#i don't hate splinter or anything

[booksandberries]

i have GOT to write a research paper on AI, advertising, health insurance, all the horrible things happening in the world so i can pull up receipts and have the information organized, if not in my head then somewhere i can easily pull it up when people say stupid things

[cosmic-kiwi]

I think what we’re seeing here is ‘normies’ who are aware enough to realize that the counter-cultural groups of the past are now thought of as cool.

And ‘normies’ by their very nature want acceptance from mainstream society and for other people to think they’re cool. And so they become attracted to this superficial concept of ‘counter-cultural’ and want to find ways to apply it to all their mainstream interests so they can feel ‘cool’ too – in an acceptable way.

Basically ‘counter-cultural’ has become… trendy. Which makes it main-stream. Which makes things that are called it probably actually not very counter-cultural at all.

(Come to think of it, aren’t Coachella and Burning Man just a bunch of social media obsessed trend chasers dressed up as... hippies?)

you guys just say sentences

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Tw animal death

I just lost one of my pet rats and I need to talk about it I guess

I just didn't expect this. He's been doing better, eating and drinking and moving around the cage. Last night I let myself believe for a moment that he would get better. But then I checked on him this morning and he was gone. I let his brother see him, and once he lost interest I took him out. But once I held him in my arms I just couldn't let him go. Because that's my baby. He's my baby and I love and miss him so much and I don't know what to do.

I got him and his brother from a friend because she had to move to an apartment that didn't accept pets and her family couldn't take them, so I took them because I was moving and wanted some critters to accompany me. And they were the best things that ever happened to me. Taking care of them and loving them was one of my favorite parts of life. I missed them while I was at work and couldn't wait to get home and let them out for free roam time. And now one is gone, and I have to tell my friend and I don't know how to. Text or call, what to say, anything.

He's in a little box with a couple toys, some goldfish crackers (his favorite snack) and a piece of hammock (he loved snuggling with his brother in a hammock). And I had to decide how to take care of my baby. I live in the city with no green spaces and no yard. When planning I thought I could just put him out with the trash, but holding him after he was gone made me completely unable to do that. I checked some rat groups on Facebook and they recommended burying him in a plant pot, so that's what I'm going to. As soon as I'm okay enough to leave my room I'm gonna go to the plant shop and get him a beautiful plant in a nice big pot. And I wanted something to keep of him, and to give to his old owner if she wants it, so I took some of his fluff and put it in a little jar meant to hang on a necklace and I'll mail it if she wants it.

I just needed to say all of this to process it ig. I wouldn't mind some nice words or pictures of your pets, if you're willing to share. Otherwise, I hope you all have a wonderful day.

[moonstruckme]

hellooow i love your writing and characterization is so good 🤌🤌🤌 could you write something about james and r talking about their future together and james is like "yess and we'll live in a nice house with two or three little us running around!!" and reader is like "haha thats so cute love but i don't want kids... ._."

Thanks for requesting!

modern au

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You tsk, adding a picture to your pinterest board. “It’s decided. Someday, when we move out of this apartment, I simply can’t live without a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.” 

“Mm.” James’ hum vibrates on your chest. He’s been lying there for some time, in and out of dozing while you’re on your phone. “I think that can be arranged. I want a fireplace.” 

“You just want to chop up wood.” 

You feel his smile spread against your skin. “And so what if I do?” 

“It wasn’t a criticism. So long as I can come watch.” 

His laugh is a warm puff of air, followed by a soft kiss just below your collarbone. This commences a fascination that involves his lips making a slow, idle perusal of your skin. “Do you think you want a big house?” 

“Not really.” Your attention has been pulled from your screen, the sight below you too adorable to ignore. You thread your fingers into James’ hair. “Too much cleaning. Honestly, if you have any questions you should just look at my pinterest. I’ve got it all laid out. We can make room for whatever TV you want, though, I suppose. Plus a secret tunnel to Sirius’ and Remus’.” 

“Obviously,” he agrees. “Yeah, I’m the same. All I need is my fireplace, you, and maybe a nice backyard for the kids.” 

Your hand stills on James’ head as a heavy weight drops into your chest. 

You’ve managed to evade this conversation, you’re not sure how. You’re not sure why either. Maybe just to make a good thing last, for as long as you could. But you know how much James loves kids. And if you’re honest with yourself, this, the proof that he does expect them one day, has always felt inevitable. You feel like a liar for not bringing it up with him sooner. 

Maybe it worsens your deception, but you keep your tone light as you ask, “Would you settle for a backyard for a couple of dogs instead?”

James gives a little laugh, tinged with bemusement. It makes you feel worse. 

“Or cats,” you say, voice growing smaller. “Or no pets, up to you.” 

It’s probably your obvious unease that tips him off. James looks up at you. You straighten his glasses for him automatically. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, and there’s no accusation in his tone, only curiosity. 

A low buzzing burrows into your ears, not unlike how you imagine it’d sound if you were drowning. 

“I don’t really want kids.” 

James’ face falls, and your heart splinters. 

“You don’t?” It’s like he thinks he might’ve misheard you. 

You shake your head. “I’m sorry,” you say, immediately angry with yourself for apologizing but not angry enough to overshadow your guilt. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I just don’t. It’s not that I hate kids or anything, I just, I don’t want to have any of my own.” 

“Oh.” The word seems to leave James on a breath, faint and hollow. “Okay.” 

Your eyes burn, and you cannot cry right now but you can’t seem to shut up either. “If I ever did want to, it would be with you. But I just—” your voice fractures “—I don’t want to bring kids into a home that doesn’t want them, even if—if it’s only me that doesn’t. It’s not fair.” 

“No, you’re right.” James’ voice sounds a bit more like him now. He’s nodding, slowly, like he’s still wrapping his head around things. “You shouldn’t have kids if you don’t want them. For you and for them.” 

You nod. Hot tears trudge down your cheeks. 

Wordlessly, he sits up and wraps his arms around your shoulders. James is a really good hugger. Tight and warm, like he’s given and received plenty in his life. You know he’d be a great dad. Any kid would be lucky to have him, someone who comes from a love passed down and strengthened through generations. You’re just not meant to be a mom. 

You hold onto each other tightly, and you wonder if it’s the last time you will. You know in your heart that you’re doing the right thing for yourself, that you should never make such a life-altering choice based on someone else, but right now you’re desperate enough to consider it. You think you might do anything to keep him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

James pushes his face into your neck. You think, to your horror, that he might be crying too. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t want you to be sorry, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.” 

“I wish that I wanted to.” 

“You don’t. It’s okay.” 

You sit there like that for long minutes. When James pulls back, he sets his hands to your face, smiling ruefully as he thumbs away your tears. You choke out a little laugh and do the same for him. You have the urge to kiss his cheek, warm and beloved, but you don’t know if you should. 

“We can have pets,” he says in a quiet, rough voice. “And if Sirius and Rem or Lily or anyone has kids, I can just be their favorite uncle.” 

“You would be,” you say. “Being their aunt would be fun, too.” You study him anxiously. “Are you sure?” 

James’ lies down beside you, seemingly exhausted. “Sure about what?” 

You chew the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know, I guess that you’re okay with this.” 

He doesn’t answer right away, which you appreciate. You want him to think about it. A sigh leaves him, long and heavy. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to the idea,” he says finally. 

“But…for right now, you don’t want to break up?” 

“What?” James turns to look at you. Whatever he sees makes his face soften. “Oh—no, honey, I don’t want that. That wasn’t even…I wasn’t thinking like that.”

“Are you sure?” you ask again, though it threatens to bring another wave of tears. “I know you pictured things differently. I’d get it.” 

“I always wanted all of that with you,” he says, soft and yet somehow firm. “It’s going to take me some time to change how I picture the rest, but you’re not going anywhere. Not if I can help it.” His mouth curves slightly as he holds out his hand in invitation. You place yours in it. He brings your palm to his lips, kissing your heart line. “It’s you and me, yeah?” 

A pleasant feeling skitters up your arm to sit in your chest. “Yeah.”

[rottmnt-residuum]

Hi, I've read the Residuum comic, and I think the characterization of the boys is really good. I was wondering if you have any tips on how to write them? Especially Mikey, please.

I'd actually recommend re-watching the show with one character in mind. All my notes on the turtles come from doing separate re-watches for each of them. The key is to ONLY watch the character you are focusing on.

In the end, you'll probably be happier with your own personal interpretation. As we are with ours lol

TL;DR

Massive post under the cut

To preface: we'll be contrasting (this Mikey) against the fandoms version of Mikey, as our interpretation is very different. Don't worry if you prefer the fandom version, there's nothing… wrong per se with writing him this way. We just find him flat and uninteresting. (Main author: not me, I just hate him, lol).

Every reader or fan comes into a story with their own biases and experiences. A ton of our view of Mikey is based on how our siblings acted. We see Mikey as the young sibling that got preferential treatment from the whole family, simply due to being the youngest, but is now aging out of the privilege. Which all youngest siblings do at some point or another.

The fandoms version of Mikey is empathetic, naive, vulnerable, co-dependent and quite often a door mat who cries at the drop of a hat. And as much as the fandom like to say that people love him… when this particular character archetype is in other media, they seem to attract the most criticism. Mable pines, Bolin from Korra, people rag on Aang all the fucking time, and Steven Universe is a whole other bag. These characters don't deserve it, and yet it happens anyway.

To flatten Mikey to simply 'the baby' is a disservice. We don't see or write Mikey as the fandom “baby” version (cinnamon roll uwu). Part of this comes from having multiple siblings, so we interpret the times when Mikey does the puppy dog eyes as typical younger sibling bullshit, mostly by the way that the other turtles rarely react to it, if at all.

The other turtles traits can also get projected onto Mikey. Mikey being the fandom therapist is in the same category as this. He isn't a therapist, he's a psychology nerd who likes to psychoanalyze people and meddle in their relationships. (Donnie and Shelldons relationship, Splinter and Draxums...) he's not trying to resolve your emotional issues. Of the turtles, the character that cares the most about people's feelings is Raph. And Leo is more of a consoler than Mikey ever is. It flattens all the turtle's characterizations when you start doing this because you are ripping out parts that are integral to another characters' complexity.

Co-author has told me that they've seen people become confused when going into the show after only reading fan fiction or coming from the movie. They see his characterization as inconsistent and become upset when their view of him is contradicted. This also happens when a fandomized version of him becomes the primary characterization that they use. Sometimes when this disconnect happens (or if they just don't like the character), Mikey characterization is swung in the complete opposite direction.

They make him manipulative and abusive, or someone who is hyper violent and avoids being held accountable for anything. This is an uncharitable interpretation of him and can come off as pretty racist depending on the circumstances. (like if someone considers the turtles black or not)

Every version of Mikey is a shithead (affectionate), even this one. Especially this one, really. When Mikey not doing the "baby schtick" hes mean. If you pay attention to what he's saying, and just not his tone of voice, he's consistently saying pretty mean or condescending stuff. (You could take this as simply naïveté, but he still says mean shit pretty often regardless)

The times he does say genuinely nice stuff the turtles don't exactly expect it from him, at least, in the early season. And while he is mean, and seems to find saying mean things to be funny, Mikey isn't cruel. Nor will he ever be.

This shit-headery behavior is found in both 2003 and 18 Mikey. They have a degree of social intelligence that lets them use it to annoy people into doing what they want. 18 just has the advantage of being baby faced and having better tonal control. He's good at using people's perception of him to get what he wants.

Let Mikey have his problematic traits, but don't overexaggerate them. He doesn't revel in fooling people. He loves doing character bits, and the baby faced one just happens to be one of them. However, to infantilize or to deem him incompetent is to piss him off, he wants to be viewed as a competent part of the team and competent as an individual. He's not insecure about being young, he just doesn't want to be treated like he can't do anything.

Mikey above all is an optimistic character, he sees the brighter side quite often and is conscious of the harm his actions have on people. Mostly after the fact, but he consistently attempts to rectify the harm he has personally done to peoples lives. (Todd, Bullhop, Draxum). Food and shelter seems to be a thing that he considers to be a right. He doesn't cross a boundary twice once he learns of it, and he never pushes people too far (if he likes you, that is. if he doesn't know you or doesn't like you, he doesn't give a singular shit. But that is standard to most people.). He doesn't care about people's stuff, though. He breaks things all the time.

Mikey understands boundaries, but he doesn't automatically recognize them. He needs them to verbalized or for there to be a very obvious reaction to the boundary being crossed (unfortunately, for Todd and Donnie). Sometimes people mess up (esp. younger people), and it can take a while for teens to learn where boundary is, but he fully respects the boundaries he does know about. He doesn't act petulant when he's told about boundary, he apologizes, accepts it, and moves on. He doesn't dwell.

Mikey doesn't hold on to distressing emotions. He bounces between emotions quickly, but isn't effected in the long run. One thing Iv'e seen people often conflate is the difference between sensitive and vulnerable. Mikey is sensitive, but I have never seen him vulnerable to others. To be sensitive is to be easily influenced by the current situation. To be vulnerable is to hold that influence for a long time. Characters can have one, both, or neither of these traits. But Mikey is not vulnerable. It is the difference between compressing memory foam and a piece of metal until they deform. One will pop back, the other does not.

Those who are vulnerable but not sensitive will take longer to effect, but once you do, they will hold on to that emotion for a very long time. The vulnerable, are grudge holders. (leo). But like I've said, Mikey bounces back. What a character does has an effect on his emotions, but it doesn't make a lasting impression.

Forgiveness is another thing people like to push on him. It is not that Mikey forgives people easily, it's just that he doesn't hold grudges. He neither forgives nor forgets, but he does not ruminate. He's generally affable, first impressions seem to be a big part of how he views people. He is idealistic, and doesn't assume people are unchanging and/or evil, but he's not a mark.

Mikey isn't so much as naive or overly trusting… it's just that he's inexperienced. He doesn't get fooled by anyone in the series except meat sweats, and that's because Meatsweats is on Todd drugs. Mikey just didn't notice when he started faking. He's not… actually all that aware of people's emotional states, passively. He has to tune in to notice things like that.

Mikey isn't someone who really tries to regulate others emotions, either. The fandom like to make Mikey afraid of his brothers fighting and others being upset, but Mikey doesn't actually care. The most distressed we ever see him in a fight is in the movie, and he's not SCARED, he's just concerned (and then alarmed once it turned physical). If anything, outside extenuating circumstances (like the movie), Mikey actually seems to find their fights annoying.

(Mikey actually seems to have a pretty short fuse, but his bounciness doesn't really let it linger very long, lmao)

(One pet peeve of fandom Mikey is the constant crying, crying at fights, crying at insults, crying for no reason all the time. Sure, he tears up when he gets emotional, but when Mikey is genuinely crying It's when he's desperate, like when he's hungry, or when he's trying to save Leo from certain doom. Same thing, really.)

Mikey respects no one (we love him for this). He admires people, he admires his family: April, the turtles, his dad, Lou Jitsu. He admires Rupert Swaggert, but he respects none of them. No one is sacrosanct to the Mikey.

Above all, the way we write characters is to give them a past that informs how they act now. We view Mikey and the other turtles as teenagers that were kids, and that will be adults. Yes they all have “problematic” traits, but 1) good characters need flaws, and controversial traits are one of the best to use, and 2) they're teenagers, don't expect adult behaviors from them, also don't expect them to be kids. They're minors, not toddlers.

This is getting as long enough as it is, so we'll stop here, but this is a very broad overview of how we characterize him. There's a lot we didn't cover here, but if we even started on hobbies, or the real minutia of his quirks and ticks, or even how he feels about other specific characters... we'd be here all day. So I hope this is good enough lol

If there was something you wanted to know in particular, you'll need to get specific. Feel free to ask again ahahh

[arminsumi]

WHO IS SHE?

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

A Kyoto student gives the Six Eyes a run for his money during the tournament. Are they really fighting or just flirting?

M.LIST

1.2k

Summary : during the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event, a student Gojo encounters someone who can match his strength. It's not humbling. It hurts his pride. But neither of you can deny the tension between you two. You and him are just flirting back and forth like crazy, forming a lustful rivalry.

Warnings : 🔞 minors do not read/interact : mature/18+ content, not proofread, blood, innuendos / suggestive jokes (use of daddy, kitten), sexual/romantic tension, rivalry, making a sexual bet (bj if gojo wins 🫡), cliffhanger ending ig

Note : ayo... AYOOOOOOO!!! i found this idea in the drafts from 3 months ago and wrote smth for it... LET ME KNOW IF U WANT MORE??? bc there's more content for it... hehe 🤭💗 it's got that rivals that wanna fuck type beat ig

🍒 More from Jay : Gojo works / Gojo fave works / JJK works

There's crimson blood dribbling out his nose, and he wipes it away in amazement.

What the hell just hit me?

"Heyyy Six Eyes~!" you smile, split-sitting on a branch.

Gojo Satoru rears his head up at you and squints from the sun. He makes out your figure, hears your voice, and feels this sense of mortality. It gives him a rush.

Fuck. Who is she...? That Kyoto student?

"Oh. Hey Kyoto Princess." He returns condescendingly. He sinks his hands in his pockets to look at ease, though he's anything but in your presence right now. You really shook him up there.

"The blood looks hot on you." you flirt and cause his heartbeat to accelerate.

"Uh-huh... you gonna stay up there like a scaredy cat or you gonna come down here and show me those claws again, kitten?"

He's trying so hard to scramble up those words. He's trying so hard to seem intimidating. To stand his ground against you. He's trying so very, very hard. He's straining himself. Neck tendons pronouncing with his hard swallow. Sweat beading off his forehead.

Damn the summer sun. It makes the tournament so much harder. Though admittedly, he'd be startled by your technique during any season.

You lean down and make a feline movement that makes something click in the horny region of his brain.

"Nah, I like the view from up here... why don't you climb up 'n come give me kitty cuddles?" you say.

Ooh. That voice is chilling. I like it.

"No fucking way." he laughs incredulously. "You can come."

"Oh is daddy giving his kitten permission to cum?" you play.

His eyes go wide. "What the fu—"

There's a rush of wind, your friend interrupts the awkward flirting and comes to your side and asks you what the situation is.

"Why the hold up? You said you'd come 'round again, I was waiting for you. That bangs guy is kind of a menace... 'coulda used your help."

"Sorry..." you smile and maintain this electric eye contact with Gojo. "I got a bit infatuated with Mister Six Eyes over there. He's quite the cutie pie."

Gojo's heart flutters... and he hates it. He feels boyish because of you. Like he's just some dumb teenager with a crush on the hot girl who gave him a nosebleed. Literally, in this case.

"Uh... okay...? Sheesh. Were you trying to fight him or cause deforestation?" your friend grimaces at the splintered and split trees. "Um... anyways... can we go, or are you two still busy flirting?"

"I'm coming, alright." you wink at Gojo.

"What the fu— SUGURU."

Oh, such good timing. Bangs guy appears.

"What's the hold up?" Suguru asks.

Your friend chimes, "That's what I was asking! These two are fucking flirting!"

"Haha, what? Oh Satoru... why is your nose all bloody?" Suguru asks nonchalantly.

"A cat scratched me."

"...? What? What happened?"

"She happened." Gojo glares at you.

You wave at him. He wishes he could bite you, but he's not ready just yet to approach you.

Suguru looks at his friend, then at you, then at the damaged trees, and his features grow both impressed and confused.

"You're telling me... a tiny thing like her did all this?"

Gojo shrugs funnily, "Yeah, she's pretty romantic, isn't she?"

You wink at him. He feels a pang in his chest and furrows his brows.

"Okay. Yeah. Sam, I see what you mean about them flirting."

"Right?"

You giggle. Gojo groans.

There's an auditory announcement echoing through the forest.

Today's event is ending, please return to the starting point.

"Aw, playtime is over. See you next time, Six Eyes."

"Keep callin' me Six eyes, princess, I fucking dare you." Gojo seethes.

All four of you trek back to the starting point. Gojo is stealing hot glances of you, looking grumpy but feeling his pants tighten. You're sweating from the heat. So is he.

I can make you weak for me. Just you wait.

"Satoru, tell me all about it. I want the details." Suguru leans close and asks in a hushed tone. You're busy talking to your friend, outright humiliating poor Mister Six Eyes to her.

"She's too damn fast." he grumbles, rubbing his neck to get the tension out. You really gave his poor body a beating back there. "Like a flicker in my vision... uh, but the main reason she was a challenge was because of all that flirting, of course."

"Oh, yeah right..." Suguru rolls his eyes, then leans even closer, "Was she really flirting with you?"

"Yeah..."

"Lucky."

"What the hell, Suguru." Gojo laughs.

"You should make a move. I'm sure she's got a thing for you. She keeps looking over." Suguru encourages.

"Are you high? She really fucked me up back there. Anyways... I think her flirting was condescending. That's why I flirted condescendingly back. Shit what if she was actually flirtin' with me..."

Satoru and Suguru look at you. And you look back. Your friend is snickering and it bothers Satoru.

But nothing bothers him more than that smug face of yours. He marches right up to you in the corridors later, when it's just you and him.

He pins you right against the wall and you giggle, letting him show off his strength and height.

His breath tickles your face, his eyes threaten to burn your soul.

"Next time, I'll win." he seethes in a deep voice. He notes how you squeeze your thighs together.

"Wanna bet?" you smile seductively.

"Sure. If I win, you have to tell all your cute little friends about how Mister Six Eyes is stronger than you." he says.

"Okay. Whatever. If I win..."

He listens intently.

"... I get to suck your dick."

He blushes. Stutters. Brain freezes. Malfunctions.

Wow. What. Huh?

"Haha, you're cute. Have you never received head before?" you ask forwardly.

His conscious skips beats, words tumble out.

"I — uh... y-yeah of course I have!" he lies.

"Sure you have, big boy." you bring your lips closer and he dissolves. He's so fucked. He's so turned on by you it's actually pissing him off.

He doesn't move away, just lets you graze your lips over his own. You make him shudder. Make his cock start to strain against his tight uniform pants.

"So... are we taking this bet then?"

"Y-yeah... yes. Um. Yes. Absolutely. Please."

"Haha... okay then. See you tomorrow... Satoru~"

Wow. You just broke him there. He doesn't move or speak, just stands motionlessly blinking at the wall as you slip away out of his pinning grip.

He thinks to himself;

Nah. I don't think I care about winning anymore. Screw pride.

But then comes the next morning and... he swells with pride.

Nah. Screw her. I don't need to feel her lips wrapping around my dick.

"Hey, Six Eyes." you greet him at the tournament grounds, flirting so unashamedly that you earn a very disapproving looks from the teachers.

"Hey, Kyoto Princess." he greets back, "flirting" too. His stomach flips when you lick your lips suggestively, as a callback to the bet you made with him.

"Wish ya luck." you tell him.

"I don't need it." he retaliates.

Suguru and your friend just distantly watch, snickering, at the sexual tension between you and Gojo Satoru;

Your natural rival. When he was born, so were you, meant to exist as the only thing that could weaken the Six Eyes.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[irisinluv]

Yandere Stardew Valley- Sebastian

I've been playing some Yandere Stardew mods recently. While I love them..... I feel like they do my husband (Sebastian) wrong. The citizens of Pelican Town are telling me that they can't hang out with me because Sebstian threatened them. That they've noticed some weird behavior. That he's physically violent. I disagree with all of these for Sebby.

He's our hot programmer boyfriend who lives in his basement bedroom, and only emerges to enjoy a smoke break, or to go see his friends. Now, while again, I do enjoy playing the mods...... I think his cannon behavior sets him up to be the perfect chronically online yandere. Pelican Town isn't exactly the most connected (6 out of the 11 rivals have access to a computer), but there's still potential. Obviously they're gonners if they have a computer. Sam finds himself doxed after making a comment about the gifts you gave him this week, and poor Haley's socials are blowing up with hate comments- from her personal insta to her photography blog.

But what about the other 5? The ones who are more disconnected? Well. It's easy enough to get Shane fired from joja. A little email to Morris from "HQ" saying he either fires Shane or his own pay gets docked..... well. Suddenly, everyone's favorite alcoholic doesn't even have a job anymore. Elliott suddenly has all these taxes he hasn't paid on his little shack..... beachfront properties cost a lot, you know. The parents stop letting Penny watch their kids after some..... explicit photos get leaked. It doesn't matter that they're edited. These people don't know about Photoshop. All they know is apparently Penny's making ends meet to support her mother..... and there's a new favorite subject to gossip on between all the older women. The other rivals are equally taken care of. All you need to focus on now is how Sebastian is the only reliable option in the whole damn town.

And he knows you so well, doesn't he? You, who lived away from it all until now. You, who WAS connected to the internet. Who had their entire life detailed through Facebook updates and Instagram posts. Honestly, Sebastian thinks that maybe he DOESN'T need to leave Pelican town... looking at the life you lived before coming to the valley, he thinks its much easier to keep you safe when he can control everything that goes on. There were too many factors to your old life. Too many parties to go to, coworkers to talk to, ex-boyfriends/girlfriends worry about. No. Sebastian thinks that city life isn't fit for the two of you to start you life together.

While he enjoyed seeing the trip down memory lane of who you were before becoming the farmer, and learning more about your likes and dislikes, he much prefers this version of you. The version of you who he found bouncing on their toes outside his door, excitedly shoving a frozen tear at him. Who eventually became the only person he was genuinely excited to have come barging into his room unannounced. And the thought of moving into the farm with you was all together far too tempting. He can picture it already. He'd set up a little area to work on his bike, he'd help out around the farm for you (he saw your hands covered in scrapes and splinters one day, and you sheepishly told him your fences had started wearing down.... but fixing a fence was another first for you. So you ended up scraping yourself up a bit on the old wood. Now, Sebastain, who, while he doesn't enjoy it, grew up with a carpenter mother..... well. He's going to make sure you never have that many splinters again.) Oh and he can already imagine it. The two of you, far away from the rest of the town, from prying eyes, no one to hear what you two would get up to as he helped you relax after a long day of working the feilds.....

This fantasy would sustain him until you eventually asked him to marry you. I don't think he would rush anything. To you, and the rest of the citizens, he was just normal Sebastian. Showing up for band practice, playing pool at the bar (although he seemed to play much better when a certain farmer came to watch). He just realized that the best way to control all the factors in town would be to remain anonymous. Avoid suspicion. After all. In a small town like that, it would be all too easy to turn against him if he decided to publicly threaten someone. And how would you react if you came to drop off some fresh sashimi to your boyfriend, only to find him being dragged out of his house by Clint, with Marlon standing nearby, ready to ship him off to face justice in the adventurers guild? No. That wouldn't do. He can't add any more stress to you like that. He'd remain the puppeteer, pulling the strings of the valley.

This isn't to say Sebastian never stalks you in person or anything like that. He can't help himself. He's a night owl. He knows the villagers schedules, has since before you even came to town. So, he knows he can get away with digging in the trash to find the straw you threw away at the bar. And if someone does hear him.... well. Linus is going to be everyone's first thought. He does, however, start adopting a stricter routine as far as monitoring your house after you mention how you sell your produce.

Sebastian was rightfully horrified when you explained that Mayor Lewis comes by your farm at night to collect anything you wish to sell. How it's such a relief to be able to just chuck things in the the bin as you're rushing to bed at 1:50 in the morning, only to get up first thing and start your day again, and not have to worry about lugging all your goods to the store. Sebastian won't criticize you for the lack of sleep..... no. That's not what's worrying. What's worrying is that this old man who has a gold statue of himself and who gets it on in the bushes with his secret girlfriend (of course Sebastian knows about that) is showing up to your house sometime after 2 am. His mind flashes back to his fantasy of the two of you, completely alone on the farm.... and then is mortified as this fantasy morphs into a nightmare where he looks up from bed with you, and sees Lewis' wrinkled face peering through the window. Yea. No. Sebastain installs some hidden cameras to make sure Lewis doesn't get up to anything funny while you're defenseless, asleep, alone..... ok he might need to get a new mayor elected. The old man might just have to go. Perhaps to a home outside the town. Regardless, he makes sure Lewis stops coming by as frequently. Frustratingly, he isn't able to completely stop it, but that'll be an easy fix once the two of you are married. He'll act surprised, "wow Lewis, that's so kind of you to help out the farmer all this time. But hey, don't worry, I'll take over. I'm up late anyways, and it's the least I can do!" But Sebastian still wakes up in a cold sweat and frantically rushes to check the cameras, making sure you're OK. That Lewis really is just checking the shipping bin.

Once y'all get married, he shows a bit more of that possessive side to you. But you chalk it up to just bedroom spicy time, and honestly find his hand tightening on your waist as Elliot asks you to read his latest poem hot.

Just. Yandere Sebastian brain rot.

[ktsumu]

THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS

pairing: childe / tartaglia x f!reader wc: 4.4k

choosing to love him is choosing endless bloodshed; all of it is yours.

(alternatively — the metamorphosis of a god through the eyes of his keeper.)

warnings: suggestive / mentions of sex, nudity, profanity, angst, mentions of murder / death, ambiguous ending i think, almost canon compliant

note: 4.4k words and i don't think even this has a plot. WHO CARES dedicated to @shoyostar bc i never stop talking and @crysugu :3 here he is!

Before he was ever Tartaglia, eleventh of the Harbingers, he was a timid child. 

He feared the simple things — speaking to neighbours, strangers, the mailman. He never went to the market alone, not without his parents, not without his older brother to hold his hand. Neighbourhood boys called him names and you called him sweeter things, bringing him in for hot chocolate because of his red eyes, holding his frozen hands in a lukewarm basin. 

Your town was on the coast but he rarely saw the water; he was afraid of drowning and even more afraid of sinking, even though you could see the ice was six inches thick through the sides of the fishing holes scattered everywhere. Not even the men would crack it, fathers that ate at the head of the table, yet he thought he’d be the one. Nor did he trust anyone to save him. 

Childe was Ajax before he was anything for anyone else, his name from myth. Eagle. He was born a  Greek tragedy; hero, for most. 

He was fourteen when he disappeared. Your mother said he’d come back home, kids get mad. Your father said a bear got to him, a weak thing like that — your whole neighbourhood looked for him after he vanished. 

He was gone three days in the woods but he told you he’d been gone for months. He was underground; you asked if it was Hell but he said it was much more. When he crawled back up to Morepesok, he was a different person.

He looked you in the eye and told you he was finally ready to fight.

+

You didn’t believe he was lost for three months until you watched him hold a sword.

By the barrels on the fishing dock, boys fought with wooden blades. Girls would watch and sit on box crates, swaddled up to their ears, cheering on whichever one they liked that week. They’d watch as they hit each other, splinters snagging on coats, knuckles gone white from the cold and how tight they held their handles. 

When Childe stepped up for the first time, they snickered at him. The boy who ran away from home, coming to join the sword fights. It was a joke and they laughed.

(You saw something in his eyes that day and it scared you. There is nothing more terrifying than a child with bloodlust.)

He beat the kid so badly that they put thirty stitches in his forehead, and you were left to do patchwork on the bomb.

Cutting coloured wires, you dabbed Childe’s red cheek with a warm cloth, wringing it out in the bowl of water that separates the two of you. He was calmer then, in front of you. Not that he wasn’t before; it was less of not being calm and more of craving victory, more of a test of his newfound gift.

“I told you to stop,” you mumbled, “hitting him, I mean.”

“I stop, he starts. I won.”

“What did you win? Where's your prize?”

Childe looked at you dumb, with his dumb childish eyes that no longer held hate. Maybe it was somewhere, hidden, beneath the water you drown in, but instead the surface held a glare of wonder. He was Ajax again, always hopeful.

He hissed when you dabbed his skin with something other than water, something that stung. “I—”

“No one wins in war, Ajax,” you scolded. “You’ll see someday.”

“I won’t be in a war.”

You scoffed, your hand gripping his jaw when he tried to run away. “We’ll see.”

+

You’re seventeen when he stumbles inside your house, the wooden door cracking against the wall as he slumps to the floor.

Your feet are cold when you step away from the wood stove in your living room, dropping to your knees, holding his face in your hands that are always so much warmer than his. They cradle his flushed cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead; he’s gripping at a pulse in his ribs.

“I’m fine,” he assures you, before you start to cry, “just tired. I’m just tired.”

He eases the door shut, his head tilting back against the wall. His hand rests on your knee, squeezing it like he’s grounding himself, counting on the fabric of your pants to do it for him. You touch the icy veins that run over his knuckles and he comes back to life.

“What happened to you?” you rush, your family asleep down the hallway. You turn the dial on the oil lamp beside you, watching the fire reflecting off of his dirty cheeks.

He laughs, pulling your wrist off when you smack your hand over his mouth with a lousy ‘alright, alright’ and a glance towards your parents’ bedroom. “Me?” he coughs out. 

“You should see the other two.”

(You don’t know what told you first, but you remember going cold.)

“What do you mean?” you whisper. You can’t stop whispering, you can’t stop shaking. “Ajax, what did you do?”

Childe’s smile tilts itself crooked. “I killed them,” he says. 

His voice is so quiet it cracks under the pressure to not be heard.

(He’s smiling, but he’s crying. It doesn’t look like he means to. He doesn’t know he is.)

You want to run. You notice the smear of blood on his jaw again—is that even his? His hand still clutches your knee but you only now notice the red his palm stains it with, the red on the side of his torso. You want to run.

(You should run.)

You don’t run. Because it’s Ajax, and he’s tired of running tonight. Why would you?

“It’s okay,” you say with a nod and a shiver, like shutters in a hurricane. You’re both crying, and he’s against your chest, and he’s still so fucking cold that it’s migrating to you. “Stand up. Ajax, stand up—”

“I can’t,” “You can, you need to get in the bath.”

“I’ll wake your—“

“If you were ever worried about that, you wouldn’t have come here, so Ajax would you please—“

He breathes out, muffling his groans as he staggers to his feet. You’re not of much help but at least your hands, your shaking hands, are telling him you’re there. And that’s enough. 

“I love it when you say that,” he grimaces, shuffling towards the hallway. “My name.”

+

Childe misses your eighteenth birthday by ten minutes.

You ate dinner with your family at your favourite pub, his siblings wrote you cards and pulled your ears, you tied your hair loose and flirted with the pretty guy who fed the boat lines. You don’t like him all that much, but he looks nothing like your neighbour and for you, that is a fine enough reason to talk. 

Stones hit your window at ten past midnight, and Childe stands in the snowy alley outside of your bedroom. He wields another pebble and tilts his head.

Your window’s too old for you to ignore me.

You pull on your coat and boots, scarf too because he talks too much, and head outside into the night, creeping out the back door. You cross your arms, walking over to where he stands just outside of the lamplight.

“Hiding?” you ask, stopping in front of him.

Childe laughs like nothing’s wrong, digging through his back pocket with his gloved hand, handing you a box. “Happy birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday."

“Belated.”

You glance between his rosy cheeks and the box before you take it, looking towards the end of the alley to avoid his stare. Because guys like Childe don’t look away — you know better than to look back.

“Thank you,” you murmur, tucking your hands back into the warmth of your pockets.

Childe nods; you don’t open gifts in front of him, you know better than to do that, too. He knows better than to think you would. 

You look at his hands, eyebrows furrowing. “Leather gloves?”

“So you noticed?”

“How? You couldn’t afford long johns last year.”

Childe grins. “I got a job.”

“At the tank house,” you say, crossing your arms. “Which, you had last year.”

The look in his eyes tells you he’s in deep — he doesn’t seem to care about it as much as you do. “I’m a Harbinger, now.”

“You—”

“I’m the youngest—” “You’re the dumbest,” you grit, sticking a finger in between his ribs. “You're eighteen — what kind of achievement is that?”

He takes a deep breath, his lungs pushing your finger back until it falls defeated. “I didn’t expect you to be happy, believe me.”

“Why,” you whisper, “would I ever be happy to watch you sell yourself to killers?”

“You know I’m no better,”

“Oh, Ajax, if you think that’s what I know then you’re more stupid than I thought.”

There’s no real reason to excuse the blood on his hands other than the fact that they’re so gentle when they hold yours.

There’s a voice down the alley and two drunk men in hats and coats wave your way. You grimace, but Childe waves back. 

“This is why you’re outside. You don’t want them to know where you live.”

“Or where you live.”

You grit your teeth. “Yes, because it’s great that your allies are a threat your family.”

“You’re not my family,” he says, “that’d make things weird.”

Your eyes well and you swallow, looking back at the men who stare at both of you. They murmur amongst themselves and you try to ignore them, but it’s hard when Childe won’t look away.

A breeze of snow from the rooftops drifts over you, and you look at him one more time. The last, you try to pledge to yourself. “Don’t leave with them.”

“It’s too late now and you know it.”

“How the fuck would I know it?”

“Don’t cry,” he tells you, much softer now that he knows you didn’t realize it yet, “I’ll come home, I’m not gone forever. If anything, I’ll come back richer. No one will sleep cold.”

“You’ll come back to spoil your family with blood money?”

“I’d spoil you, too,” he adds, “but I know better than to try that.”

There is a heavy silence between the two of you. It isn’t the weight of his gold or the weight of him not coming home; it is the weight of lead, of gunpowder. The weight of the bullets that his two new friends that wait in the street have loaded.

Childe takes your arms, tugging your hands from your pockets, frowning at your white fingertips and cracking knuckles. 

“Take these—”

“I don’t want your dirty paws,”

“Well, I don’t want your dry hands. And when I come home, I’ll need them.”

Childe drives the knife deeper, twists it through your chest, and slips off his gloves. He places them in your hands and just snickers when you pocket them. “No worries, I’ll just get a new pair.”

“Great.”

He nods, starting down the alley. He knows you well enough to understand that you don’t want to say goodbye, not when you know you’re saying goodbye to how things were before. Instead, he just calls over his shoulder.

“See you at Christmas?”

“Why even come back?”

“Right,” he chuckles. “I wanna see your gift next time, though.”

Then he leaves, and he doesn’t look at you again. You suppose he’s been trained to do that, but then again, you can’t remember a time where he has looked back at you, anyway. He’s never looked back at anyone before the end.

+

He comes home every Christmas, just like he promised. 

Each time he does, he drags you out to a cabin outside of town, one so hidden in the woods that you almost thought he built it, and he fucks you like he missed you before he was gone. Not enough to leave the Fatui, but enough to come home once in a while. And once in a while is all you're gonna get, so you don't let it go.

He comes home, tells his family all about his life as a businessman, a toy salesman you once heard, and then sneaks you out so you can love him as loud as you want. Then, you eat the fish you bring, he tells you how much he missed the sturgeon in Morepesok, and he's gone before the sun comes up. 

Childe lets you go with a tired breath, watching the fire beat against your glistening skin as you sit on the edge of the bed. The warmth of him courses through you like a river current and you fix your hair with weak hands, biting the tie that was around your wrist. “I feel your eyes, you’re not subtle.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he says simply. “You’re beautiful. More beautiful now.”

“You said that last year.”

“Next year, too.”

You roll your eyes, back straightening when he looms behind you, his naked body against yours. His hand sneaks around your waist and his lips press against your shoulder blade, kissing until he gets to the juncture of your neck and collarbone. 

“Ajax,”

“I know,” he says against your skin, “gotta eat.”

“You’d think they would feed you in the castle.”

“Hardly a castle, sweetheart."

“That belt says otherwise,” you mumble, standing, making him let go. You pick up your underwear from the floor, too hot to wear anything else. “It’s custom.”

He snorts, flopping back down on the bed. “Birthday gift.”

“From who?”

“Ooh, jealous?”

“Of someone who doesn’t know who you are? No.”

Childe hums a laugh, giving a look in agreement to the ceiling that you catch out of the corner of your eye. He rests a hand on his chest, watching you sweat in the heat of the fireplace, smiling at the life he has for the next four hours.

He clears his raspy throat. “You finally wore it. The gift.” He snickers, “I only waited two years.”

You look over your shoulder at him, pulling your cami over your head. “I wasn’t gonna let money rot.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“What?”

“The stone. Do you know what it is?”

You stare, face hot. You’re partially embarrassed to not know, never having left Snezhnaya and let alone your town, but you’re curious enough to shake your head. Childe smiles like he knows that you wish you knew enough to say yes.

(You hate that he’s travelled the world you used to tell him you dreamt about. The one you made him dream about, too.)

He scoots up to lean against the headboard, and you take the invitation to come back to the bed. You crawl onto the mattress again, sitting beside him as he moves the clasp of the necklace to the back of your neck, and the stone to the front.

“They call it Cor Lapis,” he says, “it’s in Liyue.”

“Oh.”

He lets go. “It’s not rare, but I like it.”

“You spend a lot of time in Liyue, it makes sense.”

“So you do read my letters,” he says with a grin, cocking his head and holding your hand. “What else do I say?”

“What about the necklace?”

“Huh?”

“If it’s not rare, why get a custom-made necklace?” you ask. “Expensive for such a simple stone.”

Childe’s eyes drop back down to the necklace, holding it out from your neck and in line with the light of the bedside table lamp. It glitters in his eyes and you’re sure it does in yours.

“Cor Lapis is dull,” he tells you. “It doesn’t actually glow until it’s cracked open.”

You look at the cut edges of the stone, framed in gold. It’s small, but it’s something that looks like Childe gave it to you. When your mother saw it, she said it was beautiful and asked when he was home last.

You focus on the fingers that hold it.

“I found it a lot like you,” he says, his voice lower, his eyes finally looking up to face you head-on. “Heart of gold.”

“I don’t need to be cracked open."

“You have been,” he corrects, “you are right now.”

He’s right. He’s so fucking right that it hurts your head to think about and hurts your chest to acknowledge. 

Childe’s hand runs up and under your shirt, showing your skin. “And you’re glowing.”

You sit in the silence inside your open ribs and give him a small smile, standing up to shake his hand off of you.

“I’ll let you tell me that next winter, too.”

+

Next Christmas, you stay in bed. Childe cradles your necklace again but doesn’t tell you about Liyue because you don’t ask, too proud to ask twice. 

Instead, you lay against his chest, littered with brand new scars you didn’t see last time. Some you watch, others you look away from because they run too deep for you to need to know how he got them. Year by year, you get more quiet.

Childe does, too. He hasn’t lost his boyish charm but it shares his body with something else now.

“Why don’t you come home before Christmas?” you ask. “Once, even. Teucer’s birthday?”

“It’s not that easy. If it was, I’d be there for every birthday. Yours, theirs.”

You purse your lips, rolling onto your back to stare aimlessly at the ceiling. “Right,” you whisper.

“Don’t do that,”

“Why do you say that like I’m fishing for empathy?” you ask casually, scoffing a laugh. “You used to have some, you know. Before you were a fucking hitman.”

“You have no problem fucking said hitman, so please, if you now raise any sudden changes of heart, I should probably know.” 

You look at him coldly and he shakes his head. “It’s not like I want to hurt you.”

His arm gets heavier around you, weighing you down against his side. You fight it off when you sit up, turning to look down at him. Déjà vu washes over you both.

“Do you honestly think that I’m talking about me?” you say through laughs. “I’ve gotten used to your wounds, Ajax, it’s not about me.”

“I—”

“How about your family?” you say. It shakes the cabin walls, even though you weren’t loud at all. “You have younger siblings who idolize you and older ones who know better than what you tell them. Do you think they’re dumb?”

He stares at you. You ask, “You remember them, don’t you?”

“I remember my siblings, yes, thank you for aski—”

“Did you know Teucer made a sword?”

Childe’s next sentence fades into a sigh, and his lips purse as he shakes his head.

You cross your arms. “It looks just like yours.”

“Brotherly love, toys are harmless.”

“Who do you think will stitch his eyebrow? Or sneak him into the bathroom after he comes down from his first kill—”

“I never asked you to be my keeper,” Childe says, the grip on your hand tighter than it was before.

“And look how it turned out, anyway.” 

Childe leans back against the bed frame and thin pillows he’s stacked up, looking anywhere but at you. 

He’s older now and hardened into someone you can’t recognize, but he resembles a lot of the boy he was born as. He still doesn’t look you in the eye when he apologizes, not when he means it.

“Do you want me to leave?”

You stand, finding your clothes on the floor. You’re too hot, so you put on your underwear and shirt and leave it at that. “I brought fish. Rest while you can.”

+

It’s July, and Childe comes back to Morepesok in the middle of a blizzard.

Glasses rattle in behind the bar and you dry the ones from the sink, since the hot water ran out an hour ago. The pub’s empty but your shift still stands, even though no one dares to go outside when the storms are this bad, and it’s only you and a few stragglers left to pray the windows don’t shatter when the breeze hits you from the coast.

Every time you catch yourself in the counter’s reflection, you see your necklace, and you wonder what the beaches in Liyue are like. You can’t swim here without freezing to death and you can’t dream in relentless snow, so you let yourself think of him sometimes.

(Warm, swimming in streams. You wonder if he ever got over his fear of drowning when he realized he wouldn’t sink.)

Air whistles through old panels and teases the fire that burns in the seating area, and there’s a quiet hum of voices that dim the crackle of the logs you throw in every half-hour. A glass slides off the counter and breaks in the wind.

You gasp and jump, stepping back, stepping forward when you hit something — someone. You turn around and Childe stares back, snow on his eyelashes and his hair damp from hail and the sweat beneath his hat.

“Why are you here?”

“Oh, you’re so welcoming. Need help?”

You scoff, kneeling with a brush and pan, guiding the glass back into a pile. You don’t answer his question. “They don’t really mean it when they say 'Christmas in July,' you know.”

“You were the one who told me to visit more, right?”

You nod, standing again, dumping the glass into a bin. “Outside the bar, staff only."

Childe slowly raises his hands in surrender, stepping quietly out from the back and rounding to face you again. He leans on the freezing counters, looking around the room. “You work here?”

“A normal person job, yes.”

“So boring.”

“Why’d you come back?” you ask, going back to washing glasses. “When do you leave?”

Please, stay. Just for once, stay.

“Tomorrow.”

“Do they ever let you off your leash for more than a day? Or do you just hate snowstorms that much now?”

“They have gotten worse since I’ve been gone,”

“Or you’ve just been gone long enough to forget where you come from,” you suggest, glancing up at him again. “The Fatui do still operate here, right?”

“Lower your voice, eh?”

“Sorry. Forgot.”

Childe purses his lips, looking around again. He lowers his head. “The cabin’s open.”

“There’s no way we can make it through the trees blind.”

“I can get us there.”

“Do you remember you got lost in those woods once?”

He grins when you look up. “Well, you know you don’t learn without getting lost. I know them now.”

You crack a tiny smile back, one that probably gives him way too much hope. He watches you put glasses away, he relaxes when he sees the necklace you still wear; even if you started wearing it two years late. 

You shake your head. “I’m not coming to the cabin.”

“Why’s that?”

“You should spend the day you have with your family.”

“You—”

“Don’t make things weird.”

The moment is bittersweet and Childe isn’t stupid enough to challenge it, so he just laughs. You try to but it comes out funny.

“So that’s it?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “It’s always been your decision, not mine.”

And nothing you have ever done has been anything I’ve wanted.

Childe nods, biting his cheek. He knows that people who live in the woods often die there, too. He never really made it out. “Show me out, then?”

You give in, walking him the short distance to the door. He rests with his hand on the knob, gently moving you away from the door so the breeze doesn’t freeze you in place. He tugs his hat on and notices the gloves he gave you years ago hang by your coat on the standing rack.

“When should I come back?”

He watches you breathe in, he watches you breathe out. “Come back when you’re coming home.”

Childe doesn’t try to reason or to ask what you mean, because he knows what you mean.

Don’t.

With a nod, he smiles. It shows with a weakness that no Harbinger should still have with them; you think this might be the death of it.

“I’ll see you around, then.” He opens the door.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Bye, Childe.”

The door shuts. You don’t hear the snow crunching beneath his feet until a few seconds later, and you keep your ear against the door until you don’t hear them anymore.

Before he was ever Tartaglia, Childe, eleventh of the Harbingers, his home was in the woods he got lost in. Not underground, but in a cabin, with strong windows and shutters the colour of your eyes.

+

It’s the second Christmas you haven’t seen Childe or the woods. You haven’t checked if he’s stayed there and the stories Teucer tells you are old, but there’s a chance he’s still burning a fire and laying in bed, glowing with heat.

Either Childe hasn’t come back, or he just hasn’t told you he has. Either way, you don't make an effort to know.

Somewhere in Liyue, there’s an ore mine with your name carved above the entrance. The men talk about you when they wheel out carts of jade and ore, wondering how you reached so far up to tell them you were there.

In Mondstadt, an outpost sings a folk tune about a girl who heals wounded soldiers.

In Inazuma, a village calls a seashell by your name. It started with the kids, who said a man from a different place told them all about it. An expert on it, they said. They haven’t called it anything else since.

In Sumeru, your laugh runs through the river.

In Natlan, a painting hangs in a bar of a woman dressed in fire, a ribbon on her wrist and her hair everywhere else. When asked, the artist says he was inspired by a man who spoke of a girl with a heart of gold. 

In Fontaine, they serve grilled sturgeon, only cooked by wooden stove.

Childe sits down in a town in Snezhnaya, far away from Morepesok, and he sits in front of five kids who look just like the ones back home. Freezing, and curious.

He lets them fawn over his attire, bug him for all he’s worth while they’re tucked inside of a barn to avoid the cold. He answers every question about his job selling toys with enthusiasm and without guilt, promising to someday come back with some for them. Then, they ask him to tell them a story — one they haven’t heard before.

Somewhere in Snezhnaya, far away from Morepesok, a tale is told about a girl who travelled the world.

[tizeline]

What do you think the tiz-turtles would think of their canon counterparts?

Ah man, pretty safe to say the The Drax Bros would feel quite put off by their canon counterparts, and vice versa XD The Mikeys especially I feel would have MAJOR beef lmaooo at least TSAU!Mikey wouldn't STAND canon!Mikey

Comperatively, the Donnies would obviously get along a lot better considering they're a lot more similar. They WOULD, however, diss each other's battleshells

Canon!Donnie: You made a battle shell that only covers half of your softshell?? How is that going to function as armour when it leaves most of you exposed?? TSAU!Donnie: What's the use of armour when I can simply dodge any attacks? But no wonder you're not dodging anything with that giant slab of metal weighing you down constantly!

Ironically enough, I feel like Canon!Donnie would get along way better with TSAU!Mikey than TSAU!Donnie does. Like yeah sure, the whole "hating humanity" thing is a bit off-putting, but unlike his AU counterpart, Canon!Donnie already has a softspot for Mikey and as such would be a lot more supportive in his evil endevours lol. Like, if this alternate version of his beloved baby brother wants to go apeshit and cause a little bit of destruction here and there, maybe he should be allowed to do so??? As a treat???

TSAU!Donnie would also be... uh... a BIT jealous of Canon!Donnie. Canon!Donnie gets to grow up with all of his brothers, they're all raised by Splinter, and they DON'T hate humanity? Why doesn't TSAU!Donnie get that?? Canon!Donnie gets to have his whole family while TSAU!Donnie is being forced to choose between the two separate parts of it. Not fair! >:,[

[citruswriter]

How will the bay bros react to shredder having a mutant turtle reader as a pet,he obviously treats reader horribly and gives them wounds.

You don't have to do this if you don't want to. Love your works

Bayverse Turtles Reacting to Shredder Having a Mutant Turtle as a Pet

Listen with me! ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

A/N: Oh this is gonna be fucking amazing.

Leonardo 🧡

When Leo saw you in your cage, he was shocked. I mean, he wouldn't put it beyond him. Like "yeah that adds up". But seeing it was still so jarring.

When he saw the collar with the word "pet" engraved on it, Leo almost lost his cool.

When he saw you pressed up against the bars, staring up at him and his brothers with such wonder, he knew he needed to keep it together.

"I didn't know there was somebody like me..." Your voice comes out in a whisper and Leo smiles and bends to your level.

"That's right. And we're here to bust you out and take you somewhere safe, ok?"

He has Donnie break you out and his heart almost breaks at seeing all the bruises and scars on your body.

"What about Master? If he finds me gone, he'll be upset." You murmur, eyes downcast in worry and fear.

"Let him be mad. We'll protect you".

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Raphael 🧡

Raph didn't know how to react at first. Another turtle? Fantastic! They're being kept as Shredder's pet? Fuck that bitch, he deserves to fucking die.

Raph is the first one to deal with the collar. He asks you gently if he can take it off and you eagerly nod.

If Raph didn't hate Shredder before, he utterly despises him now.

Raph becomes one of the most protective over you, you're his little buddy now. No you don't get a choice in this.

He gently tries to nudge you to get into the gym with him so you can get strong.

He can get a bit too protective at times but you know it's only because he's worried. A gentle pat on his arm and a smile and he usually relents.

If he gets the chance to fight Shredder again, this man will need to be restrained from ripping throat out in your honor.

Heaven forbid that man get his hands on you again. Not even Leo will be able to keep him from busting the door down and smashing Shredder's head into a brick wall.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Donatello 🧡

Utterly shocked when he first sees you. He knew Shredder was horrible man but not even he expected something like this.

Keeping a mutant as some little plaything? A pet? You were essentially his slave. It made him so mad.

Donnie's very soft with you. Very gentle and patient. He doesn't let people in his lab very often, but when he sees you peaking in one day, he let's you in.

Sometimes the larger machinery can scare you because it reminds you of Shredder, so Donnie puts large blankets or tarps over them.

Sometimes shares his pop tarts with you if you catch him working late at night because you can't sleep.

Immediately wants to teach you how to fight and get you your own signature weapon and color too.

Excitedly introduces you to April and Casey. Not so excitedly introduces you to Vern.

Loves doing parallel play with you when you finally get comfortable enough to hang around him and his brothers without exhausting yourself too much.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Michaelangelo 🧡

"I didn't know there was somebody like me..." Oh those words make his heart squeeze.

Immediately wants to join Raph in ripping Shredder's throat out but he's better at hiding his anger, not as good as Donnie and Leo though.

Gets Donnie to get you a phone so you can text him if you need literally anything.

Night Terrors in the middle of the night? Call him. He'll come sooth you back to sleep. Want food but don't want to socialize? Text him and he'll get you a whole pizza for yourself.

Is the first one to introduce you to Master Splinter. He's so excited to have another turtle sibling. He already loves you so much.

He can understand how hard it can be to have a lot of trauma so he's always there for you if you need to talk or need a silly distraction from all those dark thoughts in your mind.

One of the first people to start recognizing your triggers and icks and does his best to cater to them or to stop whatever's triggering you before it gets too bad.

Big ole sweetheart who desperately wants to see Shredder six foot under. Another one that will try to fight for honor.

Ik it's not the best but I tried. 😭 I think it's pretty decent tho. :3 I hope I have satisfied you. ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ

[xo2dee]

ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄʀʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ʟᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀꜱ

♱ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Vergil x (Fem)Reader

♱ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: MDNI/18+ only. rough sex, vaginal sex, clothed sex, orgasm delay/denial, dirty talking, biting, degradation, breeding kink, creampie

♱ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4238

♱ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Vergil likes your skirt. You hate his vest.

♱ ᴀ/ɴ: don't even know what to say about this, just i was down horrendous back when i wrote it. and vergil's vest and the way it works is so interesting to me. idk why he dresses like victorian man but i love it

♱ twitter - ao3

Indented nearly in the door behind you with your dignity all but shattered in the actions of the man biting at your neck and scratching onto the wood, you wonder what transpired to lead you to getting your guts rearranged once more by your lover.

You may have thought you were fast with your hands, but Vergil was faster with his hips.

Honestly, you couldn’t remember how you two ended up in that position; the morning started off fine when you woke up to him still in bed with you for once. Granted you two were in one of your weird positions again, his hand on top of your head in a grip and your leg thrown over his abdomen as you both laid on your backs with the covers halfway off the bed. After that it was noon, everything was fine it seemed even if he was following you around on your heels for once and hovering over you like some animal would its food. You chalked it up to him being in one of his weird moods again and ignored it mostly by just sending him questioning looks and receiving absolutely no answer but the same intense stare. It wasn’t until around seven o’clock when Dante left that it happened.

Wait… You remembered exactly how you two got like that.

It was a few moments after Dante left proclaiming he wanted a strawberry sundae from his favorite diner and Vergil oddly staring at the closed doors for it to happen. You gave him another disturbed look when he just was openly staring at the door and his head slowly turned around like an owl to look back at you, his gaze falling to your exposed thighs from the skirt you wore. It didn’t register until later that he was listening to Dante leave and only acting when he knew his younger twin wouldn’t return so soon and not interrupt you two. Though when a silvery burning gaze returned to your face and his eyes met yours, the message was loud and clear.

A horny Vergil was a rather feral one.

(Not that it was a bad thing either.)

That was how you found yourself with your legs locked around his waist against the damn door to the shop and him dick-deep into your guts.

Moments before he shoved himself inside of you, and nearly splintered the wood with how hard his hand smacked onto the door while muttering about your skirt, you voiced your concerns of Dante walking back in but once Dante’s name left your lips Vergil’s lip curled in disgust and his hand covered your mouth, his brows furrowing as he hissed against your neck:

“Don't speak of him when we’re like this.”

Understandable. If you had a twin, you probably want to think about them during sex either, and with that you didn’t mention anything like that again deciding to busy yourself with something else. That something else being how you wanted to take his vest off.

You both were fully clothed mostly, but highly indecent. Your skirt had been pulled up as high as he wanted it and you don’t even know where your panties went – though the lacy fabric hanging from the inside of his one of his coat’s pocket told you exactly where they went – but it was efficient enough for him to finger you three knuckles deep with two fingers until you were wet enough from him to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants and press himself inside of you starting off at a harsh speed. You didn’t mind it, all moans and choked pants into his shoulder, but the friction from his vest rubbing against your thighs and beginning to chafe them was annoying you. It was then you decided to just take matters into your hands since he had no intention of removing it that time.

Your hands had been quick to remove his coat, Vergil not even acknowledging it as he nearly drove you into the door, and you were moving to remove his vest when you stopped, pulling away from sucking on his shoulder to look at the intricate piece of clothing. It was like it had two layers to it, the bottom one always zipped up to his damn neck and the top buttoned overtop of it in four ways, and while peering down at it you realized you didn’t really know how to remove it; Vergil almost always removed his own clothing during sex and you never paid attention to how he did so, too preoccupied with the pleasure he gave you. Still, you wanted it off and with him busying himself trying not to break the door and trying to shove his dick deeper into you, you knew asking him was out the question and decided to do it yourself.

You grabbed the first button and pulled –

It didn’t budge. You tried again.

It was still buttoned. You huffed, suddenly feeling rather determined. Were they fucking superglued?

You started aggressively tugging at his vest and that got Vergil to pull away from burying his nose in your hair and pull back far enough to look at you, all flushed cheeks and hair beginning to fall from its position. An eyebrow rose as he spoke, “What are you doing?”

You rolled your hips when he slowed down a pace, leaning back some to pull more at the button, “Trying to unbutton this goddamn contraption you wear. Why do you wear it like this?”

A breath came out of him, and a hand dropped to your thigh as his hips slowed to a deep roll that nearly made your eyes cross, “Why don’t you ask nicely, and I’ll take it off.” You didn’t necessarily like how low his octave got at that, nor how it sent a sharp twinge into your lower abdomen that he caught onto when you clenched around him. Tease.

“I don’t wanna – fuck – hear it, when, when you earlier –” you whined when his thumb pressed down onto your clit and slowly rolled it into circles – “earlier you were almost foaming at the mouth at me in a skirt.” Yeah, you got him that time, especially when you broke off into a moan when he pinched you. Bastard was getting off watching you struggle.

You didn’t take but a few seconds to start back up again tugging at the first button again when he didn’t answer, causing Vergil’s sigh as he pulled you closer and ultimately moved away from the door and plopped you down onto the couch on your back. You yelped at the sudden loss of him but didn’t have much time to worry too much about it when he was saddling onto the couch and canting his hips between your thighs again, the tip of him sitting right at your opening. You blinked when he took your hands and rested it on the button of his vest, eyes taking in the new smirk on his lips.

“Take it off and I’ll give you what you want.”

You rolled your eyes, "Don't be like that, I know just how bad you wanna –"

"No. Either do it or beg me."

You could feel your cheeks erupt in warmth at his declaration, eyelashes fluttering at how bad it turned you on as well. So, he was in that mood and wanted you to beg for it? Well, he could forget it, you were going to rip that vest off of him and make him eat his words.

Shooting him a glare and watching his eyes only seem to light up at it, you pulled at it, fingers digging into the fabric to increase the force. You fought back the needy little gasp when Vergil’s hands tightened around your wrists, and he caught himself on your opening. You knew what he was doing, trying to push you over the edge and make you beg for him to fuck your brains out. He was damn good at it too, you hated to admit.

His head tilted as he watched you struggle, “What is it? Are you too weak?” he pushed his hips forward and sat his length on your clit, rubbing it and relishing in when your hands began to tremble, and face scrunched up from the sense of it.

You were unconsciously rocking your hips, “Who’s weak? Weren’t you the one who couldn’t handle seeing me in a skirt?” Part of you was egging him on to see if he’d surrender his little game and just fuck you into the couch, but when Vergil set his mind to something, he committed.

Vergil rolled his neck and hummed when it cracked, eyes lidded as he stared down at you, “We can stay like this all night, doesn’t matter to me. Watching you suffer like this at my hands is…” his nostrils flared as he trailed off, his hips moving faster to rub against you.

You couldn’t help the gasp then, toes curling into his pant leg and hips lifting slightly as the presence of an orgasm near made itself known. Your thumb was rubbing against the button then, nearly forgotten as your brain began to focus more on your own pleasure and the approaching release you could feel spiraling in your cunt. Your chest began to heave as he picked up a speed, your fluids beginning to drip downwards into the couch cushions as your mind only focused on one thing. Vergil, Vergil, Vergil.

You back arched as it was on the cusp, your lower abdomen twisting as a moan was beginning to break out and ready to throw your head back while you cried out for him, and it was close, close, close –

He stopped.

You made an indignant noise as he pulled away and let his cock sit on your inner thigh, his mouth fully lifting at one side and giving view to one of his adorable dimples. “You –”

“Me? I told you what you have to do, and you haven’t done it. You can’t put the blame on anyone but yourself,” Vergil released your wrists and ran a hand through his hair, the sweat on his forehead glistening as he tilted his head back in the action. "The other offer still stands if you're truly that desperate for me."

You were gonna kill him.

You tugged viciously on the button then to force your mind away from the beg that was sitting heavy on your tongue, pissed he was winning his game over you. God, did he have a demon magic instilled in them? Was that why the damn things never once unbuttoned, or his zipper never slid down to show a sliver of his skin? Vergil moved again as another husky sigh fell from him, and he moved himself back to your sopping opening and you tugged harder –

The top two buttons came undone and his reply to that was instantaneous.

He pushed himself halfway inside you then and you choked at the sudden intrusion, back arching and body jolting. Without thinking you tightened around the part of him inside of you while scrambling your hands up to reach for his zipper, only being stopped when he snatched both of your hands again with one of his own and steadied the other one on your hip. A tsk came from him at your reaction as he shallowly began to push in and out of you.

“That’s the first two, can you do the last two or are you ready to cave and beg me like the whimpering whore you are?” his words came out into a hiss at the end and if you were in your right mind, you would’ve noticed the near inaudible groan he let out as finished his sentence. It would’ve clued you in that he was less composed than he was letting off.

“Ass,” you grunted out and drew off into an actual whimper when his thumb returned to press onto your clit hard. You pressed your cheek into your shoulder and looked up at him, nearly shying away from how he was analyzing your every facial expression and every move your body made. His eyes were heavy on your own and you wiggled your hands in his grip to signify you were ready to try again.

The half-demon hummed and obliged your request, moving to set them on the third button before dropping his other hand and palm your breast through your shirt. Your eyes fluttered again when he circled your breast in the same motion as he was your clit, your hands beginning to shake again when he picked up the speed and your orgasm was right back on its track again.

Your mouth was moving before you could stop it, “Don’t tease me.”

“Hmm?” he leaned closer, angling his head so your mouth was closer to his ear, “Are you begging?”

You blew air into his ear and watched the hair stand up on the back of his neck, “Hardly.”

You absolutely did not like the look he got in eyes when you answered with that, stopping his hips from moving altogether and his rubbing on your sensitive parts and you curled your toes into his pant leg harder until you felt the pinch of his skin. “What’s wrong?” You hated how smug he sounded, wanting nothing more to wipe off the shitty, handsome ass smirk he was giving you. If he could tease you, you could tease him.

You got an idea then, pulling at his buttons again as you clamped down around him, your warm and wet walls encasing the inches of him that were inside of you in retaliation to his edging. You nearly wanted to laugh when Vergil’s eye twitched and a small movement of his nostrils flaring being the only thing that told you that it affected him. Feeling spiteful and knowing that perhaps you’d regret it, you released him and rolled your hips, tightening down on him again in the process and repeating it in intervals as his grip on your body released and his eyes moved down to watch you move. You had him.

It didn’t last long though, on a time around you leaned back and sighed as you could feel your release building back up again, Vergil’s hands were fast to grip your hips in a bruising hold and stop your movement, his face leaning back down with expression back in that near pout he generally had and lips losing the smirk they once held. “Unbutton them.”

Vergil’s voice no longer held that teasing tone it had taken earlier, rougher and how he normally sounded when he spoke when he was feeling agitated. If you weren’t nearly about to combust you would’ve laughed at him for being so worked up, but you yourself had been point five away from begging him to rearrange your insides and you wanted so badly to cum you couldn’t stand it.

You listened to him then, fingers dipping into the dark fabric and pulling –

The last two came unbuttoned together as well and one hand of his shot up to unzip the underlayer of his vest, shrugging it off when he got it completely down and throwing it into the floor in a manner, he typically would have turned up his nose at. Meanwhile you were doing quick thinking; both times they came off he had sighed or made some sort of indication he was getting fed up… and what were the chances you unbuttoned them both… and how they unbuttoned finally after he told you to do it again…

That bastard.

You voiced that, “You plotting ass, you were the reason they wouldn’t come unbuttoned, what the Hell were you doing? Holding them together with demon magIC AH –” you didn’t get a chance to finish your rant when he pulled out what he had inside of you and harshly pushed himself back in all inches bottoming out like that. Your hands found purchase onto his newly bare back, and you dug your nails into his skin while your back arched as one arm of his curled around to hold you closer to him, his other hand slithering around to hold the nape of your neck while he mouthed at your neck in kisses of all teeth and tongue. A loud moan you let out in his ear had him biting into the skin of your neck and fingers digging into your back at the scale of it.

Vergil’s hips were moving faster than they had been earlier when you two were up against the door, his dick really feeling like he was deep into your guts then and had you gasping for breath each time the tip of him pressed against the restriction inside of you. Your thighs were the ones quivering then as your orgasm began to coil up inside of you once more and you had no doubt that he’d let you achieve it that time if the fast and harsh breaths coming loudly coming from his nostrils were telling you anything. Your hipbones were knocking together in a fervent hurry, and you doubled down onto him in a squeeze as he released your neck leaving behind a bruise of red and saliva on your skin to opt for sucking on your mouth and groaning into it when you scratched your nails down his back.

You mumbled into his mouth, “Vergil, please, harder.” He bit your lip.

Your noses knocked together and he nearly had you imprinted into the couch with how rough he began to kiss and fuck into you while the hand at your nape moved to grab a thigh and pull it higher to sit under his armpit as he experimentally rolled his hips around until you squeaked when he finally found the weak spot inside of you. You were moaning and babbling into his mouth then as he got tough with his dick kissing that point in you that had you tangling a hand into his hair and the other settling on his defined abdomen that began to grow slick with sweat. His hand gripped your thigh harder as he felt your insides begin to flutter around him, a warning that you weren’t going to last much longer.

And neither was he, given his arm unwinding from your back and the other moving away from your thigh to grip the couch arm above your head and all fingers digging grooves into the leather in an attempt to hold himself together.

You locked your legs around his waist in a last effort before your impending relief and pressed your mouth closer to his ear, “Are you gonna cum in me?”

Your lover’s face scrunched up. “Don’t.”

“You’re going to, aren’t you?”

His eyes peered down at you under knitted brows, “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“As much as I know you do... C'mon Vergil, cum in me and make me yours.”

It was a fleeting little bite on your part, the both of you already knowing you were his, but it got you the reaction you wanted. 

His jaw clenched and you could almost see the vein rise from his temple as he stopped his movements and anchored his hands deeper in the couch, his upper body slightly raising as he pulled out –

Only to slam back in inside of you in his own spiteful rebuttal against you trying to set him off with just your words. You threw your head back in a silent moan as he repeated the action, and your toes curled from the rough treatment and sensation while your hands found new placement on his shoulders. You weren’t winning that round and a drawn-out moan of his name let him know that. He picked up the pace and your eyes screwed shut when he began grunting louder and the noises went straight to your throbbing cunt. You squeezed around him one last time –

Your cunt trembled around him and then your much-wanted orgasm was flushing through you, a tremor of extreme pleasure prickling you from the base of your spine down into the tips of your toes. You were squirming and gasping into ear by then as you tightened your hold around his waist in near death-grip, with Vergil’s hands tearing into the couch as the stuffing finally pulled through. You rolled your head to the side feeling the gush around him and the noise your bodies made finally entering your senses, chest heaving, and mind riddled with endorphins as you waited for his own end.

It didn’t take much longer when Vergil let out a near snarling groan and bit into the junction between your neck and shoulder, arms flexing as he full-on tore the arm of the couch cushion apart. You whined at the treatment but wiggled again when you felt the all-telling warmth of his release coating the inside of your cunt, his hips stuttering as he released it all inside of you and ran off the high of the feeling for a few moments. Once his hips stopped and he remained still inside of you, his mouth latched off of your skin to let him breathe against it in huffs instead. The cushion above you creaked as he released the harsh hold on it, arms moving to wrap around your waist as you both caught your breath and basked in the aftermath of it all.

It was silent besides your breathing and when your legs finally unlocked and dropped spread open, he pulled out of you, and you wrinkled your nose a bit when you felt some of his cum seep out of you. Normally you didn’t care, loving the feeling of practically being stuffed, but if it got on the couch…

You wrapped your arms his torso and pushed him upwards, somehow managing to get him to sit up, and as you both came to sit up you shot him a look, “I don’t want to stain the couch.”

Vergil leaned back and rested his head on the back of his couch, looking quite relaxed while closing his eyes in the process. Well, he looked satisfied, a far cry from how he looked earlier that day waddling around behind you like a vulture looking for its prey. He didn’t answer so you continued, “Also, how are you gonna explain the couch?”

He peered at you then, moving his eyes to settle on the couch arm behind you as you expectantly looked at him, pulling your skirt back down to appear decent, “We’ll sort it out.”

“’We’?”

“Yes, it was a team effort.”

“How… it was your hands.”

“I can’t focus with you sounding like a wanton temptress in my ears.”

“Okay ‘unbutton my vest and I’ll give it to you good’.”

Vergil sneered at you then, fixing his pants and tucking himself back in before a hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist and he fell back, dragging you to lie on top of him with a hand on the back of your head and the other resting on your lower back. You pouted against his chest with your cheek squished against him but ended up smiling into it at his behavior. It wasn’t often he cuddled but when he did it was nothing short of blissful. Listening to his heartbeat and being lulled by his rising and falling chest, you nearly fell asleep if it weren’t you suddenly remembering his vest.

You rose your head and glared at him, watching him peek at you with one eye from the action, “Are you gonna explain why your vest was so hard to unbutton? Or why it magically did it whenever you wanted it to?”

He closed his eye, “No.”

“Vergil.”

“…”

“It was demon magic, wasn’t it?”

“…You ask far too many questions.”

“It’s not like I didn’t like it.”

Both of his eyes opened then, and you knew you caught him, “Mmm.”

“Yeah, maybe next time do it to your belt cause I know you like it when I beg,” you hid the grin in his chest again as his eyes flitted to the ceiling, a calculating glint in them and you realized he truly was thinking of a scenario like that. He then lowered them and shot you a withering glare, aware you caught him.

“Minx.” You laughed and settled back down into his pectoral closing your eyes as his fingers rubbed a pattern into your lower back, and eventually lulling back to sleep from his petting.

You woke up around midnight back into your bed with your lover by your side and both of you back into your sleeping clothes and in another odd cuddling position. You didn’t question it as you were too groggy and fell back asleep and slept into the well hours of the morning with a sore lower body and a contented smile on your lips. However once up for the day and walking around, Dante had approached you both to ask about the couch. In both of your geniuses combined you answered him at the same time:

“A demon attacked.”

“Her nails got stuck in it.”

…

Dante sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. He didn’t believe either of you, but he still smacked his brother’s back in a display of pride for ‘having it in him’.

You both still had to fix the couch though.

[alittledizzy]

what's an aspect of dnf's dynamic that you think really emphasizes how different they are with each other comparing to the other 2 duos (snf and dreamnap)?

dream and sapnap are brothers. that's a ride or die, til death relationship. that's i'm literally gonna put myself in the path of a bullet for you forever shit. i'll move across the country just to answer the door. the we were children and then you helped make me into the man i am kind of bond.

george and sapnap are best friends. they're the kind of best friends that fucking hate each other one minute, will yell and scream in each other's face about it, and fucking mean it. and then ten minutes later casually announce they're going to get cookies. they're the besties that sit in each other's room at 3 am just to talk shit and keep each other company. they're the 'i'll do this without you asking so we don't have to make shit awkward' bffs.

but dream and george just feel like... the deep end of the pool. like there's always been a desperate tinge to the amount and quality of time they spend together. like they're tapped in, always; even if one of them or both of them still goes off and does other things, they orbit each other always.

i do think since george moved to america what played out online has turned more personal and private, with a layer to it they've realized they have the option to hide. but god, if this year proved anything, it should have proven that george and dream are locked in step no matter what is happening in their lives. they love each other in a way that dream will declare, voice breaking and life falling apart, as a full step sentence all of its own. they choose each other repeatedly even when, at different turns, everything in their lives could have gone easier if they'd done anything else but choose each other so publicly and unapologetically.

i don't actually think there's a 'one above the other' type of situation between the three of them. people are complicated, they have different dynamics, and rely on each other in different ways. it's just like, three different angles of a prism, the light is going to splinter differently depending on how you look at it and the time of day.

[munsster]

take me to church

A/N: i am down ASTRONOMICALLY for big men who are also whiny babies (gif creds: @mulderscully)

Pairing: Hugh “Ransom” Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Summary: The Drysdale heir gets on his knees for his darling goddess. 3.0k words

Warnings: smut mdni, switch!ransom, switch!reader, degrading, worship, slapping, pet names (princess, puppy, sweetheart, honey, baby, angel), gentle slapping, religious references (mainly catholic), overuse of italics xoxo

"You should know your place by now, Drysdale."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't whine, you sound like a baby," you groan. Just a moment ago, you had slammed his bedroom door shut tight, and all six feet of him had whipped around with the meanest scowl on his face. He's big, sure, but you've got leverage on his heart. It kills him the way you snap into place between his ribs with, god, the prettiest laugh he's ever heard. He'd never admit it, though. Least of all to you.

And he knows he's nothing but an insect under your heel, yours to shatter and reconstruct. He gets a rush in your presence. He has never been so intimidated by someone with such a sweet smile. Such a gentle soul but the worst sadist he's ever held close. Worse than himself.

"You think you stand a chance, don't you?"

You're like a roman candle with how unpredictably fiery you are. Yesterday, it was being stuck in traffic down the ninety-five. Tomorrow, it'll probably be some coworker's silly mistake. Tonight, you simply came home angry. That's it. You need a release, and there he is. Dark hair ungelled and messy but pushed back and flawless still, standing like a statue and at your mercy. You're set off, the wild look in your eye setting him off.

"I'm all yours, princess, tell me what you want," he coos so sweetly you could melt, but you never ever would. It'd boost his ego and splinter his edges. He'd get worse. And what you give him is discipline. Patience for his inner child. Medicine for his deepest wounds.

"On your knees, puppy."

He does. Without one single thought. Every iota devoted to your demands. With a thud, he's at your feet, lamenting his own devotion when your hands preen through his hair.

You're his heaven and hell and all the bits in between. He's a shrine to your love, a glimmering reflection in the pool of your heart. And he's grown oh-so-narcissistic these past few months.

"What to do with my poor boy," you whisper because he pouts, not a single change to his expression, but he sinks in on his own body, deflating at the core. You coddle him. "Oh, I know."

He hates your mystery. Because it's no secret what you're up to. It's no longer mystery with a grin like that. He shifts and settles his big hands onto your thighs, pushing up to hold your waist tentatively.

"Please, sweetheart, anything."

"Hugh, you know exactly how I feel about begging." You hold his chin and lean close. So close blood pumps through his ears and drowns out his panic. Yeah, his cock is hard, but it's no rival to his blown pupils and needy hands that tug the waistband of your slacks.

"Keep going," you say against the corner of his mouth, nipping his bottom lip and sucking until he whines and digs his fingertips into your skin. The heat of your palm blows over his cheek as you strike him. Gently, though. Just a kiss of your fingers on his skin, and he blushes. No way in hell would you hit him—harm him without permission. He has to admit though: he'd like the sting if it was your doing. For it would be his unraveling and a blessing all the same.

"Princess, sweetheart, come on, I can give you everything," he huffs, grasping desperately for you, at anything within his insatiable reach, "Just say the word, please, honey, you gotta understand: I worship you."

"Oh, I understand plenty, pet. Why don't you prove it?"

He stands from the floor like a ghost fulfilling his final purpose in your hands. His body is so ardently belonging it's sickening. To be yours is a rite amongst the holy and yet you bring the sin out of him. All seven, splayed out like a deck of cards across his thieving brain.

"You Boston boys think you're so scary. All that east coast charm just pourin' outta you. You couldn't scare a newborn. What makes you so special, huh?"

"You."

Your breath seizes. Every nerve alight with his warm hands crawling over your torso and his cheeks pink. Your boy has never been so forward. Not like this. Not ever. His eyes gleam like he's never witnessed such beauty and wickedness up close. Like he's never seen a mirror.

You stare at him, incredulous of his charisma, his grace. He is sure of one thing though: whatever you are will kill him, but wouldn't that be the best poison?

"You have no idea," Ransom whispers. He tosses your shirt aside and unbuttons your pants. And you let him. Sincerely, you are taken aback and breathing in awe. He is filled to the bones with your light, blood replaced by lust. He needs nothing else besides your soul. Your wicked hands.

Then he kisses you. Like he could lose you to the abyss if he let go for even one moment. With saliva spun from his tongue and delving into yours, but soft and kind and to feel the familiarity of your warmth. He becomes pliant, knowing with clear certainty he is a lonely boat and you are a raging sea only lying in wait to rip him to shreds.

And yet he sails willingly. Blissfully.

"You know," you mumble against his fervent mouth. "You'd be so handsome if you weren't desperate." Though, he doesn't stop to listen. He's too dissatisfied. He needs the taste of you and the half-glass of wine you downed in the kitchen. It tingles in his mouth, bitter and recherché, the best he could find. For his goddess, he'd pay with his life.

If you truly meant the things you said to him out of frustration, he would still promise you every ounce of starlight in the sky. If you truly meant every insult, he would still beg and pine and bleed to be called yours. He'll be a disgrace as long as he is your disgrace.

And he knows you're lying when you tell him things like that. As if someone so lovely as you would consider some lowlife like him if he weren't the finest looking asshole in northern Massachusetts. Worship is an exchange of grace. It's not a one way street, no. It's an intersection. God must love his mortals or they would not be his.

"Hugh."

He pulls back and squints. You call him that when: one, you're pissed off, or two, you're about to fuck the living daylights out of him and leave him destitute and longing for days. Either way, he wins.

"My angel... my beloved... my one. What can I do for you?"

Each endearment peppered with kisses along your throat. He sweetens it up because he's smitten and wants what you give him every time: pain.

"If only I could use you like the poor beggar you are," you say, condescending in that way he goes mad for. And he grins.

"Please?"

Say no more, you tug his hair without any sense of remorse and no gauge for his pain. Anyway, his tolerance is boundless when he's with you. He tilts his head back, neck bare and Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps. Out of fear or pleasure, he can't tell. But he gives you that cheshire smirk, and it all dissolves down into his affinity for your touch.

You trace the column of his throat and press your tongue to his jaw, sucking at the skin to mark him. And he wishes you would do it all over and everyday. He is nothing if not yours. When you leave little bruises, he gets to be told even when you're away.

"You're incorrigible," you pant against his warm skin that pulses with cold blood. "Look at you, so so needy. Trust-fund-fuck-toy, little no good dolly, hmm? Need someone to tell you what to do so you don't rot away."

Something like a growl blooms in his chest, though it feels like a purr when he goes slack and leans into your touch. You're always taken aback by his antics, but you've never let on about it until now. With eyes wide, you're spoon feeding him abuse, and he's taking it without the airplane noises. He slips easily into your submission, and you're stunned. Even now, after all you've put him through.

"Ransom," you whisper into the little indentation at the base of his neck. He hums. Your fingers comb through his hair, and he shivers with delight. We create false gods to pass time and worship them all the same. He is yours, and you are his, and it will be that way until the end of time.

"On the bed. Now."

He jitters with excitement, only still under your scrutiny, and manages to drop his sweatpants into a crumpled pile at his feet. You dare not look down. You don't have to. You know he's not wearing his usual briefs: crisp white and snug around the muscle of his thighs. You know because he hisses when the cold, autumn air sidles along his cock. Doesn't matter. He'll warm up nicely once he gets inside you.

For now, he sloppily kisses the bow of your lips and slumps to the bed, breathing heavy with his back to the headboard. He's loud and yet untouched. You'd think he ran a marathon. Or six.

"Join me," he grumbles, scratching his knee before slowly dragging his blunt nails up and up and—then his fingers are wrapped around his cock. Nothing in comparison to any ounce of what you've given him before. The best sex of his life stands clad in panties with her arms crossed. Brooding over his weak body. "Princess?"

"Shut up. Let me get a good look at you, pretty boy." You hold his chin between thumb and forefinger. Between head and heart, he lies steadfast and boyish in the wake of your warmth. His strength is drained by your every touch. You render him incapable, but he's the one built far above and toned like the shaft of a power drill. You can fit your fingers perfectly into his divots, and all is restored. Turn his house into a home so long as you keep looking at him like he's a work of art.

"Ransom, what're you thinking about?"

And then again, you hold him so so gently, he'd think he was precious. Beyond value, even. What is value anyway. His gauge will always be whether you want him or not. His value is subjective to you. Forever and always, he may be a dreadful Catholic, but he’s well-versed in your scripture.

"What do I ever think about? Other than your sweet pussy," he mumbles and cups his palm between your legs, fingertips slow and circuitous around your covered clit. "Come on, princess, I know you want it. I can tell she needs me. Give in."

You've gotten good at being angry with Ransom, so good it's hard to remember his softness. The assailant of his soul often outsmarts the gentleman. But once in a while, he shines through the cracks beside his eyes when he smiles. So genuine, it's hard to deny. Not now, though.

Now, he reads troublemaker loud and clear.

You straddle his hips, and he gargles down a throat-clawing moan. Oh, you're horrible. A fist around his cock, you tug the crotch of your underwear to the side and slick his tip between your folds. You manhandle and taunt him, and yet he's never been this hard. He's gonna need painkillers for the headache you rattle him with.

"Who needs who again?"

He could cum. In fact, he would burst if he wasn't clenching his fingers through the sheets: tight enough to draw blood between the linen and from the heel of his palm. He's withholding because of your withholding. He won't last like this. And he's going fucking crazy.

"God—fuckin' damnit—gorgeous, baby, you're killin' me. Huh—fuck—'s that what you want?" He groans, head thrown back against the headboard.

"Be careful, Hugh. I can be a lot less nice if you want," you grumble with teeth scraping the edge of his jaw when you kiss his skin. And he wants. Oh, he wants you—with every fiber of his wicked being—to be mean. But he'd also die every which way to be your good boy. He slips his fingertips beneath the underwire of your bra, weaseling his palm to cup your supple breast.

"I'm being careful," he says, "so careful. Wouldn't wanna hurt my babygirl." You grab his jaw hard as he pinches the bud of your nipple with a grin.

"You're the worst, Drysdale."

"You love me."

"I love using you."

He stills. Then lifts his head. Of course. Of course. He suspected it, sure, but never has he wanted you to take back what you said like he does now. His body aches for you nonetheless. He shatters into pieces for you. Of course you love it. But not him.

"Take it back," he mutters.

"Hmm? I can't hear you—"

Ransom wraps his arms flush around your waist to hold you against him like a crime. Your smirk melts away hot and fast at the frown on his pretty face.

"You love me. Say it, princess, you love me." A sinner in every degree, he's begging. His repentance is you. If only you'd forgive his wounded pride. You press the pad of your forefinger to his chin and look down on him like a god. Like he's a sacrifice.

"Oh, Hugh. You don't know the first thing about love."

"But you do. And you love me. Please, love me," he huffs. You lick his wet bottom lip like a cat, stray and rabid and curling into his warmth with the sun long gone.

"I'll show you love, pretty boy. Like you've never felt it before."

And you sink onto him; he nearly loses all control beneath you, squirming and grabbing at anything he can reach. Needy as babies often are, only he is fully grown and you both know it. Though his whining might prove otherwise. 

"Jesus—Jesus Christ, that's—that's—keep going." His hips jerk up off of the mattress with every pulse of your walls clamping around his shaft. His body is so limp and yet so tense, he could explode. He wants nothing more than to make you his: to fill you so deeply he's there for months. Nine, maybe.

You mewl. Holy shit, the prettiest noise he has every heard, you mewl. Like a newborn fawn, ever fair and fragile, only graced by sweat and heavy breaths. His eyes snap open to see your back arched, palming at his wrists with your eyes fluttered closed. He licks his lips, then kissing your navel wetly, he watches you coyly through his lashes.

Your fingers scratch at his scalp while he bounces you on his pulsing cock. Every vein, every subtle undulation, you feel slipping out of you just to slip back in. Yanking his hair, he pants, and you purr again at his body's rough reaction. His hips jolt, and you grin with your lip content between your teeth.

His hands are so big, and you're so soft, and there's nothing he can do but worship and sanctify your hallowed and celestial body. Ethereal. You are of literature, written as an angel, halo and all. A blade of light piercing a thick blanket of clouds, shedding calm on his broken heart. And he's a pagan of your beauty. 

At this point, he accepts it. He wouldn't mind being nothing more than a doll to you. Because you still chose him. He's still your doll, once all is said and done. And his pulse steadies from a raging pounding to a heavy beat in his ears, rushing through his bloodstream like narcotics.

"Feel so good, princess, all tight 'n warm for me. All mine," he groans. Eyes shut, you breathe in the soft slapping of damp skin, and he savors the way you drip down his inner thigh. "My little vice, all wrapped 'round my cock. So good to me, aren't you? Atta girl."

You crane your neck forward and clench your jaw. Your thrusts grow slow and deep and reaching as the warmth drains from your head and you clench his shoulder with eager fingers.

"C'mon, we both know how bad she want it. Fuckin'—can feel you squeezing me, angel." He pats your thigh, and the vein on his neck goes red hot about to burst.

Then you go weak in his palms. It's your turn to be used while he lets you wring his cock for dear life. He glides you in slow up down, up down strokes and spills into you, plugging you tight as you keep him struggling for air.

You nudge the tip of your nose against the soft part of neck beneath his chin. The softest part of Ransom Drysdale—besides the spot reserved in his little heart for you, his dove. You press, and he swallows and syncs to your every movement. From the bat of your eyelashes to the ample exhales of your parted lips.

"I love you, Ransom."

He goes dizzy.

"What?"

"I love you."

You lift your head, dead serious with fingers ticking along his expanding chest. He grins, dopey and elfish and needy. And shifts his hip. You gasp at the blood flowing hard into his cock once more.

"Say it again," he grumbles.

"I love you."

"Yeah. Yeah, you do. Now you're gonna scream it till the neighbors do, too." You're sure of one thing and one thing alone. Ransom Drysdale has always been true to his word. That's how you end up with his hand around your throat and your fingers in his mouth.

masterlist

[ipostwhatiwant1202]

More Headcanons I think are 100% valid and I don't care what anyone says:

note: do you guys like the headcanons or prompts/imagines more? i like writing both but i also enjoy your feedback :)

• none of them like milk

• they're all guilty of leaving the seat up on the toilet

• they write notes to eachother on the bathroom mirror after a shower when the mirror is fogged up

• they have a group text with just the four of them and then one with april and casey

• the group text of the four of them is just a bunch of memes and gossiping

• the group text with april and casey is just them bullying casey and dinner plans

• none of them can eat thai or indian food

• while they don't get sick very often, they all get sick within a day of each other

• leo and mikey both have very sensitive skin

• raph does skin care

• donnie has the best skin out of all of them and does no skin care

• they have code words

• they all enjoy musicals

• the first time april had her period around them, due to their heightened sense of smell, all four of them literally panicked because their friend was bleeding out (like full on cold open fire scene from the office freaking out)

• speaking of the office, donnie is a big fan of it and so is leo

• raph and mikey are brooklyn 99 fans

• mikey is the master cook in the house and leo is always the taste tester

• donnie is a very picky eater

• raph can eat literally almost anything

• mikey loves horror movies but he can't watch them by himself

• leo and raph enjoy watching war movies

• donnie likes movies that are based on real events, he loves crime shows

• they all hate broccoli

• they all eat lettuce like it's candy

• since their energy is lower in the winter, they all become more lethargic and cuddlier because of it

• 'i love yous' are rare but not unheard of, they'll say it if one of them is genuinely upset or have gotten hurt in an almost life threatening way

• their ways of saying i love you:

- leo uses praise and/or compliments

- raph does head shoves/shoulder pats

- donnie will say how cool they are

- mikey just says it with no shame

• it's canon that they all have nicknames that they call each other

• mikey always controls the aux when they're driving places

• donnie does directions

• leo drives

• raph is in charge of snacks

• they have similar mannerisms when they're explaining something, they all talk with their hands a lot

• none of them can sleep without hugging something

• leo's big broisms come out whenever his brothers are sad/upset, even when he's mad at them

• raph's little broisms come out whenever he's hanging out one on one with leo

• chronic middle child donnie causes the most chaos in the lair and no one suspects it's him

• since mikey is the baby, he still gets baby treatment well into adulthood when he's upset

• they're all guilty of calling april babe at some point

• they also call her 'ape' just to make her mad

• speaking of april, they're all very fascinated by her hair and nail designs she has done

• she's the one who introduced them to skin care

• leo hates coffee but loves the smell

• raph loves red bull

• donnie can't stand the taste of dr pepper

• mikey lives off purple crush and mt. dew

• splinter still tells them stories

• they can't go to sleep without saying goodnight to each other

[spahhzy]

Ruby: Jaune-wait, please can't we just talk about this?

Thunder could be heard above as Jaune just stopped walking, and he turned his head to look at Ruby.

Those blue eyes that used to fill her with warm and security now looked at her with coldness and anger.

Ruby: I-I can't imagine the anger or the sorrow you must be feeling after I left...

Jaune just looked back ahead and continued to walk, not wanting to hear anything from her, but was stopped as she appeared in front of him using her semblance.

Ruby: No-No, please listen!

Jaune just kept that look on his face, a look that said 'Get away from me', and it made Ruby's heart splinter.

Ruby: I left... I left cause I-

Jaune: I don't want to hear whatever excuse you come up with. Go home.

Ruby: It's not an excuse, Jaune! I just-I just-

Jaune: Seven years, SEVEN FUCKING YEARS, I believed you to be alive, while everyone else thought you were dead , Seven years I bled my heart out for you crying each night as was swallowed by a raging blackhole of despair., Seven years I wished and prayed that you were out their and that you'd come home.

Ruby: I-Jaune I wanted to tell you-

Jaune: And then one day, Ruby, I received a photo, and to my surprise, their was my supposedly dead girlfriend kissing another man.

Ruby: How did you-

Jaune throws his scroll at her, too, which she catches as she looks at the photo gasping in horror. Their she was with Oscar, both of whom were intoxicated that day, it was a day both came to regret.

Tears leaked down Ruby's eyes as rain drops began to drop.

Ruby: Jau-please, i can explain!

Jaune: Nothing.

Ruby: *sniffle* What?

Jaune: I feel nothing.

Ruby felt her throat contrisct tighter and tighter as more tears spilled from her eyes.

Ruby: Jaune...please I'm sor-

Jaune moved his way past Ruby.

Jaune: My emotions for you as whole...have expired. Go home.

Gently taking his scroll, Jaune climbed up the porch steps and gave one last look to Ruby, who was now being drenched by the rain looking like the saddest sight in the world.

As he ascended the stairs, though, the door to the house opened, and in the doorframe stood someone, they looked at Jaune tenderly before their gaze transfered over to Ruby who just stood their in shock at seeing who was in Jaunes home.

The loving look went from a momentary shock to a baleful look as Jaune just looked at the person before walking past them and going deeper into his home. The person kept their glare at Ruby a final time before closing the door.

*thud*

Ruby Rose fell to her knees as the rain continued to pour down as she stared at the closed door to the home of the man she loved. The man who now all but hated her and found another.

And for the first time since the EverAfter, Ruby Rose didn't want to be Ruby Rose anymore.

-

Guess we all can't get our fairytale endings *hyuck hyuck*

Who could that mystery person be? Why anyone you want it to be! ;)

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

hiii could you do more of Baby!Seonghwa pls?? I loved it and i can’t stop thinking about it since i’ve read it, amazing work btw thanks <3

Medicine

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

➯a/n: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind. i'm back at it with my mommy hwa shenanigans while tweaking with the shells plot line mwahaha

takes place before Baby (you don't have to read to understand but it gives this some extra spice)

✃ "I'd burn alive just for the soft light on your face." -Paper Doll, Flower Face

✫彡wordcount: 3k

♡'･ᴗ･'♡(ಡ‸ಡ)(¯ ³¯)♡genre: yandere, angst, hurt & comfort

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: stockholm syndrome, periods and period blood(non descriptive), everyone is morally grey, non sexual nudity, references to sh and violence(not towards reader), it's fair to say seonghwa is a murderer lol, jongho and baby bff agenda as hinted at in the first part, more exploration of how the members are affected, one mention of sewer slide, mingi needs a hug fr, not proof read

⁂perm taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

✩index: little space; a regressed state of mind where one feels like a child. hyung; a name for an older male friend or sibling, used by other males.

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

  Seonghwa was certain that he could handle anything you threw his way after five months of being his captive in his care.

      He knew you well, better than he knew himself most days. Even before he had 'taken you home', he tried to learn everything about you to make the transition easier. Some things though- were impossible to know.

     You hadn't gotten your period since before your 'big move', as he called it. He read up on all things womanly to be better prepared so he knew that stress could cause you to skip it. And it did for a long while. Now, though, you were starting to settle in.

     He knew they were painful. But nothing prepared him for the heartbreak when he saw you in the state you were in now.

     He had just gone downstairs to get the mail, but that was apparently all the time it took for you to lock yourself in the bathroom.

     "I don't know what happened, Hyung!" Mingi was just as panicked as Seonghwa at the moment, he felt responsible for whatever was happening behind the locked bathroom door. What if you had gotten into their razors? It would be all his fault... His Hyung trusted him with his Baby and she dashed away before he could even register it.

     Everyone saw the shift in you the past few days, moody and hungry and tired. One of the managers even had the nerve to ask if you could be pregnant. As if Hwa would ever let you skip your birth control.

    "She just ran off! Everything was fine," Mingi continued as he jiggled the knob relentlessly, slapping his palm on the wood while calling out.

     His voice was so loud in Seonghwa's mind. He was so overwhelmed. Scared. Full of rage.

    And then they heard the shower turn on.

    At least he knew you were alive in there.

    "Baby?" He pushed his younger member out of the way and knocked on the door much gentler. "You know you can't take baths alone. Open the door and let me help you."

     There was no response.

    "Now, Baby."

    Only the sound of the water hitting linoleum tiles.

   "Don't make me count to three."

    Mingi backed up at that. He hated when he counted just as much as you did.

    But he didn't have to count, when he heard the tiniest sniff from over the pelting water his body reacted for him. His shoulder came in contact with the door and in the next second he had broken through the frame of the door.

    Mingi looked on in shock, eyes fixed on the metal lock on the door which was still stuck out in place. They followed to the doorframe, splintered open. Then they fell to you, curled up naked on the bathroom floor under the raining water. He looked away at that, turning and crouching down to pick up the broken pieces of wood to busy himself until he knew you were okay enough to leave you in Seonghwas care alone.

      Seonghwa had kneeled next to you, uncaring as the water soaked the knees on his pants. Even more uncaring as he leaned over your face, blocking the water with the back of his head and soaking the collar of his shirt and his hair. The scorching water dripped from his hair to your face as he cupped it in his hands, inspecting you for any damage on the surface.

"Baby, my baby, what's wrong?" The pain in his voice was just as present as the pain in your face. Wound tight like your eyebrows as you winced.

"H-hurts." Was all you could manage, groaning as he untucked your arms from around you to inspect you further. You were fine on the surface.

"Hyung..." His head snapped back to Mingi, who held out your shorts pinched between his fingers, touching them as little as possible. There was a dark spot on them, red and angry as it stained the pattern.

He looked down slowly, eyes meeting the drain as it sucked up the pink tinted water.

ఌ

It took all the convincing in the world from Seonghwas part that for you to remember that you weren't dying. That this happened to big girls every month. Eventually he managed to dry you off after letting the water sooth you for a while and set you up with a pad from the box he's had under the sink since he brought you home.

But then again, some things he couldn't have been prepared for. You told him your periods weren't just painful, they were debilitating. He wished he would have asked you before hand to be more prepared- but now he knows better for next time!

He set you up on the couch with a sock full of uncooked rice that he'd heated up placed on your stomach while he did frantic research on his phone. He peeked back and when he saw you were fast asleep, tuckered out from fighting the pain, he made a beeline downstairs- not even bothering to wait for the elevator and essentially jumping down the stairs.

     He barged right into Yunho and Yeosangs dorm, making a mental note to scold them for not locking the door later on. But for now he was on a mission for his baby.

    "Hello, Yeosang," he greeted briefly as he barged into the room as well, going straight to his shelf of supplements and vitamins. He could only stare dumbfounded as he scooped up what he needed and left. "Bye, Yeosang."

"Hello, Yunho." He spoke as he passed him in their kitchen. He raided the pantry and left with a simple, "Bye, Yunho." The both of them looked on in confusion as their Hyung left the dorm, not bothering to even shut the door.

     "Yah, that's ours!"

    Yunhos yell when unheard -or rather uncared for- as he was out the door just as fast as he came, desperately rushing down the hall as they looked on.

ఌ

That was how everyone ended up in the top story dorm, watching in confusion and anxiety as Seonghwa sat down his stolen goods on the coffee table infront of the couch, careful not to wake you. He went to walk off, and Wooyoung opened his mouth, "is she o-"

      "Shh!" The eldest shushed harshly, shutting him up as he sped walked away.

      "Hey, thats mine!" Another victim of Seonghwas thievery followed his Hyung with a sleepy grimace, blinking confusedly at the scene in the living room.

They had all seen some strange behavior from their eldest member, especially through the past nine months that lead up to this. The day you met was like a switch flipped in his imbalanced mind.

They hated you for that. Or rather, hated the idea of you. Every one of their moral compasses was spun in a complete three sixty when their Hyung kidnapped you those five months ago. He wasn't the same. For the good or bad, you changed Seonghwas live, all of their lives-

For bad, you had been the reason that Hongjoong had to pick dirt from under his nails after covering up one of his best friends sins. You were the reason Mingi had to take a three week hiatus to cover recover from the bruises from when he made eye contact with you. You were the reason that a quarter of their staff had to be paid off when the word spread, just to keep everything from going public.

But then- you were the reason that Seonghwa had started smiling again. The reason he tossed his blades into the river. You were the inspiration to eight different songs in only these few months, one of which was a major break through for them. Your childlike attitude beamed through the apartments.

You brought a certain light to their lives, one that was emitted from the fires of Hell.

They promised themselves they'd be indifferent to you, to not get involved as much as possible for the sake of their own sanity and morals. And yet, here they are.

Gathered in the living room with heavy hearts as they looked over you, silently begging for Seonghwa or Mingi to tell them what was wrong with you.

"Hyung..." Jongho spoke as softly as he could, his eyes couldn't help but fixate on the way you held yourself like you wanted to disappear. "What did you do to her?"

He, out of everyone, was most worried.

He hated this situation just as much as the others. Hell, he was still fighting himself every day to turn his Hyung in- even if their entire worlds would come crashing down. Because he hated to see you in pain. An innocent person suffering because he was too cowardly.

You were attached to the hip the second that Seonghwa let you out of his room. You dashed for the scariest looking member... because he was less scary than the man who snatched you up, who you thought you could trust. You hid behind his arms as everyone else looked on, simply staring in the disbelief of what their once trusted and kind member had done.

Hongjoong was in the same boat, just as troubled as Jongho was with the entirety of what had become their lives. He prided himself in the fact that he was a good person, through and through. He did good deeds when no body was looking, simply because it spread good feelings. All he ever wanted to put in the world was positivity. But when he saw the tears that his best friend caused, his heart made him simply look the other way. You didn't like Hongjoong much. His picture in Seonghwas room taunted you, made you resent him for being so obviously close to the source of all your pain. But he didn't treat you any different for it.

"Park Seonghwa, you promised you wouldn't hurt her like that," Hongjoong sneered through his teeth, ready to grab his only Hyung by the ear when he heard a small grumble from the couch.

You blinked. Once, twice.

And then you broke into a waterfall of hot tears.

"Hey, Baby it's okay," Seonghwa tried to soothe you, only to be pushed flat away from you as Jongho came and took his seat infront of the couch where you were situated.

"Hi, little bear," he cooed, taking you into his arms immediately when you weakly opened yours. He moved slowly as he sat on the couch with you in his lap, but slowly wasn't slow enough to stop the aches from pulsing through your veins on what felt like a molecular level.

It was Wooyoungs turn now to feel brave and stand up to Hwa- well, stand over him as he watched his baby with tears of his own welling up. "She's never cried this hard, what did you do?"

"Baby-"

He was pushed back down as he reached for you, a begging pout on his lips as Yeosang held him down by his shoulders.

He didn't know what had changed in his members but he knew it was shit timing. You needed comfort and calm, not to see your caregiver held down and restrained from you.

A pink sock hit Yeosangs head and he looked up with soft shock written on his features as he met your eyes. You immediately looked down, you still weren't allowed to look them in the eyes and you most definitely didn't want a punishment ontop of natures own. "Don't hurt my Mommy..."

"Honey, did your Mommy do this to you?" Yunho asked as he bent to your level.

You simply shook your head. Were they really fighting over your well-being? Why didn't they do that months ago when this whole fiasco started? You blinked away the thought as another teeth gritting cramp hit you. You hid in Jonghos sweater, trying to quiet down your sobs.

It wasn't all for naught though, as you could hear Mingi finally speaking up when he returned from the kitchen, a baby bottle of juice in hand that he sat down with Seonghwas thieved goodies. "She got her period..." Some of them immediately started cooing over you, and while you couldn't tell who with your head trying to burrow its way into Jongho to hide, it still made your ears feel hot with embarrassment.

"Oh, poor baby," San was the first one to speak, plugging in the heating pad he was robbed of minutes early with zero hesitation, gently draping it over your lower back.

"Get off me," Seonghwa finally snapped and pushed Yeosang and Wooyoung away, crawling on his knees to the couch. "Baby, I've got some stuff to help you but you'll have to come off Jongho, okay?"

You had a hint of defiance in your pain filled eyes as you peeked from the plush sweater you were hidden in. "No, big bear," you put on the cutes and hugged Jonghos neck tighter.

"I know big bear is comfortable," he bit his tongue as he looked at the way you so willingly curled into his youngest members lap for comfort that he should be providing, "but give me five minutes, I need to take care of you."

"Come on, little bear," Jongho sat up as careful as possible, ignoring the tug on his heart as you whined. He cared for you, of course. But he feared Seonghwa more.

Wooyoung couldn't bear to watch anymore, taking San's hand and disappearing down the hall. He used to look up to Seonghwa, now he could barely look in his eyes.

Mingi followed their lead, he wanted to be strong and comfort you, but he simply couldn't handle another second of seeing you reduced to tears. He'd never watch you cry again. His heart couldn't take it. Maybe that made him a coward of a man, but he didn't care at the moment.

That left Hongjoong sat across the coffee table with Yunho, Yeosang lowering himself into the armchair, and Seonghwa on his knees infront of you as you clung to Jonghos neck.

   "Good..." He was certain there was blood filling his mouth from the way he bit down on his tongue. "I didn't want to leave you so these will do for now until I order your own, right?" It was rhetorical-was it? It's not like you had a choice in the matter. But he was so kind that it made your brain foggy. Like he really cared of your opinion for a moment.

    "Magnesium, zinc, and vitamin d," he explained as he took one from each of the bottles. "More vitamin d," he sat the bottle of juice next to your legs. "And comfort," he drug the basket of sweets that he used as rewards for good behavior to the edge of the table and let you take a peek, seeing the new and unfamiliar chocolates on top.

Intrigued by the fancy looking wrapper, you reached out. Seonghwa only put the medicine in your hand. "Medicine first, Baby. Then you can have all you want from the basket."

Seonghwa was a lot of things but he wasn't a liar, never to you.

So, you sucked it up and took the medicine.

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Later that night, everyone besides Hongjoong and Jongho had returned home (save for the three that actually lived in the apartment with you). Mingi didn't exit his room, not even for dinner. San came and joined movie night after Wooyoung left.

The movie long ended, leaving everyone in the room dead asleep besides Seonghwa. How could he sleep at a moment like this? His Baby could wake up at any moment and need him.

So, he just sat and watched over the most important people in his life. His best friend, laid on the couch with his head on the opposite end as you, curled into a ball with nothing but a stuffed monkey to keep him company. His youngest member, laid on the floor with a pillow to his chest. And San, he was-

"Hyung?"

He was awake. Seonghwa perked up a bit, blinking away that familiar look in his eyes before he turned to the armchair where San was draped in a strange position. "Hyung, you should go to sleep..."

Both their eyes drifted to you, sound asleep. He'd either have to curl up behind you on the couch with Hongjoong or move you to your shared bed.

"You know..." San sighed, almost silently. "I hate you for what you did to her. For what got us here. But I would be lying if I said you didnt take good care of her. You love her, don't you?"

"I love her more than life." It was a declaration that was as easy as breathing. Though he'd never said it out loud to anyone other than you. Until now. Seeing you like that... "I love her. I never want her to be in pain like that, you don't understand, San. I was ready to kill myself if she was dying."

"Don't be ridiculous-"

"I'm serious."

The look in his eyes told him he was was. He would never joke when it came to you. He was always dead serious. He would rather not be in this world at all than be in it without you. "I know you don't understand, I'm not asking you to. But I had to do what I did. I had to do it. I had to."

"I know." And he did. San knew that, by all means Seonghwa didn't have to do what he did. He didn't have to kidnap you and keep you imprisoned in their dorm and buy people off to keep their mouth shut. But Seonghwa thought that he did. His mind had convinced him, and there was no turning back.

That first night, when they found you tied to his bed, that was all he could say. I had to. I had to. I had to. With his head tucked between his knees like a scolded child defending themselves- although everyone was too shell shocked to even say a word until Wooyoung broke the silence with a simple, 'what the fuck.' I had to. I had to. I had to.

"Do you?"

San licked his lips, took a deep breath, and rolled around to face the back of the arm chair. "I know you, Park Seonghwa. And you did what you believed was necessary. I can never agree with your reasoning... but I'll never fight you on it. Take your baby and go to bed. We're all tired."

Seonghwa couldn't see them, but there was fat tears rolling down San's face. He hadnt cried over this. But something had finally faded away and let him. He never referred to you as that. He liked to think you'd enjoy being separate from the life that Seonghwa had built for you. Not that you could notice most of the time, forced so deep into little space that your head felt light and fluffy like a bag of cotton candy.

    He must have finally come to terms with the fact that this was reality.

     "C'mon, baby girl," he heard him whisper, followed by a small groan as you were picked up. He waited until he heard Seonghwas door click. And he let all his tears free fall.

    Seonghwa set your tired form down on your side of the bed, crawling in after you while trying to push away that itch in his brain that was screaming that he forgot your nightly routine. He tucked that little voice away and settled in bed, bringing the soft comforter over you both and melting into his pillow with a sigh.

    He gathered you close as gently as possible and rubbed your back, staring up at the ceiling and listening closely to your breathes as they evened out to quiet snores.

      A smile played at his lips.

    For a moment he felt like everything would be okay. You had your medicine-

He felt you curl closer to his warmth, and he brought his finger tips up to brush your loose hairs back with a tenderness reserved only for you.

-And he had his.

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