#fuck me what are my odds that that's the only tick i will see today

[dramatic-dolphin]

just saw something crawling on my hand and it looked like a spider so i was like "oh hey friend what are you! :D" well it was an arachnid but definitely not a friend 👍

[junabuggy]

hello!! i saw you wanted requests and I was wondering if you would be willing to write some platonic headcanons for the Hazbin Hotel crew with a reader who has chronic pain. (i totally get if you don't want to) thank you so much and I'm excited to see what you write in the future 😺

Hazbin Hotel Crew x Chronic pain having! GN! Reader

A/n: tysm for the request !! This is my first time writing something like this so I hope it’s okay :3 (if there’s anything I got wrong, please correct me)

Warnings: Mentions of chronic pain and disability (but like.. that’s pretty obvious lol)

Fluff✔️ Comfort✔️ Angst❌ Smut❌

‧₊˚✧ Alastor ✧˚₊‧

📻𖤐 After a while of Alastor observing you, as he does with most, he’d notice your body language and think the way you acted was a bit odd…

📻𖤐 Not in a bad way, he just didn’t understand at first why you sometimes visibly look like you were in pain or even just hobbling around to get somewhere

📻𖤐 it definitely raised his brow…

📻𖤐 Before actually approaching you and asking you about it, I’d like to think he made one of the egg boiz spy on you like he did in that one episode 😭😭

📻𖤐 I don’t know what he was expecting though. The only somewhat valuable piece of information he gathered from what the little talking egg had told him was that it saw you taking pain medication. Which did not narrow it down at all and not much of his curiosity had been quenched quite yet..

📻𖤐 So, one peaceful and early morning in the hotel, he decided it’d be best to just ask you about it.

📻𖤐 “My dear, are you feeling alright? You look to be quite discomforted…?” He’d ask casually as he took a sip from his coffee mug, one brow raised and his eyes fixed on yours, pretending like he hadn’t noticed this before today.

📻𖤐 After a chat, he was informed you had something called “chronic pain”. He asked a few questions, nodding when he got the answers and once he was satisfied, he walked off back to his quarters in the hotel.

📻𖤐 After all, he had so much research to do.

📻𖤐 Adding onto that last once I do feel as though Alastor would do more research on it when you decided to tell him about your condition.

📻𖤐 Mostly for his own benefit of learning something new since he hadn’t heard of this before… but it came in handy if you ever needed a bit of a helping hand.

📻𖤐 Like, if you happened to have a flare up or just a particularly bad day he’d sit with you and made sure you rested up.

📻𖤐 He wouldn’t verbally express it but he did take pity on you. How unfortunate you were in constant agony.

📻𖤐 He is a sadistic little fuck though so he’d probably find it mildly entertaining or at the very least fascinating to see what’d make you tick or was a challenge for you

📻𖤐 Although he’d try to be careful not to push you too much.

‧₊˚✧ Angel Dust ✧˚₊‧

🕸️ᥫ᭡ We all know Angel Dust doesn’t have much of a filter so it wouldn’t take him long to ask you why you could barely stand upright for too long or look like you’re genuinely struggling all the time.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ In fact, he’s more perceptive than people would like to think he is. He noticed it shortly after you two had met.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ He’d probably come off a bit strong, saying something along the lines of “toots? Ya alright over there? Ya don’t look so uhhh.. you don’t look too hot.” As he gave you a one over.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ You could tell he wasn’t trying to be insulting to you though, he was just concerned and wanted to know what was troubling you. It showed ever so slightly on the spiders face.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Once you explained to Angel your condition he felt bad. Like, huh? Whatdoya mean you sometimes have trouble even getting outta bed in the morning because of how much pain you’re in?? Sometimes you neglect your own basic needs because you’re in constant pain?

🕸️ᥫ᭡ As he tired to wrap his head around the thought, he’d ask if there’s anything he could do to help. Of course though, there wasn’t much he could do.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ From that day on, Angel would try to make things at least a little easier for you. You had earned the title of his friend, after all. Why would he let his friend suffer alone?

🕸️ᥫ᭡ He loves to cook and is pretty good at it so expect a few homemade meals on him at least a few times <3

🕸️ᥫ᭡ If you ever had a flare up you better fucking believe he’d sit there with you and just talk. He rambles like an old man lol

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Also 100% has movie nights with you with both of you guys’ favourite snacks.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Oh and of course his pig Fat Nuggets would be joining you two

🕸️ᥫ᭡ And thankfully the little guy adores you. Which gains some points with Angel

🕸️ᥫ᭡ The piggy would crawl into your lap if you were up for it. He’s pretty light and his oinks and squeals are bound to make you crack a smile

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Angel is no stranger to feeling pain, so he knows how much it sucks.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ That’s why I believe he’d be one of the best people to tell. You’re his friend and wants to make sure you’re okay as possible.

‧₊˚✧ Husker ✧˚₊‧

🍺🃁 Husker, much like Angel, would notice almost immediately that something was up with you…

🍺🃁 At first Husk couldn’t place it. He just knew that he didn’t often see you standing up straight for long periods of time and that you looked like you were constantly unwell.

🍺🃁 Was it just bad migraines? He’s never really seen you drunk before so it’s not like it could be really bad hangovers.

🍺🃁 Plus, this has been going on since you arrived here so that seemed highly unlikely.

🍺🃁 Husk was the type of guy to keep it to himself though. If it didn’t concern him, why bother saying anything about it?

🍺🃁 One day though, you sat yourself down at the bar and asked for some water. This time however, you looked worse than usual, practically doubled over as you stared down at the bar.

🍺🃁 Even though Husk usually kept his mouth shut.. he couldn’t help but ask if you had a headache or something and if you needed some migraine medication.

🍺🃁 He wasn’t heartless.

🍺🃁 When you shook your head no slowly and told him you were just having a “flare up” he asked what you meant to which you gave a brief explanation of the condition you have.

🍺🃁 Suddenly, it all made sense. That’s why you looked like you were constantly in pain. It’s because you were.

🍺🃁 He slid you the ice cold water gently and observed you for a few moments before going back to wiping the glasses as he spoke to you.

🍺🃁 “If you need something don’t be afraid to ask for it.” He’d say, his deep voice trying to be as comforting as it can while also maintaining somewhat of a nonchalant tone.

🍺🃁 Then, after that, it became routine for you to sit at the bar with him.

🍺🃁 He definitely wasn’t complaining. It was nice getting to know you and since you had a place to just sit and rest, he got to see you more often.

🍺🃁 you swiftly became good friends with him and he was pretty helpful when it came to your condition.

🍺🃁 he’d do his best to check up on you often :)

‧₊˚✧ Vaggie ✧˚₊‧

🗡️☪︎ Vaggie heard about your chronic pain from Charlie so there wouldn’t be a need to tell her about it lol

🗡️☪︎ I have a feeling she’d be a little awkward with attempting to help you out…

🗡️☪︎ Like it’s not like she can really make you feel better so it’s a bit of a struggle for her..

🗡️☪︎ But she does try her best though because she cares about you. You’re her friend.

🗡️☪︎ After a few motivational words from Charlie she’s good to go, attempting to comfort you.

🗡️☪︎ I have a feeling she’d try to help by grabbing you stuff you wanted or needed and chatting with you.

🗡️☪︎ She’s actually quite fun to converse with, she’s pretty sweet when she wants to be and can hold good conversations :))

🗡️☪︎ She’s a good listener so if you wanted to vent or just had something on your mind, she’d listen.

🗡️☪︎ During flareups, Vaggie would just stay by your side and wait it out with you, if you needed anything, she’d be on it and would be back pretty fucking quickly too 💀

🗡️☪︎ Would put a random show on if you wanted a distraction and might let you rest your head on her shoulder if you so desired

🗡️☪︎ I can’t think of much else for her other than the fact she’d try her best. Maybe mess up a few times but ultimately she means well and tries to be as understanding as she possibly can be <33

‧₊˚✧ Charlie ✧˚₊‧

⭐️☀︎ The first thing you did when you arrived at the hotel was inform the very excited daughter of Lucifer that you had chronic pains so you might have to take it a bit slow when showing you around the Hazbin Hotel..

⭐️☀︎ And of course, Charlie being who she was, was very understanding and accepting of that fact.

⭐️☀︎ She’d heard about your condition before so making accommodations for you wouldn’t be an issue

⭐️☀︎ She’s a sweetheart so quite literally your biggest supporter

⭐️☀︎ Like, oh? You need something??Ohmygodwhydidntyoutellmesoonerhereitis :33

⭐️☀︎ Much like Vaggie, she’d sit and talk with you during your flareups

⭐️☀︎ Maybe make you a tea and discuss future plans and such for the hotel to get your mind off of things. Works sometimes surprisingly enough.

⭐️☀︎ She’s nice to talk to, very comforting vibes

⭐️☀︎ But it may get a bit annoying how many times she asks if you’re sure there’s nothing she can do to make your pain go away somehow lol

⭐️☀︎ Or even just how many times she asks if you need something. “Do you need anything? No? Are you sure? Okay…. But are you really sure?”

⭐️☀︎ Might stress herself out on occasion over it tbh😭🙏

⭐️☀︎ But she only means well, you know that.

⭐️☀︎ Her cat Keekee I’m sure would love to cuddle, the cute cyclopean kitty pushing its forehead against your hand for pets (only if you’re up to it, of course.)

⭐️☀︎ Asides from Angel, Charlie would definitely be the best person to tell in the hotel because like… genuinely she just wants to help In any way she can lol

‧₊˚✧ Niffty ✧˚₊‧

🧼𐙚 Niffty is quite blunt as well, very out there and doesn’t really think before she speaks half of the time it just kinda comes out 😭

🧼𐙚 So.. she’d probably take one look at you, and ask why you’re in pain.

🧼𐙚 To which you’d explain to the little one eyed maid your condition, she’d think about it for a moment before asking a shitload of questions about it to which you answer :))

🧼𐙚 Other than that I don’t think Niffty would like… really do much?

🧼𐙚 Maybe clean for you

🧼𐙚 But there’s not much else she would do, realistically, she might forget about it and then ask again. Once you remind her she remembers tho lol

🧼𐙚 During your flareups I do believe like the others she’d sit with you for a while…

🧼𐙚 Before spotting a roach and scurrying off to go take care of the pest. Once done, she’d come back and the cycle repeats.

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐲

[artyandink]

whiskey, baby

SUMMARY: Dean’s no longer a demon, and in order to deal with the horrors of all that he’s said and done he retreated into his own shell. Drowning himself in whiskey and his own problems because that’s all there’s left to do. Then there’s you, his demon self’s esteemed fuck buddy, who comes up with a two step plan to feeling good, only for a little while. Step 1? Let you take the reins. Step 2? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

TW: MOC!Dean, angst, demon trauma, post demon!Dean, Reader’s not a stone cold bitch and actually worries about Dean in this but in her own weird way, Dean doesn’t hate her for an odd reason, smut

STW: switch!Dean, riding, oral (m + f receiving), temperature + whiskey play, lipstick play (does it count?), marking, switch!reader, thigh riding (brief), pussydrunk!Dean, fingering, face sitting, ass slapping, thigh slapping, slight overstimulation, ring kink implied, major praise kink, dirty talk, damage of clothes, vocal Dean, threat of exhibitionism

A/N: Yes, this is a sequel to lipstick, baby, and you guys can make the comparison between Dean as a demon during the smutty parts and Dean post demon and more aware. Hope you enjoy!

NOW PLAYING: RIVER - BISHOP BRIGGS

Dean felt kinda empty, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Being a demon didn’t suit him at all, and now that it was over he was left to deal with the reality of it all. The killing, punching people’s lights out, hurting Sammy, hurting in general— he hated it with every fibre of his fucking being.

“Fuck.” Dean growled under his breath, staring at himself in the mirror and finding he just couldn’t damn do it, looking away after barely five seconds because holy hell, he wanted to smash the mirror in just to please the Mark throbbing on the skin of his forearm. “Shut up, why don’t you, you… I don’t even know what you are.” He hissed at the Mark, but it didn’t shut up or stop pulsing.

The bunker door being banged on drew his attention away from his own flaws - thank God, if the bastard even existed - and prompted Dean to walk out of his bathroom, grunting an affirmation that yes, he was coming to whoever was behind the door.

When he wrenched it open with an expression that looked like the human equivalent of a ticked off chihuahua, he saw… you. Oh, fuck, oh, shit, you. The woman that he as a demon had incredible sexual escapades that may or may not have been the star of his dreams for weeks on end after the whole demon thing got cured. Pouring the whiskey on your body, you riding him till you both were spent— it felt almost lucid.

“You.” Dean murmured hoarsely, his throat feeling dry upon the sight of you and your gorgeous, sexy self. Today you were in denim shorts and fishnet tights - of course you were in something that made his senses go wild - with the same red plaid that was buttoned up this time, tucked in and the sleeves rolled to your elbows.

He kind of felt a little out of place. Out of place in his own home— that’s the kind of effect you had.

“Gee, how enthusiastic.” You drawled, leaning against the doorframe, brown paper bag clutched in one hand. “I really thought you’d be more inclined to see me, Dean, I’m partially offended.” You gave him a cheeky smirk, then grasped what was in the bag, showing him the neck of a bottle of Jack.

Oh. That changes things.

Dean’s lip twitched up at the sight, warming up to you like he would when drinking the good stuff. Then again, he knew that deep in that roughed up heart of his, he had a soft spot for you in particular. “That’s my girl.” He took the bottle, examining it with a chuckle as he let you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“So, Dean, how’ve you been?” You asked, following behind him, your boots clicking on the tile of the bunker’s floor. You looked around, pouting in approval at what you saw. Place was damn impressive. But you were also perceptive to Dean. The way he clutched that bottle like a vice, the slight tightness in his gait, the set of his brow. All subtle, but you’d had sex with this man enough times to know when something bothers him.

What? You were perceptive during sex too, you’re not only in it for the physical stuff. You’re not a monster.

However, Dean just shrugged, making a grumble of an ‘eh’, ambling with you towards his bedroom. “As good as a man can be, sweetheart. You?” Bullshit.

“I mean, how’ve you really been?” The question stopped him dead in his tracks, and he swallowed, eyes furtively glancing to you in a way that screamed ‘oh, shit’. But he didn’t say anything, just prompted him to trudge up to his bedroom, you following, rolling your eyes.

Dean Winchester was the sexiest man alive, but… my god, was he irritating sometimes.

“Three fingers, sweetheart?” Dean asked you as you stepped over the threshold to his bedroom, the guns and random trinkets he’d collected adorning the place as usual. His bed was messy, pillow and blanket askew, which he tried to sort out but only ended up messing it up further.

You smirked, winking as you closed the door behind you, kicking off your boots and moving to sit beside him on the bed, cross legged while he was propped on his hand, legs outstretched. “You know I can take it, handsome, don’t be shy.”

Dean couldn’t stop the visual from popping up in his head. Damn demon him for being so attracted to you. Then again, he couldn’t really say anything.

He poured you three fingers of whiskey in a glass and handed it to you with a soft grunt under his breath, his eyes flicking over you for the umpteenth time before pouring his own. “Here y’ go.”

“Cheers.” You smiled, clinking your glass with his before sipping some of it. “I know you better than you think, y’ know that? You’re struggling, even a blind man can see that one.”

Dean just grunted again, shaking his head. “M’ fine, darlin’. Don’t sweat it.”

“Don’t sweat it? Damn, you really are struggling.” You snorted, taking another sip of your whiskey. “C’mere, babe.”

Dean scooted closer, clearly not anticipating how your lips would ghost his jaw before pressing an open mouthed kiss to it, humming and sucking on the skin, making his breath hitch and eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “Darlin’—”

“Shh.” You continued kissing down his stubble, drawing a quiet moan from him, not protesting as you plucked the whiskey from his hands and set it on the bedside table, guiding his hand to your hair.

Fuck. This is what he gets, for not having a woman’s touch in a while.

“Mm, baby.” Dean couldn’t help but groan, especially as your hands pulled off his flannel �� wait, when did you unbutton that thing? — and tossed it aside, his back hitting the mattress, eyes hazy and hands flying to your soft thighs as you straddled him.

Not like he was roofied, he just felt so drunk. Not on whiskey, but on you, your lips, your gorgeous body.

Now he saw why his demon self liked you so much.

He exposed his neck to you, which earned a hum of approval from you, your hand cupping the side of it as your thumb brushed his pulse. “Attaboy.” You whispered, one hand smoothing back his hair (the whimper that left him was almost embarrassing). “Lemme take your mind off things.”

You returned the favour from the first time, grabbing the whiskey glass and pouring the contents on his chest, the cold compared with your warm body making Dean shiver.

His belt clattered to the floor.

Jeans went after.

And your tongue was on his chest.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen something filthier in his life, it rivalled the likes of Casa Erotica— your tongue flattening against the divots and ridges of his muscle as you collected the burn of the whiskey on your tongue, moving down and down, kissing his v-line, nuzzling his thighs.

“Don’t you stop, sweetheart.” Dean pleaded, voice strangled, hips bucking as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and freeing his cock, which was already needy for you.

Damn, the effect you had on him was ethereal.

You chuckled, licking from his base to his tip while your thumb spread his precome, his hips bucking into your hand with a needy whine. “Not gonna stop, don’t you worry.”

“Gonna taste you,” He panted, his skin glowing already with a thin layer of sweat as his hand twisted in your hair, “when this is done. Mark my words, pretty girl, gonna eat you dumb— son of a bitch.”

“Looking forward to it.” You murmured before you took him into your mouth, working him fast while grinding into the bed.

The sight of him with his head tossed back, eyes rolled and freckled cheeks flushed like that was incredibly hot, ok? Don’t blame a woman.

You pulled off him to suck at his tip, which had him fisting the sheets, eyebrows furrowed in bliss. “So good, handsome. Taste so good.” You murmured, which earned you a sinful whimper.

Praise kink. Noted.

Your signature scarlet lipstick smeared on him — good — and left your mark, sucking and licking until Dean came, spilling into your mouth, but you’re a trooper, so you swallowed the whole thing.

Before you could register, however, you were being yanked up the bed and Dean’s hands were undoing your shorts, shoving them down — ripping your panties — and taking your fishnets to your knees, hauling you onto his face and barely letting you register before his tongue fucked into your soaking pussy, your eyes rolling back like his did, moaning in sync as one hand shot to the headboard and the other his hair.

His hands were so fucking reverent, gliding up your thighs, kneading them, one moving to deliver a light smack and grope to your ass, moaning when you began to grind down onto his tongue because you just couldn’t help it.

And then his hand slid up your back, around to your front, unbuttoning your plaid so his fingers could pay extra attention to your nipples (you would obviously show up to his house braless, y’all out there’d understand) as one long, thick finger thrusted up into your pussy, ring pressing against your g-spot in a way that had his name tearing from your throat.

How was normal Dean better than demon Dean? Or Deanmon. Whatever, either way, he was fucking you right.

“What if Sammy comes back, huh?” Dean growled into your cunt, licking every inch of it while he pushed a second finger into you, then a third, stretching you out and sending vibrations and electricity through your body. “Gonna give him a show, sweetheart? Show him how much you fucking need me?”

He ripped an orgasm from you, drinking it up like he was parched before flipping you over, getting your plaid off and entering you in one clean stroke while his mouth enveloped your nipple, sucking and nibbling.

“Shit, Dean!” You cried out, the first coherent sentence you could make since you rode his face and even that meant don’t you dare stop. And if any other man threatened you with exhibitionism you’d probably slap him and leave.

But this was Dean Winchester, so you’d make a thousand exceptions as long as he fucked your legs out.

He marked your neck, pounding into you like he just couldn’t help it, entwining your hands and pinning them above your head. “F-Fuck, baby girl. So tight— shit. Could fuck this pretty pussy forever.” He rolled over, putting you on top, and you took the cue to ride him, moans in tandem as Dean reached down to rub your clit. “Ride me, baby, c’mon. Give it to me, need it all. Please, need all’a you.”

Well, how could you say no?

“So good,” You panted, which earned a whimpering moan from Dean. “Gonna give it all to you, promise.” You clenching around him and his cock’s ride brushing your g-spot and all of it reaching places you didn’t know you had sent you over the edge, and before you’d realised it, he’d come before you with a strangled grunt of your name, hands moving to your hips to help you through your high despite being in it himself.

Once you’d come down from your high, and he his, you pulled off him, collapsing on the bed next to him, both of you flushed red, panting and so damn satisfied.

“C’mere.” Dean rasped, holding a hand out to you, and you were confused. The hell is he doing? “C’mere, baby.” He looked positively wrecked — you most likely did too — but that didn’t distract you.

“Why?” You tilted your head, pushing sweaty strands out from your face.

“To cuddle, why else?” Wow, he was a secure man, saying it outright like that. “I wanna hold you, sweetheart.”

He didn’t hold you as a demon. Nobody had.

So you scooted up to him, laying your head on his chest and allowing his arm to rest around your waist, other one acting as a pillow underneath his head.

Dean felt upset that demon him hadn’t taken the courtesy to hold this gorgeous woman, but now’s not the time to address that.

“Thank you, gorgeous,” He kissed your hair, “I needed that.”

𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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[sharkboywrites]

BG3 gang with a reader who fucking hates wearing shoes for sensory reasons and just wanders around barefoot (even when they really should have shoes on)?

Bg3 Characters With an Autistic S/O That Hates Wearing Shoes

A/N: ohh boy this one’s exciting to write because when I was younger I hated shoes and refused to wear them. We were recently going through old photos and I’m literally never wearing shoes in any of the photos. This didn’t specify which characters to use so I kinda just did my faves.

Autistic reader, gn reader

Astarion

- He definitely judges you at first

- I mean how could he not?

- He made off handed comments about it, how odd it was you never wore shoes

- He wondered for a bit if you were a nature crazy person that never wore shoes for “being closer to nature” or something like that

- It took him a while to actually ask why you never wore anything

- Once you told him, it finally made sense

- He ends up feeling kind of bad for making fun of you

- He didn’t know there was such an intense reason to make you not want to wear shoes

- It wasn’t something he ever considered

- Afterwards, he defends you, making statements to how shoes aren’t exactly needed and you’re paving the way for your own sense of comfort

Gale

- To be honest, Gale didn’t even notice at first

- He was more preoccupied with his own situation, being a ticking time bomb after all

- It wasn’t until you all had started to go into public places that he actually took notice

- He was never mean about it but also never really asked why you did this

- He’d gently try to convince you to wear some shoes, but backed down once you were firm about not putting any on

- It was only after you were refused service at a restaurant, opting to sit outside instead while the read rod your party ate, he decided to ask you why you were so against it

- Hearing your reasoning made plenty of sense to him

- He understood why you would want to subject yourself to what’s basically torture for you

- He’s very supportive of you, insisting to anyone who makes a comment that you comfort is more important

- Who knows, he might even make a little illusion spell to help you out

Halsin

- If anyone’s going to understand any reason for not wanting to wear shoes, it’s Halsin

- He understands every reason for not wanting to wear shoes

- He personally saw it as a connection to nature (re: astarion’s part)

- He always defends you, even though he doesn’t exactly have an explanation for your behavior

- He wants you to feel comfortable, even if it’s something he doesn’t understand

- It’s probably mentioned in passing that you explain it to him

- Once again, he doesn’t judge you and defends you

- He sees your comfort as the most important factor

- Halsin has met a lot of people, and your not the first autistic person with odd habits he’s ever seen

- Basically, Halsin does not judge you, you’re own quirks make you yourself, and that and your comfort is the most important thing

Trying to grind out some requests today, bear with me 🙏 also the top girls is from my favorite movie and I’m needing out (When Marnie Was There) ty for reading and have a nice day :)

[dyinglikenarcissus]

Stripped Naked

Part II

Warnings: 18+ only! Contains: Virgin reader, stripping, alcohol, vaginal intercourse, a couple consenting adults having a good time. It’s pretty vanilla but sometimes all you want is vanilla

You turn several times in your full length mirror to look at your outfit. Does this shirt look okay? It’s not too revealing, is it?…Is it revealing enough? Ugh! This is impossible! You’re so excited yet terrified. He’d be here any moment and you honestly can’t stop shaking.

Do you need a jacket? Or do you not want to bring a jacket so he’ll give you his jacket if you get cold? You can’t wait to steal his giant sweaters. You moan softly at the idea. Getting to cuddle in it while watching movies on his couch. Then making out on his couch. Then maybe fucking on his couch?

You cover your face in embarrassment.

That’s not going to happen. Well, it should happen. But not now! Eventually. It should hopefully happen…one day…

A knock at your door pulls you from your thoughts.

He’s here!

You grab your purse and race down the hall. Wait! You stop halfway to the door and take a deep breath. You don’t want to look frantic. You’re cool. You’re calm. You’re collected. You’re just going on a date with a gorgeous blond. No big deal.

You squeal quietly and recompose yourself to answer the door.

“There’s my sunshine girl,” Steve grins so brightly and holds out his arms for you. You happily fall into them. He’s so warm and big and perfect. “You ready for this?”

“I have no idea. Am I?” you laugh. He refused to tell you anything about this date. He told you to wear something cute but comfortable, something you can stretch in. It was an odd and vague request. But I’m sure you always look cute 😉 he finished and you remember your face heating beyond your control as you read that message. You didn’t know what classified as cute but comfortable but you know you look cute. You just don’t know if he’s going to ask you to scale a building or play basketball or just sit in the grass. So you hoped leggings and bralette top would work.

“You look don’t look cute at all,” he frowns tapping a bouquet of sunflowers against his palm. “You look far too sexy to be comfortable.” You giggle and shake your head at him. “I brought these for you but you don’t seem capable of following such a simple order of cute but comfortable.”

“Steve!”

“That’s ‘sir’ to you, little miss. Can you do squats in those?”

“Yes,” you laugh. “They’re leggings.”

“Show me.”

“You can’t be serious,” you sigh with an eye roll.

“That was an order.” He points at you and ticks his finger down then back up.

You give him a look and place your purse on the table by the door. “Fine,” you mutter.

Steve grabs your chin and forces your gaze back up to him. “‘Fine’ what?”

“Fine. Sir,” you smirk and turn away from him. And drop into a squat for him and rock your hips just like Megan thee Stallion taught you.

“Shit,” Steve breathes.

“That good?” You ask glancing over your shoulder before adding a quick, “Sir.”

“That’s perfect,” Steve sighs as you stand up. “You sure you don’t want to dance?” You laugh and shake your head. “Acts so shy but I see you. I’ll have you stripping for me one day.”

“Steve!” You shriek in embarrassment.

“Either way, sunshine, these are for you,” he grins and holds out the bouquet for you.

“They’re beautiful,” you smile. “Let me put them in some water. Come in.” You turn toward the kitchen and Steve follows you. “So, are you going to tell me what we’re doing today?”

“Do you know what the word ‘surprise’ means?” He smirks leaning over your kitchen bar.

“Touché, Mr. America,” you smile. “I just want to know if I’m physically ready for whatever you have in store.”

He just gives you a mischievous smile while strumming his fingers against the granite countertop.

“Alright. I’m just going to trust you,” you concede and place your new dining table center piece in it’s new home.

“Something you should’ve started doing weeks ago.”

You give the flowers one last smell before taking Steve’s hand.

Steve’s got the motorcycle again which means you get to snuggle against his back while you ride to where ever your destination is. You barely take in your surroundings as you breathe in his cologne. He’s smells so fresh yet dangerous. Like flowers and cinnamon. You wish you could bathe in him.

“Comfortable back there?” Steve asks when he stops at a light.

“Yeah,” you sigh squeezing his middle a little tighter and earning a chuckle from the blond.

“Super hero training?” You ask as he stops at his destination and takes your borrowed helmet.

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to do this but the guys say it’s something you do with a girl so now I’ve got a girl,” Steve explains, holding out his hand to help you off the bike.

You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

“What? You’ve been here?”

“No, I’ve always wanted to come, too, but my friends aren’t very…athletically inclined.” Steve grins at the revelation and tugs you into the giant gym of a building.

The instructor run through the rules and hands you both masks and badges leaving you for a moment to choose your hero names.

“What are you gonna be?” Steve asks adjusting your mask for you before snapping a selfie.

“I don’t know. You pick,” You smile making a heart with your fingers for his picture.

“This is a big moment! Like picking a stage name and you’re just going to leave it to me?” You nod smiling at how serious he is about this. “How about ‘Cutie with a Bootie’?” You smack his shoulder softly making him chuckle. “Okay. What about ‘Captain Sunshine’? Because you’re my sunshine,” Steve grins and rubs the tip of his nose to yours. You can’t say no to that. You write it in cursive on your name tag. “Your hand writing is so nice. Do mine, too!”

“Yes, sir,” you smile and take his name tag. “What will we call you?”

“Anything but Captain America,” he groans.

“You said it’s like your stage name. It has to be Captain America!” You insist. He just groans and rolls his eyes as you scribe his stage name on the name tag.

The training is so much fun. You were glad they didn’t take themselves too seriously. It was all simulated building scaling and choreographed fights. Steve was very good at those but you accidentally punched him in the stomach. He didn’t seem very phased by it though. You on the other hand excelled at balancing on ‘roof tops’ and using ‘clothes lines’ as tight ropes. All in all, the two of you would probably make mediocre super heroes but you’d have fun doing it.

You fall in a heap on top of Steve after climbing a ‘three story building’ only to fight off ‘aliens’ and rescue a ‘child’ before the building ‘exploded’ in five minutes. The building being a false rock wall, the aliens being one of the other instructors and the child being a stuffed bear. They did have some cool lighting effects for the ‘explosion’. It was all so silly but the two of you enjoyed it far more than any two tax paying adults should.

“I think I’ve successfully worked up an appetite,” Steve sighs holding you against him, his fingers trailing down your arm to tangle in yours. You nod in agreement and attempt to roll off of him but his hold on you is firm. “I like having you here.”

“But we’re out in public,” your whisper eyes widening as you attempt to press away once more.

“I don’t care.” You squirm against him, feeling every bit of discomfort you can possibly manage at this point. Everyone must be staring at you. “Am I embarrassing you?” He asks in an amused tone, letting up just a little to meet your gaze.

Your eyes scan the room but no one even seems to be paying attention to you and the tall blond. Oh.

“No,” you mutter. “I guess not.”

“Then let me snuggle with you,” he insists, squeezing his arms around your waist a little tighter.

He looks like an angel with that beautiful hair mused atop his head and the gym lights seem to hit him perfectly.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Steve grins and pulls you back down against him. “You’re so soft and huggable. I can’t wait to get you in my bed.”

“Steve!” You gasp pushing away once more.

“Not now! Just one day,” he insists pulling you tighter as you attempt to claw away from him like a cat. “My goodness, you’re feisty when you’re embarrassed,” he laughs and you can’t stop the smile from spreading on your face at the sound.

He has a beautiful laugh.

You sit up slightly to watch his smile. So beautiful. “Steve, I had a lot of fun today.”

“I did, too. Thank you for coming with me,” he mutters.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you smile, glancing quickly at his lips before meeting his ocean gaze.

He focuses down on yours for a moment as his hands massage your lower back. “You know, you owe me a kiss.”

“Are you claiming your winnings?”

“Yeah, I think I am,” his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. You place your hands on his chest before taking a deep breath. You haven’t done this in a long time. But it’s like riding a bike, right? You don’t forget.

You lean up and tilt your head slightly, his hand finds the back of your neck pushing you just enough to meet his lips. Oooooh. A soft whine escapes your lips as Steve massages the base of your scalp while gripping your waist a little tighter. It feels so right and perfect. You don’t ever want him to let you go. You could get lost in his plush lips. You grip his shirt as your knees straddle his hips and he pulls you so close you feel you might meld into him.

Then someone clears their throat.

“Um, guys. Our next group is coming in and we have to clean up.” You’re instantly on your feet at the instructor’s words mumbling how sorry you are and tugging Steve along.

He just laughs and sends the instructor a quick smirk. “Can you blame me?” He chuckles gesturing to you as you rush to the door in a panic. “God, that ass doesn’t quit.”

“Sir, we’re not really supposed to comment on anyone’s assets,” the instructor sighs.

“Right. I better go catch her.”

You literally hide behind the menu the waiter places at your table as if the staff from the gym will follow you here.

“Hey,” Steve says tentatively peaking around your menu fort. “Are you still-”

“Yes!” You squeak pulling the menu tighter around you and effectively blocking him out.

“Oh, my little sunshine. It was just a kiss. I’m sure they’ve seen people kiss before.” You just whine softly and attempt to disappear. You hear a soft sigh from Steve before the sound of a near by chair scrapes the concrete. It’s so nice out, Steve decided on an outdoor table at a cafe in the shopping center. You were too busy hiding yourself in his shirt to really notice.

You almost jump when something bumps your chair but it’s just your blond date. “What am I going to do with you?” He asks as he presses his chair as close to yours as possible before wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Just let me die,” you whimper.

“Nah, I’d miss you too much.” He kisses your hair and tilts the menu back so he can look at it as well. “Have you actually looked at the menu or are you planning your escape from me?”

You glance up at him in shock. “I don’t want to escape you.”

“You certainly are acting like it,” he sighs.

“No! You’re perfect! I’m just a nervous wreck when it comes to…this.” You point between the two of you.

“Do you want to slow down?” Steve asks, massaging the back of your neck with his strong fingers.

You relax slightly under his touch and finally release the death grip you were holding on your menu. “No, I like you. Like, a lot. I’m just not good with…public displays of affection.”

“Is that all?” Steve asks, twirling a curl in his fingers.

“I think so…” You whisper.

“What else is wrong?” He pries. You stare at a word on the menu intently but you can’t read it. You can barely voice your problem without thinking you sound like a child. He won’t want anything to do with you.

Steve’s grip tightens on the base of your skull and directs your gaze up at him. “Talk to me. Please. Let me in. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

But there’s nothing to fix, is there? Maybe there is…

“I-I’m, I’m a,” you take a deep breath and force your head from his grip. You can’t even look at him. “I’m a virgin,” you finally whisper.

“A what?” Steve gawks in disbelief. “No! There’s no way. Here? In America?” He almost laughs at the audacity of the situation but remembers your embarrassment and reigns in his excitement.

“I know. I’m such a baby. I can understand if you don’t want anything to do with me. The night we met was actually the first time I’d ever seen a real life man naked and-“ Steve presses his lips to yours to stop your rant. You startle at first but quickly relax into him.

“That explains so much,” Steve chuckles after he pulls away.

“It does?” You whisper.

He just nods and presses another kiss to the tip of your nose. “I don’t care if you’ve had sex or not. I still like you. I don’t want you to go anywhere. And I don’t want you to feel pressured into having sex with me either.”

“No! I want to have sex with you! Oh my God, that was kinda loud,” you cringe making Steve smile. “I want to,” you insist at a much lower volume. “I’m just a little scared.”

“And that is perfectly normal,” Steve assures you and presses a kiss to your temple. It is? “I was horrified my first time,” he sighs. “I want to go at your pace. You set the rules here.”

“Oh, no. You don’t want me making rules. We’ll never get anywhere.”

“I do. Because I want you comfortable with me.” You look up at him, meeting the ocean gaze once more before pressing up to press a kiss to his lips. “I hope that means you’re comfortable enough to order some food,” he grins making you smile.

He is perfect, isn’t he?

Part I | Part III | Master List

[madsworld15]

I Am Still Here Part 1

This fic is something that I came up with during conversations with @winderlylandchime about AU fic ideas. I am still working on Heal Me, Hold Me, Make Me, Know Me but I needed a break for a tick.

So, instead, I am writing an AU fic where Justin is 21 and Brian is 33, and they meet when their support groups have to combine one night due to a lack of group leaders. Justin has PTSD from a bashing 6 months prior. And Brian's cancer diagnosis isn't so cut and dry, so he is depressed about his odds. Anyway, here is part 1.

Word Count: 3,372

“So, what are you in for?” A bored yet sultry voice whispered from Justin’s left as he sat a bit back from the circle of people. 

He turned and almost lost his breath at the sight before him. At 21 Justin had been around the block a time or two when it came to dating men. He’d discovered his sexuality while still in high school and had run the gambit of one-night stands, quick, anonymous fucks, and boyfriends – both casual and serious. But, never before had he seen a man as gorgeous as the one speaking to him now. With a sharp jawline, a lean but still fit body, and bedroom eyes that could make even a monk forget his religious vows of celibacy, this man was the literal definition of sex on a stick.

“I’m sorry?” Justin asked, his brain had short-circuited and thus been unable to process what had been said.

“This,” The man motioned his arm to the room before them. “What brings you here? You don’t look like you have cancer. So it’s either grief or whatever the fuck the other one was they decided to throw into the pot today.”

Justin sucked his lips between his teeth to hide the chuckle that threatened to come out. He could already tell he was going to like this man. He had a laissez-faire attitude that harbored a level of no-bullshit Justin could get behind.

“PTSD.” Justin quirked his eyebrow. “Guess I’m lucky number three. I wondered why I hadn’t seen you here before. Then again, it’s only my second time coming.”

“And already you have decided to stay away from the class.” The man smirked, which somehow made him even hotter. 

Justin finally took stock of his well-styled brunette hair. It was styled to look like the man actually didn’t give a shit about it, which left some strands at the front spiked up while the rest lay flat. Judging by his designer, albeit casual, attire, this man never let anyone see him without first spending an hour in the bathroom on his appearance.

Justin shrugged, “I don’t like groups.”

“I tried to say that to Lindsay. I told her, ‘Fuck Groups!’ and she replied with a quip about how she thought I did.” the man slid down in his chair, spreading his legs out in front of him. “Do you think they’ll notice if we just duck out?”

Justin silently wondered who Lindsay was. At first, he thought maybe the man was married to her or something, but then he made a sex joke about groups. Now, Justin was even more confused.

“Jessica is the group leader for my typical support group, and she has eyes like a hawk. If she feels you are itching to leave, she will force you to talk.” Justin whispered out of the side of his mouth, having noticed that Jessica’s eyes were now on him.

“Justin. You didn’t share much with us last week. Why not try again?” Jessica’s voice was that fake sweet that made Justin angry.

“What makes you think adding more people to the mix will make me more willing to share? Yes, more eyes to stare at the poor fag who got his ass beat so bad he’s scared of his own shadow.” Justin hadn’t realized he had clenched his hands into fists or that he was breathing heavily until the brunette man’s hand landed on top of his left fist.

Without a word, the brunette rubbed Justin’s knuckles until he released his grip. Then, shocking those in the group who must typically spend an hour once a week with the brunette, he decided to speak.

“I’m Brian. Today was my third dose of radiation. The doctor told me it wouldn’t be a picnic, but did he really have to act like he enjoyed it? I mean fuck, my balls are on fire, and my stomach makes me vomit almost every thirty minutes. And don’t get me started on how much my body just hurts.”

“Thank you for sharing, Brian.” Jessica’s saccharin voice floated out, causing Justin to look up. “Would anyone like to share words of encouragement with Brian?”

Brian coughed and abruptly stood up, dragging Justin up with him. “Yeah, nope. I’m out. I came, and not in the way I’d prefer. I shared. And now I’m leaving.”

Without another glance toward the rest of the people in attendance, Brian dragged Justin toward the door and out into the cool night air. The minute the doors were closed, Brian dropped Justin’s hand, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one up. He inhaled and then handed it over to Justin, who shook his head.

“Don’t you have cancer?” Justin looked at the man incredulously.

“Yeah, but it’s in my balls, not my lungs.” Brian took another deep inhale as if to prove a point. Justin shook his head. He could already feel his heart falling for the older man named Brian.

“If you didn’t want support from others, then why do you go to a support group?” Justin stared at the man before him. There was an air of mystery about him. He was definitely older than Justin, but beyond that and his looks, Justin needed more.

“Trust me, it was the tidier of my two options.” Brian licked his lips and offered the cigarette to Justin once more. This time, he took it.

“According to my best friends and Debbie, I could either seek ‘help’ or face their unrelenting wrath.” Brian put quotations around the word help, further convincing Justin that he didn’t believe in therapy.

“If they are anything like my mother, I can completely understand why you’d opt to go somewhere you despise,” Justin commented, handing back the cigarette.

“You want to get out of here?” Brian stubbed out the cigarette and quirked his eyebrow at Justin. “I could use a drink.”

Justin knew he should hesitate; to not allow this perfect stranger to lead him to one of his unsafe spaces, but Brian’s eyes were convincing. So, instead, he motioned as if giving Brian permission to lead the way. As they walked, he pulled out his flip phone and saw a text message from Daphne.

From: Daphne 7:45 pm

Your mom told me about group. I’m proud of you. Come by after, we can drink and talk.

Justin shook his head and rolled his eyes. He would not be going by Daphne’s “after this” because it would be just like going to his goddamn psychiatrist. Daphne was studying psychiatry and felt the need to constantly practice on him. Or at least, she had for the past six months since that night. 

Brian must’ve noticed him pull out his phone because he slowed down his pace to get in line with him. Once they were side by side, the older man gently nudged Justin’s shoulder with his own.

“You have somewhere else you need to be?” Brian lifted an eyebrow in question.

Justin shoved his phone back into his pocket. “No. Daphne just wants to psychoanalyze me.”

Brian didn’t reply, but he did fix Justin with a questioning look. Justin went back and forth in his head for a bit before he decided he felt comfortable enough sharing with this man he barely knew.

“My best friend. She’s currently studying to be a psychiatrist. She offered for me to come over for drinks and a chat, but I know it’ll end up sounding more like therapy.” Justin stared at his feet as he scuffed them along the pavement, kicking a pebble of cement that had broken free.

Brian simply nodded and let the matter drop. Justin greatly appreciated that about him. They continued to walk. Justin didn’t realize where they were going until it was almost right upon them. One glance toward the bars of Liberty Avenue and Justin’s breath caught in his lungs. He leaned over, unable to take in anything more than short, shallow breaths. His vision started to swim when a firm hand landed gently on his shoulder.

Through the fog, sounding like he was underwater, a feeling Justin was extremely familiar with at this point, he heard Brian trying to talk to him.

“Justin. Take a deep breath. Can you walk?” 

Justin felt his chest tighten even more, and he shook his head. Or at least he thought he did. Based on the panic in Brian’s voice, he must not have moved at all.

“Justin. Please, just breathe. Close your eyes and think of your safe space. Once you are ready, we can leave.”

Justin’s brain felt like it had sand in it, but he could still hear each time Brian started his litany of reassurances over again. They must’ve stood there, with Brian’s hand barely on his shoulder, grounding him, for a good ten minutes before the panic in his chest subsided. Justin’s vision came back, and the first thing he noticed was the surly appearance of Brian had switched into one more vulnerable and freaked out.

“I’m sorry.” Justin stood up completely and shook out his limbs. After a panic attack, they always felt like lead for a few minutes after.

“Apologies are bullshit.” Brian shrugged, putting a wall back up. His face was stony once more, which oddly enough soothed Justin further. This man wasn’t about to baby him, and for that, he was grateful.

“I could really use a drink.” Justin released a breathy chuckle as he made eye contact with Brian.

“I know a place that is a little less scary than Liberty Avenue,” Brian suggested.

“Is it public?” Justin’s voice came out small and timid, which he could beat himself for, but with his body still recovering from his panic attack, he didn’t have the strength for it.

“Not exactly.” Brian drew out his words but immediately reassured Justin, “It’s my friend Emmett’s place. He hosts private parties there most nights, but he takes Thursdays off. I can always count on him for alcohol and a judgment-free zone.”

“If he takes Thursdays off, how do you know he will be there?” Justin questioned, still not entirely sure this option sounded any more safe.

Brian pulled out his phone, one of those fancy ones people with money had, and pushed a few buttons.

“Hey, Em. I need a drink. Can I swing by tonight?” Brian spoke into his device.

He must’ve heard what he wanted because a moment later, he pushed a button to end the call and looked at Justin with a smile on his face.

“We’re good. Let’s go.” Brian gently grabbed the lapel of Justin’s jacket and pulled him toward one of the side streets, away from Liberty Avenue.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a brick building. The lights of the first floor were all on and a sign over the door read: Milk and Honey. Justin glanced over at Brian, his eyebrow lifted in question. Brian smirked and shook his head. 

“Emmett is one of my closest friends and Pittsburgh’s greatest party planner.” Brian knocked on the door without any further preamble or explanation.

“Bri!” A tall, overly skinny man with auburn hair styled wildly opened the door with a grin that lit up the night street. “I was just about to close up when you called. Inventory day is no joke.”

“Hey, Em. This is Justin. We met at support group and then bailed on support group.” Brian shrugged and wrapped his friend up in a moment of intimacy Justin never would’ve expected based on what he’d learned about this man.

“I promise not to tell the mother hens.” Emmett kissed Brian on the cheek with a wink.

 “Hello, I’m Emmett Honeycutt.” the man turned toward Justin and put out his hand.

Justin bit his lip and gave a forced smile but didn’t take Emmett’s hand. He was still shaken from his panic attack, and his brain couldn’t handle even the slightest human touch right now unless it came from Brian, which was something he would need to unpack at a later time.

“Don’t take it personal, Honeycutt.” Brian cut in and wrapped his arm around Emmett’s shoulders. “He has PTSD and doesn’t let hardly anyone touch him.”

Emmett gave Justin a reassuring smile and then wrestled out of Brian’s embrace with a “Don’t call me Honeycutt!” that had no bite behind it. 

“I’m sorry.” Justin rubbed his hands together and gave Emmett a deeply apologetic look. “I just haven’t been the same since it happened.”

“Hey, what did I tell you? Apologies are bullshit.” Brian, who had somehow ended up across the room already, pulled out some glasses and held up the half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Who wants a shot?”

 Justin didn’t respond just moved closer to the bar setup and put his hand out for a tumbler. Emmett, on the other hand, squealed excitedly and clapped his hands as he bounced over to join the two.

Justin hugged his tumbler tight in the grip of his two hands and remained silent while Emmett and Brian started up a conversation. He sat on a stool and let his eyes observe the two best friends in their natural ease.

“So, support group still not your thing?” Emmett raised an eyebrow at Brian. “I don’t know why you go if you hate it so much.”

“It keeps Lindsay, Michael, and Debbie off my back.” Brian shrugged as he threw back the shot and hissed as it went down.

“You’ve never let them walk all over you before.” Emmett reached out to place his hand on Brian’s, which sat on the counter. Just as the man’s hand made contact though, Brian pulled away as if the touch was fire.

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly Brian anymore, am I?” Brian licked his lips and closed his eyes, leaning his weight onto his elbows on the counter.

Justin observed as the closed-off, staunch man he’d met at the support group not an hour prior suddenly wrapped in on himself and became a shell of a person. It kind of reminded Justin of what he was like when his depression really took hold.

“You know I don’t judge.” Emmett started to say, walking around the counter to stand directly next to Brian, who glared up at him. “However, I think you’re giving this too much power.”

Emmett didn’t say what this implied, but Justin could easily figure it out. Much like Brian, Emmett seemed to avoid putting the word to what Brian had: cancer. It was as if the two felt without labeling it they could pretend it wasn’t potentially life-threatening. Justin watched as Emmett silently ran his fingers through Brian’s hair, and Brian subtly leaned into the touch. Then, just as quickly, the moment was ruined by Brian cupping his hand in front of his mouth and rushing to the nearby sink. 

The sounds of vomiting permeated the room, but Justin ducked his head as if to show Brian he wasn’t paying attention to it. After he was done, the older man didn’t return to the counter right away. Instead, Justin heard a door behind him open and close, leaving him alone with Emmett.

“Sorry about that. The radiation really kicks his butt even if he tries to pretend it doesn’t.” Emmett smiled and shrugged, grabbing the glasses and putting them to the side to be washed later.

“If you knew it was going to make him sick, why’d you let him drink?” Justin was truly curious about this friendship dynamic.

“You just met him so you might not realize, but Brian doesn’t take too kindly to being told he can’t do something.” Emmett raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Besides, sometimes you just need a fucking drink.”

Justin raised his glass in agreement, “Amen.”

A silence fell between them. Justin took another sip of the whiskey and winched at the burn. He didn’t drink much, not because he wasn’t legally able to, but because he wasn’t really keen on the taste. For Justin, drinking had always been a social thing. He worried his bottom lip as his thoughts swam with visions of his attack and the support group and Brian rescuing him. Even six months out, Justin still had nightmares and day scares about the person who attacked him for kissing his boyfriend. The young man was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Emmett speaking once again.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’m a curious Kathy so what caused your PTSD?” Emmett’s spark was back and he animatedly leaned forward to cut the distance between him and Justin in half.

Justin bit down hard on the lip he’d been nervously worrying for the past ten minutes. He didn’t know Emmett, but he also didn’t want to seem like a weakling who couldn’t even talk about what had happened to him. He took a deep breath and was about to respond when the door behind him opened once more, and he heard Brian’s footsteps approach.

“I was bashed outside my boyfriend’s concert six months ago. We were kissing, and this guy jumped us. He had a bat.” Justin mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Brian stopped in his tracks, his presence evident despite still being behind Justin.

“Fuck.” Brian breathed out as Emmett’s hand flew to his mouth in shock.

“Just drop it. Okay.” Justin took the last swig of his whiskey and stood up. He needed to leave. This was getting too personal, and he wasn’t comfortable anymore.

“I should go.” He walked past Emmett and Brian, still frozen where they stood, and out the door onto the street.

Twenty minutes later, Justin paid the cab driver and walked up the driveway of his parents' home. They’d been fighting a lot lately, and he hoped tonight wasn’t one of them. It was bad enough that he was 21 and had to move back in with his parents because he couldn’t hack it in the dorms with his PTSD, but to also have to basically hide who he was from his dad was even worse.

Sure, his dad knew, in theory, that he’d been bashed for kissing another man. However, once Justin had been released and realized that even approaching PIFA’s campus gave him extreme anxiety, his father allowed him to move back in. Not another word was spoken about his sexuality, and considering Justin couldn’t stand being around other people right now, it hadn’t been an issue. Justin reached the front door and was about to turn the key when it flung open, and his angry father’s face greeted him.

“Where the fuck have you been? When you moved back in, I told you that you had to be back by 9. It is 9:30.” Criag’s voice was menacing, but Justin didn’t even flinch. He wasn’t afraid of his father, not anymore.

“Relax. I went to support group and then hung out with Brian for a few minutes after. Then I had to wait for a cab.” Justin shrugged and pushed past the elder man.

“Who the fuck is Brian. He’s not a pervert like the boy who caused you to become confused and then be attacked, is he?” Justin looked up at his father, finally seeing the man for who he was.

It hadn’t been that his father didn’t realize he was gay. It was he thought that by letting Justin move back in, he was saving his son from being manipulated and brainwashed. With a deep breath, Justin stood strong and addressed his father.

“I wasn’t confused. That ‘boy,’ as you stated, was my boyfriend. We were in love. I’m gay. Nothing can change that, not you and not some assholes with a bat.” Justin inhaled and then continued, “As for Brian, he’s just someone I connected with at the support group. He has cancer, and we got to talking. That’s it, not that it's any business of yours.”

Craig slapped Justin across the face without hesitation, “I won’t tolerate any smart-mouthing or sexual deviance in my house.”

Justin rubbed his cheek gingerly and then smirked, “Okay. I’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

With that he turned on his heel and walked up the stairs to his bedroom and shut the door.

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 42

Third POV

Jeff lost track of time at this point, but he can tell the month is almost over. This time, he followed Toby's warning. He stopped shouting at the camera, stopped his mindless fits of laughter, and reframed from attacking anyone who tried to give him food. However, the killer couldn't stop throwing himself at the cushion walls as a form of entertainment. He found it hilarious that no matter how much force he puts into it, he'd bounce right off with no injuries.

His black eye and bust lip have healed as well as his bruised cheek, thanks to EJ's aid. But because of his antics, Jeff has been moved to a chair and strapped to it with leather belts. To say that made things much harder would be an understatement. Maybe it's because normally the killer wouldn't care how long he'd be forced to spend in the white room, but now he has someone he desperately needs to get back to.

At this thought, the door to the white room opens. There's stands Hoodie, without his cloth mask, which is odd. His stoic eyes look at the camera, then at Jeff. He grumbles as he quickly goes to Jeff and undo his restraints, much to Jeff's surprise.

"Its normally the faceless fucker doing this after some drawn out speech on if I learned my lesson." He said mockingly, rolling his eyes

Hoodie doesn't answer, making the killer raise a brow. "Brian. Why are you doing this? Any idea how much trouble you'll be in with that octopus?"

Hoodie finishes, straightening himself as he eyes Jeff for using his real name. "Toby." Was all he said before rushing out of the room.

Confused, Jeff rushes after him. "Hold the fuck on Hoodie! Just saying the ticking shit's name doesn't answer my question!"

Hoodie once again doesn't respond nor shows any sighs of slowing down. He rushes up the stairs and forces the wooden doors leading above ground open. Once to the surface, he runs into the woods, leaving Jeff little chance to catch him. The smiling killer grumbles, kicking a rock, then whence - realizing he's not wearing any shoes.

He sighs heavily, walking to the mansion that's only a few meters away. Jeff opens the door with his hands instead of kicking it open. He ignores the stares and walks straight into the kitchen. He makes himself a sandwich and gets a water bottle. The smiling killer scoffs it down rather quickly, sighing in satisfaction.

"You are looong over due for a shower." BEN said, holding his nose as he entered into the kitchen.

"Slenderman, finally let you out?" Eyesless Jack ask, opening the refrigerator.

"Nah, it was Hoodie. Shit was fucking weird. He let me loose then took off in the woods. What's happening now?"

"No idea. I remember seeing Toby about to set out on his mission but looked frazzled after getting some type of message from that witch girl."

At the mention of Luna, the thought of Eboni falls heavy on him. He feels a gut, twisting feeling settle onto him. He ignores the rest of the conversation and walks up the stairs to his room. He greets smile dog briefly. He takes a quick shower, brushing his teeth and letting his hair air dry. He places on his classic outfit - white hoodie, skinny black jeans, and boots.

Once done, he grabs his phone from the nightstand, glad it's been left on the charger this whole time. He raises a brow at the many messages from Eboni, worry setting into his heart - it almost makes him gag. He still hates these types of emotions no matter who they're for. He still views them as weaknesses.

Nevertheless, he opens her messages, the first text making his heart sink into his stomach. Text after text makes his heart sink further down until he can no longer breathe, realizing he's been holding his breath. But the last text, sent today, causes his blood to run cold with panic and dread. He dials her number, pacing back and forth in his room. After the third attempt, he rushes out of his room, running down the stairs.

"Whoa! Damn Jeff, what's wr-"

EJ couldn't finish his sentence, Jeff running out of the front door - not bothering to close it. There's no way she couldn't have. Eboni wouldn't take her life. She wouldn't go against her moral code even after all that's happened to her. Jeff refuses to believe his girl would go so far as to kill herself.

"Fuck..FUCK! PICK UP DAMNIT!" he shouts, still calling Eboni as he runs through the woods and towards her home.

With each miss phonecall, brings little hope that Eboni didn't end her life. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to face the fact that Eboni took her life because he wasn't there. Because he couldn't protect her, because he couldn't save her. But the sight of her open front door does very little to ease his unsteady heart.

Jeff rushes inside, breathing heavily but taking no time to catch his breath. That last message was sent within the early morning hours. It's midnight. The killer doesn't have the option to catch his breath. He runs up the stairs, hearing the loud music blast from behind Eboni's door.

"Princess? Shit! Open the door!" He shouts over the music, body trembling when he didn't receive an answer.

So he throws his body to the door, trying to break it down. After a few times, he's successful. Upon entering her room, he's shocked to see it in this state. Everything is completely destroyed, damaged behind repair. He runs his hand through his hair in frustration when he notices she's not there but pauses at the sight of her close bathroom door.

With unsteady feet, he speed walks to the door, placing his shaking hand on the doorknob and twisting it - slowly pushing the door open. Time seems to stop around him, his lips trembling and eyes widening in horror. This can't be happening.

"EBONI!" he screams, "Oh..oh my god, Eboni!"

Eboni's body is in the tub full of water that is now completely red. A bottle of alcohol and pills are stationed next to the tub and a pair of scissors on the other side. Jeff lifts her limp body out of the water, her body cold - lifeless. Jeff shakes his head at the sight of her slit wrist. A pained sound leaves his lips, surprising himself. He forces his breathing to calm down as he places his head against her chest, desperate to hear a heartbeat - almost praying.

Slow. Faint. Fading.

Time. It's there. It's still beating. Time....there's still time. Jeff stands, holding Eboni bridal style - close to his chest. He doesn't bother to drain the tub nor to shut the front door. His foucs is to run racing against the clock - to win.

The killer sees the mansion, relief almost filling his heart. He kicks the door open, stumbling inside. He scans the room - chest burning, breathing heavy, and eyes burning.

"EJ! ANN! FUCK, SOMEONE!" He screams, voice scratchy and rough. "SHE'S DYING!"

EJ is still in the living room, ditching his food and rushes to Jeff's side. He looks at him, shock at the sight. "What happened to her?"

At this point, Jeff is hyperventilating, eyes still burning and vision becoming blurry. "I-I don't know! The messages...shit! I don't know, EJ just FIX HER! I can't...I-I can't...."

EJ tries to take Eboni from Jeff's grip, but it's too tight. BEN comes, zapping Jeff in hopes it'll knock some sense back into him. "You're babbling. EJ can't help if you can't explain things more clearly. Now let her go so he can do his job."

Jeff gulps, gently handing Eboni over to EJ. The three of them rush to his private infirmary. The Eyeless creature places Eboni's body onto the medical bed, quickly cutting off the soaking hoodie so he can examine her better.

"BEN, go get nurse Ann. Jeff explain everything you saw."

"I...I found her in the tub. Th..The water was completely red. I saw an empty case of pills and a bottle of Jack Daniel's."

EJ looks at her wrist, trying to determine what was used to cut them. The wounds seem to wide more than deep. "What else?"

"Sisscors... I saw a pair of bloody sisscors.."

With information scarce and time limited, EJ is going to need more than Nurse Ann - X Virus. Thankfully, BEN knew this and returned with both of them. EJ explains all that Jeff told him, both of them understanding the situation. Nurse Ann goes to get a machine that sets Jeff on edge.

"The fuck are you doing? What's happening? Someone explain already!" Jeff shouts, yanking his hair in distress.

"Jeff. Her stomach needs to be pumped. Her heart rate is low, and she's barely breathing. Her blood count is low, and her brain is close to shutting down. We can't take you through everything we're doing it's best if you wait outside." EJ tries to reason while focusing on hooking Eboni to a breathing machine.

"No... NO! I CAN'T- I won't leave her side again! You can't make me!" He shouts.

"She's going to need a blood transfusion. She'll eventually die without one. There's too much blood lost." X Virus explains blankly, already operating on Eboni's left wrist.

Nurse Ann looks at him, her eyes asking if he knows her blood type. He doesn't look her way but answers, "Type O. Very rare. I doubt anyone here has that blood type. They'll have to be human, too."

Knowing everyone medical records by hard, EJ looks at Jeff. "So?"

Jeff already has his sleeves pulled up, holding both his arms out. "Take all of it if you gotta! Just hurry up!"

Once Eboni is hooked up to everything needed, EJ begins drawing the right amount of blood based on how low Eboni's blood count is. That's also still dropping rapidly. Once done, he steps away and goes back to the operating table. The moment he does, Eboni's heart flat lines.

No.

No.

NO!

The sound is enough to send Jeff into complete hysterics. He begins screaming to the top of his lungs, rushing over to Eboni's side - but BEN holds him down, struggling to keep him in place. Other proxies had to come and keep the smiling killer at bay, which becomes a distraction to the three that are trying to revive. her.

"Get him out! He's getting in the way! All of you are getting in the way!" EJ shouts over the commotion.

The proxies drag Jeff out of the room, keeping him down within the halls. Eventually, Jeff loses his strength, body sagging as he slames his fist repeatedly onto the tile floor. It's then that he realizes his eyes are still burning, and his cheeks are wet. He reaches up to touch it, liquid staining his fingers.

Tears?

When was the last time he felt so much guilt? So much remorse? So much lost? And so....so worthless? Selfish. Jeff, the killer is selfish. He knows this and has always embraced it, basking in his narcissistic ways. But look where that's gotten him. He didn't consider Eboni. He never did, not even when she was wailing in his arms that night. His anger, what he wanted, trumpeted above all else. His need for violence. His need for blood. His need to kill. It's because of Jeff that she endured so much. He knew she wouldn't last long without him. He knew and still did what he wanted, prolonging his time within the white room instead of taking Toby's advice the first time. Jeff can point the finger as much as he wants, but he has to face the truth. All of this is his fault.

The killer thrives on living his life to the fullest, never letting anything hold him down. He has no regrets and lives with no remorse. But now? All of that is put into question. He longed for a sense of freedom, craved it, and desired it. Yet once he gains something along the lines of it, he ruins it - destorys it. Everything he has ever touched crumbled, and Eboni is, unfortunately, no exception. She begged him to stay, not to leave her. But he did, without a second, thought. Even no, he still can't feel any regret for abandoning her that night to beat Masky.

Jeff sobs in anguish, gripping and pulling his hair as he rests against the door, keeping him apart from Eboni - the sound of the heart rate machine flat lining haunting him.

Useless.

Pitiful.

Worthless.

Despite his skills in killing, his strong and stubborn will, and his view on life, nothing will change the first and only regret he will carry, the remorse he allows himself to feel. A young girl meant to be just another victim. A girl that has turned his fucked up mind and life upside down. The only person to grant him a sense of freedom.....

Jeff the killer, regrets aiding in Eboni's death.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Cocky actor ransom is not good with emotions and expressing them. Reader sees a gossip news where someone says that ransom is only tolerating reader because she's pregnant with his child and he probably has a side piece. This makes reader v anxious so she distances herself from ransom (maybe stopped making his fav food for him or stopped calling him when he's on shoot). Ransom is concerned so maybe a big gesture or like he gets her name tattooed to show her he only loves her.

The rumours dug deep, they hit you in the worst possible way and while you should have been focusing on resting since the last bought of drama sent your way had made your doctor put you on bed rest. You should have been relaxing and enjoying Ransom’s sudden gift of a lavender infused blanket.

And yet you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the jolt of heartbreak hit you when the rumours started.

Again.

Ransom Drysdale seen out with side piece

Ransom Drysdale seen out with future and upcoming model

Ransom Drysdale seen cozying up to supermodel while his baby mama is at home-

It hit you, and it hurt you.

It was like an insignificant poisonous barb that had started out as a tick, and grew into a festering sore. It ate away at you, it made you feel at odds with yourself and your ability to relax, it made you feel as if you were endangering your baby by your own hand.

You drew into yourself while Ransom was gone, you were led to believe that he was out with these women why you were back in Boston. You felt as if you were nothing but a surrogate, and a housekeeper.

It ate away at you, every comment and rumour. Even if some of his fans, even if the great fans, had come to your defence and wished Ransom well for being with you, you felt as if you’d been played.

You pulled away, you started to recoil in your affections for Ransom and he noticed. Phone calls ended short, texts were impersonal and he couldn’t get more from you.

He returned to Boston with his own burning questions, his own flesh eating barbs digging into his skin. All he could think about was you, and he knew well enough how to felt to have his relationships crumble to know something was bothering you.

Ransom had returned straight home despite his publicist requesting a meeting. He headed home under the promise of his PA to get notes from the meeting because he had more important things to do.

Ransoms sped home with a fight on his mind. He didn’t give you a chance to say anything, he slammed the door shut and found you on the couch watching that same stupid gossip network, and it seemed to click into place.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!” Ransom yanked his own hair and cursed loudly as you sat in shock. “This is the reason you gave me a heart attack?!”

“Ransom-“

“Enough with this shit!” He continued, pacing back and forth in front of you. “God, what do you want from me?!”

“What do you want from me?! I’m the one that’s home while you’re gone-“

“Doing nothing! I’m doing nothing while being worried about my pregnant fucking girlfriend who’s gotten so verbally attacked that she’s on bed rest and-“

“Girlfriend?” You frowned, pushing yourself back against the couch, emotionally going through the wringer. “You said girlfriend-“

“God help me, Y/N-!” Ransom stalked toward you and slammed his hands beside your head, trapping you between the couch and him. “You want me to prove myself to you? What do you need? Huh, what do you want?”

“Ransom-“

“A ring? You wants a ring? I’ll get you a ring, I’ll buy you a ring today. Right now.” He sighed and hung his head, exasperated. “I’m not with them, I’m not with any of them. This is all bullshit being used to sell papers or start shit. Y/N, I’m not-“

“You said girlfriend-“ your vision was blurred by tears, your bottom lip was trembling as the threat of an emotional breakdown was upon you.

“My girlfriend,” he muttered, his eyes conveying so much more than his mouth was, “I was worried about you. I was worried that you weren’t getting enough rest and those stupid gossip channels telling you that I’m cozying up with models?”

“Not true?”

“Not. Fucking. True.” Ransom emphasized every word before he collapsed against the couch, falling to sit beside you. “You’re cruel, you’re a damn cruel woman.”

“What did I do?”

“You gave me a damn heart attack.” Ransom grumbled and then angled himself toward you, eyes sweeping across your figure. “Yes, I said girlfriend. I damn well mean it.”

[summerlycoris]

Okay so I'm putting this here because Dad really fucking pissed me off today and If I don't write something I'll just-

So I was helping him to put in a veranda and ramp on the front of my house today. Work projects with Dad would be difficult, but not misery, if he could just. Fucking. Not be a dick for 5 seconds.

Unfortunately my dad has "must be a dick every 5 seconds " disease so that's never fucking happening lmao lol roflmao.

Anyway. He was ragging out my brothers girlfriend Rochelle. And yeah. She's got problems. Neither of us can see the relationship lasting. (Rochelle's nice, but not to brodie. She let's her anxiety get the best of her, and constantly embarrasses him in front of their friends making out of line jokes, and emotionally abusing him.)

Dad thinks the reason they're not going to last is that Rochelle is on disability and is "a leech" "She's going nowhere." He used himself (hes not fucking diagnosed. And normally im all for self diagnosis. But not for this cuntwad. I WILL gatekeep from my damn dad because fuck him thats why.) me and my brother as examples of disabled people who don't need help.

And that ticked me off. Because I do need help. I just don't get help. Brodie needs help too. He just can't get it. Hell, maybe if dad had help as a kid he wouldn't have been such a bastard when we were kids. (He's fucked up 2/3 kids. Bad odds when your a parent. And he's still got plenty of time to fuck up the 3rd kid! SHES ONLY 4 YEARS OLD.)

I can't remember exactly, but I try to tell him that my life wasn't great and that I could've used some help. He asks how my life sucked so bad.

And I'm just fucking gobsmacked. Mum did this too recently- despite literally being the one to say that she thought I was gonna off myself at 11 years old years ago. Do these two not have any fucking memories?

I told him I'd been bullied all through school. (Couldn't exactly tell him he'd treated me like dirt whenever he was home) and he was like "well you're living a better life than your bullies. I bet they don't own a house."

I got so fucking angry. And I couldn't explain it at the time. But I can now- it doesn't matter what YOU think. Or what Mum thinks. Or what the fucking goldfish think. You don't live my life! And my opinions the one that matters, because im the one living that life. And I think my life's kinda shit!

I can't make friends. Not because I'm necessarily bad at talking to people (I can mask better now than I ever could as a kid) but because I just can't feel the same way about talking to people as I could as a kid. Like this may not make any sense- but when I was a kid before everything? I liked talking to people. It wasn't a chore. I didn't have to overanalise everything. But now it is. I quickly finish up talking to people thinking something like "Thank god that's over" or "Thank god that didn't go badly" and it's so. Fucking. Tiring.

So I'm gonna be alone forever. Not because of some incel bullshit. But just because I literally can't do it. I just can't fucking do it right. I can't go back to being 8 and being excited to meet someone new. I can't even go back to being 19 and bring willing to try making friends.

I'm 28. And I've spent most of my life being lonely.

And he's like- you've got the autism support group- but we meet once a month and I sometimes can't even MAKE it due to work and there's acquaintances. I don't even know most of their NAMES.

And it all just sent me into a tailspin honestly. Like the day was okay until he decided to be himself and trod over some exposed nerves. Then run his fucking jeep over them for good measure.

He's like "your like van goth" and I'm like "he killed himself" and he says "but you won't do rhat" and honestly dad? There's still fucking time. Better 17 years late than never huh????

Fuck, I needed to get that off my chest. I can't stand him. I really can't. But I kinda have to because I want to still know mum and nikara.

It's just amazing how he can just. Always find a way to ruin my day. Today was supposed to be good. It's autism group meet up night. I'm supposed to take Rochelle and one of brodies friends there. But I think if I go tonight I'll just be a miseryguts and cry everywhere. And I've got a surprise work shift tomorrow from 7-3pm. And then my fucking On Week at work. Despite not really having much time off from it and work doing a number on me even during my fucking off week this week. It's just not worth going oh my fucking God I hate this.

[voxiiferous]

⇷⇷⇷

Send “⇷” to view a memory from my muse’s past life. | @saunteredintohell

I. Circa 1996.

He should get up, it's the first solid thought he's had since Val left. Stormed out. His screen isn't broken this time, which is more than can be said for their last break up. Four years ago their breakups had numbered in the single digits-- less than 5, and the number of times Valentino had broken his screen had been the same. Now... both were slowly ticking up, faster and faster with each year.

He had been good at math-- liked graphs, and if he had bothered to put this on a line, it would be fucking exponential. Val is always os apologetic after each time though, dates, and kind words, and promises he won't do it again.

He's in his bath, sort of. It's one of those fancy glass showers, where there's no edges, just a wall. He's half dressed, and had gotten... is distracted the right word when there hadn't been anything aside from his own energy failure. There's a puddle surrounding the drain, and he watches as a single drop coalesces on the tap and drops. It's a hollow sound, as it splashes against the metal or the water below the drain proper.

As he watches, another drop collects, and he watches, transfixed as it gathers itself together, growing heavy on the rim but not dropping either. When will the surface tension break, when will gravity win?

It's uncomfortable, he's uncomfortable. The small of his back is dry, but he knows when he moves, and his shoulders shift from where they're pressed against the shower wall, won't be.

It was late when Val left, and he's been staring at the tap now for... he has no idea. His alarm clock is in his bedroom, and the bathroom door is blocking it from view. The bathroom lights don't help anything, they're always the same.

He's not even tired so much as empty, like he should have expected this. He'd begun noticing these moments more and more: wake up, go to work, go on a date and come back just to do it all again.

It's fine, it's fine. He's sure that once he starts work on their new project-- streaming, as some of their newest hires have talked about as the newest turn in human media-- that the boredom will fade away, and he and Valentino will be back to how they were.

The second drop falls.

II. Circa 1940.

It's just past midnight and the bar is quiet. Vincent is gently swaying to the music, and the table closest to him has a lesbian couple that's laughing at him.

"Aren't you fancy, Vince? New job, new medium." He's only been with the television for a few months, but he'd gotten to be on screen for the firs time today instead of running around backstage, adjusting camera angles and making sure that the news they were reporting is accurate.

He laughs, and the man he's dancing with twirls him lazily. "You know me, Tessa, always on the cutting edge of news."

She nods, and her hand with the cigarette in it follows along with it. "Mmm, don't remind me. There was the tape fiasco last year."

The man... Alton? Ashton? Alvin? Something like that, it had been hard to tell over the music, spins him again. He's nice enough-- a good partner, and has been happy enough to buy Vincent a couple of drinks over the course of the night. They won't go home together, because he seems half dead on his feet, and mostly here for a good time. The song fades to a close, and he dips Vincent, helping him back to his feet, and they both sit at the table.

Tessa's date, leans against her, and narrows her eyes conspiratorially. "So now that you're big on camera, what are the chances you'll get to meet Vivien Leigh?" And then she pauses for a moment, thinking. "Well I guess for you, you'd rather Robert Taylor."

"Well as they're Hollywood actors, the odds aren't in my favour."

Half an hour later, as they're all leaving, Alton(?) throws an arm over his shoulders. "If you ever want to see more of me, I'll be here most night." Vincent nods, and kisses his cheek, waving as he turns away to head back to his apartment. Maybe if he's careful... he can have both career and love.

He's flipping through the newspaper in the break room a week later, when he stops. 'Gay Bar Raided-- 15 Patrons Arrested.' He holds his breath as he reads, no names, but it's the same bar he'd been at just days ago. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. That could have been him.

It's not safe, he can't. He can't take that risk. All it would take is one bad night and there's his life gone. he closes the newspaper, making sure to fold it along the creases, partially to steady his own hands.

Disregard love for power, for fame. He'd been a fool to think he could ever be careful enough to have, to go at all. He straightens against the counter, and puts on a smile. Show time.

III. Circa 1921.

Their house is at the end of the street, and the gutter cuts across the front of the yard. It's the boundary Mama sets for him to play outside most days. He can go anywhere in the yard, or up the tree-- all of which she encourages, because it keeps him out of his room, tucked up with his little wind-up toys, and books. More like a child.

Right now, he's sitting under the shade of the tree, array of bits and pieces set out on the thin shelf afforded by the cement divider. Little twigs, leaves, long blades of grass. Anything to make boats. Two sit beside him already, with small flowers on both. Even if they can make it to the end, it won't matter if they sink-- the flowers are there as a test. If they get wet, the design fails.

He holds his tongue between his teeth in concentration, as he gently threads a piece of grass around a few twigs to tie it off into a makeshift raft. It's one of those, long thick blades that Jesse from school can make whistle, and refuses to teach anyone else to do, but right now its rigging, and it doesn't matter if he can make it whistle or not.

He looks up as a figure comes to stand by him, casting his project in an extra layer of shade. His father. He sits down beside Vincent, and smiles at him. He waves back, pushing up his glasses. "What are you working on?" His father asks. It's the most lucid that Vincent thinks he's ever seen him, he's talking, smiling, out of the house instead of staring at things that no one else can see.

He picks up the boats, and shows his father. "Leaf boats. I'm gonna race them to see which ones works best."

"...And the flowers?"

"People. If they get wet then the people would die and it's a bad boat."

His father blinks, and then laughs, ruffling his hair. "How can I help?"

When the sun is beginning to set, and all the boats have long since been dashed against the gutters and the rocks, petal-men lost to the rapids, his father teaches him to whistle with grass.

That night, his mother tucks him into bed, "Did you have a good day?"

He nods, shuffling further under the blankets, as she leans to press a kiss to his forehead. "I'm glad," She says and stands. "Sleep well,"

It's a good day-- the best day really. Mostly because it was the only day.

[oumaheroes]

‘Nowhere to Run’

Day 2 of Whumptober

Cornered/ Caged/ Confrontation

My own Whumptober rules can be found here, if you’re unsure what’s going on

Characters: France, England/ FrUK

Day 1

Full Masterlist

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‘You always fucking do this!’

A glass shatters by Arthur’s head. His husband’s chest heaves, hair a ruffled mess from pulling at it or running his hand through it too many times. He is leant on their kitchen island counter, his eyes fixed on Arthur filled with tears and Arthur has never hated him more.

‘You knew what today was! You knew what we were supposed to be doing and you fucking did this on purpose!’

‘I forgot.’

‘That’s a fucking lie.’ Francis’ face is twisted, venom pulling his lips into a snarl, ‘That is a God damn fucking lie.’

‘It is not,’ Arthur’s voice is clipped, he can hear it but he can’t soften his words in time, ‘Work was busy and I entirely lost track of time; you can call them up and confirm if you don’t believe me.’

Francis shakes his head, ‘You’re avoiding it.’

‘Why would I avoid it?’

‘Because you don’t want to do it! You don’t think that we need to!’

‘I said that I was sorry, Francis, what more do you want me to do?’

‘I want you to give a fucking shit! I want you to try-‘

‘I am trying!’

‘Oh!’ Francis’ laugh is bitter, ‘Oh yes, yes I’ve noticed you try.’

‘This wasn’t my fault,’ he says, and he knows by the way that Francis’ eyes grow hard that he’s said the wrong thing.

‘And it’s never your fault, is it, Arthur?’ Francis draws himself up and pushes off of the counter, ‘It’s always somebody else.’

They fall silent, the air between them thick and strained with several unsaid arguments at once. The kitchen clock ticks, its odd warped ‘tock’ sound that Alfred finds so funny a loud echo that makes Arthur want to grab it and smash it into the table to silence it forever.

‘We can go next we-‘

Francis cuts him off, ‘You don’t care Arthur. That’s the problem and you prove it time and time again. We-‘ Francis indicates to Arthur and to himself, ‘are not your priority. We-‘ he indicates upstairs now, to their children sleeping overhead, ‘are not your priority. The only priority you have is work and nothing else matters half as much.’

Arthur bites his cheek. There’s a hot pressure in his chest, several horrible thoughts that he can’t give name to building there and threatening to burst out of him.

‘And we’re your priority?’ he says and, then before he can stop himself, ‘That’s why you went and fucked-‘

Another of their nice wine glasses meets the wall with a tinkling shatter, the lukewarm wine it held splashing up the cream walls like blood. Glass shards scatter into unseen crevices, sharp reminder of their hatred left as gifts for their children’s feet to find.

Arthur is glad that he said it. Glad that, by saying it he has evened the fight. Arthur is not the only reason Francis is pushing for marriage counselling, he has his own guilts that he wishes to abate. He feels as guilty as Arthur does which is why he’s so angry with Arthur for not wanting to go, Arthur is denying him this fucking self righteous peace.

This is what Arthur hopes, at least.

Hopes that Francis feels guilty, hopes that he feels as though he has also done wrong by them. Hopes that it really isn’t just himself who is ruining their marriage.

Fears that he might be.

But perhaps there’s just a part of Arthur that likes to see Francis undone, likes to see him fall apart so completely. His beautiful husband is so very ugly when he is angry and a dirty, horrible part of Arthur loves to know that he can rip this side of him to the surface. That he can still make Francis so raw, so human- just for him. A side of his husband that no one else get to see, not even the man he fucked instead of him.

Maybe, that’s what Arthur needs to see- some emotion from Francis that isn’t cool indifference or dismissal. Anger means that he cares, means that there is something there to hurt. Something there still worth fighting for.

The cold silences hurt Arthur more than his shouting ever can and now, this is all they have left.

Day 3

[imkylotrash]

Wouldn’t Change A Thing

Pairing: Riven x reader

Requests: The reader is sarcastic and fiesty and they have constantly arguments but are really into each other. Anonymous And The reader is the only one of her kind so she's automatically an outcast and on top of that she's a dark fairy, like she can control anything to do with shadows and darkness so like the complete opposite of Stella's powers and then Riven like becomes friends with her and it becomes something more than friends. Anonymous

Tagging: @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @grey-girl @intoanothermind​

A/N I wasn’t sure if you meant dark fairy as like evil magic or dark fairy as just her powers being focused on the dark but I did a little mix, so I hope you like it! 

Look down. It’s the first thing you learn at Alfea to avoid the pointing fingers and mean looks. You tried talking back to them but when you’re one against a hundred the odds aren’t really in your favour no matter how badly you want to throw punches. Being a dark fairy meant being considered evil and bad but you just thought of the dark magic as a different kind of magic. You weren’t going around killing people or actively making life miserable for others, you just allowed your magic to be fuelled by something other than positive feelings and in turn you could control darkness. You could play with shadows and darkness creating illusions and conceal the light. Farah had let you attend Alfea in the hopes of turning your magic around but you were born with this magic. Everywhere you looked someone wanted you to be different. The only reason you attended Alfea was to learn control of your powers and be able to harness it better. The same laws of magic applied to yours even if the lessons focused on positive feelings. 

“Hey.” You look up against your better judgement to spot Riven watching you. The one specialist not bound by honour and a crucial need to do the right thing. He was the one person in this entire school who didn’t seem afraid of you despite having seen your powers in full scale. He’d volunteered to be your partner for the training program and ever since that day you’d practically been attached by the hip. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t fancy him but he literally drove you crazy most of the time. He always had some snarky comment ready to piss you off and in truth, you knew he enjoyed it. He liked seeing you all riled up. It’s the very same reason you do it to him. He’s so easy to toy with and get upset, it’s almost too easy. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you today. Aren’t the specialists doing some sort of mission on the forest?” You put air quotes around mission knowing it’ll tick him off just slightly. 

“All I’ve said was hey and you’re already being an absolute asswipe.” 

“Don’t call me an asswipe, you dickhead.” He scoffs ready for a comeback when you start laughing. How have you been together for two minutes and you’re already at each other’s throat. And this isn’t even as bad as it can get for the two of you. 

“I brought you food,” he says clearly still in a mood. You grab the sandwich from him with a smile. 

“You know you can be sweet,” you say hoping it’ll distract him from acting like a sourpuss for the rest of the afternoon. He narrows his eyes looking your way but decides to drop it. Instead he signals for you to follow him out on the field. It’s weird seeing it completely empty but all the fairies are in the hall eating and the specialists are out in the forest which allows a little bit of privacy for the two of you. 

“So, why aren’t you with the others?” You take a bite watching for any indication that he’s not ready to talk about it. You don’t want to push him or make him feel worse. You know he worries about these things even if he’ll never admit to it. 

“I got caught smoking in the forest. Silva told me to stay behind and think about my actions.” You know he’s an avid user of euphoric drugs and alcohol but it’s gotten worse lately and it worries you. 

“Have you then? Thought about your actions.” There it is. The twitch in his brow telling you that he’s reaching his breaking point of being calm to getting angry. Just a slight puff of air could push him over the edge. 

“I’ve passed all my exams so far. What does it matter if I like to smoke a little joint once in a while?” he shrugs trying to sound carefree but you know him better than that. He doesn’t want Silva or Sky to be disappointed in him but lately, it seems like that’s all they’ve been. You get it. The fear of disappointing someone you look up to and deciding to fuck things up yourself so that it’s on your terms. 

“It doesn’t. Except it isn’t just once a while anymore. It’s every day.” 

“And what’s it to you, huh? Since when do you decide what I can and can’t do?” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to do, Riven,” you say getting annoyed by his poor attitude. You can’t help how they feel. All you can do is offer insight and try to make him see where they’re coming from. They want what’s best for him and perhaps they go about it in a misguided way but it’s only because they care. 

“You’re not my girlfriend. You can stop acting like it.” He’s trying to hurt you and it’s working. You’re very aware of the fact that you’re not his girlfriend and right now you don’t want to be. When you get up to leave, he grabs hold of your wrist. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To my room. I’m sure the four walls are better company than you are right now.” You try to shake free but he’s got a strong grip. You don’t want to use your powers to make him let go but you also just really want him to let go. 

“I’m sorry. I’m taking it out on you and that’s not fair.” Some of the anger evaporates but the comment about not being his girlfriend still stings. 

“I don’t want you to change. I just wanted to offer their perspective. You’re wasting away a lot your youth on that stuff.” You return to your seat next to him well aware that you weren’t actually going to leave but the threat seemed to clear his mind. 

“I’m sorry for what I said about you not being my girlfriend.” 

“You’re right, I’m not.” You shrug trying to act unfazed but Riven doesn’t buy it. 

“I really am sorry.” He puts his arm around you letting you lean your head on his shoulder. It’s almost peaceful to sit here watching the sun go down. 

“What if I wanted to be your girlfriend?” You say it so casually you’re even shocked yourself. It sounded like you just told him that you wanted to get cereal for breakfast. Why you even said it baffles you but it’s out now. You’re tired of pretending he’s not the one you want. You don’t see yourself with anyone else and you’d rather have him screaming at you for being his annoying girlfriend than his annoying friend. 

“What?” 

“You heard me.” He visibly swallows and it’s clear that he didn’t expect you to say it. 

“Okay.” This time you’re the one turning into a stuttering mess. Did he just say yes?

“What?” 

“You heard him,” he smirks repeating you from previously. Did you just become his girlfriend? In a sense it’s perfect. You’re not into all the drama and romantic gestures. This moment right here is the perfect moment for you and Riven. 

“Well, girlfriend. I have a proposition for you then,” he smiles and right now you’d agree to pretty much anything he says. You’re still not over how casually you and Riven just became a thing and at the same time being very happy about it. 

“What proposition?” you ask feeling slightly suspicious considering that this is Riven we’re talking about. 

“How about for every time I want a blunt, I’ll come find you and kiss you instead?” His words make you blush and you’re horrified by how much of a silly, little teenager those words turn you into. 

“I’d like that.” 

“I have to warn you though. It might happen quite often.” He leans in to kiss you. 

[imagine-nation20]

Sunshine and The Art of Picking Your Battles

Summary: “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.”

Requested By: Anon

Request: “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.” for Jason Todd (with the reader being kidnapped by any villain you want)

A/N: Jason Todd will forever and always be the best robin and I will not take criticism. Also I love writing established relationship with superheroes where one doesn’t know the other is a vigilante, so enjoy some reader having no sense of self preservation, and Jason outing himself as the red hood.

~~~

You hated Gotham. Or rather, you hated the criminal underbelly of Gotham, which wasn’t so much an underbelly as it was a very obvious toupee on the top of the head of the city. Gotham was built on crime, and it would probably crumble under the weight of crime. Most people who lived there were either involved in crime, or involved in the vigilante justice served by the masked crusaders.

Running a bar in Gotham was bad, running a bar in the crummy part of Gotham was worse. That is, if you could claim any part of Gotham wasn’t crummy.

Still, it was a better job than some of the other options. Who could blame the owner of the place appointing you manager and fucking off to his apartment in the only part of Gotham that could afford working deadbolts.

So it was no wonder that you got jumped on your way home after a particularly grueling shift.

Three men dressed in suits too nice for the area. It was pretty much common sense to learn some form of self defense if you were going to live in a city like Gotham, however, three against one wasn’t exactly fair odds.

They tied your wrists, dropped a bag over your head, and then hit you with something heavy and blunt that was probably going to leave permanent damage.

Waking up was a headache, to say the least. Your head pounded like a drum, the blood rushing through your ears sounding like the waves against the harbor. Or maybe that really was the harbor.

It didn’t really matter, because you had a bigger problem to worry about than whether or not the ‘whooshing’ in your ear was blood or water. 

A man, dressed in an expensive suit, stood a few feet away. His head was covered in the dark, slightly shiny material of a mask, shaped like a skull. Beady eyes peered through, staring you down.

“So, what is a bartender like yourself doing associating with the Red Hood?” Roman Sionis was easily recognizable, and his identity was not a secret to the citizens of the city. He seemed almost proud to lord the fact that everyone knew who he was, but couldn’t put him away for anything tangible.

Unless of course that person was Batman or one of his many disciples.

“What the fuck are you on about?” You slurred. You cursed yourself internally for your inability to keep your mouth shut. Most of the time you were okay, but you were tired, and in pain, and this was the third time this week you had been assaulted, so you were over it. Criminals and crime lords were a dime a dozen, and despite his very intimidating reputation, you could not care less about Black Mask.

He laughed, and it almost sounded genuine, “I’m talking about the fact that I have on good word that Red Hood has been in your shitty little bar almost every night for the past week.”

You were going to kill Kallista.

You avoided associating with vigilantes, but your coworker, and the woman who worked most night to day shifts, was known for giving vigilantes free drinks when they dropped in. Now, it seemed you had been mistaken for her. Serves you right for having the audacity to pick up her shift when she was sick.

You had seen a few of them drop in on your way out, but never Red Hood. She probably told him not to catch you, since you would have reemed her for it. Red Hood wasn’t a criminal, but he was known for incurring their wrath like no one else, and that usually ended up in situations like this.

Yes, Kallista was going to die… so long as you made it out of this.

“Listen pal,” you started, glancing around the room for a way out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You weren’t a bad friend, and you certainly weren’t going to sick Roman Sionis on your friend. Even if she did get you in this situation in the first place.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” He yelled, taking quick steps towards you. You winced back, hearing the flick of a switchblade, and feeling the cold press against your cheek.

“Listen, if I was associating with the Red Hood, I would have told you by now.”

“For some reason, I just don’t believe you.”

“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in,” A voice echoed through the warehouse. From above, you could see the familiar brown leather jacket, and bright red helmet of the Red Hood. He was reclined against a support beam, legs dangling off the one he was sitting on. “I’m going to be honest with you, I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.”

Hopping down from the beam, he landed, knees bent, feet light. It was almost impressive, the way he could silently drop. If you weren’t so tired, you might have taken the time to marvel at the way his pants bunched and stretched. Kallista was right after all, there was a certain appeal to the vigilantes in uniform.

Roman shifted around you, knife going to your neck. You took in a sharp breath, glaring at the Red Hood as he faltered in his pace.

“Take another step and she dies,”

“I was gonna say thanks for coming, Hood,” You glared, “but you’ve kinda made the situation worse.”

You could almost see the tick of annoyance through the mask. His fists clenching slightly, he grumbled, “This is the thanks I get?”

“I’ll thank you when I don’t have a knife to my jugular.”

Black Mask tightened his grip on you, knife digging in a slight bit. You didn’t think it had pierced skin yet, but you couldn’t be sure. 

The next few seconds seemed to go by in an instant. The shattering of glass, the whizzing of something through the air, the knife nicked your neck, then was gone, and so was the grip of Roman Sionis.

Red Hood moved towards you, gloved hands untying the ropes that kept you bound to the chair. You looked to the side, seeing Black Mask passed out on the ground, a strange arrow sticking to the outside of his helmet. You could have sworn you saw little strings of electricity still moving over the black material.

The masked vigilante hoisted you from the chair, his arms slipping behind your back and beneath your knees.

“Seriously?” You deadpanned, “I can walk, you know. My legs aren’t broken.”

It didn’t seem like he cared, as he scoffed, “I still haven’t heard a thank you.”

“I didn’t think heroes were so egotistical.”

“Not really a hero, sunshine,” you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the strange effect his helmet gave off. You went stiff at the name.

Jason faltered mid step, and you knew you had him. Spewing a flurry of curses, you wriggled out of his hold and onto the gravel below. The rocks bit into your skin, and Jason moved to crouch and help, but you were already up and slapping at his arm.

“You son of a bitch, Jason,” you whisper shouted, “you’re so stupid. How long have you been the- no, I don’t want to know.”

“Sunshine-”

“Don’t you sunshine me, Todd,” you growled, “You didn’t think to tell me you were a fucking vigilante? And moreover, you were getting free drinks from my coworker while she ranted to me about your thighs?”

“What?” Jason asked, shaking his head. “No, no, I wasn’t… I was looking out for you! I was trying to make sure you got home safe! What about my thighs?”

You paused, mouth hanging open. You hadn’t known Jason for very long. He had come in during one of your shifts with a busted lip and a dazzling smile, and left with your number and the promise of a date. You should have guessed back then, if you were being honest, but you believed him when he said he had gotten jumped. Maybe he had been telling the truth, just not the whole truth.

Stalling so that you didn’t give in to his guilty look so easily, you glanced around. So it had been the ocean you were hearing. You turned back around, trying and failing to hold the vicious glare.

“You better have a ride back to my apartment, cause we are about to have a long talk about impulse control, honesty, and the art of picking battles.”

“You sound like my dad.”

Silence.

“OH MY GOD IS BRUCE WAYNE-”

[batsandbugs]

A Kiss With a Fist

AN: Hey everyone another fic coming at you! This is for the Maribat Drabble Exchange hosted by @eat0crow I’m so excited to be participating! My fic was for @pixiebuggiewrites​ who wanted a Daminette soulmate fic. Sorry I couldn’t squeeze anybody else in here it was already getting pretty long! I hope you all enjoy! You can also read it here on ao3! (Pictures are NOT mine)

Damian stormed away from the hotel, aggressively zipping his coat. He didn’t care where he was going, only that it was away from here.

He didn’t want to be in Paris. He didn’t want to watch out for incompetent amateurs. He didn’t want to ‘control your anger, Damian’. He wanted to be sent home.

The calm night taunted him, the Parisian streets were too bight and too clean, resembling nothing like his dark city. He missed patrolling, he missed his animals, hell, a part of him (a small, barely negligible part he would never admit to) even missed his siblings. But no, he was stuck here, under his father’s orders until the situation in Paris drew to a conclusion.

Considering it took five years for outside help to be even called in, he had no clue how long the mission would last. He still hadn’t met the so-called-heroes of Paris, but the research he conducted showed they were ill-trained, undisciplined, and relying on so much luck it was a fucking miracle their city wasn’t a smoking ruin by now.

He sighed, sticking his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He regretted not grabbing his gloves in his storm out. He’d been so irritated at his father that even though the man was on the other side of a screen, half-way across an ocean, Damian needed to physically leave to calm his anger. It left him little time to grab essentials for a chilly winter night like a hat, or gloves. He considered himself lucky for remembering to grab a coat at all.

He wandered for a solid hour, the cold sinking into his bones chilling the raging inferno that always seemed to bubble inside him. By the time he no longer wanted to scream at anyone, he was sufficiently lost, considering he hadn’t taken his phone with him either.

Coming to rest on a bridge he took a seat on a small bench. He puffed a warm breath of air into his chilly hands rubbing them together. Nighttime in Paris was so… different compared to Gotham. While big cities never truly slept, this was positively peaceful in comparison to what he was used to. He hadn’t even heard a single sound of ruckus or distress, which seemed strange considering the city was currently besieged by a magical butterfly terrorist.

Damian inwardly scoffed. Butterfly terrorist. True, being a Gothamite meant no room to judge, but he found it hard to think of a stranger string of words.

He sighed; Damian didn’t even know what his father wanted him to do here. Sure, he knew French and was a proficient fighter, but what could that even lend to the situation? They needed a detective, and, as much as he hated to admit it, Drake would have been the better option in that department. Unfortunately, he was off-world. Grayson was dealing with a problem in Hong Kong with Cass. Brown was paired with the rest of the Sirens taking care of Gotham along with Batman, and Todd…

Well, even he recognized what an awful choice Todd would be against a villain who literally used strong negative emotions as his weapon of choice. Damian had a temper; Todd was a ticking-time-bomb.

A high-pitched screech cut through the night air, before being noticeably muffled. Damian was on his feet and running before he even mentally acknowledged it. The thud of his boots on the cobblestone bridge sent small shocks through his legs. Another large clatter directed him off to a side street a couple of feet away. Three men had cornered a tiny slip of a woman, who held her purse like a weapon.

Damian saw red. “Hey, why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” he yelled in French. There was one benefit to being in a foreign city, Damian did not have to play the part of a clueless rich kid who couldn’t hold his own in a fight.

The brutes turned to him and grinned mean smiles. One guy stepped forward. “Come on man, we’re just having a little fun. You can join if you-” Damian cut off the disgusting words with a jab to the nose. Then he spun around, sweeping the second guy’s feet from underneath him, hitting him with a punch to the face to knock him out cold. The first guy hadn’t lost consciousness, but he was doubled over which allowed Damian to knee him in the stomach. Another punch to the face and he was out cold too.

He turned to finish off the last guy, only to see the woman roundhouse kicking him to the head. The burly man fell with a thud. The alley turned eerily silent, the only sounds coming from the sharp breaths of both Damian and the girl. His pulse fluttered fast; the heat of the battle warmed his chilled limbs.

A red purse laid on the ground near his feet. Picking it up he walked over to the small woman, no teen she looked about his age, who was still sharply breathing.

“Here, this is-” a blur is all he saw before a sharp pain spread across his nose.

Did she-

Did she just punch him in the face?

The shock of it sent him sprawling onto the ground, and he blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. Damian cradled his throbbing nose, anger bubbled once more under his skin before-

*Zing*  

The connection hit him like a train. A deep well of rightness spreading through him. He looked up through bleary eyes to find the woman staring at him in similar shock.

“You’re my soulmate,” they sputtered at each other.

Damian inwardly groaned. The League made initiates kill their soulmate should they ever find them to prove their loyalty. He grew up never wanting to find his soulmate, knowing they would serve as nothing but a distraction and weakness. Even when he joined his father, the idea seemed an unneeded liability. Sure, his brothers found their soulmates within the superhero community, but what were the chances he would too?

A small whimper escaped the mouth of the guy lying unconscious on the ground, knocked out by the woman the universe thought would be the perfect match for him. Damian tilted his head. She might not be a superhero, but maybe the universe knew him better than he first imagined.

“OhmygoshIamsosorry!” the flood of words spilled from his soulmate’s mouth, her face a deep shade of red. “I was just-”

“Acting on instinct and adrenaline? Appropriate, considering the threat you just faced,” he said without anger. “Your right hook is sufficiently adequate.”

“Um… thanks? Are you alright though?” She extended a hand to help him off the ground. He took it, his larger hand enveloped hers, but she showed a surprising amount of strength as she pulled him up. The contact sent another *zing* through his body, smaller and more subdued though. Damian found himself reluctant to let go.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He suffered worse in training before. With the initial pain dissipated, all that was left was a dull throbbing that would be gone by morning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a bright smile. He took the chance to finally observe his soulmate. She was small, couldn’t be more than 5’2, which meant at 6’1 he towered over her. She was of mixed descent, with dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and bright blue eyes. Her arms and legs were toned with muscle, and she held herself with grace and confidence. She wore a face of tasteful makeup and was clothed in a short red dress and a pair of strappy heels with no jacket in sight. He had no clue how she wasn’t freezing to death.

Her smile dimmed a bit. “Actually, no, I’ve had better days. Today has kinda been a perfect disaster; first I’m late for school, then I forgot my homework, and my class bully decided it was a pick-on-Marinette day. There’s a three-hour Akuma fight, involving mind-control, which is always a total drag. I finally get home to find my parents worried sick about me because I hadn’t answered my phone which got destroyed at the beginning of the fight. I go to my class’s senior Valentine’s day dance hoping to finally confess to the guy I’ve had a crush on for years, only to get humiliated because he already has a girlfriend, and everyone else in my class knew and decided not to tell me. When I get away not to cause a scene, not only do I forget my jacket, but I also get attacked by three bumbling idiots with more mouths than brains.” She chuckled, hollow and verging on manic.

Damian stood there, unsure how to take all of that. He filed away the fact she was being bullied, and that she commonly dealt with Akuma attacks. Both equally important, as far as he was concerned.

“Now, here I am, standing in front of my gorgeous soulmate I punched in the face, after beating up said earlier idiots, rambling my mouth off because I don’t know the meaning of the word chill. Yep! I’ve certainly had better days. Ohmygoshimatotalmesskillmenow.” She muttered the last part into her hands, but Damian understood her all the same.

He would come back to the gorgeous thing later.

“…Do you want my jacket? You look cold.” It wasn’t the smoothest thing he could have said, nor the most appropriate considering the mess of a day she’d had. However, the manners Alfred drilled into his brain came knocking and if he was cold with a turtle-neck long-sleeved shirt and a jacket, she must be freezing in all that… nothingness. He averted his eyes from her exposed skin, looking at her face instead.

His soulmate looked at him for a long moment, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“You know what, yeah, a jacket would be nice,” she said in a tired voice. Damian shed his coat quickly, not minding the sharp sting of cold that hit him. He helped his soulmate into the sleeves and took an odd little pleasure in seeing how tiny she looked in the folds of his jacket.  

“I’m Marinette, by the way, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She wrapped the jacket closer cuddling into the heat. “Sorry for kinda freaking out on you there.”

“The kind of day you’ve had has surely broken lesser mortals. Any coping method is your due. I’m Damian, Damian Wayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you Marinette.” He smiles, although the gesture feels odd, trying to appear non-threatening. While his soulmate (and maybe he was coming around to this faster than he thought possible) was obviously skilled at dealing with a variety of stressors, he didn’t want to add any more and risk her being akumatized.

“You as well Damian.” She shivered despite the added protection of his coat, as a gust of wind swept through the alleyway. “As much fun as this conversation has been, it might be best for us to get out of the cold.”

“Indeed. What will we do with these inconveniences?” he asked, poking one of the guys with the tip of his boot.

She sighed, picking her purse from the ground where he’d dropped it. “We’ll call the police to come pick them up. They’ll be cold, but fine.”

Damian scowled, “It’s better than they deserve.” He sneered at the guy who offered for Damian to join them. Join them in assaulting this tiny, bright girl, who’d been through enough. His soulmate. The bubbling rage began anew, and he wished he’d done more than just knock them unconscious, they deserved far worse for thinking, daring, to touch-

A small hand rested on his arm, dragging him out of his violent thoughts. “I’m fine Damian. Even if you hadn’t arrived, I would have been fine. I can hold my own in a fight. This is Paris after all.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “Fine. We’ll leave them to their fates.” And if their fates happened to involve complete ruination of their online lives, credit scores, and secure information? Well, that was hardly his fault, now was it?

“There’s a good café opened late around the corner. Would you- would you like to go there?” Marinette asked.

Damian smiled at the tentative offer. “I would very much enjoy that, yes. I’ve been out for longer than I should, coffee would be great right about now.” She giggled and he felt his stomach flutter. Funny, giggling always annoyed him, but that bright clear sound... he could grow used to that.

Walking out of the dark alley, listening to Marinette talk to the police on her phone, Damian sighed. The streets no longer felt too clean, or the lights too bright. Yes, he was colder, and yes this was a complication, but for some reason, Damian could not bring himself to care.

Maybe Paris wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 304: The Council of OFA

Previously on BnHA: Hawks and Best Jeanist were all, “what up Todofam, we are here to apply for the positions of ‘son #4’ and ‘weird uncle’, respectively,” and then proceeded to insert themselves into the family drama without waiting for an answer. Hawks briefed Endeavor on the nation’s current status of “totally fucked”, promised to help him sort that out, and then asked him about OFA. Endeavor was all, “oh do you mean One For All, the mysterious thing that my intern Deku was apparently being targeted for?” and then we cut away, presumably before Endeavor could clarify that it never occurred to him to follow up on that, and Hawks was all “no of course not, why would it occur to anyone other than me to follow up on any of this super weird and ominously important shit.” Anyway so meanwhile Bakugou was all “LET ME SCREAM AT DEKU UNTIL HE WAKES UP” and the other kids were all “NO”, and then the chapter ended with All Might being all “I wonder what the vestige!me is currently chatting with Deku about.”

Today on BnHA: Deku drops in on the Vestiges, who are all “sup Deku, how do you like our fancy chairs.” OFA II and III are all “if you need us we’ll just be standing here silently in the corner pretending to be invisible and sparking endless discourse with our mere existence.” OFA IV is all “and now I will explain to you in a very convoluted way that you being quirkless was actually a good thing, since it means that you are probably not going to suddenly drop dead at the age of twenty. But also you’re probably going to be the last user of OFA for that very same reason.” Deku is all “that is wild. I’m just gonna stand here and stare at my hand.” Nana is all “so now that that’s settled could you please do me a small favor and kill my grandson for me”, because having just one topic to discourse about this week WASN’T ENOUGH, apparently. Thanks so much Horikoshi.

(ETA: okay so just a note before I start, this week’s RHA translation was a huge mess, so I followed up this chapter by reading a couple of other translations. the main one I’m using for reference is the one by @hanashimas​, whose weekly posts I highly recommend. anyway so you’ll see a couple of ETAs in this post in places where the initial translation was off.)

how many layers of bandages did they wrap this poor kid’s fucking hand in omg

jesus Deku. are you holding onto a bouquet of flowers under that thing?? or a tennis racket??

omg yes, finally

is he reading these names off a teleprompter lol. and if so, what has Jeanist ever done to slight you, Deku? “god bless Kacchan and Aizawa-sensei and Todoroki-kun and everyone else in the whole wide world... except for Best Jeanist. fuck that guy.” actually this joke would be funnier if half of tumblr didn’t legit feel that way lol but anyway

OH MY GOD

I NEED TO HAVE A TALK TOO. ABOUT, OH, EVERYTHING

I got immediate KHR vibes from ALL OF THIS. this is seriously such a Vongola aesthetic. “let’s use the luxuriously cushioned chairs with the seat backs that are ten feet high, and arrange all of the handsome ghost people in a big circle” like come on

that said there are also some slight LoTR vibes as well. “bring forth the ring, Deku”

I like how Six is sitting there with his feet drawn up all casual, but with his arms inexplicably sticking STRAIGHT OUT IN FRONT OF HIM and dangling over his knees like he’s doing some sort of zombie walk

apparently the Fourth wasn’t a big fan of shoes huh

interesting that All Might is the only one who’s still faint/indistinct, and and that Two and Three are fully visible

(ETA: the rest of my speculation about Two and Three has been moved into a separate post, the better to focus on the shit that’s actually happening in this chapter lol.)

and lastly, interesting that all of them are talking now, except for All Might (and I guess the Second and Third as well). to the best of my knowledge Deku hasn’t unlocked the Sixth’s quirk yet, so I guess the quirks don’t really have anything to do with it

oh and it looks like Deku’s mouth is still covered. I guess that’s convenient for the vestiges since we all know it’s hard to stop Deku once he gets going. but on the other hand it’s very inconvenient for people like me who wanted to see some interaction. alas

so First says that OFA’s power has grown a lot in the last four months (i.e. since Deku unlocked Blackwhip), and now the vestiges can communicate with each other as well as Deku

so even when Deku’s not around they can all just chill with each other. this is such a weird thing to me lol. like it’s cool, don’t get me wrong, but it’s also strange as hell to know that you’ve got eight other people hanging out in your head spying on everything you do and having conversations with each other about it. it would be like if Dark Shadow had someone to hang out with other than Tokoyami. good thing you weren’t triplets, Tokoyami

First says that it’s become easier for the vestiges to interact with Deku ever since TomurAFO barged into the OFA Domain back at Jakku. huh

(ETA: apparently this is because AFO forcibly pulled out OFA’s power when he was trying to steal the quirk, so I guess that makes sense.)

okay thank you Banjou for addressing this concern which I initially brought up as a joke, but which was apparently real enough for you to reassure Deku about

“don’t worry, even though we’re awake and hanging out inside of you at all times, we’re definitely not secretly watching and making fun of every single thing you do” hmmmmm

(ETA: “not that you could do anything about it even if we were, since you’re probably going to be the last OFA holder ever!” I don’t trust anything this asshole says lmao.)

OH SHIT??

YESSS DEKU now you can hold them accountable for all of their bullshit! because I do not doubt that there will be bullshit lol but let’s see how that goes

oh damn

well okay then. you didn’t have to stand up and walk over to him and loom all threateningly like that but okay sir

this guy has kind of a Kimimaro vibe to him. remember? that bone-growing guy from Naruto? except I’m pretty sure he had eyebrows. and wasn’t twenty feet tall. speaking of which, that explains the chairs

why are you wearing only 3/5ths of a shirt

lol what

someone’s gonna have to explain this to me. is he just redundant or something lol, or is he strangely poetical or what

(ETA: apparently HE’S MAKING A PUN omg. I immediately gained +10 love for him lol. also it flows a lot better in Japanese. this is one of the things Caleb is usually good at, so we’ll see what he does with the wordplay.)

omg the hermit theory is true!!

“I’M NOT WEIRD, IT’S SOCIETY WHICH IS WEIRD.” lol whatever you say buddy. also love how Banjou tried to give him a big hearty slap on the back but Hermit Boy was not having it lmao

IS HE TRYING TO CAPTURE HIM WITH BLACKWHIP

AND ACTUALLY, NO, SIR, AS A MATTER OF FACT, WE ARE NOT AWARE. SO SPILL!!

?!!?

okay my first response was LOL ARE YOU SERIOUS, THAT’S THE BIG SECRET!? -- and then it hit me what the significance of “died from old age... AT AGE FORTY” meant. at which point it was like “!!!!!” and then “OH, SHIT”

(ETA: there’s also an Iida joke here somewhere but I’m just too tired to make it.)

oh my god oh my god

did he somehow get a copy of the coroner’s report or something? like how does he even know that he died from “old age” as opposed to any number of other natural causes? ??

but anyway. so this is the quirk singularity coming into play then I guess. but then how come All Might is still alive and ticking?

(ETA: so this is one example of where this week’s translation is a mess lol. apparently the Fourth explains here that he didn’t know what the fuck he died from until All Might researched it. and it turns out there actually was an autopsy lol so there you go.)

so Fourth says he held OFA for eighteen years, and since he knew he would never be strong enough to defeat AFO on his own he basically just spent all his time punching rocks in the woods and training to power the quirk up

oh shit

is he implying that his body literally fell apart?? like that’s how he got the scars on his face? -- IS THAT WHAT KEEPS HAPPENING TO TOMURA, THEN. oh shit

DUDE

so you’re telling me that this quirk actively shortens the lifespan of anyone who uses it?? and my little boy here has had it now for a year already?? fuck me, I have immediately have a TON of thoughts about all this but let me save it until he’s done with his explanation

THANK YOU, DEKU

right?? how come All Might didn’t die then. even after he got injured. please don’t tell me he actually is dying still and is just being slow about it because I SWEAR TO GOD

what does this mean??

so what you’re trying to say is you all have NO FUCKING IDEA how long Deku’s gonna be able to hold this quirk before he SUDDENLY DROPS DEAD?! five generations ago this dude was able to hold it for eighteen years, and then four generations later All Might was able to hold it for thirty-odd years or so, and now Deku has it and you all have no clue which way it’s gonna go? actually this makes it sound like it really wasn’t OFA that killed the Fourth at all and you guys are just really bad at forming hypotheses. but since you’re making a big plot point out of it I guess it must be true

and don’t think I didn’t notice the part where you said you didn’t have OFA very long and then “died while fighting”, Firsto. I want to hear more about that. specifically who you passed the quirk onto before your death

and yes, if we are agreeing that OFA was the cause of the Fourth’s death, then the conclusion on this next page is the natural one to draw

so that’s a bit of a relief then, because Deku is quirkless too. so it means he won’t be able to hold OFA forever (and will probably have to find another quirkless person to pass it on to), but at least he won’t be randomly dying out of the blue next Tuesday or something

oh my god now he’s talking about OFA and AFO and user consciousnesses and all sorts of good theory stuff but it’s so much exposition. you’re really gonna make me read all this lol

wait what. why would All Might being quirkless have anything to do with the presence of his vestige in OFA Outer Space Party Land

but Deku is also quirkless and he’s clearly visible and chatting with you guys. so what gives. like how much of this is verified fact and how much of it is you guys just shrugging and making stuff up lol

SERIOUSLY, GUYS

BUT DEKU IS ALSO -- you know what, never mind sob. none of this shit makes any sense but whatever

(ETA: seriously, this all seems like an awful lot of speculation on their part. for Deku’s sake I sure hope they’re right.)

FSSKDJFLSKLKJLKJL ALL MIGHT IS FIFTY-FIVE?!

lol that’s a full ten years past my closest estimate, wow. but this pretty much confirms his age now at last! or at least confirms it within a couple of years, because we know All Might and Nana met when he was in middle school, and he presumably had the quirk by the time he took the U.A. entrance exam. so yeah. gonna go with fifty-five

so they think that because All Might was quirkless, OFA was better able to adapt to his body and became his true quirk, as opposed to being an extra quirk that stacked on top of the one he already had and overwhelmed him. ties in back to the whole “AFO used to bend people to his will by forcing quirks on them” thing, as well as the “Noumus are all mindless because of the strain of having multiple quirks”

Two and Three are really ruining the serious vibe of this scene here lol

they look like they’re doing the counting for hide and seek

and is this Deku talking now? I was about to get mad at First for implying that quirkless people are somehow freaks, as opposed to “normal” people jdslk

so in other words, don’t go giving it to your best friend all casually for shits and giggles, Deku. even if it would make a really cool climax for a movie. well shit. maybe that’s why they were so quick to nope back into Deku’s body afterward

so First says that because quirkless people are becoming rarer and rarer, the fact that All Might just happened to stumble upon Deku is “nothing short of a miracle.” which, yeah, that was definitely a stroke of luck there. being quirkless saved his life. but being quirkless is also part of why he was chosen in the first place, and we’ve always known that much

“in other words, kiddo...”

looks like there was some hurried clone stamp usage going on here lol. but props to RHA as always for putting this scan out so fast, especially given how exposition-heavy this week’s chapter has been

“anyways, that was the main topic” ARE YOU SERIOUS. there are like ten other topics imma need you all to get to here, people

(ETA: seems like this is a mistranslation; the line should actually read something more along the lines of “and now for the main topic.”)

FFFFFFFFF

“ENJOY YOUR CLIFFHANGER THIS WEEK.” dskfalkjlkjwlgkjl you really went and dumped this discourse on us yet again. fucking...

(ETA: forgot to mention, but as several people mentioned, this seems to be another mistranslation -- rather than asking Deku to kill Tomura as though it’s doing her a personal favor, Nana is asking “will you be able to do it.” in other words more of an “are you capable of doing it” type of thing. which is a very reasonable question to ask given that Deku is, well, Deku.)

anyways, and the answer is obviously going to be “no” of course. this isn’t going to end any differently than when the previous Avatars all told Aang to kill Ozai. but I guess it means we’re in for a fun conversation next week

so Nana looks pretty grim here though (nothing at all like the person who once taught All Might the importance of saving people with a smile), and I’m wondering if this means she believes that her grandson is already beyond saving. as in killing him would be a mercy, as opposed to him continuing to live with AFO bending his mind and body to his will. except if that is the case, I think she’s underestimating Tomura’s own will. and definitely underestimating Deku’s will to save

and also, just... I’m so fucking sick of AFO screwing the Shimura family over, honestly. this is exactly what he wanted. well fuck you, guy. you don’t get to have what you want. go out there and save Tomura, Deku. for his sake and for Nana’s. give them some hope. do your thing, boy. can’t wait for your big speech all about it next chapter lol