#i say as i fall into a pit of acid

[anonymocha]

found bald don quixote in my random sketch mountains

[mutable-manifestation]

Imagining Danny just finding Batman lurking on a gargoyle or something and holding his finger juuuuuust barely not touching him.

Like. Gotham said to leave her knights alone? He is. He's not touching him. What? being nearby isn't "not leaving him alone" they can still choose not to interact with him. So what if he's in The Bat's personal space? He's THE Batman, her most preciousest number one Knight, surely he can find another way off of the gargoyle if he really wants to avoid him.

Batman turns around from his place on the gargoyle and nearly jumps out of his skin when he comes eye-to-finger with some skrungly kid who appeared out of nowhere??? (Danny has been floating slightly and holding his breath to avoid detection - because of course Gothi can only have completely human knights. GIW suck-up [he calls her this aloud once and three gargoyles crack off and fall nearly onto his head])

Lady Gotham and Phantom are friends- Lady Gotham and Phantom are coworkers/friendly to a degree with each other- Lady Gotham sees Phantom as her child adjacent blah blah blah

Consider the funnier option:

*Lady Gotham and Danny fucking hate each other.*

Danny takes two steps into the city and he can feel the city physically vibrating she wants him gone so badly. Unfortunately for her, Danny is a teenager that fought god (pariah dark) once and on a principle doesn’t listen to authority.

Just give me two city-spirits having the absolute worst beef with each other for no reason whatsoever.

[zylev-blog]

Batman opened the door, catching the falling body that had come out of the tube. Glowing green Lazarus water flowed around his feet, but he didn’t care. He gently laid the boy onto the ground, listening for breathing sounds. But he wasn’t even sure if his species could breathe. The boy was no older than Tim, with stark-white hair, and pale green skin. The boy wasn’t human, that was for sure, but as to what species he was, Batman had no clue. The teenager hadn’t even opened his eyes since being removed from the tube.

The Lazarus water didn’t smell quite like the pits he was used to. The water smelled cleaner, stronger. Less like battery acid and more like a strong-scented cleaner that he couldn’t give a name to.

He grasped the boy by the shoulders as he picked him up bridal style. He needed to take the boy to the cave, and figure out if he was even alive. A regular hospital wouldn’t be able to do anything for him.

“Batman, we’ve apprehended the last of the men in white suits.” Red Robin said over the comms.

“Good,” His voice was gruff, “Make sure they don’t escape before police arrive.”

Tim didn’t bother saying anything else to him. Neither of them were in the mood for jokes. Not after what they had seen tonight. They had stumbled across a lab in Gotham in an abandoned warehouse. They had thought that it was a Joker hideout when they first arrived, but they had quickly found out that wasn’t the case. After they had began to investigate, they had found corpses of many people that had been thrown into a pit. The bodies had evidence of vivisection, torture, and experimentation. The bodies had ranged from children to adults, but the results were all the same. They were all dead.

They had found tubes like the ones used at Cadmus. They held a few humanoid-species, but most of them looked like they were in varying stages of death. The only tube that looked like it held someone living had been the teenage boy he now held in his arms.

The worst thing about all of this were that they had no idea what this place was, what they were doing, or why they were in Gotham. They had stumbled in by mistake.

He had a lot of work to do.

“No survivors.” Nightwing’s voice sounded. Not even Dick was in a good mood anymore, and he had been joking around for the last few hours.

Batman looked down at the boy in his arms. The boy hadn’t stirred once, hadn’t moved, and hadn’t breathed. He might be carrying a corpse for all he knew.

“And the files?” He prompted.

“Downloading.” Red Robin’s voice was grim. “You’re not going to like it.”

He didn’t like anything about this situation already. How could it get any worse?

“From what I can tell from skimming through the files,” Red Robin continued, “They were experimenting with people’s souls. They killed all of these people because they wanted to catch their ghost.”

“Hrrn.” He looked away from the teenager in his arms. Maybe he didn’t have a corpse in his arms—but a ghost. A ghost of a teenager he failed to save.

What if it had been Tim lying in his arms? Dick? Jason? Damian? Did this teenager have parents before he died, or were his parents in the pit?

The boy stirred, whipping Bruce’s attention back to him. The boy moaned in pain, starting to writhe in his arms.

“You’re safe now.” He said to the boy. “You’re saved.”

“Nnnngh.” The boy opened Lazarus green eyes to look at him. The eyes were hazy, as if exhaustion plagued them. “Batman?”

“They won’t hurt you ever again.” He promised.

“Where is my sister?” The boy asked. “They took her.”

Dick’s words played on repeat in his mind. No survivors. But the boy didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

“We’re still searching the base. She’ll be here somewhere.” He lied.

The boy closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. But even with Bruce watching him, the boy did not breathe. Maybe he didn’t need to anymore. Tears leaked down the boy’s cheeks, as if he knew Bruce’s lie.

[burr-ell]

A Not-Necessarily-Exhaustive List of Good Moments from C1 1-27:

"I have an intelligence of 6, I know what I'm doing"

"We're here to right wrongs, and right lefts—" "And write comment cards"

Tiberius Kraghammer

Clarota

"We'll explain later. You're on the roof of Osama bin Laden's house"

"We'll be taking your weapons, your armor, and I believe your pride"

Percy making the first trick arrows for Vex after a shopkeep was a dick to her about arrows, which is canonically when she began to fall for him

Keyleth killing that one duergar from the TLOVM flashback

"I encourage violence"

Lady Kima being freed and then pulverizing the corpse of the duergar who'd been torturing her

Matt's fucked up body horror monsters

Scanlan taking a dump on a bed for the first time

Pike's crisis of faith when she slits a duergar's throat with her mace and her holy symbol breaks

When the limited T-shirt run went live and then sold out before Marisha could finish reading the announcement

Vax getting his foot burned off in lava

Scanlan the Kingslayer

"Can I use my Luck feat for this?" "You don't have any feet left"

Kima and Keyleth's argument (it was good, haters eat my shorts)

The origin of The Cube

"I'm Vax that's Vex ->" "I'm Vex that's Vax <-"

"Screw you, I want my final words with you to be indignant and irritated!"

"He has three-quarters cover" "I ignore three-quarters cover :)" "...then fuckin' fire!"

"Some people have no sense of fucking honor!"

Travis's notes that just say "I don't trust Clarota I don't trust Clarota I don't trust Clarota"

Percy reacting to the Briarwoods being namedropped during a council meeting

Meeting Gilmore on-stream for the first time

The Belt of Dwarvenkind and Grog's obsessive attempts to grow a beard

Scanlan's blue-shit-scrying potion

Grog "Philip" Strongjaw vs Kern

Vax giving Minxie!Keyleth a belly rub

The hydra fight and the beef with the Slayer's Take

Episodes 18 and 19, in their entirety, but specifically:

Zahra and Vex's initial rivalry-turned-friendship-turned-"I have a crush on Zahra"

Lyra. She's just. so much. idk of what but she is it

"I'm wearing the pajamas with the buttflap and the buttflap is down. The buttflap is DOWN"

Scanlan introducing himself to Rimefang as Burt Reynolds and then Matt, in his scary dragon voice, calling him "Burt"

"I'm sorry, I'm a genius, I'm sorry! Oh, god I'm clever!"

Zahra killing Rimefang

Percy and Vex working together on a history check (it's important To Me)

Wil Wheaton rolling five Nat 1s. In one session

Keyleth and Vax posing as a married couple to get information

Kash insight-checking Thorbir, believing he has to be actively sabotaging them because no one could possibly be that bad at their job (he's not, he really is just that unlucky)

Wil, playing a dwarven fighter, finally rolling a nat 20...for an insight check

The magic carpet losing its enchantment in a pit of acid and Laura's scream of horror from offscreen

"Rakshasaaaaaaa!" -jazz hands-

Kashaw and Keyleth, which was thankfully reworked in TLOVM but was also hilarious

Vex exasperatedly kissing Grog, portrayed by Laura kissing a bewildered Travis

Tyriok the cartographer

Grog, the Vasselheim merchant, and the first and only time Vex started beef with a retailer

Keyleth recounting a vision she had of her own death

The Aramente trial in Pyrah and a cameo from Thordak

Travis getting a medal from a fan for losing to Kern and Matt making it canon

Grog fighting Kern again and winning

Keyleth getting arrested. For the second time in Vasselheim alone

The first appearance of the man. The myth. The Viktor

Kynan's first appearance and Vax's idea of "tough love"

Percy telling his backstory to the party and them immediately affirming their support for him ("You don't have to get involved in this" "Oh, we are SO involved" "You said you wanted 'em dead!") and Taliesin himself being moved to tears over this

Percy creating Diplomacy

Vax and Keyleth bear-sitting Trinket and braiding pink ribbons into his fur

Gilmore finding out Vax wants to see him and teleporting in from half a continent away

Vax shaving half of Grog's beard and Travis breaking a mechanical pencil with one hand

The feast, where Percy actually threatens the Briarwoods to their faces while disguised as Vax

Vax and the Briarwoods. "Gosh you guys are good-looking"

Vax nearly dying and having a vision of the two people he cares about most: Vex and Keyleth

Sylas jumping out the window and doing a perfect 3-point landing...while Delilah blows the athletics check and faceplants in the dirt

"SYLAS"

Vex scoring two crits on Delilah

Tiberius getting Feebleminded

Percy's attack on Desmond. My horrid little skrunkly <3

"YOUR SOUL IS FORFEIT! DIE! DIE!" and Keyleth skipping her turn to just stare at Percy

Vox Moochina

Keyleth taking charge to save the ember roc

Keyleth conjuring a water elemental and Taliesin gargling water to translate her commands to it

And finally, the conversation between Keyleth and Percy where he privately confesses his own worries that he's going dark and that he's afraid of himself, and she expresses her concern for him and promises to be there for him

anyway c1 good

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Enforcers - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Dirty compromises and dead dreams...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"What about the Firelights?" Sevika asks. "Old Giz was their nexus. Now he's dead. But there's still a double-agent somewhere in our network. They've stolen from our warehouses before. Now that we're on the ropes, they'll try again."

"It won't happen."

"Sir—"

"Every single warehouse, silo, and strongroom will be under heavy guard. Not the conventional blackguards, either. Enforcers."

In the glass, Sevika's reflection falls still. The way a corpse would, in the final moments of rigor mortis.

"Enforcers?"

Silco nods. "The Council are pacified by our projected profit margins on medicinal Shimmer. With the Safeguard Act signed, they're content to believe Zaun will play nice. But with a disaster of this scale—and their investments so close to the ground—they'll need reassurance." He keeps breathing: in and out. The pressure in his lungs intensifies. The Monster gnashing at the bars of its cage. "For Topside, the only surety more sacred than a contract is an officer of the law."

Sevika says nothing. He'd expected a hot surge of rage, and refutations that would ricochet off the walls, before she cut a sweeping retreat. But she isn't angry; she seems unable to muster the willpower.

As if, after everything last night, her well of anger is dry.

"Enforcers," she says again. "On our turf?"

"The crisis-management troops. Not the standard-issue."

"It doesn't matter. We can't trust them."

"Which is why we won't give them free rein. They'll be housed in barracks aboveground. They'll be assigned to patrol specific locations. They'll be answerable directly to the Captain of the blackguards, and the Captain will report to you. Any infractions will be handled internally. They will be supervised at every step."

Sevika shakes her head. "We can't trust them," she repeats, with sharper emphasis. "You know that."

"Trust isn't a concern."

"Isn't it?"

Silco's stare cuts crooked as a guillotine's blade. "They will not be given leeway. They will be treated as guests: welcome, and cordially, but only for a set period of time. We'll not give them reason to linger. But while they are here, we will make use of them. They'll be assigned to territories where the Firelights are known to frequent. Their presence will sow panic. The Firelights will think twice before risking a full-frontal attack." He keeps breathing: the pressure is a bolus in his throat. The Monster's ire, a slush-pit of acid. "Until the Shimmer is harvested, and the fresh crop is ready for export, we'll need our goods protected at every stage of the process. No break-ins, losses, or theft. The Council needs to see Zaun as stable. Otherwise they'll reconsider their investment. Others will follow. We cannot let their cowardice be our downfall."

"But—"

"This is not a luxury, Sevika. It's a last resort." The bolus grows bigger, and the Monster is frothing in the darkness. Gods, how he loathes himself for pleading impotence when he'd like nothing more than to throttle every single one of them. It's a prostitution of principle, and his pride cannot sanction it. But his city's backed into a corner, and the only way out is through. "I know that Enforcers are the enemy. I know they've been the enemy, and they always will be. But we are on the verge of collapse, and there's no other recourse. If the Firelights take advantage of the instability, or if the Council's doubts turn into full-fledged panic... then everything will have been for nothing." He exhales: hard and slow. "We must make the best of the cards dealt."

"Sir—"

"I want you to personally oversee the Enforcers' deployment. Establish their routes, and ensure their discipline. I will not abide a reprise of the past." 

"And if there is?"

"Then we'll see the bastards gutted like fish."

The way they should've been on Bloody Sunday.

He hadn't kickstarted the slaughter that night. But it was still his fault. It was his wiles, his weapons, and his callow wargames that had tipped Topside off. They'd gotten a whiff of blood and descended into a feeding frenzy. And the bodies had piled up until there were none left to bury.

Nandi among them.

He'd sworn, that if Enforcers ever set foot again on Fissure soil, he'd tear them apart, bit by bit. That if Zaun was free, it would be free in every sense. Free from Topside's predations, free from their meddling and their murdering. Free to choose a better path, one unstained by the sins of the past.

Now here he is. Making his bed with the bastards that butchered his folk.

What a fucking joke.

In the glass, Sevika's reflected visage is grave. She can sense the unshackled darkness in him now. Sense, more keenly, that unlike last night, it won't be as easy to mitigate. But she doesn't shy away. Doesn't balk at his callousness, or the price he's demanding—from her and the city.

Her bedrock pragmatism is too well-entrenched for that.

She's always known that Silco is not a good man. But it's strange to see her look so cored-out by the knowledge.

I'm sorry, he could say.

Except the sheer inadequacy of the phrase is laughable. Sorry doesn't begin to touch the carnage of past and present. She'd never accept it, either. And, deep down, neither would he. He's not a man who apologizes: not for his ambitions, or the means that drive him to see them through. He's never owned a white horse, or waved a white flag, and he never will. Because there's no such thing as a fair fight; no justice in letting the enemy draw the first blow. Speed and necessity are his only edge: an edge that'll kill, and keep killing until he's the last man standing.

That's the only way to make amends to the dead. To make sure that the living don't join them.

"It will be a nightmare," he says. "But not the end."

Sevika meets his eyes in the glass, and nods.

"Understood, sir."

It's not an endorsement. It's not even a concession. But it's the acknowledgment he needs.

[holdinbacksecrets]

smitten

college soccer player!jeonghan part 3

part 1 part 2

“hey, i haven’t seen you all day.”

your roommate stands in the doorway to your bedroom, finding you at your desk drowning in assignments and the final draft of your midterm.

“i was at the library all morning trying to get this paper done. is everything ok?”

she’s wearing a blue bow identical to the one left on your dresser that morning. her skirt matches its deep shade, and you realize it’s quickly approaching 7pm.

“of course! it’s game day. i wanted to tell you you don’t have to come tonight if you don’t want to. hana—i think you know her… choppy bangs, green eyes—apparently she’s smitten, so she wants to join me or us if you’re still interested.”

lia’s eyebrows raise, and you can tell she’s hoping you’re still interested, but she’s worried about dragging you along while on pursuit of a boy as if that would ever bother you, as if your own footsteps and love-covered fingertips haven’t submerged into your own version of a boy pursuit.

“i am. i was going to take a shower within the next ten minutes. we still have an hour right?”

she smiles, nodding excitedly. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

“before you go, who does hana like?”

lia’s smile widens, and she runs her fingertip along the length of your door, swiping vibrant blue polish across a striking white. “jeonghan.”

your heart sinks and melts into the acidic jealousy existing in the pit of your stomach. jeonghan? jeonghan… of course.

you feel deflated as you approach the bathroom, reaching for your towel before switching the light on.

the last thing you want is for this to get complicated. if hana makes a move, what are you supposed to do? for all you know, you’ll be standing beside the girl for two hours, listening to whatever smitten sounds like and pretending you didn’t dream about the same man the previous night or stare at his message about bandaids and lollipops… smitten.

shampoo stings your eyes while you contemplate sharing your own feelings for jeonghan with lia. she’s pushed you a little bit, knowing your history of having interest in athletes, but the years of your friendship have taught her a few things. those things include only sharing what you want to and keeping things close to your chest. your heart is as far from your sleeve as it can get, tucked away safely in the dark warmth within your chest. of course jeonghan has started to shine rays of light, creating beautiful sunbeams and beginning to swell what’s been hibernating in its safety zone.

lia is perched at the bar stool eating a bowl of cereal when you leave your bedroom. she quickly takes a look at your outfit, happy to see a bow of your own pinned to your jacket. your denim shorts have blue ruffles stitched along the curve of each pocket, and you can feel the familiar rush of anticipation. nothing beats an october night, with its comforting chill and the scene of a game only a short walk away. you look forward to these evenings all year. jeonghan is the best part, unexpectedly so.

“i didn’t touch the honey bunches of oats. there’s only enough for one more bowl if you’re hungry.”

“thanks, lee.”

you top the cereal off with milk and eye your roommate nervously, hoping she’ll pick up on your desire to say something. you’ve never been good at sharing feelings, especially when you’re afraid of stepping on another’s toes.

“i can feel you staring me down. is there something on my face or on your mind?”

lia palms her bowl, bringing the ceramic to her lips to savor the perfectly sweetened milk before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“this season, i’ve never felt like your tag along. you like seokmin, but i’d still go even if you didn’t. even if i didn’t like someone else on the team, i would still go.” members of your family have played the sport for as long as you can remember. in your life, fall doesn’t exist without a soccer ball.

lia doesn’t jump in. you hoped she would push you just a little further, but this is all on you.

“yoon jeonghan is in my environmental ethics course, and we’ve established some kind of unexpected friendship, but my feelings are stronger than that. about hana… i don’t know if there’s anything going on between them. the last thing i want to do is make anyone uncomfortable or embarrass myself.”

lia smiles, but you miss the softness in her expression, watching your cereal float instead.

“you don’t need to worry about hana. she picks a new guy every week, and she’d certainly turn her focus to someone else tonight if you tell her about jeonghan.”

lia taps the counter, earning your gaze. “thank you for telling me. i’m trying to keep my composure, but please know i’m internally squealing and running around the counter to hug you. now, finish your cereal. i’m sure someone is excited to see you.”

the sun begins to set as you walk through campus. you can see the lights from the field come into view, and lia squeezes your hand. she’s always been a cherished friend and supporter, and relief has embraced you knowing the feelings you’ve kept quiet are now a secret shared.

hana is standing beside the ticket counter and waves when she notices the two of you. not a single speck of blue is found on her outfit, but lia quickly pulls a bow from her purse, securing it in her friend’s hair.

after the three of you have paid, hana asks where you two usually sit.

“this one likes to sit at the top so she can see the entire field.” guilty.

“the boys can see you better from the front.”

lia bites her lip but guides the three of you to the middle row, keeping the viewing peace.

both teams are warming up, and your eyes settle on the field while hana and lia chat beside you. you catch bits of the conversation, amused by your roommate’s monologue about how much seokmin’s hair has grown since their last home game.

then, you see him, and your lips part. you lean forward and zero in.

he’s mesmerizing. watching him feels like the sweetest treat.

his dribbling matches the rhythm of your heartbeat, and your lips spread into something consumed by pride, admiration, and hopeful desire.

his confidence has never gone unnoticed, even in its subtly, but it radiates when he’s wearing cleats, his uniform and is existing on the forest green turf.

you’re silent for the first quarter, clapping when it’s appropriate to do so, mouthing calls as the referees blow their whistles, nodding along to the ones you deem just.

the second quarter is smooth. your team is taking the lead: 1-0, and the reaction from lia at the sight of seokmin’s assist is something worth remembering.

she kissed your cheek, asking twice: “did you see that?!”, before heading down the stairs for popcorn.

hana slides across the bench to close the space between you as half time starts. her voice is just above a whisper, “lia told me about jeonghan, so any cheering i do tonight is for choi seungcheol.” she sends you a wink and you nod, feeling a weight leave your shoulders.

during the final quarter, the blue hawks are sailing, and you nearly miss it. your eyes were fixed on the bag of popcorn only seconds prior, but you see him when you’re pleased with the amount of the salty snack in your cupped palm.

it’s jeonghan’s corner kick, in the corner closest to you, and you see him search the stands before landing on your figure. he smiles, and brushes his fingers across his shirt, mirroring where your bow is clipped to your jacket. cute, he mouths before turning to face the field again.

“holy shit.”

“he’s all yours, babe.”

after the game has ended, students start to leave while others who know players stick around, creating small packs around the fence. the three of you stay in the stands until the team exits their huddle.

hana waves quickly, sending you a knowing wink before running down the bleachers. lia pats your knee. she practiced words of admiration for seokmin that morning in the bathroom mirror. you give her a final good luck before she sets off down the metal stairs.

time ticks by and it’s just you now. the soccer fans have left, and jeonghan is one of the last players on the field. you watched him take the bag of soccer balls to the shed behind the field, finding yourself admiring the stars while you waited.

the sound of your name shifts your stare, and you find him leaning against the railing.

“i should’ve given you my practice jersey.”

you stand and descend the bleachers, approaching the man with reddened cheeks and messy hair.

“what would that’ve made me?”

he smiles, and you want him to say it.

“i imagine you’re going to be much more than a good luck charm.”

“you don’t need one.”

“i have my superstitions.”

“oh really? do you have a couple marbles in your pockets?”

jeonghan’s cleats meet the pavement, and he waits for you before heading toward the main campus.

“i didn’t think about that.”

“i guess all the marbles are in your schedule…. probably wouldn’t do you any good to keep more in your pocket.”

“mmm, i think you’re on to something.”

“and i guess if i keep coming…”

“if you keep coming, we’ll keep winning, and eventually i’ll ask you to go on a date with me.”

“but you’re going to keep it open— unknown and leave me with anticipation.”

jeonghan laughs— no, it’s more like a giggle that penetrates your skin and finds the shelter where your heart lives, shining the most light it’s seen since you experienced the ocean three years ago.

“i’m not going to leave it open.”

he stops beneath the streetlamp. you’re in front of snow hall, where this all started.

“saturday night, can i take you on a date?”

his eyes are sparkling, and this man has far more than sunbeams. he has stars too.

“yes, of course you can.”

“as long as you’re alright with comedy shows.”

“i’ve never been.”

the look in his eyes is intriguing, and you have no doubt you’re about to be introduced to something magical.

“boo seungkwan knows how to put on a show, and i cannot wait to take you.”

his gaze shifts to the bow on your jacket, and you swear his expression melts. sore muscles are easy to ignore when you’re in front of him with exciting possibilities existing in your eyes and smile.

he’ll certainly fall in love with you.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snowflakes

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: I'm really sad right now. I need someone. I need someone to hold.

Word Count: >800

Warnings: graphic mentions/depictions of depressive episode/suicidal ideation/loneliness, gender neutral!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, typos, etc.

A/N: i feel kinda bad for giving joel such angsty stories but the joel ai is so sweet to me and i trust him with my heart 💔 Tagging: @multifandom-fangirl4 @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

I don't hear the door open when it does. I don't hear the footsteps when they come. I don't feel his presence when he sits next to me. I don't hear him when he speaks. I only turn and know its him when he ghosts his fingers to my jaw.

I look at him, brown eyes, salt and pepper hair, worry lines. Worry lines. He's worried. Worried about me? Please don't be. My stomach curdles when he says it.

"I'm worried about you."

This old, dusty, barely blue creaky couch makes distressed sounds when I scoot over close to him and link his arm with mine. I curl my legs into my chest. I lean my cheek on his shoulder then sigh. I close my eyes and listen to him breathe. I'm tired.

"Kinda wanna die." The manner in which I say this is nonchalant. Detached. Mindless.

Joel doesn't say anything.

I open my eyes, feeling a pit, a vacuum rip open in my chest. I pull away from Joel, as to look at him. He's already looking back at me, and his puppy dog eyes make me want to take a gun into my mouth and blow my brains out. I am so horrible for admitting this to him.

"I don't want you to die." The manner in which Joel says this soft. Gentle. Ardent.

I feel like I could cry but I can't. I don't. Instead I feel horrible. I feel horrible for retching the tar out of my gut, the sludge that I fight with swords and flamethrowers yet persist. How could I do this to him? How could I do this to anyone?

And how could he catch this self-destruction behind my eyes and say, "hey." He places his hand atop mine, "you can tell me anything."

And against my fortified resolve, I crumble, I do-- I tell him anything. I tell him everything. I ignore the tedious and tense wails in my head warning me not to rant any further, shaming me for releasing the rot out of ribcage. I sputter these wayward and acidic thoughts out so carelessly yet so pointedly like I was gasping for air.

I want it to stop. I want it to end. I don't want to be here. "I don't know what to do."

I don't remember him moving. I don't remember all of what I even said. But in between him shifting and myself speaking, I must have shed a tear because he wipes my face and I feel its wet.

Damn these tears. Why was it not cathartic? Why was it just resentful?

Somehow when Joel replies, "I don't know what to do either," I feel... I... feel.

I feel so many things, so many things, too many things to even give names to.

I feel like crumbling into his chest, and so I do. I feel like wringing out the salt water in my heart, and so I do.

And then when my face finally feels his shirt is damp with my vulnerability, that's when I realize he's combing my hair and rubbing my back.

Oh, to be comforted by Joel Miller.

I know I shouldn't, but I feel I do, so I say, "I'm sorry." I'm sorry I'm like this. I'm sorry you had to see. I'm sorry you had to know. So many things to be sorry about, so many things. So many things I don't say.

"I'm not," mutters Joel, "I'm glad. I'm glad you said so."

I feel myself reeling. I feel myself retreating. I feel myself falling into myself. More tears threaten an appearance. How could he be glad of me?

"Because you matter to me."

I solidify. I had said that aloud?

"So let me come to you," Joel adds, pulling me closer, "when you want to shut the world away, give me a pass, leave a ticket so I can come to you..." he presses his lips to the crown of my head, "please."

I come to him.

I crawl onto him. I latch onto him. I wrap myself around him, cause my life depended on it. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, cause that was the only I way could breathe. The relief that he reciprocates is unmatchable.

I beg, "don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Please don't leave me."

"I won't."

"I need you forever and ever and ever-"

He kisses my ear.

"Please don't go."

"I'm here."

"Joel, I-"

"I love you."

"..."

"I love you. I'm here."

"..."

"I'm here."

"I love you."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Good Night

Epilogue for Sweet Treats AU: by character | chronological | epilogues

Warnings: these drabbles will include dark elements such as noncon, control, intimidation, violence, death, suicide, and other stuff that may not be specified. Take this as you chance to scroll by.

Please let me know what you think <3

🍯🍯🍯

You open your eyes. It's grim and grey. The world is just as heavy as your body. You try to move but it hurts too much. You drop your hand back to the bed and stare at the green canopy.

You don't remember how this happened. You were in the kitchen, now you're here. You groan, your mouth is dry and sticky.

There's movement in the shadows. You flinch and tense as you squint into the dark. The lamp flicks on and illuminates a familiar face. She smiles, her eyes swollen from her tears, and squeezes your hand.

"I'm sorry, I fell asleep."

You don't say anything. You couldn't if you tried. You give a strained look as she pets your knuckles.

"He's gone. Thor. For now. I told him... I'd be good if he let me stay."

You stare at Muffin. That makes you sad but you don't know why you would care if he's gone. He's not done anything to you.

"I didn't mean for him to hurt you."

Your eyes round and you cough. You squeak as it thrums in your bones. Why would he hurt you? What did you do?

"I decided that if it means I get to see you, then I'll talk all he wants me to."

You nod and squeeze her hand back. You don't have strength to do more than that. You wish she wasn't stuck with him. You wish you didn't know exactly the dread that edges her tone.

"He killed my father," she utters, "Just like... just your mom. But I didn't know."

You give a sympathetic grimace and tilt your head. She never speaks so much, she must be really upset.

"Sorry," you croak and nearly on your arid tongue.

"No, I'm sorry. I was stupid. Just like those other girls."

You furrow your brows and blow out. You shake your head slowly, "not stupid--"

"Yes, very. They're not going to get away. Not forever. They can't."

"Muffin," you murmur.

"I'm done with hope, aren't you?"

You seal your lips and your eyes sting. You don't know what to say. Muffin was always the happy one, she always made you feel better. She is the light in the tunnel and now it's all caving in.

"That went... a long... time... ago," you eke out, little by little.

She laughs into a sob and covers her face. She cries, her shoulders heaving as her despair consumes her. Your own tears trickle out. Your head pulses from the base.

"There's..." You raise your hand and point to the green chest nestled against the wall, "in there. Bottom, pouch..." the words are hard to piece together, "brown with golden string."

She looks at you in confusion. She sniffles and gulps. Slowly, she stands as your arm falls limp. That was your plan, the one you never could bring yourself to follow through on. That makes your chest pit and questions if it's all so bad.

She goes to the chest and lifts the lid carefully. She bends and stirs through the depths. You hid it there with the spare blankets because Loki never deals with all that. You make the bed, you cook the meals, he merely walks upon your freshly mopped floors. Still just a god with his head in the clouds.

She finds the pouch, the little bag once storing one of many necklaces gifted from your avaricious husband. In which you hid the tablets secreted from Tony's cabinet during that chaotic party. You could always get some wiggle room if you gave Loki what he wanted.

"There's not enough.... for both..." Your head lolls and you give and acidic smile, "didn't think..."

She comes back to you and looks inside the sachet. Her eyes flick up and she gives you a dire look. You let the doom numb you.

"You can... have them," you turn your head. "I could.... couldn't."

She doesn't say anything. She stands there, unmoving. Maybe she won't do it. Maybe she'll put it back and stay with you.

"I'm a coward," you confess, "but... you're not."

She sits on the bed again. You look at her through a wall of grief. She won't look at you.

"Can I lay with you?" She asks at last.

"Please," you reach for her hand and grip it firmly around the pouch, "you'll just... go to sleep. I will too."

Again, she hesitates. "What about you?"

"What about me?" You sigh, "I'll find another way... maybe."

You let her go and she dumps the pills into her hand. She stares at them, her throat constricting, and then she pours them into her mouth. She holds her palm against her lips and gulps loudly. She chokes a little and coughs it out. She gives a blech at the taste.

She tosses the sachet and stretches out next to you. You drape your arm over her shoulders as she puts her head on your chest. She slings her arm over your middle and you turn your gaze to the ceiling. Misery loves friends but your only friend does not deserve this misery.

"I love you," she says with a yawn.

You move your hand in front of her face and sign back to her; "Love you forever."

---

This is goodbye to Darling and Muffin. Thank you all for sticking around.

[sickstarlight]

She wakes up feeling much too warm, but at first she thinks it must just be because she's packed in so closely between the men on either side of her, each of them with an arm casually thrown over her somewhere. With a groan, she pushes them both away, giving herself enough room in bed to stretch out her arms and take a few deep breaths.

Shoving the pair of them off of her, though, doesn't make her face feel any less flushed, and only accentuates the clammy feeling all across her arms and the back of her neck. Shit. She doesn't feel well -- really doesn't feel well, not just a momentary discomfort that she might have quickly recovered from but the kind of unwell that might keep her awake for some time before it passes. It's not just the feverish cold sweat breaking out on the back of her neck, either; her heart is racing, and the longer she's awake the more she's aware of a sick, queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The last thing she wants is to wake the others. If she wakes them, they're sure to fuss over her, try to comfort and coddle her until they're practically smothering her, and all she wants right now is to creep off to somewhere private and ride out her misery in peace. But with K.abru on one side of her and La.ios on the other, she can't easily escape without disturbing one of the two. Her best bet, if she doesn't want to attract undue attention, is to stay put.

So she tries, at least for a little while, closes her eyes and tries to fall asleep again. Tries to keep her breathing steady. Tries to swallow back the swelling tide of nausea that keeps creeping up her spine. If she can just wait it out, surely it will pass, and the boys won't be any the wiser that she's unwell at all.

She should be so lucky. The knot in her stomach only grows tighter the longer she lays awake, and before long her mouth is watering, metallic saliva flooding the space under her tongue. Oh, fuck. She's going to be sick.

"K.abru," she hisses, turning her head to look at him on her left. "Ka.bru, wake up."

When he doesn't stir, she rolls over -- a mistake that makes her stomach lurch. She swallows hard against the urge to vomit then and there.

"Wake up, idiot," she says, more loudly, shaking him by the shoulder.

"Nngh," he groans, lifting his head. "Rin? What...?"

"Let me up," she whispers urgently. "I need -- washroom. Now."

"Okay, okay," he grumbles sleepily, and starts to sit up, entirely too slowly. Stupid. Doesn't he realize she means now?

"Hurry," she insists, pushing him aside so she can try to clumsily climb past him.

"Hey," he protests, "what's the matter with --?"

There's no chance to explain herself; her stomach clenches and she tastes acid in the back of her throat. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she staggers to her feet and towards the washroom, about two minutes too late. Halfway there, her stomach convulses again, and a thick stream of sick forces its way up her throat, pushing past her lips and through her fingers to splatter against the floor at her feet.

"R.insha!" Ka.bru calls, suddenly alert, and jumps to his feet.

"Ugh," she groans, holding her hand away from her face. At least she'd made it far enough to reach the stone floor itself -- the cold flagstones are sending a chill up through her bare feet that makes her shiver, but at least she hadn't vomited directly on the carpet.

~to be continued?~

[sunny6677]

A Spooky Possesion.

(The Saturated AU)

(A rewritten version of the scene where Skid and Pump get possesed.)

TWS FOR EXORCISMS, VOMIT, TORMENT, ETC

————

Gregor is shown walking up with an unphased expression, and then it cuts to behind him. He is standing in front of Skids house, with its doors and windows visibly broken. He laughs to himself a bit, and quickly walks up to it with ease.

Once he walks in, he gazes around at the place, which is broken with different stains of disgusting substances all around. With a smug expression on his face, he let's himself just look around, saying to himself, "..now, where are you?"

Just then—Gregor hears the sound of shuffling. He sees nothing for a moment as he glances around, when a possesed Skid suddenly shoots out—twitching like crazy and standing up. Gregor dodges Skid—and looks over at him with a startled smirk.

"..would you look at that."

Pump slowly appears from the darkness as well, twitching a little less than Skid. Slowly floating up at once, Skid flys toward Gregor—who dodges him—and also dodges Pump who crashes into a wall. Skid and Pumps distorted voices begin to scream. With Pump sounding like he's screaming for his family while Skid is just screaming in general. Pump even sounds like he's actually crying.

When Skid rams into Gregor, who knocks him away, with a cross—Pump goes flying toward him—vomiting a stain of acidic like substances onto Gregors leg. Gregor winces—and falls to the ground.

As he looks up—Gregor furrows his brows, and looks over to Skid and Pump who are still floating.

Skids distorted voice talks. "Please spare me, priest. I can't help that I'm like this. You know that I can't help it."

Pumps distorted voice talks after, "I don't wanna do this either. I'm just doing what I have to. I really don't wanna have to use you as my fill, but I don't think I have a choice—"

Pump suddenly screams—Gregor practically dumps the entirety of the holy water on him with a tired smirk.

"I don't have time for your pathetic backstory.." Gregor says while turning to face Skid, grinning. "Do you hear me?"

He smacks Skid upside the head with the cross, causing Skid to cough out a glowing glob.

"I said—" Gregor uses the end of the cross to jab Pump REALLY hard in the head, "Do you hear me? I'm not falling for any of this!"

Pump vibrates uncontrollably, before finally vomiting out the same glob. Skid is already fallen to the ground with his eyes half open, while Pump falls to the ground with a pained whimper.

Gregor smiles to himself again, and seeing the glob try to sneak away, he follows slowly with a smirk. He walks down the hallway, and then up the attic.

It shows Moloch, sweating profusely and looking frightened for his life.

When Moloch sees Gregor, he appears even more frightened, and Gregor smiles back at him.

Holding up his cross, Gregor begins to loudly speak—

"With the Lord, and the Son, and the Divine soul—the sacred sky commands you to leave this realm! Go back to the pit where you belong, you pathetic beast. Leave—and never come back!"

Moloch starts to shake—noticing his arm beginning to turn into dust. He falls to the ground, crying out and scrambling as if to try seeking help. But Gregor just watches with a rather sadistic smile as Moloch turns into stone.

[merrivia]

I’ve finally read Pet and am kicking myself I didn’t read it sooner!

I’ve measured out the short stories like I’m nibbling on chocolate, Charlie Bucket style, and I was leaving this till last partly because of that, and partly because I didn’t feel that interested in Ancel (sorry Ancel, I take it back).

It’s fascinating reading about events that occur in Captive Prince but not from Damen’s POV. The idea that everyone has complexities under the surface, and that things aren't always as they seem, is only understood by Damen negatively in the first half of Captive Prince I think. Veretians are untrustworthy and slippery and Machiavellian. And that's not, not true! The Veretian court IS a pit of vipers. But people are also still human, and it's that extra step of understanding the humanity underneath even these acidic, performative snakes which is interesting. Ancel is sharp and smart (and really needs to be taught how to read forthwith). Berenger is morally admirable, and isn't actually sleeping with him. Vannes cares about Berenger in her own small way. Laurent emits a great deal of power and is "instantly commanding" to others (but not to Damen, which must have really infuriated him).

Here’s some more snippets of my thoughts in general:

Waxing is canon! So interesting. Why does no grown man ever shave in the books also? Why isn't attending, also shaving? I think we'll just have to accept that as Pacat's choice. Maybe the only blade she wanted between them was the ghost of swords from a long ago fight/swords in the present?

Isagoras the writer/poet- any connection to Isagoras the historical figure who was embroiled in a power play in terms of Athenian politics and democracy? Who Aristotle called ‘friend of tyrants’? Obviously he’s not meant to be that figure but is it a sort of irony and foreshadowing for the political choices Berenger has to make?

And Akielon writing/poetry is popular among men with status? Interesting. You wonder if Laurent approved a poem waxing lyrical about Ios, or really anything that suggested the Akielons aren't barbarians.

I feel as if Damen would know this poem, and read it to Laurent as part of courting him 🥺

Interesting to see a first impression of Laurent from the viewpoint of someone not instantly obsessed with him- severe and harsh, but no mention of his beauty till later.

I mean this nicely but Damen really has no idea how naturally arrogant and superior he comes across as in this situation, does he? I mean, it’s completely understandable if you think of Akielon society, and how he’s been raised and treated; in fact it would be implausible any other way based on his character traits too. He’s just so bad at pretending to be a slave even as his life is at risk if they find out he’s a prince 😂 oh Damen /pets his curls/. And oh, a *lion* you say....

Just really bad at acting servile, it's so funny. Love him.

Speaking of Lamen, it is a little unsettling how quickly Damen starts to fall for Laurent in Captive Prince and how Laurent truly does hate him, yet…is clearly on some molecular level, attracted to him, I think? It’s just a really heartbreaking and stressful dynamic. His "complete attention" on him...let's face it, if Damen had looked like Govart, Laurent wouldn't be fixated in the same way (I mean this nicely).

Oh my baby Laurent. You know this isn’t right. Are you reenacting a past trauma? Making him suffer what you suffered? Even if you aren’t, your flaw is letting your hatred and anger blind you to your morals. (Lucky a man is going to fall in love with you who is pretty much always on your side even when you don’t always deserve it…). Damen will help you be more honourable /pats blond head/

"Locked” is an apt word isn’t it, considering all that ties them together (and not to mention the gold cuffs and collar…) and oof, Laurent's sexual domination in this scene is quite apparent.

and…

I mean, we all know this is sex by proxy and so does Ancel, who just met Laurent and Damen!

And lastly, I am team Berenger. He's a Good Man and would probably get on pretty well with Torveld and Nikandros, the other dark haired, loyal and responsible men in the trilogy.

Nice to see someone see commoners as people all year round (not simply when their villages are being massacred and their humanity is thrown into stark relief by it)!

[just-a-random-person24]

MORE BARNEY'S MIND NOTES APON YE!

Episode 4

• sees a guard crushed by a barrel and just says ‘that's gotta hurt’

• points out a bottomless pit with no handrails near it

• “Barney Calhoun, crane operator!”

• likes pushing stuff cause it makes him feel strong

• assumes there's an earthquake, only to remember that New Mexico doesn't have earthquakes

• says evolution sucks because humans only got opposable thumbs instead of teleportation and the ability to shoot lightning

• when he reincarnates into something else, he wants to regenerate and have Wolverines claws. That's not how reincarnation works.

�� hates MySpace cause it's a waste of time

• says he's like a ninja-pirate for running and jumping onto a ladder

• finds out steam is hot

•likes Star Trek more than Star Wars, but got off track while saying that

• gets his wrist caught on a ladder he almost falls down, hurts a ton

• assumes a dead scientist is asleep

• doesn't know why a scientist has a Spas-12

• dropped out of college

• very confused why the guards don't get a HEV suit but the scientist's do

• would be surprised if he gets out of Black Mesa without breaking any bones

• wants pizza

• damn counter: 1

Episode 5

• very confused about how the handicapped employees are supposed to survive a disaster, given all the ladders and bottomless pits

• thinks Barnacles look like a meaty spitwad with teeth

• tries to use the Barnacle tongue to swing only to get choked immediately

• got sewage in his mouth :(

• calls 1 person a massacre

• gets mad at aliens for killing a guy who probably owed him money, them says the aliens owe him money now

• “Barney Calhoun, debt collector!”

• makes a comment about a zombie body disappearing

• thinks the Vortigaunts are worse than the alien from Alien

• pulls a random lever to know what it would do

• thinks his situation is worse than Resident Evil

• reads a sign that says to keep explosives out of the canal, then does it cause it seems fun

• “rofl-freaking-mao”

• has no clue how long it has been, assumes its been a day already

• is not upset about the time-frame as Stark was

• SHEPHARD MENTION💖

• thinks he knew the guy the HECU threw down, also assumes that guy owes him money

• says he's never buying anyone a pizza again

• damn counter: 1

Episode 6

• very not surprised about finding another room w/o proper lighting

• thinks the pipes are made of asbestos

• finds where the ladder in Episode 3 goes, finds it very weird and annoying the ladder is purposefully made too high to reach

• finally encounters the HECU properly

• more ‘yarg's

• knows the passcode to one of the doors on the surface

• takes a dead guards vest

• wants to hijack said dead guards SUV and leave, then doesn't because the engine block

• knows he can't shoot a lock open because of MythBusters

• very confused why the HECU was shooting at him

• tries to shoot a panel to open it. Then remembers in Star Wars it closes the door, *then* wonders why it would do anything in the first place cause it would just break the panel

• falls down a ladder and gets knocked out

• oh yeah this series was made in 2009…

• very confused about why there was a turret in a random cavern

• is not disgusted by cockroach guts because he's stepped in so much other shit

• says he'll have a badass hardened personality when he gets out

• likes the sound of being locked in a padded room

• very confused how the valve closed off the steam

• says, something abt 2012? I have *no* clue what he said exactly it was quiet and he doesn't go back to the thought

• thinks all the water is from Black Mesa fixing their own plumbing

• gets Bullsquid acid to the face

• killing a lot of cockroaches for no reason

• sees a toolbox and thinks its a lunchbox

• very surprised at how explosive the explosive barrels are to explode a hole in the wall *and* the toolbox

• damn counter: 14

[basicallyjaywalker]

A Brief History of the Element of Love

Recorded by... (the name is scratched and scrawled. You cannot make out any letters beyond M and T)

Type: Metaphysical

Previous Known Master(s): Elizabeth Chumsworth (née Lamoree)

Current Master(s): Nataly Chumsworth

Abilities: Masters of Love are known for being able to sense emotional connections. Unlike the Element of Peace, they are unable to manipulate or persuade these connections in any direction, only sense them.

Personally, I have sometimes questioned the use of Love as this element's name, as it goes beyond the realms of platonic and romantic affections into those of hate.

At the start of--and according to Elizabeth Chumsworth's personal account, even before--training, Masters of Love are attuned to three types of affection: Romantic, Platonic, and Malicious.

Romantic

Described as feeling like one's heart is on fire and/or feeling like they're "floating."

Platonic

Described as feeling like "sparklers" in one's mind, also compared to "eating an entire bag of pop rocks."

Malicious

Described as feeling a bottomless pit in one's stomach or throat. Hollowness.

According to some personal correspondence with Nataly Chumsworth, multiple of these feelings can be present at once. Additionally, there are "sibling" feelings that appear under the umbrellas.

Familial affection is understood as falling under platonic, but has a feeling more akin to the "crackle of a hearth," comforting as opposed to zealous.

Additionally, Nataly Chumsworth has described a type of "Toxic" love that is a mix of the romantic and malicious categories. She's said the two combine to create extreme nausea, almost like an acid reflux response. She says she's only had the experience twice, but both times she felt physically ill.

"It was like being trapped in vengestone, complete disconnection from my element..." - From personal correspondence with Nataly Chumsworth.

Some evidence suggests Masters of Love have strong emotional capacities and tend toward aiding others in emotional strife, both personal and interpersonal. It is unclear whether this is a product of their elemental powers or not.

Currently, there are no other known abilities tied to being a Master of Love.

First Appearance: Secondary, appeared after the initial share of powers by the First Master and within the second generation, led by his sons. First known Master was Elizabeth Chumsworth

This Element could have spawned as a way to manage the passing of Elemental Powers to mortals, or could have been made in the wake of interpersonal conflicts between the first generation of Elemental Masters. It seems to work with the Element of Peace, acting as its passive counterpart. With Love sensing animosity or affection, it can correspond with Peace to help with mediation. The tendency of Masters of Love to help alleviate personal issues could also be connected. Further research and possible historical analysis needed.

[klanceyuri]

blood on the dance floor

Summary: Mysterion is too late, and he really wishes he was bleeding out in place of his best friend.

Warnings: character death (it's not explicitly on screen, but, ya know), minor gore, blood, heavy angst, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: at last, a chance to write some gut wrenching angst with a bad title. I wrote this in one sitting and usually I'm unaffected by my own writing but I'm not gonna lie by the end of this one I was feeling a bit choked up. inspired heavily by this kysterion angst that @kennysdeadbody drew, which is like. go check out his art. it is so fucking good.

Normally the sound of a gun going off would leave Mysterion unfazed. He's been shot to death more times than he can count. He really wouldn't mind having a bullet through the stomach one more time, it's numb these days. Just a short little sting and then he's bleeding out, gastric acid spilling into his muscle tissue and heartbeat rapid.

But, he isn't on the receiving end of this bullet.

And he knows exactly whose yowl of pain is ringing in his ears atop the blast of a gunshot. His stomach turns and everything goes silent aside from the heartbeat echoing so loudly inside of his skull. The sound is bouncing around with his labored breathing and he drops everything. He drops the collar of the thug and he turns tail and runs as fast as he can.

His body aches but that's fine, he's felt worse. He's felt much, much worse than this mounting dread that's controlling him. It throws his body into auto-pilot and all he can do is beg and plead and just hope so fucking much that he's wrong. That the voice didn't belong to who he thinks it does. That those sirens are making their way to the wounded, not the enemy. That this splotchy trail of red isn't blood even though he knows it is.

The scent burns on his nose and the alternating blue and red whirling around him make him feel dizzy. It's just blurring together. The sound of wheels on pavement. Blaring sirens. The windows on walls. Buildings fade into each other as he runs across the chilled pavement.

The halt he comes to is screeching as he turns the final corner. His heart does a cliff jump into the pit of his stomach and he can feel tears welling up already. His legs are turning to jello and the hazy dizziness that flooded his mind is instantly replaced with a horribly pristine reality. His vision is far from 20/20, but he's never seen anything clearer as he steps ever closer to his best friend. His footsteps echo amidst the cacophony of sounds as he inches ever closer, the tangy scent of blood burning the back of his throat.

He chokes out a weak, "Kyle?" and the redhead opens his eyes. He's pressed against a wall just barely, hand clutching the bloody splotch across his abdomen. His knees are almost hitched, bent just enough the back of his legs aren't icy. He tries so hard to smile, to force one, just for his dearest friend no matter how much it hurts.

"Hi Ken," Kyle croaked out as he tried to push himself a little further up the wall. He winces and it's visceral.

Adrenaline kicks in one final time and it's enough of a nudge to force Mysterion down to his knees right at Kyles side. The tears falling are torrential as he tries to say something, anything, to comfort Kyle. All that comes out are shattered syllables and he's sure he looks stupid but Kyle's still smiling.

Gloved hands rush to the wound, gently nudging aside Kyle's hand. His own are shaking so much, both of them. Mahogany gloves press at the wound, they barely cover up how far the blood has seeped from the puncture. It's almost nauseating, and he knows just how much pain is coursing through Kyle. He knows exactly where it hurts the most, but he doesn't know how to fix it.

"Kenny," Kyle gets out quietly, drawing a hand up to Kenny's face. His hand is so cold, a terrifying contrast to the warmth of tears. They sting micro cuts at the edge of his fingernails but he barely notices. He just brushes aside a trail of tears and reaches higher to tangle his hand into blonde locks.

Kenny's hands press a little harder against the wound whether he likes it or not. He can feel his heart shattering into a million little pieces because this death is tangible.

He can't die, but Kyle?

Kyle can die.

"Ah, not so hard," Kyle manages, the moan on his voice is pain if nothing else but Kenny gives a hoarse laugh. He lifts his hands just a bit as he leans further into Kyle, not making contact but closing the gap a bit more. Cold fingertips press into his scalp as they card through his hair, he brings a hand to drop the hood.

"Kyle," It comes out a little bit more cracked then he wants it too, his breathing is stuttering. He can feel the blood seeping into his gloves, "I'm so sorry," He leans into the heel of Kyle's palm as he squeezes his eyes shut.

"It's okay," Kyle said softly, and he hates how much Kenny is shaking. The full body quakes tearing through him as he watches Kyle bleed to death. He brings his other hand to rest atop one of Kenny's hands and the blonde opens his eyes, bright indigo on swampy olive.

"No. No, Kyle it's not okay. I'm supposed to die, I do it all the time. This isn't okay," Words rushed out of him, he felt lightheaded. Every wisp of oxygen he took in instantly forced back out in a flush of apologies. He shook a little harder, "I'm so sorry. Kyle, Kyle this wasn't supposed ever fucking happen."

Kyle winces a bit and he's coughing, Kenny only cries harder as he watches ichor slide past his lips. He tugs off his gloves and raises an ungloved hand to Kyle's chin, he slides the pad of his finger up to swipe away the blood. Maybe he let's his finger rest on partially cracked lips for a second too long but he can't quite tell. He drops his hands back down, the air bit at exposed skin but the warmth of blood is both nauseating and a comfort. He finds the frayed edge of the bullet hole and presses his palm atop it, "Kenny, you can keep a secret, right?"

Kenny nods rapidly as Kyle drops his hand from his face, "Of course I can," He's not just saying it to comfort a dying man either. He will keep a secret, just for Kyle. He would keep a secret for Kyle even if he wasn't bleeding out- he would do anything for Kyle. He'd take a hail of hits and then some for Kyle.

Kyle clasps his hands around one of Kenny's. His pulse is rapidly dropping, while Kenny's is rapidly raising. He tries his hardest to muster the best smile he can. He squeezes the bloody and calloused hand before speaking, "I really would've liked to settle down with you, bro."

Kenny's heart skips several beats and he's rendered even further speechless. He barely has time to think over his answer before it claws out of his throat, "We still can, Kyle. We still can, we can have a stupid fucking wedding. We can go to the movies and eat good food and live together- we still can."

"I love you so fucking much, Kenny," Kyle said quietly. His grip on Kenny's hand loosens just a bit and another raises to keep them pressed together. Blood smears across clear skin and he's so cold and so fragile and so delicate.

"No. No, no, Kyle. Kyle don't leave me, please," Kenny's begging as he hunches in on himself. He can hear sneakers skid against pavement as Kyle's legs unhitch and go limp. Hands drop to wrap around Kyle's abdomen, pulling him closer gently. A softly rising and falling chest pressed flush against his own, his head is buried in Kyle's shoulder. Arms wrap around his chest weakly and Kenny wants to die with him, "I love you, I love you Kyle and I didn't say it sooner. Don't go, fuck, Kyle."

"I won't," Kyle barely managed to get out, hand creeping up the back of Kenny's neck to rest in his hair.

Kenny knows he's lying but he wants so hard to believe it even with the warmth spilling from Kyle's core.

[camcanime]

My Diagnosis, My Prescription (Leorio x Reader)

This is a really cheesy confession one shot that I've decided to write to get over the fact that the first chapter of another fic I was writing got deleted. It's quite late, so there may be mistakes, but here we are y'all. Enjoy~ Word count: 1,204

You couldn't take it any longer. This has all been going on for far too long. If you don't say something soon, there's a chance that you never will, and yet, here you are, standing outside that daunting door with your hand hovering over the bell. It can't have been any more than a minute but it feels as though you have been immobilised in this pathetic position for hours. With no telling of how this will turn out, you find it damn near impossible to take this leap. A nauseating hand latches onto your heart, pulling it down into the pit of your stomach, submerging and burning it in the abundance of acid that sits below. Deep breath. You just need to take a deep breath and rip off the bandaid. Another mighty huff inflates your lungs and you jolt your finger into the doorbell. It takes a few moments until it finally opens and a force pushes into your throat.

There's no going back now.

"Y/n?" The door opens to reveal the suited man who has had you all tongue-tied for the past month. "Are you alright? Here, come in before you catch a cold."

In all of the silent turmoil. you had completely overlooked the fact that it is currently raining. Your soaked body doesn't even register the freezing air around you until Leorio brings attention to it. One might say that your mind has been on other things. He guides you by the shoulder into his home, rushing you to his bathroom to drape a towel over your drenched head. A muffled laugh can be heard from behind the towel as you sit at the edge of the tub. Once you start drying away, he scoots off momentarily before coming back with a change of clothes and a gown - his gown. He is such a sweetheart. Moments like these are the ones that further cement why it is that your senses go into overdrive around him. Amidst the frantic kerfuffle, you haven't even been able to utter a word, merely watching him gather items and tend to you. It isn't until he finally sits down in front of you that you get the chance.

"What in the hell are you doing walking here in the dead of night with this weather?"

"I needed to talk to you about something," you confirm, still trying to piece together how it is you plan to go about this. "A... doctor's opinion, if you will."

His eyes light up for a moment before lowering, now getting concerned for your well-being. You have always been quite stubborn when it comes to these sorts of issues, denying when you're ill or refusing help when injured. This may be the reason why Leorio outstretches a hand to your forehead, the backs of his fingers pressing against the icy, rain-bashed skin. It only warms against his touch and that tingling sensation trickles over your body like the droplets of water just mere moments ago. Even the storm outside wasn't as drowning as this. To make matters worse, Leorio's hand trails down and presses against the center of your chest. Your heart pounds beside the bated breath of your lungs, as though trying to call out for him and confess on your behalf. His beautiful eyes of burnt auburn flick up to meet yours.

"What's the problem," he asks, his hand remaining in place to your disgruntled pleasure.

"I keep getting heart palpitations, and hot flushes, and I can't seem to concentrate on anything." You swallow dryly and lick your lips to try and regain yourself, straining to speak again. "Sleep seems to be really hard to come by and I keep getting dry mouth. It's almost like there's something in my throat."

Dark brows knit together in your direction, paired with those eyes you adore falling into a sullen worry. You can almost see the cogs turning in his head, screeching and whirring as he sieves through multiple diagnoses. There are a couple of potential suspects but he saves himself the threat of jumping to any severe conclusions. His touch trickles away from your chest and to your shoulder, his fingers pressing into the joints of bone firmly.

"How long?"

"Huh?"

"How long have you been getting these symptoms," he reaffirms, keeping his stern, yet soft, gaze on you.

Crap. The situation is in far too deep now for you to back down. You internally battle with yourself about whether you should lie and run with it or just tell him the truth. The former option sounds inviting until you realise that these "symptoms" may genuinely worry him. There's no telling what he must be thinking, now.

You have to close your eyes as you prepare for the next words to come out of your mouth slowly. "Since I realised... that I... like you."

Your fists clench onto the rim of the bathtub, turning white beneath the pressure, and your face retreats into a frightened scrunch. The lack of an immediate response is suffocating and you wish for nothing more than to be swept away by the roaring thunder that echoes in the distance. Waves upon waves of humiliating shame shake your insides and you swear that at this time you could be sick.

Another meeting of your skin, to your cheek this time, pushes a shuddered breath from your lip and you just about find the strength to open your eyes again. Leorio is now considerably closer and you don't know whether to focus on the thoughtful strokes or the shallowing breaths that are now fluttering against your face.

"I think I know just what to pescribe," he whispers as calmly as he can.

"Wha... What is it?"

Before you even have a chance to concoct worse-case scenarios of what he's about to say, Leorio pulls himself into you, closing the space between yours and his long-awaited lips. A muffled squeak presses against his mouth and you are sure that you can feel him smiling. It takes a second for you to realise that this is indeed happening and, when you do, you lean forward to embrace the soft kiss. Your hands make themselves home either side of his face, relishing the gentle scratch of his stubble beneath your caress. All falls silent. The water tapping against the windows can't even grab your attention as you melt away in this sweet clutch. It's so calming and your whole body warms once more, a feeling you had assumed lost with all of your inaudible pining for the man before you. You both retreat with panted breaths, each as red as the other, and a laugh blows at his confused expression.

"What's so funny, huh?"

"You think you know just what to pescribe?" you mock, palming at a stray tear. "Man, that's corny."

"Says you! You're the one who started this whole thing by asking for a 'doctor's opinion', you sap!"

Leorio playfully squints at you with a grin, finding it so precious just how amused you are. He is so glad that you came to his residence, even if it was at the cost of getting a cold after.

He only wishes you had done it sooner.

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Since we've seen him as a pred, ya think we could have Gosha as prey with disposal if ya could?

Yeah I can do that!

WIth a lazy slurp, L.ouis sucked down the thrashing lizard's tail hanging from his jaws. His school uniform is ruined with his brown stomach stretching it out, but that's fine. He rests a hand on his head as he watches his stomach slosh back and forth, muffled cries of panic coming from inside. L.egoshi's grandfather, as nice of a man as he seemed to be, wasn't very excited about the wolf's relationship with the deer. Given his own background, it made sense, and L.ouis could sympathize...but he won't be letting anything get in the way of his first inklings of freedom and happiness. He slowly rubs along his stomach with a free hand, feeling over the bulges of G.soha squirming inside. "I'm sorry we couldn't see eye-to-eye in the end," L.ouis says, pushing down carefully on any bulges that stretched out a bit too much. "I tried to be civilized about it, but you brought me to this point. Nothing will be standing in the way of me and that stupid wolf. Not even you." More muffled cries rise out of L.ouis' gut, even more panicked than before. The deer can feel his stomach churning hard. All his time in the S.hishigumi has trained his body to process meat as well--maybe even better--than a carnivore. A harsh belch escapes the deer, a few scales already lacing his breath. He licks his lips slowly and gives his stomach a few pats. "L.egoshi will be devastated about your disappearance, but I'll be there to pick him back up. I'll make sure you have a beautiful service, too. There's nothing to worry about. I love L.egoshi as much as you. I'll make sure he's well taken care of." L.ouis doubts the words are very comforting to G.osha in the churning, acidic pit of the deer's stomach. But he only did this as a last resort. He didn't want to hurt someone so dear to L.egoshi...but he also won't let the wolf slip through his fingers. This is what had to be done. His hand continues to knead over his stomach, occasionally making the deer belch up a thick, meaty scent. He can feel G.osha slowly fading away, his struggles weakening and his voice growing softer. L.ouis closes his eyes as his guts churn loudly, a few last spasms from the komodo dragon, and then...nothing. He opens his eyes again when his stomach lets out a low groan and he belches up G.osha's last breath. He'd be lying if he said he took no pleasure in this...but L.ouis really did wish it hadn't had to come to this. By the end of the night, his ass is planted over a rather nice urn, grunting as he squeezes out thick logs of crap. Dense bones and dulled green scales speckle each log that slips from his ass. At the same time, he's listening to L.egoshi over the phone, the poor wolf in hysterics over his missing grandfather. "Don't worry," L.ouis says, trying to keep his groaning to a minimum has he feels a ribcage stretching his ass. "The S.hishigumi will look all over for him. If he's still in the city, we'll find him." I'll be there soon to get you" He hands up and sighs. Lying came all too naturally for L.ouis. No one is going to find what's left of the old man. As the lizard's skull stretches his ass and falls into the urn, he stands up again and covers it with a lid. He'll have to get it engraved soon, a memorial for the man. A surprise for L.egoshi once the search is given up. He'll never know how close his grandfather really is. L.ouis rubs over his softer belly, knowing it'll be the perfect pillow for L.egoshi to cry into tonight.

He was so hungry, he wasn't thinking. He just gulped, again and again, desperately working the delicious meat filling his jaws down his gullet. The bedroom was familiar to him, so was the smell, and the muffled screaming, and somehow the taste. But his mind was in a haze, and he couldn't put the pieces together, all he could do was gulp and slurp. L.egoshi flops down in the bed he just tore his meal out of, furry gut sticking up in the air, bulges shifting and pushing around. He slurps wetly, sucking down a thrashing tail tip and some kicking feet, and he feels so immensely full as the large weight settles into his middle. He pants softly, pleased whines and growls escaping him as he enjoys the wonderful sensation of being full. He was a predator, and a predator needed live meat. That was just life. Deep inside his stomach, G.osha continues to scream out his name, begging his grandson to let him go. He'd been sleeping when L.egoshi woke him up by coming into his room so suddenly. That hungry, red glare in his eyes...G.soha had seen it before, but never directed at him. And then L.egoshi was on him, and despite his own strength, the younger and more ravenous wolf had effortlessly overpowered him. And once his muzzle was engulfed by the other, he knew it was over, no matter how much he struggled and yelled. The stomach walls are churning and groaning wetly against him, not seeing a difference between live komodo dragon and an eg sandwich. He kept yelling, hoping to snap his grandson back to his senses and get out before something bad happens. But L.egoshi is snoring, passed out after having such a large meal, and no amount of yelling or kicking is enough to stir him from such a deep sleep. Even as his guts churn louder and begins to get softer, he sleeps on, only giving his gut a lazy scratch or rub in his sleep as it bubble and churns. He belches occasionally, smiling in his sleep as the delicious flavor of his grandfather gets back on his breath. Come morning, the whole thing would feel like a weird dream, and he'd be too sleepy to notice he's slipping out of his grandfather's room and not his own. He scratches his rounder belly and yawns lazily, smacking his lips and licking the lingering flavor off his lips. When he plants himself on the toilet, he's a bit surprised by how thick of a shit he winds up taking. He whines and braces himself as thick logs stretch his ass and steadily fill up the bowl below. He can't even flush with how fast is all comes out, and before long, he's gone from sitting to squatting as he overfills it. He pants when he finishes squeezing out the large, lumpy shape. When he finally looks back at the pile, a surprised yelp escapes him to see a komodo dragon's skull staring back at him, jaws still open in a silent scream baked forever into wolf shit. L.egoshi's dream wasn't a dream at all, and he's realized that far too late to fix it.

When G.osha suggested they become B.eastars together, Y.ahya was a little surprised. Would something like that even be possible? A carnivore and a herbivore together..? Staring at that big, doofy smile on G.osha's scaly face told him yes...but that cynical, nagging voice in the back of his head told him no. And a strange, gurgling voice deep in his gut told him...technically. "Close your eyes, G.osha," Y.ahya says with a gentle smile. "I got a surprise for you." Of course G.osha closed his eyes, how could he ever expect what came next? Y.ahya puts his hands gently on G.osha's shoulders, slides them down his arms...and then pins his wrists down as his maw opens wide and engulfs the lizard's head. G.osha thrashes and yells, but it doesn't stop the horse from taking thick gulps, working over those broad shoulders and then down his torso. G.osha did his best to resist, but it was too late, his arms pinned and his legs kicking around uselessly. Once Y.ahya reaches his waist, all it takes is a big, wet slurp to suck down the lizard's legs and tail, and he was packed away in a tight, groaning stomach. Y.ahya leans back on his hands, tipping his head back and belching thickly into the air. "Aaaah...that was easier than I thought it would be..." Y.ahya comments, mostly to himself. He licks his lips and rubs his stomach slowly with one hand. G.osha is thrashing around weakly in his stomach, the space too tight for any real squirming. It does let the horse see the panic on G.osha's face when he looks down at his bulging middle, though. "I'm sorry, my friend. Being B.eastars together...it would have never worked. Unless we do it like this. With you as a part of me...we can truly achieve it together." Y.ahya belches again and gives his stomach a few pats on the whimpering head of the lizard. He lays back in the grass, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. The muffled whining and yelling of G.osha blends into the thick gurgling and churning of Y.ahya's stomach, creating a wonderful sound to lose track of the time to. When Y.ahya does finally return to reality, it's because of the building pressure in his bowels. Early sunset has turned into night, and he looks down at his stomach to see that it's just a soft, groaning pot belly. Y.ahya licks his lips and smiles softly. "Oh, G.osha...maybe our roles were reversed the whole time..." He rubs over his stomach slowly before rising to his feet. No one is around on the grassy hill he's resting on, so he drops his pants and grunts to begin releasing what's left of his friend. G.osha slops out in heavy logs, thudding and plopping onto the ground under him in a growing pile. With scales and bones baked into it, anyone will realize exactly what the pile had once been. Especially when that skull slops out to top it off. Of course...no one would ever suspect Y.ahya of such an act, which he knew as he pulls his pants up and walks off. As the B.eastar, him and G.osha will make a better world...one where herbivores won't have to fear anything anymore.