me a question.'

"Silence, Damian." Talia remarked, "I was talking to Marinette."

'What?'

Marinette looked up towards Talia. She could see Jason cackling out of the corner of her eyes. She quickly looked at her boyfriend and surprisingly, he looked offended.

"My Dear," his mother continued, "if I have learned anything, is that these Wayne Boys, adopted or not, have the emotional compatibility of a gold fish. Something is always making them late for a date or they have to reschedule, last moment. Holidays like Valentine's Day or Anniversaries are not a priority for them; it's just another day to forget."

Marinette could see Bruce's face turning red and him attempting to shrink into the background. She couldn't help the snort and started laughing.

"Habibiti?" Damian asked, concerned.

"Relax, Damian." Mari smiled, "I'm sure your mother is just watching out for you. You mentioned your parents don't live together so she's sharing her experience. They do have a lot of questions; I believe my parents interrogated you as well."

Damian leaned against the back of his chair, "Tch."

They watched in amazement as Damian's girlfriend seemed to have some sort of command over him. He didn't talk back or complain. Talia watched as the boy she had raised fall in line with his lover. The feeling eased Bruce a tiny bit about the whole dinner.

"If our relationship were to continue, in the future, I'll sign whatever prenup you want me to, as long as my lawyer looks it over first." Marinette explained, trying to ease the tension in the room.

"Huh?" spoke a confused Tim.

"Well," Mari began, "Damian isn't as……extroverted as Mr. Wayne, but a woman does need her own reassurance."

"Such as?" Bruce asked, not sure if he liked what the answer was going to be.

"Damian keeps the Wayne fortune and I keep the money I make from my own business. I'll even keep my maiden name, if that's your desire." she stated, "Many woman want money, power or fame. Others…..revenge."

"And you?" Jason prodded.

"Let's just say if Damian were to follow in his father's….playboy theatrics," she smiled, "he would spend the rest of his life in regret and searching for someone who would never be found again."

Bruce cleared his throat.

'No wonder Damian told me not to use the 'Brucie' persona. She was definitely not a fan.'

"I don’t know." Dick chimed in, "He has the money and the power….the resources."

Marinette opened her mouth, but Damian shouted, "Enough!"

He turned to her and kept his gaze on his girlfriend, "Instantly?" he questioned.

Marinette glared at him, "Damian, you would be lucky if that's all I do. Adrien knows damn well how I get when I'm angry. I can and will leave you in a pile of ash, should you turn into my enemy. If you touch one of the few people I despise, beyond reason, I'll leave half your body on your mother's doorstep and the other, here, on the manor steps."

The room fell silent, with a bated breath for Damian's reaction.

"Understood, Habibiti." he replied.

"What if it's for a business meeting?" Dick quickly questioned.

He quickly found himself on the other end of Marinette's glare. He found he didn't like it and understood why Damian had caved. It was worse than Bruce's silence and Alfred's disappointment stance.

"Damian knows how to speak up for himself and say no. He doesn't like unknown people in his personal space and I respect his boundaries." Mari declared, "The fact that you have to ask me, tell me you still haven't learned this and you don't know your brother at all. The only thing that will happen is he will harbor resentment towards you."

"And if Damian chooses to come live with me?" Talia asked, shifting the focus.

"Fashion is universal." Mari smiled, "I can buy materials and sell from anywhere. I've had my own clients since I was thirteen."

Plagg zipped out from his hiding place, "Give me cheese, already! I'm tired of the back and forth when they all know."

"Plagg!" Damian hissed.

He turned to see his holder's family looking confused and frozen.

"Oh, they didn't know." he guessed.

"No they didn't!" Damian growled, reaching for him, "You're not getting your cheese now!"

"No!" Plagg cried, and quickly flew at Damian's face.

He latched on and whined, "It's your fault! You didn't feed me!"

"You didn't feed him!" Marinette asked, glaring at him.

The family watched the back and forth argument, trying to grasp what was going on. It was like Damian was being scolded for not feeding a child; no, not just a child, their child.

"I fed him!" Damian argued back.

Marinette gave him a pointed look.

"He fed me 'string cheese'!" Plagg cried out, "It didn't even taste like cheese. It was peelable! Bug, your husband is a menace to society!"

Marinette sighed, "That’s' why he's your holder."

'Wait! Damian's married!'

'Since when did he get a floating cat?'

'What is that thing?'

'How does she know what it is and why is Damian taking care of it?'

'If Demon Brat being a menace is a good thing. That thing isn't so good.'

Talia smiled, raising her glass, "Seems I underestimated you."

"Yes, you did." Marinette spoke, keeping her eyes on Talia.

The last thing she expected was for Damian's mother to say was, "Welcome to the family."

"Wait!" shouted Jason, "What?"

Marinette sighed, "Come out, Tikki. Might as well, since Plagg's stomach got him in trouble again."

The Batfam watched as a giant ladybug flew from out of nowhere and yanked on the floating cat's eat, chastising him.

"What are they?" Time questioned.

"Kwamis." Talia spoke, "Or Gods, to be precise."

Marinette glanced at Damian's mother. Talia held up her hands in surrender, briefly.

"Seems my son is much more tact when it comes to this relationships." she declared, with a smile "To think you hid a marriage from both of us."

Bruce tensed. He had forgotten the flying cat had called him that.

'He hadn't known Damian was dating. He didn't know he had gotten married. What else didn't he know about his son?'

Bruce looked over at his son and noticed his ear tips had turned red.

"Uh, that's Plagg's nickname for him." Marinette spoke, clearly embarrassed, "We're not….actually married."

Bruce relaxed more into his seat.

"We should-" he began.

Mari declared, "They won't be picked up on any recording devices, visually or audio."

"Alfred!" Jason shouted, "Bring out the hard liquor."

Bruce just nodded. He hadn't expected anything that had happened this week. His son was dating someone with access to Gods. Talia was sitting at the dinner table like she had always lived there. The girlfriend obviously knew who they all were and about his son's questionable past. A drink sound like a good idea.

[iamnmbr3]

I reached the Snape's Worst Memory chapter. Honestly I find this to be one of the hardest things to read in the whole series. The protracted, wanton cruelty is awful - and especially horrifying is the way most people in the scene look on and do nothing, or laugh.

The fact that Snape can never just relax on a nice day. He has to hide himself in the shadows for fear of being attacked and tormented is so sad.

We know what kind of person Wormtail grew up to be and we see here that he was always attracted to hanging around powerful, cruel people who could provide him with sadistic entertainment. He traded James & Sirius for Voldemort once he got out of school of course. But I think it says a lot about the kind of people they were at the time. This wasn't an isolated incident that went especially far, but a regular type of entertainment.

It's really just sick what happens here. They're basically magically waterboarding him at this point. James is exactly the kind of person Harry would have stood up to if they'd gone to school at the same time. I mean after this memory he is so shaken he falls into a depression and wonders if James and Lily ended up together because he forced himself on her.

And to be clear I actually like the narrative potential of Harry discovering that the father he looked up to so much actually was the type of person he despises. I wish a bit more had been done with this though.

The fact that James takes out his frustration with Lily's rejection by tormenting and humiliating Snape more says a lot about him. I also think it's really interesting Sirius is the one who says "[i]f you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals" but he never really connects that sentiment with how he and James treated Snape.

(As an aside I will also never get why JKR thinks James and Sirius are redeemable for this behavior even though we never get to see anything in canon to prove that James or Sirius ever truly acknowledged the depth of how wrong what they did was or regretted it, but somehow she gets all mad at people for suggesting that Draco, who did canonically regret his actions and change his ways and who never did anything like this, was anything other than irredeemable.)

[themultifanshipper]

hello it's me again! requesting for the 2nd time for a Sebastian Vettel fic (I'm horrendously down bad for this man🙇‍♀️) could you please do Rb!Seb x Button!reader because I'm a sucker for brother's best friend trope. Jenson invites Seb over after a night out of partying and he stays there for a couple of days. Seb has a couple of small interactions with reader mostly Jenson stepping in which it doesn't lead into something more lol. so here's the juicy part reader accidentally walks in on Seb taking a bath and like she's so embarrassed she decides to( lock herself in her room even Jenson was concerned. Seb decides to talk to reader alone in her room and it leads to them passionately making out so they have their little "we shouldn't be doing this" "your brother doesn't have to know" moment LOL and they uh do it ig.

this is awkward to even ask for I feel like squidward begging for change in that one ep 😭 like I feel so GUILTY LMAO but anyways please don't rush yourself into writing this please do it in your own pace I really don't mind waiting 🫶 I also would like to say how much I adore your writing and the effort you put into your work so I understand if it takes a while to write all of this down. Don't forget to take yourself as well while you're writing 🩷🩷 -🐇

You had seen Seb in a number of embarrassing situations and positions, him being your brother’s best friend ever since he joined F1, but this was definitely the first time you had seen him quite this naked.

Warnings: Uhhhhhh… I don’t know what came over me I’ll be honest, Seb is super dominant in this one guys, like… overstimulation, praise kink, degrading a bit? Slapping? I need to be waterboarded in holy water at this point, I fear… the dialogue is cringe enough to make me question my worth as a person (this was written at 3 am)also I think I overused the word princess but oh well

Jenson and Seb were partying for a few days to wind down during winter break after an intense season, and you partied with them. You were much younger than your brother, he was in his early 30s and you only 21, so you were technically closer to Seb’s age, which led to a friendship blossoming between the two of you. You’d been on numerous trips and holidays with the pair of them, and you’d been to a fair few races to cheer them on.

Of course with the proximity and the similar ages, Jenson was terrified that Seb would try something with you, and he threatened him several times over the course of their friendship. Him being so much older than you meant he was extremely protective, sometimes bordering on overbearing. And you noticed that as you got older, Jenson rarely left you and Seb alone in the same room for more than 5 minutes without checking in on whether you “needed a drink” or “have you seen my charger? I swear I left it near your stuff could you please look for me thanks” …

This particular weekend had been quite intense, the three of you going out several nights in a row, and you finally managed to get some alone time in the peace and quiet of your brother’s house while the boys went to pick up some pizza for dinner before you all went out again afterward.

Which is why you were so shocked when you opened the bathroom door to pee and got an eyeful of Seb in the bath, very naked, and with the way his hand flew out of the water (splashing half the room in the process) you were pretty sure he had just been caught touching himself. You had caught him. Touching himself.  In the bath.  Naked.  In the bath naked, touching himself.  In your bathroom.  You had caught him touching himself in your bathroom, in the bath.  Naked.

It took you a few seconds to absorb the situation before you shouted “Oh my god! I am so sorry!” and covered your eyes (about 30 seconds too late but it’s the thought that counts!) before backing out and shutting the door, ignoring Seb’s yells about it being his fault for not locking the door.

You hightailed it straight to your bedroom and slammed the door, locked it, and slid to the floor, with your head in your hands.

…

Seb’s dick.

…

That’s the only thought your mind could conjure up for the next several minutes. You didn’t even get a great look at it, being more entranced by the blush quickly spreading down Seb’s neck and toned chest at your intrusion, and it was distorted by the rippling water, but it was there. It existed. And now it refused to leave your mind for even a second.

That’s when you heard the tell-tale noise of the front door closing and Jenson coming back from his pizza run. He called out for you, but the lack of an answer made him come looking for you.

He knocked on your door and tried opening it but failed, immediately making him worry.

“You alright in there, love? I’ve got the pizzas” he spoke softly through the door.

You huffed, you really didn’t want to face Seb after that, so you played the illness card.

“I really don’t feel well Jense, I’m going to sit this one out!” you called out.

He frowned, you seemed fine 20 minutes ago when he left. “You sure? I got you your favourite!” “I’m sorry! You can have it, and you two go have fun tonight! I need to sleep last night off, and I’ll go out with you guys tomorrow!”

He wasn’t convinced but there was no point in arguing with you, so he eventually agreed and left you alone. He and Seb went out an hour later and you were left to your own devices, so you got into your pyjamas (which consisted of a large t-shirt and not much else), made yourself some food and slinked back to your room as thoughts of Seb kept plaguing your mind.

It’s not like you’d never realised Seb was attractive, of course you’d noticed, look at the man for god’s sake. But seeing him all flushed and naked and wet had awoken something in you. Something very dangerous, given the nature of your relationship.

Your thoughts soon drifted to rather lewd areas, as you pictured Seb in multiple situations. Running his hands up and down your naked body in the shower. Sinking to his knees at your feet as he devoured you. Fucking you into the mattress with a hand over your mouth to not alert your brother with your moans. Fucking you in his driver’s room next time you went to a race. Making you come over and over while whispering dirty things in your ear.

Your fantasies were interrupted by the sound of the front door again. You glanced at the clock, it read 3:26.  It seems time flies when you’re thirsting over your brother’s best friend, but it was still oddly early for them to be coming home.

You heard footsteps shuffling along the corridor and they stopped right in front of your door, the owner of the feet seemingly listening for any noise coming from your room.

“Jense?” you called out.

“No” Seb’s voice answered, “It’s me, can I come in?”

“Yeah” you sighed, you couldn’t avoid him forever.

He poked his head in, smiling softly at you before padding over to the bed as you sat on the edge next to him, consciously crossing your legs to avoid another incident, given your lack of underwear.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“Not really, although I’ll admit I didn’t see the time pass at all… What about you guys? This is rather early for you two, isn’t it?”

He chuckled and looked deep into your eyes. “I’m here on my own, actually”.

For some reason that made a shiver go down your spine. “Jenson found a companion to go home with, and I didn’t feel like partying alone.”

“Aaah” you sighed comically “slagclaren strikes again”

He laughed softly. “Yeah…”

You looked at each other for a while before the tension became unbearable and you looked away, blushing.

“So about earlier-” he started but you stood up suddenly and interrupted him.

“Please Seb, I really don’t want to talk about it, it was super embarrassing, and I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you, I’m so sorry”

He cocked his head to the side, frowning at you. “Why would I be uncomfortable? It was an accident, and I’m not exactly embarrassed by my body so… no harm done” he smiled sweetly when your gaze snapped to him.

You laughed in disbelief “Well I should hope you’re not embarrassed by your body! It’s so -”

The image of his wet, muscular body flashed through your mind, along with all the other images you’d conjured up since “uhhhmm…” your brain took a second to reboot.

He smirked “Go on, what is it?”

You blushed profusely and stuttered “Uh, well, it’s uhmm… It’s good”  and then you went and gave him a fucking thumbs up.

Jesus, you couldn’t be more lame if you tried.

He raised his eyebrows and smirked even wider “It’s good??”

 “You know what I mean!” you whined defensively, face becoming redder by the second “You’re a high-performance athlete! You’re all muscly and… and hot, you know? Like my brother!”

What. The. Fuck.

Your eyes widened in shock “I’m sorry I don’t know why I said that! I panicked! I don’t think my brother’s hot! I mean objectively he is, I guess! But I just-”

Seb was laughing, and he stood up to pull you into a hug.

“Hey, it’s okay I was just teasing you.” he whispered into your ear. “The look on your face when you opened the door and saw me in the bath told me everything I needed to know about what you think of my body…”

Your breath hitched. “Wh- what?”

“You couldn’t take your eyes off of me” he leaned back to look at you “And I think you know what I was doing when you came in…”

He spoke so softly you could barely hear him through the pounding of your heart, and he slowly leaned in and whispered, “Do you know what I was thinking about while I touched myself in your bathroom?”

You whimpered and closed your eyes, the smell of his cologne was overwhelming your senses, and you were on the brink of doing something incredibly stupid. You shook your head. “No, I don’t…”

He chuckled “No?” his hands slid down to wrap around your waist “Let me show you then”

The feeling of his lips on yours didn’t exactly come as a shock, but it was electrifying, and you deepened the kiss immediately, despite the alarm bells ringing in your mind. Your hands went up to grip his hair and he groaned, his hips bucking into yours as he slotted a thigh between your legs for you to grind on.

His hands slid further down and gripped your ass and you gasped, throwing your head back, and he took the opportunity to start kissing down your neck.

"We shouldn't be doing this" you panted, but it sounded weak and shaky even to you.

"Your brother doesn't have to know" he responded, lowering himself down to the ground. He patted the bed and winked at you. “Sit on the edge for me, princess”

You hesitated, and he suddenly looked worried. “I don’t want to force you into anything. If you want, we can just forget everything and go back to being friends”

The thought of that made your heart sink into your stomach.

“It’s just… my brother’s going to kill us if he finds out” you chewed on your bottom lip.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t” he flashed his signature grin, and when yougave him a shy smile in return, he tapped the bed again.

“Now are you going to sit down like a good girl or do I have to make you sit?”

You were almost a blur with how fast you moved.

Once you were settled, Seb spread your legs and glanced down, finally noticing that you were bare before him. He gasped and lightly bit your knee to stop himself from jumping on you immediately.

“Baby, you’re going to be the death of me” he said, nosing up your thigh and you giggled at his reaction, and the feel of his stubble on your sensitive skin.

“Naughty girl, not wearing any panties with your brother’s best friend in your room. One could think you had an ulterior motive…”

He hiked up your legs over his shoulders and pulled your hips almost over the edge, forcing you to lay down and cling to the bed as he licked a stripe up your already wet pussy. He savoured the taste for a second, muttering a curse in German, before diving in completely, lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you crazy.

When his fingers joined the party, it took you no time at all to fall over the precipice, lips chanting his name as your fingers gripped the sheets for dear life.

But he didn’t stop there, he was like a man starved and you writhed in pleasure as he just kept going and you got close to edge again in record time.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me and give me another one?” He mumbled into your pussy as his fingers continued their assault. But you were so close you couldn’t speak, which displeased him greatly, so he pulled away, your orgasm slowly fading as you whined.

“Words, princess, I need words”

But you were incapable of words, so he slapped you. Right on your abused cunt as you cried out. The shock of it turned you on so much you couldn’t think straight.

He waited, but your lack of response warranted another slap, this time slightly higher up on your clit and you squeaked.

“I’ll ask again. Are you going to be a good girl for me and come on my fingers when I say so?”

He’d barely finished his sentence before you wailed “Yes Seb! Anything for you, fuck- please!”

He chuckled “So desperate for it” he slid three fingers in easily and started a brutal pace “Fuck, you’re so much wetter, you like me abusing your pretty pussy, hmm? Making it all puffy and red when you disobey me?”

“Yes Seb, fuck I’m so close!”

“Good girl, go on then, come for me princess”

And you did, so hard that you almost blacked out.

You’d barely recovered before you found yourself being dragged up the bed, legs hooked around his waist, his arms wrapped around you tight as he pounded into you desperately, panting and groaning into your neck.

“You feel so good, so tight around me, fuck- I’ve wanted to do this for so long, schatz…”

You gasped and he deepened his thrusts, hitting all the perfect spots inside you.

“I never want to leave this pussy, so fucking good for me, taking me so well, princess” he reached up, grabbed a pillow and placed it under your hips to raise them up a bit. Then he grabbed your waist for leverage to deepen the angle of his thrusts even more, making you see stars.

“I’m so close, Seb… fuck, can I come please?” you gasped, and his hand moved to rub tight circles around your puffy, sensitive clit.

“Come for me baby, such a good girl, all over my cock, that’s it…” he cooed as your body arched off the bed and your nails dug into his shoulders as you came around him.

Your pussy was like a vice around his cock and his hips stuttered, he was so close.

He came after only a few more thrusts, groaning out broken sentences as his hips slammed into yours, eyes locked on to where his cock disappeared inside you.

“Going to fucking fill you up, princess… Deep inside this cunt… all mine… Squeezing so perfect around me… fucking take it, take it all, … fuck- ”

He collapsed on top of you, breathing hard as he came down from his high, face buried in your neck.

The next few minutes should have been awkward. You had just fucked your brother’s best friend. He had just come inside his best friend’s little sister.  But, weirdly, it all felt stupidly natural.

“You want to take a shower with me?” You asked, standing up on shaky legs as you felt his come drip down your inner thighs “Or would you prefer a bath?” You smirked at him and waddled into the bathroom.

“Shower please, I don’t like baths.” he replied.

You hummed as it took you a few seconds for your brain to catch up with that statement.

But then it hit you like a bucket of freezing water.

“ You. What?!!”

[al-dusty33]

Don't know if I'm going to use this for my Jason Todd x reader story, but I wonder what everyone thinks of this.

Dialogue and scenes used from Arkham Knight, Arkham Knight: Genesis, Deadpool, and Batman: Under the Red Hood.

⚠️!Warning!⚠️: Torture, blood, branding, rotten/poisoned food, freezing, extreme violence with and without crowbar, electric shocks, waterboarding. Pretty much everything about Joker being a monster.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream (bung, bung, bung, bung)

Joker struts over to the young, fractured Robin hanging by his wrists in the middle of the dimly lit room. It’s a beautiful, awful sight and the Clown Prince of Crime loves it.

“Wakey Wakey, Loverbird!” Joker cheerfully says as he gets closer to Jason.

The moment Jason hears his voice ringing in his ears, he whimpers and tries to shy away from the clown, but no amount of tugging on his restraints will allow him to escape.

It’s been… Two, no, three months since Jason fell into the clutches of the madman. Joker blackmailed Jason’s biological mother into turning him in before being betrayed herself after it was revealed Joker was never going to let her go. Despiste what she did, Jason couldn’t help but still love her.

Make him the cutest that I've ever seen (bung, bung, bung, bung)

Joker’s fingers ghost over the smooth metal bar of the branding iron, “Don’t look at me like that,” A cruel, twisted smile creeps up on Joker’s red painted lips, “Actually, do keep looking at me like that; it just makes it more fun.”

“What’s wrong, little bird? You think I’m going to hurt you?” His gloved fingertips briefly touch the glowing metal J to test how hot it is, “Why?” His head lolls back in a creepy, unsettling way as his green eyes stares deep into the very depths of Jason’s soul, “I’m not the bad guy here,” He shakes his head while almost mockingly saying, “Oh, no, no, no, no,” He walks closer to Jason then softly says, “It’s Batman. He’s abandoned you…” He gently, yet firmly, cups Jason’s chin then shakes the younger man’s head a little, “thrown you away like an unwanted puppy.”

Give him two lips like roses and clover (bung, bung, bung, bung)

Joker backs up and clasps his hands together like he was begging to someone, “Can I have him, daddy?” He asks in a playful, high-pitched voice, “Oh, please, please, please, please, please? I’ll take real good care of him.”

He turns around to act as the other person then continues speaking in a deeper tone of voice, “Anything to make you happy, princess,” He slowly turns his cruel attention toward Jason, “Just make sure people know he’s yours.”

He snaps his fingers then one of his goons walks into the room, removes Jason’s bound wrists from the hanging hook off the ceiling, and then lets Jason drop to the floor with a thud.

“We don’t want him to end up back here, do we?” He leisurely strides over to Jason, his grin twisting more and more cruel with each step.

With what little strength he has left, Jason tries to crawl into the shadows to bring some form of safety to himself. In some small, hopeful way, he believes Batman would be hiding in those shadows to save him.

Joker stops for a moment to taunt Jason by saying, “No we don’t, daddy,” He steps closer with the burning branding iron getting closer to the young man, “I want to keep him forever!”

Jason’s eyes widen in fear while he tries to crawl farther away. He feels all movement stopping the moment Joker’s foot lands on his back, and the fear he’s feeling intensifies, “No! No please!” He tries to push Joker off of him, but he has no strength left. Instead he continues to beg like a dog, “Please no! No!”

The sound of sizzling skin, Jason’s pained screaming, and Joker’s cruel laugh are the only horrifying sounds that can be heard inside the darkness.

Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over

Sandman, I'm so alone (bung, bung, bung, bung)

Jason sits hunched over in a wheelchair with barbed wire keeping him in place. Through his ripped costume, he can feel it poking into him and making him uncomfortable; he has to be careful if he doesn’t want to open any veins or arteries.

A door opens behind him, his heart skips a beat thinking Batman was finally here, but the familiar, awful laugh quickly dashes that hope.

“Happy birthday, Jason!” Joker says cheerfully. He walks over to Jason with a pep in his step, “You’re a whole year older! How does that feel?” He sets down a plate of wiggling cake in front of Jason.

Is it really already his birthday or is Joker trying to warp his sense of time?

Don't have nobody to call my own (bung, bung, bung, bung)

Joker smiles down at Jason as he continues speaking, “Don’t you worry, Loverbird,” He snaps his fingers and the door behind Jason swings open, “I made sure to invite some friends for your big day!”

One by one, Jason sees other patients of Arkham Asylum fill the room.

Bane, Calendar Man, Clayface, Poison Ivy, Killer Croc, Victor Zsasz, Two-Face, and Scarecrow, all wearing birthday hats. On the looks of the faces visible, it’s obvious no one wants to be here, but they must be here for something else.

Please turn on your magic beam

“Happy Birthday to you~” The villains all start reluctantly singing to Jason, besides Joker who seems to have something up his sleeve for this event.

Jason looks down at the wiggling cake and he can see the crude writing of “Happy Birthday” on the cake and the worms trying to escape the brown frosting. The sight of it is sickening and he can feel his stomach churning, yet his mouth still watered at the sight of food.

Joker grabs a fistful of Jason’s dark curls and continues to sing happy birthday, “Happy birthday, dear Jason~ Happy birthday to you~” He leans in close to whisper in Jason’s ear, “Make a wish, pumpkin,” Before slamming Jason’s face into the cake.

The clown keeps Jason’s face in the cake for a couple more seconds, almost like he’s trying to suffocate the young man, before pulling his face away while laughing, “That never gets old!”

Joker lets Jason go then turns around, “I have somewhere to be; sorry for not staying longer for your big day,” He looks over his shoulder and smiles, “You have fun with your guests, but remember to brush your teeth, finish your homework, and be in bed by nine.”

And with that, the clown exits the room and leaves Jason with the other patients, who seem excited to have some “fun” with Jason; as evidenced by their sadistic smirks, Bane cracking his knuckles, and Zsasz playing with his sharp knife.

Jason can already feel the dizziness and sickness coming in.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Joker takes his time walking to the chest freezer sitting in the back of the walk-in freezer at the asylum. Walking just behind is Officer Frank Boles holding a flashlight. The officer was bought off by Joker when the clown first obtained the boy blunder six months ago to help keep Jason a secret from everyone else in the asylum and to the people outside.

Make him the cutest that I've ever seen

“Oh, lamb chop! You’ve been hiding in here for nearly half an hour,” Joker stops in front of the chest freezer. He flashes Officer Boles a crazy grin before opening the lid and taking a peek inside, “How are you feeling?”

Jason’s body was violently shivering, his nose was completely red, and his skin was pale, almost like a dead body. He can feel the light shining on him, but his eyes refuse to open too wide, “B-Batman…? Is that y-you?”

Joker reaches out and lightly taps Jason’s cheek, but due to how cold the younger man was, those small slaps hurt a lot. Joker leans his elbows on the edge of the opening then whispers, “Batman’s not coming to save you, Jason.”

“He’ll come…” Jason mutters through chattering teeth as his eyes peer up at Joker’s.

Joker leans back then rests his hands on the lip of the opening, “It’s been six months now, Jason,” He tilts his head in a cruel manner as his smile turns upward even more, “I think it’s time to face facts.”

Jason’s eyes narrow into a glare and he spits out, “S-Screw you!” Despite the cold, the fire still burns in his eyes, albeit a bit dim.

Joker laughs then pats Jason on the head, “That’s the spirit! You’re a real chip off the ol’ Bat block,” He looks down at his hand like he was checking his nails, even though he’s wearing gloves, “Not that it’ll do you any good.

Jason closes his eyes, almost like in a defeated way, “Why w-won’t you just kill m-me…?” He mutters slowly.

Give him the word that I'm not a rover

Joker acts shocked after hearing Jason’s question, “What? No, no, no, no,” He places his gloved hand on his chest to emphasize his point, “I’m not going to kill you,” He shrugs with a sadistic smirk on his face, “not yet anyway,” He leans closer with a big smile on his face and gently taps Jason’s frozen cheek, “You’re my sidekick now. Imagine it,” He waves his hand outward like he was trying to show Jason the scenario, “You and me, out on the streets, starting fights, picking on the weak, a regular dynamic duo,” He reaches into his coat pocket then pulls out a picture while saying, “Just like Bats and that new kid of his.”

Jason tried his hardest to shake his head in disbelief, but his neck felt like it was frozen solid, “No, h-he wouldn’t…” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Joker playfully smirks then tilts his head mockingly, “You think?” He looks down at the picture in his hand, “So this isn’t Batman then?” He shows the contents of the picture to Jason, “The pointy ears are usually a dead giveaway.”

“No…” Jason can feel any hope he has left for Batman to save him slowly draining away.

Joker carefully puts the picture back into his coat pocket, “I didn’t want to show you that photo, really I didn’t,” He looks down at Jason with a mock look of pity, “But, well it was the only way for you to get closure,” He crosses his arms and looks off as he continues speaking, “Now I know it hurts but sometimes,” A big, cruel, sadistic smile appears on his face as he backs up from the chest freezer, “you gotta be cruel to be kind,”

Joker gives a nod to Officer Boles then the officer closes the chest freezer, leaving Jason cold and alone in the dark.

Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over

Sandman, I'm so alone

Jason’s hands is tied behind his back, he’s bloody and bruised, it hurts to breathe, his vision is blurry, and his head feels like it was being split open.

Through his daze he looks up in time for the crowbar to swing and hit him square in the jaw then causing him to fall onto his side with groan of pain coming from him.

He coughs up some blood onto the floor then tried to catch his breath.

Joker steps closer to Jason with the bloody crowbar in hand, “Wow, that looked like it really hurt,” The smile on his lips curls upward into a more twisted grin, his yellowish white teeth on full display.

He raises the crowbar into the air then swung it down on Jason as hard as he can; Joker does this two more times.

Jason falls onto his back and grunts in pain, he can feel blood dribbling down the corner of his mouth. He knows for sure he has fractured and even broken bones in his body that will never properly heal.

Don't have nobody to call my own

“Whoa, now, hang on,” Joker walks closer to Jason breathing heavily on the floor, “That looked like it hurt a lot more,” He carefully pats the crowbar in his hand as he continues speaking, “So let’s try and clear this up,” He cocks his head to the side in a mockingly questioning way, “okay, pumpkin?”

“What hurts more?” Joker raises the crowbar above his head, “A?” Then swings it down onto Jason’s chest, “Or B?” Then swings the crowbar down onto his leg.

“Forehand?” Joker swings the crowbar into Jason’s face, “Or backhand?” He raises the crowbar across his chest before swinging it into Jason’s shoulder.

Joker continues beating Jason with the crowbar, each time causing Jason to grunt and groan in pain, his body to jolt with each swing.

Please turn on your magic beam

Joker maniacally cackles. In his eyes, these past nine months have been a blast. Batman has been miserable, Jason is afun plaything to beat, and Joker loves it!

Jason looks over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing at Joker, then mutters something inaudible under his breath.

Hearing this, Joker gets down onto his hands and knees to better hear the young man, “Ah, uh, ah…” He mocks. He cups his hand over his ear then leans in a bit closer and whispers, “A little louder, lamb chop,” He places his hand in Jason’s hair, “I think you may have a collapsed lung,” While speaking, he ruffles the young man’s hair, “That always impedes the oratory.”

With some strength, Jason lifts his head and spits blood onto Joker’s face. Despites months of torture, Jason refuses to give up; he’s been through hell before growing up in Crime Alley and that didn’t break his spirit.

Joker is shocked, angry, and a bit disgusted by the act and in retaliation grips a fistful of Jason’s hair painfully before slamming his face into the concrete ground.

Joker stands up straight as he glares at Jason on the ground, “Now, that was rude,” He takes out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket then dabs away the blood on his cheek, “The first boy blunder had some manners.”

Jason looks over his shoulder and with a small, cheeky smile on his face, feeling proud of himself for that small act of defiance.

Joker finishes cleaning his face then puts his handkerchief back into his jacket pocket, “I suppose I’m going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps,” He looks up in thought for a few moments before a wide grin crosses his face and says, “Nah, I’m just gonna keep beating you with this crowbar,” He steps on Jason’s back and presses more pressure onto his spine.

Jason stares up at Joker then closes his eyes to mentally prepare himself for the beatings.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Mr. Sandman (yes) bring us a dream

Harley Quinn is the one handling Jason now while Joker is away. The clown gave her a list on what to do with Jason for her to follow. Since she’s madly in love with the madman, she made sure to follow it to the T.

Jason’s wrists is cuffed to the metal bedframe with a bag over his head to block his sight; as Harley Quinn described to him earlier, when a person loses one of their senses, the brain rewires itself and enhances the other senses to pick up the slack.

With Jason’s sight temporarily gone, he feels the things around him more than he would with his sight, and that was Joker’s goal. He can feel the cattle prod shocking the metal of the bedframe before feeling the shock course through his tense body.

Give him a pair of eyes with a "come-hither" gleam

Harley Quinn giggles in delight and claps her hands together, “Isn’t this fun, birdbrain?” She looks down at Joker’s list in her hand and traces the hearts she drew around his name, “Mistah J was so kind to leave us a list of activities to have fun with,” She giggles again before stopping, “Why aren’t ya laughin’!?” She shocks the metal bedframe with the cattle prod and causes Jason’s body to tense up and yells out in pain.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can go on like this before finally breaking; he’s been trying to distract himself from the torture by thinking of his life before going after his biological mother, but it sometimes ends with him hurting himself emotionally. He misses his friends and family and would love nothing more than to go back to them, but he still doesn’t regret going after his mom.

Give him a lonely heart like Pagliacci

“M-Mama…” Jason weakly calls out through slur mumbles. He can’t give up, his mom still needs help; even though she was the one who ratted him out to Joker.

Harley Quinn snickers and walks over to Jason. “Shelia ain’t comin’ to get ya, birdie,” She twirls the cattle prod in her hand as she speaks, “Don’t forget, she sold ya out to Mistah J.” She shakes her head and softly chuckles like she was remembering something funny, “Man, I don’t know if ya remember, but the look of her face when she came back with Mistah J was hilarious.”

Jason angrily huffs. He hates hearing her talk about his mom’s misery like that, “Screw you!” After that he was immediately met with the tingling feeling of electricity flowing through his nervous system.

Harley Quinn keeps the cattle prod against the metal for a few more minutes until Jason was a babbling mess. She smiles and lifts the bag to show the drooling, dazed mess underneath. She grabs his hair and forces him to look up at her. She sniffs the air then comments, “Smells like chicken,” Then she let's his head drop.

And lots of wavy hair like Liberace

Mr. Sandman, someone to hold (someone to hold)

Jason was drowning. He was tied down to a chair, on his back, and drowning. He wasn’t actually drowning, but the soaking cloth over his face makes it pretty damn hard to get any air into his greedy lungs.

Harley Quinn checks her nails while she continues to pour water over his covered mouth and nose. She seems bored and over with the whole thing; all she wants to do is spend time with Joker instead of some kid, “Jeez, it’s been almost an hour. How long I got to keep this up?”

Jason gurgles and sputters as he tries to breathe underneath the cloth.

Would be so peachy before we're too old

Harley Quinn cups her hand over her ear and leans down a little while still pouring the water over Jason’s face then asks, “What’s that? I can’t understand ya. Speak up!”

Jason tries moving his head around to get some air, but that only lasted for a few seconds before Harley Quinn was pouring water over his mouth and nose again.

So please turn on your magic beam

Soon the water in the jugs runs dry and Harley Quinn throws it over her shoulder, not caring where it lands. She leaves Jason on the floor for a few more minutes to let him catch his breath and not die of asphyxia.

She looks to her right at the other jug filled to the brim with water to pour over Jason, but her arm was getting tired and she really wants to get out of here to be with Joker.

Harley Quinn looks down at Jason with a big grin on her face, “Good news! I’m wrappin’ up your morin’ constitutional early!” She claps her hands cheerfully then grabs his chair to sit him upright, “We’ll take a quick break, sweetums.”

She takes a few steps away from Jason toward the door, “You and me got another big day ahead of us, Toddy Woddy!”

She opens the door then steps out and closes the door behind her.

Mr. Sandman, bring us, please, please, please

Jason was left sitting alone, dripping wet, struggling to breath, with Mister Sandman by the Chordettes playing in the room. It was a song Joker likes playing when torturing Jason; in some twisted way he finds it a bit comforting to just hear the song when the sounds of his screams, his laughter, and whatever Joker is torturing him with doesn’t mix with the lyrics.

He’s heard from a passing conversation between Joker and Harley Quinn about April 27th is right around the corner; it’s been a whole year since Jason was captured.

Mr. Sandman, bring us a dream

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

I KNOW THERE'S SOMETHING RIGHT IN BETWEEN US!

I'M MOVING CLOSER BABY, WHY DON'T YOU SEEM TO CARE?

synopsis// “you’re going on a date?” “well yeah..it’s not like we’re exclusive or anything right?” “yeah..yes ofc not” “yeah” (prompt from @jasminesfury)

➚ pairing// choso x gn!reader ➚ word count// 3.2k

contents// suggestive—friends with benefits but nothing explicit/no actual smut, no curses!au, unknown mutual pining, both of u r just idiots tbh

notes// MY MAN MY MAN MY MANNNNN i need to get him pregnant soooo bad. on that note here's a low quality one shot from a low quality man. anyway! besides the prompt this was inspired by better by clairo (shivers)

Choso plops down next to you with a sigh, bringing the sheets up to cover his chest, and instead of cuddling up next to him like you normally do, you sit up and look around the room for your clothes. Once spotted, you snatch the sheets away from Choso and cover yourself with them, leaving him exposed instead.

“Y/n cmon,” he whines as the cold air leaves goosebumps across his bare body.

You hum, ignoring him as you slip your clothes back on, which quickly catches his attention.

“What are you doing?” He asks as he sits up and stares at you with half-lidded eyes; you’d almost consider them fuck-me eyes if you hadn’t already just done that.

"I'm getting dressed, Choso. What does it look like?"

“You’re not staying?”

"No, sorry, I know I usually spend the night after we..." You clear your throat awkwardly as you put on the last of your clothes. “...After we check in the benefits to our friendship, but I have plans tomorrow.”

A lazy smirk plays on his face. “You know you can just say after we fuck, right?”

"I'd rather not—I don't have a dirty mouth like you.”

“…are you sure about that cause you were just-“

“Do not finish that sentence if you ever want to see me naked again, Choso.”

“Got it,” he says, nodding curtly. “So what plans do you have tomorrow that are oh so important to be taking you from me?”

“Oh.” You look away, scratching your cheek awkwardly. "Um, I'm going on a date.”

Whatever small smirk Choso had been previously sporting falls—falls isn't even the correct word. It vanishes in thin air, one second there and gone the next, as quick and fleeting as the clap of a butterfly’s wings. “…you're going on a date?”

"Yeah, I mean..." Your head dips down, your hands now awkwardly fumbling with themselves as you look up at him through your lashes and mutter, "It's not like we’re exclusive or anything, right?”

"Yeah," he nods hesitantly, like he's not even really sure he should be nodding at all. "Yeah, of course not.”

“Yeah… Well…” You quickly clear his throat and approach him, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. "Bye, Choso, I'm gonna get going! talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later, Y/n,” is all he says before you’re rushing out of his house.

The slam of his front door has him gasping, belatedly realizing he had started holding his breath sometime earlier to begin with. Choso feels like he might just vomit now that he's all too aware of everything that just happened and everything that’s currently happening within him. He practically jumps out of bed, stumbling a bit as he pulls on his boxers on his path toward the bathroom.

He comes to a halt in front of his sink, immediately turning it on and splashing his face with water, as if that would actually do something to stop the way his heart is beating at light speed. Choso stands there, borderline waterboarding himself, for god knows how long, and when it doesn’t feel like his legs are about to give out from underneath him like he’s a baby deer standing for the first time, he turns off the faucet and groans.

He should’ve stopped you.

He should’ve told you that he did, in fact, actually want to be exclusive. And if he couldn’t have done that, then at the very least he should’ve tried to get you in bed again—he should’ve done literally anything just to keep you in his grasp and not in the paws of whatever filthy person you’re off to have a date with tomorrow.

but he knows he was playing a losing game all along anyway. It was only a matter of time before you got tired of this and called it off—yet Choso can admit he wished he had just a little bit more time with you before you went off and found something you didn’t know he was more than willing to give you. Choso has loved you from the moment he laid his eyes on you, and never in his wildest dreams did he think he��d have you in any way—but one day, to his amazement, you suggested this arrangement, and Choso was not about to say no.

He was not about to deny himself the only way he might ever be able to have you.

And now it’s seeming like he’ll never be able to have you in anyway ever again, and there’s nothing he can do about it—nothing he can do to make you feel the same way. But at least this was a nice way to end things, with one last hoorah. Choso can at least be happy at the fact that you gave him one last chance to adore you.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Your elbow is on the table with your cheek resting against your fist as you stare at the person in front of you who's talking about something you can't hear. not because it’s loud. No, your date made certain that it wouldn't be by bringing you to a secluded booth in the corner of a romantically lit restaurant, so that's not the problem.

The problem is you.

You didn’t even want to come on this date in the first place; you didn’t think you were actually going to have to end up showing up. What you thought would happen was last night when you told Choso he’d get jealous or do something, anything, to show you that he’s just as head over heels for you as you are for him, and then you'd cancel this date.

But no.

All you got was confirmation that you two truly are just friends with benefits—nothing more, nothing less. And really, it shouldn’t hurt this badly. It shouldn’t feel like someone’s just ripped your heart out and served it on a silver platter for you to watch as it bleeds out. yet it does. And even still, you can't help but be here thinking about Choso. You’ll probably always be stuck thinking about him. You've thought about him so much that you're convinced he's the only thing on your mind. A head filled with nothing but Choso; it's been that way since before you two had what you have going on, and you're sure it'll stay that way long after.

“You know you could at least pretend to pay attention, right?"

They roll their eyes when you do nothing but stare at them in stunned silence. "If you don’t want to be here so bad, why did you even come?”

"I-uh-" you swallow harshly. "I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Who are they?”

You stare at them blankly. Is it really that obvious? If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you have "I'm in love with Choso!” written smack dab on your forehead.

“You look miserable, and I'd like to think I'm not at full fault for that.” They tilt their head slightly to the side, unamused. "So, who are they?”

“You’re not,” you say, an apologetic smile being the only thing you have to offer them. “You didn’t do anything, really. I just.” You stand up abruptly and quickly exit the booth. "I should go.”

“Yeah,” they agree. “That’s probably best.”

"I'm really sorry again-"

They interrupt your sentence with an impudent wave of their hand, and you frown. But obviously, since this date was doomed from the moment you arrived, you ignore it, pushing their bitterness (though you can’t fully blame them) out of your mind and walking away. As you rush out of the restaurant, you immediately pull out your phone and call Choso. You’re not sure what you would even say; all you know is that you need to hear his voice. Who knows, maybe hearing his voice after that cluster fuck of a “date” will be the very push off the cliff you need to confess. The phone seems to ring for an eternity.

"Cmon, pick up,” you mumble to no one other than yourself and the ghost of the wind.

The line falls, as does your face. Okay. Choso always answers you. So why not now? You shake your head and call him again; maybe he was just in the bathroom or something. This time, the phone only rings once or twice before dropping, and that's when it hits you: he’s ignoring you on purpose. You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at your phone blankly.

What the fuck?

Choso ignoring you?

That's unheard of; Choso would never dare ignore you, yet he is. You rack your brain, searching every nook and cranny for an answer, trying to recall if maybe you did something wrong. You two were fine last night after you left—at least, you think? You can't totally remember if you’re being honest. You’re brain checked out the minute Choso gave you confirmation that he doesn't feel the same about you. You groan to yourself. You have to fix this. First, you just have to figure out what exactly you need to fix, and if you don't have that information, you have a strong suspicion about who might.

☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆

The pounding of your fists on the door falls in tune with the pounding of your heart. You're about to start knocking again when you finally hear the faint grumble of someone from beyond it.

“What the fuck do you-“ He comes to a halt when the door swings open enough to reveal you. "Oh, it's just you.”

You roll your eyes. “Great to see you too, Sukuna!”

He looks you up and down, unamused. “What do you want?”

“Are you gonna invite me in?”

Sukuna looks over his shoulder at something—or rather, someone—before looking back at you. “'m busy.”

“Like the kind of busy me and Choso got going on or...”

"Ew, what the fuck?" He reluctantly nods, though his grimace is still evident. "I mean, yeah, but gross.”

"Okay, fine, whatever, I'll make this quick. Have you talked to him?”

“Choso?”

You nod.

“Uh yeah, I talk to his dumbass all the time.”

You sigh. "I mean recently, like last night or today?…”

Sukuna quickly shrugs before leaning against his door frame, tilting his head to the side as he asks, “Why?”

“I’m like…” You look away and mumble disappointedly, “...pretty sure he’s ignoring me.”

“Bro what?” Sukuna looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “Choso ignoring you?” He snickers. “You sound fucking crazy.”

"Dude, I'm serious!” You snap, returning your gaze to him. “Watch, call him.”

Sukuna, unmoving, quirks an eyebrow up at you skeptically.

“Just do it, Sukuna.”

“Fine.” He lazily pushes himself up right and pulls out his phone. He dials Choso, and within seconds, Choso answers. "Yo, uh, I just wanted to see if you were alive." Sukuna shakes his head at his own horrible improv skills. "And I can tell you are, so I'm gonna hang up now. Ok. Bye.” Sukuna pockets his phone and stares at you blankly. "Ok, now what?"

Your jaw is dropped, and Sukuna is tempted to reach out and shut it for you. “He fucking answered you?!”

“Is he not answering you?”

“No! Why do you think I'm here telling you he’s ignoring me?” You quickly pull out your phone and call Choso. “Watch.” 

The two of you watch how the line almost immediately goes dead, and Sukuna holds a fist to his mouth to stifle his laughter (though it doesn't do much). "Bro, what did you do?”

"I didn't do anything!” You trail off unsure, "I mean, I don't think I did anything?”

“When's the last time you saw him?”

“Last night.”

“Ew,” he says, a grimace on his face as he shakes his head. "Okay, uh, what was it like before you left?”

“Fine?” You pause for a moment. "I mean, usually I stay the night, but I had to leave because I had a date today.”

“You what.”

"I had a date today."

Sukuna stares at you with narrowed eyes, hesitant. “Did you tell Choso that?”

“Um... Yeah?”

"Y/n, are you a fucking idiot?” He asks earnestly, like he genuinely wonders if you’re actually this stupid and is slightly concerned for your wellbeing.

You stare at him blankly.

Truly not a thought behind your eyes, he thinks.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god.” He begins to explain slowly, enuanciating each and every syllable as if talking to a child. “You tell Choso you’re going on a date, and then suddenly he’s ignoring you, and you have no idea why?”

“Thanks for the recap, Sukuna." You roll your eyes and cross your arms defensively. "What's your fucking point?”

“My point?” Sukuna shuts his eyes closed and rubs his temples, already feeling a headache coming on. “You know he's in love with you, right?”

"That's not funny, Sukuna,” you say, your jaw clenched tight.

Sukuna’s hands fall to his sides, and he leans back against the door frame, rolling his eyes before glaring at you, his head tilted tauntingly to the side. "No, it's not, especially when you're such a fucking idiot.”

“Stop fucking around, Sukuna.”

Sukuna stands straight up again, only to lean forward, his face inches away from yours as he studies it. "Do you seriously think I'm lying?”

“Obviously you are!” You exclaim as you push him back into place.

"Y/n, that dumbass is head over heels for you.”

“You don't know that!”

“Anyone with eyes knows that!” he sighs. “And besides, he’s literally told you he loved you once.”

"Huh?" You blink a few times, trying to remember if he had. "No, he hasn't?"

"Yes, he has.”

"I'm pretty sure I'd remember that, Sukuna.”

"Unless you were—“ Sukuna grimaces as he finishes his sentence,”—too fucked out to remember or hear him.”

Your mouth falls in shock. “He said it during sex?!”

"Man, I don't fucking know,” Sukuna says, his grimace growing deeper. "I didn't ask for the details; I hung up on him. What the fuck?”

“Oh my god, I'm an idiot,” you mumble to yourself.

Sukuna knows you weren’t talking to him, but he still answers anyway. “I know.”

“Fuck.” You take a deep breath and seem to come to a conclusion almost immediately. "Okay, this was very insightful. Thank you. I'm gonna go to his house now.”

"Dude, don't go unless you like him back.” He frowns slightly, and you and him both aren’t sure if it’s actually for Choso or just for the sake of acting nice. “Just give him space.”

“Of course I like him back!” you stress. "I only went on that date to make him jealous in the first place."

In an instant, Sukunas' face falls flat. "I'm not even going to say anything. Fuck you, get off my porch.”

and the next thing you know, he’s slamming his door in your face.

☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆

It doesn’t take long until you’re at Choso’s front door. In all honesty, you ran here. It’s not like Choso’s is very far from Sukuna’s in the first place, but you’d rather not waste any more time; you’ve wasted enough as it is. You knock softly at first, but when that doesn't seem to work, you full-send it and start banging on his door.

“Choso, open the fucking door and come talk to me!”

He doesn’t.

but you do hear him grumble from inside, “Go away, Y/n.”

“Stop acting like a child!”

That seems to do the trick, considering he flings the door open so fast it gives you whiplash. He stands in the doorway, shirtless, looking as disheveled as ever. You can’t help but stare at the way he makes looking messy like art. like every detail, from his frizzy, sticking-up hair down to the bags under his eyes, is purposeful. You don’t know how long you stand there just ogling at him, but you know it’s long enough for him to notice and call you out on it.

"Did you come here just to eye-fuck me or..."

"Right, uhm," you say, clearing your throat. “You were ignoring me.”

“Dunno what you're talking about," he shrugs curtly, looking away.

“Choso.”

“What?” he asks, turning his attention back to you with narrowed eyes, like he’s challenging you.

You narrow your eyes right back, your voice even as you speak, “You answered Sukuna but ignored me."

“Don't recall.”

You genuinely have no idea how he can stand here and lie straight to your face while looking you dead in the eyes. Does the man have no shame? (The answer is no, but you already knew that.)

“Are you serious?” You gawk before shaking your head; this is not worth it. “You know what? I'm not here to argue with you.”

This catches his attention, and as he stands up straighter, you can make out the slightest of glints in his eyes. “Then what are you here to do?”

"I love you.” After a moment, you add, “Too.”

Choso stands there, star-struck, his eyes as wide as saucers, and although you can't hear him breathing over the hammering of your own heart, you can see just how his chest heaves. You shift uneasily in place, his gaze piercing, and under different circumstances, you usually adore having his eyes on you with the way they make you feel like you're the only thing in his universe, but right now? Right now, it only serves to make you alarmingly aware of how you just laid out your heart to him, and he hasn't said a word.

"Choso, did you hear me?”

"Am I asleep?”

Despite your better judgment and jelly-like legs, you take a step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, answering with a small, breathy laugh. "No, Choso, you're not.”

You watch mesmerized at how his adam's apple bobs as he swallows harshly and mutters, "I'm not..."

“Nope.”

“And you love me?”

“Always have.” You look down and notice how languid Choso is in your hold, his hands at his sides rather than on you, and that just won't do. Choso does not keep his hands to himself, especially not around you. You make quick work of untangling your arms from his neck and grabbing his hands, placing them on your hips before returning your arms to their original state as you speak lowly, "I went on that date to make you jealous. I thought it didn't work."

Bringing up the date was apparently all it took to break Choso out of his trance; all of a sudden, his hands are exploring up from your hips to your waist, softly squeezing and pulling at the flesh as if making sure you’re really there—that he really isn’t asleep and having the same dream that he’s had for forever now.

“It worked a little too well, Y/n,” he says, chuckling.

"Yeah, I guess it did, didn't it?"

"Wait, how do you even know that I love you?” His face scrunches up in confusion. “I didn't-“

You cut him off with an awkward laugh. “Sukuna gave you up and called me an idiot for not seeing it before…”

"Well..." he half-shrugs innocently. “He’s kinda right.”

You roll your eyes. "Haha, you're so funny.” You clear your throat before subtly glancing to the side and over your shoulder, mumbling,

"Can you let me in now, though? Cause I'm pretty sure there's people staring at us…” 

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

[devildom-moss]

Flowers for Them (Satan)

Continuation of a request where MC returns the favor for the characters giving them roses. Kind of a sequel series for the Roses for You series (links here)

Satan x gn!MC

(the smallest drop of angst)

Word Count: +1,100

Blue anemone

Satan flipped through the book he had tried to secretly purchase the last time you went to a used bookstore together. It was a tragic romance novel about a human and demon – and not just any demon, but a high ranking, intelligent demon man. His reason for wanting to hide his selection was clear; he would be mortified if you found out that he was reading a story so similar to his situation with you. It was as close as he could bring himself to reading self-insert fanfic of you.

Although, if he was willing to search the depths of the internet, Satan would have found ship fiction about the two of you, written under pseudonyms by fans. Some demon would see a post on Devilgram including you and Satan or see you two walking around and inevitably decide your relationship was worthy of a 13-chapter, hurt/comfort romance, with 2 chapters of rough and dirty smut that would make even an incubus blush. That fic would get posted somewhere on AD3 (Archive de Devildom Demons) or Devilfiction.net or Hellpad – or if they’re truly sad, on Burnr. But Satan was blissfully unaware, so he curled up in his chair with his shameful indulgence.

Unfortunately for Satan, you had seen him sneak the book into the bottom of the pile before checking out. Curious, you did a bit of investigating using the title on the spine and quickly realized why Satan was so keen on hiding it from you. It was cute, in a way, and you wanted to reward that cuteness.

When Satan first opened the book, he felt a faint trace of magic. Seeing as the book was used, that didn’t seem too odd. Besides, whatever magic tainted this book seemed benign, so he ignored it and kept reading.

Satan gripped the book tightly in his hands. The chapter had ended with the human character finding the demon among ruins – remains of a city he had destroyed on a rampage after the duke residing there had suddenly declared war on humans. Would the human reject his violence or embrace him in his monstrous, destructive glory? Satan could feel the tension building up, and he was so excited that he couldn’t sense the magic in the book getting stronger as he turned to the next page.

As soon as he did, a blue anemone sprouted from the center of the book. Satan was startled, but upon closer examination, other than being a human realm flower, nothing else seemed off with the anemone. He set it aside and continued to read the chapter.

The human took in the devastating wreckage around the demon. Homes, shops, and even infrastructure had been demolished as if by an unholy earthquake. It was a tragedy. They imagined all the lives and happiness destroyed. Satan turned the page. Another anemone popped up.

Satan set it down with the other one and kept reading. Right at the center of the town square was a fountain which was once a glistening display of water that sparkled under the starlight. Now, the duke’s head was floating in the upper tier as water that ran red sprouted up next to him and came spilling onto his face – as if to waterboard what visibly remained of his corpse with his own blood. The demon called out to the human, using their name in a meek, pitiful voice. Their eyes met, and Satan turned the page.

Another fucking anemone? Satan put it next to the others with a low growl and read on. The human approached, and the demon fell to his knees on the verge of tears, searching for any sign of affection. He found it. The human caressed his cheek and dropped down to their knees right before him with no regard for the rubble underfoot that pressed into them uncomfortably. The demon tried to explain, only to be met with warm lips against his. Hoping to see them deepen their bond, Satan flipped to the next page eagerly.

“Motherfucker!” A fourth anemone grew up from the book. It was a small inconvenience, but Satan was annoyed. Things were getting good, but he stopped reading and began to simply flip through the pages. A blue anemone continued to appear each time until Satan had enough for a bouquet of two dozen. Then, they stopped. Instead of a flower, a cat-shaped note appeared. Satan was about to throw it away when he recognized your handwriting.

All his irritation and anger began to melt. The note said, “close your eyes.” Satan obeyed.

His obedience was rewarded with the soft sensation of your lips against his. Only you had the power to change Satan’s mood with such ease. He smiled into the kiss, suddenly delighted with your little prank that had been an annoyance just a minute ago. No one had ever given him flowers before – and certainly not human world flowers. When you pulled away, Satan bit his lip to prevent himself from pouting and whining. You could have kissed me a little longer after all that, he thought. However, he had more pressing words to speak.

“Why blue anemones?” Satan stared at you expectantly.

“It can’t just be because they’re pretty?” you asked.

“It could be – if it was anyone else giving me flowers.” Satan smiled, knowing he was correct. “So, what did I do to deserve these?”

“Okay, smarty-pants, you caught me. One of the meanings of a blue anemone is intelligence. That one should speak for itself.” You paused to take his face in your hands. “They also symbolize mutual trust and loyalty, love and respect, and anticipation. They are a promise of a brighter future; in sadness, they bring a sense of calm and peace, lift spirits, protect, and guide.”

Satan’s heart ached sweetly, and he met your eyes with an abundance of affection that overflowed in gentle tears running down his cheeks. You wiped them with your thumbs and placed a soft, chaste kiss on his lips.

“Are you a blue anemone as well, then?” Satan asked, almost innocently. “Because nothing is a bigger source of peace in my life than you. You are my love, and my loyalty is to you. Only you could lift my spirits like this. Only you could protect and guide me in the ways I’ve always dreamed of. Your very existence is a promise of a brighter future – so long as it involves you. So, I’ll ask again: are you a blue anemone?”

“Hush,” you chuckled and proceeded to leave kisses all over his face until his cheeks were flushed pink and the tears had dried. “You’re cute.”

“You hush too!” Satan pulled you onto his lap and buried himself in the crook of your neck. “Don’t tease me, but don’t leave my side either.”

You played with Satan’s hair and kissed the top of his head. “You can read your tragic human-demon romance book – just remember, I have no intention of letting us be a tragedy.”

“Me either,” Satan whispered against your skin. The tears threatened to spill from his eyes again, but he was too soothed by your touch to cry anymore.

Lucifer | Mammon | Leviathan | Asmodeus | Beelzebub | Belphegor | the others

(If there's no link, that character is coming soon-ish)

[whateveriwant]

Heads or Tails

Summary: Ghost has undergone a lot of changes recently, many of which you find concerning. So you concoct a plan to try to bring the old Ghost back, the first and most crucial step: getting rid of that new mask.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: ~4.0k

Warnings: language, slight physical aggression, some uncool boundary crossing, my attempt to sound Bri'ish

A/N: Hello! So this is a new endeavor for me! I've never written for Ghost or CoD/MW before, but I've recently become obsessed with interested in the characters, and so wanted to give it a go. I was rushing a little to get this out, but I really hope you enjoy! :)

"Bet it's a fetish or somethin'."

Your neck nearly snaps as you swivel to the left, your eyes bugging at the Scot's words.

"Probably humiliation kink… Maybe breath play," Soap ponders aloud, eyes trained across the room pensively.

"Nah, mate. I reckon it's a bad trim, or some bad ink," Gaz adds from your right, making you pivot in your seat. "What'd you think? Tribal or teardrops?" He gestures to his own face, attention also drawn straight ahead.

As the two go back and forth positing ideas, your own eyes are finally steered to the figure in question. This conversation, like seemingly all the ones as of late, is centered around one topic and one topic only.

That damn mask.

While Ghost's signature masks are nothing new to the members of the 141, this one in particular has had you all scratching your heads for weeks. Much like his other balaclavas, this one is dark with a contrasting white skull, only this mask has one minor addition that none of the others have ever included: A big, bouncy puffball right on the top of his head.

When you first saw it, you honestly thought it was a joke; you were on a mission in the tundra, after all. But as you started to laugh, the sharp, deathly glare the Lieutenant gave you had you immediately snapping your mouth shut, averting your eyes out of respect.

Where he got that mask, you hadn't a clue, but you figured it would be just a one time thing anyway. However, that assumption turned out to be entirely wrong as Ghost continued to wear it again and again, no matter the mission conditions. Not only that, but he's also been exclusively wearing it around the base too; that is, whenever you do see him around the base. 

It's been weeks now and you haven't spotted him without that ridiculous mask once. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he wears it 24/7. But that can't actually be the case unless he likes waterboarding himself with every shower, which if he does, then good for him, you guess.

Though you have a lot of questions you'd like to ask the Lieutenant, the one eating at you the most is why. Why the switch up? Why the obsession with this specific mask? Why all these little changes you've noticed about him over the past several weeks?

Because that's the thing. Beyond the pom pom, there's something about Ghost that's been… different. Better, even, in some regards, but there's also been a massive decline in others. 

Out in the field, he's shown significant improvement. His aim has been sharper, his knife skills cleaner, hell, even his walk has been more sure-footed. While Lieutenant Riley has always been the cream of the military crop, for the last several weeks, he's been on another level.

Off the field, however, is a different story entirely. Instead of the man you thought you knew, it's like you hardly recognize Ghost anymore. He's been much more curt, closed off, and dare you say, a downright cunt to you all, and that doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of all the other discrepancies you've noticed with his character. 

Like why has he been avoiding the team much more than he ever used to, or why does he immediately shut down any attempts at getting close with him? He's never been an incredibly open or approachable man per se, but it's like he's gone full blown antisocial recluse now.

The sudden switch in his behavior just didn't make sense to you, so you tried casually bringing it up to Price one day, hoping maybe he had an explanation that would help piece things together. In response, however, your Captain simply shrugged his shoulders, dubbing the mask Ghost's "good luck charm" that must've just gone to his head. 

While you didn't necessarily have a better answer yourself, Price's conclusion wasn't good enough for you to accept as the truth. Maybe a lucky rabbit's foot or good luck coin or whatever could explain away Ghost's overnight tactical improvements, but it didn't answer the why of everything else. 

Why has Ghost changed so much?

As you reflect, the sound of Gaz and Soap's continued discussion slowly brings you back to the present, making you blink out of your stupor.

"...been acting all off. Like he's… paranoid or something," you hear Gaz say regarding Ghost. "Like, the other day for instance, when we got dropped off back at base, I swear, as soon as his boots hit the ground, he was booking it like he was about to get shot." 

Well, that's certainly a relief. Not that Ghost is acting strange, but that at least you're not the only one to notice.

"I thought maybe he was just sensitive to the floodlights – those things were ruddy blinding that night – but when I tried to catch up and ask him, you'd think I was chasing him from how fast he ran," Gaz adds.

Though that's a bit unexpected on Ghost's part, you suppose it's not all that uncharacteristic anymore. He's been increasingly aloof nowadays, and while you're not totally sold on Gaz's paranoia claims, you definitely see the cause for concern.

"Y'know, I think you're on to somethin'," Soap agrees with Gaz's conclusions. "Just the other night, 'round two in the mornin', I caught him rummagin' around the kitchens like he was afraid to get caught."

"Hold on," Gaz interjects, craning his head to face the other Sergeant. "What were you doing in the kitchens at two a.m.?"

"Mind yer business, that's what," Soap huffs, waving his hand dismissively. "But anyway, even then he was still hidin' beneath that bloody mask. I cannae even remember that last time I saw him without it," he says, almost dejectedly.

You can't remember the last time you did either, though you're not as beat up about it as Soap is. The man seems to have a certain fascination with staring at his Lieutenant's bare face that you can't say you totally relate to. 

As Soap continues thinking to himself of when last he saw Ghost without his mask, he suddenly snorts, smiling as he tells you, "Y'know, I once tried to break in his room and steal that thing while he slept, but the lad has some unpickable locks on his door, I tell ya," he chuckles.

"Oi, you mental or something?" Gaz's voice pitches up. "Trying to steal his mask? You'd be lucky if he didn't string you up by your bollocks just for thinking it."

Soap scoffs, peeking over from the corner of his eye. "Oh, come on. Like you've never?"

"I'd like to keep my boys securely attached, thank you." Gaz shifts his weight at the uneasy thought, grimacing slightly.

That has Soap turning fully in his seat, making to confront Gaz head on. "So you're tellin' me you like the new mask? That you don't want to see the fucker gone?"

Gaz shakes his head, mirroring Soap as he similarly turns to face him. "I didn't say that. I'm just as tired of looking at it as you are."

At that, Soap throws his hands up, letting out an exasperated breath. "So let's do somethin' about it!" he exclaims, calling back to his attempted theft.

"Like what?" Gaz huffs. "You want me to ask nicely? 'Ghost, would you please lose the mask? There's only room for one ugly hat around here, and Price has already filled that niche. So sorry.'"

As the two Sergeants continue to bicker over the top of your head, you keep your eyes on Ghost who's still in the room. Thankfully, he appears to be completely oblivious to the animated discussion happening around you. You don't think he'd enjoy hearing how his teammates want to throw his mask in an on-fire garbage bin.

Gradually, your attention starts to drift away from the conversation at hand until you're right back at your earlier conundrum: trying to figure out Ghost's deal. 

Why has he been acting so different as of late? What could have brought on such a drastic change in his behavior? As you think, Soap and Gaz's words lightly filter through your mind, and suddenly, the answer becomes blatantly obvious. 

What's the common denominator in all of this? What seems to be the root cause of all this discourse? It all comes down to one thing and one thing alone.

That fucking puffball mask of his.

Ever since he got that new mask, there's been a never ending stream of changes with Ghost, most of which you'd argue are for the worse. You know it's silly to cast blame on such a normally inconsequential scrap of fabric, but at this moment, there's nothing else that makes sense in your mind.

Maybe the change is because his brain is being squeezed too tight or maybe he's been having a constant bout of heat stroke these last few weeks. Whatever the reason, you can see how wearing that mask has negatively affected him, and you're eager to see that rectified.

"I've got it!" you pipe up for the first time, interrupting the Sergeants who are still verbally going at it. You look between them both before once more bringing your gaze back to Ghost. "I know what to do," you say confidently.

Though the old Ghost you knew has been M.I.A. recently, you don't think he's truly gone, not permanently anyway. He's just been squirreled away for the time being, trapped in a cage of woven black thread. You just hope that, with a little luck and a lot of planning, soon…

You'll be able to set him free again.

~~~~~

You peek impatiently around the corner, seeing Gaz standing at the end of the hall. When he notices you, he shakes his head, turning back to keep watch like directed. 

Annoyed, you check your phone again. Soap said they were on their way five minutes ago. You know it's a maze of passageways between here and there, but still, they should've shown up by now. 

At its core, your plan is simple, but so many pieces have to come together for you to pull it off successfully. One screw up and it all comes toppling down, and you doubt you'll ever get a chance at a redo.

Another 30 seconds pass before you're checking on Gaz again, the man keeping a silent sentinel against the wall. The trap's been set, all you have to do is sit back and wait. But you're not sure how much longer you can handle until you go mad.

Just as you're about to text Soap for confirmation again, Gaz perks up, turning and nodding over at you. Before he can be spotted by anyone else, he slips into the room at his back, quickly closing the door shut.

Finally! It's time. Operation Unmask is a go.

You stoop to pick up one of the items at your feet, counting down from 20 as you hear a pair of heavy boots slowly approach your position. When you finally reach zero, you suck in your breath. It's now or never, baby.

Right before the figure can descend on your hiding spot, you pop out around the corner, colliding directly with the man you'd expected to find. Ghost grunts in surprise at the blunt contact, that damn pom pom on his head bouncing as he stumbles slightly.

"Oh, sorry!" you call out innocently. "Didn't see you there." It's not exactly a lie. You struggle to peer around the tower of boxes in your arms, stacked high enough that you can hardly see a thing ahead.

Ghost grunts again as he takes in the scene you've laid out, thankfully seeming to accept it at face value. "Careful," is all he says, moving to continue in the direction he was headed.

"Oh, uh, actually—?" you stop him before he can escape. "Sorry, but… Do you think you could…?" You shift the boxes deliberately in your hold, hinting at the favor you mean to ask. "If you don't mind. They're really heavy."

This plan all hinges on whether or not Ghost will take the bait. Though he's been less than charitable recently, in the past, he used to be quite helpful to you in particular. That's why you're the one who had to ask for his help. You knew that anyone else, he'd decline immediately.

But you can tell Ghost is hesitant to agree to assist you now, not only because of his recent change in character, but because he was currently preoccupied.

"Price is waitin' for m—" he starts to give the excuse Soap had fabricated to lure him out of his room.

"Please," you cut him short, pretending your situation is dire. "It'll be quick. I just need to get these to my office." That's where you pulled them from initially, filling them with whatever junk you could find to weigh them down. Soap and Gaz weren't thrilled to have to lug them all the way over here, but you had to make them heavy to be convincing, you'd told them.

As if on cue, out of the corner of your eye, you see Soap finally make his appearance at the end of the hall. He turns the corner Ghost had come from earlier, having successfully tailed the Lieutenant all the way from his room undetected. Gaz's timing is also stellar as not a second later, he carefully opens and exits the door Soap passes by.

Luckily, Ghost doesn't seem to notice the two Sergeants quietly lurking behind him – a blessing since, sometimes, you swear he has a pair of eyes in the back of his head. 

He considers you for a moment, staring at the stack in your hands, glancing at the others still by your feet. Though you can sense he's warring with himself, another light 'please' from your lips has him caving with a sigh.

As Ghost bends to grab one of the box towers, that's when Soap really makes his move. The Scot creeps forward until he's within arm's length of Ghost, hand outstretching as he reaches towards the Lieutenant's head. Just before he can close his fingers around the mask – intending to snatch and run, the fastest of you three – Ghost does something that surprises you all.

Without even looking, Ghost suddenly jerks away from Soap's grasp, ducking at an almost unnatural speed and angle. At first, it's like he doesn't even realize what's happened himself, but then he turns and sees Soap standing there, hand caught right in the cookie jar.

"What the fuck d'you think you're doing, MacTavish?" Ghost asks roughly.

Soap blinks dumbly, shocked by Ghost’s quick reaction. "S-Sir," he stutters, his brain trying to catch up with his mouth. "Just… thought… I… saw a piece of lint," he makes up the fib on the spot, then boldly reaches towards the mask again.

Once more, Ghost evades his reach, leaning far back like he's in The Matrix. He growls and slaps Soap's arm down. "You wanna keep that hand, Sergeant?" he rumbles.

In response, all Soap can do is nod his head, baffled into a state of silence. 

"Then fuck off," Ghost warns him not to try again. He then nods towards the pile at your feet. "Or better yet, make yourself useful and pick up a box." 

Still in a trance, Soap immediately complies with the Lieutenant's order. The two grab a respective stack, Ghost directing Soap to walk ahead as he no longer trusts him where he can't see him.

Fuck! This is not at all what you envisioned. This train is rapidly going off the tracks, heading straight over a cliff.

But thankfully, you have a potential backup in place, and Gaz quickly makes his way over as he sees things running amok.

"Ghost?" he captures the attention of the growingly irritated man, who stops and turns at the sound of his voice. "Uh… your shoe's untied," Gaz mumbles once he's under the intimidating gaze of Ghost, and your eyes fall shut at the lame excuse.

Christ, this is all going to shit. There's no way you're going to pull this off.

Somehow, though, Ghost chooses to check Gaz's statement, and he cranes his head down to inspect his boots. "No," is all he says, seeing his laces clearly intact. But before he can stand back up, head still down turned, Gaz takes his opportunity before it can slip away.

Gaz tries to grab for the bloated puffball wobbling in his face, but just like before, Ghost seems to have a sixth sense for it. Again, he bends out of the way, spectacularly agile, and shoots a glare at the Sergeant's gall.

"You out of your fuckin' mind? What's gotten into you lot?" Ghost accuses the three of you, turning to look at you all, becoming increasingly suspicious of what you're doing.

Shit fuck ass balls. You need to act fast. He's starting to catch on. 

Panicked, you do the first thing that pops into your head, dropping the boxes to the floor with a thunderous thump. Ghost's head snaps in your direction, eyes wide in confusion, and they only widen more as you purposefully knock the boxes out of his hands too.

"Whoops!" you exclaim and swiftly crouch down, starting to pick up all the bits and bobs that spilled out.

Gaz realizes your intent and quickly follows suit, stooping down to help you clean up the mess. It's a few seconds before Soap catches on as well, and then all three of you are on your hands and knees, crawling around like a pack of vermin.

"The fuck's the matter with you bunch?" Ghost exhales, unable to make sense of the unfolding chaos. Nevertheless, though, he begrudgingly lowers himself down, electing to assist despite his growing skepticism.

As you go about cleaning up the mess you made, you try to covertly catch the eyes of your accomplices. Without words, you ask them which one is going to make a move, who'll grab for the mask next, but both seem a little reluctant at trying their hand again.

Ugh, whatever. You'll just do it yourself then. Really, how hard can it be?

Slyly, you creep around until you have a good vantage on Ghost, his back partially turned to you. You edge closer and closer until you're nearly bumping into him, pretending to still pick up the items scattered around. Then slowly, so incredibly slowly, you raise your hand up, reaching towards the back of Ghost's mask. Just as your fingers graze the fabric, pulling it up a mere centimeter, Ghost jolts, springing to his feet with a start.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he yells.

"What's wrong with you?!" you fire back, your frustrations boiling over. You pop up to mimic his stance, throwing all stealth to the wayside as you figure the jig is up anyway. "We're just trying to help you."

"Help me?" he sneers. "Like hell. You're out to fuckin' get me."

There he goes again with the paranoia Gaz proposed. Though maybe, in this instance, he's not entirely wrong.

"You think we haven't noticed the differences with you? How much you've changed recently?" you continue. "We can see what that thing's doing to you. You'd be better off without it."

Ghost shakes his head in wild perplexity. "The hell are you on about?"

"The mask, L.T.," Soap rises to his feet. "Take it off," he implores.

"Who the fuck d'you think you are giving me orders, Sergeant?"

"It's just a mask, sir, and we've all seen you without one before," Gaz joins the showdown. "What have you got to lose?"

Ghost looks between each of you angrily, pointing an accusatory finger at you all in turn. "You're all way out of line! Get the hell back," he urges as you three start to close in.

"Why d'ya always hide from us now? I thought we were friends, L.T." Soap reaches forward, his hand immediately swatted away.

"Ghost, really, the thing's a bloody eyesore. Just get rid of it." Gaz tries his luck, only to be met with the same result.

Again and again, you all try dislodging the mask, descending on Ghost like a pack of rabid animals. With each swipe and stretch, he expertly dodges your attacks, bending and batting you away like pests.

"Quit fuckin'—!"

"Just let me—!"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud!"

The scene is total, unbridled chaos – voices raised, arms entangled, rubbish littered all over the ground. You three push forward on Ghost until he's backed into the wall, trapped with no way out. He fights and fights, the pom pom jostling around perilously, until finally, bitterly, he's overcome.

Soap gets his fingers hooked under an edge of the mask, and he yanks, pulling it all the way off. For the first time in weeks, Ghost's face is revealed to you all, and you'd be ecstatic if not for one detail that has you freezing.

Is that a…?

No, it can't be. You must be imagining things.

Actually, that looks kind of real. Holy shit, that's definitely real!

Oh my God! Is that a—?

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT?!"

You, Gaz, and Soap all jump back in horror at the sight before you: a plump, little, white rat nestled atop Ghost's head. The rodent seems just as shocked to see you as you are it, and it lets out a small squeak as you lock with its beady eyes, tiny fingers clinging to Ghost's hair.

"Aaaahhh!" Soap unleashes a girlish shriek, dropping the mask as he rears back.

"What the fuck, Ghost? No really, what the fuck?!" Gaz asks dumbfounded, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

Before anyone has a chance to fully process what they're seeing, the rat tugs on Ghost's hair, moving him to scoop up his mask from the floor. He's guided to shove the fabric back on his head, perhaps a little more roughly than intended, because you hear a pathetic squeak ring out as he does.

He points his index finger at you in a threatening manner, the holes over his eyes slightly askew. "Not a word," he grumbles, spinning on his heel. "Not one fuckin' word!" 

And just like that, he takes off down the hall, a fat, pink tail sticking out from under the back of his mask. It takes a moment before you even realize your mouth is still wide open, and you close your jaw with an audible thud. 

Vaguely, you hear Soap muttering behind you, near tears as he cowers against the wall. "Steamin' Jesus, I think I touched it! Did— Did it bite me? Am I bleedin'? I think I'm bleedin'!" he blubbers hysterically.

"Nah, you're alright, mate! You're alright!" Gaz tries to comfort him, unsuccessful as he’s also rattled.

As the two huddle together in the corner, you're left staring after Ghost's rapidly fleeing figure, trying to pick up the pieces of your newly fractured reality. 

That… was… 

Honestly, you're not sure what the hell that was.

A rat? That rides on Ghost's head? Controlling his every move and muscle? You guess that explains a few things about his behavior recently, but mostly, it just leaves you with more questions than answers.

Where the hell did he get that thing? How the fuck does it work? Why did he even think to test it out in the first place?

Actually, on second thought, no, you don't want to know. You've seen enough for one day, or really, one lifetime. 

At the start of this, you thought you had such a great plan to unveil – one that would simply reveal the "true" Ghost again. You didn't realize that in the process of trying to set him free, you would release a whole other beast, literally. And while at your core you still believe your intentions to help were good, you realize now that, perhaps…

Some things are better off hidden.

__________

A/N: Squeak squeaker squeaky squeak! [Translation: Happy April Fools!]

It figures that my first venture in this fandom is a crack fic. I expected nothing less lmao. But anyway, I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

[andie-chr]

“Good for you.” (EDITED!)

A short little excerpt I wrote for The Winter Soldier, or a moment I think could’ve happened in the movie he was first introduced.

— warnings: manipulation, brainwashing, panic attacks. if any of this makes you uncomfortable, please don’t click on this!

The chair was cold. It always was. It bit into his back like steel fangs, locking him into place as the harsh, sterile light illuminated his face. His breaths were shallow, uneven. The edges of his vision blurred with pain, but the memory was there—faint, fleeting, like smoke slipping through his fingers.

A face. Blonde hair. A shield. Steve.

Bucky—no, The Winter Soldier, he corrected himself—stared at the floor as Dreykov’s polished shoes clicked against the concrete. The sound was sharp, purposeful. It filled the suffocating silence between his labored breaths. His hands were right behind his back, face devoid of warmth completely.

“Good. You’re awake,” Dreykov said, his tone crisp and clinical. “Do you remember you place?” Not even a moment after, he’s already telling the scientists to prep him. Wipe. To get him ready for the pain, the electricity, the loss of a conscious.

That was the cruelty of those above you. Do you remember your place? For a second, the soldier didn’t respond. He knew the answer they wanted: I am the Winter Soldier. I am also called The Asset. I have no place outside of a mission.

He blinked against the haze in his mind, searching for something, anything, to anchor himself. That name, it sounded like nickname. The tone. But, it could be an actual name. The Winter Soldier would take it gladly, opposed to the title he has been given. But, he hasn’t known anything else. Taking that name, not knowing what it’s associated with — it’s scary. And it had to show on his face because the soldier felt the atmosphere shift and saw the cruel eyes of everyone around him sharpen like hawks.

“Did you hear me?” Dreykov asks again, taking a step closer. His voice harsher. “You are The Winter Soldier. Your place is nothing else but that. Do you understand?”

The Asset lifted his head, his jaw tight. His voice was hoarse from misuse, but that was the least of his problems and it came out low and raspy. “What if I don’t want that place?” He asked, genuinely. Like a kid asking a parent why they have to clean. “What if…I’m just me?”

Dreykov’s eyes glinted with amusement but his expression remained stern and cold as ice. He tilted his head slightly. “Just you? A man doesn’t have more than 50 kills on his head. But,” The Russian general began, “A soldier knows their mission, and they complete it. A soldier can kill in a war. If someone’s in your way, you crush them. Leave them to die. That is your place, your duty.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes darkened. His voice dropped, laced with a bitter edge. “Well, I guess if I hesitate more, I won’t be of use. What’s stopping you from crushing me too? Go ahead.” He leaned forward as much as the restraints would allow, his gaze piercing through Dreykov like a blade. “I really wouldn’t mind.”

For a moment, there was complete silence and The Asset registered what he just did. The expression on Dreykov’s face didn’t falter, but the hands behind his back tightened ever so slightly. His gaze turned to steel, and for a moment, a small part of The Winter’s Soldier was worried Dreykov might hit him. He could take it. It probably wouldn’t hurt that much. He’s been shocked, stabbed, shot, waterboarded, and learned quickly people can do far worst things than hurt you physically. It didn’t stop that irrational fear though.

But then he let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Fine.” Dreykov said, signaling to scientists to with a wave of his hand. “Release him.”

The Asset blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. The scientist hesitated but obeyed nonetheless. The restraints hissed as they unlocked, the weight lifting from The Winter Soldier’s wrists and arms. He didn’t move immediately, warily looking at the restraints come unloose like a caveman who discovered fire. With equal fascination and fear.

“I’ll shut my mouth. I’ll stop protecting you and I’ll let you go,” Dreykov continued, his voice filled with mock benevolence. “Is that good enough for you? Would that be good for you?”

Before the soldier could respond, Dreykov’s hand shot out, gripping The Asset’s chin with cruel precision, forcing him to meet his gaze. The Winter Soldier’s fists clenched, the knuckles of his human arm whitening, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

"I’ll personally deliver you to your precious Captain America." Dreykov glare was dark and cutting as he sneered. "Do you honestly believe he cares for you? The courts, the government—they would tear you to shreds.“

The Asset barely flinched, but the Russian general could see that flicker of fear in his eyes at that possibility. His jaw clenching, and both firsts that trembled so subtly.

He released The Winter Soldier’s chin with a shove, his movements growing more aggressive as he took a step back and spread his arms in mock generosity. "Would that please you, soldier? Because anything The Winter Soldier wants." He offered a mock bow, his tone dripping with disdain and sarcasm.

The soldier’s head began to spin, each word sinking deeper and deeper. They were letting him leave. Dreykov was nowhere near the door, he could just walk out. Without his restraints, he could tear this entire building apart if he wanted. Burn it all to hell, never look back.

But what if — what if they were right? If he left, what then? Who does he have to turn to? Was he just a weapon — an extension of Hydra, incapable of surviving without them? It wasn’t an order he was given, it was a choice. An open door, unarmed guards and a promise of freedom. And that scared The Asset more than anything.

The scientists and the guards voices joined, adding their own comments, agreeing with each other.

“He wouldn’t last a day out there. Does he even know how to function without orders?”

“Who would take you in? The Avengers? They’d see you as a monster, nothing more.”

“No one will love you like we have. No one will put up with your mistakes like we have. You’re a lot of work, you know.”

“You’re clumsy and impulsive. You can’t even get through a mission without guidance. Out there, on your own? You’d never survive.”

“We gave you purposely and stability? Who else would do that? Who else even wants to?”

They’re right. As much as he hated to say, they were right. Who else could care about him? Who else would? He was too much work, he couldn’t even do the simplest task of killing two Avengers. What was he, if not The Winter Soldier? The Asset? At least his work is appreciated here, at least he gets a “well done, soldier.” when someone’s blood is on his hands? Shouldn’t that be enough? Everything grew louder, like an unrelenting storm.

“You’re nothing without us.”

“He’s weak and dependent.”

“You’ll never be anything more than a soldier.”

“All you know is how to destroy.”

“I give him three days. Tops.”

Dreykov leaned over into his space, hands resting on the armrests of the chair. His eyes bore into him behind those glasses, as he said “You don’t have a place in the world. Even if you ever did, you’d never be able to go back.”

The weight of their voices pressed down on him, each word cutting deeper, each accusation twisting like a knife. The Asset’s breaths quickened, his chest heaving as the walls seemed to close in around him. Tears brimmed in his eyes, his throat seemed to close up as everything seemed louder and louder.

No one could care. No one would care.

The faces of his targets flashed before his eyes—so many lives, so much blood on his hands. And then, one face. Blue eyes, soft and full of something he couldn’t name. Bucky. That’s what the man had called him. Was that who he used to be? Was that even real? What if there was nothing for him out there? What if this was all he was?

He shook his head violently, trying to drown out the noise, the memories, the doubts. “STOP!” he screamed, his voice raw, breaking. His head dropped, his shoulders shaking. "Just — just wipe me already.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the echo of his plea hanging in the air. Dreykov’s smile returned, faint and triumphant. He signaled to the scientists, who hurried to restrain Bucky again.

As the chair’s restraints locked into place once more — two on his human arm, one of the bionic one, the familiar hiss of machinery filled the room. The Winter Soldier slumped, his energy drained, his spirit crushed. He opened his mouth to receive the mouth guard, the familiar taste of rubber and plastic sickeningly seemed comforting.

Maybe this time, he thought, they’d erase everything. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t remember. Maybe this time, he’d finally be the Winter Soldier they wanted.

“You’ll understand this very soon.” Dreykov said, and the pain started, the screams were ripped out of his throat before he could stop them but it felt familiar. It had to be better, compared to whatever could happen out there. It’s too late to go back, he knows that. So why even bother?

And mercifully, when it felt like he wasn’t being eaten by electricity anymore — it all went to black.

—

I was listening to “Good For You” in the Dear Evan Hansan musical while I wrote this. I may be too sad, but hey, I love any opportunity to write manipulation and project on a character. Anyways, if you want more of this content, just lemme know!

— andy.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

decisions

prompt: forced choice

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi this one got a bit longer than intended but such is. it's pre-ship and features a bit of whump for napoleon as well. hope you like!

Napoleon wakes up and before he so much as opens his eyes he ascertains that he’s tied up, quite severely, to a chair which is bolted to the floor. His bindings are rope, scratchy and thick. At least his shoes are still on and there is no water surrounding his feet. Small victories. 

He opens his eyes and discovers that he’s not alone. 

Illya’s sitting across from him, similarly tied up. He’s sweaty from effort, but his bonds appear unaffected, and it is at this point that Napoleon realizes that they’re not going to be getting out of this easily. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, and Illya nods. 

“You?”

He nods as well. Wonders what fate holds for them, knows it can hardly be pleasant. 

The man who enters the room just then is not someone Napoleon knows. Nor Illya, from the looks of it. He smiles, quite friendly, and Napoleon is put deeply on edge. 

The man stands directly in front of him. “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Solo,” he says smoothly, which is another bad sign. 

“Now. Let’s get straight into it. Left or right?”

“What?” This is decidedly not the sort of question he’d been expecting, and he can’t make heads or tails of it. The man’s hands are loose, so he’s hardly hiding any kind of nasty surprise, and there’s nothing in the room that makes this question make sense. 

“You heard me. Left or right?”

“In regards to what, exactly?”

The man grins again. “Just choose.”

Napoleon shrugs as much as the bindings will allow. “Left, I suppose.”

The man whistles sharply, and a door at the back of the room opens. Another man enters, looking considerably more physically imposing. So he’s got minions, Napoleon thinks. Great. 

“He wants the left,” reports the man in charge. His goon nods, slipping a length of metal pipe from out of his sleeve. Shit, Napoleon thinks, and braces himself for a hit. 

Except it never comes. The minion, as Napoleon has already begun calling him, approaches Illya, and so suddenly that Napoleon cannot so much as cry out, he swings the pipe directly into Illya’s left ankle. 

There’s an audible crunching sound, and Illya lets out a sharp breath. Napoleon just stares at him, shocked. 

“What the hell?”

“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” says the man in charge. His voice is flippant and yet belies an enormous amount of power. 

Napoleon shuts up. 

“Now then. Let’s let the real fun begin, shall we, Mr. Solo?”

“What do you want?”

Another unnervingly placid smile. “Only to hurt you.”

“Funny way of doing that, hitting him instead of me.”

The smile widens. “Oh, trust me. You’ll hurt plenty.”

Napoleon elects to ignore him, for the time being. He focuses instead on Illya, who is breathing heavily in the way he does when he’s trying to control a rather immense amount of pain. I’m sorry, Napoleon thinks, as if Illya will hear. I didn’t know that would happen. 

“My next question, Mr. Solo, is this: waterboarding, or whipping?”

Napoleon blinks. Doesn’t answer. What the hell?

“I won’t repeat myself next time, and he’ll just end up getting both. Choose, for his sake.”

“You’re not—why not me?”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out. Now choose.”

Napoleon locks eyes with Illya, who looks back, unflinching. He blinks once, very deliberately, and Napoleon speaks before he can question it. 

“Waterboarding.”

He knows Illya’s trained for this. They both have, in their time. This does absolutely nothing now. Napoleon’s heart beats wildly in his chest and there’s a sense of rage threatening to consume him as the minion approaches Illya with a towel and a bucket. 

Watching his partner be waterboarded is one of the most painful things that Napoleon has ever experienced. The way he fights, absolutely futilely, as the towel is placed over his face, as the water is poured over. The way his body thrashes against the restraints. The way he coughs and gasps when the towel is pulled away, only to be replaced mere seconds later. 

Waterboarding is supposed to make the victim want to speak, to share every secret they’ve got, but at the moment Illya isn’t so much as making a peep, while Napoleon feels like he’d spill everything he knows if they’d only stop. 

“Stop!” he shouts, though he knows that they won’t listen.

“Shut up. Every time you speak without me telling you to, I’ll hurt him just that little bit more.”

To prove his point, the towel is replaced once more. Illya gasps for breath and it turns into a horrible coughing and spluttering as the water—the last of it, it looks like—is once again poured over his face. 

When the towel is removed this time, it’s placed neatly onto a table, and the bucket is set onto the floor. Napoleon observes these things out of the corner of his eye, the bulk of his attention focused on Illya's coughing, shivering body across from him. 

When the coughing at last subsides, the man approaches Napoleon again. He is so angry he can barely hear the words spoken to him over the pounding of blood in his head. 

“Hammer or pliers?”

“Leave him. The fuck. Alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’d like to see you suffer a bit more, first.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Bigger men than you have tried. Choose, or shall I remind you of the rules again?”

Brief eye contact with Illya, another single blink. Napoleon hopes to god he’s reading this right, that Illya isn’t simply doing this coincidentally, that he’s at least allowing his partner the freedom to choose. 

Choose. Right. He feels sick. Wishes, above all else, that it was him in Illya’s position, making decisions about his own fate. 

“Hammer,” he says, and his voice sounds alien to his ears. 

“I do hate to repeat a question, but needs must. Left or right?”

Another single blink. 

“Left.”

He doesn’t want to watch. But he has to. 

The hammer comes crashing down onto Illya’s left hand and there’s a sickening cracking noise and Illya makes this completely involuntary sound of pain and shock and Napoleon feels like his entire being is getting ripped in two. 

“Stomach or chest?”

The single blink again. Napoleon cannot wrench his attention away from the tear that travels its way down Illya’s cheek. 

That metal pipe makes a reappearance, slams into Illya’s stomach. There’s a loud exhale as the air is forced out of Illya’s lungs, and he gags harshly. 

God, Napoleon is going to be sick. He’s sitting here watching and making decisions and Illya is getting tortured and he can’t do fucking anything about it. 

He can feel blood trickling down his wrists from where he’s been straining against the ropes with every action taken against his partner. He focuses his attention on this infinitesimally small pain, hates himself for losing focus on Illya for even a second, but—

He wants nothing more than to break free of these restraints and kill this guy. Brutally, if necessary. 

“Fingers or toes?”

He forces his attention back to Illya. Two blinks. 

“Toes.”

The minion places his entire weight onto Illya’s left foot, the same one he’d previously smashed with the pipe, and Illya groans. Napoleon struggles harder against the ropes, without making it obvious what he’s doing. 

When the minion at last steps off of Illya’s foot, his partner is crying. It’s involuntary, a pain response, and Napoleon knows this, and god, he understands. What the man had meant earlier, when he’d asked, why not me?

This is more painful than anything else they could do to him, by far. 

“What you want?” Illya asks. It’s the first time he’s spoken and his voice is wrecked, all small and shaky and wrong. 

The minion steps back and to the left, faces Illya, and the man in charge gets up into his space. They’re not looking, and Napoleon fights frantically against the ropes in this window of opportunity. 

“Don’t speak.” There’s the sound of a slap, but Napoleon isn’t paying attention. He’s got the ropes off his wrists, and he’s untying the ones around his ankles as quickly as he can. 

“Or else what?” Illya asks, and Napoleon knows he’s seen him, knows he’s doing what he needs to do so that they can get out of this. 

There’s a dull thud and a wince. 

“I suggest you don’t try to find out.”

He’s done it. The ropes are gone. He just has to get up, while their backs are still turned—

They’re turning back around. Fuck!

There’s no time to do anything, but then Illya says, “fuck you,” which takes Napoleon completely by surprise—he can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard Illya curse in English—and it takes the other men by surprise, too, because they both turn back around just before their eyes would’ve landed on Napoleon. 

The hammer is picked back up and just as it’s being brought down onto Illya’s already destroyed hand, Napoleon flings himself out of the chair. 

He tackles the minion first, not quite stopping the hammer but at least preventing it from doing maximum damage. He wrests the implement from its wielder’s grasp, smashes it into the man’s head. He goes limp immediately.

One down. 

The other man, the mastermind of this horrific torture scheme, is standing above him with the metal pipe in his hands. He swings it down, and Napoleon just barely rolls out of the way. The pipe hits the body of the minion instead, adding insult to injury. 

Napoleon leaps to his feet. The fight is harder than he would’ve expected, given the relatively small size of his opponent and his apparent unwillingness to do any of the truly nasty work. 

Still, he gets there in the end. He sacrifices himself to a couple strong hits from the pipe, but then the hammer connects with the man’s skull and this wave of pure anger and adrenaline overtakes him. 

He loses himself for a second. And then Illya’s saying, “it’s enough, Cowboy, stop,” and he opens his eyes and finds himself straddling a body which is only vaguely recognizable as Illya’s torturer. 

He drops the hammer to the ground with a deafening clatter and then gets to his feet. His hands are covered in blood and he can taste it in his mouth. 

He’s gone, is the first thing Napoleon thinks, untying Illya with trembling hands. He can’t hurt him anymore. Illya’s safe. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, as he unties the ropes around Illya’s ankles. “God, Illya, I’m so sorry.”

“You did not hurt me,” Illya responds, wincing as Napoleon inadvertently brushes a hand against his injured ankle. “No reason to apologize.”

“He hurt you because of me.”

“No, he did this because of him. Come, we should leave.”

Napoleon wants to argue. Wants to apologize for the rest of his life, wants Illya to yell at him and tell him to go to hell, wants—

He wants to hold onto Illya forever and protect him, even though he knows Illya’s more than capable of protecting himself. He wants to be around Illya always, to threaten those that would come near him, try and harm him like they had today. 

He doesn’t know what he wants, in short, and his heart is still pounding and he feels dizzy with relief and guilt and about a million other things he can only guess at. 

Their getaway is slow-going. Illya can barely walk on his destroyed ankle, although he does his best. They limp out of the building, Napoleon with the hammer in hand lest anyone else should come crawling out of the woodwork.

But they meet no one. The path to their car is mercifully short, and Napoleon drives them back to their safehouse with his hands clenched firmly around the wheel so that they’ll stop shaking. 

“It’s okay,” Illya says, quiet and sudden, when they’re about a mile away from their destination. “I know…I know you will blame yourself about this. But you did not do anything. It is not your fault.”

Napoleon suddenly finds himself blinking back tears. Get it together, he tells himself. It’s not you who was just tortured. At least not physically. 

“I just sat there,” he all but whispers, after a beat. “They were torturing you, and I just sat there and gave them directions.”

“They made this decision. And you told them to do what I chose.”

“He said—he said he was hurting you to hurt me.”

“And?”

“That makes it my fault, Illya,” Napoleon says, and he can’t quite stop his voice from breaking.

“It is his fault,” Illya says, and there’s the familiar sureness in his voice that has heretofore been missing. “He wanted to hurt us. You did not make this decision.”

“But—”

“No. Not your fault. I do not blame you, you cannot blame you.”

Napoleon does not know how to argue against this. Even though the guilt feels like it is going to eat him alive. 

They arrive back at the safehouse, and he helps Illya through the door. There’s about a million things that they need to do. Tend to Illya’s injuries. Contact Waverly. Pack and prepare for an evac. 

Illya collapses immediately onto the couch. He’s damp with water and sweat and blood, his hand is swelling something awful, and his ankle must be faring similarly. He looks absolutely exhausted and pained, and Napoleon is about to start bustling around, gathering ice and bandages and alcohol and cotton balls, but then Illya lightly taps the space beside him. 

“Sit with me?” he asks, and Napoleon thinks he’d do absolutely anything Illya asked of him right now. 

He sits, looks at his partner. Illya is looking back at him, terribly vulnerable beneath the tiredness and hurt, and Napoleon feels himself begin to properly cry. 

He shouldn’t be crying. He’s not even hurt, besides the scrapes around his wrists and the bruises from the pipe. But there’s nothing for it and no way of stopping now that he’s started. 

“Napoleon,” Illya begins, but Napoleon cuts him off. 

“Just—I don’t want to hurt you any more, but can I—can I touch you?”

It sounds pathetic and stupid but he just wants a physical reassurance that Illya’s here, still alive despite the torture and not even upset with him, after everything. That protective feeling is back, hot in his chest. 

“Okay.”

He carefully pulls Illya towards him, gentle as he can be, attentive to any indication of discomfort. 

He doesn’t get any. Quite the opposite, actually. Illya leans into him, warm and still trembling a bit, and Napoleon wraps an arm around him and just holds on. 

thanks for reading! hope you liked <3

[raileurta]

Miguel acting like gen z part 4

*a tentacle monster is destroying a city*

Miguel: Hear me out.

Peter softly: No. Just no.

Hobie: Wait let the man explain himself.

Miles & Peter: NO!

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

Gwen: So this guy, I'm not pulling your leg, turns himself into a dragon made out of trash.

Miguel: Low-key gender envy.

Gwen: 😐

Miguel: .......

Gwen: .......

Gwen: Idk why I even expected anything different.

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

Miguel: Peter do you have a pet car?

Peter: Yes?????

Miguel: What are you supposed to do when it's 4:00am and they are vooming across your house breaking stuff?

Peter: The fuck kind of car do you have?!

*It took them 20 minutes of arguing to figure out the miscommunication*

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

*on a stakeout outside a Panera*

Miguel: Yo do you think if I slip the cashier a $20 they'll waterboard me with their murder lemonade?

Peter: Do I want to even know the context behind that?

Miguel: Nope.

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

[ask-miasma-ghoul]

Spitfire had been avoiding Miasma. The hushed gossip surrounding Miasma got to him eventually. Spitfire had locked himself in his room and tried to kill anyone who'd attempted to open the door. Spitfire wasn't particularly liked by many Siblings of Sin in the first place but it's to note that everyone else somewhat liked the multi ghoul. Sure he was a bit weird and disturbing at some points but thats what they all are.

Miasma hadn't thought about what he called the Lake Incident. Spitfire had lived sure and the brain eating amoeba's didn't kill him, but it did piss off Spitfire. Usually Spitfire's anger wasn't directed towards anyone, so that was new. But the questions that he asked did make Miasma wonder if Spitfire was telling the truth. If he didn't know that they antipsychotic's weren't going to help but rather hurt. He waited until the darkest hour and snuck into Spitfire's room, the problem? Spitfire was wide fucking awake.

Four more days. Four more days did Miasma have to hold out. Sure, Primo would still be holding on to his leash, but it was significantly less eyes, especially when it was someone that Miasma was in little interest of, and vice versa.

And Miasma was beginning to fail.

After what he had done, maybe the day after, he sat in his room and wrote. Always a man with a plan, Miasma wrote tens of lists, schedules, routines, ideas... His heart pounding with anxiety all the while. It seemed Copia hadn't found out about his returning episode... If he did, he'd be dead right now. He had Spitfire to thank for that...

But it was strange. He did not necessarily try to murder Spitfire; he wanted to play with him. He wanted to stay and watch the ghoul thrash, but he did not want to get caught. So he left it to his imagination upon returning to his window, staring at the wall for hours. Imagining the waterboarding sensation that Spitfire had felt, the panic of not being able to move all that well, the knowledge of the parasites. He knew Spitfire somehow survived, which also peeked his interest. Perhaps the amoebas were not as deadly to ghouls as he thought they would be. But, still, Spitfire didn't talk. There was not much Miasma couldn't get away with. He both hated and loved that feeling.

He set his notebook down, standing from his bed and pulling a sweater over himself. He stepped out of his room, but not before grabbing his bladed crucifix, making his way towards Spitfire's room. He did not really know why he was doing this. Curiosity, probably.

He slowly pushed open the door, expecting the ghoul to be sound asleep at this time of night, freezing as he spotted eyes staring back at him.

"I do not want to talk to you. Lay down and shut up or I will make sure you drown this time." Miasma hissed after a moment of silence, entering the room and flicking on the light as if nothing had happened prior. He began rummaging. Searching for something.

[disventure-rewrite-takes]

okay, I just finished watching the finale, so here are all my thoughts plus little rewrites. also Trevor is officially transfem in my brain so she's Tatyana now, idk I don't make the rules.

Tomjake: I dunno I still don't like the ship nearly as much as I did when i first watched dvsc, I think it's got far too much screen time and precedence over the series. but it does make sense for their spinoff, and honestly, their closing arc wasn't terrible. as always, found it overly rushed, but with the emotions I guess it could make sense...idk if anything I'd just slowburn that shit. make it worth watching!!

Tom (Himself): I'm sorry but when the hell did he get WATERBOARDED? this show I swear to god...that isn't slapstick comedy ONC 😭💀 that's some serious shit why hasn't it come up at ALL?! like come on!! I would give Tom some discomfort around water, and at least a small discussion about it, ffs

Ally: idk if this is a rewrite but "you can have your yaoi moment later" is on par with "thank you I'm going there" and I love it. she needs more one liners

Gabellie: RAAAAHHH let's go lesbians!! sad Gabby got bit by the tiger but the screen time they get is everything to me, they needed more of this and I would so add that if I could

Tatyana and Emily: as always I love her, she's so silly to me and very dear to my heart. I love that she's still kind to Emily but also calls her out on her shit. kinda building on what I've talked about with Emily but I'd love to have Tatyana be her voice of reason when she's living in this revenge and rage filled part of her mind. in a rewrite I think I would definitely have Tatyana talk Emily down before the scorpions so she isn't hurt, and Tatyana quits, Emily doesn't go to prison, Emilyana is endgame and I'm happy <3

Riya: not pleased she won, I doubt most people are. but unfortunately it's probably the most satisfying end to her arc. I like that even Krystal isn't happy with her winning, and Connor finally is done with her. the only thing I'd change is that Eesha doesn't call her, so she really has no one except her fame.

Alec and Fiore: AAAAA I love them so much, Fiore caring about him, Alec finally adopting her, the bus scene and him carrying her, this is literally my lifeblood and my soul rn. I wouldn't change a damn thing, it's amazing <333

Krystal/Other Staff: I love the way her arc ends with deciding to change the way she's gonna do things, quitting DSVC and letting in new hosts. another very satisfying end for me honestly. if I had anything to nitpick, for the scene on the plane, I'd put her in the dress she's wearing in the S2 finale, just because it's pretty and I think it helps her come full circle as a character, plus it suits the trip to Cancun!

The End Photos: I also love that, love seeing Lill and Nick a bit, all the cute little end story pieces for the characters. I'd just add more honestly, I love the idea!!

y'all should see the notes I took while watching this finale honestly, I was going feral– I kept screeching and talking out loud 💀

- 🎃

love all your thoughts pumpkin anon, emilyana is real to us and we all love fiore and alec. also ur not alone in screeching and talking to yourself cuz i genuinely had to repress a scream at all those fiore & alec scenes. i love you grumpy middle aged man adopting a quirky little girl trope

[sholb]

it's about how shiv is always framed as a villain at first glance, it's about how rebrov tells george that shiv waterboards suspects and how george assumes it's shiv who hit rebrov and shiv only denies it once to no avail because maybe shiv wants to be the guy who tortures suspects because "if you work here you cannot make a fucking mistake" because maybe if he was that guy maybe he would have gotten the intel that would have saved janet's son. and it's about how shiv chases rebrov down and when rebrov says "all you had to do was shoot the right man" we see shiv fire a shot at his back and the audience is left to assume that shiv killed him—except shiv is driving rebrov to the hospital and he's giving janet an hour until he comes for her and how this mercy is not enough because "you owe us, shiv" and yet they both escape and that's shiv's fault too. it's how shiv's cousin asks him suspiciously why he came to their family's shop in the middle of the night and it's shiv's response "i'm here to save you" and how the police probably ended up arresting his cousin instead. it's how this action of altruism gets him recruited to the project that can only serve the greater good by erasing millions of people and it's this excruciating empathy that endures inside him that makes him try to save george from himself without telling anyone and it's what gets him shot and burned from everything he knows and it's what dooms him every time on a loop

[arachnxphobe]

random miguel hcs

will not admit it but he has cried to multiple animated kids movies

definitely the classics like toy story 3, the iron giant, and inside out

but he also BAWLED at the end of finding nemo because he was thinking about gabriella

he thinks that toothless from how to train your dragon is cute

no i will not elaborate on that

secretly celebrates st patrick’s day

likes to wear something green under his suit or have one piece of decor hidden in the depths of his office

has really low spice tolerance BUT really likes it and also he has a reputation to keep up as the big and tough guy so he WILL try and hide how much water he is chugging

he likes the dad ice cream flavours like pistachio and rum raisin

but hates dad hobbies like golfing or collecting stuff like antique coins or dioramas

he just doesn’t have the patience for it

can cook and bake!!!! actually scratch that he can do all of the chores and is basically a househusband but is simply unwilling to do it

peter b may or may not have gotten him a kiss the cook apron that may or may not be the only apron he owns…

he could 100% have gourmet meals every day but he doesn’t have anyone to impress but himself so most days he just lives off of the sealed, pre-cooked chicken breasts from the convenience store and reheated rice that he makes in a big batch once a week

because yes chicken can be store bought but microwaved rice tastes too much like chemicals, especially for his heightened taste buds

is a shower guy

he thinks that baths are too inefficient and most tubs can’t fit him

but if you somehow manage to find one that’s big enough…oh boy he’ll act like you are waterboarding him but honestly he’s having the time of his life

competitive as hell, even when he acts like he could not care less

like he does not understand the concept of letting somebody else win, why is he handicapping himself and letting them think they’re better than they actually are?

he doesn’t mean it in a way to establish dominance or superiority

he just thinks that it’s weird to let someone win because wouldn’t lying to them be worse? now they can’t even improve

designed his own suit and probably gets a little bit self conscious when someone comments on it because he really isn’t an aesthetics guy but he worked really hard and is proud of his suit 🥺

was perhaps a little bit salty about the dark garfield comment but you didn’t hear that from me

please never trust him with naming or decorating though because if left on his own, it’s either going to be the most disgusting combination of items ever known to man or quite literally the bare minimum

don’t even think about a bed frame, there’s a chance that he doesn’t even have a mattress

he’s good with personal hygiene though

a slight germaphobe in the sense that he wants everything to be sterile (a habit he picked up from always being in the lab) but is more than okay with getting his hands dirty, just as long as he can thoroughly sanitize them afterwards

a terrible movie watcher

he either does not understand the movie whatsoever and keeps on asking questions that they just answered a minute ago

or he’s ripping them apart for their weird pseudoscience

honestly his ranting ends up being more entertaining than the movie at times

be prepared for a full lecture if you don’t stop him at some point though

i’ve heard a lot of people throw out spanish songs that they think he would listen to but might i suggest some non-spanish songs

he gives me doja cat vibes, don’t ask me, i just feel it

personally, i don’t think he would actively listen to kpop or be into the fan culture but he probably enjoys some songs without even realizing they’re kpop

i’m thinking newjeans and maybe epik high??

ABBA

mitski and hozier (where are my depressed wlw at) because you know that when he’s in his brooding self hating mood that he needs suitable bgm

HATES cruises

something about being on water does not vibe with his spider-catness

neither does the overall cruise ship experience

hot tubs and buffets just don’t really do it for him

there’s not much space for privacy except for your own room but even then the walls are fairly thin

so it’d be nearly impossible for him to get any sort of peace

me and the rest of the internet all seem to have agreed that he has insomnia and i feel like a cruise ship would not help whatsoever

would complain about how the mexican food is just what americans think mexican food is like

is too much of a workaholic to take an extended break, and it’s too difficult to jump back into work should there be an emergency

[whumpsmith-participates]

AI-less Whumptober 2024

Day 15 - waterboarding

Tags/CW: torture, inexperienced whumper, begging

Charles Breckenridge was kidnapped again. Or, actually, this was one of the first times, as it happened earlier on the timeline than the last time I told you about Charlie. This time he wasn't knocked out in a sudden car wreck. Instead, he knew exactly what was going on before it happened, only he was unable to get away in time after he realised it.

This time, the driver who claimed to be filling in for a co-worker who had come down with the flu turned out to be his kidnapper, driving him into a secluded alley and suddenly assaulting him with a syringe filled with some kind of sedative...

They kept him tied to a chair and blindfolded. In hindsight that made sense. Charlie would also want to protect his identity if he was doing something illegal like kidnapping someone and holding them hostage for ransom. Either way he could only really rely on sounds, which did tell him quite a lot.

There was only two of them. And it was obvious which of the two was in charge. He was older, more cruel, and generally unpleasant. The other one wasn't exactly better. He sounded younger, got pushed, smacked and ordered around by the older one, and somehow seemed okay with it all.

Charlie never learned their names. They were careful to refer to each other specifically by something that wasn't easy to identify. The older one just demanded to be called 'sir' and he just called the younger one 'kid.'

Charlie spent most of his time with the kid. He didn't really make for a lot of interesting conversation. Avoiding answering almost all his questions, but when he did they just concerned Charlie about the kid's wellbeing...not to mention his own.

He warned Charlie how bad his partner could treat people. Seemed to almost relish in describing some of the horrific things he could do, but Charlie couldn't see his face, so he wasn't too sure how accurate that observation was. Besides, if the kid enjoyed all of it, why would he give advise on how to avoid getting hurt?

It happened after his first night with them. The kid was escorting a blindfolded Charlie back to his chair after a bathroom visit, both of them overhearing the older one on the phone.

"Change of plans? What do you mean change of plans? .....No of course I'd rather keep the cops out of this, but if I can't chop anything off, what else am I supposed to send? ......of course I now a way, just know it'll cost ya extra!"

Charlie stopped walking as he was starting to get an idea of what was being discussed.

"W-what is he talking about?"

"Hush. You'll be okay." the kid just said, "Chair's behind you. Just sit down."

"Will I?" Charlie asked quietly, carefully lowering himself until he was sure he was indeed sitting on the chair. "Because it sounds like he wants to torture me!"

"Just don't make any smart comments," the kid said, his voice barely a whisper, "stick to 'no sir' or 'yes sir' and he'll go easy on you—"

"Kid..."

Charlie couldn't help but to jump as the older one was suddenly standing a lot closer to them. He could hear the click of a lighter, followed by the penetrative scent of smoke and tobacco.

"What'd I tell you about too much chatting with the hostage?"

"You always have a lot to say about that— Ow!"

It sounded like the older one settled the kid with a decent smack, and it got him to quiet down while the older man stepped closer to Charlie from the smell of it.

"Aren't you the lucky one, Mr Breckenridge?" he said, "Apparently someone tipped off the police, so we need to give your parents a lil nudge, but my client insists you don't have to sacrifice any digits just yet."

"P-police?" Charlie stammered, paling at the man's words, "T-they wouldn't tell! This has to be a mistake!"

"It doesn't matter who snitched," the man said, "someone did and now it's up to you to inspire mommy and daddy to transfer the cash faster. Understood?"

Charlie wanted to protest more, but he remembered the kid's advise and decided to play along in the hopes that he would just have to film a ransom video.

"Y-yes, sir..."

"Attaboy!" the man said, thankfully stepping away. "Grab the ropes, kid. We're tying him to the table— Oh and get the jacks from the van."

"...sir?"

"You'll see what we'll use them for. Go on."

"W-what are you going to do to me?" Charlie shakily asked, "I-I thought we would just film me talking to the camera..."

"We'll do that after," the man said, "gotta make sure the tears are real first."

"I-I can get you real tears!" Charlie pleaded, "J-just give me a second!"

"You'll get plenty of seconds." The man said, "Besides, it's a good teaching moment. Now get up."

"T-teach what?" Charlie asked breathlessly.

The man didn't reply. He simply grabbed a painful hold on Charlie's arm and forced him to stand up, yanking him—presumably—towards the table.

"About time. Help me tie him to the table."

"N-no! Please!" Charlie shouted, starting to sob a bit.

"Oh look, you can cry on command," the man said.

"What are you going to do to him?" the kid asked, having apparently returned.

"We are going to tie him to the table and then you are going to learn something new," the man said.

"S-sir...?"

"Shut up and hold him down for me."

It seemed Charlie's struggled and protests were completely ignored as the rope tying is wrists behind his back was cut and he was promptly manhandled onto the table. His hands were forced above his head, large hands pinning him down, carefully replaced by smaller hands.

Charlie tried to struggle, desperately trying to pull his arms free so they wouldn't do whatever they had planned for him. But after a moment a new, coarse, rope was wrapped around his left wrist and pulled tight, before it was yanked towards one of the corners of the table. Then they repeated the process on his right hand, spreading his arms from one corner of the table to the other.

"Okay, now stop him from kicking."

"Easy for you to say..."

Feeling the kid's hands on his legs, Charlie instinctively began kicking, managing to get a lucky hit in. He only vaguely registered his foot colliding with the kid's stomach, but he was too busy sobbing and pleading to apologise as he pulled against the ropes binding his wrists.

"Really?" the older man commented as the kid appeared unsuccessful in pinning their hostage down.

After a deep sigh, his large hands caught and pressed down on Charlie's knees, reducing his kicking before landing a painful blow to his thigh with his elbow, probably leaving a nasty bruise.

"Knock it off!" he snapped, only just audible over Charlie's pained cry. "Don't just stand there, tie his legs!"

"P-please! Just let me go!" Charlie begged as his legs were slowly pulled apart and stretched towards the remaining corners with coarse rope wrapped around his ankles.

"That's not how this works, you know that," the man said mercilessly.

"I did everything you asked!" Charlie pleaded, "I behaved! Why are you doing this?!"

"Because it's never your own actions that influence your life now, is it?" the man simply replied, before stepping away and tightening the four ropes holding Charlie in place.

Charlie tried to struggle, but the more he pulled against the ropes, the more they dug into his skin. Bruising his delicate wrists to the core, though that was the least of his worries right now. The man and the kid seemed to ignore him for now. The former being too busy bossing the latter around.

"Okay, now I'll lift the table on this side, and you're gonna put the jacks underneath each leg. We want him at an angle."

"Why, sir?"

"So he doesn't die."

"DIE?!" Charlie sobbed.

"You're not gonna die." the man said, "No on my watch at least..."

"I-I don't believe you!" Charlie cried, "Just let me go!!!"

"Can't we gag him for this?" the kid suddenly piped up, much to Charlie's chagrin.

"Unfortunately not." the man said, beginning to use the jacks to lift the table further, until Charlie felt like he was about to slide off.

"Okay, that should do it." the man decided, "Now we'll need a cloth and water."

"Oh..." the kid slowly said, as if something only now dawned on him, "that's what you wanna do."

"No," the man said, "that's what you are going to do."

The kid groaned in response, his footfalls slowly subsiding as he walked off.

"W-what are you having him do?" Charlie asked, his voice not much more than an anxious whimper.

"You'll see— In a manner of speaking, of course."

Charlie whimpered and weakly pulled against the ropes, hoping there would finally be some give, but all he accomplished was to tighten them, pulling them deeper into his raw skin. Though, soon that was the least of his worries, as it sounded like the kid returned with the requested supplies. All but literally dragging his feet.

"Do I have to?" he asked.

"Did I tell you to do it?" the man countered.

"Y-yea, but—"

"No buts. You do as you're told and that's final."

"Yes, sir..."

"P-please...please don't do this..." Charlie begged.

"Ignore him," the man instructed, "you know he'll be fine if you do this right."

"But I've never done this before," the kid argued, not instilling a lot of confidence.

"You've seen me do it plenty of times," the man said, "see one, do one, teach one — as they say in medical school."

"They don't teach waterboarding in medical school..."

"W-WATERBOARDING?!" Charlie sobbed loudly, only to be ignored once more.

"Stop stalling and do as you're told," the man said.

"N-no! Please! Let me go!"

"It'll be over before you know it," was the only comfort the kid offered, before draping something soft over Charlie's face. Then he clamped his hand over his mouth, keeping him still and silent while the older man gave further instructions and pointers.

"It's better if you grab him by the hair to hold him still. And then you just pour until he needs a breather."

"H-how do I know when he needs a break?" the kid asked, switching his grip from Charlie's face to his hair.

"P-please...."

"You can take an educated guess," the older man just said.

Charlie could feel the grip on his hair tighten, before cold water was suddenly poured over the cloth covering his face. He promptly stopped protesting, pressing his lips together as he could feel the water dribble through the cloth. He writhed anxiously in his bonds, breathing carefully through his nose, only to realise that he was just sniffling up more water. He sputtered, coughed, and inhaled more water. Enough to choke him up, but not enough to flood his lungs to drown him.

After what seemed like an eternity, the cloth was suddenly lifted off his face, allowing him to breathe again. Charlie coughed violently between gasps of air, unable to form any coherent words, though he wanted to plead and beg.

"You could've gone a little longer," the man said, "but not bad for a first attempt."

The kid didn't respond to him. Not verbally at least. Charlie couldn't really bring himself to care. He just wanted it to stop.

"Please..."

He pleaded weakly, before descending into a coughing fit again.

"Now rinse and repeat, kid."

"N-no wait—"

The cloth and the water returned, as did Charlie's coughing and sputtering. He thrashed and writhed, but the ropes tying him down and the hand gripping his hair prevented him from fighting back too much.

Please! he thought, Please let it be over soon...

"That's enough. You don't want him to suffocate."

Sweet salvation. Charlie coughed so violently he finally managed to at least wrench his head free, lifting it up so he could try and cough up the bits of water he'd inhaled.

Please let that be it... Please let that be it... Please—

"I think once more for good measure," the man said, "and another time for fun."

"I'm not having fun, sir."

"I am~"

"P-please....not again..." Charlie weakly begged.

"Hasn't he had enough?" the kid asked.

"Do you want me to take over? I could go all day."

"N-no, sir, I'll do it!" the kid quickly said, "Just two more..."

It almost sounded as if those last words were supposed to be some kind of reassuring as he weaved his fingers through Charlie's damp hair before grabbing a tight hold and pulling his head back whilst putting the cloth back over his face. The thought of going through that again filled Charlie with dread, despite the attempt at comfort from his younger captor.

"No no no...."

@ailesswhumptober @lavndvrr for the dynamic duo ;)

Charlie belongs to @illustriousshadow

Masterlist Main account

Based on an RP I did with my homie.

[snobgoblin]

that final was stressful so I'm just gonna take this ask thing I found on Google and answer them all under the cut

1. Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who's the favorite?

he has extreme nesting tendencies and has many many pillows and stuffed animals upstairs. he doesnt have a particular favorite per se it's more "which one does he gravitate toward tonight". among his favorites are a fox, owl, raven, bear, cat, and a dog

2. Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

oh he's great with plants and he's always wanted a pet but he could never find one that really clicked with him. he's an animal lover for sure but whether they love him back all the time is debatable. he has trouble forming connections sometimes. as for a kid he has no idea because he's never met a kid. something about a plague... he's awkward around them anyway. he's awkward around everyone

3. Ask them to describe their love interest.

oh that really depends on the love interest. I'm gonna have to answer this six times? ok

🔮 Asra- perfect

☕️Nadia- perfect

🪶Julian- perfect

🥚Muriel- perfect

🌟Portia- perfect

🫀Lucio- asshole but I love him anyway

LMAO I know I said I wanted to yap but I don't wanna yap all that much. I'll come back to this lore in depth when I'm not exhausted

4. Do they look good in red?

absolutely.

5. Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

if heavily intoxicated, he will give a weepy speech about how much he loves his friends and how grateful he is to them

6. Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won't they take advice from, no matter what it is?

he'll always listen to Asra. at least at first. maybe to a harmful degree, he is a suspect in the murder after all and it's hard not to let his biases get in the way. but he does trust Asra ultimately. as for who he absolutely will not take advice from...... Lucio for obvious reasons

7. Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

>mysterious, intelligent, desperate

>weird, inadequate, fashionable

8. Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

oh he's not as into them as Nadia but he does love a gold puzzle. specifically a social puzzle though. that's why he likes investigating so much. he's great at making connections

9. Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books...)?

oh way too much. this man will kiss a tree to apologize for accidentally getting his cloak caught on a branch

10. What age do they most want to be right now?

he wants to be an old man already so he doesn't have to worry about the future anymore

11. They've won the lottery. Spend, or save?

oh he blows it immediately. on his friends and on himself

12. Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they're in)?

oh he's a hopeless romantic. you couldn't waterboard this out of him but he does enjoy a good cheesy romance novel