#calling him a rat would be an insult to rats

[senseiwu]

......hm. dont like that.

[scoliosisgoblin]

Peter and Jay doodles feat. T.K. and Lucy (headcanons for what I think they'd look like as humans.. gonna change their designs though)

[servicpop]

NSFW ; BLACK , WHITE & GRAY criminal bottom m!reader x detective oc

warnings; age gap , degradation , hate sex , exhibitionism/infront of people (mentioned slightly) , hand cuffs , dubcon/noncon(?) , no after care

notes __ this idea has been sitting in my inbox for awhile but I've finally gotten around to it !

JUNE 19 1999 / 11:48PM

Red and blue lights colored the night skies; not even a slither of the moonlight slipped past the cover of the clouds. The bright yellow caution tape strapped around the fences of the home squealed when Callahan Marshall pulled them up to duck underneath them.

Officers on the scene scrambled to question him but were quickly shot down with the flash of his badge. They slowly retreated, allowing for the man to walk into the crime scene.

The rain had been unforgiving tonight, covering all traces of footprints that might have been left by the culprit in an attempt to escape. A scowl plastered Callahan's face as the stench of alcohol and smoke insulted his nose. The floorboards creaked underneath each step he took, whining with the burden of his weight.

"Careful, Marshall, we aren't too sure if the culprit even left. There's been no signs of escape." Callahan's eyes slowly met the ones that belonged to one of his co-workers — another detective. The other man visibly shuddered when Callahan's pitch-black eyes met his, deep circles tainted the bags of his eyes. A gruff noise was all he got in response before Callahan made his way through the home.

It wasn't a house belonging to someone particularly made up of money so why would anyone make such a mess out of it?

The rooms were left clean, untouched almost. Only a few drawers or cabinets were opened and a few appliances were out of place but no alarming indicator a robbery had happened. Callahan traced a finger along the countertops of the kitchen, looking at the dust that had been sweeped up. This house had been left like this for awhile, even before the culprit set foot in there.

A sudden clattering caught Callahan's attention and he turned his body to the other detective and police officers searching the house, "Did you knock something over?" "No sir, what did you hear?"

Callahan slowly approached the laundry room, twisting the doorknob with caution. He pushed the knob forward and the door swung open. It was hard to make out with the lack of light but Callahan saw a figure dart out the window. "Here!" He called out, alerting the officers before he walked up to the window, watching as the figure scrambled away. He wasn't worried though, the whole place had been surrounded by police patrolling the area.

You couldn't get far even if you tried.

JUNE 22 / 2:24PM

You got caught. It was about time you did.

You had spent the past few years doing various, sketchy jobs in the desperation for money. You lost your job not even three months into it and it had become harder and harder to find suitable jobs to spend the rest of your life slaving away at. You had no choice, it was either that or living off the streets with the local sewer rats as your only form of entertainment and friendship.

Now, you were stuck in an enclosed, dusty white room, sat cuffed to a metal table right in the middle of it with an annoyingly bright light dangling from the ceiling. It was the interrogation room. And the man you sat infront of you was none other than the 'greatest detective of our time' Callahan Marshall.

He was an older guy, probably pushing his 40s by now. You could tell from the way his brows were locked into a furrowing position and the stubble that graced his chin seemed lazily maintained. He also had quite the bit of hair on his arms, his sleeves loosely rolled above his elbows. You couldn't really tell what color his eyes were from how low he held his head and the light above you casted a deep shadow over his eyes, but through the darkness you concluded that they were a yellow-ish orange. Interesting.

"June 19." You flinched. It was expected that he had a deep voice but actually hearing it was different. His voice was coarse, gravelly like wheels crunching against a rocky trail and you could practically hear the amount of cigarettes he's smoked throughout his years of stress. "You were caught about and hour or two after police had arrived," Callahan sounded bored, mumbling his words.

Growing up, Callahan had always hated criminals. From watching bad guys on TV to coming home and seeing his parents dead on the floor and his house a mess from a robbery, Callahan devoted the past years to serving justice. His world was devoid of color, a black and white film on an old, vintage television.

"Did you steal from Mr Broadwood's home?" He pressed, leaning his forearms along the table. They were meaty, not extremely muscular but definitely built from casual hours at the gym. Could you even lie at this point? He was so sure with his words that even the fact that people were watching you from the two-way mirror comforted you from this man.

"No." And the cheap lie rolled off your tongue like it was sweet candy. He raised his eyebrows, unamused. Yeah he was definitely onto you. "So... these photos aren't you?" A confused look flashed across his face as he slid the printed images of your face in full view; it was painfully obvious that it was you. But your head seemed to shake side to side saying 'that's not me' like it was instinct. Callahan leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face as his head tilted back in annoyance. You could hear the prickly sound of his stubble scraping against the palm of his hand.

"I'll force it out of you if you don't fess up," His hand slammed down onto the metal table, causing it to rattle from the contact. "Fine, is force the only thing you cops know how to do?" It was only natural you acted this way. For all your life you've relied on cops to protect you and your loved ones, but each time you needed them the most, they turned a blind eye to you.

But, oil doesn't mix with water. Your two starkingly different perspectives caused conflict. With balled fists, Callahan stood up, the chair scraping against the floors with how abruptly he stood up. Before you knew it, a hand made its way to your hair. Callahan's thick fingers tangled in the strands and pulled your head back, eliciting a small yelp from you. He leaned in closer, looming over you with hate seeping from his pores.

"Tell me this isn't you," He growled, picking up the photos and shoving it in your face. In all honesty, you were focused on how damn close he was. His breath was fanning against the shell of your ear and if you concentrated enough, you could hear the short breaths he took. Callahan straightened his posture but never loosened his grip on your hair. He pulled your head back even further and peered down at you. "Dirty criminal," he muttered under his breath.

You swore it was just the adrenaline making you hard. There was no way you'd fall for a detective like him. So why did he have your face squished onto the table and your boxers pulled down just under the curve of your ass.

"This is what you wanted isn't it?" Callahan had one hand holding your head down and another on your waist, digging into your flesh. He found out that the more he dug into your waist, the more you'd whine and squirm against him. You couldn't deny his words though, something in you was so intrigued by Callahan. He got straight to the point, and he didn't try and fool you with kindness. But maybe you wished he'd be a little more gentle with you.

Your eyes shot wide open when you felt his tip circle your rim. You didn't even have to see it to know the size of it. Could it even fit? "Wait—" Your words were cut off as he thrust forward with no warning, letting his cock sink into your hole. The burning sensation of the stretch made tears bubble at your eyes, threatening to spill. A groan slipped from his lips as he buried himself to the hilt, "God you're too tight."

Callahan moved his hand from your head to firmly grip at your waist, leaning forward so his body weight would pin you down. His hips grinded against you, digging his cock deeper inside your warm body. "Spit it out, did you do it or not?" He grunted, beads of sweat trickled down his temples as he pounded into you repeatedly, watching your flesh ripple with each thrust. "You're leaking everywhere," He chided, snaking his hand to reach for your neglected dick, holding the tip in his palm.

Your wrists strained against the cuffs binding you to the table, the metal cutting into your flesh as you struggled. "I didn't— do it!" You managed to gasp between moans, your hair spilling out onto the table. "Oh really? You didn't do it huh?" He scoffed and his hand tightened around your weeping tip, stroking you off in time with his relentless thrusts.

"People are watching you through that mirror and through the cameras, your pathetic face is on view for everyone to see," Callahan leaned down to whisper in your ear, grabbing a fistful of hair to yank your head up, allowing your teary face to be on full display for the cameras. Fuck, that turned you on more then you would've wanted it to.

His head slung against your shoulder, an oddly affection gesture for how hard he was fucking you. "I know you're not innocent, but your fuckin' doe eyes pisses me off," Callahan's voice had gotten even rougher, and the anger was clear in his tone. He was just using you for stress relief.

Your thighs trembled and your body started to give out, the stimulation was too much for you. His cock kept abusing your prostate, grinding and rubbing against it so much that black stars seemed to cloud your vision. Your fingertips clawed at the metal table, trying to ground yourself as shameless moans came out of your throat. "You're so loud," He scowled, leaning back so he could admire your back in its full glory.

It got him off with the way you sucked him back in even if you seemed so stubborn to liking him. Watching his fat cock disappear into your hole was enough to make him groan. "You wanna cum? Admit it." It was like his dick was a truth serum, you found yourself blabbering, tears rolling down your pink cheeks as you spewed out the truth, "Fine, I did it, I did it, please— just—" A smirk plastered Callahan's face as he whistled, "Go ahead."

In a split second you found yourself spurting out white all over his hand, your back arched and your body convulsed in his grip. Callahan meant to pull out but you were sucking him in so much that he couldn't. He cursed as his orgasm crashed down on him like a wave, filling you up with his sperm before he could pull out. "Shit," he huffed, pulling up his pants before he stared at his cum dripping from your hole. It was still clenching around nothing, and Callahan couldn't help but feel a pang of responsibility for you, but he shook off those thoughts. His one duty was to protect the civilians, not empathise with criminals.

"I'm done here," He grumbled, picking up his things and leaving you slumped on the floor, still bound by the handcuffs on the metal table. He turned his head over his shoulder to glance at you one more time, feeling a strange uncomfortable sensation in his heart before he scoffed and walked out the doors.

He's never lost control like that with any other criminal.

BONUS ; IN THE OTHER SIDE OF THE INTERROGATION ROOM

"Kid looks like he's about to die," Alastair, a co-worker of Callahan, was assigned to supervise the interrogation, "Marshall sure is brutal," He sighed, standing up once he heard that Callahan was finished.

"At least his tactics work though, props to him," Alastair turned around to face the intern who was meant to learn from this experience. The poor boy had his hands covering his eyes.

"It's fine now, you stay here, I'll clean the guy up."

a/n ; i changed my layout !! Its alot easier now ^^; my previous one had so many symbols I had to copy and paste ,, anyways ! I finally wrote about him ♡♡ the original request(?) was a bit different so this is ooc of him but I will expand more on his story if you guys like him ! Also I introduced Alastair ,, maybe I can write a threesome with them sometime !! I've never done it before so who knows

[sh1-n0bu]

𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 30: choking with il dottore from genshin impact

warnings: choking, slapping, usage of aphrodisiac, dottore is a masochist, cockstepping, foot humping, degrading, cumming untouched, reader is a harbinger

notes: can you guys just tell that i fucking despise this rat????

as harbingers of the tsaritsa and a group of very unlovable, twisted, evil and just genuinely not-so-good people, disturbance at workplace was common. of course, said disturbance ranges from a simple hiss of “i fucking hate you. i hope your next mission goes so unwell that the only casualty will be your tattered corpse” to whatever this is. this could have easily been called as something that most people would call as ‘hate sex’ if only the both of you were not fully clothed.

so technically, this would be counted as ‘hate masturbating’? ah, fuck the labels or those things. right now, the only focus on your mind was to put this annoying bastard in his place.

he really thought he was the shit, didn’t he? the absolute galls of this motherfucker to even dare to put you down and insult you in front of your own subordinates. not just that, he went ahead and put aphrodisiacs into your coffee and his own like the absolute lunatic he was.

how badly you wanted to crush his windpipes in. that would oh so easy with your current position of your hand wrapped nicely around his neck like those beautiful chokers you see on some certain accessory shops. or even one that resembles a collar that is bound tightly around the neck of a rabies infested animal. but with a deranged doctor like dottore, the latter description seem to fit well with how he was moaning and wheezing, clothed cock humping your boots as he panted like a dog.

“you really are a detestable creature, you know that?” you hiss in sheer and utter anger, your other hand joining the other to wrap around his throat more forcefully. both hands on his neck, ready to crush his windpipes in if you wanted.

you had the power. a harbinger who’s currently in the position of tenth may be considered weak amongst fellow harbingers but even then, the tenth fatui harbinger is more than capable to shake an entire nation and to be seen as a threat to an archon.

and that tenth harbinger is you.

so even if dottore may be the second, one of the few who has the capacity to rival a god, right now he was nothing more than a pathetic dog who was humping your shoe. panting and whining loudly with his tongue stuck out, the mad doctor only focuses on the feeling of your hands choking him and the hardened leather of your shoes.

“y-yes.. yes yessshh yesyesyesyesyes oh archons, yes. i am. i’m a detestable creature. your detestable creature” dottore chokes on his spit, a wheezing shrill moan escaping his open mouth as his drool drips down his chin. he seems to like being degraded like this, the movements of his humping becoming more and more frantic on your shoe.

red eyes rolling to the back of his skull, sharp gasps and squeals following until he swore he could see black dots in his vision. he didn’t wanted to have the black spots dancing in his vision! because if so, how was he going to see you? he wanted to see you. that look of just pure anger on your face as you choke the daylights out of him and let him hump you like a dog in heat. no, he needed to see you.

“aaANGH—! kyuuck hhang♡︎♡︎ gck! ♡︎♡︎” a loud intake of breath is heard as your hands let go of the position around his neck, allowing him to breathe for a moment. not too long after, without even allowing him to catch a full breath, his head lolls to the side with a stinging feeling on the side of his cheek. did you just…?

“eyes on me. who said you could go around tearing your gaze away from me, rat” he could briefly hear your voice hiss through the ringing in his ears. muffled, faint, hard to tell if the voice was truly falling from your lips or if it was one of his manic episode voices talking.

either way, it was still your voice that was blessing his ears. it was your shoe that was now stepping on his clothed, weeping cock and he was thankful. maniac and downright insane but dottore knows a holy being when he sees and hears one. he may have not worshipped any of the archons, but for you? the mad doctor would gladly kiss the soles of your shoes over and over. hell, he would even thank you just for being in the same room as you.

call him unstable as much as you would like and he knows that. he even revels in the title and he would gladly wear that title for his entire life if he could be with you. dottore always had this odd obsession with you. since your titling of becoming the tenth fatui harbinger, he had developed this odd sense of fascination.

fascination to dottore, but unhealthy obsession to others.

not like the doctor cares. he had long since gave up trying to reason with other beings and had lost almost all contact with social interaction if not for the harbingers gathering or his experiments with his lab rats. until you joined his ranks.

“i said eyes on me, doctor” you grunt, slapping him across his face again. on the other cheek this time. that seemed to have done the work to catch his attention successfully as his hazy blood eyes focus on you. his cheeks were the same shade of red as his eyes, however it was hard to tell whether it was from your forceful hits or his blushing.

“ougck—! yess.. ye-es yes yesyesyesyes, eyes on you♡︎eyes solely on you♡︎” the blue haired man nods frantically, slight twitch and wince in his eyes showing that the added pressure to his cock was just a tad bit painful for him. even a masochist has their limits. but did he care? no. no he absolutely did not care. if anything, the crazy doctor wanted it to hurt since it was you who was delivering these delicious cocktail of pleasure and pain. he wanted it to hurt. he wanted it to feel good.

with another slap to his cheek for his continued disobedience — for constantly trying to look down at where your shoe was stepping on his stained pants — the doctor lets out a choked noise akin to a mewl before his entire body spasms. thighs shaking and twitching before a strangled noise is let out as the stain in his pants become darker and darker. the stain moving and spreading, some of it even seeping through the fabrics of his clothes as it drips onto the floor below.

“did you… just cum untouched?” you ask, doing a double take as you lift up your shoe to stare at the white translucent juice drip down onto the floor, leaving a tiny puddle. dottore only giggles, almost as if he was in a drunken haze, as he slowly lifts up his face to stare at you. he looked positively fucked up.

“do that again, pleaasshee♡︎?” dottore drawls out.

[radiance1]

Vlad:You know who I've always admired?

Danny: Lex Luthor?

Vlad: No, Alfred Pennysworth, he truly is as extraordinary as they- Lex Luthor???

Danny shrugs "I don't know, he just seems like the kind of guy you would admire you know."

Vlad looks at Danny with a face of the most visible disgust he's capable of pulling off in that moment. "What exactly am I supposed to be admiring? That solar panel he calls a head?"

"Pfft." Danny chokes down a laugh, before looking away and shrugging. "I don't know dude, but you can ask him yourself right now."

"What do you-"

"I see you two are having fun insulting me, it seems."

"SWEET CHEESEPUFFS-" Vlad whirls around, looking at Lex Luthor in both shock and mild confusion before replacing it with mild annoyance. Vlad crossed his arms. "Sneaking around like the rat you are, it would seem."

"You would happen to know quite a bit about rats, wouldn't you, Mr. Masters?" Lex Luthor also crossed his arms and Vlad chuckled. "Please, I may know a bit, but you certainly have me beat in that category don't you, Mr. Luthor?"

Danny, off to the side: [Sneaks off to get some punch]

[moetartart]

:*Trigger Warning for Abuse:** An analysis of the nuanced depiction of abuse dynamics in *Baldur's Gate 3*. Please skip if you’re uncomfortable with this topic or you hate long rants <3

**Cazador at the Head of the Table, and His Forced Family, with Astarion as the Scapegoat**

Cazador is one of the best-written abusers in fiction, and Astarion is one of the best depictions of a non perfect survivor. Showcasing how abusers systematically break down their victims in a way that is thoughtful and non-voyeuristic, and how this may effect the victim after.

Astarion often receives criticism for his behavior. Much if it valid. I don’t seek to excuse his actions or speak about him as if he were a real person, But to break down this amazingly written narrative and how his experiences shape his character and a depiction of a non perfect victim. It's great to see actions having consequences in the story and being the driving force in chatecter development and I think it was handled very respectfully

One of the most compelling aspects of Astarion's story is the depiction of the "scapegoat" abuse tactic. Where a caregiver selects one child as the primary target of ridicule and abuse. Astarion says, "He took a special pleasure in my pain. He said my screams sounded sweetest." Often, the scapegoat is the child who most reminds the abuser of themselves when they were most vulnerable, or has similarities to the abuser of the parent or even someone they witnessed being abused when they were a child. The abuser uses this child to demonstrate the consequences of disobedience, and as a way of bonding the other children against the scapegoat, often by forcing the other children to engage in abuse themselves. The parent will inflict the trauma they were exposed to when they were most vulnerable on their child in a twisted way to re-gain their own power and autonomy buy projecting it onto someone elses. Acting out scenarios where they felt weak but now they are the one with all the power.

Cazador's tactics of infantilization are particularly gut-wrenching. He calls Astarion a "stupid little boy" and forces him to call him "father," undermining his belief in his ability to make adult decisions on his own while simultaneously also forcing him into adult work and physical abuse. A way to break down his self esteem and take away his autonomy. This adds another level to Cazador's twisted, intimate abuse.

It's evident when you ask if Astarion called Cazador "master" in the bedroom, and he reacts negatively. It is also implied in the dialogue, "One final thrust... and I'll be rid of you..." as Astarion stands over Cazador, ready to stab him with a phalic symbol and Cazador in a submissive position.

In a Shadowheart playthrough, we see how Astarion seeks someone to follow because he doesn’t know how to think for himself. Auntie Ethel remarks that he misses his chains, and he admits he doesn't know how to make his own decisions. In Astarion's dream, you learn one of Cazador's rules is that Astarion must stay by his side unless told otherwise. We also see that Cazador regularly dined with Astarion, serving him putrid rats. He says "I have spent two centuries with You, and that should be punishment enough," which is quite an intimate insult. In non of these are the other spawn mentioned. He also mentions his sarcasm and jokes, something you wouldn't really think Cazador would permit. This suggesting an intense, twisted co-dependency. A lot of time spent alone together. As what? His child? His slave? His lover? It's sickening. Cazador seemed to want to fill every potential key roll in Astarions life. This is actually pretty common in adults relationships.

The extent of physical abuse is further revealed when Astarion sees the mad doctor in the House of Healing and remarks, "he's just like Cazador." The narrator says, "If you're late, he will flay you... again," and Astarion states, "Sometimes he would have us submit to torture. Other times he would have us torture ourselves."

So, why does Cazador do all this? Beyond sadistic pleasure and rituals off higher power, I believe it's driven by a fear of abandonment. His goal is to strip Astarion of any autonomy so he would return even if freed. When speaking to Cazador alone, he's convinced Astarion will come back because he cannot think for himself. Cazador wants to be the center of Astarion's life, and truly believes he is. A narcissist needing to see himself reflected in others, he required Astarion by his side to validate his awful existence. If Astarion leaves, Cazador feels he's losing an extension of himself. That Astarion is his and his alone to kill.

I also believe he genuinely wants to play house. That he wants a picture perfect family. We don't know much about Cazador before the game, only that he was from a vampire family. That his niece refused to partake. It's quite clear he felt like he was missing something in his family. We know his master committed acts of cruelty far beyond what he did to his own spawn, impaling him for ten years and draining his friend Infront of him. Surly a year of solitude is like being sent to your bedroom without supper compared to that? By Cazadors logic, he's far kinder than he was ever treated. He's been kinder and more loving than his own family. His children should be grateful that he protected them from what he went through. He believes his children are spoiled and if anything he has been to soft. After all, he gave thim his families birth right far above their station, eternal life. He gave them a family that will never abandon them. What more could they want?

And if course, we as plays see this cycle continues with AA, who says he will be a far kinder master he'd never make his dear lover eat rats. They wouldn't be his child, more a pampered pet. Compared to how Astarion was treated, what more could they want?

And how very true to live that an abuser will preach about how much worse they had things and how lucky their victims are. How soft they must be to complain.

This gives us a clear picture of Astarion at the start: someone with a fragile sense of self, preferring to see others tortured rather than be the one in the chair, and looking for someone to follow. He'll fake a smile to keep them around. While this doesn't excuse his cruelty, it explains it; Astarion is free for less than a day when you meet him. There are no perfect victims, and unlearning brainwashing takes time. Reducing Astarion to "evil" or "good" overlooks the complexity of a character who could become either an abuser or a liberator.

What I appreciate most is that Astarion's past doesn't vanish when Cazador dies; he still carries the scars, but in a positive playthrough, there is hope. Astarion has the chance to do better, starts making his own choices, and sometimes gets it wrong.

Crucially, the abuse is never voyeuristic. It is always shown from the survivor's perspective, focusing on its effects on their lives. It's always clear when a player choice disrespects his growth and autonomy. Cazador and Astarion are never framed to titillate or as a mind of grousome special to the viewer, unlike in shows like *13 Reasons Why* or Ramsey Bolton in *Game of Thrones*. The game handles the topic with a lot of care. Infact the only time we see Cazador in person is when we have the chance to stop him. We never see Astarion subjected to something we can alter in some way.

Also, we do hear of Astarions bravery in trying to defy his master and save people. Unfortunately as in the game and real life, people don't always have a choice. Still, in a good ending Astarion can choose to try and help others who have been hurt and use what he has learned to make real change.

The reasons why Cazador is the way he is are another rant entirely. But while I hate him as a person, I adore him as an antagonist. How can a character be written to be pathetic and terrifying at once?

**TL;DR:** *Baldur's Gate 3* presents a complex, nuanced abuse narrative, executed beautifully. Many people overlook or disregard Astarion as an excellent depiction of survival in my opinion.

[hypewinter]

Jason had been sitting in his living room, maintenancing his weapons when a circle appeared before him. It was big and swirling. It's hue very much akin to the sickening green of the Lazarus pits. He quickly realized the circle was in fact a portal as a teen stepped out of it. The teen wore surgical gloves and a mask over what appeared to be a hazmat suit. His hair was silver and seemed unaffected by gravity. Worse of all though, were his eyes that were that same damn color that Jason had long since grown to hate.

Jason grabbed two guns that were not currently taken apart and aimed them at the boy, taking a menacing step forward as he did so. "Who are you?" he growled. "What do you want?"

To his surprise, the boy didn't threaten him or gloat about some massive plan already under way. He didn't even offer some sort of vague, cryptic advice. Instead, the teen actually took a step back, covering his nose with one arm while putting the other up in surrender.

"Don't come any close!" he yelped. "The stench is already bad enough from here."

Jason blinked. What? "Excuse me?" was all he could utter.

The boy turned away slightly and dry heaved. "Ugh, so nasty."

Jason was having trouble figuring out what was going on. Even with his detective training. "Did you- did you just call me nasty?" he finally managed to splutter out.

The boy turned back to him, his eyes crinkling in utter disgust. "Uh, yeah. What else would you call a flea infested rat?"

"Flea infested-" Jason squawked.

"Listen could you just come with me so that we can get all of that taken care of asap," the boy said, gesturing towards Jason.

Regaining his composure a little, Jason tightened his grip on his weapons. "Hell no! I'm not going anywhere with you until you start explaining."

Despite having two guns pointed at his head, the teen only let out a deep sigh.

"Fine, have it your way." He replied, stepping towards Jason. The vigilante heard the kid mumbling, "You can do this. Think of it as handling a stinky baby. A very disease infested stinky baby," as he got closer and closer.

Jason fired off a warning shot next to the kid but the boy didn't even flinch. Fine, Jason thought. We can do this the hard way. He aimed at the boy's knee cap and fired. Only for the bullet to pass right through him. The boy neared him before picking him up like an unruly kitten. Jason went limp as he officially stopped processing what was happening. How the hell had this kid managed to lift him so effortlessly?

He didn't put up a fight as the boy turned around and led them both back through the portal, his arms outstretched as far away from his torso as possible. Jason's mind had just barely started to process information again when this weird furry, horned creature appeared in front of him.

"Ah Great One! You've returned," it said.

"Yeah yeah just hurry up and take this from me before I throw up!" the teen replied, setting Jason down and distancing himself.

The creature fixed the boy with a stern look. "That is not how we treat patients, Great One. Need I remind you? It was you who wanted to be my apprentice and all that entails. That includes treating our patients with the utmost professionalism. Regardless of your personal feelings."

The teen actually had the nerve to look sheepish, maybe even a little guilty. As if he hadn't just spent the last 5 minutes mercilessly insulting Jason.

The two continued talking for a time and Jason was more than happy to let them. It gave him time to process what the hell he was looking at and with any luck, they would let slip some crucial information. Instead however, they ended up discussing more about whatever this apprenticeship was before the weird looking creature turned back towards Jason.

"Apologies for the rudeness my apprentice has shown you," he said.

Jason muttered out an 'uh huh' in response.

The creature clapped his hands. "Now then, shall we get you examined?"

Examined? Jason staring blankly at the creature. Then he stared at the teen, hoping to gleam any info from their facial expressions. Nothing. And of course he did have his comms or his sos signal on him. Great, just great. What an absolutely craptastic situation he found himself in. He'd be sure to come back and haunt Bruce this time. Maybe even Dick. He swore that much.

[ineadhyn]

One of Astarion's most interesting scenes to me is the one in the flop house where we meet Dalyria and Petras. So, obviously, I felt the need to analyze it.

Astarion's behaviour switches the very moment he recognises his siblings. He has been snappy and theatrical before, but this now feels different. More raw. His posture changes, he bends forward in a pose like he's ready to attack. The moment he sees them, he enters fight mode.

And indeed, he does attack. He immediately goes for Petras, aiming for the weak spots he knows, his intelligence. It's bite or be bitten. If he doesn't do it (a choice you can make in his origin run for example) Petras does just the same, insulting Astarion using his known flaws: his arrogance, his egoism, claiming Astarion is all talk. This tells so much about Astarions life with them.

Dalyria is a bit calmer, she seems to care about both of them, at least enough that she doesn't want to see either of them killed. Dalyria does believe Cazador's claim of freeing them at least on surface level. She can be convinced to trust Astarion when he says he'll free them. She wants to be free. Asking why Astarion would come back if he was free, there is a certain longing in her voice. She's also the one telling Astarion about the ritual place, hoping Astarion might actually be able to free them, or at least not kill Petras.

Still the aggression in the room is not only between Astarion and Petras. Astarion also snaps at Dalyria when she's barely said anything. "That's not a way to welcome back a brother, Dal." The three of them are like dogs in the kennels of a dog fighting ring, barking at the sight of each other. Trained to compete and not giving each other an inch. You can imagine what it must have been like sharing one bedroom.

Then Astarion does his theatrical "Didn't you miss me?" Did they? Probably as much as Astarion pities them. A bit, because they've known each other for so long, but not enough to go out of their way. Just after saying he pities them, Astarion dreams about completing the ritual (which includes sacrificing them). Mostly I see the "Didn't you miss me" as Astarion wanting to make a confident first impression on them. Although it's too late, because his first instinct was to pull up his usual defences when interacting with his siblings: snapping at them.

And then Astarion actually gets physically aggressive and burns Petras. This is new. Petras didn't expect this. He says "What the hells happened to you, Astarion?" In combination with the other spawn scene when they call Astarion the runt, that never put up a fight, this paints a clear picture: Astarion has never been physically aggressive during his time with Cazador. Probably because he didn't have the means. He was simply too weak, being tortured more than any of the others. Petras talks about eating rats and dogs, Astarion got rats and bugs (he says that when talking about the bite with Tav). Also of course being broken into submission by being sealed into the tomb for the one time he didn't obey. (Worthy to mention that even then Astarion did not fight, he ran.)

Now that Astarion has some power for the first time, he uses it. And holy damn can I understand why he wants more. How good it must feel to be able to defend himself with more than words for the first time. This bit of power makes him say "I am not afraid of anything anymore."

It's enough for him to say "I am going to stop Cazador." A thing none of the spawn expects of him. Astarion would never rebel against the master. Cazador himself doesn't believe it until his last moment. They were all wrong about Astarion. Cazador indeed never broke him.

Also, pay attention to the leaning forward pose. Astarion does that on multiple occasions. It's his "my instinct screams to fight and defend myself"-pose.

(I am not entirely sure if "do not slouch before me" is also referring the same pose, or if it's more of an instinct to bow or cower. But that's for another day.)

[ataraxiaspainting]

things yan chrollo and yan feitan like and dislike: (kinda) fall edition

chrollo likes:

hot coffee

holding hands with you outside (you don’t have the excuse to say you’re hot)

making soup with you on a chilly day

giving you gothic romance books in the hopes you’ll be impressed (and recites certain quotes to you)

chrollo does not like:

the audacity of people calling the police if they recognize you from missing persons posters

you saying he would be a better troll and not a “sexy vampire” (a grave insult)

you trying to exorcise him out of your bed

feitan likes:

getting to save you from catcallers (you don’t know his existence until chrollo gives the okay)

someone who crossed him taking their final breath and him not hearing their disgusting heartbeat anymore

microwave meals (he gives you them when chrollo hasn’t ordered food in and he’s gone. it feels like he may as well give you poison and chrollo sometimes agrees with you.)

being a jokester (as per his own definition, you’re forced to laugh)

feitan does not like:

being mistaken for chrollo’s son out in public

you being taller than him unless you’re sitting down

chasing rats down in his basement (and failing) as you stand there confused

[just-some-trans-nobody]

Naga boyfriend head cannons

Gender neutral reader

Warnings:light NSFW, brief mention of kink choking, biting, mentions of eating rodents, snakes

Minors Don't Interact!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

You are his personal heater I'm sorry I don't make the rules. Your body is warm and he wants that warm. It's a bonus that it comes from you, he loves you.

Ha you have cold hands? So does he don't worry about it.

Oh you have warm hands? Let him hold them. Hold his face in your hands he will melt into them this poor touch starved man.

At the start of the relationship he couldn't stand you touching him. It wasn't that he hated when you touched him oh no no no he absolutely loves when you touch him. He's just scared he's not used to being touched so gently before and he's terrified that he'll hurt you with his large size and not realize it. It doesn't help that once he started to get sexual feelings for you everytime you touched hin turned him on. Your pinkie could have lightly grazed his shoulder and he would hve grown aroused.

Further into the relationship he knows how much you can handle you and will absolutely man handle you. You'll be walking past him and he'll use his tail to swoop you in so he can cuddle you. He still gets turned on real easy but it's more tame now. Doesn't mean he won't be tame when having sex though.

Home boy is kinky will choke you if your also into and biting is a must. If it's agreed too and he's not venomous he'd love to bite you, really sink his fangs in. There will be times you'll be completely wrapped up in his tail will he fucks you.

If you manage to top him he'll be leaning on his own tail draped out on it begging and panting. He didn't know he could be so sensitive before.

Times he's being a grumpy pants he'll snap right out of it if told you'd top him. Instant good mood.

Whenever it gets even slightly cold he's super clingy. Will do grabby hands at you until you set down whatever your working on and come cuddle him.

Owns 700 heating blanket, hope one or both of you have a good paying job cause the electric bill is oit if this world.

Don't insult him by offering to feed him mice or rats thats gross. Guinea pigs have more meat on them any way. Just give him a BLT you weirdo he eats normal foods.

Hates broccoli though. Introduce him to cheesy broccoli and it's a whole new ball park for him.

Will be so confused on why you have a pet reptile, doesn't see the appeal.

Pet snake you say? Your mistake that's your guys child. Will refer to as himself as dad when talking to the snake.

"Now Junior be a good boy for dad and let me change out your water. Junior? Junior please get out of your water... Yes I see you blowing bubbles it's very cute."

The snakes name isn't junior he just keeps calling him junior.

Will get himself a shirt saying number one dad and wear it any time he picks the snake up.

Loves soaking in the tub, join him he'll love it.

He'll wash your hair and die from bliss if you wash his it feels so good.

Shedding is a cranky embarrassing time for him please be patient he's feeling very uncomfortable. If it's early in the relationship he won't want you near him, it's not you it's him he's not comfortable enough to have anyone bear him during this vulnerable time. If it is further into the relationship he'll be more comfortable with you being around him but just don't get to close to him, just be there for emotional support. Now if the relationship is a good amount of years in he'll act all spoiled asking you to peal his shed off for him after he soaked for a few hours at the least. He'll get all whinny and clingy demanding cuddles and snacks.

Bundling in a ball with way to many heated blankets on, this man is a fire hazard. Fire men hate him.

Can't cook for shit. Will order every meal out if you let him. Hates doing the dishes but he's good at vacuuming and dusting. Likes tidying up, not a fan of messes. He'll make sure he does his fair share of the chores and if he sees your having a bad day he'll take on more chores. Will buy your your favorite foods and snacks in hopes of making you feel better.

[imdeadinsidesiriuslydead]

Must you be so cruel?

Cardan Greenbriar x fae!princess!reader

a/n: this concept was most requested so here you are. warnings: swearing, no smut (unless y’all want a part 2 with some😏lmk), not proofread I have like six more to write

As your steads stop for water, your mother approaches you.

“We are almost there.” She grins excitedly.

you roll your eyes as you fix your riding skirt.

“yay.” You say, unenthusiastically. Your mother had arranged a ball with the High Court, you suspected she was trying to marry your older sister off to one of the princes. But you dreaded seeing a particular prince with a stupid rat tail.

“Don’t take an attitude with me, y/n” your mother warned, “we need to be on our best behavior. We mustn’t insult the High King or Queen.”

Your mother made you changed once you made it to the Palace. Your dress was black as to not outshine your sisters. As you walked into the Throne room, you spotted the king and queen but no sign of that dreaded prince.

You make your way to the King and bow as your parents exchange pleasantries.

After your mother turns to you “Go grab your sister some wine.”

“Why? She has legs.” You said as you smooth down the ruffles of your skirt.

“She is talking to Prince Dain. I will not interfere with the makings of an engagement.” Your mother said sternly.

you sigh, “yes ma’am.”

As you make your way to the banquet table, you look around at the folk dancing. Trying to shield your eyes from the naked folk, you grab a glass and have a servant fill it with wine.

You look back and see your sister dancing with Prince Dain, and you smile to yourself. Even though your mother made you come here and has been driving you crazy, it’s nice to see your sister radiant smile light up the dance floor.

The glass being rather useless now that she’s dancing, you start to down the drink when someone clears there throat.

“It’s unlady like to chug wine 30 minutes into a ball.” Nicasia said sharply. “You filthy half breed.”

you turn dreading facing her. When you look, she’s wearing a body hugging blue dress and a face of pure disgust.

“Mermaid style dress? That’s a bit on the nose isn’t it?” You say continuing to sip from your glass.

“Why are you even here?” She spits, seemingly losing her patience even though she approached you.

“She was invited unfortunately.” A voice behind you called.

You freeze. God damn it. You turn around to find Cardan’s gold rimmed eyes staring back at yours.

“Cardan.” You acknowledge, turning back to watch your sister.

“Y/n. Is your mother trying to push your boring sister onto my brother?” He asked as Nicasia laughs moving to link arms with him.

“Must you be so cruel?” You ask, annoyed.

“Only to you.” He replied.

“I’m not completely sure of my mother’s intentions, I haven’t asked.” You say, finishing your glass. “Afraid of your reputation if you become related to a half mortal?” You ask, motioning for a servant to get you another glass.

“I’d be disgusted to be related to you.” He says as Nicasia laughs.

A grin spreads across you face as an idea comes to your head.

“Why?” You ask with an innocent grin.

“must there be a reason? That’s a reason enough.” He replied.

“Yes, I’m curious. Why would you be disgusted to be related to me?” You ask.

“Most far find the existence of half bloods disgusting.” He said brushing if off

“Yes most of the folk. What about you though? What’s your real reason for not wanting to be related to me?” You smirk.

His smirk momentarily drops before regaining his composure.

“My opinion of you.” He says before grabbing Nicasia’s hand and pulling her to dance. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving.”

you laugh to yourself as a servant puts the wine glass back in your hand.

—————————

Later that night as the ball is winding down, your Mother asks you to retrieve your sister.

You look around the dance floor to no avail, no sign of her.

Walking out of the hall, you make your way into hallway. Looking around and opening seemingly endless doors, grew tiresome.

As you give up and walk back to the banquet hall, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Your boring sister is in my brothers room.” A drunken voice called.

turning to see Cardan with the gold juice of fae fruit smeared on his lips while the smell of wine on his mouth. He looks at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before.

“Oh.” You say, realizing you’ll have to explain to your mother that your sister is spending the night with the prince. But then you realize Cardan has not moved his hand from your shoulder.

Quickly pushing his hand off you, he stumbles grabbing ahold of your arm to stabilize himself.

“Cardan how much have you had to drink?” You asked annoyed.

“I lost count after 12 glasses.” He said as he focused back on your face. “And why’d you have to shove me?” He whined.

“Oh you’re such a baby.” You say, using your arm to support him as you guide him to walk.

“Where are we going?” He asked leaning on you.

“Your room, you need to be put to bed before you hurt yourself.” You say dragging him through the corridor.

“But I left my wine goblet.” He says trying to pull you back to the alcove he emerged from.

“If you go back for it, I’ll leave you there and you can pass out on the floor for all I care.” You say letting go of him.

“Fine.” He huffs.

As you reach his room you open the door and close it behind you. You push him onto the bed and he laughs looking up at you.

“That’s not how I imaged it.” He laughs, eyes glazed over.

“Imagined what?” You asked as you move to leave.

“You pushing me onto the bed.” He replied as if it was common knowledge.

You mule over the words in your head. He seems more honest when drunk. Before you can stop yourself, you find your self asking.

“Why would you hate it if we were related?”

“My thoughts of you would be considered inappropriate. The thoughts I don’t want to have.” He relied his eyes getting droopy.

“What do you think about me?” You ask.

“The thought of you in my arms.” He said as his eyes shut.

You stare there for a minute, processing this new information. You wait until you hear soft snoring before opening the door and turning to find your mother.

~~~~~~~

[youryanderedaddy]

Bad dog

tw: very trippy and edgy rawr, hinted captivity, hinted abuse, insults, victim blaming

During the coldest nights, as the fireplace tickles your cheeks red, he likes to tell you over and over - with the slightest of smiles, the story of how you two first met. As if you don't remember it. As if you don't regret every second of it.

You with your long raincoat crying, barely coherent, searching for escape, for a savior to run into. Clinging to any stranger who looked kind enough, who had innocent eyes, who wasn't drunk or drugged out of their mind - but in that type of neighbourhood after dark, you hardly met any respectable people. Heavy stench of wet tobacco sinking to the very fabric of your flimsy dress under the cargo (feeling like a whore and looking like one, he often adds with a biting chuckle) - your heart was beating, clapping like a dying bird's wings, and if it could speak with a human voice, it would be screaming. You were being chased.

You don't even recall his name or his face anymore. Maybe an angry lover? A crazed admirer? Your father, drunk and bitter after a fight? Back then you were so terrified you could describe him in your sleep, but now nothing seemed as scary as it did back then. Darkness has become your sanctuary and even the monsters pity you. You were afraid you were losing your mind, once, (don't be silly, he had said. you were crazy from the star, doll.) you could feel his hands on you, but whose hands were they really? Why were you running in the first place?

He was screaming. Threatening to murder you, maybe. You were shaking and wet and you just needed a hug. And perhaps one hundred martinis followed by the most gruesome, toe - curling, humiliating fuck of your life. The type that leaves you feeling filthy, bleeding, and not even in a good way. The type you could control and write down, and fully envision with director cuts and quotes and props, as if come out of your own personal fucked up pink little porn studio.

You needed someone - something. A friend? A kind soul that happened to pass by? You had watched too many movies. You were naive - all those offices, all those mass corporate names, those leather seats at the top floor right next to the big boss, those tears and sweats to climb the ladder and yet, you were still a naive, stupid little girl. Believing in fairytales, in the power of love, tenderness, believing that out there exists someone who might just take you as you are for free. Someone who will hold you without bruising you. Someone who will save you without destroying everything you are. Someone who will fight those fights for you without somehow perversely enjoying breaking down all those walls, all that independence you had created for yourself.

You're not a child anymore. And as you look at the man across from you, with his crazed eyes, with what he thinks is love, you're not sure if you're the naive one. You're not sure if good exists, if love is real or just some commercial bullshit. A lie that communists invented to get free sex, or whatever.

"You looked like a nasty little street rat. You jumped into my arms and I was thinking," He speaks and speaks and speaks, and God, you're tired of hearing. You wish your ears would bleed out before he is finished with the story. "Maybe I should blow your brains out. One less sad whore on those streets." He grips your thighs painfully and you kick him in the groin, but he only groans in return. Freak. "But then you opened that cute little mouth of yours and-"

And you begged him to help you. To save you. To take you away from this miserable life of yours.

"You looked so helpless. I couldn't help myself."

And that's why he decided to chain you like a dog and fuck you black and blue. Because he couldn't help himself. And because you couldn't help yourself, you had invited him. Your body was calling out to him. If you weren't so sad, if you weren't so lonely, so helpless. If you weren't in the wrong place at the wrong time, you wouldn't meet the wrong people. If you had only been a good girl. If you had just stayed put. If you didn't entice bad men - even as a child. Even as you were spilling your guts out, maybe your blood was just that beautiful.

"You basically threw yourself into my arms. It was love at first sight."

Right. It was love all along.

[skatingbi]

So hear me out on my headcanon guys:

Sanji with heterochromia (i cant spell that fuckin word man..) where one eye is blue and another is brown. He always hides the blue eye.

The first one to notice is Zoro, who is immediantly like "holy shit youre eyes are pretty" and sanji is like "what the FUCK"

Actually fuck it im gonna write about this nobody can stop me.

Sometimes, on lonley nights in the gallery, when Sanji is busy prepping, he looks in the reflection of his knife. Underneath the frizzy mess of a fringe that is part of his hair reveals the blue eye he struggles looking at. He stares, scrutinizing that light blue in the gleam of his knife gripped tightly in his hand. He looks away to force his attention back on prep work. His hands are always slightly unsteady after those moments. He always ends up with a cut on his hand one way or another on those nights.

When Sanji was a kid, his brothers would use his heterochromia as a weapon against him. He was the freak with two colored eyes. They would say his blue eye was creepy, too. Not only was he weak but also too different to be called their brother.

When you're a kid, you take these insults to heart. Eventually, when you're barely into adulthood, they'll still plague you. They become a part of you, just like how Zeff's teachings became a part of Sanji.

Judge looked at his eyes with disgust masked by indifference. It was another reason for Sanji to assume why he was the failure. The outcast. The runt of the litter.

His mother had blue eyes. She always claimed Sanji got his blue eye from her because her father had heterochromia, too. That was the only time little Sanji felt normal. When she died, Sanji started to grow out his hair to hide the only thing he had left of her: her eyes.

Now, Sanji still hides her eyes from view. Realistically, Sanji is fully aware that none of the crew would give a rats ass what he looked like. Regardless, old habits die hard. He feels safe under the mask he made for himself. As he goes about preparing lunch, perhaps grilled sea king again with how luffy is always eager to fight those things, he lets his mind wander to his eyes more. While hands expertly move through his knife like an extension of his body, he thinks about the mess of blond hair that's always in the way. He'd never admit it out loud, but his hair actually bothers him. Since it started growing out, it gets everywhere; his mouth, in his eyes, and tangled in the buttons of his shirt. Is sanji happy with his longer hair? Absolutely. It's a nusiance to leave it down constantly, though.

As he's thinking this, he's blowing the fringe of hair covering his face out of the way every so often so it stops tickling his nose. He continues to evenly slice through a portion of sea king meat until somebody, Nami he realizes immediantly, speaks up.

"Do you need a hair tie, sanji?" Nami asks sweetly. Her smile is radiant, as always, while she looks up from the map shes been studying. Sanji didnt even realize Nami came in and made the kitchen table into a study until now, but he doesnt dwell on it. Nami is welcome in his kitchen, after all.

"Oh no, thank you, Nami-swan! I think I just need a haircut soon," Sanji lies as he's moving through the kitchen. He gives Nami a quick smile before turning back to the meat on the cutting board and avoids Nami's gaze under the disguise of being busy. His lie wasn't as believable as he wanted it to be, especially when he's stumbling over his words while he is usually eloquent with them towards Nami and Robin.

"But until then, you should take one! I probably have hundreds lying around my room anyways," She says. It's a peace offering designed to be in Sanji's language of communication. It secretly says he's getting that hairtie whether he wants it or not, and Sanji is weak enough to accept the offering. He takes the hair tie with a grateful smile, wrapping it around his wrist and going back to his current task. Nami and Sanji work in comfortable silence after that, but the hair tie weighs on his wrist like a weighted bracelet.

A few days pass by. Through every single one, he stares at the hair tie in the morning. He really should tie his hair back. It reaches his shoulders for gods sake, and it keeps getting in his mouth - but that small part of him that clings onto grief like its all that he knows refuses to. He doesn't think he can bring himself to share the only part of himself that he truly loves deep down. What if the crew really thinks it's weird? What if his brothers are right?

These what if's roam in the back of his mind. They lurk just beneath the surface like an unknown predator hidden in murky water. He ignores it along with the anxiety that crawls up his throat every time he looks at his wrist.

Then, a week passes by. Now he's in his kitchen making a simple breakfast for his nakama. Franky, in particular, will enjoy this since his tastes lie within American style food most of the time. He focuses on seasoning the eggs, some of them cooked differently to cater to everyone's tastes. While he goes through the familiar and therapeutic motions of cooking, the door opens to reveal an annoying head of mossy hair and the steady noise of three swords bumping each other at the hip.

" Oi, go to sleep in your own bunk. I dont need you stinkin' up my kitchen while im trying to work." He utters without looking up from the stove.

"Why can't I just sleep here shit cook?" Zoro grunts. Sanji hears him shuffle around on the gallery's couch behind him. He's probably lying down, or maybe he'll sleep sitting up again, or maybe he'll watch Sanji cook. That's the most irritating one, which usually ends up with them fighting out on the deck one way or another.

"Because youre fuckin' annoying, get out."

"The hell I am, I'm taking a nap here."

"Oh my - You know what?" Sanji whips around to glare at Zoro, making sure the knife he was using is now in his hand to point at the source of his ire, "Fine, but if I hear a single snore out of you I'm kicking you into the ocean!" He threatens and turns around to finish up with breakfast. By now, all he has left is pancakes. The batter was prepped earlier, so now it's just focusing on pouring evenly. It's task that's menial but still important to him regardless.

His hair is covering his face too much. He tries to shake his head to flip it to the side. It falls back to where it was before he can pick the bowl of batter back up. He brushes it over his shoulder, and it simply flows back over it. He blows his hair out of the way, a classic move, but not even that works and he's slamming the bowl down on the counter before he can even stop himself and walks away from his work to grab the hairtie from around his wrist. In a few fluid motions, he ties his hair back haphazardly into a poor attempt at a low bun, but it's out of his face, and now he can focus.

He's too deep in concentration to even remember that he has heterochromia in the first place. Cooking lowers his guard unlike anything else in the world. The gallery acts like a safe space and cooking is his comfort. He still forgets, too, while calling for Zoro to get his lazy ass up to help since he's decided to loiter in his kitchen.

"Hey moss, if you're gonna laze around my kitchen, set the table for me." His request demand is met with a middle finger, which Sanji gladly returns as he walks over to the couch to kick Zoro on the stomach. The half asleep annoyance is now suddenly alert and glares at Sanji for a moment before it's quickly replaced with a look Sanji has yet to add to his mental notes he likes to call "Marimo Dictionary". Zoro's eyebrows are slightly raised, and his eyes glitter with something Sanji rarely sees. He's never been able to place a name on that look. Now he's confused. "What? Dont give me that youre tired crap youre not fuckin 10." He says.

Zoro is still looking at him, though, and now Sanji looks back with confusion because what the fuck is he-

Oh. His eyes.

Shit.

Sanji rips the hairtie out of his hair at light speed, probably pulling a few strands out by accident in the process but he could honestly care less when theres something more important. Like whatever the fuck just happened.

Before he can turn away and go set the table himself to distance himself from the marimo, Zoro's hand moves suddenly to grab his wrist, stopping him from running away.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Zoro pleads. And what the fuck. Zoro has never said anything like that and its fucking with Sanji's head because what the fuck. "You...uh." He continues in his signature graceless way. "Your eyes..." He pauses after that, sitting up and looking at Sanji, but not just looking, he's looking.

"Marimo," Sanji's own voice is riddled with anxiety with how shaky it is now. "Let me go dumbass," He demands but it could have been mistaken for him begging with how much he's struggling to keep himself together.

He's anticipating the worst. He knows what he's expecting. Sanji has experienced it countless times before, and he's aware he will again right now while a pancake is probably burning on the pan for all he knows.

It doesnt.

Zoro is looking at him still, maintaining eye contact but also darting between both eyes. He's looking at him like those golden eyes are looking into his soul and its too much.

It's too much because Zoro's response is uncharacteristically soft in so many ways. Zoro speaks to him like he's speaking with reverence, "Your eyes are beautiful."

Sanji shatters on the gallery floor there. His soul is bare for Zoro to see suddenly and that terrifies Sanji. Nobody has ever told him he's beautiful. Especially his eyes. He yanks his wrist from Zoro's grasp and speed walks to the stove to turn it off and remove the burnt pancake from the pan. He doesnt respond. He cant, not when his heart flutters when it should have been anchored down by rejection.

Then, Sanji walks up to Zoro, grabs onto both his shoulders, pushes him out the gallery door with surprisingly little resistance, and slams it shut. He leans against the door, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor with his head tucked between his knees. His face is burning and his face is probably red like a tomato right now. He stares at the ground with wide eyes and a weirdly giddy feeling in his chest and stomach nearly akin to happiness but also dangerously close to feeling freaked the hell out.

"What the fuck."

[dilfdemolisher]

ETERNAL - Hannibal Vampire AU

Summary: Recently turned by your physiatrist after being found on the brink of death causes more then emotional turmoil when you can no longer fight the feeling of hunger - Comments and critiques are encouraged.

Content Warning: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, cannibalism, gore, it's implied the reader attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, manipulation, implied death

Word Count: 1.4k

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is ridiculous. I did not consent to this.” 

He smiles, “This specifically? No, but you did consent to be bitten. It is not my fault you are regretting your choice.” 

You cannot stand his smug satisfaction that he draws from your discomfort. 

“I wasn’t given full specifics of what this would entail, and I was vulnerable and incoherent. Someone on the brink of death doesn't understand things clearly.” 

He steps closer; you can’t help but tense at his body nearing yours. "You said yes because you trusted me, and why should you stop now?” His chilly hand cups your own cold cheek. 

Everything is so firm, as you’ve noticed since you turned. It makes you so inhuman that you’ll never get to appreciate warmth again—no hot baths, no more feeling the sun’s heat on your skin. You are now chained to a cold castle, inhabited by a cold, cruel man. 

“You transformed me into a monster; you’re the last thing I’d ever want to be, and you’ve cursed me with just that.” You insult while looking into his eyes. It’s hard to believe you once admired him as an intelligent, handsome man. But now, when you look into him, you understand what a dark, hollow man he is inside. 

His nails dig into your cheek slightly. You feel that he should pierce through your skin, but despite the pain blooming, your cheek stays taught, and no puncture wounds form. 

The physicality of your transformation continues to surprise you. The cold skin that covers your body reminds you of porcelain in a sense; it’s impossible to damage without shattering, causing complete destruction. 

Nevertheless, you are persistent in your standing. “I was your patient; it was your goal to keep me sane. You failed and corrected your mistakes, once too late.” 

After stealing a moment to observe you, he pulls away. “You’ll cave much sooner than you expect; I can already smell your hunger.” He says before walking away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and drying throat. 

Hannibal was right. You’re caving. 

At first, your mind started reeling at the ways you could most ethically eat. But it didn’t take long for morality to leave you alone, perpetually cold and hungry. 

The noise in your brain is consuming you and is now too loud to ignore. It claws at your stomach and mind; it didn’t take long for you to start wailing. You falsely assumed you could go much longer without eating, like a reptile or spider. But it’s only been days since you’ve turned and hunger is crawling out of your throat in desperate cries.

Your bedroom door opens; it’s odd to call it that. It’s just a room in Hannibal's house with a bed, nightstand, and bookshelf—a place that should be cozy. But it’s not like you sleep in it. It's simply a space with four walls to wallow about your stolen death.

“I have something for you.” You hear his voice say. You are too exhausted to even acknowledge his presence. You don’t want a gift; you want to die.

He sighs, you hear him step closer to the bed in which you lay. “She’s unconscious, she won’t know a thing.” 

When his attempt to soothe isn’t met with a single sound of recognition. He places a hand on your cheek, guiding your eyes to his. “She’s going to die either way, you can eat while she’s unconscious or I can devour her while she writhes.” 

You could say no; you could shake your head and beg for a rat, you’d even morally compromise for a cat. But you’re so hungry.

An image of a woman drained and pale, fragile and lifeless that your head conjures does nothing but give you the energy you need. “Please.”

“Then come,” he smiles, holding his hand out to you. 

Shakily, you rise. His hand stays firm on your lower back as he guides you into the living area. 

And there she is, the human you’ll steal their life from, her future, her life, her love. All to be greedily swallowed by you. 

Hannibal watches your reaction closely, the intensity of his gaze piercing through the dimly lit room. You can feel his satisfaction, his anticipation. The human lies motionless on the couch, her chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic manner. She’s so fragile, so warm. You catch the faint scent of her blood, a scent that suddenly fills the room, sharper and sweeter than anything you’ve ever known.

Your throat tightens, a raw, burning sensation that pulses through you with every breath. You step closer, feet moving of their own accord. The hunger gnaws at you, each step a battle between what’s left of your humanity and the predator you've become.

Hannibal’s voice breaks through the haze. “You’re fighting yourself, but why? This is what you are now. Accept it, and the pain will subside.”

His words dig into you like knives. You hate him for it. Hate him for turning you, for binding you to this monstrous existence. But most of all, you hate him for being right. The hunger is unbearable, an insatiable craving that dominates every thought, every fiber of your being. You clench your fists, your nails biting into the skin of your palms, but the pain does nothing to distract you from the scent of the blood calling to you.

Hannibal steps closer, his breath cold against your ear. “She’s yours. Take her.”

You close your eyes, trying to remember who you were before this nightmare. But those memories feel distant, slipping through your grasp like sand. All you can feel is the hunger, a relentless, throbbing need that clouds everything else. You open your eyes, staring at the woman lying before you, her life hanging by a thread. It would be so easy, just one bite, and the hunger would be gone.

You lower yourself beside her, hands trembling as they hover above her throat. Her pulse is steady, the sound of her heartbeat deafening in your ears. Your fangs ache, desperate to sink into her soft, warm skin. You hesitate, but Hannibal’s presence looms behind you, his shadow pressing you forward.

“You don’t have to suffer,” he whispers.

With a gasp, you lean forward, your lips brushing her neck. The warmth of her skin against yours sends a jolt of electricity through your body, and before you can stop yourself, your fangs pierce her flesh. The rush of blood fills your mouth, hot and intoxicating, more powerful than anything you could have imagined.

For a brief, terrible moment, everything else fades away. The guilt, the shame, the hatred—it all melts into nothing as the hunger is sated. The warmth spreads through your body, filling you with a twisted sense of satisfaction. You drink deeply, feeling her life drain away with every pull, her heartbeat growing fainter as she rushes down your throat.

But then, something shifts inside you. The realization of what you're doing, of what you’ve become. You pull back, breath ragged, her blood still staining your lips. The woman lies there, pale and barely breathing, her life slipping through your fingers. You look down at her, horrified by what you've done, by what you are.

Hannibal is beside you, watching with that same smug smile. "You see now, don’t you?" he says, voice laced with dark satisfaction.

You stumble away from the woman, the taste of her blood still clinging to your tongue. “I don’t want this,” you whisper, but the words feel hollow, meaningless; you know you’ll want it again. The hunger never truly goes away. It’s always lurking, always waiting for the next moment of weakness.

Hannibal steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. "The sooner you accept what you are, the easier it will be. You’re free now—free from the limitations of mortality, free from the weaknesses that once held you back."

You shake your head, backing away from him. His smile fades, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. "You’ll learn in time, the gift I’ve given you" he says quietly.

Without another word, he turns and leaves the room, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness. You're left standing there, trembling, staring down at the fragile life you’ve just torn apart.

[weebsinstash]

some random poly yandere staticradio soulmate stuff because it literally will not leave my head

- just picture you've been dead for a small handful of months and you're at home in your apartment just absolutely exhausted when suddenly not one but two soulmate strings appear on your hand and within like 2 minutes you've got someone knocking on your front door. It turns out the two of them were about to have some sort of spar or fight or competition that put both of them in the area at the exact same time and they both meet you for the first time together

- I like the idea that since they just show up at your apartment, it becomes a trend of you coming home and they've already let themselves in, and it's always both of them. They're very open about not trusting leaving the other alone with you so you're just constantly getting double exposure from two super insecure looney tunes dudes who are constantly competing with each other

- i keep gravitating towards a Reader who is, not quite hostile to them but is immediately overwhelmed and turned off by their presence because you're still very overwhelmed about being dead and being stuck working in Hell's rat race and meanwhile these two grown men are coming on to you VERY strong and it's just a lot of pressure very suddenly, so, you're basically very up-front about telling both of them you don't want any sort of relationship right now, and they just. Are convinced it's simply a matter of warming up your heart and letting you get comfortable with them, so they're just CONSTANTLY showing up unannounced trying to get you to go out and do things with them. They're always trying to sneak behind each other's backs and see you in private but for some suspicious reason you're never alone with one of them for very long before the other seems to catch wind, almost as if they're also spying on each other--

- given that in this scenario, the boys are being extremely pushy and Reader is kind of actively telling them to fuck off, I keep thinking of Reader deciding the only way to get rid of them is to make them hate you or think you're annoying and you start deliberately playing favorites back and forth to make them fight. You're just so overwhelmed with... everything, your life, your death, your trauma, that part of you just says "let them kill each other in a rage, rhen you won't have to deal with either"

... but like you'll go to mock and insult and tease them and they think it's cute??? They think you're funny??? You could literally look Alastor directly in the eyes as you verbally unload an entire magazine of psychological ammunition against him as you tell him exactly what he comes off as to you, how he's clearly playing a character, how it's so obvious he has some deep trauma eating away inside of him, a deep hole that can never be filled, and you could say some things that could CUT deep for anyone else, and he'd, bark out laughing in your face. "Aren't YOU quite the spitfire!! I see you've got a silver-tongue!" and he's almost PRAISING your attempts to get under his skin???

You say things to these two that would make other people either cry or viciously beat your ass and they'll just, all but coo at you. Aren't you so smart for being able to pinpoint their deep insecurities and dig into them in the most hurtful ways :) you could rant at Alastor about how "if his mom gave half a damn about raising him, he wouldn't be in Hell" and he'll somehow mansplain manipulate malewife you into traumadumping about your own mom

-when you want to make them argue or pit them against each other, you rub in one of their faces all the things you have in common and like to do with the other one. Alastor could be absolutely verbally tearing Vox into pieces and have him almost reduced to tears and you'll stroll through the room looking for your hair brush, "at least I'll be having sex with him" and then casually strolling back out while Alastor is SCANDALIZED. Drunk Reader calling out to Alastor, "noooo, don't bully my dorky little TV, he's got that dick I need ���"

Vox is annoying you? You make direct eye contact with him as you sit yourself down next to Alastor and turn to him, "you know, beau, I was hoping you and I could go out to a jazz club and I could learn a little about dancing! Does that sound like it could be fun?" and of course Alastor now gets the delicious opportunity to spend time with you and know he's engaging his rival to no ends

-Just, it eventually just getting really petty and cute tbh. You're cooking and Alastor takes a taste and makes some comment you don't like and you just holler over your shoulder, "Vox honey, my FAVORITE soulmate, do you want me to fix you a plate to eat?" and he's all but racing into the kitchen to see you (and watch Alastor fume). Everyone is constantly pissing each other off but the second like, Vox is showing up at your front door alone and Alastor is running suspiciously late, it's not just one of you that starts getting concerned. It's like. A lil family almost. Of nasty people annoying the shit out of each other and then getting drunk and making out

- ok... ok... this is a very specific scenario but i keep thinking about it and I just.... imagine if after being kind of cold and distant or like reluctantly affectionate with them for a prolonged period of time you eventually are a direct witness to like.... you basically happen to be out in public at the right place at the right time to see Valentino putting his hands on Vox. And you just kind. Explode. And have some sort of powers of your own where you're just basically pummeling Valentino and helping Vox to his feet, and his face is all busted up so maybe he can't even see or hear properly but he knows you're there and it's you helping him up and, you wind up either helping him all the way back home or you run into a random radio somewhere while Alastor is on the air and you just start bawling and begging for his help. He just immediately ends his broadcast and comes to find you totally sobbing over Vox as you try to keep all the falling pieces of his screen in place, cutting your fingers on them, not knowing how to fix him, IF he can be fixed, you just don't know--

Vox holding your hand even though he can't talk while Alastor helps take charge and calm you down. He takes the both of you somewhere else, somewhere safe, and after leaving you waiting alone for a while, they both reappear. Alastor has helped repair Vox, but with an older model of television, either the same kind if not the exact same one that Vox used to have. He can repair this guy, but he refuses to touch modern tech. Besides, maybe he thinks this suits Vox better anyways, and, you're just so relieved he can talk and see again, and there wasn't much you could have done to help on your end, so, you're just, crying with relief that he's all better, basically bear hugging the both of them as you apologize for how mean you've been and, you'll give them a chance, it's just really a lot right now, and maybe if they gave you some more space--

but they'll refuse, because for one, why would they spend any time away from you, that's stupid 🥺 like deadass them just giving you the most genuine smiles and just "give you space? why would we ever do that? You're our soulmate" in just like, the most heinously loving way possible 😭❤️ you're gonna constantly wake up with one or both of them standing over you and you're going to LIKE IT--

[small-sinclair]

Clingy brahms with separation anxiety having a breakdown after reader went out for groceries (malcolm isnt here) and reader coming back to him laying infront of the door asleep with ouffy eyes and then they take him to the bedroom and cuddle with him and he wakes up shaken up and they(reader) comfort him?🥹

Its can be any pronouns ;w;

Alone

Okay, this is my first time writing for him, so let me know how I did!

Gotta love me a clingy Brahms... but what if this is the reader's first time meeting him? What if the reader never knew who he was until they leave?

Brahms Heelshire x gen!reader

You hated to leave the house this time of year. It's cold, wet, rainy, windy, and gross out there, but you have to get a few things. Malcolm wasn't coming to the house until the end of the week, and to add insult to injury, he's come down with the flu. So, why should you risk going out while he got the flu? In this weather?

You wrote a sticky note, telling him where you were going, but you needed to tell him in person. You remember that your parents left without telling you once, and it scared you shitless. Yes, they left a note, but it still wasn't the best thing for you.

You sat the doll down in the living room with some of Brahms's favorite teddy bears, making the warmest cuddle pile that you could muster. "Brahms, honey, I have to go to town for a moment, okay? I promise to be back as soon as I can."

"No," you heard from the walls, the little boy calling for you. "Don't leave Brahms."

You fixed his little jacket and straightened his hair just a tad. "If you are on your bestest behavior, I'll let you have extra ice cream tonight--"

"Brahms... wants y/n," the voice said again on your left. the little voice echoed throughout the living room and it nearly broke your heart. "Don't leave me."

But you have to get some food. You have enough to last two days, but it's Tuesday. You can't have that. What type of caretaker would you be if you let little Brahms starve? What type of person would you be if he didn't have everything he needed? You let out a tired and quick breath and closed your eyes.

You stood up and went to the coat rack. You started putting on your warm jacket when you heard the walls crack as if there were rats. It's been doing that lately. More often than normal, actually. You've been here for a handful of months being the doll's nanny, and you loved it. Everyday was a new adventure with Brahms. Everyday, something new happened between you and the doll. The ghost of the boy even started talking to you more and more. You thought you were going insane, but he made it clear that it was him. The silence between you two was filled with bits of joy and happiness. The more you watched over Brahms, the more your heart swell for the doll.

As for his ghost and the walls moving? You couldn't make out if his was trying to scare you or make you nervous. Either way, a new rule was made: No Jump Scaring the Nanny. After that, Brahms's doll stopped moving from one room to the other, and you were thankful for that. You didn't want to have a heart attack every time you turn around and meeting a still doll looking back at you.

The house never felt empty when you and the doll hung out, you following the rules as close as you could. You and Brahms walked around the house every other day. You would carry him with such care as you talked about anything and everything. You loved seeing the art hanging on the walls, and you loved telling him daring storied behind some of the paintings. The house never felt alone with you around, and you felt as if he was thankful to have you. Maybe you're his first friend? Even at night, in separate rooms, you never felt alone. You always felt as if a guardian angel was watching you while you slept. Sometimes, you would feel as if your angel was sleeping next to you as the end of the bed, sitting on the edge, or leaving a kiss in your hair.

You weren't alone, y/n. Never were alone.

You went back into the living room and your face fell. The doll moved from the cuddle pile of teddy bears to your keys on the counter. He was sitting on it as if he could stop you from leaving, but he had to face it that he was just a doll, not human.

"Brahms," you breathed as you went to the keys. You pick them up then picked Brahms up. You carried him to the cuddle pile again. Turning, you took your jacket off the couch and placed it over him like a blanket. "Can you be a good boy and stay here? Not trash the house like last time?"

The last time you left, it was just to get the mail. When you came back, the library was turned upside down. Malcolm helped put things together while you put Brahms in time out, sitting him in a chair, facing the corner of the wall. That night, you had a heart-to-heart with him not to turn the house inside out whenever you leave. As punishment, you didn't give him his goodnight kiss or read to him. The next morning, you woke up to a drawn picture made out of crayons of some flowers, and there was a written apology on the back of the drawing.

"Stay," the boy's voice said again, but it sounded like it was over you. You looked you, jerking your head to see nothing by the ceiling. "Y/n shouldn't leave Brahms."

You looked back at the doll and placed a kiss on his head. You stand and took one last look at the room. "I will be back in two hours, okay? I promise."

"Don't go!" You heard something far in the house break, and it sounded like glass. "Don't leave me! I'll be good! Brahms will be good!"

"I'll be back!" You promised. "I swear!" You opened the front door and left, locking it behind you. As you started down the steps, you could've sworn you felt eyes watching you with hatred and fear. You looked back at the house then went to the car. "I promise," you whispered.

You started your car and left the Heelshire Mansion.

****************

As promised, you were back within two hours with a five bags of groceries and fast food. You got Brahms a Happy Meal to make up for leaving. You knew he'll be mad, but you hope he'll understand. His ghost was different to deal with sometimes, but you were happy with it. He wasn't the worst kid you've looked after, but he wasn't a saint either. Some days were better than others, but you always kissed him goodnight and read to him in the rocking chair in the den.

But you would be lying to yourself that you didn't enjoy leaving the house for a while, too. If it wasn't for the wind and the rain, it would be a halfway nice day. Maybe you would take Brahms on a drive once the weather gets better outside. You think he would love to go on a drive to the bookstore and back! He could pick out new books and stories for you to read, and you can get a cake pop and a hot cocoa...

Brahms would love that.

You unlocked the door and pushed the door open. "Brahms!" You announced. "I'm home--"

You dropped the bags as you found a grown man in the hallway of the house. He wore light grey sweatpants and a dirty white cutoff, showing different sized scars over his skin. His dark brown hair was curled and untamed, greasy and wild. You wanted to scream and call the cops, but something caught your eyes. He wore a mask that looked just like Brahms's face. The more you looked at him, the more familiar you felt with him. It's like you've known him your whole life being in the house taking care of the doll.

You closed the door behind you and picked the bags back up. He was out like a light, sleeping heavily in the hallway, clutching your jacket. You could see his mask had tear stained streaks over the clay, and you felt bad for him. If this was Brahms, the doll you've been caring for, you'll have to tell not to sleep on the floor because you haven't swept in a while.

You took the bags to the kitchen and put away the cold items before coming back to him. Carefully, you lifted the man up and hauled him to the couch. You laid his head on your lap and just looked at him. The man looked so close to the doll's face, and it almost scared you. There wasn't a ghost in the house. There wasn't a boy's ghost haunting the doll. There was him, and he's been here the whole time. His parents must've hid him away from the world, and you felt sorry for him.

But you should be scared. You should be terrified that there's a stranger resting on your lap, but you didn't fear a thing. The paintings of a young boy around the house was in your grasp. The mountains that he climbed and the laps he made throughout the house just to be near you must've killed him. You wondered how many times he wanted to hold your hand or hug you. You wonders how many times he thought of you when he was alone.

His parents hid him from the world, and that's not right. That wasn't right.

Well, at least he listened and didn't tore the house apart...

You looked at the grandmother clock in the corner of the living room then back at man. It's dinner time, and you thought of the fast food on the counter.

Gently, you shook his shoulder. "Brahms?" You asked in a whisper. "Brahms? Sweetheart, it's time for dinner... Brahms?" The man curled into the lab and buried his face in your stomach. You almost laughed; he reminded you of a puppy. "Brahms, time to wake up." You shake him a little harder this time, and he stirs. "Honey? Wake up," you say, shaking him again.

Slowly, the man sits up and looked at her with a sleepy gaze. It took him a moment to process where he was. When his eyes met yours, he scurried away from you, backing up from on the couch to the be on the other end. There was a mixture of emotions in his eyes: panic, fear, sadness, and hurt. He looked at you up and down the around him. How could he let you see him? He didn't want to meet like this. Not like this! He thought of showing himself to you in a couple of weeks, but this? No. No! This wasn't want Brahms wanted!

His thoughts stopped flooding as soon as your hand touched his. He looked at your hand then at you. "Brahms?" You whispered. "Are you... Brahms?"

You watched his Adams apple bob then he answered in the little boy's voice that you've been hearing for months, "Yes. Please don't be... mad at Brahms. I was... scared." He wanted to curl up and hide from you forever, but he saw your sad smile.

You tilted your head. "Why would I be mad?"

"Brahms left his spot," he answers shyly. "Brahms's a bad boy." His voice cracked as he remembered you telling him to stay right there in the pile. You told him to stay put but he didn't! He's the worse person for not listening to you! You've been nothing but kind to him.

You shake your head. "Oh, Brahms... it's okay. It's alright. You're not bad." Then you realized how truly big the house was and how he felt. How many years did he feel alone? How many times did he watch his real mother love a doll instead of him? He's alone. He's so scared of being alone. "You've must've been so scared of being alone again, huh?"

He nods. "Always alone. Brahms likes y/n. Y/n doesn't make Brahms feel..." he looked around the living room then at the doll in the teddy bear pile. "...alone."

"Well," you said, coming closer to him, taking both of his hands, "you will never be alone, sweetie. Not while I'm here."

"But you left."

"I came back, didn't I?" You asked, smoothing your thumb over his knuckles. "Right? I promised to come back to you, and I did. See?" You offered him a happy grin. "I didn't break my promise."

Brahms looks at you then down at your hands. He's always imagined what your hands felt like in his, and he melts. Carefully, he brought your hands up to his mask to let you touch the smooth glaze and he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. Under his mask, he smiles and starts crying. He loves you with all his soul, and his lungs filled up with nothing but flowers for you. All for you.

"You were so brave," you praised. "Such a good boy for listening to me. Thank you for not destroying the house."

His eyes locked on yours. "I'm good?"

"Always been good, Brahms." You glanced at the counter where the fast food sat then back at him. "Let's eat dinner, okay?"

"Cuddle after that?" his little voice asked.

You nodded. "After eating. Sound like a deal?"

He nods as he leans forward into your hands, wondering what they would feel like against his skin. But, that'll be for another day. Both of you would have to take small steps before your lips would trace his, before his hands would hold yours every day.

Small steps, y/n, until you both don't feel alone.