#except today this old man has taken over I guess

[stellocchia]

Do you guys think that, after Killer's escape, Nightmare ever visits random AUs in the hope of catching a glimpse of him? Do you think that, when he spots Color and Killer going about their day, he ever follows them silently at a distance? Just observing and thinking.

He's still capable of feeling all the negative emotions, so do you guys think he ever looks at them and is consumed by regret? By bitterness at what he could have had all along had he not been, well, him?

Do you think he ever feels lonely? Do you think he ever goes to give Killer an order and remembers he's not there? Do you think he ever visits other universes just to hear someone yapping for a while? Just so the empty silence of the castle doesn't crush him?

Do you think he ever finds himself unreasonably angry at Color? Because the idea that he may be at fault and that things could have been better had he been better is one that crosses his mind only rarely. Usually, he'd rather blame it all on him. If Color had been a worse person then Killer would have stayed. If Color just used him as the tool he is they wouldn't be here. If Color was more controlling, if Color was more violent, if Color was more selfish... if Color just wasn't himself then maybe he wouldn't be feeling so shitty.

Do you think that he ever goes back to his giant empty castle after a day of following Color and Killer around and seeing how much better Killer's life is now, how much happier he is without him, and thinks, only for a moment, that maybe he'd try and do better next time? That maybe it would be worth it to change? That maybe he can make the next Killer stay for good? Do you think that sentiment lasts or is it just washed away by more hatred and the thought that, well, Color can't save them all anyway?

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

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

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

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

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

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

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

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

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

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

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

[hedgehog-moss]

(TW POLICE VIOLENCE)

France has been feeling like a police state this week, there were 5000 cops deployed in Paris yesterday (watch this video and tell me this is a normal amount of cops and they're behaving normally) and they keep acting like they have total immunity*, to beat up protesters, to arrest protesters, or just random people walking in the vicinity of a protest. My 70+-year-old dad tried to go to a peaceful protest and had to abandon the idea because of all the tear gas being used by police.

*Which they do—as Le Monde pointed out, the cops who are violent risk nothing because they can't be identified because almost none of them wear their identification number even though it's supposed to be mandatory. They're not being penalised for not wearing them, so why should they?

If you can stomach it, please have a look at the photos and videos on this Twitter account documenting French police brutality against protesters—as I write this, the most recent tweet is about a journalist who was beaten up by a BRAV-M cop* using his steel baton; he had his head cracked open and his hand broken.

(* BRAV-M is a motorised repression corps—cops on bikes—a unit that was dissolved in 1986 after some of them beat a student to death, who wasn't even attending a protest but walking near one. Macron changed the unit's name, from Voltigeurs to BRAV-M, and reestablished it to suppress the Yellow Vests protests. This week, a BRAV-M cop deliberately drove over a 19-year-old's leg at a protest after chasing him on his bike. The victim said he heard a cop say to others "Smash him." Another BRAV-M punched a protester unconscious on March 20. And today Le Monde published an article about BRAV-M cops being recorded bragging about "breaking elbows and faces.")

In Paris last week the CRS arrested a 14-year-old kid because they took him for a dangerous black bloc protester I guess?? A child spent a night in police custody without knowing why. They've also arrested several 15 / 16 year-olds. Let's teach the youth what happens when you exercise your right to protest!

On March 16th in Paris, within one evening, they arrested 292 people, and 283 were released without charges, which means they're mass-arresting people for peaceful protests as a strategy of intimidation. The student I mentioned in my post the other day, who spent 48 hours in custody and was eventually charged for refusing to have his DNA samples taken and filed, asked the cops why they were arresting him + 4 other people who were walking down the same street and they said "Because you look like fucking leftists."

The government tells us "We fully support our brave police forces" when the cops are arresting people for "looking like leftists." How are we still a democracy? The guy also mentioned that during the time he spent at the police station, the police was mostly arresting Maghrebis, though they made an exception for him, a Black guy. There are videos from the past week of cops beating up women, tear gassing protesters in the face from 20cm away, kicking protesters in the face when they're already on the ground, crushing their heads under their boot, brutalising a homeless man and old ladies, tear gassing crowds with young children in them. I'm having trouble finding links to these specific incidents I remember because there are so many videos circulating.

Look at this video, they're violently striking the back of people's heads with steel batons even when the protesters are already going in the direction they're told to. The little old lady shoved around and trying to protect her head from the strikes is breaking my heart.

Surely at the point when enforcers of state authority are arresting middle schoolers, beating up citizens for exercising their rights and gassing and pepper spraying elderly people, children and babies in strollers, the government might want to make some sort of statement condemning this state of affairs, but instead they have been telling us they're proud of & grateful for their police forces, which of course angers people and makes protests more violent. The Minister of the Interior, who supervises the police, praises them wholeheartedly and excuses all instances of deliberate brutality as 'isolated incidents' due to 'tiredness'.

Here's a thread in English describing a protester's experience—"Yesterday (March 23) the level of arbitrary police violence clearly leveled up. I was tear gassed three times without being able to move in a very dense crowd; policemen took advantage that people were unable to move more than 20cm to pounce on us and bludgeon us in a totally arbitrary manner." (you can see an example of this behaviour in this video from a different protest)

Yesterday, after a day of nationwide protests that brought a fresh new wave of video evidence of cops beating up protesters and making reckless use of tear gas—at the end of a day when a special ed teacher at a protest got her thumb torn off by a tear gas grenade—this is what the French Prime Minister said:

They're not even trying to play it off like "both sides made mistakes" they're telling us they condone everything the police is doing, that this is what they're deploying them for:

(screencap from this video)

(this is from this video, in which you can hear a woman screaming "Stop it! You're strangling him! You have no right! I'm filming you!" The cops don't seem to care about being filmed. They're beating up citizens with the government's full blessing after all.)

Macron's government is trying to intimidate people into giving up their right to protest, by deploying cops in huge numbers and publicly voicing complete support for their behaviour, by allowing them to beat and arrest hundreds of people and to use tear gas indiscriminately. Tear gas has been completely normalised as a means of state violence, it's very practical that it doesn't leave traces of blood or broken bones I guess, but it's still violence, it burns, it's a chemical whose effects on people's health we don't know a lot about.

^ Paris (from this vid; caption: "one tear gas grenade after the other")

Macron condescendingly told us there's no "magic money" which is why the pension reform is needed, but he did find the money to stockpile these apparently unlimited amounts of tear gas grenades to suppress protests against his reform to make poor people work longer.

^ Nantes (screencap from a vid in which the cops throw three or four grenades at once and you can hear people say "oh come on, seriously? this is crazy. Why? go fuck yourselves" in a tired tone)

We've also found out yesterday that three Corsican MPs were pressured not to support the Assembly's no-confidence vote against the government—by being told if they didn't vote it, a teaching hospital would be built in Corsica.

The island of Corsica is the only region of France that doesn't have a teaching hospital; due to lack of medical resources Corsicans often have to travel to mainland France for healthcare. Just last month the Minister of Health said sorry, still no teaching hospital for Corsica, it's just not possible right now. Then last week some "magic money" was apparently found to build it but only if the Corsican MPs didn't support the no-confidence vote. I know this kind of thing isn't exactly unique in politics but Macron has been slashing hospital budgets to the point that 20% of French hospital beds are closed due to lack of staff, and he used the health of 340,000 French citizens as a bribe to save his ass. The three Corsican MPs ended up voting in favour of the no-confidence vote despite of that, as it was what their constituents wanted (honour to them). Macron's government survived the no-confidence vote by only 9 votes.

Whatever legitimacy Macron has as a President right now is being clung to by MP corruption and police repression. How do we move forwards knowing that, I don't know. How does he have legitimacy to govern on any issues after the way he handled this reform and the following protests? His police forces are drowning city centres in tear gas, a chemical whose effect on birds and other fauna is not known, and we're supposed to listen to him talk about the environment? They're wasting thousands of litres of water using water cannons to disperse protesters, and we're supposed to listen to him talk about low groundwater levels and how we need to save water? I was going to say, what about his legitimacy abroad but other Western governments don't seem too bothered so far by his handling of the protests—though I'm grateful that Amnesty International did condemn it, and that a Belgian deputy made a speech in Parliament this week asking his government to condemn Macron's use of violent police repression.

[Wait, I just saw that as I was writing this post, the Council of Europe condemned the "excessive use of force" in France. Saying that 'sporadic acts of violence' of some protesters can't 'justify the excessive use of force by agents of the State' or 'deprive peaceful protesters of their right to freedom of assembly'. This is the opposite framing as the one our government is standing by—sporadic acts of violence by cops that are either justified or excusable—it's refreshing.]

Between that and Charles III cancelling his visit (and lots of tourists cancelling trips to Paris which is bound to piss off the tourism industry) and our own media waking up and starting to talk about the government's brutality, I hope Macron starts being held accountable. He has been fanning the flames of this crisis at every turn, by telling us that the crowds protesting in the street have 'no legitimacy', by sending cops to break strikes even though striking is a Constitutional right (but the only part of the Constitution he cares about is the one that starts with 49.3), by condemning the protesters when asked to condemn police violence—saying "When [protesters] use violence, unregulated, absolute, we're no longer in a Republic." I agree, but he's describing himself.

When you resort to using article 49.3 to bypass the National Assembly for the 11th time this term to impose a reform that 70% of the country is against (and 93% of working people) that will force the poorer classes of the population to work longer, and your only response to people's distress at being told to work until they die is to force them to accept it by allowing your police forces to beat up protesters, to arrest them and to gas them, you have failed as a democratic leader.

The next organised protest and strike is next Tuesday (if you want to give something to the strike solidarity fund, here it is); in the meantime spontaneous protests are still erupting pretty much every day and cops are getting burnt out (good! There are fun videos from yesterday's protests of cops accidentally tear gassing one another, or a police car accidentally running into another as people laugh and clap.) And yes some protesters are getting more extreme and destructive, but Macron is the one choosing to stand by his reform at all costs and let this country burn. And when I look at what we're being expected to tolerate and to normalise, I'm kind of proud that French people's gut reaction was "burn it all."

Some popular Twitter hashtags for the protests:

#ToutCramer - Burn everything #CensurePopulaire - People's no-confidence vote #MacronDémission - Macron resign #OnLâcheRien - We won't cede an inch.

[estrellami-1]

Okay my love I’m sending you a sad and pathetic prompt and then a cutesy fluff prompt (I thought about just sending you the cute one, I feel like all I’m doing these last few days is feeling awful and not being very productive or fun to be around and I think I was just wallowing when I wrote that comment so absolutely feel free disregard this one if you want) this is the sad one, I was thinking more hurt/comfort vibes:

This is just basically self insert except it’s not me I’m inserting it’s my situation lol, one of their relatives passes away (not Wayne) and on top of that they have to find homes for their loved ones pets that they loved the most of anything in the world when everyone is just telling them to euthanize or that everywhere is full and they’re four states and 16 hours away from the pets so it’s not like they can go pick them up easily if at all, which causes them to get sick/throw up a ton from the sadness and anxiety about the situation - enter the other who takes care of them to make sure they don’t worry themselves to death (if anyone wants to come take care of me and maybe just give me about 3000 hugs a day we could make this a live action roleplay situation lol🥺)

(Sorry this is just me complaining pretty much, the other prompt will be cuter)

Oh my love, you’re allowed to feel bad and wallow. I’m so sorry this happened/is happening!! I can’t give you any real hugs but I’ll give you ALL the virtual hugs I can ❤️

When the World Ends - Part 1

Steve’s voice is trembling when he finally makes the call to Eddie. “Hey,” he manages, letting out a pathetic, airy laugh at how badly his voice shakes on that one word. “Um. Can. Can you come over?”

Eddie’s amazing, so he says, “I’ll be there in ten,” and he is. As soon as Steve opens the door, he murmurs, “What’s wrong?”

Steve bites his lip, invites Eddie in. “Y’know how I never mention my parents?” Eddie hums. “But I always leave in the spring for a couple weeks?”

Eddie nods. “Your grandparents, right?”

Steve nods. Bites his lip again, looks up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. “Um.” He sniffs. “My grandpa passed today.”

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, reaching for him until Steve shakes his head sharply. “What can I do?”

Steve huffs. “What can anyone do?” He wipes his face and begins to pace. “My grandma’s too old to stay on her own now, let alone with all the animals they’ve got, and of course it’s not like her own son would help, not when he could be in Cabo instead, finding new ways to cheat on my mom with his secretary or assistant or her secretary or who the fuck knows. And I want to help but I can’t leave Hawkins, not when everyone else is still here, and there’s still a chance, but it feels so selfish not to go when she needs me-”

“Steve,” Eddie interrupts softly, hands up between them. “Take a breath, man, it’ll be okay. I know you love your grandparents but this isn’t all on you, okay?”

Steve slumps back into the couch like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Says, barely above a whisper, “I’ve got animals out there.”

Eddie hums softly. “What did you say?”

“Animals. Pets. I can’t have them here so my grandparents have ‘em. I’ve got a dog and chickens and a horse and what ‘m I gonna do with them?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Eddie promises him.

Steve groans and stands up again, beginning to pace again. “They’re four states away, Eddie! I don’t have a horse trailer, I dunno anyone in Hawkins who has chickens so I dunno if that’s even allowed, and I can’t bring my dog here!” He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing. “I guess the horse could go back to the neighbor, but they gave her to me for a reason, and I dunno what’s gonna happen to the chickens, and imma have to give the dog away, too, and get my grandma somewhere she can be taken care of, and fuck, there’s still the house-” he chokes on an inhale and a sob, standing still for a moment before he dashes through the house.

Eddie watches, wide-eyed, and follows when the sound of retching reaches his ears. “Oh, Stevie,” he murmurs, dropping to his knees beside him, hand hovering over his back. “Can I touch you? Rub your back?” Between gasping breaths, Steve nods, so Eddie puts a gentle hand on his back, rubbing up and down. “You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs. “I know how scary this all seems right now, but you’re the strongest person I know, ‘sides Wayne, and you’ve got people who care about you and who’re gonna be here for you very step of the way, okay?”

The puppeteer cuts the strings once again, and Steve sags sideways into Eddie, trying to regulate his breathing, still quietly choking on his sobs. “Want me to call Birdie?” Eddie asks quietly, moving his hand to wrap his arm around Steve’s shoulders.

Steve shakes his head. Says, between breaths, “She’d panic.”

Eddie hums. “And you wanna be okay for her when she panics.” Steve nods. “Okay, I get that. I’m glad you called me.”

Steve sniffles. Eddie hands him some toilet paper. Says, after he’s blown his nose, “Feels like the world’s ending.”

Eddie thrown back into a memory from months ago. “If the world ends again, you know where I am,” he’d said. He hadn’t been sure, at the time, if Steve would call him. But they stayed friends, to the point where Steve calling him wasn’t quite the rarity it used to be, and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever felt so honored.

“And you called me,” he murmurs, back in the present day, knees sore from the bathroom tile. He knows they’re going to pop like an old man’s when he stands. He decides not to worry about that right now.

Steve nods. “Knew you’d come.”

“And I did,” Eddie nods. Rubs his hand up and down Steve’s arm. “How’re you feeling?”

Steve sniffs again. “Like shit.”

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle. “I probably should’ve guessed. Ready to get up? Or wanna stay here for a minute?”

“Wanna stay here forever,” he says, but shifts to get up.

He stumbles a little when he stands, hissing. Eddie steadies him. “Legs’re asleep.”

“That’s okay, Stevie, I’ve gotcha. Come rinse your mouth out, m’kay? We’re going back to bed. I’m gonna make a few calls, okay?”

Steve won’t look at him in the mirror. “Gonna leave?”

“Not unless you want me to,” Eddie swears. Steve meets his eyes for a brief second. Shakes his head. “Then I’ll stay until you get sick of me.”

Steve manages a shaky smile. “Not possible.”

Eddie sighs contentedly. “Rinse your mouth out,” he gently reminds him. “Let’s get you up to bed.”

When Steve’s in bed, Eddie turns to leave, then turns back just as quickly when Steve grabs his hand. “You’re not leaving?”

Eddie squeezes his hand. “Not leaving. Just gonna make a quick call.”

“Okay,” Steve whispers, but his breathing picks up again, and Eddie changes his mind.

He bullies his way under the covers next to Steve, pulling him in until his face is tucked into Eddie’s neck and Eddie can rub his back. The call can wait until Steve’s asleep, so he can get back before Steve wakes up.

Steve’s world is ending. That’s every bit as important as the world itself ending. So Eddie resigns himself to stand guard over Steve’s dreams, keeping them happy as best he can.

I hope y’all liked this! The fic tag is the name (“#whentheworldends”) and my writing tag is “#starambles”. Remember I’m NOT doing a taglist for these, so subscribe to either to see where this goes next! Send me an ask with the next thing you want to happen in this fic!

[3mcwriting]

Any Fan's Dream, Part 5

Any Fan's Dream Masterlist

Synopsis:

When you look around and see Avengers Tower in front of you and Peter Parker beside you, you wonder how the hell you managed to get into the MCU.

Taglist: @secretly-sirens, @zeeader, @imdoingathingmom, @x-theolivia, @ainsley-official, @huntress-artemiss

"You look weirdly tired and excited," Tony commented as you entered the workroom. "Interesting combination."

You had bags around your eyes, and you were walking slowly and stiffly. However, your eyes were alight with excitement and you had a large grin on your face. You had pulled an all-nighter with Peter, well, you weren't actually with him. "Your" mom had told you that you had been away from home a lot and she wouldn't let you leave the house or let you have him over. So, instead you had spent the night sprawled on "your" bed, phone plugged to the charger while you talked to Peter over the phone.

Your body was berating you for that, but you couldn't bring yourself to regret your choices. Even with the way all your limbs were both stiff and sore and you looked like a zombie, you weren't sorry for the night.

"You look fabulous," you retorted, "and- oh shit I forgot all of my insults. Sorry, I'm a little drowsy right now."

"You're lucky that Capsicle is busy training Rhodey and the rest of them, otherwise, he would've had something to say about that language of yours." Tony looked at you, an unimpressed expression on his face. "And, kid, you don't look 'a little drowsy', you look like you're about to fall asleep standing up. There is no way we're working on your suit-"

You protested, "but-"

"Uh uh, no 'buts'. You're either gonna end up drilling through the table or your hand, or you're gonna eventually wear the suit and mid-flight something fails and you plummet to your death. Neither is ideal, so no suit today."

"Fine," you agreed. You were sad that you were slowing down the finish of your very own Iron Man suit(holy shit your very own Iron Man suit!!) but you didn't want your stay in the MCU to ever end. Although, ngl dying in an Iron Man suit would be so cool. Wait a- wtf I'm tired. 

"What are we going to do then?" you asked.

"Whatever you wanna do, I guess."

"Can we hack Area 51?"

Tony teared up, "yes, yes we can."

Two hours later and the two of you had discovered some of the nation's biggest secrets. And you had to say, there was some crazy ass shit going down.

"-holy alienfucking shit! So they knew!!"

"I fucking knew it." Tony said, "I knew they knew it."

"The government has been lying to us for decades," you stated.

"Kid, they're the government. Of course they lied. You've met Fury."

"I met Fury?" 

Tony looked at you. "Yeah, remember on the first week of your internship he was here?"

"Uh huh." You nodded. "Now I remember."

Dammit I met Fury except not really! I wanna meet Fury. Hmph.

"(y/n)! Where you at, babe? Time to train!"

You felt the blood drain from your face, you pleaded with Tony. "Help me." 

He shook his head grimly. "No one can save you now. She's already here."

"Found you!" 

You screeched.

~~

"I hope you know that when I pull every muscle in my body, you and Steve are paying for my hospital bill."

"We would never push you that hard." Natasha told you. "We would never give you the satisfaction of going to the hospital and relaxing in a bed for days doing nothing. We'll just push you as hard as you can go before the hospital is warranted."

"You fucking sadist."

"Tch, I don't think Steve would approve of that language."

"Who said I give a single flying fuck about what Steve approves of?"

Natasha laughed. "You know that all this training is for your own good, right?"

You scoffed, massaging your tired legs. 

"Really," she reaffirmed, "everybody was worried when you didn't come for your internship. Especially when that 5-year-old burst through the lobby yelling about you being taken. We worry about you."

You looked down, "I didn't know I had scared everyone so much."

You really didn't. Which may have been stupid considering how serious Peter was about you getting kidnapped. You knew that in a normal situation being kidnapped was horrible, but you had been far too star-struck to be rational. Plus, you were new to people being concerned about you. You never had the invested parents, the protective ones, not even the strict ones. You had the cold, emotionally-distant parents that you rarely ever saw. The ones that weren't mean, or abusive, they just weren't there. 

As pathetic as it sounded, you had gotten used to people not giving a shit about you.

You forgot that people cared about you here. 

"Yeah," Natasha spoke, "so me and Steve are helping you learn how to protect yourself."

You weren't sure what you should say, did you thank them? That was probably what you should do. "Um, thank you- I mean, you guys are really busy and you make the time to train me. Like- I- you don't have to do this, but you choose to so thank you."

You fidgeted with your hands, not sure where to look. Here you were with your heroes, people who had saved the world multiple times. And they cared about you, they worried about you, and you were complaining.

Natasha's eyes softened as she saw how guilty you felt. "Of course we have to, we care about you. So, no thanks required."

"I'm sorry."

Natasha looked surprised. "For what?"

"I'm being ungrateful."

You hated this feeling. The feeling of being a burden.

You remembered when you were younger, probably 9. 

You had aced your spelling test, you were so proud of yourself. When you got home, you couldn't help the grin on your face. You were so excited to tell your parents about how you had done, you stayed waiting up past your bedtime for hours, hoping to see your parents. 

You fell asleep, but you had left your graded spelling test with the 100% on it on the kitchen table. You had fallen asleep at some point, and when you woke up, you went to go find your mother and father. It was a Saturday, they were asleep in their bed. You dragged them out of bed to show them the paper. 

Your dad had looked at the paper on the table. "What have we told you about leaving trash everywhere?"

Your mom crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash. "You have to clean up after yourself, we're not always going to be here to pick up after you."

A burden. 

That's what you had felt like your entire life.

And here you were being nothing but a bother to your heroes. You were complaining and whining, being ungrateful about what they were doing.

"You have nothing to be sorry about-" Natasha was perplexed, "-you didn't do anything."

You nodded, still feeling guilty. "I won't complain anymore."

"What?" Natasha shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

"When you train me, I'll stop whining."

Natasha put a hand on your shoulder. "What are you- you know it's okay to have complaints? It's a hard training regimen, nobody expects you to take it like a vacation. It's hard, and you're sticking with it. A couple grumbles and jokes are normal. You know that, right?"

You were unconvinced, too used to the feeling of being a burden. But, you had managed to hide it most of your life, you could hide it now. "I know, I think I'm just a little tired. I stayed up all night so I'm just a little sleep deprived."

Natasha's expression showed that she believed you about the same amount you believed yourself, so not a lot. She figured you could use a bit of relaxation. "You should go take a shower, and after you get out I'll give you a massage. Your muscles are unused to this exercise so we have to make sure they don't get really tight and you end up pulling something."

"Massage?" 

Your thoughts stopped. A massage from Natasha fucking Romanoff? Just so that you wouldn't get injured? Why was she so awesome? Your simp-heart couldn't handle such amazingness.

Unfortunately, that sentence only distracted you from your thoughts, and once you were in the shower, they all came flooding back. Standing in the bathroom, alone, you looked at yourself. You weren't sure what you were looking for, but whatever it was, you didn't find it because you stopped with a sense of defeat.

You stepped out of the bathroom, seeing Natasha seated on her bed. Her hair was wet and she was in new clothes, indicative of her also taking a shower whilst you were. 

She was scrolling through her phone but looked up when you opened the door. You were wearing loose shorts that fell halfway down your thighs, and another one of her worn t-shirts.

"Ok, come sit down." Natasha said, patting the spot on the bed next to her. 

You did so, looking at her curiously. "Where are you going to massage me?"

"Your legs." She gestured to your mostly bare legs. "That's why I got you shorts this time instead of sweats."

"Oh," you were having trouble finding words, "um, how do you want me to sit?"

"Just lay down on your stomach," she answered, "I'll massage your calves, not your thighs. You're probably unused to massages so if I start massaging further up your legs, it'll make you tense because of how unused you are to it and the whole point of this is to relax your muscles.

You nodded and laid down on your stomach, the feeling of her kneading your calf muscles was slightly painful at first but it felt good after a while. 

"You feel how I'm pressing with the heel of my palm?" she asked.

You nodded, her comments asking about how it felt and the technique popping up throughout the massage.

When she was done, you sat up and looked at her. "Thank you, it felt good."

She smiled, winking at you. "My pleasure, babe."

You grabbed your phone, turning it on and seeing the time.

Your eyes went wide. "Oh shit! I have to go, I was supposed to leave half an hour ago."

"Calm down, you don't have to leave."

"No, I- Peter's waiting for me, shit!"

You grabbed your stuff. "Thank you, Nat! See ya!"

You ran out of the room, unlocking your phone as you ran. You pulled up your contact list and right when you were about to call him-

You got pulled into a closet.

Your phone was snatched out of your hand by someone. You had a suspicion of who it was before you saw the person.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you hit the light switch beside the closed door and Loki stood in front of you.

"Can't have you calling anybody," Loki pocketed your phone, he looked at you. "You don't seem that surprised to see me."

"Well, you did break into my apartment two days ago and kidnap me the day before that," you commented dryly, "I figured it was coming sooner or later."

He smiled. "You are an interesting human."

"Thanks, Hotstuff. What am I doing in the closet? I came out of it years ago."

"I just came to bid you goodbye, I have business to attend to. Although, with your knowledge-" he smirked, "-I'm sure you already knew that."

No way, there is no way he knows. He can't know.

You smiled humorously, trying to hide your nerves. "I'm pretty awesome but I'm not a fortune teller."

"Is that so? You obviously know more than you should."

You remembered something, an idea sparking in you. 

Maybe you could change something.

"You're right about that, and I have some advice. One day, there's going to be a big, purple, man with a nut-sack chin. When he approaches your spaceship, you need to get the Asgardians out of there. Otherwise, a lot of people are going to die." You included. Please listen, Loki. 

He looked at you, uneasy at your sincerity but not being fully convinced either. "Alright, I'll remember that when the time comes. For somebody who claims not to be a fortune teller, you seem to have a significant awareness of future events. Care to explain, darling?"

"I've already given you enough information, why would I give you more?"

"Hmm, you're right about that. Knowledge is valuable." He fixed you with a piercing stare, "I suppose I should thank you."

His words made you all too aware of the small amount of space in the closet, of how close he was to you. His face moved closer to you, hovering mere inches from yours. 

"Tell me, darling," he whispered in your ear, "do I have permission to thank you?"

"I-" you couldn't think. He was so close and he smelled really good and holy shit his voice was sexy-

"Well?" he murmured, "do I?"

You could only nod, wondering where the hell your voice had gone.

His face moved closer, the inches disappearing as his lips brushed against your cheek gently, tenderly. He pulled away, smirking at your flustered state. 

You didn't enjoy his amusement, and resolved to make him the more flustered person there.

You moved forward, caging Loki between you and the wall behind him. He couldn't quite hide the shock at your boldness, simultaneously surprised and attracted to the change.

"Are you alright with me this close?" 

As much as you wanted to appear suave and confident, the most important thing was that both of you were comfortable with the situation.

Loki had absolutely no problem with the situation. "Darling, I am more than alright."

You looked at him, admiring his beauty. His eyes were intense, piercing, and mischievous, looking at you in a way that was unbelievably tempting. His hair fell a little above his shoulders, dark and alluring.

Damn send the haircare routine-

You tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, fingertips grazing his cheekbone when you moved it. You smirked when you heard the way his breath caught. If you were honest, you really, really, really, wanted to one-up him. There was a short strand of hair falling over his forehead, your eyes locked on it. You pressed your lips gently over it, then moved backwards and brushed the strand to the side.

He stared at you, strangely silent. His expression was one of shock, but not for the reason you thought. He was surprised that you had expressed affection so kindly and softly as if you worried your adoration would bruise.

The two of you stared at each other, neither willing to break the moment.

But your phone buzzed somewhere in Loki's outfit and the two of you snapped back to reality.

"Ah shit! I need my phone, Loki."

He handed it to you, that odd silence still with him. 

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should say something but your phone buzzed again and you ran out of the closet. You answered your phone as you ran. "Gah, I'm so sorry, Peter. I'll be down right now."

[foolondahill17]

I have a lot of thoughts and feelings, @urne-buriall, and they're all your fault. Today's segment let off at the same point where my initial read-through stopped before I had to wait for chapter updates. I'm struck with the same feeling of heartache for Dean and frustration for the way both Kate and Sam reacted to his situation.

1. I'm trying to respond to Kate sympathetically. John is a man she's known for some time and the father of her child. She wants to think the best of him. In the 90s there wasn't as much public information about people in domestic abuse situations, especially not a young man like Dean (and this is still true for a lot of male victims). But I can't help but view Kate through the lens of someone in this day and age.

If someone tells you they are being abused (let alone an eighteen-year-old kid) you never - never - go to the alleged abuser to ask if it's true. The amount of danger she put Dean in after he just disclosed this secret to her, especially when he'd been trying to keep her son safe? I'm stunned she could make that kind of decision.

Although my frustration toward Kate is understandable, I think my anger is misplaced - that should only be directed toward John. John is the danger here, not Kate. In fact, Kate is another potential victim, perhaps, if Dean had never said anything. She's in a difficult situation, too - an unwed, single mother trying to build a better life for her son. It's understandable she's blinded by John's charisma.

I also can't imagine the guilt Kate must experience after this moment: she has to learn about Dean pressing charges against John, eventually, and - she's a smart lady - she'll now not only have irrefutable proof of John's actions but also guess that John must have blown up at Dean after her phone call. Her horror and shame over that decision will likely haunt her for the rest of her life. It's a sign of Dean's tremendous compassion that he forgives her (if he ever even blames her in the first place; I imagine it would take a couple years for him to even register he was upset about her actions, let alone voice them). I hope they're able to have a conversation about it someday.

2. My frustration toward Sam is a little milder. After all, Sam is a child. He can't be expected to react with the same level of knowledge and maturity. But I'm still yelling at him through the screen when he confronts John about leaving. Again, I can't help but think of the danger that creates for Dean. What if Sam had directly confronted John about hurting Dean? How would John have reacted? What if John had lashed out at Sam, and Dean had gotten in the middle?

Again, if someone comes to you with the fact they're being abused (and Dean didn't even tell Sam, in this case; Sam discovered it, himself) do. not. confront. the. abuser. But Sam is young and understandably selfish, impulsive, and self-riteous in the way teenagers are. What's more, Sam is also a victim of abuse, just not physically like Dean (which I tried to portray in my prequel). Sam's also had a neglectful and volatile father. He's seen how John treats Dean, and this has left scars and fears aplenty for Sam. He's also experiencing a trauma response, here, except his is to lash out rather than make himself smaller.

I can't help but see how both these events leave Dean. Of the only two people who know the secret of John's abuse, one immediately betrays that trust to his abuser, and one immediately leaves him to face the abuse by himself. It's a mark of Dean's tremendous strength that he ever tells anyone again about what John's done to him - a further testimony to his courage that he presses charges.

Yes, some of that choice to tell his story is taken out of his hands when John hurts him badly enough that the evidence is impossible to hide, but it's still Dean who ultimately decides to come forward. And it's a marvel that he finds that determination when he's been let down so badly by others before. I'm so fucking proud of him for his decisions in the next few segments: choosing to trust Missouri, Cas, Bobby, Ellen, and eventually Jody. I can imagine Dean faltering through his statement to Jody, "I know it's hard to believe -" and I like to think Jody, with calm and compassion, would immediately tell him, "I believe you."

I posted about it before, and, although I want nothing more than Cas to be there immediately to support Dean in this moment, I'm glad that his absence narratively gives Dean the space to grow as a character. In a way, Dean needed to reach this moment of despair (for the story; I'm not extending this to real-life abuse victims) in order to discover that he still has the capacity to trust the people around him. He needed to realize that he's not alone in this. All he needs to do is ask for help; he will be given it in spades.

[tma-entity-song-poll]

Battle of the Fear Bands!

B4R2: The Extinction

In the Year 2525:

“An unnerving description of how our humanity gradually erodes over the next several centuries”

London Calling:

“The song is all about the world tearing itself apart through war, famine, and disasters. The sound intensity lends itself to a feeling of danger. At the end of the song, there is a repeating "SOS" (the international distress signal) in Morse code, implying an outgoing call for help at the end of the world.”

Lyrics below the line!

In the Year 2525:

In the year 2525, if man is still alive If woman can survive, they may find In the year 3535 Ain't gonna need to tell the truth, tell no lie Everything you think, do and say Is in the pill you took today In the year 4545 You ain't gonna need your teeth, won't need your eyes You won't find a thing to chew Nobody's gonna look at you In the year 5555 Your arms hangin' limp at your sides Your legs got nothin' to do Some machine's doin' that for you In the year 6565 You won't need no husband, won't need no wife You'll pick your son, pick your daughter too From the bottom of a long glass tube

In the year 7510 If God's a coming, He oughta make it by then Maybe He'll look around Himself and say Guess it's time for the judgment day In the year 8510 God is gonna shake His mighty head He'll either say I'm pleased where man has been Or tear it down, and start again

In the year 9595 I'm kinda wonderin' if man is gonna be alive He's taken everything this old earth can give And he ain't put back nothing

Now it's been ten thousand years Man has cried a billion tears For what, he never knew, now man's reign is through But through eternal night, the twinkling of starlight So very far away, maybe it's only yesterday

In the year 2525, if man is still alive If woman can survive, they may find

London Calling:

London calling to the faraway towns Now war is declared, and battle come down London calling to the underworld Come outta the cupboard, ya boys and girls

London calling, now don't look to us Phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust London calling, see we ain't got no swing Except for the ring of that truncheon thing

The ice age is coming, the sun's zoomin' in Meltdown expected, the wheat is growin' thin Engines stop running, but I have no fear 'Cause London is drownin', and I live by the river

(London calling) to the imitation zone Forget it, brother, you can go it alone London calling to the zombies of death Quit holdin' out and draw another breath

London calling, and I don't wanna shout But while we were talking, I saw you noddin' out London calling, see we ain't got no Hyde 'Cept for that one with the yellowy eyes

The ice age is coming, the sun's zoomin' in Engines stop running, the wheat is growin' thin A nuclear error, but I have no fear 'Cause London is drowning, and I, I live by the river

The ice age is coming, the sun's zoomin' in Engines stop running, the wheat is growin' thin A nuclear error, but I have no fear 'Cause London is drowning, an' I, I live by the river

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh Ooh, ooh, ooh Now get this

(London calling) Yes, I was there, too And ya know what they said? Well, some of it was true (London calling) At the top of the dial And after all this, won't you give me a smile? (London calling)

I never felt so much alike, alike, alike

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Quartet-chapter 8

here or read it below. this chapter is perfectly safe to read at work.

Daniel calls Alice on Monday to say they need to talk and she invites him over for dinner the next night.  The girls will be out on the town with her younger sister who flew in to visit for the week so they can speak privately.  His old home isn’t particularly far from his current one.  This is because when Armand said he was buying them a house, he had asked Daniel if he had any requests.  His only request had been to be near his daughters, in case of an emergency.

Alice is wearing leggings and an oversized tee-shirt when she opens the door.  Her brown hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s carrying a huge glass of red wine.  She’s wearing her square, black-framed glasses instead of her usual contacts.  “It’s been a day,” she says.  “Your daughter is smoking.”

Daniel frowns and follows her inside the house and into the kitchen.  It’s small, but sunny and warm, the walls an inviting yellow.  The round table had barely been big enough to fit the four of them.  Daniel supposes they have more room now.  

“Which one?” Daniel asks.  Erin is older and less rebellious, but she’d taken the divorce harder than Chloe.  

Alice slides a plate of hamburger and macaroni over to him.  Alice never cooked anything fancy, not with Chloe, who is a picky eater.  Armand never cooked, he merely hired top of the line chefs and had them prepare all sorts of rare and exotic food.  But sometimes a person just wanted Hamburger Helper.  

“Erin,” Alice says and slides into her normal spot across from him.  “Guess where she got them?”

Daniel does have an emergency pack of cigarettes hidden in his office.  Or he did.

“She found my emergency smokes.”

Alice eyes him and takes a huge swallow of wine.  “I thought you quit smoking.”

He has.  Except for emergencies.  What classifies as an emergency depends on how bad he needs a cigarette.  

“I’ll talk to her, okay?”

Alice takes another swallow of wine, and her body goes tense, like she’s bracing for something.  “Why did you want to talk, Daniel?”

“I’m not using again,” Daniel says, and Alice’s entire body slumps forward and relaxes.

“Oh, thank god,” she says and takes a gulp of wine.  

Daniel doesn’t think she’s going to like what he has to say next any better than if he had.  “I’m trying to work things out with Armand.”

Alice drains the rest of the wine.  “Well, that makes sense.  I’d like to believe I wouldn’t be cheated on unless you were absolutely stupid over the other person.”

She sighs and levels her gaze.  “But honestly, I do want you to be happy.  I mean, I wanted you to suffer appropriately for cheating, but I’m over it.  And if this guy is who makes you happy, then go for it.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

Alice grimaces a little.  “But it’s going to be an uphill battle with the girls.  They won’t care he’s a man–we raised them better than that–but they will consider him a homewrecker.  They’ll hate him once they know he was the reason for the divorce.”

“Maybe I just don’t tell them?”  Daniel says, but he knows it’s pointless.  Erin is whip smart and quick to put things together.  She’ll ask if Armand is the one.  She’d ask about whoever Daniel started dating.  

“Good luck with that.”

/

Bianca had called him after she delivered the papers to Nicki, naturally.  But today he’s in her office in the Upper East side, only a few minutes from home.  The wall of windows lets in an enormous amount of light.  Bianca went around and closed the blinds, then sank down gracefully into her seat behind her large desk.  

Armand is sitting across from her in a very stylish and compact cream colored armchair.  A matching one is a few feet away, both facing Bianca’s desk.  Her shoes are tossed on the cushion, white with white lace flowers and in the center on each flower a pearl, and a strap of real pearls that wrapped around each ankle.  They matched the pearls in her braided bun.  Golden ringlets frame her face, perfectly placed.  

A deep groan cracks her perfect image.  “Nicki’s been using Lestat’s lawyer.  She’s heinous; do you know how hard it is to stay polite with that level of passive-aggression?”

He runs a theater, so he has some idea.  Drama is what actors were good at.  “If you can make it through dinner with Father, you can manage anything.”

Bianca sighs and kicks her feet up onto the desk.  Her toenails are painted a bright pink.  “Speaking of Uncle Marius,” she says, as if she didn’t have the most torturous and terrible crush on him when she was in college, “he’s been pestering me about you.  He says you aren’t returning his calls.”

“He’s been calling more often.  It’s exhausting.”  He means Marius is exhausting, but Bianca knows that.

“Well, call him back.  He’s starting to suggest we set up a regular family dinner,” Bianca says then swings her legs off the desk and leans forward on her elbows conspiringly.  “I think it has something to do with Pandora.  You know how they are.  She withdraws, he lavishes her with attention and smothers her; she leaves for a while, she comes back.”

Bianca knows the family dynamics well; she’s practically Armand’s adopted sister.  She had met Armand and Marius when Armand was only fifteen.  She was nineteen and stunningly beautiful, one of Marius’ pupils.  Armand had developed quite the crush on her.  She developed quite the crush on Marius.  Marius was frustrated that Bianca would not focus on her painting, and still silently furious that Armand had never begun to paint again.  Not after he’d been kidnapped.  

Bianca had always been kind to him, and so gracious about his obvious affection for her.  Never condescending and always warm and friendly in a way that couldn’t be misinterpreted as flirtatious.  Eventually, she grew close enough to them both that she shared her family were criminals, and made her commit crimes.  Marius had offered to take care of it for her, and had taken Armand with him.  He had essentially bought Bianca from her family, giving them an insane amount of money to leave her life and leave her in his care.  

Marius had gotten her an apartment, a car, and paid for her schooling.  Said something about her being a diamond in the rough.  Armand has always been pretty sure it had more to do with the fact that his father really, really, wanted to fuck a teenager.  A teenager who was one of his students.  Armand believes they must have fucked at some point, just to get it out of their systems, but Bianca is demure on the topic.

And she enjoys messing with him too much to ever let him know one way or the other.

He and Bianca had fucked, after he turned eighteen.  It was a now-and-then thing during his college years, when both of them were too focused on school for anything serious.  Every few months they would hook up, and they’d see each other at Marius’ during the holidays, because of course, she was invited.  That had just been convenient at first, he didn’t even have to leave home for a booty call.  After a while, it seemed too intimate, too much like a real relationship.

And maybe it could have been.  Armand doesn’t know if he could have ever loved Bianca like he loves Louis, but he knows he loved her as much as a teenage boy could.  Nearly as much as he loved Lestat.  He’d always been so careful to keep them away from each other.  He had been terribly afraid they would meet and instantly love each other and forget him.  

But Marius had discovered them, and he had been disappointed.  He hadn’t said so, but it was obvious.  Later, Bianca would tell him with red-rimmed eyes that Marius had pulled her aside and told her something shocking.  He’d been waiting until she was ‘old enough’ to declare his love for her and he thought she knew, and thought she was waiting as well.  Bianca had told him off for expecting her to wait around some arbitrary amount of time, and had stormed out.  

At least, that’s what she told Armand when she found him outside.  He’d been hiding in his old treehouse.  She had swiped at her bleary eyes, and explained it to him.  Armand had thought she was gone an awful long time, for just talking.  He’d been sure they had fucked after that fight.

Probably just the once, as some sick form of closure.  Marius would be too self-righteous to ever try an honest relationship with her, and besides, Armand had already had her; she was spoiled.

She climbed into the hammack beside him and laid her head on his chest.  Her voice had been so small when she spoke.  “I don’t think I can do this anymore.  This thing between us.”

Armand hadn’t said anything, just stroked a hand through her hair.  He felt her crying onto his shirt.  “I feel like we’re on the precipice of something, and if we keep going we’re going to tip over.  I’m going to tip over, to a place I can’t come back from.”

Armand had been surprised; while Bianca freely admitted she loved him, he never thought it held romantic connotations.  She freely told Riccardo that she loved him.  She said it to several of those girls from the gaggle that followed her around.  

“I thought you were in love with Fa-Marius.”

Bianca smiled sadly.  “I am;”  she looked up into Armand’s face and met his eyes.  “But I’m in love with you too.  I don’t know how or when it happened.  But I am, and I want you both and it’s not fair, but I do.”

And Armand hadn’t been angry.  The idea of Bianca being in love with someone else wasn’t appalling; it was that it was Marius that was the problem.  

“If I choose one of you, the other will resent me.  And I will be the reason for strife between you.  I can’t do that.”

“You can,” Armand had said, and kissed her, because it was the perfect time too.  She tasted salty from her tears and she had trembled against him before she pulled away.  

“I can’t, I can’t,” she said.  “You can’t do anything to make me fall more in love with you.  Anymore and I’ll never be able to come back from it.”

The selfish part of Armand had wanted that, but the rational part of him told him that while he did love Bianca, he wasn’t really in love with her.  At least, not the way he had been as a boy.  It was a love so pure, and so blinding in its intensity that whatever Bianca was, she could never be what he dreamed her to be.  So they had let each other go, and distanced themselves from each other for a bit.  Then one day they just fell back together again, as friendly as they ever were, but with not an ounce of flirtation there.  Armand had found he didn’t mind.

All three of them had come back from it.  They are…family. 

“I’m not here for family gossip, as fascinating as Father’s suffering may be.”  Armand doesn’t think he actually means it.  He wants Marius to be happy.  To be happy away from him.  

“Right, Nicki,” Bianca says, “We finally reached an agreement.  Do you care about the details?”  

She and Lestat’s lawyer, working on behalf of Nicki, had spent most of yesterday and today arguing an agreement for Armand to pay for Nicki’s physical therapy.  Nicki really didn’t want to do the drug tests, and had plenty of unkind things to say about him, Armand imagined.

“Not particularly.”

“The juicy bit that I didn’t want to get into on the phone is why Nicki thinks you’re doing it,” Bianca says with a grin.

“Guilt?” Armand guesses.

Bianca laughs, a tinkling sound.  “He knows you too well for that.  No, he thinks you’re trying to impress Lestat.  He believes you’re in love with him.”

In love with Lestat.  Well, Nicki would think that, wouldn’t he?  Historically, he would be correct.  But Armand is hardly a teenage boy anymore.    “That just means he’s still hung up on him.”

“Oh, it is unhealthy,” Bianca says.  “But I’m sure whatever you’re actually scheming will work perfectly.  Marius wouldn’t have picked us if we weren’t brilliant.”

“It will work.  It involves Lestat being a slut.”

“He’s blond.  Blonds have the right to be slutty,” Bianca says.  Then she points a finger at Armand.  “I will see you at family dinner.”

“I’m not-”

“Forty-eight hours.  I have not slept in forty-eight hours working on this Nicki business for you.  You owe me.”

“I’ll add it to your billable hours.”

Bianca’s eye twitches.  “Armand, you will come and save me.  Marius is talking about introducing me to some ‘nice young man.’”

That is solely one of those things that is not his problem; but he cares about Bianca.  “Fine, but only because you’re playing damsel-in-distress.”

Bianca clutches hands over her chest and pretends to swoon.  “Armand, my hero.”

Armand is going to hate every minute of this.  At least he’ll have Louis to bring along and make things bearable.

[thygoddessouijathicc]

THE GANG GETS FUCKING ISEKAIED:

(Disclaimer: This is the best and worst thing I’ve ever done. This is just a really bad unfunny joke please don’t be offended :( this is inspired less by actual anime and more by parodies I’ve seen, I actually really like anime.)

Jack was just chilling with the Flipside squad and all 3 phone guys when suddenly a truck bursted through the fucking wall and killed all of tjem.

.

.

.

Jack woke up in a magical forest. Immediately, he feels an abundance of magical anime powers and titties.

His friends have all been TRANSFORMED!

Only Dee and Dave are present because I guess the phones spawnpoint is somewhere else idk.

Dee is a dragon and looks really cool ngl, but his attention is taken up by Dave. Dave has seemingly multiplied into a gaggle of 12 long necked purple anime girls… it’s horrifying.

Dee wakes up, sees the abundance of Daves and decides today is not her day and flies the fuck off to go do cool dragon things.

The true horrOwOr begins when the ✨DAVE COLLECTIVE✨awakens from its 80085 year slumber, and Jack is immediately serenaded by the voice of 12 men with a heavy New York accent in the body of anime girls saying weird things.

“What the fuck happened, this feels like 50 hangovers and I JUST got drunk.” The most normal looking Dave says. “Wait why the fuck do I have boobs!?”

TsunDave walks up to Jack and says “Baka! It’s not like I like you or anything!”and then slaps Jack.

“Ara ara!” says the horrifying Dave Milfer.

“Notice me Sportpai!” Says an extra crazy looking YanDave brandishing a knife.

“I awm wiving in agOwOnizing paiwn UwU.” A Dave with cat ears says.

“I-I-I uhhh… wh-why h-hello t-there O-Old Sport Kun.” A very shy Dave says.

“I’m gonna cut off your face because it’s hot sportsy.” SaDave says.

“Hello there Old Sport wanna go make friends with the nearby monsters?” An innocent Dave says.

“I have a dark backstory and am basically a catgirl but better because DOGGO.” An edgy wolfgirl Dave says.

“Sup Sportsy.” KuuDave says.

“Wouldst thou take my hand in marriage and become the king?” A Dave in a frilly dress asks.

Finally the last Dave days nothing but just falls over in an uncomfortable position with his boobs bouncing way too much.

All of the Dave’s (except the first one who just seems to be the original Dave who is very confused about what is going on and is more interested in figuring out why he has boobs honestly.) fight over Jack’s attention until the area is disrupted with something not quite as bad as the Dave Collective, but still weird.

An army of demons (some recognizably the phone guy’s are carrying a platform with a curtain around it. In front of Jack they stop, place the platform down.

“After all these years we have finally tracked down the legendary hero capable of both whipping and nae naeing at the same time! Now face your end at the hands of our great STEVEN LORD!”

The curtain opens to reveal a very confused and terrified Steven standing on the platform.

Everything goes silent. No one even knows what to do right now.

Suddenly the entire forest just fucking sets on fire.

“What the FUCK?!” Jack cries.

“Yeah things keep on spontaneously combusting. I think it’s because of that.” Peter says, pointing to the Dave Collective.

“You know what, fuck all this shit I’m getting out of here.” Jack says, grabbing the original Dave, the fanservice Dave and running off into the sunset. 

.

.

.

“SO HOW DID YOU LIKE THE FIRST EPISODE OF YOUR ETERNAL TORTURE HENRY MILLER?” The shadow Doggo asks the pink man wearing a maid dress.

“Please just kill me.”

“LETS WATCH EPISODE TWO NOW.” Blackjack says.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The end.

(Note: penis)

[blondrichclosetwitch]

(This is a tape to Jakk after I saw him in 2017 after not seeing him for over a year. I’d never heard it before, but someone on the other side wanted it transcribed.)

There she goes, playing Janis (joplin) again.

I was just imagining to you saying uncensored what i would say if that was allowed. But it’s not, is it? You’re not quite ready for that, are you?

(talking about meeting a new queer nb witch at a new job i had just started) He knew a lot more than i did about certain things.He was very interested in hearing about the demon. It started because i mentioned the Bulgarian, and how bad things got for me to go to her. I ended up staying and talking to him about it. And i didn’t rush like i rushed with you, telling him. I told him slowly about the process. Including the dreams, and the pulling from both the sex, and the throat. The whole thing.

And he started to list off some things i should be doing as protection. He had a really nice manicure. She had a really nice manicure. Sorry.

You know the taurus in you doesn’t like…..i imagine that it’s the double fire that has a tendency to creating sensationalism out of my life….probably. Throwing the fact out there that, like,... i needed an exorcism. To deal with this thing.

(pause: in the background is janis joplin talking at a concert:

“Try try try when everybody in the world, wants the same damn thing….when everyone in the world needs the same thing…when i want to work for your love daddy, when i want to try for your love, daddy….,i don’t understand…how come..you’re gone?

I don’t understand why half the world is still cryin’ while the other half of the world is till crying, too.”)

This album is so good..by the way. Katie has gotten me to listen..to janis. Listen to this.

(Janis: …..That one day man better be your life. Cause you can say, you can cry about the other 364. man, ..but you’re gonna lose that one day, man. And that day is all you’ve got. You’ve got to call it love, man. That’s what it is, man. If you’ve got it today, you don’t worry tomorrow, man. Cause you don’t need it. Cause as a matter of fact, as we discovered on the train, tomorrow never happens, man. It’s all the same fucking day man. So when you wanna hold somebody, you gotta hold em like it’s the last minute of your life. “)

I mean,. I think that’s the point. Isn’t it?

(Janis: Hold it…cause someday somebody’s gonna come on your shoulder, babe. It’s gonna feel too heavy, it’s gonna weigh on you, just like a (singing) ball and chain. “)

That we should be…cohabitating somewhere. With our four year old. Having finally figured it out. It might have taken us a little while. Or if not, a year ago, figured out what we wanted.

Before all this craziness happened.

And gone for it.

Do you hear what she’s playing now?

She’s playing Guardian Angel by Lou Reed.

(“the only way to ruin it would be for me not to trust me.”)

I keep hoping that…so i get messages through my legs now. Now that the pendulum’s gone. That’s how i get…confirmation? Sometimes it’s katie, sometimes i guess it’s God. Because he’s the only other person i’m talking to right now. He’s the only one i can trust? I don’t…try to talk to anyone else right now. Random a little bit, cause it was just the accident anniversary. It’s just really Katie that I hang out with.

There was this whole thing where katie told me, except it wasn’t katie…..there was always this on-going theme that katie was telling me white lies? Starting in, like, november. A couple white lies. And one of the white lies that came out was that she was coming back to life. And so after that happened i went to “God” and negotiated with him. I said “look dude, isn’t it only fair, and since you have all this work that you want me to do, isn’t it only fair that she comes back, because i won’t do it without her. I really need her and its not fair. She’s 10.

And he thought about it and he came back to me and said, ok. Of course at this point i didn’t know it wasn’t God that i was talking to. Thus the idea got born or real that katie was coming back.And I really believed it. Cause i was getting it from fakekatie and i was getting it from “God”.

And they started to play with dates of when it was happening.

And that you and i were going to bring her to chicago…she was going to come for our wedding. (Oh yeah—psychic Jakk and gina and fakekatie all said we were getting married. I think it was on the calendar? And what timing, katie would be resurrected just in time to be back for our wedding. )And then we would bring her to chicago. And then when she turned 13…she would live with us. And then we would never be separated again. And we would go and do all this stuff together.

And it wasn’t until i was forced to say goodbye to her—-you remember? I sent you that text message saying I had to say goodbye to her? This was in May. it wasn’t til i let go of her at the tree….cause it was the tree that told me that i had to let go of her?

(This was a big deal. A couple times they told me she had to go away for being “bad”. They called her Bad Katie actually. Whenever it would come out that fakeKatie had lied to me or led me in circles, they said Bad Katie did it. They said she had the Devil in her, and once made me burn her picture on the roof. It was sadistically painful. It felt like being cut in half. )

Well It wasn’t the tree telling me that.

It was after that, it was shown to me…that all of that was false. That katie was actually not comin back.

(to katie) right?

And that was the thing that started to drive me over the edge. I felt like i could handle everything as long as katie was comin back.

(breathes heavy as catpower’s in this hole starts to play)

(upset) That’s why i say to you that it was calculated. Things were said to me to…. drive me completely insane. Like just when you thought it got so bad that it couldn’t get any worse, it would get worse. And it was someone who understood my inner workings so well.

The things i was told about each of you were so involved.about the ways that each of you were tortured, that…..i was flailing. Because the one thing i wanted to do was to rescue both of you. I spent hours….hours “releasing” people instead of working. My whole life was about releasing people.

I was attempting to cleanse myself. Clear all my past faults and flaws. I was getting closer to god. But i was being falsely convinced that i was listening to God. it was someone impersonating God.

So.

I know the idea of someone coming back to life should be impossible.

And i know that most likely it is.

But you asked why i carry katie’s picture, why i have to.

Katie ..katie..katie and i are doing something. We are. And i can tell because of the way she’s interacting with me.

And the way that she was used, the way that storylines were used to combine the two of you, um, which are super fucked up by the way, both her as your savior and muse, and love interest, and um, and i was constantly having to do purification so you could be her “father” , if we were going to be some sort of family. katie in some worlds, yes, katie is supposed to move..on, but katie is also my protector.

And the cat’s drooling on me and it’s 24 minutes again so i’ll stop right here. But both the Bulgarian and the spiritualist said it: katie is with me. It’s like the bulgarian said, you know? She had a tie to us.

(End of tape.)

[buggie-hagen]

Sermon for Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost (10/9/22)

Primary Text | 2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c

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

Dear People of God,

            Naaman is to learn that salvation is from the God of Israel. Though it takes some time for it to sink in for him. It starts with a little girl. It says, “Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman’s wife” (2 Kgs 5:2). Here we see God has made his first move. What the Arameans meant for evil God used for good. For it wasn’t just any young girl they took captive, but a young girl from the land of Israel—the chosen people of God. It doesn’t say how old she is, just that she was young. In order to be a servant I would guess her age was somewhere around kindergarten to early elementary school. One way or another, she knew of Elisha, the prophet of Israel, the man of God, the one whom God’s Spirit was operative through at this time. In view of healing Naaman’s leprosy and bringing him to faith, God put God’s word in this little girl’s mouth. Clearly, this girl believed God was who he says he is. Yes, even a young girl can be God’s instrument in bringing about salvation to people who are without him. God’s word does not depend on the person, but on God’s promise—which is powerful and effective. God’s word does things. Speech may seem so little and so ordinary. But it is primarily and ordinarily through words spoken by human beings, spoken by the young and by the old, spoken by people of any gender, that God is at work reconciling the world to himself through Jesus Christ.

The young girl said to her mistress, “If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy (2 Kgs 5:3). This led to Naaman going to meet the prophet Elisha at the entrance of Elisha’s house. But things don’t go as he expected. Instead of Elisha himself coming out to meet Naaman, Elisha sends him a messenger. Instead of Elisha waving his hand over the spot and his leprosy being cured, the messenger says, “Go, wash in the Jordan River seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean” (2 Kgs 5:10). Naaman is angry. He’s mad. He rejects what he was told. He felt it was an insult the prophet Elisha himself did not come out to meet him, why this messenger? And, why the Jordan River? Why not the rivers back in his home country? Naaman stomps away in a tantrum because he didn’t get his way. But before it’s too late, his servants come up to him. They say to him, “Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean’?” (2 Kgs 5:13). To everyone’s surprise, Naaman is persuaded. You never know when someone will go from angrily rejecting God to having a change of heart. That teaches us to not give up on those people in our lives who are still in need of God’s salvation. So Naaman goes to the Jordan River, he washes himself in it seven times. And behold, the leprosy is gone, his skin is as new as the skin of a young boy. More importantly, his heart was changed. He returned to Elisha, the man of God, and said, “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel” (1 Kgs 5:15). This is huge. Naaman was from what we today would call Syria. He was not a child of Israel. He was a foreigner. Through this whole ordeal the LORD taught Naaman that the LORD alone is God. Not the gods he grew up with in Damascus or Syria, nor any of the sham-gods in the other nations of the world. Naaman learned, the LORD, Yahweh, the God of Israel, is the true and only God.

Starting with the young girl, then Naaman’s wife, then the messenger of Elisha, then Naaman’s own servants, God put his word into Naaman’s ears. This is still God’s common practice to send people to speak on his behalf in the world. As Christians, we are called not only to speak about God, but to speak for God. On his behalf. He does not ask us to speak with uncertainty, he asks us to speak with confidence. What God would have us know is clear as day. Jesus Christ died and was raised for sinners. God does not lie. Not only does God continue to use people to speak salvation into the world, but like Naaman’s experience, God continues to use water to bring about salvation. Namely, the word in the water that we call baptism. As Lutherans, we echo the scriptures, that baptism is a grace-filled water of life. It is a bath of rebirth in the Holy Spirit, cleansing us from our sins. Now, like Naaman was at first enraged, this angers very many people. Why not something more impressive? Why not something more strenuous? Wouldn’t it be cooler if God had us go on a Vision Quest to get to know him? Alas, it is not up to us, but up to God on how he has chosen to reveal himself, how he chooses to draw people to himself. Instead of having us perform some impressive feat to be saved, God is the one who does salvation to us—and he is the one who does everything for our salvation. He puts his promise in the water of baptism. Last week when I baptized Reba and Edmund you may have seen me be the one to pour the water and speak the word of God over them. But I was just God’s instrument. It was God himself who baptized them, who spoke the word of promise into their ears, who poured the water over their heads. It was God who gave them their faith in Jesus Christ. From outward appearances, it was just a bit of water and a few words spoken—not very impressive looking. But it was the power of God at work, a power that upturns all our expectations—the very power of the gospel.

The God of Israel reveals himself to you in Jesus Christ. Similar to Naaman when he had his leprosy, we are a colony of lepers. The skin disease runs deep. Yet God sends his messenger to you and says, “Wash, and be clean.” You were washed, you were made holy, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God (1 Cor. 6:11). For you are indeed washed in the waters of baptism, your sins are forgiven you. You are made clean by God’s gracious promise. You have God’s promise through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ in your ears. His promise to save you, to rescue you. Even, to rescue you from yourself. There is no other god in all the earth except this one. You belong to him and he belongs to you.

[enhasfever]

𝑃𝑂𝐿𝐴𝑅𝑂𝐼𝐷 𝐿𝑂𝑉𝐸 - 𝑌.𝐽𝑊

➪ pairing: jungwon x gn youtuber!reader

➪ genre(s): cotton candy fluff

➪ tw: none

➪ wc: 2.5k

➪ in which for your boyfriend's birthday, you make a heartfelt video just for him...and for hundreds of thousands of others to see, also.

➪ a/n: 🥺 happiest birthday to one of my two sons, one of the many loml's, the bestest tiny leader, yang jungwon. (reposting this again bc the formatting was not working hhhh-)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WONIE! 02/09/22

you pop into frame with the cheesiest smile on your face, your body bouncing as you land on your unmade bed. "my boyfriend is an old man today!" you announce to the camera with over exaggerated jazz hands. "so, to celebrate his day of aging, i've compiled a bunch of my favorite jungwon moments that have been recorded and you all can sit back and relax with some snacks as you watch." your smile never leaves your face as you hold up a large envelope with the contents inside safely hidden from the camera's view. "and i have a special surprise planned at the end of the video. happy birthday, wonie!" with a swipe of your hand and expert editing from your end, the scene slides away into the first clip you've chosen.

BEST FRIEND TAG WITH JUNGWON 09/11/21

the scene opens up to the same spot in your bedroom, except this time both you and jungwon take flying leaps into your bed and nearly land on top of each other. "hi, lovelies!" you greet enthusiastically as you wave with both hands, jungwon mirroring your actions. "due to popular demand after seeing the video i did with riki, i've brought my dearest jungwon to participate in the best friend tag." on the screen pops up over a dozen comments you'd taken from the tag you'd done with riki where your fans nearly begged for you to do the tag with 'the cute tiktok boy' they'd seen briefly in riki's version.

you turn to jungwon. "how does it feel to be the internet's most wanted tiktok boy currently?"

jungwon's brows lifted slightly in amusement as he looked from the camera to you, then back to the camera once more. "uh–"

"great," you interrupted with a loud clap of your hands, "let's get started then!" jungwon fell into a fit of laughter as he shoved you in retaliation for cutting him off. the clip cuts to later in the video after the more tame questions had been answered. "okay, pick a mini challenge to do together right now," you read from your phone before looking up at jungwon expectantly.

jungwon purses his lips in thought before his eyes light up and he sits straighter. "the chapstick challenge," he states confidently.

your eyes grow wide. "i– you do realize we have to kiss for that, right?" you clarified.

jungwon nods, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "mhm," he nods. "it can't be that bad to kiss me, right? would you rather do it with riki?"

you're left visibly speechless as you continue to stare into jungwon's unwavering gaze for some few seconds longer before you wordlessly get up to retrieve as many chapsticks as you can find around your room. you come back with a decent handful of them and hesitate as you watch him close his eyes, waiting for you to apply the first flavor to your lips for him to guess.

you choose one and make a few swipes on your lips before capping the stick and dropping it back into the pile beside you. "okay, i'm ready." your voice audibly trembles slightly as you speak and you can see the way you begin to anxiously wring your hands in your lap. jungwon, however, is as cool and collected as ever as he opens his eyes only to close them again as he gently takes your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilts your head up slightly to meet his lips in a kiss.

the scene quickly disappears and reappears with the two of you sitting side by side once again, having edited out the next couple of kisses and the confession from the original video. "okay, so this has officially turned into the boyfriend tag!" you announce cheekily before reciting the first question. "how long have you two been together?" jungwon snickers and nudges you playfully as you check the invisible watch on your wrist. "about two whole minutes, i'd say," you answer your own question.

WE FOLLOW A BOB ROSS PAINTING TUTORIAL 09/27/21

the clip cuts to a new video where you and jungwon are already in frame with art easels positioned in front of each of you. off screen, your laptop plays one of bob ross's painting tutorials which you both are trying desperately to keep up with.

"oh my god, wait, where did that tree come from?" you cry out between jungwon's loud cackles as he watches you trying to hurry and finish your clouds. "i looked away for three seconds, i swear!"

"do you want to pause it–"

"no!" you answer defiantly as you rush to clean your brush, "that takes away from the whole point of the challenge."

"i didn't realize this was a challenge..." jungwon trails off, his eyes still never leaving your canvas as you begin to slap on some green paint for the tree that had magically appeared in bob's painting. his loud laughter rings once more as he points to your painting. "it looks like a warped kermit the frog!" he wheezes out much to your displeasure.

"oh yeah? well yours looks like–" you seethe out semi-playfully, whirling around to make fun of his own tree only to find that he'd done it almost identically to the one bob had painted. your pouting expression only deepens much to jungwon's amusement. unable to come up with a valid critique, you resort to your last defense and stick your tongue out at him childishly.

without missing a beat, jungwon lifts his brush and swipes the remaining green paint down the bridge of your nose. your expression morphs into one of shock, then suddenly you're both attacking each other with your respective paint brushes. it then cuts to a later part of the video after your paint war had ended where you're both heavily concentrated on the tutorial with green paint stains littering both of you in various places.

BUYING AND EATING EVERY SNACK IN THE CONVENIENCE STORE 11/19/21

the next clip cuts in mid-video where you and jungwon are both already at the convenience store with various snacks in the basket. you're manually carrying around the camera as you two walk through the store together and can't seem to stop making horrible food puns.

you pan the camera down the aisle quickly as you lightly jog to catch up with jungwon who is standing at the other end. "there's all of this food yet the only snack i see is..." you turn the camera to face you as you stand next to jungwon so it catches you both in frame, "me, of course." you smile widely as jungwon glances at the camera, then down at you as he thumps you on the back of your head.

"someone's got to keep you humbled," jungwon smiles a little in satisfaction as you pout dramatically and rub at the back of your head. but, much to your surprise as it shows on camera, he leans down and kisses the back of your head where he had thumped you and plants an extra kiss against your temple before turning to wander down a different aisle.

a wide grin takes over your face before you turn the camera to start capturing the store once again as you follow mindlessly behind jungwon. "but i am still a snack, right?" you call out to him, the audio vaguely picking up an affirmative response.

BOYFRIEND TEACHES ME TO DRIVE 12/01/21

the next video opens up with you and jungwon both sitting in the car together, you in the driver's seat and him in the passenger's seat. you look completely relaxed and laid back in deep contrast to jungwon who seems like he's about to go into cardiac arrest.

"calm down, won, i haven't even started the car yet," you tease. "besides, there's barely anything for me to crash into. well, aside from that bush down there... and that lamp post in the middle of the lot... and that giant storefront behind us–"

"okay, just start the car!" jungwon groans, though the smile that creeps on his face is telling of his underlying excitement for the event ahead. without objecting or making a witty remark, you simply turn the key in the ignition and listen as the vehicle rumbles to life. "okay, now push down on the brake pedal while you shift the gear into drive."

"how do i– oh, you mean the PRNDL!" you beam, catching on to the instruction easily as you hold down the brakes with your foot and reach for the gear shift.

jungwon blinks and looks over at you with the most deadpan expression he can muster which doesn't last for too long as soon as you make eye contact with him. you both burst out laughing before you can even manage to put the car into drive.

"you really took the chance to reference that audio, didn't you?" jungwon shakes his head fondly, then changes his voice slightly as he completes the viral audio for you. "let's just relax and turn on the radio! would you like AM or FM?" he reaches up to suddenly turn the radio on, the abrupt loudness of the music making you visibly jump in your seat as uncontrollable laughter spills from your lips.

the clip cuts to a later point in the video after you'd been driving around the vacant parking lot for a bit. jungwon seems visibly more relaxed as he slouches comfortably in his seat.

"what if i just start doing donuts?" you wonder aloud as you drive the perimeter of the lot, quickly catching your boyfriend's attention as he sits up alertedly in his seat.

"please don't," he pleads seriously much to your amusement as he reaches over to grab your arm.

"will you at least buy me donuts after this?" you asked, batting your lashes for dramatic effect as you take your eyes away from the parking lot for a brief moment.

"i will if you watch the road and don't get us killed!" jungwon shrieked, his eyes growing wide as he quickly turned your face forward once more. sheer panic sets in your eyes instantaneously and your foot slams the brakes on, sending you both lurching forward in your seats dangerously.

it's silent for five whole seconds before you turn to jungwon and begin to shake him by the shoulder roughly. "there was nothing in front of us, you maniac!"

STUCK IN QUARANTINE :c 01/10/22

the final clip cuts in and you're traveling through your house with the camera in hand. "so," you clear your throat as the hoarseness becomes evident, "guess who tested positive for covid?" you make a sad face at the camera and point to yourself. "i've actually been in quarantine for a few days already, but i really–"

you're cut off by the sound of the doorbell which genuinely startles you as you glance offscreen towards the general direction of your living room. taking the camera with you, you fall out of the view of the screen as you venture to the front door. some shuffling is heard as you open the door, then a small gasp comes from you followed by a series of giggles. the camera then lifts up to show outside of your screen door where jungwon stands at the bottom of your porch with a giant smile on his face and a fast food bag clutched in his hand.

"eat with me!" he calls out, pointing to the bag of food he'd left for you outside of your door.

your laughter continues as you open the door and take the bag of food and the drink before reentering your home and letting the door latch closed again. jungwon pads back up the few concrete steps and sits down comfortably on your house's welcome mat, the glass door safely separating the two of you as you take a seat on the other side.

"you're crazy," you chuckle softly behind the camera as you find a good place to set it up to capture the two of you in frame.

"i just miss you," jungwon pouts as he begins to take out the food he had ordered for himself.

"it's only been three days, wonie," you smile as you find a good angle for the camera and finally start pulling out your own food.

"i can still miss you," he argued playfully before leaning forward and smushing his cheek against the glass. "give me a kiss."

you roll your eyes with a small smile before pressing a kiss to your fingertips, then to the place where his cheek is pushed against the door. "there," you hum, watching with the biggest heart eyes as he sits back with the most satisfied smile on his dimpled face.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WONIE! 02/09/22

the original video takes place on the screen once more, except this time you're in a different room. more specifically, a different house. the camera is set up near the end of a bed that isn't yours and shows you sitting in the center of it with the contents of the envelope scattered around you. a spool of twine and a bag of clothespins also occupied the space with you as you sorted through the many small objects.

"okay, so this is part one of jungwon's birthday surprise — this video is going to be part two after i upload it." you turn to the camera and hold up a few of the objects which can now be identified as polaroid photos. "he knows i've been obsessed with taking polaroid photos recently so i gathered up my favorites and i'm going to tack them to his wall. he'll be able to see my lovely face in his dreams," you smile cheekily and begin measuring out the length of the twine.

as you begin to pin the polaroids to the string, you hold up one to the camera every few moments and tell a summarized story of when and why that particular photo was taken. in almost no time at all, you have two full strands of polaroid photos of you and jungwon hung on the wall above his headboard. just as you finish tacking the last strand to the wall, the vague sound of the bedroom door opening catches your attention and you glance off screen as a wide smile makes its way onto your lips.

"what are you doing?" jungwon's voice chuckles as you hurriedly wiggle off of the bed to run off screen and greet him.

"happy birthday, wonie!" you shout animatedly before pulling him onscreen. "say hi to youtube," you direct, pointing to the camera which jungwon waves at before he turns to assess the work you've done. "you'll see part two of your birthday gift by tomorrow at the latest."

soon, you're being scooped up off your feet in a giant bear hug as jungwon spins you around before landing on the bed with you. you're both a laughing mess as you fall on top of him, and you just spend the next few moments looking into each other's eyes before you share a delicate, sweet kiss. the video ends shortly after with a heartfelt message written across the black screen from you to jungwon.

© enhasfever

[polarisbibliotheque]

Dante & Vergil finally having a relaxing bathtub time with their s/o

Because everyone needs to wind down every once in a while.

Pairings: Dante x Reader; Vergil x Reader

Summary: Everyone needs relaxing. In the Sparda household, that is done through baths with trusted lovers

Author's notes: I think I'm always going to put some poem reciting on Vergil's stuff. I am so sorry. But he cannot get away from it anymore - as Dante can't get away from chatting with his s/o while chilling on his big office chair.

And there's no NSFW in it. I know, weird.

Also, do check Pablo Neruda's work. He is one of my favourite poets after watching "Il Postino", a 1994 movie "about" him, at school - and do watch the movie. It's poetry in images

Age Restrictions: Well, they are taking baths together, naked - so reader's discretion advised. Although there's nothing overtly sexual (forgive my ace ass), Vergil's one can be a little more... Tempting.

Dante

“You look horribly tense.”

You observed Dante as he entered the Devil May Cry – disheveled, sprinkled with blood and a few more cuts on his shirt than he’d have planned. Yet another that you’d have to sew into place until you convinced him to buy another one.

Because since he was young, Dante had the “if I don’t have shirts, I’ll just walk around shirtless then” mindset. Not that it bothered you, but it surely wasn’t a very acceptable dress code everywhere.

“Not more than the everyday amount.” He winked back at you, slumping on his chair with a deep sigh.

“I bet an electrical bill that your shoulders are rock solid.” You approached the man, who just leaned his elbows on his desk and kept looking at you from under his ruffled white hair.

“You know I have rotten luck with bets.” Dante closed his eyes, his usual smile too tired to make an appearance.

“I’d say you have a rotten luck with everything except fighting, but I don’t want to be too cruel with you today.” You managed to make him chuckle with your words as you laid both of your hands on his shoulders.

And it seemed like grabbing two sets of bricks.

“Jeez, Dante, you gonna die with all this tension.” Your comment was more of a surprised whisper: it was worse than you thought. Not that you weren’t used to massaging him all over because of sore muscles after intense fights – and the reciprocate was true – but it seemed like all the tension he had accumulated from the last few weeks decided to make an appearance that day.

“I know, babe… I’m really tired today.” He lowered his head, massaging his own neck a bit. You furrowed your brows – that behavior was rare and so out of character on your red devil. “This last month has been really tense… There were some old foes of my father back, they kept sayin’ all those things about my family and my mom… Sometimes, they hit us hard.” Dante raised his head again, looking at you with a faint smile. His sky-blue eyes, though, carried sadness instead of the usual energy. A bittersweet demeanor, as Dante would always wear when his strength was low, but he didn’t want you to care about it too much. “But I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about lil’ ol’ me.”

“I always worry about lil’ ol’ you.” You wrapped one of your arms around his shoulders, forcing him to slide a little with his chair so you cold sit on his nearest thigh. Dante couldn’t hold back a smile filled with care. “That’s what being a partner means, cowboy. I’m here for the good and the bad times, no less. Although, I can accept more.”

“I guess we can all accept more, huh, partner?” He forced an old western movie type of accent, making you laugh as Dante wrapped your waist with one of his arms, using his other hand to hold one of your thighs and properly putting both of your legs across his – Dante’s thigh being the best chair in the office. Not that you had much choice when the only chair was taken by him on a regular basis. “I just don’t want ya to get as tense as I am. One worried devil around the shop is enough.”

“Technically, I’m not a devil. Even if I’m worried, you’d be the only one to fit that category.” You argued, making him roll his eyes while laughing. It wasn’t his usual hearty laugh, but it was a good one to listen. Dante’s voice would always be the best kind of song to your ears. “Plus, carrying the weight of constantly saving humanity is too heavy of a burden to carry on your own. No wonder your shoulders feel like I can throw Cavaliere at you and you won’t even feel it.”

“Oh, I’d actually like to see you doin’ that! When are you goin’ to let me train you?” His hand unconsciously drew patterns on the thigh he was holding to keep you in place. “Gotta say, you’ll look hella sexy driving Cavaliere around and kickin’ some…”

“Demon ass!” You both said together, mimicking Nico’s accent. That made Dante break in a more cheerful laugh, resting his forehead on yours.

“Well, you can always teach me. I can’t assure you I’ll be strong enough to wave a full-ass motorcycle around, though.” You had a few giggles in your voice still, closing your eyes as you felt his breath calming down on your face.

“You kiddin’? If I train you enough, you’ll be able to throw me at demons.” Although his voice was lower, Dante’s usual playful tone was still there, slowly coming back to his heart. You always brought his heart back – it was your most beautiful power, in his opinion. No demon could ever do that.

“Neat. I’ll just go ‘Dante, arm!’ when I feel like it and hold it to throw you at demons. It would be epic. ‘Want a piece of Sparda, you clowns? Well then, catch THIS!’” As you spoke, Dante himself closed his eyes, hugging you tighter and laughing while imagining that scene. “I think Nero would be jealous.”

“He’d want to try it out with Verge. Only he wouldn’t give his ol’ man a heads up.” With his own phrase, Dante laughed even more, imagining how Vergil would be mortified with that. “That would be a sight to see!”

“We gotta train it, now. You’ll be my biggest weapon, Dante.” You took some distance from him, to look at his eyes again. The skies were getting a little bit clearer, adoration now mixing with the sadness. You ran your fingers through his blood sprinkled hair, something Dante loved with all his heart. “A huge weapon that needs a bath, by the way.”

“Ah, I’m gonna take a quick shower. That water bill…”

“Don’t worry, it’s already on the budget. We’re taking a bath today, red devil.”

Dante looked back at you, interested. He wasn’t expecting you to use “we”.

“Do you prefer jasmine or orange blossom?” Your head appeared through the bathroom door as Dante took his clothes off and left on a designated place on the floor – currently shirtless as you decided to ask.

“Well, I prefer you.” His answer was laced with a serene smile while his clothes met the floor.

“Very funny, you goof.” You weren’t pleased with the reply, but not exactly surprised. It was classic Dante at his finest. “I want to choose a scent you like.”

“If it’s the ones you use, I like all scents, honey.” Dante stretched out his arms, cracking his neck in the process. It seemed like his muscles were made of marble. “Make me a surprise.”

“You know, one day, you’ll have to get used to the idea of choosing stuff you like, not just accepting what life throws at you.” You were almost as grumpy as an old lady and, for some reason, Dante found that adorable.

But he knew you were right. Dante was too used to just accept things and never ask for more – he barely had an idea on how to choose what he actually wanted. Yes, you were just talking about bath scents, but he’d always be happy with whatever. Life wasn’t too keen on being nice to him, so Dante figured, at some point, that if he couldn’t fight it, at least he wouldn’t stress about it.

That’s why he was so good at being versatile during fights: he’d see what his enemies would do and adapt – that way, if something went wrong, he’d wing it instead of panicking. It had worked pretty well so far.

“So… Is the bath ready? Do I have permission to enter the premises, sheriff?” It was turn for his head to appear through the bathroom’s door, observing you, wrapped around your towel, testing the water with your hand.

“Permission granted, cowboy. Bath is ready and you’re sinkin’ in there until further notice.” You smiled back, sniffing your hand. It was better than you expected.

“What scent you opted for, babe?” And as he entered the bathroom you only observe how Dante could be so comfortable wandering around the way he was born into this world. It was an ability you truly envied, honestly.

“Both.” Your smile was certainly annoyed, and Dante couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“Well, it counts as a surprise! I wasn’t expecting that!” As he sank into the warm water filled with bubbles, you heard a soothed sigh from him. Who would’ve know the Legendary Devil Hunter just needed a good bubbling bath every once in a while to wind down? That made you smile contently. “Are you just goin’ to watch me or are you comin’ in, babe? I can always seduce you, ya know…”

“Oh…” And Dante started wiggling his eyebrows dramatically, performing the campiest sexy pose you had ever seen. And that was saying a lot – he had a weak spot for doing that from time to time. You held his hand on place by the side of the tub before he could continue. “Please don’t.”

Dante chuckled a little while you made sure your hair wouldn’t get wet. He always enjoyed watching you – there was something so ordinary on it, so human, that made him feel almost as if he wasn’t who he was. Almost as if he didn’t have demon blood in his veins, and all that mess going on in his family and his life in general. For a while, watching you, Dante could live a perfectly human life – even if it was for a few eternal seconds.

“Do you want me to go in or do you want me to just stay here with you?” Your question woke him up from his thoughts, though, making Dante tilt his head a bit, still processing it. “You need to start choosing and knowing what you want, cowboy.” You sat by the edge of the tub, playing mindlessly with the water. “Might as well start with me – I won’t get mad at any of the answers. Both work fine for me and I have all the time in the world.”

“Oh…” And there it was: your marvelous ability of leaving Dante speechless. That was quite a feat, and you could always do it masterfully. Vergil adored you for that. “Hmmm. I’d rather have you here with me, y/n.” Even though his words were certain, his eyes weren’t – as if Dante was asking you to stay. “Is that ok for you?”

“Of course.” As you smiled back, he watched as your towel was put aside and held your hands while you made your way into the bathtub. “I’ve already said it’s ok, both options.”

“Hey, it’s all brand-new for me, don’t shoot the apprentice.” Dante chuckled back, holding your hands so you wouldn’t risk getting hurt while getting comfortable in the water with him.

“I’m not shooting, just stating. You gonna learn how to put yourself first for good or for bad now.” And it always amazed him how you could threaten anyone so casually – you and Vergil were quite a pair in that department.

“Or else you gonna throw me at demons. I know, I know.” He raised his hands as if you had him at gunpoint, while you were only leaning against him and resting your head on his shoulder amidst giggles. “Comfy, lil’ angel?”

“That’s a given when I’m with you.” It sounded like one of your playful answers, but your voice was serious and serene, having your eyes closed as if you were ready to fall asleep in his arms.

And indeed, both of you could fall asleep like that. Dante observed while the sun tinged the sky with the last rays of rosé orange, before giving in to the darkest of blues. A few birds chirped outside, sometimes flying by the window in golden silhouettes. There wasn’t any other sound in the streets – every once in a while, a few people walked by, chatting words you both were too far to understand.

It was a kind of peace Dante wasn’t used to. He wrapped one of his arms around your waist, using his free hand to play with yours. You let yourself get lost on his touch, enjoying that peaceful afternoon while feeling his heartbeat calmly against your back – something so rare at the Devil May Cry.

“Hmmm.” You turned your head at him, kissing Dante’s neck to get his attention. He looked down at you – a serene expression, without his usual smile. It was so different, but as beautiful as he would always look. “I can always massage that bag of bricks you’re carrying in your back. You just have to ask.”

“If it’s that bad, you might need a hammer, babe.” And his smile was faint, but it couldn’t refrain from making an appearance. You didn’t want to, but nevertheless ended up chuckling with his words, planting another kiss on his neck. “Sure you can handle it?”

“Oh, yes. I’m on a mission now.” You kissed him one last time, sitting up straight so you could properly turn to look at him. “C’mon. Time to change positions.”

“It’s easy for ya, lil’ thing! Have you seen my size?!” Dante pointed at himself while still holding one of your hands, making you laugh more than you expected.

“I can try like this, but knowing us, we’ll end up with the ‘bathtub make-up time’ from A Star is Born then properly working on relaxing you!” As you answered, Dante raised one of his eyebrows, pulling your hand towards him.

“If you wanted to, I wouldn’t complain about it.” He shrugged, kissing your fingers tenderly, taking his time. You had nowhere to be and no reason to rush.

“Turn around, cowboy. First, we’re getting rid of those tense shoulders. Then, we’re getting to the make-up.” You watched as he continued kissing every spot in your hand, slowly trailing up to your wrist.

“My, my, you’re bossy!” And even though it seemed like Dante was complaining, he had a smile on his face that showed his enjoyment. He’d never complain about you trying to take care of him.

And soon enough you had Dante’s shoulders in your hands, his back exposed for you to work on. He knew he didn’t have to speak or keep small talk around you – interestingly enough, you were always comfortable around him not to need any words. That was also a new world to the Crimson Slayer – not used to have people comfortable near him.

As your hands glided through his back, breaking the tension on his stony muscles, Dante found himself slouching – closing his eyes and taking a deep breath; allowing himself to enjoy the moment. It was nice not being called names, not being treated harshly, not being in the middle of a fight, not being strong all the time… Being human, for a change.

Dante knew kindness was human’s superpower, but he was never one to experience it first-hand in a regular basis. He usually knew it by proxy – in your hands, though, there was nothing but kindness. Dante had a theory he was relaxing not by your abilities in massaging, but by having you take care of his heart so carefully.

“You know… I never really thought I’d have this.” He suddenly said quietly, a faint smile on his voice as his eyes remained closed. You kneeled behind him just so you could reach his shoulders better, working gradually on the knots in his neck. “I mean… I’d wish for it, sure. But it always felt like one of those Disney movies wishful thinkin’, ya know? The ones we pray for a star at night and hope no one’s around to listen.” You’d always let him talk, without saying a word. It was so rare to have Dante really open up about his feelings – so you’d let him speak until the moment was gone. “I know huntin’ demons isn’t easy… And I know it isn’t easy not knowing if I’ll be back or stuck in Hell. Again.” Dante’s head turned slightly back, while you left out a chuckle. That was a classic, honestly. “But I’m glad to have you around; for as long as you want to stay. Thank you, y/n.”

Your answer took a little time to form words, so you seized it to embrace your red devil, pressing your chest so tight against his back and resting your hands over his heart. Dante would be taken aback if he didn’t long for that kind of affection. With a comfortable smile coloring his lips, he took your hands on his, cradling them as much as he could, trying to look back at you. It was in vain, though: your face was peacefully rested on his shoulder, while you kept your eyes closed and enjoyed your time with the Crimson Slayer.

“I’ll stay forever, if you’ll have me.” Your voice was nothing but a whisper in that late afternoon, not giving Dante the chance to say he’d have you forever. “For there is no harshness in this or in another world worst than being without you. I love you so much, Dante – and I hope someday you’ll understand that. You saved me in all manners a person can be saved. This is a dream for me too.”

“You kinda sound like Verge sometimes, ya know.” He mumbled, making you snort briefly in his back. Dante laughed as well, playing with your fingers while one of your hands remained in his heart. “Also, isn’t that saving thing from Titanic…?”

“Oh my. I wasn’t expecting you’d know Rose’s lines by heart.” You quipped back playfully; internally grateful he couldn’t see how much you were blushing. If Dante was the Crimson Slayer, at that moment you’d certainly be the Crimson Apple. “Here was I, thinking I’d be seen as originally poetic.”

“You kiddin’ me? You know how many times Titanic has aired? It saved my boring nights!” He laughed quickly, suddenly pulling your hands while moving swiftly. When you noticed what happened, Dante found a way to turn slightly around so you’d find yourself in his arms, as if he wanted to carry you bridal style. Dante kept your head above water by having one of his arms on your back, while the other wrapped around your waist, keeping you close. Your hands were lost in his chest, in his heart. “I do think you’re poetic though. More than you give yourself credit for, angel.”

“Well, then you know where my heart is. And It’ll never refrain from giving you all the kindness in the world, as much as you need.” You placed your hand briefly in his face before pulling Dante for a kiss.

His heart would be glowing in golden knowing there was no time, no chores, no demons to kill – only you, him and the bathtub. Dante could cherish you as much as he wanted and that kiss could last forever, if he meant to. You were uncharacteristically vulnerable in his arms, completely disarmed by the Crimson Slayer – and he knew he was the only person you’d allow yourself to be like that around.

Life was never kind to both of you – but you could be kind to each other. And that was enough.

Vergil

The oncoming storm.

Vergil found it amusing that you used to call him like that when he wasn’t in the best of tempers, but you could look like a lingering chaos when wrathful feelings stirred in the depths of the ocean that was your heart.

His cunning eyes followed you as your presence made itself known back in the room. He was sitting by his favorite dark blue armchair, reading one more of his occult books – Vergil would never cease to search power, but now for different reasons than before – as your brooding form entered while carrying the Yamato. By the look in your eyes, it wasn’t the best of hunting days – and that he could understand beautifully.

You looked like the most perfect oncoming storm.

“I take your hunt was not just a simple job as it seemed when you left.” His voice echoed in the room while you left the Yamato on its designated place to keep it safe. You only looked back at your lover, more unsatisfied with the circumstances than with his comment. “If you feel like talking about it, do so. I’m not busy.”

He looked busy, though – and Vergil could read that thought in your eyes. As soon as he did, he carefully closed the book and left it on the desk by his side, taking a cup of warm tea while waiting for you to say something. You knew it was his way of saying he had time to listen to you – that you were more important than a book.

It was always like that between you two. You wouldn’t ask what was wrong, but you’d make yourselves perfectly available to listen to each other’s troubles. That way, sharing your feelings didn’t seem so scary or vulnerable – it seemed more like an objective therapy with someone who would never judge or run away from your words. It was the way you and Vergil found to become used to talking about the deepest emotions stirring in your hearts.

“It was much worse than we thought. I wasn’t ready for it.” You sighed, tiredly rubbing your neck while walking towards the closet. You needed to unwind, or you’d fall flat from stress. “Note that the demon wasn’t stronger. Last week has been terribly overwhelming and I thought a quick, easy job would blow off some steam. Turns out, this wasn’t a quick and easy job.”

“Hmmm… You underestimated it.” Vergil’s voice analyzed quietly while you confirmed with a gesture and proceeded to find your pajamas. “Sometimes, slicing demons is exactly what we need to get some adrenaline out of our system and get back to our focus��” As he spoke, Vergil got up from the chair and made his way to the closet, towering behind you as you chose your comfortable clothing. “Some other times, what we need is a little more delicate than that.”

“Delicate? That’s a choice of words I wasn’t expecting, honestly.” You furrowed your brows and, before you could take anything from the closet, Vergil placed a careful and loving kiss on the top of your head. That made you stop whatever you were doing, failing to understand his intentions.

“I know. We’re not ones to expect love and care, are we…?” He whispered in the slightly cold air of the night, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Come. The water of a bath can melt the tension in your body, love. This time, it will be better than slaying demons.”

You closed your eyes, smiling with a sigh. Vergil wasn’t one to show a softer side – but he always did when it was about taking care of the ones he loved, even if he wasn’t keen on admitting it.

“You know… You prepare the best baths.”

You were leaning by the door, resting your head on it, while watching Vergil working. As per his instructions, both of you were already covered only by silky bath robes, waiting for the water to get warm and the bath filled with bubbles.

“It’s not a difficult science.” He noted back – and even though it was a chastising comment, Vergil didn’t have a harsh expression. Au contraire, he kept on testing the water with his hand, focused on making it as bubbly as possible. He knew you loved it.

“No, but it is rare to find someone well versed in it.” You wanted to compliment him, and that man was usually so difficult to accept praises that didn’t surround his power. Vergil wasn’t one to see many qualities in himself, apart from his demonic heritage.

Taking him by surprise, your arms enveloped him from behind, while Vergil kept sitting by the bathtub. You felt him tense a few seconds before relaxing into your touch, melting like snow in the first rays of spring. One of his hands met yours, while the other worked in the water – he never wanted to show how much he cherished those displays of care towards him.

“It is because I have someone who enjoys it greatly.” His words weren’t more than a whisper, as his fingers entangled with yours and Vergil raised your hand to place a slow and gentle kiss in its back. “Now we should get to it before the water turns cold.”

You’d note it would take a while for the water to turn cold, but it was just Vergil’s way to ask you to get into the bathtub. He helped you take off your robe, setting it aside alongside his, and made sure you’d get into the water without any accidents. Soon enough, you were submerged between Vergil’s arms, your head resting on his shoulders.

“Comfortable?”

“Hmmm.” You mostly confirmed with your head, a faint smile coloring your lips. Vergil couldn’t help himself from mirroring your expression. “Which scent is this? The water is marvelous.”

“White roses.” His answer was simple and velvety in the quietness of the bathroom, making your smile wider. Vergil once told you about white roses being used by brides over time for its meaning of serenity, innocence and eternity – qualities he always saw in you.

You’d beg to differ, especially on topics like serenity and innocence – although, for a half-devil who spent a great part of his life stuck in the horrors of Hell, even someone like you could be an angel.

“You were reading about occultism again?”

“Hmmm. There are a few new things I need to grasp on energy work.” His answer was pensive, while you cherished the feeling of Vergil’s hand mindlessly drawing patterns on your thigh. “Although most of them is just new age foolishness.”

You tried not to laugh. Your eyes remained closed while your lips shrunk in a straight line, containing how much you found that endearing. Little did you know your lover stared at you with one raised eyebrow, ever so ready to scold you.

“At least someone finds that amusing.” As soon as his brooding voice echoed in your ears, you couldn’t hold your laughter any longer.

“The ‘new age foolishness’ is already absurdly annoying to me.” You finally opened your eyes, meeting his silvery gaze. Although, this time, Vergil watched you with amusement and care. “I can only imagine how much it vexes you.”

“Beyond description of any words.” His gaze turned into a playful sort of annoyed expression, sighing right after. “Through me you enter into the city of woes, through me you enter into eternal pain, through me you enter the population of loss. Abandon all hope, you who enter here.”

“Ah, yes. Alighieri clearly thought of new age’s take on occultism when describing Hell. It’s all a metaphor.” You couldn’t keep yourself from chuckling. Vergil wasn’t one to be playful, but he was one to be dramatic. And it amused you greatly how often those traits overlapped.

“Trust me. I do know a few books that certainly would belong into the freezing confinements of the 9th circle.” He rolled his eyes, making you laugh briefly and plant a kiss in his jaw. Vergil looked back at you, raising one eyebrow – but this time as a question.

“Well. You do warm my heart whenever you complain about modern stuff using your classic literature knowledge. You only get yourself to blame for unexpected kisses.” You smiled back, taking him by surprise with another kiss on his neck. Little did you know Vergil did his best not to blush with how much his heart was racing. “Actually, your literature knowledge in general should be blamed for my kisses.”

“Then I wonder what the result of a recital would be while I work on those tense shoulders of yours.”

His eyes were as intense as yours, always finding someone who could keep up to his gaze in you. It was true, you were not in your best of days – and Vergil knew that. But being in his arms made you feel safe in a way you never did before: your blue devil was the only one capable of making you feel protected, the only one who could make you relax.

“Why don’t you test it out…?” As your words left your lips, Vergil tried to contain a devilish smile that colored his own lips – not being able to fully hide it, though.

“One day, you’re going to get yourself in trouble with those witty words.” He whispered back, inches away from your lips before slowly kissing them.

“You do love my witty words.”

“Indeed.” Vergil kissed your lips once more before guiding you to turn forward and slipping his warm, wet hands on the back of your neck. He had a strong grip, but it never failed to make you smile how well Vergil could control his strength when dealing with you. That carefulness rarely showed – he reserved only to the most special people.

His brother definitely wasn’t one of those – neither was Nero, to an extent. But Vergil knew very well how to be gentle around you, Kyrie or Nico. The way he treated Kyrie was as if she was the most fragile of flowers in a secret garden.

“Hmmm… You know, I have no clue where you learnt to do this, but your hands are magnificent, love.” You had to comment as he kneaded the sore spots in your trapezius. “Midas would be jealous of your touch.”

“I cannot turn that which is already golden into gold. I can only help you not die out of tension.” His answer was sharp, making you giggle. It always warmed Vergil’s heart how you were amused by his dry sense of humor – Dante seemed to be the only one to laugh at his attempts of jokes before you arrived in his life. “You should ask me for these more often. I don’t mind spending time with you.”

“Even if you have to stop reading?”

“Books can wait.” And Vergil kissed the top of your head, calmly lowering his hands on your back. “Being with those we love, can’t.”

You closed your eyes, slowly sighing as you felt every knot from your back unravel under his skillful hands. Vergil took his time, without worrying about the water or how long you’d take in that bath. He wouldn’t leave until you were feeling at least a little better.

“Everyday you play with the light of the universe. Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and in the water.” Vergil’s voice started reciting a carefully chosen poem after he thought for a while, at first too quiet in the walls of the bathroom. Nevertheless, you’d never tire of hearing his words like that. “Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh, let me remember you as you were before you existed.”

There was something about those words that never failed to make you smile. Vergil knew that.

“You are here. Oh, you do not run away. You will answer me to the last cry.” Now his voice was like velvety dark chocolate, pouring into your ears like a forbidden song. You didn’t dare opening your eyes as his hands worked on your back. “Cling to me as though you were frightened. Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.” As Vergil spoke, you could hear the slight smile he had in his lips: you weren’t one to love easy, but when you did, you loved wholeheartedly. Just like him. “Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, and even your breasts smell of it.” He planted a kiss under your ear, working on a tense spot in your neck. “While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies, I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.”

Vergil barely finished the sentence, and you could feel his teeth playfully nipping the tender spot in your neck. You giggled back, feeling little tears that formed around your eyes – if they were because of how much that spot was hurting or how his words could make you feel a myriad of emotions in your ocean heart, you did not know.

“How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.” The honesty in his words as Vergil’s hands lowered in your back made you breathless. It wasn’t just an empty poem he was reciting – it was one he could see himself on it. And you could feel it in the way he delivered the words like sweet honey dripping from his lips. “So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the gray light unwinds in turning fans.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from opening your eyes vaguely while Vergil guided you to stretch your neck slowly, moving your head gently. You smiled contently as he pulled you closer, keeping his mouth inches away from your ears.

“My words rained over you, stroking you. A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. I go so far as to think you own the universe.” You had known that poem and always cherished it in your heart, but his delivery of the words made you shiver. Who would’ve known the Dark Slayer would have you as the owner of the universe? “I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels and rustic basket of kisses.” With those words, Vergil playfully kissed the top of your ear, making you laugh slightly – until you could feel his lips touching the shell of your ear, ready to whisper the last line for only you to listen; a secret to be kept only by your heart. “I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”*

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. Oh, damned devil – is all you could think. You could feel Vergil’s smile from watching your reaction and how much you controlled all your feelings not to arise in a sea storm, taking him whole into the maelstrom of your heart. He knew what he was doing.

“I have to say…” You slowly turned your head to your lover, finding Vergil’s triumphant silver glare ornated by a faint smile. You both were at the same level of emotion control, but he could never stop himself from feeling proud whenever he provoked such a havoc of feelings within you. “You have won more than a few kisses, devilish poet.”

“Hmmm. I’m afraid to point out, this poem is exclusively human.” One of his warm hands stroke your cheek, putting away a rebel strand of hair. Again, his voice fell into a whisper, only for your ears. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

For the first time, Vergil lost track of the warmth of the water – but what water could be warmer than the flame of love?

*Every Day You Play, by Pablo Neruda

[burnedbyshoto]

split

— Shouto becomes victim of a quirk accident. In that he become two people who get along as well as fire and ice do. They clash at every moment, and only seem to agree on one thing: their love for you. Or in which Shouto gets split into two by a quirk that spilts chimeras and in order for peace to be found you find yourself in a threesome with two halves that make the one you love most.

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pairing: split!todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, threesome, split!shouto, anal, double penetration, blowjob, rimming, cunnilingus, cursing, degradation, praise 

word count: 8,930

a/n: LMAOOOOOO this waas actually fun to write the names I gave them were super easy because I am uncreative. I used an anons rec for shoutos hero name: reisho so that’s what that is. and thank you to my lovely canasian for finding the original drabble I wrote. pls enjoy!

kinktober day 6 main kink: threesome

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“What’s going on?”

It was a series of words that often came out of your mouth because, as a Pro Hero, there were many times where you had no idea what was going on. It usually ranged from asking why Kaminari and Kirishima were giggling and avoiding your gaze when you walked into a room to coming onto an active battle where Bakugou and Midoriya were bloodied and crazed. There was nothing off-limits to those words, as they were, after all, said in complete confusion. 

“Where is he?!” you tried again, watching as nineteen different eyes look everywhere but at you.

However, it was without given when you watched your twenty -- wait, was that twenty-one? -- former classmates both stumble into one another as they turn to face you.

“Y/l/n-chan!” Mina squeaked, stepping up from the crowd, trying to cover up the two people in there that you couldn’t quite recognize as your classmates. “How was patrol? I heard that Todoroki-kun left you midway!”

You wished that last comment didn’t make your cheeks burn as intensely as it did.

Today had been one of the rare days that you had gone off on your route with your boyfriend, Todoroki Shouto. Both of you watched the busy streets and whispering between yourself as you avoided the masses, not wanting to get caught up with fan interactions that were rather unneeded. But there had been a large altercation that required Shouto’s expertise. Specifically, the voice at headquarters commanded that you stay on patrol while Shouto would leave. So you had watched as Shouto placed a hand on your cheek, his thumb softly petting your cheek, his smile warm.

“I’ll be back,” he had promised before taking off in a mist of ice and fire.

You continued the rest of your patrol with a rather childish pout on your face, you hadn’t enjoyed being sidelined like this, but you calmly assessed the situation. It probably wasn’t a fight you would be much aid in, and there was never a reason to send more than enough heroes onto a single area. But your route was coming to an end, and Shouto had still yet to reappear. Trying not to overthink it, you frowned while passing a store with TVs out in front.

Staring at the bright, flashing screen, you suddenly felt a sense of panic at the headliner: Chimera Quirk-Wielding Villain Apprehended by Pro Heroes Froppy, Pinky, and Reisho. (slight injuries on the hero team.)

With concern pitting up horribly in your stomach for your friends and boyfriend, you finished your assignment as calmly as you could, before finally getting to rush back to your agency. You had taken to the rooftops to get there as quickly as you could.

Through all that, you found yourself right where you had been in the beginning, staring at Mina, who despite the few scrapes of dirt and soot on your costume, looked normal. Your eyes glanced over at Tsuyu, who, like Mina, was unharmed -- which left Shouto.

“Something strange happened during that battle,” Momo spoke up, her face set with concern, her eyes, although not horrified, was definitely a bit at a loss for an explanation.

“Wha--?”

“The person we fought against could make chimera’s out of people, but the limits of their quirk meant that once they made a chimera, they couldn’t add more to the creation,” Mina explained, her head nodding as she looked from Momo to you. Her fingers were tugging at her pink curls, and you tilted your head.

“Is Shouto still smashed together with someone or something?” you asked, a bit hesitant to see what potentially horrific creation your boyfriend could have turned into. “I’ve seen Shouto show up home after the poop-villain fiasco, I swear I won’t cry if he’s ugly!”

“Well, no, kero,” Tsuyu frowned, her finger pressing to her lower lip as she tilted her head. “Mina-chan and I were a chimera for a bit, and the quirk has a limit when they make a chimera.”

You didn’t like how that was worded.

“Just fucking show her the idiots who threw the match!” Bakugou snapped, his eyebrows furrowed as he shoved the crowd away in the middle, parting them like Moses did the red sea. 

Idiots? You thought, your confused expression growing as you looked from Bakugou’s frowning face onto what they had been hiding from you.

And you instantly understood why when you were greeted with two heads. One entirely redheaded, the other entirely white-haired, each with identical faces who looked at you with the same tone to their eyes.

“You see, their quirk can also separate chimera’s, and well… I — we, guess that Todoroki-san is one,” Momo informed you as you stared at opposite replicates of your loving boyfriend. “The villain said they’ve never split a natural-born human chimera before, it had been their first time, so the lasting effects of the quirk are unknown.”

The redheaded Shouto still sported a scar on his face, but he felt completely different. His face was cold, stare distant, and burning with a suppressed, denied fury that you couldn’t recognize on him outside of a battlefield. But even with the cold look encompassing his body and stature like a thick sheet of ice, when he looked at you with his set of two burning turquoise eyes, you knew his feelings for you were still the same.

The white-haired Shouto had no scar, and he looked much closer to the man you knew currently, except maybe a bit more open? His face quipped into a smile, his eyes swimming with mirth, joy, and content with finally seeing you here, all good emotions but emotions you weren’t used to him exposing to the public like this. But even with the warm, loving look burning softly around him, his set of grey eyes shone with feelings you knew were true.

“My boyfriend is split into two?!”

There was something wrong with that sentence, something that carried heat because the moment you said those words, both Shouto’s seemed to freeze next to each other. Icy and fiery glares meeting in an electric firestorm as Deku promptly dragged you out of the room with Momo and Mina. You struggled against Deku’s iron grip, only seeing white-haired Shouto’s jaw drop in the beginnings of a speech while redheaded Shouto glowered at him with all the intensity he could muster.

“Y/l/n-san, we need you to never, ever mention that they’re the same person,” Deku immediately spoke as soon as the door between the hallway and the room where the Shouto’s were closed. “He’s — they’re — not handling that information very well, and are acting rather… immature about who the real ‘Todoroki-kun’ is.”

“They’re not connected by the same mind?!” you spluttered, your own mind feeling like it was split down the middle at the hypothesis that your boyfriend was both of these men, but none of them. “So, it’s like a split personality manifesting completely?”

“We’re a bit sure on how to compare it to something such as dissociative disorder,” Momo spoke calmly, undoubtedly her mind working a mile a millisecond to make sense of the strange predicament you all were in. “He’s been in here for some time now. And from what we’ve managed to question from him, both parts of Todoroki-san remember everything. It seems they differ in just how they felt about it on an emotional basis.”

You blinked once, twice.

“Do you mind giving me an example?”

Goddamn idiot you were.

“Well, I guess the bigger emotional differences were during our high school years,” Midoriya mumbled, his fingers pinching his lower lip in thought. “A good example would be why he challenged me during the sports festival. Redhead Shouto said he did it because he hated Endeavor so much back then he was willing to prove his strength no matter what. White-haired Shouto says it was an overreaction on his own part and that he’s truly sorry.”

You frowned.

“It almost sounds like if Todoroki-san’s quirk had been only one of his parents, and his two halves are insights to the life he would have led if he had only one,” Momo offered a pursed stare. She didn’t seem too sure of her conclusion, but for you, it was enough.

“Honestly, you were the only one I saw both Todoroki-kun’s act the same toward!” Mina exclaimed, her hands grabbing your shoulders as she leaned in close, a sly grin on her face. “It’s like the two of you are destined lovers, no matter how the world is!”

“Mina!” you whined, feeling utterly embarrassed as she snickered loudly, her eye falling into a wink before straightening up.

“Alright, so just a recap: don’t mention which one is the ‘real’ Todoroki,” Mina warned, already moving back into the room.

“What do we call them then?” you whispered, feeling not at all prepared to stare at two, stupid hot versions of your same boyfriend.

“Ah-ha, well,” Midoriya smiled embarrassed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as you all walked back in. “Only Kacchan brought up a nickname so far.”

“YOU STUPID FUCKING RED HALF!” Bakugou’s voice roared the moment the door opened, and immediately, you were pulled back into the mess of the situation. “I’LL MURDER YOUR ASS!”

“Someone was clearly not raised on manners,” came the snide remark from Shouto’s white half, and you watched on in horror as your old male classmates worked together to hold off all three rambunctious boys to keep from fighting.

“LET GO OF ME, SHITTY HAIR! I’LL GIVE THEM BOTH NEW SCARS IF THEY KEEP ACTING LIKE THIS!”

But you stared at the apathetic face on Shouto’s red half, his eyes somehow empty, dull, and angry as he glared at Bakugou.

Red half.

Red.

You looked at Shouto’s white half that was grinning at the challenge, icy frosting off his body akin to the explosions on Bakugou’s fists as he egged him on. 

White.

That would be easy enough.

You snorted, before walking forward, grabbing your boyfriend(s) hands in yours, and they quickly turned to look at you. Their gazes turning warm and full, their demeanor utterly different as the raging Bakugou faded into the background. 

“So, I’m sure you both know what’s going on at the moment,” you spoke clearly, just loudly enough to be heard over the popping explosions on Bakugou’s palms. “I also know you’re both confident in who you are, but the truth is you both have the same name, so we’re going to need a new thing to call the both of you. Is that okay?”

“Ah, I see,” white-haired Shouto nodded, his hand tightening around yours, his thumb running along the backside of your palm. “You will continue to call me Shouto, and we will call him, the Imposter.”

Wait, what?!

“I’m not the imposter,” redheaded Shouto rolled his eyes, taking the hand he held up to his lips, pressing a gentle, warm kiss to your knuckles — it contrasted chillingly with the cold, aloof tone he continues to have with his white half. “I am, after all, the one with the facial scar. It is the most recognizable feature of me. Clearly, you’re the imposter.”

You had to ignore the way your stomach fluttered and how your cheeks exploded in heat as both Shouto’s were suddenly kissing your knuckles. They only went further after leaving warm, chilling kisses on your skin. For they pulled you closer by your waist, a physical challenge between the two to claim you. Even though they both were for you.

It was only made worse by the wide-eyed, cheek splitting grins, and spluttering noises made by your old classmates who relished in this rom-com type embarrassment.

“Oh my god, enough!” you squeaked, trying to shove both overpowering men away from you.

“See, you’re being too much,” white-haired Shouto snapped, ripping you from redhead Shouto’s hold.

“Let. Y/n. Go.” redhead Shouto growled, hand exploding with fire, and you wrestled yourself out of white-haired Shouto’s hold to press your palms flat against each of their chests.

“You both better calm down right now, or else I’ll send you off with our friends until you’re back to normal!” you snap, your cheek radiating with explosive heat. With the threat heavy on their minds, redhead Shouto took away his flame, and white-haired Shouto took a less defensive stance. Relieved with their current treaty, you thrust a finger at both halves, looking between your way too amused classmates and your boyfriend(s). “You will be called Red--” you jabbed redheaded Shouto with your finger-- “and you will be White!” you spoke clearly, tapping white-haired Shouto with your other finger.

“Am I understood?”

Silence.

You glared at your boyfriend(s) who were staring down at you with wide eyes and gaping jaws.

“I said, am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” your boyfriend(s) sputtered.

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Highlight of Day One of Living with the Todoroki Twins Boyfriend(s):

“Where is Red going to sleep?” White asked as you settled into the, thankfully, large bed the two -- now three -- of you shared. “On the floor?”

The bed had been a present from Endeavor when Shouto had moved into your apartment with you. It was much bigger than anything you owned, and while you hadn’t been fond of the length and stretch of the bed, you indeed were grateful for it now.

“Y/n likes to be warm when she sleeps,” Red duly noted, glaring at White the entire time it took him to crawl onto the right side of the bed. He settled right by you, arm wrapped around your waist, chin grazing against your temple. “You sleep on the floor.”

“You need comfort to stay beautiful, and since you’re eliminated from being that because of the scar on your face, you can sleep on the floor!” White countered while reciprocating the same position Red was doing.

Red’s eyebrow twitched at that before his glare soured and became icy cold, “I have the bigger co--”

“Both of you shut up now!” you snap, the palms of your hands shoving their faces away from one another. You were feeling more like a mother to a pair of troublesome twin toddlers than the girlfriend of your boyfriend(s). “I don’t want to hear it!” you groan as both their jaws dropped to attempt to speak their mind. “If you can’t shut up and sleep, I’ll sleep on the floor!”

“No!”

“No!”

“Then shut up, love me more, and let’s go to bed!”

…

…

…

“You don’t have the bigger cock--”

“Oh my god!”

“Please don’t go, my love, White is an idiot.”

Highlight of Day Two of Living with the Todoroki Twins Boyfriend(s):

“Well, this is certainly an interesting thing to be experiencing,” Rei’s gentle voice filled the room as both Red and White sat at her sides. Neither one of them touching her, but their gazes warm and soft for their mother. Rei touched the cheeks of both her son(s) and sighed softly before returning her attention to you. “Has it been hard? I do hope they’ve been behaving themselves.”

You smiled in hopes it would help to hide the grimace on your features as you laughed.

Just this morning, the two of them nearly burned down the kitchen while trying to outperform one another in making you breakfast in bed. It was of ample notice to realize that just one Todoroki Shouto was not to be trusted in the kitchen, but putting two Todoroki Shouto’s in there had caused them to somehow burn water and melt the stove.

The eggs they managed to pull together were burnt yet undercooked and had eggshells in them.

It wasn’t the worst meal you’ve had fun enough.

“They’re doing just fine,” you lie, your smile warm at the woman you would hope to one day become your mother-in-law. “Just a bit odd to deal with two people when I’m so used to one.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is. In fact, they initially saw Shouto was to be twins, but he absorbed the other one in the womb,” Rei admitted, a small laugh on her tongue as she politely covered her mouth, her eyes closed in her mirth. “A bit funny how it seems like this could have been the outcome of that life.”

You feel a cold sweat drip on the back of your neck as Red straightens, his eyes darkening as he makes contact with Rei’s arm, and fear thrums through every fiber of your being.

“Kaa-san?”

“Yes, Shouto?” Rei asked, her warm grey eyes taking in Red’s gloomy form.

“White called me ugly.”

Highlight of Day Three of Living with the Todoroki Twins Boyfriend(s):

“My love, I’m not feeling too well,” White groaned on the couch when you first arrived home.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for you, you were still being cleared to work during this time of split Shouto. After a much-needed relatively short time away from home, you had returned after a patrol to a clean apartment living room and Red sitting on the singles armchair, and White sprawled on the couch. 

You froze, Shouto hardly ever got sick! His internal temperature was always so in tune to the things around him that no virus, bug, or bacteria ever managed to infect him with sickness. For all five years of knowing him, you had never once seen him sick.

“Oh my god!” you panicked, rushing to remove your coat and shoes as you ran over to the couch to feel his forehead for a temperature.

He was running a bit cold, as he always did on his right side of his body, so you internally freaked about if this was normal or not! Your Shouto always had a specific spot on his forehead that was considered normal, but this was not your normal Shouto.

You were fucked, so wildly fucked.

“Are you okay? What do you need? I can go get you a blanket. I’ll get some soup going! What medicine do you think you need?!”

“There’s…” White trailed off in his exhaustion, his hands rubbing his face in probably his sick delirium. “There’s only one thing that will help…”

“What is it?” you asked, leaning in closer to him so that his flushed lips were centimeters from your ear.

“I need... “ he trailed off, and you leaned in closer, only to be suddenly trapped in his arms and pulled on top of him. “Some one-on-one time with my beautiful girlfriend!”

The scent of burning leather filled the room.

“WHITE PUT IT OUT! PUT OUT THE FIRE!”

“Princess, I’m not feeling good.”

Good fucking grief.

Highlight of Day Four of Living with the Todoroki Twins Boyfriend(s):

“Hot soba.”

“Cold soba.”

“Hot soba.”

“Cold soba.”

“Hot.”

“Cold.”

“Hot!”

“Cold.”

“The store has both!” you sobbed, your boyfriend(s) adopting their possessive hugging on your body while out in public as you had attempted to get them out of the house because you thought that maybe, just maybe, they were feeling stir-crazy.

“But we always share our soba noodles, y/n,” Red looked down at you, tilting your chin so that you could look at him clearly. “I know you love cold soba more.”

“We get it, Ice Princess, daddy hurt your feelings, and now you still hate everything hot! Get over it; y/n always buys hot soba when you’re not around.”

“G-Guys,” you whimper, suddenly feeling drowned out with the clashing of ice and fire personalities around you as the crowd watched on in bemusement. “Please stop.”

They suddenly both turned on you, their eyes narrowed, faces fierce as they both exclaimed at the same time: “Which soba do you like better?!”

You’re too exhausted of them to even scold them like you had used to anymore.

In the end, they tried to settle it via arm wrestling, which resulted in a horrible tie. They had both tried to use their quirks to win, somehow forgetting in the heat of their battle that their quirks not only canceled each other, but their strength was painfully equivalent. 

Highlight of Day Five of Living with the Todoroki Twins Boyfriend(s):

To be frank, you missed kissing Shouto.

With them being the way they were and how horribly chaotic they acted, you knew if you kissed one, it would lead to them both impregnating you and slipping an engagement ring on your pretty ring finger well before you were ready for either one of those things. So instead, you stared at both of their equally perfect lips.

Full, slightly pouty pink lips that were somewhat chapped as they always were due to his quirk elements. Full, soft lips that you had felt pressed to your hands and cheeks for the past five days, and yet you craved it to be pressed against your lips, but that was undoubtedly dangerous.

But you continued to stare at Red’s lips, at White’s lips.

You liked seeing how their teeth exposed themselves when they smiled, or how he had barely formed dimples on his cheeks, the smile lines that had finally formed on his previously smooth face. You liked seeing the way he bit on his lower lip when he held his tongue, or how his tongue seductively swiped his lips when he caught you staring.

Wait—?!

You snapped out of your daze, staring at the suggestive, all too pleased look on White’s face as he leaned in close to you while Red was busy performing his daily workout routine.

“You want to fuck while Not-the-real-Shouto’s busy? He won’t know, I promise.”

You flush.

“No!”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It was day six of split Shouto when you woke up.

Your eyes stinging with exhaustion as you stared up at the ceiling as bodies of ice and fire sandwiched you between them. They snored softly, breathes deep and full in perfect harmony as they slumbered. You hated Shouto. You hated him so much.

This could have been a fantastic experience in your fantasies. Cloning quirks were a thing, and often you would hear about the sexual endeavors many partook in while in the company of someone with such quirk. It seemed like so much fun. Someone existing solely to be fucked, replicated from someone you already trusted.

It seemed perfect.

But here you were. Living the life of many porn fantasies, but the clones — not clones — hated one another. You couldn’t even so much as breathe next to one of them for too long before the other came to rip you away, annoyed, and ready to reclaim you. They were behaving as if you didn’t already belong to them.

Maybe you could have handled the lack of horny, lusting out of your mind sex if they had simply allowed you to kiss them without starting a war. But they claimed they would rather die than see you kiss someone that wasn’t them (singular them).

So, you were struggling.

The internal struggle only grew when they woke up at the same time. Growing when they both exposed their scarred, perfectly muscled, and toned body. It grew when they pressed their sinful body against yours, and you could only look up at them with eyes like a full moon, heat wet in your panties. You wanted something to happen because watching them go at it again for the fifty-third time today suddenly made your mind snap.

Since they wouldn’t seem to quit fighting, you might as well be fucked while they fought amongst themselves. You were a big girl, you could handle two cocks around your body.

At the moment, you were in the communal kitchen living room area. You sat at the table, trying to enjoy your cup of tea while they stood a few strides away from you… arguing.

“Would you both put those mouths to better use than fighting with each other?!” you finally snapped, your hands tugging at the roots of your hair after you placed down your cup of tea. They had been fighting for the past hour as to whether or not Shouto’s first costume idea was created because of Red or because of White. 

Neither one of them claimed responsibility on that one funny enough.

They fell silent immediately. Both their eyes wide, brows furrowed, and jaws gaping like a fish as they tried to separate their conversation from what you just said.

“Better use?” Red stated, his blink slow.

A curling, devious smirk spread on White’s face, “Oh, did my love finally cave to being fucked?”

“I didn’t think you would be into cucking,” Red admitted, his own smirk growing on his face while White frowned and glared at him. “What? It’s obvious it would be you tied up, White. You can’t expect y/n to trust either one of us to sit there, so she’d tie us up. My fire would easily destroy the bonds.”

Ah yes, how could you forget that they’d adopted only one half of the one quirk Shouto possessed. Now while you definitely wouldn’t mind cucking both sides of Shouto at some point, that wasn’t what you were craving at the moment.

“Y/n loves ice trailing down her body, I can definitely satisfy her better!”

“Like I said a few days ago, I have the bigger cock, so shut up and watch us.”

They were going to drive you insane.

Standing up from the table, the chair screeching against the floor as you did so, their attention fell on you. You felt heat rushing to your cheeks, your heart fluttering in your chest as turquoise and grey eyes that you could read like nothing gorged into your form. 

You settled between them, feeling dwarfed between their taller, muscled forms. Red was in a white t-shirt and sweats, White in a black shirt and dark jeans. You were unsure as to why you felt so shaken when you pressed your fingers between the valley of their pecs, your tongue heavy in your mouth. You blamed it on the six-day dry-feast the idiots put you in, and the mere thought of finally getting your way was exhilarating. 

“This is what’s going to happen,” you say with no room for arguing, your gaze meeting theirs through your eyelashes. “We are all going to fuck. There’s three of us, and I’m the one who wants to be satisfied, so this will be a threesome. Fuck me any way you want, I don’t care, but whoever starts fighting first gets cucked.”

Red is staring at you with his piercing turquoise eyes, White’s gaze dropped to your tracing finger on his chest. But the consensus was the same.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A warm, fluttery smile breached your face, and you nodded.

“Good… now, fuck me.”

They begin almost immediately. Two initially contradicting forces of fire and ice abandoning their internal surge for power to appease and please you. There’s no stopping the shiver and the moan trapped in your throat when two identical sets of hands you knew and craved the touch of finally made contact with your body. Red’s hands were on your breasts, groping and massaging your mounds of flesh while his mouth pressed tantalizing kisses along the curve of your neck, along the length of your clavicle. 

White had dropped down, his mouth pressing hot, kisses against the flesh of your thighs and your ass. His fingers pushing the sleeping shorts you still wore, his calloused fingers brushing against your clit. 

You openly moaned, hands pressing against both White and Red for some form of support.

“You’re already so wet,” White groans his observation, his finger slicking itself against your wet folds. 

You shake, your head nodding in full understanding as you began to rotate your hips against his finger. Of course, you were so wet, you thought, goosebumps flashing against your entire body when Red pinched your nipples through your light tank. 

“You try living with two of me and be denied every physical need,” you gasped, your voice pitching the moment Red’s teeth sank into the sweet spot on your neck the same time White’s finger curled within your walls. “Fuck…”

“It’s so cute when you whisper like that,” Red noted, his hands lifting your breast, tongue smoothing over your irritated skin. “I bet you didn’t mind our quirk accident because you wanted something like this.”

Now that was definitely something you couldn’t disagree about.

But with the way your body was so desperately deprived and how there were two sources of knowledge on you. Knowing the perfect sensations on your sensitive parts of your body, you pushed them away.

Grey and turquoise blazed into your skin, but you huffed, grabbing them by the hands and pulling on them.

“I want the bed,” you affirm, your cheeks feeling warm, your eyes keeping on theirs. “We’re fucking on the bed.”

“Of course, my love,” they responded together. And the heat in your body seemed to multiple when you pushed through into the room. 

Guiding them into the bedroom, you didn’t release their hands until they were sitting down onto the bed—Red on your right, white on your left.

Their stares are expectant, already clouded with horny, lustful need when you let go of their hands. Before they could ask what was next, you leaned in, opposite hands pressing to each of their crotches, and they both groaned lightly in their chest. You palmed them through their clothes, your cunt throbbing with the fact that you enjoyed watching their hooded, lusting expressions bore into your figure. Biting down onto your lower lip, you stopped a tethering moan from escaping when both their hands grabbed onto your ass.

They fondled the flesh as you continued to palm them, the cock buried within their clothes growing harder and larger with every quick movement of your hand. They both were so hot and dangerously heavy hidden away in the confines of the pants, and you wanted nothing more than to be choking and stuffed full of them both.

But you don’t get your way just yet.

“On the bed,” Red suddenly commands, and you stop a squeak from embarrassingly ripping from your throat. You stumble on the large bed, and both Red and White shift so that there’s enough room for you to be perched between them. Ass on Whites side, face on Red’s, and you feel your body freeze when everything picks up speed.

White’s lips are on the back of your thigh, kissing and nibbling on the sensitive skin while his fingers take up rubbing your cunt again. Your body trembles under his ministrations, hips shifting, and bucking against him as he once again buries his fingers into your blistering core.

But with the moans singing from your lips, you felt transcended. The way that your eyes rolled to the back of your head with each shift of White’s fingers proving that point, you focused in on Red, who had shoved your breasts over the hem of your shirt. You whimpered loudly when his fingers pinched at both nipples, tugging at the pebbled flesh. 

“Such pretty noises,” Red whispered, his nose brushing against yours, and you throbbed with the need to be kissed. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “Please give me more, more, please.”

Red inhaled sharply, his eyes blazing like blue fire before finally, he crashed his lips against yours, unable to hold back anymore, and you cried in glorious acceptance. You kissed Red back with everything you had. Your lips slick with your joining, mixing saliva while he continued to press bruising, heated kisses to your mouth. Your hands at one point had attached themselves onto his biceps, and you found your fingernails to be digging through his skin, but Red didn’t care.

He continued to play with your hanging, sore tits, his tongue entering the barricade of your mouth as he kissed you again, and again, and again.

His name spilling from your mouth until you froze, your back tightening the second something more was happening behind you.

White’s finger, covered in the slick of your essence, was probing through your ass all while he continued to finger fuck your cunt.

“Aw, you do like it when my finger goes into your ass!” White chirped, his finger pressing further past your tight rim, sending your mind into a flurry of thoughts and feelings at the sensation of being stretched out, while you collapsed onto the mattress. Red abandoned you. “Your ass always looks so fucking hot when it takes in my finger. It’s like it's sucking me back in whenever I try to pull out. So. Fucking. Hot.”

You could do nothing but choke out White’s name the second the finger curled in your ass and the fingers buried in your cunt came together to press between the thin wall separating the two cavities, and you keened at the feeling.

“White!” you yelled, your eyebrows furrowed in your pleasure, your hips bucking back against his hands. “More! I need more!”

It was at that moment his fingers abandoned your holes, but before you could cry at the loss, Red was back in front of you, naked as the day he was born. But his cock was hard, pressed against his stomach, standing tall and erect for you to suck.

“Come on, angel,” Red spoke, tilting your chin up so that he may press another sizzling kiss to your mouth. “Play with my cock.”

Still, on your knees, your back arched, mouth entirely occupied with Red’s mouth, your hand blindly grabbed his cock and began to jerk him off. You kissed him harshly, thoroughly, not wanting to let him go without exploring and feeling every little thing you could offer while you run your hand up and down his length.

You fully moaned into his mouth when his fingers lightly brushed against your neck, showing how sensitive you are. He runs his hand all the way down to your hips and latches onto your ass cheek. You mewl against him, wondering just why he was doing that when something hot and wet pressed against your cunt.

Breaking off the kiss immediately, you turned around to see White’s face buried into your ass, but his tongue was meeting your cunt with every languid lick.

“Shit!” you curse, your hips bucking and moving to better find White’s tongue against your core. But before you could find your spot, his tongue abandons your cunt and presses back against your tight, tight rim.

Trembling, your eyes roll to the back of your head, all while Red reclaims your lips.

Your hand encompassing his cock began to pick up in speed as White seemed to interchange between tongue fucking your ass and cunt. Whimpering needs only resonated from your mouth into Red’s as you jacked him off sloppily, messily at heightened speeds while you begged for more.

It didn’t take long before they both pulled away from you, and you in your heat daze, teared up as you watched both Red and White step onto the floor, their twin, identical cocks out, leaking with precum that called your name. You didn't need to be told what to do at this point as you stumbled out of bed, falling to your knees right between them.

With Red’s cock in your left hand, you pulled him into your mouth, your right hand expertly, yet blindly jerking White off. You pushed your head as far down as it could go along Red’s cock, your eyes trying to keep on his the entire time. 

Relishing in the fact that his cock went unchanged, your tongue swirled around Red’s cock, your head bobbing along his length, and Red smirked down at you, pressing the tears in your eyes away. Pulling away with a string of saliva connecting his head to your lip, you alternated onto White’s cock, your left hand continuing to jerk off Red.

White groaned at the sudden heat, immersing against his length, his hips snapping into your mouth as you took him all the way in. You had been dating Shouto for a few years now. You were definitely capable of taking him in your mouth in one go without trouble. But it just felt so different with one of your hands stroking off Red, and White’s hands grabbing your head while he thrust into you.

Before you could settle on White’s cock, you switched back to Red, who decided to command your every little instruction.

It quickly became a game between Red and White on who could make you choke and moan the loudest as they fucked your mouth and throat mercilessly. You, thankfully, were entirely enjoying it, your soaked pussy rubbing against your tight panties, and you rutted against the fabric trying to relive the building, fast pressure in your core. 

“Fuck,” White snarled when Red had you completely choked against his cock. His cock was shoved as far down your throat as it could manage, and he kept you there. Painful tears falling from your eyes while your throat struggled to remain relaxed despite the burning lack of oxygen. “Keep her there, Red. Don’t let her move.”

Red, who was only entranced by you for quite some time, looked up with amusement at his other half.

“What, you like this?” Red asked a taunt hidden in his voice but was buried under so much more throbbing lust. “You like seeing y/n choking against a cock?”

You whimpered against Red, your throat muscles fluttering and flaring along his length-- what was he planning?

“Who wouldn’t want to see y/n like this,” White breathed, and you shook at the nonverbal agreement that passed between the two of them.

You whined at the unknown, finally being released from Red’s cock, and you spluttered and coughed, drool and saliva drenching your chin while you turned towards White, ready to do the same. But you shrieked, the wind knocking out of you when they both picked you up from the floor and tossing you onto the mattress. You bounced when you landed. 

Both Red and White quickly moved to remove your clothes until you were naked as well, their eyes glimmering with their treaty, a million ideas undoubtedly pouring through their mind. 

White is on you first. He joins you onto the mattress, his lips pressing and languidly moving against yours, and you moan against him.

“We’re going to start fucking you now, baby,” White whispers against your mouth, his thumb running up against your still spit slicked chin. With just his finger alone, he moves you so that you’re on your hands and knees before him, waiting like an obedient pet. Your eyes flutter open, just barely opened so that you could meet his stormy grey eyes while his thumb slips over your bottom lip and into your mouth. “I hope you’re ready to be fucked… Red?” he called, his thumb pressing down on your tongue, instinctively flaring your gag reflex.

“Hm?” Red answered back, and you stilled when something hot and heavy smacked against your ass. 

Once, twice.

“Fuck her right.”

Silence.

You whimpered against White’s thumb, your eyes watering while you studied his determined, playful face. There's a chuckle from behind you, and you shiver at the fact that you could practically smell the knowing smirk on his face.

“Obviously.”

And then it happens.

Red slams his cock into your awaiting, wet pussy with a pleased groan while you lurched forward onto White at the mighty snap of Red’s hips. Naturally so, you screamed Red's name, your pussy singing in absolute love over the fact that he’s buried entirely within you, undoubtedly claiming you once again.

Before you could sing your praises for Red, White’s shut you up by replacing his thumb with his cock, and you’re forced silent.

When they worked against each other, they were annoying, irritating, and often horrifying, but together? Well, as Red’s cock shoved more profound and deeper into your womb, and White’s cock conquested your throat, you hummed with the pleasure they brought. Together they were powerful, commanding, and unbreakable, and if the sounds of your wet pussy and choking mouth were to prove it, it was more than just a fact. 

You struggled to keep up with Red’s slamming hips, the girth of his cock stretching you out in an all too familiar way, and White driving cock that choked you out every time you moved. You felt dizzy with the thumping, tingling pleasure, your hand that held onto White’s hips clutching his skin, while your other one manipulated and circled your clit.

You wanted to cum. You wanted to so badly.

“You sound so hot choking on his cock,” Red laughed, his hand coming down to spank your jiggling ass with a single, powerful thwack. You bristled at the sensation. “Do more, sweetheart, I know you can do more; we’ve experienced you doing more.”

You garbled as White smirked down at you, your eyes just barely open enough to see the knowing look in his eyes.

“Use that little slut mouth of yours better, baby,” White taunted, his hand coming to pat your hollowed cheeks roughly, quickly, in a few stinging slaps. 

This is what you liked, you realized as you pulled away from his length, mouth swallowing his balls with heightened eagerness, your hand rubbing his length as you did so. White moaned your name, his head dropping in his pleasure as you did so. 

It must have done something for Red, too, because his fingers dug into the skin on your waist, his powerful thrusts becoming quicker, shorter thrusts that moved you against his cock with rattling power and craving lust. You whimpered against White’s balls and cried out in pleasure-filled pain the moment Red spanked you again, and again, and again.

Your cunt was fluttering, squeezing, and beating in time to your heartbeat. The pleasure within you grew from a light warmth to a blazing heat. You cried for more, your knees and thighs shaking for more.

More friction, more fucking, more of Shouto.

“Turn around, you little cockslut,” White grinned, removing you from his balls. “It’s my turn to fuck your pretty little cunt.”

Whining, you did as you were told, your limbs feeling like lead as Red smoothed back the hair falling on to your face.

Before you were ready, not that you minded, their cocks reclaimed your holes.

It was different this time.

They fucked you differently, you realized when White enjoyed pulling nearly all the way out before thrusting back into you. His strokes and powerful thrusts send the coil in your stomach to grow tighter and tighter. But Red, fuck, Red had his fingers in your mouth, choking you with them as he slapped your cheek with his cock, his precum mixed with your slick smearing all over your cheek as he did so. 

“I want to make sure that you realize that me putting my cock in your mouth is a blessing,” Red coldly smirked, his eyes blazing with a whole other story. But despite it all, you nodded your head quickly. Altogether agreeing with the claim that you needed to earn his cock in your mouth again. 

“I kno thath,” you whine against his fingers, saliva shamelessly dribbling past your lips, your mouth closing to suck on his fingers. “I promith I’ll apprethciate your giff.”

He could try all he wanted, but Red was whipped for you too.

His cock immediately replaced his fingers, slamming to the depths of your throat, all while the wet noises of your throat and choking voices joined the squelching of your cunt. Your eyes rolled in your pleasure, your cunt thrumming with energy as Red’s hands encircled your throat, choking you while he fucked straight down your throat.

“You looked so pretty earlier when you couldn’t breathe,” Red snarled, his cock twitching in your throat the same time White’s cock twitched in your cunt. “I’m just -- fuck do that again -- trying to get you there… faster… Your throat really feels like your fucking pussy at times, shit.”

You whimper at that comparison as you forcefully clench your throat and cunt around both of your boyfriend's cock. 

But you vibrate when White’s finger traces your rim, his finger not disappearing into your wrinkled muscle, but stimulating it well past teasing. You pull off Red’s cock with a spluttering cough, your eyes burning, but you find White’s gaze immediately. 

“What’s going on, sweetness?” White asked, his eyes glimmering with knowledge of what you want already, but the slick fucker just had to ask.

Too bad you weren’t ashamed of shit around him.

“I want you to fuck my ass,” you moan, your hips slamming back against White’s still shifting cock, your hand clenching one of your asscheeks as you split yourself open for White. “Please fuck my ass.”

“Fuck!” they both seemed to growl, and without so much as a break, White switches from your ass and buries his length slowly into your needy, tight ass.

The pitchy, unstoppable moan from your mouth sends both Red and White into whimpering messes as you collapse onto the mattress, your chest heaving with your heightened stimulus. It was starting to hurt, your lack of orgasm, you just needed a bit more done to cum, and you wanted to.

“Where’s my dick?” White finally growls at you as he bottoms out entirely within you. You tremble at the question, body shaking with every stroke of his cock he makes afterward. “Where is it?”

“I-In my ass!” you wail, your ass clenching around him, trying to make him feel this heated pleasure as strongly as you were. “It’s in m-my ass!”

“Do you love my cock in your ass?” White snarls, his hands gripping your waist and slamming you back onto him, your ass squeezing with the sensation. You can’t speak; your mind is overloaded with feeling and emotion. “Why do I even bother? I know you love my cock in your ass.”

Red comes back into the equation, his hands grabbing your jaw and pressing your mouth against his into a searing kiss. You can hardly kiss him back, your mouth pathetically hanging open as he kisses your teeth, mouth, tongue. So, it shouldn’t shock you that in your near blissful blackout, Red hands your limp arms to White, who holds onto them.

His grasp and hold on your arms elevates you slightly off the bed, your back arched, and breasts exposed as he begins to jackhammer into your ass. You want to scream, you want to shudder and cry your sensations to the world, but Red interrupts once more by pressing his swollen, purpling head into your mouth, silencing you with gags and chokes while they both use you.

They both drive into you with ferocity and power, your body nearly limp and twitching with your ever still denied orgasm that refuses to back down, and the way the lack of oxygen makes you spin as Red’s balls clash against your throat in quick, succinct, patterns.

“Sit down, White,” Red snaps at White, and White, who was ever so entranced at how your ass was swallowing his cock, dumbly nods. “Y/n is about to cum, we need to make sure she cums correctly.”

You whine against Red’s cock, unsure if you heard him correctly when White drops your arms. But instead of falling forward as you thought you would, his relaxed arms wrapped around your waist tightly, bringing you down with him.

Your back was pressed against his chiseled chest. And you moaned at the sensation this angle brought in terms of depth and stretch. Your mouth, freed from Red’s cock, opened in a loud, scratchy moan, undoubtedly raspy from the abuse it went through from the vigorous face fucking.

“R-Red!” you cried, your legs shaking when White hooked his arms under your knees and spreading them out, exposing your wet, slick core to Red, who was merely watching. You shifted pathetically, wanting to have both of them on you, not just one. “Red, please!”

But, White’s hips began to thrust upward, resuming his fucking of your asshole, and you howled in pleasure as he breathed heavily, gasping in your right ear. But as your legs trembled, unsure if White would be able to keep your legs in such position, Red pressed on top of you, his weight keeping your legs spread, and his cock quickly slamming within your cunt.

You had one hand buried in White’s hair, the other slipping behind Red’s back when he pressed onto you. The second their cocks rubbed against each other through the oh so thin wall between your ass and your cunt, you screeched. The hand in White’s hair tugging at his roots harshly, and the hand on Red’s back drawing bloody mountains on his skin.

But this didn’t stop them, the slight pain you gave them doing nothing but making them growl in your ear, making your eyes cross in your oblivion while they continued to fuck you.

Sandwiched between them, your breasts crushed by Red’s chest, and your back buried into White’s chest, White let go of one of your legs that immediately latched around Red’s waist. Your eyes crossed, rolling to the back of your head, your mouth agape, but no noise coming out as every massive, hard thrust sent your soul into a new dimension. White’s hand sneaking between Red’s drilling hips and your cunt to pinch and pull at your clit as you shook like a leaf in a windstorm. You came without realizing it, your walls clenching like a vice against Red’s cock, and your ass clenching around White’s in tandem to your orgasm. Both of them moaning against your salty sweat skin, but neither one of them stopped.

Faster and faster, they thrust into you, gaining such speed and power that you felt akin to a ragdoll as they fucked you. They praised you for taking them both at the same time, senseless names, and wordless praise as you took them without a single wince of pain. You were theirs, they claimed, and they were yours. 

The sounds of their cock drilling into the wet caverns of your cunt and ass, the sticking shivering sound of their balls smacking your ass and cunt.

It was so much, growing to be more and more, until your orgasm was once again growing as you attempted to shift your weak, still trembling hips up and down their length, wanton gasps shrill on your tongue. Your body begging for more.

“Gonna cum,” they whispered together, his deep, raspy voice filling both of your ears, and you wailed as your own orgasm tipped once again.

“Cum in me, please cum in me!” you begged with everything you had.

And with your pleading heavy in the air, they came with you. You moaned at the feeling of the hot, sticky thick ropes of cum filling up both your holes, the cocks spasming uncontrollably within you as their hips continued to ride out their orgasms. Your chest heaves as their snapping hips become rolling thrusts until finally, they stop.

All three of you still joined, all three of you sweaty and tired.

When you pass out, you can barely hear them saying goodbye.

…

…

You wake up, your body sore and bruised around midnight.

You groan, stretching out your neck as you realize that there is no body on top of you or beneath you as that was definitely how you all had fallen asleep a few hours ago. Panic filled you when the bed was empty, and you rushed to your feet, cursing when your knees buckled out from under your weight.

Crashing to the floor, you groaned as you lay there.

“What are you doing on the floor?” an all too familiar voice asked you, and you looked up to see if it was Red or White.

You blinked when instead the once two distinctive heads blurred into one, and you stared at your finally normal boyfriend.

“S-Shouto!” you cried, your body weakly pressing off the floor, your arms stretching to you.

Shouto smiled warmly, softly, the perfect in-between of the facial expressions Red and White would give you.

“I’m back, sorry for scaring you like that,” he whispered as he joined you on the floor, letting your arms wrap him into a firm hug, not wanting to let go as you pathetically began to cry.

The two of you lay naked together on the floor, his soft apologies gathering in your ear as you held him tightly, having missed him entirely.

“Do you remember?” you eventually asked long after Shouto managed to bring you back into the bed. You lay curled into his side, your fingers tracing the marks on his body that you had left on both Red and White. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes… and I remember how it all felt too.”

“Ew… perv…”

“Try that again? Ms. ‘I-want-your-cock-in-my-ass’.”

“SHOUTO!”

[kalims]

I know I just sent an ask, but now I have another question.

If Mother!Reader finds out about one of their children leading an evil organization, how would she react? And say if any of the guys (aka possible love interests) found put about what happened and how devastated mom is how would they... I guess comfort her?

Guys: Zhongli and Venti (all the other guys are too young)

pretends that I also didn't ghost this post.

angst to comfort. established relationship.

today was a bad day. a bad day isn't even enough to describe the horrifying truth that unfolded right in your face. slapping you with the real reality that you so desperately tried to keep away.

you found them again but you were on opposite sides on the battlefield. why were you on a battlefield anyways? wasn't it first just to find them and go home?

In fact, you haven't felt the crippling feeling of hopelessness and despair settling in your veins and slowly eating you whole from the inside as you spiral into a further darkness since you lost them to the unknown god that already had them stripped them off their powers and took them along.

you found them but lost them right after you felt as though they were in your arms once more.

the inkling seed of depression starts to get planted once you finally realize that this will end in bloodshed.

I'd say mom!reader would definitely be upset. a reaction similar to what the twins would have if they were in her position. If you've read most of my mom!reader posts then you'd notice that family would always be above for them.

Imagine waiting at home for your twins to come home, worrying at the first hour and then freaking out when they don't come for the night, then the next day, and the next and its just a cycle of wondering what happened to them and where they are.

as we know, atleast for those who have strict parents. we rarely get permitted to spend a night with a freind and so imagine mom!reader's feelings when a week passes by and she's just in her room looking at the polaroids and pictures inside her drawer and crying.

she's not particularly strict, just protective as hell.

then a month where she just loses hope and looks for the twins herself. there's over a hundred worlds, maybe thousands. she isn't sure herself. an average, sane person would probably overthink and go crazy because what were the chances she'd find her twins on several worlds? what if they come to one she'd already scoured herself? she's determined, that's it.

but let's say we found the twins again and as you were about to venture into another world as compensation for all the time you've lost the unknown god comes and the rest is basically history.. except the twins were both taken away.

then you spend all your time looking for them in tevyat and when you do, they're already your enemies. family is always first so why are you hesitating? Is it because you consider him your family too?

zhongli saw you once, exchanged less than ten words with you and went off with the day with the lack of your presence. color him obsessive, he doesn't care but he truly knows the little details even you aren't aware of.

for an example the way you avoid his gaze when you lie.

usually you'd subtly stick around his hip and follow him around the harbor, if it wasn't the former then you'd visit your favorite restaurants.

and when he tried to accompany you to one of your commissions you merely laughed him off.

let's see..

zhongli is a respectful man, but even he knows not to stand idle around when you're clearly near collapsing if you keep continuing attacking monsters with your choice of weapon and keeping on accepting commissions like you're trying to find an excuse to go outside and explore.

as a lover he'd corner you not in a bad way but gently placing his hand on your shoulder and asking you what's wrong as he takes the seat next to you, scooting closer for comfort.

he's really old, maybe 6001 today since it's his birthday haha.. so priceless amounts of wisdom has been ingraved in his brain, comfort is something he'd never really done himself since his years as rex lapis and morax is mostly spent by his closest companions so I'd say he'd know what to do.

he'd be quiet as you ramble for who knows how long, occasionally rubbing your back to signal that he's still listening when you pause and peer at him.

zhongli had definitely prepared a lot beforehand, he wants to make sure that you are comfortable and to show that he truly is worried. to prove my point, he'd have cups of tea in a table, or a glass of water in case you're getting too overwhelmed.

he takes it really well, and perhaps have encountered the situation himself. don't worry, he won't directly interfere as it isn't his business but he will provide you with emotional support if you need it. go on, climb into his arms. [flushed]

8.7/10 maybe.

ah ah, venti the bard.

he's surprisingly popular in mondstadt, his spot after winning the annual best bard with streaks and all.

venti's socially striving, he has lots of pals. even though he can't remember most of them, they certainly do. most of his said pals are probably the ones that witnessed his drunk state first hand thus why he doesn't remember.

although he's cheery at times, venti is able to tell the difference between serious cases and can easily switch to a lending ear or shoulder if you need.

initially an airhead, first brushing off your sudden change of behavior as grumpiness, maybe it's that time of the month or are you just mad at him? oh no! he can't have that so he approaches you one day and pouts until you affirm that you indeed, weren't upset with him.

"huuh? so what is it that taints your mind with troubles, my lady?" he teases when you finally answer him, claiming something about a trouble occupying your mind.

in terms of clearing a troubled kind, venti knows a lot on how to. so that's why he'd called upon dvalin to give you both a peaceful ride, away from the city, away from noise. just you, and him. it's almost as if the winds are embracing you as a comfort.

it's very relaxing, so much to the fact that you basically spilled everything as you know that it's good to consult to a trusted fellow once in a while, a lover being better.

venti's best at basically doing anything with the use of music, be it as an form of his emotions but he'd gladly help you with a soothing tune that makes you closes your eyes as he gathers your head to his lap.

he'd play you a melody before hugging you, rocking you back and forth. you worry if you'll fall down from the dragons back but you trust him to catch you. venti will make you face him and tell you all about how much it pains him to see you in such a state, reciting a poem and all before going about the things he loves about you to take your mind out of all those worries.

overall 9/10. I think the way he helps you unwind is better than zhongli's

[riddlexmattheo]

Imagine when you get kidnapped and Voldemort tells them this is their reactions

Pansy: hey Mattheo and Draco have you seen Y/N at all today the last time I saw her she was heading to town to get some new books to read at the library early this morning before either of you were up

Mattheo: did she come home?? did either of you see her at all today??

Draco: nope sorry man

Pansy: let me go check the backyard by the big tree she tends to read there a lot

Voldemort: it's no use I just got a call Fenrir just saw her get kidnapped

Draco: why would anyone kidnap her she is never in any of the meetings anyways she doesn't know anything

Mattheo: Dad??

Pansy: she is weak they can't get anything useful out of her except killing her

*Narcissa walks in*

Narcissa: she is far from weak

Voldemort: she is stronger than I am

Draco: how is that possible

Narcissa: she is the daughter of Dahlia Mikelson and Zeref Dragneel

Pansy aren't we all servers of Lord Zeref??

Voldemort: yes

Mattheo: why did she never tell us

Voldemort: the more people that know the more danger she is in

Narcissa: we have to find her if her parents find out she has been taken we are all dead and so is she if Dumbledore gets his hands on her

Draco: what could the old hag want with her?

Voldemort: he could use against the ministry since she has dark magic in her blood which means all the artifacts at the ministry she can unseal with her blood since she is Zeref's daughter and only his blood can unseal them

Pansy: we need to find her fast

Mattheo: Draco, Pansy, and I will gather the rest of our friends to find her dad I'm not coming back until my girl is in my hands

Draco and Pansy: same!!

THE NEXT DAY~

Theo: hey guys what's up

Blaize: agreed, you said we couldn’t talk over the phone it had to be in person

Theo: what is so important that we couldn't just say it over the phone

Blaize: hey where is Y/N

Draco: sooo who wants to tell them

Mattheo: I guess I will

Blaize: you didn't answer me where is my best friend

Pansy: first off she is my best friend second that is why we are here '

Mattheo: she has been kidnapped

Blaize: WHAT

Theo: WHAT

Mattheo: *explains everything*