#idea this time is making a den look nothing like it's supposed to which is always very fun

[theskymother]

i love stealing other people's den ideas and putting them in my own den

[tr1nd2de]

Captain Marvel is disconcerting

I was looking at wonderjanga's post (Marvel and YJ) and I realized how disconcerting it is to see Captain Marvel going from a powerhouse to a person unqualified to be an adult.

Captain Marvel has always been someone very wise given the wisdom of Solomon, however it is not uncommon to see that the man. doing something very good, but it's disconcerting. And the league...doesn't understand how someone who not only acts like a child can change so quickly.

Even though the stories he creates while alone are as simple as a child's, they can be so different from the stationery he hands over to Batman. In his paperwork there is nothing but extremely perfect text. No spelling mistakes that indicate that the papers that Marvel writes for himself, have indications that they are made by the same person.

(not that this applies to me, spelling mistakes are just the basics)

Then comes the drawings, which are so different from each other. Marvel felt comfortable drawing at the end of a meeting, and the drawing was deplorable, done in a way that reminds someone who has never drawn so much in his life, even though he apparently lived as long as Diana. So Marvel, after returning from a mission, takes a painting and paint, which not even the league knew were in the tower. And draws a never-before-seen work of art, in a way that is quite innovative, just because Dinha jokingly asked that she should earn a reward from the big red cheese, for helping him make a wardrobe with normal clothes from this century.

(The painting must be worth a lot of money, and Dinah is perplexed that she got a piece of art, just because she picked out some clothes for Marvel)

(This idea also came from wonderjanga’s post (Marvel Wearing C.C.’s Clothes)

I can imagine how disconcerting it must be for Batman to try to understand Marvel, he always acts like a child most of the time, but when he asks Marvel to give an insight into the plan, Marvel describes an extremely efficient military tactic that Batman himself hadn't thought of.

Marvel was chosen to be YJ's den mother, just because Red Tornado and Black Canary were on a mission. It was supposed to be something simple, right? Give the teenagers a break. We sent Marvel so he could distract the team and they could rest. So it was extremely disconcerting for the league to see Marvel trying to get all the teens on their toes in an experimental combat class. Marvel usually acts like a child around the league, so why does he act like he should here? being a serious person in passing the oral lesson and giving useful tips to YJ

Which brings us to the next question: why when Marvel fights, he fights in such an incredibly sloppy way. Superman has seen Marvel hold back from biting his opponents. In practically all the fights so far it has been like this, Marvel doesn't seem to be taking this seriously, so one day Hawkgirl gives Marvel an ultimatum, either he learns to fight properly or he won't go on missions for a while. So Marvel, seeing that he has no option to deny or flee, he fights. Using the same fighting art as Diana, it was quite efficient, let's say, it's a bit scary to see Marvel fight seriously.

This idea also came from a post by imnotditzy ( Billy and Marvel have very different fighting styles.)

It's disconcerting to everyone that Marvel acts like a child, but in reality he is extremely efficient in everything he does.

Batman is having trouble dealing with Marvel's contingency plan, especially after he discovers that the supposed demigod is nothing more than a 13-year-old child. It is extremely disconcerting that such power was given to a homeless and orphaned child. At least now the league understands why Marvel acts the way it does. And all attempts to send him to YJ are vehemently denied. expelling Marvel is also not an option since, as the saying goes: he will not stop doing his job as a "champion of magic" and hero.

So even though it's disconcerting, the league now has a 13-year-old capable of going head-to-head with the most powerful beings in the world and beyond. And OH, his last name is Batson.

[somepsychopomp]

More Hybrid AU thoughts ft. puppy Ody

Okay so let's just say that Odysseus, having been born from a long line of cunning tricksters from his mother's side, was quite the surprise when he was born w/ his wolf ears, legs, & tail. Laertes looks at Anticlea & her lack of wolf features and asks if this is normal. Well, the child's great-grandfather is Hermes...

Meanwhile Hermes himself catches wind that one his of family lines is up to mischief again and goes to check it out. He finds puppy Ody in his cradle and is ecstatic that one of his distant relatives is such a cute little freak. Come morning, Odysseus' nurse will find him cuddling with a toy tortoise that she's never seen before.

For context: hybrids aren't common in the world of this AU, but Odysseus isn't the only one around

(Ex. As a result of Leda & swan Zeus getting freaky, Helen is also a hybrid with flawless dark skin, piercing eyes, and pure white hair to match her splendid white wings. It's no wonder that she's regarded the most beautiful woman in the world. She doesn't often fly, but uses her wings to captivate audiences as she dances)

Laertes & Anticlea are also aware of the rumors that a king of Crete had his own hybrid son, a cross between a man and a bull. King Minos apparently devised a terrible underground maze to trap the poor hybrid in for the rest of its life.

Personally, they both think that's a terrible idea. How in the world could they condemn their own son, who's never wronged them in any way, to a lifetime of darkness? Or an otherwise equally cruel fate?

So they just... raise Odysseus. As if nothing's unusual or wrong about him. They have to admit though, he's such a cute baby. He's got the softest fur and the cutest little toe beans, and he whines in his sleep as if he's already dreaming of chasing prey.

Interestingly, hybrid Odysseus never had a phase where he leaned to crawl. His parents supposed that made sense. His legs are those of a wolf, and their shape isn't conducive to crawling. That means, to their chagrin, that toddler Odysseus was either wobbling on his two wolf legs or full-on sprinting through the house on all fours.

When his younger sister comes around, the king & queen think they're well prepared for another pup. They have a nice low-set cradle made with a heavy woolen canopy to mimic a wolf den, and had Odysseus roll around and play in the nursery so that it would smell of the new pup's kin. But when Ctimene pops out, Laertes and Anticlea gawk at her in befuddlement because she's completely normal. Where is her tail? Her ears? Her paws and fur? Why does she look like that?

At least Ody gets along well with his new sister. More than once, a nurse or Anticlea went to check on young Ctimene in the middle of the night, only to see a set of amber eyes in the moonlight holding vigil over her cradle.

As time goes on, it's quite difficult to organize safe play time between the siblings. Odysseus' instincts are to roughhouse with fangs and claws (which he's slowly starting to develop) & he indirectly teaches Ctimene to act like a wolf pup. She bites him back and yips like a dog when he treads on her toes. That does make their parents worry that Odysseus might end up as more wolf than man, but they'll have to wait and see. There's still hope for Odysseus, seeing that he's acquiring language at a rate comparable to most other children.

The two parents end up quite relieved as the years go by and Odysseus seems to growing up like any other boy. He speaks fluently without issue, had no difficulties learning to read, and in fact, is quite intelligent and curious. Since Ithaca is on the smaller side in terms of city-states, it'd be nigh impossible to keep his condition a secret from the public. So Ody is dressed in regular clothes and fitted with specially-made sandals to accommodate his wolf feet. The only adjustment needed in his clothing is a slit for his tail, otherwise when it wags or raises, Ody basically pulls up his entire chiton.

There are few wolves on Ithaca or the surrounding islands so Odysseus grows up as quite the novelty (I mean, more so than he already is). Most of his people have never seen a wolf and often mistake him for a dog, thinking he resembles the earth-colored farm dogs that are more common on the island, or perhaps the smaller swift-footed dogs that assist the fishermen. Laertes, having hunted big game before, including wolves from the mainland, is adamant that his child is a wolf. Odysseus' pointed triangular ears, stunning amber eyes, and his tawny-brown hair/coat are more similar to that of a wolf than a dog (I'm taking my inspo from the irl Eurasian Wolf btw)

As I mentioned in my first post here, hybrid Ody does have a ton of energy as a child. He loves to swim, run, and hunt with his father.

Laertes certainly takes Odysseus out hunting with him earlier than most would consider safe for a child. It turns out, not only does Odysseus love it, but he's also an exceptionally gifted tracker. His sharp nose and hearing mean that his father has no need for a hunting dog. And when they catch fresh meat, even though Anticlea insists that Odysseus must learn to eat and behave like a proper person, Laertes can't help but carve out a few strips of meat from the flank and let his son eat them raw. It's their little secret, he says with a wink.

One day, when Odysseus is perhaps seven or eight years old and on a hunting trip with his father + a few other men, he's hot on the trail of a herd of deer when he suddenly stops dead. Laertes is confused and asks Odysseus if there's something wrong. All of a sudden, Odysseus is trembling from head to toe and crying softly about wanting to go home.

"It must be a bear," a friend of Laertes says. It's about the only animal that could possibly spook Odysseus. The only issue is that, while wolves are rare on Ithaca, bears are even more elusive.

Laertes tries to coax his son to keep moving, but Odysseus can only cower with his tail between his legs and his ears flat against his skull. He starts to cry and insist that he wants to go home, even clinging to Laertes' thigh out of fear.

Having no idea what's wrong and never having seen his son like this before, the king decides to call off the hunting party and return home. As soon as they escape the mountainous forest, a sudden storm rolls in from the sea and pounds Ithaca with fierce winds and heavy rain. Laertes thinks that, had they stayed, they surely would've lost a man or two in their attempts to escape the storm.

A year later, Laertes is attempting to teach Odysseus how to tend to the land. A good king doesn't just lead his people, but feeds them as well. As the prince and heir, Odysseus should know useful skills such as farming, animal husbandry, and how to raise olive trees. Odysseus follows along with only a mild interest, finding it not nearly as exciting as hunting, when he sneezes and covers his nose with his hands.

"Papa!" he says, "The ground here smells bad."

Not having forgotten Odysseus' instincts on the mountain, Laertes tries to find out exactly what his son means, but Ody is still too young to fully explain himself. So Laertes conducts a test. He organizes for all the usual farmlands to be tended to as usual, but only puts half as much man power into the patch of land that Odysseus insists "smells bad".

Come harvest time, and that particular patch of ground failed to produce anything useful due to a blight hidden deep underground. It's an unfortunate loss, but it was only a few acre's worth of land. Laertes is glad that he spared the poisoned land his people's efforts.

By the time Odysseus is like 10-11, he's out hunting and exploring the woods on his own. He hears tale of a massive boar terrorizing the mainland, some beast so huge that spears and clubs have no effect on it. He thinks little of the stories, assuming such a huge creature wouldn't be able to swim. That is, until stories from the costal villages reach the palace of an unkillable boar ravaging their farmlands.

The boar might have a great deal of stamina, but so does Odysseus. Without his father or anyone else, he tracks the boar all over the island for days at a time, never losing his way home since he paws at the trees and leaves a scent trail to follow. Odysseus hunts small game like birds and rabbits to keep him sated and sleeps in tree boughs so as to not be caught by surprise.

It's a game of attrition, to see who can outlast who. At last, muddy and disheveled but no less excited by his greatest hunt yet, Odysseus finds the boar. It's been driven mad by the scent of wolves wherever it goes and is looking for a fight. Odysseus had been carrying a bow and quiver with him, but had been saving all his arrows for the boar. He spots a gash in the creature's hide, a few inches deep, from where a spearhead might've pierced it but failed to deliver a lethal blow.

Odysseus narrowly dodges the boar's first few charges until he can get a safe distance away. With the proper footing and stance that his father showed him, he raises his bow and fires just as the boar turns to face him. The arrow hits true and fresh blood spurts from the old wound.

An empty quiver later, and Odysseus is attempting to gnaw off one of the fallen boar's legs with just his teeth. He's so hungry and surely, his mother and father wouldn't reprimand him for enjoying the fruit of his labor even in such a messy fashion. If only he had a long knife to carve out the truly valuable meat like the organs...

Odysseus freezes as he catches a new scent on the wind. It's like nothing he's ever smelled before. It's like an oncoming storm, but hotter? It's electric, kind of like the tang of metal, and makes all his hairs stand on end. What is that?

"Show yourself!" he says, leaping to his feet with blood in his teeth, "I know you're watching me!"

Despite not hearing or seeing anything, he knows that someone else is with him.

"I can smell you!"

And a woman, taller and more grand than any being Odysseus has ever seen before, appears out of thin air. Somehow, Odysseus doesn't yelp in surprise when she appears.

She doesn't necessarily smell hostile, despite her towering presence.

She smells... like a friend.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Ray, light of my days, yes I'm going to start all of my asks like this lmao

Today in broad daylight I got into an argument over how parasocial relationships replaced religion in the modern world (which is a hill I WILL die on) with a complete stranger, because they threw their ass into my conversation and I'm just that kind of lunatic.

So I'm pretty sure I'm right, because death threats, leaking information (sometimes information that can get the other killed) and all the other things I'm sure I don't have to introduce you to are the results of the same kind of blind adoration and needless cruelty that the cults of today and churches of... well, sometimes still today used and use to this day to kill, torture and exploit their own people or even people who have nothing to do with them. The same kind of blind following of the loudest idiot that got the Witch Trials and the Nazis going, just to give examples everybody knows. And I'm not even exaggerating about the severeness and seriousness of the cultism of it all.

And then you personally bobbed into my thoughts and refused to leave, like a particularly stubborn buoy outlasting a hurricane. Mostly because what you and us (your followers) have isn't really a true parasocial relationship.

You're aware of us, take the time out of your day to interact with us internet gremlins, you answer our questions and help us through emotional distress and we try to do the same. You're both one of us and the one we look to (sometimes) when we have something sad, or excited or any other to share.

What I'm trying to say is that you played in the dirty internet sandbox, made a castle out of - probably not completely, but who knows where's the sand's from- shit and opened the door to invite us in, made food for us and dined with us. We're here because you're one of us but also a little more.

You kind of became a Small Gremlin God of Small Gremlin Us without wanting to or knowing it and it's absolutely hilarious, because we're here with our ideas and questions and what else, like we're collectively some sickly victorian child asking mother for the last of the dessert and you let us have it because you know we won't last 'til the 'morrow.

In other words we're here wriggling around like salted slugs on their last breath chanting "ONE OF US! ONE OF US!" without noticing that you're chanting with us, you not knowing we're chanting about you and us not knowing you're in the crowd instead of wherever else you're supposed to be.

Just, it's really fucking funny and your character as a person makes a person think. In a positive way. Because I also absolutely love you and what you're doing here.

(AND THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! *mad scientist muttering* *overthinking on max*)

Sorry for the novel lol, idk how to stfu like usual😭

Also you made several good points and can I just say I deeply enjoy the little fox den we've all created here together. And I love you too and I enjoy your rambling.

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

can you do more jealous Gwen headcanons or analysis? thanksss

I actually don't think I have more analysis to make, I don't think we have any more scenes with Gwen being jealous. And funnily enough, I don't do enough stuff with jealousy to have headcanons.

Hope this small drabble can suffice!

. . .

"Everything okay?"

Gwen normally wouldn't mind answering, yet her eyes continue to evade her friend's, since something told her that with just one look he would be able to tell.

If he couldn't do it already.

"Fine!" She answers quickly, more sharp than she would had liked "The multiverse is in danger, we are probably late to see Miguel, and Miles who is about to enter the Lion's Den with only an empanada as a sacrifice, how does that look for you?"

"First time I see you criticize a plan of Jess," he comments calmly, looking at the young spider with the older woman ordering the food that was suppose to placate the leader of this place. Hobie was one who thought if you needed to try to placate your boss, then perhaps you were doing something wrong; thought he already thinks the idea of a boss is stupid.

Shame his drummer didn't share that opinion; he could only take care of so many problems at the time. Now however-

"But I was talking more about putting our young 1610 friend on a leash like a Cherry Hogg." (Cherry Hogg: Dog.)

Gwen try to pretend she needed to think of that one before answering, as well as she hoped the hotness she felt around her cheeks didn't actually shown.

"Miguel is waiting for us-"

"Which is exactly why you were so bothered by when we did the detour- oh wait, you didn't."

Looking back at him, she notices his colours are kind of muttered, his expression almost bored, yet when finally faced him his lips shifted into the smallest smirk as his skin adopted a dark red of interest.

Oh he knows knows.

"What do you want me to say?"

"To me? Nothing, maybe why you took my chucks" He eyed the shoes briefly, before looking for a second on Miles- God he couldn't kn- "To him? Whatever you actually want to say that you refuse to admit to yourself."

Scoffing, she used Jess calling them up (probably to get moving since apparently they bought the empanada;) to start walking, "You are overthinking this, there isn't anything going on."

"Hmm, I guess I should go to talk to Margo about him, figure would be good get as much people on his side as possible, don't you think?"

As Gwen tried to not see red, she wanted to replied that there wasn't going to be any reasons to draw sides (or so she hoped at least,) when Miles drifted from Jess towards them.

"Hey! Why are you guys lagging behind?" Miles eyed both of them, specially Hobie.

Miles was a good guy, but for the life of him he couldn't hide his intentions, and Gwen wished she could had found a way to shut up Pav before he got even more dumb ideas in his head.

Nothing wasn't happening!

"Oh nothing, discussing some things," Hobie shrugged off, before casually walking pass Gwen and slinging an arm around Miles "Missions, other spiders; like Pav and Margo, what do you think of them?"

"Oh! Well-"

As they continue walking, Gwen stood up in shock as Hobie casually looked back, and mouthed "Don't be late."

If she wasn't fuming before, she was now.

Oh she was so going to kill him.

[littlelesbinonny]

The Devil's Den

Chapter 37: In Which The Rabbit Hole Is Deeper Still

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

Alcina leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, savoring the slight burn of the blood-wine trickling down her throat.

"At this rate we're lucky we're not humans," Donna mused from the neighboring table, "we'd have blown through so much money in these vain military efforts we may be stricken down by our people."

"Have you paid much attention to the human world above recently?" Alcina asked flatly, "their idiocy knows no bounds for the make believe thing they call money that 'makes their world go round', we'd likely get away with much, much more if we felt the need."

Donna smirked, "well then I guess this will continue until we bare fruits from our labor?"

Alcina huffed heavily and shoved herself from the wall, rejoining her comrade at the table, "I'm growing as tired of this as you are," she slumped, in a very un-Alcina like fashion, "though I can't come to terms with giving up either. I don't know what else to do but to stay stationed and wait."

"I don't believe anyone else has any better ideas. Mother Miranda remains silent and I'm resigning from reaching out to her any longer. It's pointless. There's still no word of Angie. And Karl, your girls, Dmitri, Sylvia, and the myriad of other eyes and ears we have set loose remain... empty handed."

Donna's verbal vomit continued, and try as she might, Alcina wasn't much able to remain present for it. She was still very consumed with you and what had happened the other night. She still didn't quite feel right, or normal, or whatever she was supposed to feel. With everything going on, which was largely underwhelming, yet just as stressful and annoying, Alcina felt pulled in far too many directions than she liked and that her control was still dangling on a thin thread. She was beyond her threshold for anymore 'what if's', and preparing for an impending unknown, that she was ready to throw in the towel all together and let whatever happens, happen. 

And you. What would become of you?

"Uh... Alcina?"

Came the inevitable tug from her own thought vomit.

"Hmm?" she replied lazily.

Leaning harder on her elbow, Donna propped her chin in her palm and mused over her friends mental absence, "it's none of my business, and I made a promise with myself to never ask or insert myself, but... do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?"

Alcina didn't look at Donna right away, in fact she took another long swallow of her wine and adjusted her poor posture mindlessly.

Finally her icy grey eyes met her friends and she took a deep breath, "what makes you think something happened?" she deflected almost pitifully.

Donna scoffed, not lightly, "I've only seen you that ragged and disjunct maybe a handful of times in the long, long time I've known you. You were very much off when you came back last morning... very off. So, while it's still none of my business, you and your wellbeing are, therefor I can't help but wonder and have a little concern about you."

Their gaze remained fixed to each other and Alcina chose her next words very carefully; "she is... special, Donna. Very special. And no, not in the way I have viewed all my lovers. I'm beginning to fear..." her voice continued, betraying her inward caution, "that I may be in a bit over my head. At least with everything happening. I don't do well with fear... or uncertainty."

Her response was so calculated Donna nearly dared to roll her eyes, but at least Alcina had given her that much, though she knew she would likely not be getting much more.

"I know you dislike being open and vulnerable, even to me, but I hope you know you can always confide in me if you need someone to lean on. And I know telling you you can't always be the unbreakable pillar means nothing, but you really ca-"

"She's got powers of her own, Donna."

Donna became very still as she watched the deadly concern deep in Alcina's eyes urging to be released. That was not something she had expected to hear. Now, more things suddenly made a lot of sense.

"What kind?" she asked timidly.

"I don't know. But I was overcome by a blood-rage I've never experienced before yesterday because of her, her blood, her power, and she witnessed the whole thing."

Oh how the silence was painfully deafening.

"What are you going to do?" Donna asked.

Alcina shook her head shortly, "I haven't the faintest. I feel like I'm caught in a mangled net I can't escape from. My biggest fear, which I have no real concrete evidence for, says that she could be in danger. And, the more I go to her, the more I see her, the more I may risk her safety... and I... don't know how I could live with myself if..." her voice broke off with a crack as she stared down now at the table, reliving her painful past with a bitter bile in her throat.

She huffed, breaking that thought off, "simultaneously, I'm fighting with the guilt that I should be protecting her, keeping her by my side in case something were to ever happen, all the while battling the very infuriating reality none of this would be taking place if it weren't for me, doing exactly what I shouldn't have done," her eyes, now coated with the deep sea slate, locked on Donna once again, "she is my undoing as much as she is my long lost home of comfort and love. She's given me a breath of life I never thought I'd feel again, and I am riddled with guilt and shame for loving her, for not being all she deserves, for knowing with such likelihood our lives will never coexist the way she deserves them to. I... should not love her the way I do, I never should have loved her, but I cannot fathom letting her go now, as selfish and devastating my ignorance may be. Whatever powers she holds, whatever gifts hide in her soul, I feel them in me now. I feel her in every waking and sleeping moment. I am petrified, Donna. Petrified. I don't know how to save everyone."

Her last admission made Donna wince.

She reached for Alcina's hand and grasped it firmly, scooting closer to her at the table, "Alcina... you don't have to save everyone. No one is asking that of you -"

"It's my job, Donna! Am I not the Matriarch? Am I not the Figure Head of the underground?" she jerked her hand away and rose from the table with haste, "Is it not I that everyone looks to when it all goes wrong? Am I not the one who makes the final decisions, has the final say, and ultimately is held responsible for everything that goes on down here?" her eyes and features grew sharp as she continued, "I never wanted any of this, I never asked to be made the ruler of the tiring, undead, caught and lost in time world that we're forced to live in! But here I am, doing a better job than Mother Miranda or any of my predecessors ever did - so yes, dear Donna, it is my responsibility; it is my job; to save everyone from whatever inside and outside threats we face."

She'd paced at least nine times along the floor by now, rubbing her forehead with her plight of anger and remorse, huffing one last time before she stopped, dropped her head back to look at the ceiling and release the breath that had another pending slew of upset words.

"I'm sorry..." she offered softly, "my emotions have been burdensome. I feel more than I have in a long while. I'm not used to having no control."

Alcina found Donna at her side with a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sure it means little now," Donna also offered, "but I'm in your corner. Always have been. You won't weather this alone. And we will nail this bloody problem to the fucking cross, and things will get better. I'll fight tooth and nail to see it through."

She smiled genuinely down at the brunette and relaxed, "they say the quiet ones are those to really be wary of... I have no doubt in my mind you'll make good on your threat."

"When have I ever not?"

Alcina chuckled.

-

Currently, you were laying sprawled out in your bathtub; leg hanging over the side as you were half submerged and resting, recuperating from the exhausting morning you had spent 'working your magick'.

The baby fern Malka had given you was now on the kitchen counter in the largest bowl you owned since you'd overgrown it far too much and it burst from the tiny pot it had come in. You'd be needing to get some more soil and a proper planter as soon as possible. After you'd successfully grown it Fern Gully style, you'd grabbed the next item you could think of to manipulate; a candle.

This time you used your greyer magick. Melting it. Burning it. Reforming it. Lighting the wick with no flame. It was... excruciatingly exhilarating. And, utterly draining. Malka said practice was key. Little by little, you'd figure all of this out.

You'd also been up till around 3 in the morning reading over your books. The book on magick was as interesting as it was vague, cryptic, and a little oddly written. There was no doubt the books age just by the language and spelling. It covered mostly Celtic and Norse witchcraft; history, practices, etc., and gave a good index of symbols and deities. You'd not yet gotten to the chapters containing folklore of Fae, Fairies, Nymphs, Dryads, and the like, but were itching to get there.

You'd also gotten a few chapters into the vampire book when you woke. So much of the lore about the myths of them, oddly enough, were written as debunked as Alcina had told you forever ago upon your many nights of incessant questioning. You found it strange since this book was also quite old, and wondered if perhaps a vampire himself, or herself, didn't write it. The wives tales and superstitions around vampires lasted long into the 1900's, and this book easily predated that. It gave you a little bit of a warm feeling to think a vampire author had gotten some of their truth out there.

Secretly, you were hoping to find names, lineages of the vampire bloodlines, and see if you could track down this Mother Miranda that had wreaked havoc on Alcina, and certainly many others. But to your disappointment you'd found nothing. Yet. There were still many chapters to go.

The bath was helping you regain some energy but your fingertips were still uncomfortably tingly. 

You were finding your magick a very physical thing. Malka had introduced you to learning how to feel it out, locate it and harness it, and you found so many certain sensations went with each emotion and intention the more and more you focused.

Helping plants grow was a warm, soft sensation deep in your chest. The tingling in your fingers gentle but thick, the lightheadedness that came after was bright and intense. 

Burning down the candle came from below your lungs, deep in the pit of your core. It wasn't anger or rage, but pure intent to control and manipulate. The tingling from that was hard, firm, and a little steely. And you felt breathy afterward.

Lighting the candlewick was in the front of your face, like an Icy Hot mask on your cheeks and forehead. That tingling sensation was liquidy, silky, and prickly. It gave you jitters after and you felt startlingly awake.

As much as you wanted to revisit the darker of everything you'd done, you didn't dare without Malka present. Lighting your apartment complex on fire or something wasn't anything you wanted to risk.

It was now a little passed 2 PM when you were trying to read the book on magick while simultaneously making a plate of cheese and crackers to munch on on the kitchen counter. Unfortunately, as you were reskimming a paragraph you'd read twice, you slipped and sliced part of your finger with the cheese knife.

You reached for your paper towels, but in the process dripped three drops of blood on the way.

"Ah fuck," you blurted, quickly wrapping your finger and rushing to wipe off the little red droplets on your book.

But something caught your attention, vividly.

There where the text was as stark against the aged paper as you blood, hovering above and over said text was another text; glowing, violet, and in markings you did not recognize, but even odder still is that you could unmistakably read and understand it.

You blinked several times as the realization that you were clearly looking at archaic symbols, yet they translated in your brain as simply as regular English set in. Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach as your eyes read on:

Of this point in your crooked journey, there are many things to find; the Courts are vast, but none too far -  be true of heart  and sharp of mind.

The truths you seek shan't escape you long; for the Courts call home those who've been gone - through troubles unnumbered, and hardships unmatched - slithy toves wicked games, both brutish and strong.

Darkness endures while you brave the new sea;  uncharted and rough may these deep waters be. Fear not the voyage for you'll be lead through the mist, on the backs of your lineage you'll be able to drift.

The path you've found, is but only the start.  Be swift and be brave,  keep faith of the heart. Come back once more when time gives you wear - as the Courts do not dabble, not here or to there, for Magick is not born of the weaklings to bear.

What... the... fuck did this mean?!

You slammed the book shut and rushed for the door.

~

"Malka!" you called as you burst your way through the shop entrance, "Malka! I need to show you something!"

"Aye aye aye," Malka replied from around an isle, "ketzeleh! I'm just closing shop, lock the front, will you? Come meet me behind the counter."

You did as instructed and hastily made your way to the counter, nearly beating Malka there.

"What has you so spun up?" she asked wiping her hands on her apron, "out with it."

Without another word, you gave her a wide-eyed look of 'please tell me I'm not insane', plopped the book down on the cluttered counter, and opened to the pages where your blood stains were.

"I - I bled on the book by accident - and this text, this floating, purple writing appeared and it was some weird riddle and -"

"Oooyyy vey, ketzeleh," Malka interrupted, gently pushing you out of the way grabbing for the book, her bright eyes staring hard at the pages, "how did you get this?" she asked as her hues shot up to you.

You were stumped, but now very concerned, "uh, Louis, I asked him for books of magick and he gave me this."

The older woman eyed you closely and held the book tighter, "do you know what this is?"

"Clearly not," you stated quickly, your eyes just as wide as ever.

"This is a Blood Arcane."

...

"A what?"

"This is a book of magick, not just a book about it. How this Louis got possession of it I would very much like to know. There are not many left in the world," Malka's voice dropped lower and she came closer to you, "a blood arcane is quite literally an enchanted book made from the old lines of witches and shamans to hide their secrets in plain sight. The red leather binding is a hint to those who knew the old code; this dark stain of red indicates that to unlock it's secrets you must spill your blood to reveal what it has to share with you. Inadvertently you did just that!"

You couldn't help your slacked jaw as Malka, now beaming with glee and intrigue, explained this to you like a school child.

"What did it say, what did it say to you?!"

"I, uh, it was, uhm, it was some kind of riddle? Or poem? I - I don't really remember al of it, it wasn't very forward."

Malka put the book back down on the counter and tapped her finger to her thin wrinkled lips, "I see... but you could read it?"

"Y-yeah, but it wasn't English, it was like -"

"Symbols, yes. Each book is filled with various teachings from various walks of magick, all set to a language special to each reader."

"If I bleed on it again will you read it with me?"

"No, no, it doesn't work like that ketzeleh," she said softly, smiling up at you, "the message you receive will not translate to me, nor would my blood translate for you to read, that's the true magick of these texts! So intricately designed and woven, they are so rare and truly special. This book... it was meant for you, and you were meant to find it. Keep it close. Don't tell anyone you have it, and don't let anyone see it, you understand?"

You nodded mutely and relaxed a little, leaning on the counter while looking back to the book, "it told me to come back after time had given me wear... whatever that means, that part I remember pretty well. What does that mean, though? And how could I read it and understand it even though it was just weird markings?"

Malka grinned, "it means you're not quite ready to read all of it's secrets, but don't be discouraged. Many witches and others gifted with magick cannot read these even after years and years of practice and guidance by elders. As for the understanding; when the book chooses to be read by the reader, it will come through as normally as you and I are speaking now, another impressive mystical trait. I would consider yourself very lucky dear, this is extraordinary!" she turned to face you again and placed her hands on your arms, admiring you with those twinkling eyes, "the more and more you learn about yourself, and the more you learn your magick, this book will bare itself to you in no time. The secrets you find here may have many of the answers you are searching for."

With a gentle sigh, you slumped your shoulders and returned her grin, "life just keeps getting weirder and weirder, Malka," you chuckled, "I'm starting to feel like Alice In Wonderland; next thing I know Leo will be grinning from ear to ear and telling me the Red and White Queen are in the kitchen ready to take me to my coronation to be Queen myself."

"Well, let me know if Sid Caesar shows up dressed as the Gryphon - he's so handsome!"

You laughed out loud and wrapped her up in your arms for a hug.

"If I end up battling the Jabberwocky and jump through the mirror, do you think this craziness will end?" you asked through the hug.

Malka hummed, "do you really want it to, ketzeleh?"

-

"You know if we had cellphones this wouldn't be nearly as difficult," Cassandra said from the other line of the old rotary phone, "we could just call you at any given time at any given place, then you wouldn't have to worry about where we are and the like -"

"You know mother is never going to agree to cell phones!" Dani's voice interrupted, "But we love you all the same, mother!"

"Oh for heavens sake, give me the phone - let - go!" Bela clearly struggled.

Alcina allowed herself a heavy blink and blew cigarette smoke from her red lips, arching back into her chair while tapping some ash into the tray.

"Hi mom, sorry about that."

"Don't worry, I'm sure this argument about cell phones will follow me to the very grave."

"That'll be a long, relentless endeavor."

Alcina chuckled at Bela, "it is your sisters we're talking about."

"Well, I - "

Bela was rudely interrupted once more and Cassandra's voice came chiming through; "Mother, you know the human city council is scared shitless of you, I know the coverage down here isn't ideal but I have no doubt in my mind you can convince them to install a tower -"

Cue Daniella and her boisterous agreement; "Yeah! But then we'll lose Cass entirely to the internet; she'll be on bookface and twatter and god forbid one of those dating sites! Easy pickings for blood though I guess."

"Oh shut up, Dani! You know it's called FACEBOOK and TWITTER, my god don't act like such a dunce."

"I simply love to annoy you!"

The unintelligible bickering went on on the other line until Bela finally reclaimed possession of the phone. Alcina remained pinching the bridge of her nose while taking steadying breaths. At least they were always entertaining.

"Oh my god... ANYWAY. That's about all we have to report at the moment. Though we have learned a great deal about the hidden passages and other tricky gems of the underground while we've been at it."

"Do nOT let Dani get any ideas, please?"

Bela laughed, "of course not, mother. Even Uncle Karl knows better. And you're doing alright?"

Alcina paused briefly, "of course, dragoste - right as rain. Missing my girls, I suppose," she smiled weakly.

"We miss you too. I think we'll be coming home soon, at least for a visit before another lead comes through."

"And I look forward to it. Give the battling baboons my love, and I shall see you all soon."

"I will. Love you, mom."

The click on the other end felt a little heavier than it needed to, but Alcina hung the receiver and took a thoughtful drag, staring blankly onto her desk, pondering if anything was ever going to happen on any end of the spectrum. She hated being in limbo more than she hated preparations for a war that was certain. Trusting Donna's instincts was easier than trusting her own at this point, and hers said this wasn't over, so at least there was something to lean on.

There were only a few more hours before sunset and Alcina was struggling internally about coming to see you. Oh how she wanted to. Escape from all this and pretend it didn't exist for a night, but then, the troubles with you and your newly exposed power made her uneasy.

She rose with a huff that hid none of her annoyance; tired of living and wandering aimlessly through her stupid thoughts of uncertainty was growing old and quickly.

Alcina returned to her bedroom and began to get dressed. 

Donning a white turtleneck, black jeans, her knee high boots, her trench coat, and last but not least; the gloves you'd given her. The smile on her face was warm and wistful, all the hesitations she's fought being shoved in the other direction. She loved you, dammit. She would make this work if it killed her.

As she was closing the gates to the Manor behind her, a shouting from up the street caught her attention. Her name was being called, urgently, by a voice she did not recognize.

Swiftly she started to rush towards the sound, and there trotting down the cobblestone towards her was a young vampire. Her face was twisted with worry and confusion.

"Lady Dimitrescu!"

"Yes, what is it?" she hastily replied.

"There's a Father in the tunnels! He's asking for you, but we wouldn't allow him any further - he's covered in blood - says someone was attacked in the church - he's demanding you come to him!"

Alcina's eyes went wild as she looked down upon the young lady, the shock of this news to her system sending her fight response into action.

"Take me to him!" she commanded with urgency.

The vampire took off and Alcina was hot on her heels.

By the time she reached the tunnel she could already hear the panicked, angry arguing.

"Let me pass! I demand you let me in! I demand to speak to the Lady Dimitrescu! He was just a boy! A boy! How could she let this happen!?"

Pushing her way passed the wall of vampires, Alcina broke through to see this father. He was indeed covered in blood and looking terribly frantic.

She was barely a pace from him when he saw her and lunged himself at her. He was a small, younger priest, one she remembered only vaguely, and posed her no real threat. Alcina barked for the other vampires to retreat and leave it be.

He slammed his fists into her chest and body, babbling and shouting about this boy, incoherent sobs and cries as he stained her white shirt with the still fresh blood all over him.

"I need you to calm down, father," Alcina soothed with a sternness, finally grabbing hold of him and rendering him immobile, "look at me, look at me!" she demanded, stifling his irregular sobs, "I cannot help you unless I know what has happened."

His eyes were blood shot and his face streaked with tears, "You! Your - y-your devils! Come with me and I will show you!" he shouted, ripping himself from her grasp and dodging back through from where he came.

[whitchygaythem]

She doesn't like snakes btw

Sorry this took so long I thought I already posted this

The jungle was wet and humid, which was of course, to be expected. It didn't make Margo feel any better though. Humidity made her hair frizz up, and she had just gotten new braids in. In hindsight, that wasn't the best idea right before going into the jungle for a scientific study. Margo and the rest of her team were in the Amazon to find and research a rare strain of iris, one that was said to cure horrible diseases. Her friend Ben slowed his pace ahead of her.

"Do you hear that sound Margo?" 

Margo looked at him, confused. He was still walking ahead, not looking at her as he spoke. 

"Noo? Benny, are you feeling ok?" She reached forward to touch his shoulder. Ben had an unfocused look in his eyes, all glassed over. A strange purple ring surrounded his iris.

"I'm fine Mar, but can you really not hear that noise?" He turned his head over, looking to the side of the path, into the dark brush. "It sounds beautiful." He walked right off the path and Margo grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Benny stop! What the hell are you doing!?" Ben replied, still watching the jungle. 

"I need to go towards that noise. I need more of that song. We all need that sound" 

"There is no noise Ben! Just step back onto the path and sit down. I knew it was too hot for this…" She kept her grip on his arm as she turned back towards the rest of their team, who also stood frozen, facing the wild jungle. 

"No, you're right Ben." David, their team's leader said dreamily. "It sounds… wonderful." He stepped forwards, walking into the dense brush without a second thought. The team followed, each of them disappearing in the dark forest. Ben pushed Margo off his arm and onto the ground, following their team in the jungle. Margo shot up and chased after them, but soon found herself completely and utterly lost. No path to guide her, all the plants looked nearly the same, and there were no animal calls. The only sounds Margo heard was the faint voice of Ben in the distance. She tried to find him, but his voice kept getting farther away, fainter and fainter until Margo couldn't hear it anymore. She was alone. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the grass around her shift. Something was here with her. Margo saw the grass rustle again, closer now. It was huge. She saw dark green and black mottled scales. Oh god it was a snake. A huge, god awful snake. She heard a soft thump behind her and whipped around, only to come face to face with a fanged smile. Margo screamed and fell backwards. The toothy smile belonged to a huge humanoid creature, with long black hair, dark brown skin and wild green eyes. It was easily three times her size, more than 15 feet tall. And that wasn't counting the thing's strangest feature. It had a long, scaled tail, snaking all around Margo. 

"W-what are you?" Margo tensed as the thing drew closer. It smiled again, but not in any sort of kind way. In a way meant to say "you are in danger." 

"Well, you already know that, don't you?" The thing spoke in a deep and relaxed voice. "Aren't you supposed to be one of the smart humans?" The coils that had sat relaxed around Margo constricted, lashing around Margo's body. They were tight and heavy, forcing her to stay sat on the dirt. The thing rose to it's full height, looking down at her expectantly. 

"You, you're a naga! An emerald boa naga!" The boa smiled. 

"Wonderful! I knew I picked the best one." Margo gasped as she was picked up off the ground and raised to face level with the naga. "The rest of your group were so very weak willed. They followed my trill almost immediately." Margo's eyes narrowed.

"Where is my team? What did you do to them!?" Oh god, this thing could have make them walk off a cliff, run into a leopard den- 

"I did nothing to them. They are currently asleep on the outskirts of a village. I just needed them out of the way. They were standing between me and my prize." The naga ran a clawed finger down Margo's cheek, picking up some gathered sweat and lightly slicing the soft skin. Margo yelped and tried to jerk away but the naga's powerful coils kept her stuck. The boa lifted their finger to their lips, and tasted the blood, no, tasted Margo. The creature's eyes rolled up in delight. They exhaled heavily then looked back at Margo with fiery hunger.

"You truly are delicious, my treat." The boa sucked the rest of Margo's blood off their finger. "What do they call you?"

"M-margo"

"You can call me… hm, Emerald! Yes, that sounds nice!" 

Margo stared at the boa, Emerald incredulously.

"You're going to eat me aren't you?"

Emerald smiled their predatory smile.

"But of course! It would be a waste not to!" 

"Then why ask my name? Why talk to me?"

Emerald's eyes narrowed, making them look even more unsettling.

"Because it gives you humans a shred of hope. Hope that, for some reason, if I know your name, I won't want to eat you." Emerald leaned in close to Margo, as if trying to stare into her soul. "Let me assure you Margo, this is not the case." 

Margo's breathing sped up as she began to panic. She yelled as she felt the tip of the boa's tail yank the muddy boots off her feet, socks and all. Margo snapped back at Emerald.

"If you're going to do it, can't you knock me out first? I'd rather not be awake while I burn alive in acid." 

Emerald looked at Margo with growing glee. "Oh, I'm not going to digest you Margo. I'm simply going to leech off your energy." Emerald gave Margo a slimy lick on her cheek, their eyes rolling up in delight to Margo's taste. "You'll stay down in my stomach," they gestured to their long, undulating tail. "and you'll stay there until I find someone else with more energy to be my little snack." Margo began to kick and squirm as she felt herself be tilted backwards, her feet level with Emerald's fanged maw. 

"WAIT- STOP STOP Can't you hypnotize me for this? Like you did with the others?" 

"Of course not! Where's the fun in that? I want to feel your frantic little squirms all the way down." Margo could do nothing but watch, frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, as the huge naga started to swallow her feet. The coils held her stuck on her back, forced to see her legs disappear inside this ravenous creature. They swallowed again, sucking Margo in up to her knees. That's when she broke out of her stupor and started screaming and kicking, but she was no match for the creature. Emerald swallowed again, their mouth now up to Margo's stomach. She screamed louder as she felt the snake's fangs brush against her skin. She sobbed as she felt hot and sticky saliva on her hands, and Emerald swallowed again. Margo breathed in deep as the coils surrounding her chest unwrapped, but her moment of relief was stamped out as she felt herself get sucked down farther. She now had only her shoulders and neck free. 

"Oh god, oh god, please no no no, Please don't do this please don-" 

Margo yelled out as Emerald's teeth covered her neck in light little cuts. The stinging pain gave Margo a strange sense of bloody hope. 

(Maybe they'll end it here… maybe they'll just bite down and save me the pain)

Emerald swallowed again, and Margo's body was sucked completely into their tight throat, her head sitting in Emerald's toothy maw. She thrashed around, trying to somehow choke the snake, or become too much trouble, so Emerald would decide to find a meal with less fight. But she couldn't move her body. She was already too far gone. All the light was ripped away as Emerald gulped one last time, sending Margo down their throat.

It was completely dark inside Emerald, and the situation made Margo feel bad about complaining about the jungle's weather. Everything was just too much. The walls were constantly moving, grinding at her and pushing Margo down towards the stomach. She was covered in hot, sticky saliva that coated her hair and made it stick to her face. She felt her legs escape from the oppressive squeezing and she immediately began to kick again. Then, she was pushed into another chamber, less tight but worse in other ways. The stomach was so much more alive. Constantly moving, churning and pushing. It was rough, as if trying to blend her up into raw nutrients. She looked around as a sigh and a burp erupted around her.

"Oof, sorry treat" Margo flinched as part of the wall pressed closer into her. "Has anyone told you that you taste absolutely divine? Unlike anyone I've ever eaten." Margo couldn't do anything but cry. Reduced to nothing but a piece of food, only to be spat out as a useless husk, what else could she do? Her eyes felt heavy 

"You're going to be mine for a while Margo. I say get comfortable and take a nice little nap." Margo tried to shake her head, pinch herself, anything, but she was tired from the fighting. Too tired. She passed out, the last sounds she heard were the relentless gurgles and groans of the stomach, and the contented sigh of her captor. 

[sunswathe]

hi hello i am not a stranger things blog BUT i've had this idea kickin' around in my nog for like. months? and today the first part just beamed itself into my brain and i spat out 1000 words for it. i know i'm not the first to write this concept, but here's my take on the "steve sees dead people" au!

i want to write more for this, but i have a terrible track record for finishing fics (i have like. 13 drafts?? for stranger things fics??) so this is tentatively part 1 of an undetermined amount. it is supposed to be steddie, eventually. if i make more, i'll post it to ao3!

anyway, enjoy! <3

------

December 1984

“What the hell are we looking for out here, exactly?”

It’s fucking cold out, and Steve’s fingers are starting to ache where they’re wrapped around the handle of his bat. 

“I don’t know any better than you do, Steve.”

Steve scowls and roughly swings at a low hanging branch. It’s thin and bare and twiggy, and it catches on the pristine nails he drove through the barrel. He uses that hold to bend the branch forward and out of his way. His bat sticks when he walks past and he growls as he yanks it free.

The winter-brittle wood snaps with a loud and distinct crack, and Steve locks up.

When nothing jumps out of the shadows at him, Steve shakes the fresh tension from his limbs and continues his trek. The thin scattering of snow that managed to blanket the dead foliage despite the tight clusters of trees isn’t offering Steve any sort of direction.

No sign of anything. Not of squirrels or deer or fucking wolves or whatever the hell else lives in the woods surrounding Hawkins. Steve doesn’t know and he doesn’t really care.

All that matters is that there’s nothing to show for the thing he’s trying to find.

“The fuck do you mean ‘don’t know any better’ than me?! You,” Steve bites out, jabbing an irritated finger at his unhelpful shadow, “are the only one who’s actually seen it!”

Barb rolls her eyes as she sidesteps Steve’s accusatory point and wanders past. Half of her body has to phase into the thick trunk of a nearby tree for her to successfully maneuver around him, and that just peeves him further.

Steve’s out here getting whipped by and stuck on branches, and she doesn’t even have to worry about the trunks.

The petty jealousy fizzles and dies just as quickly as it came, though. It’s easy for him to forget how serious death really is. How permanent it’s supposed to be, for everyone except him.

Steve sighs and tromps after her.

It’s mid-December, which means the forest is quiet. To an extremely unnerving degree. There aren’t any insects or frogs or midnight birds to fill the hush, only the clack of branches rustling in the light wind.

“You don’t even have, like,” Steve steps over a fallen tree, slick with ice, “the teeniest, tiniest idea of what the— what the thing looks like? No more details?”

Barb scoffs. It’s odd, because she doesn’t make a sound, even as Steve hears her. Her voice doesn’t penetrate the stillness of the night, but Steve knows what she says, what she sounds like, her cadence and tone clear as if spoken aloud.

He doesn’t like thinking too much about the mechanics of it all. It gives him headaches.

“Nope,” Barb snips. “I’ll make sure next time I’m ripped to shreds I get a better look at the thing doing it, yeah?”

Steve watches her from behind, and sees her form flicker. He catches glimpses of bloody, shredded clothing over deep gouges in her back. His stomach turns. He looks at the ground under her feet. There’s no shadow to be cast under the faint moonlight, and the snow is undisturbed.

“Right,” he sighs.

“Maybe I’ll stop and take some notes. I could ask it a few questions before it kills me. Whatever makes this easier for you, Steve.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it!”

What they know about the whole situation isn’t a lot. But it’s more than the police, or Barb’s parents, or anyone else on this goddamn planet.

“So are we looking for like,” Steve ponders for a moment, “a den? Or something?”

They know that Barb isn’t just missing.

“A den?” Barb drawls, brow raised.

They know that whatever took Barb was big, at least. Grey, probably, but it was dark so maybe not. Toothy, with long, claw-tipped fingers. Barb wasn’t able to get the best look at it, before she was dragged away, so most of what she’s able to describe is how the different parts of it felt tearing her open.

“Don’t— come on, cut me some slack, here! I’m not a fucking… professional hunter or whatever. I don’t know what I’m doing!”

They know that Barbara Holland is dead.

“Clearly.”

Which is arguably, the most important piece of information that Steve has.

“Do you think we’ll find like… blood? Dead things?” Steve hates to even think it, let alone say it, but he’s not known for his tact, so. “...you?”

The most important piece of information and Steve can’t even share it, not without either going to prison or a fucking psych ward, neither of which Steve is particularly keen on doing.

Barb doesn’t dignify his question with any kind of response. Not even a twitch.

Steve’s hands aren’t getting any warmer. He looks up, through the branches and to the sliver of moon visible despite the clouds. Changes tracks and barrels forward. “Do we have a plan past ‘find the thing’? Or is that as far as this whole hunt goes, right now?”

Barb stops and offers him a flat look. “We?”

Steve scans the shadows when he stops, too. “Uh, yeah,”  he says, face scrunched in his best duh expression when he finally makes eye contact with her again. “We’re trying to find the thing that killed you, so I’d say it’s a team effort, here.”

He doesn’t appreciate the deeply judgemental look she levels at him. “Steve. I’m dead.” 

Barb’s form flickers again, almost as if she’s proving her point, but Steve knows it’s involuntary. Steve cringes when he sees her battered face. One of her eyes is hidden (or missing— probably missing) in a mangled mess of dark red that Steve can’t stare at or think about for too long before feeling ill. Her jaw and throat are ringed with deep bruises and scraped raw.

She’s back to normal in an instant, looking exactly as she had a month ago. Her glasses intact, clothes and skin pristine and undamaged, not a hair out of place from where it’s pinned.

Steve clears his throat. “Yeah, and I’m an idiot.” Steve lightly swings the bat at his side. “There is not a chance I can figure anything out alone. You know that. You told me that.”

“Yeah, because it’s true.”

“So yes, ‘we.’ This has to be a team effort. You make a plan. You tell me the plan. We find the thing. I hit it with this fucking bat.” Steve swings said bat more forcefully, aiming it at Barb. It swings straight through her. She doesn’t flinch. “Boom. Handled. Done.”

Barb looks physically pained. Or like she sucked on a lemon. “I cannot believe my only hope of getting closure is Steve Harrington,” she says to herself, for what feels like the thousandth time.

Steve flexes his fingers, hoping to bring some feeling back. Tonight is obviously going to be the first of many nights he ventures into the woods behind his house, so he’ll need to pick up some gloves. The ones he has are too bulky, and make using his bat unwieldy.

But cold does the same, so he’ll need to figure something out.

Steve sighs.

“Yeah. I’m your only hope, so it’s shit if I die of hypothermia on our first search.”

Barb doesn’t fight him on it, when he turns around and follows his tracks the hour it takes back to his backyard, even though she looks agitated.

They don’t talk the rest of the night.

The image of Barb, mauled and bloody, sitting on the diving board of his empty pool with her spine hunched and head hanging, glues itself behind Steve’s eyelids.

Steve shuts the sliding glass door behind him.

I cannot believe my only hope of getting closure is Steve Harrington.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Me either.”

-------

YEAH so it's not an exact au. like. i fucked with the timeline and it's not just canon divergent its like. a monster hunter AND no upside down au? its COMPLICATED

just important that i say that because i made it december 1984 On Purpose. it takes place steve's senior year instead of his junior year.

hope you liked it! lemme know your thoughts if you did!! <333

[cathymee]

Telesforo NO-

It drives me mad why they keep the locket so much ;-; that they made Juli a dang servant (that the family/Tatang Selo does not want to do)

This is also the chapter of: Juliana Slander and well... Why are they arresting Tatang Selo?

Since i cannot understand much.... Simoun selling at Tales' den is well... just why?

This is just... foolish. Unless he is framed.

MY FRIEND I AM SO SORRY FOR ANSWERING SO LATE OMG ;-; just went through a busy month as i am about to graduate in my current year and had no time to pop back in here huhu but i've gathered my 2 brain cells now except whatever i wrote here isn't coherent at all

also first off the fact that this chapter is called merry christmas...u wanna beat up rizal w/me

aaaaaa i was screaming at simoun the entire damn chapter!! injustice really drives people to achieve justice and/or retribution in ways they see fit, and to achieve it with fury and vengeance is what simoun wanted to happen for all filipinos which is so fookin dumb like !! YOU BETTER STOP. and to think i had classmates before who cheered him on for exploiting the unprivileged and the oppressed like this bc "haha the indios' rebellion go brrr" but shits on activists and people who hold leftist political ideologies now by red-tagging them,,,, wild. like look around!! see what state we are in right now for people to be desparate enough to rebel and oppose the clowns, murderers, and the thieves in power. WILD.

juli's servitude still makes my heart hurt even now too :( it's just all so fucking cruel for all of them involved. selo just loves her granddaughter so much it breaks his heart enough to want death over seeing juli suffer being a servant instead of being the rich maiden, comfortable and well, that he had envisioned and wanted her to be…juli just loves her father so much that she tried all the plans and ideas she was offered just to earn money…juli just also loves basilio so much that she thinks she wouldn't be good enough for him but is at least comforted by the thought that she didn't sell the locket that he gave her as a sign of her loyalty….crying in the club rn. i understand why it's so frustrating at a logical standpoint tho because selling the locket would really really help them & basilio would give 0 fucks about the locket as long as juli and her family would be safe and well arrghhh I FEEL SO FRUSTRATED OVER IT AS WELL

juli slander INDEED literally she deserves so much better!! I WILL FIGHT ALL THE FUCKING FRIARS FOR HER

(another thing: do you think rizal forgot about sinang being really close friends with maria in the noli LMAOO bc the way he wrote sinang in this chapter has me raising eyebrows like sir. she was mc's cousin & bestie. we know it's been 13 years but come on…)

and they were supposed to arrest tales, as tales did commit murder but since he wasn't to be found they arrested tatang selo. (also Tales wasn't framed :( he intentionally left a trace behind because, well, vengeance. it's a sign and a threat to the authorities. :') )

i literally do not think there was any law out there at that time that states that they'd arrest another family member if the one who committed a crime wasn't present?? i mean i know like it was a colonization thing and the filipinos were heavily, heavily oppressed but i was thinking about if there were still any laws involved in this that i don't know about. does this make sense.

though granted the only thing we learned at school about laws in the spanish colonization era was the polo y servicio & nothing else, and to dive into the criminal laws in the Philippines in the 1800s at 12 AM is very tempting but i can't because i don't have the brain cells for it. i'm so sorry 😭 but even if that was validated by the law - which grants executions anyway?? actually??? and the system was GREATLY unjust and unfair towards Filipinos??? why is this mind-boggling sorry i'm very stupid HGSHGSHGAH - that was still unjust, tyrannic bullshit. and i wanna fucking fight simoun for being delighted at all literally fuck him

ANYWAY 😭 Simoun sold jewels there because that was the disguise he took on when he arrived in the country - he's a rich jeweler dude who tagged along to the Philippines because he's the Captain-General's closest friend (and the one who influences him to do bad shit, like what he details in ch7), now he's just. frolicking around. selling his stupid jewels when he knows most filipinos literally cannot afford his trinkets. a taunting figure of wealth and power just fucking shit up in the background

[pubbydreams]

𝐢'𝐦 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨) ⁠— [𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰]

pairing: steddie fic summary: after two months of ignoring their increasing thoughts about one another, steve and eddie struggle to put themselves out of their misery. fic content notes: depiction of an autistic meltdown, internalized homophobia, nsfw - mdni, referenced past child abuse (emotional & verbal). preview notes: angst (i think that's it but pls let me know otherwise) preview wc: 793

“One,” she retorts, “I’m an academic scholar—”

“Ruth was an academic scholar,” he snorts.

“I was Rose, dingus. And fine, maybe she didn’t, but what, was I supposed to just leave you out here sulking all by yourself?” She stresses like he’s completely out to lunch.

“I’m— I wasn’t sulking!” He sneers, furious at just how quickly and easily she’s able to burrow under his skin.

“Steve, I could hear you wallowing from the other side of campus,” she whines, “it was majorly messing with my mojo.”

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s not sure what to say to that, and he’s way too tired to try to come up with something witty or sarcastic, so he just drops it. Anyway, she’s technically right, ‘cause he’s absolutely sulking. Not that he can really help it, but whatever.

“So…”

His heart may have finally calmed down, but her tone spikes his anxiety right back up again. If she’s going to dance around whatever it is, it must be bad, and he really doesn’t want to deal with bad right now, but he’d rather deal with it now than in five minutes or however long it takes for her to get to the point.

“Robin, whatever it is just say it, alright?” He begs, palms going a little sweaty.

She sucks a deep breath in through her teeth, and stretches her arms in front of her, biding her time in spite of him. Asshole.

“No, it’s nothing,” she lies, “I just wanted to know how you and Eddie are doing.”

“Me and Eddie?” He asks, ears going hot at the idea of there being a ‘him and Eddie.’

“Yeah, I mean, you’ve got this weird thing going on, right?” She probes, suddenly really fascinated by the zipper on her backpack.

Alright, yeah, no, he’s not dealing with this.

“There is no thing going on,” he corrects.

“OK,” Robin mutters before ticking off his sins on her fingers, “I catch you canoodling in the den, you invite him to the pool party, the two of you disappear for like, an hour, then he runs out without saying goodbye—which you got super sad over, by the way—and, like, every single time I’ve mentioned him this last week you’ve gotten all weird.”

“I do not get weird!” He protests. “And we were not canoodling!”

As much as he hates to admit it, she’s right, and it sucks. What’s worse is that it’s been that obvious. In his own head, he’s actually been kind of proud of himself, thinking he’s done an alright job at hiding just how much it hurts to constantly be left with an Eddie shaped hole in his chest. What happened to him? He used to be better at hiding things, didn’t he?

She frowns, and it looks like it’s made of pity which makes him sick. “Look, Steve, as much as it pains me to say it, you’re my best friend. Do you really think I wouldn’t notice—"

“Robin. There’s nothing to notice. We’re friends. It’s just…it’s taking a bit to break in,” he insists, hating how goddamn defensive he sounds.

As far as best friends go, he’s really lucked out because the minute things get too heavy, she always backs out. Things are just about as heavy as they can get outside of the world ending, so he watches as the fight drains out of her.

“Fine, I’ll drop it. But Steve, in the Upside down…I know what it looks like to look at someone the way he looks at you,” she confesses, her words coming out all slow and serious.

As far as best friends go, he’s not sure he’s got a good one, ‘cause for as much as she claims to know about him, Robin doesn’t know a damn thing. If anything, he’s the one looking at Eddie. If anything, he’s the Robin, and Eddie’s Tammy Thompson. Yeah, sure, Eddie’s eyes are technically on him, but it’s temporary and doesn’t mean much more than a shaky friendship and mutually beneficial whatever. The look she thinks she’s seeing isn’t there. He should know.

“It’s not like that,” he stresses through a mutter.

She doesn’t believe him, obviously she doesn’t believe him, and she’s looking at him with so much understanding and disappointment he just wants to shrivel up and die.

“OK,” she says just as quietly.

It isn’t there, and it’s never going to be there, and the sooner he, and Robin, and whoever else accepts that, the better. Even if he’s going to milk every single second of Eddie’s attention—and do everything in his power to keep the focus on him—it’s silly and destructive to pretend that it means any more than it does.

hai, i'm pubby! if you enjoyed this little excerpt, please consider checking out the full fic on ao3!! have a great day!! ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა

read on ao3! ♡ masterlist ♡ kofi

[risu5waffles]

Sweet Christing Hell, Time Slow Down a Bit

Here we are again, got another 10 in the pipe (i don't even know what that is supposed to mean.

A nice, simple one, wiv a good set of material choices to make up for a bit of a paucity in decoration. The gameplay is relatively smooth, keeping a good flow aside from a few overly tight jumps early on, and a bit of unclear player communication toward the end. A good use of the four or five minutes it'll take to clear.

Chronos loves this one, and i do like it well enough, i guess; though i find the pacing to be a little bit on the plodding side. i appreciate that the environment, tho' LBP1 kludgy, is actually cohesive. Like, you're in a factory, and it goes from base materials to final product, and that's actually kind of neat. The total lack of music does make things a little eerie, too, which was pretty cool.

This is a level i wish i could go back and lay in base LBP, because the translation to LBP3 really doesn't do it many favours. Still, i really liked the idea of making each scene discrete, wiv its own little platforming or puzzle challenge. i wonder if it was intended to be a group play kind of deal, because that elevator ride at the beginning doesn't give you any time for the stickering that seems expected. Also, while the boss was definitely neat, it drags on forever, it feels like.

We talked about this one last week, and i don't really have more to say except Neptune seems like a really nice kid, and i wish him well wiv his endevours. Honestly, i've been super lucky as far as YouTube comment interactions, but even wiv that, Neptune's been both kind and interested, and that means an awful lot.

Oh, i do remember one thing about the video i need to own up to, i accidentally wrote the publish date as December 14th, 2023, which is what happens when you've got too much going on and no one to give your videos an editing pass but you.

This is a neat one that i wish had a bit more to do in it. i've been a sucker for cardboard as a building material since day one, and seeing what atriku8040's done wiv it is super impressive. But at the end of the day, there really isn't anything to do here. One more editing mistake to mention, in the video the name is written as ダンボーロ instead of ダンボール because i am a loser, and now that's forever.

i was so pissed when i noticed. Which was, of course, too late to correct.

This one's cute, even if, again, there really isn't much going on in it. It was neat how they got the actual metro announcement in the level; don't know how gomafuomo pulled that off wivout the recording being total pants. It took me a couple of seconds to realize, "wait, i know that announcement. i've ridden that train."

It would probably be unseemly for me to mention here that i don't like Akihabara at all. i'm a geek, but i'm not really that kind of geek, and there's nothing that Akihabara does that Osaka's Den-den town doesn't do wiv more charm and far less walking. Think i'm always going to be an Osaka gal, me.

This one looks real pretty, but boy did it need another couple of good passes through playtesting and gameplay polish. Communication wiv the player is pretty poor throughout, and it's easy to get yourself lost in the crufting; and some of the jumps are just awkward (tho' some of that is definitely on me, i've never found jumping onto platforms moving through layers to be particularly intuitive). It's a real shame, because i see a lot of the Wedding kit being used for general "scary" levels, but i rarely see anyone leveraging it as a theme, and it's one i really do like a lot.

What to say about this one? It's a simple little LBP1 jam. It's got fire, it's got ice (glass), it's got a race wiv some fiddly jumps onto slippery ice (glass). It's not not fun, and i understand that's not exactly high praise, but it's hardly the worst feeling you could leave a level wiv.

i like this one. i think i like this one more than Thin Lines of Neon Lights. The verticality helps, and the feeling that your're just zipping along. Plus, Neptune changed the hamster wheel to actually do something based on my review, and folx, when i tell you i was honestly touched.

Holy crap, folx, this one tho'. i've mentioned before there seemed to be a couple of particular styles we'd see in the LBP2 era. You'd have your natural-y types, usually wiv a certain material set and often some gratuitous hookshot action; your weird cartoon-ish worlds wiv real blocky construction, expressive puppets, and meme-adjacent humour; and then you'd get, every now and then, something like this. Fiddly mechanical design wiv lots of movement and the level shifting and building itself as you go along, and holy shite, but this is a top-notch example of that style. i don't know if it's koknsun's best, but it is the best of theirs that i've played (although, that being said, some of their levels, like Hokusai's Soul are broken in LBP3; so that might be a touch unfair).

So that's another ten down, and we're up to 50episodes, and that's kind of a wow. i'd intended to put together a hub level wiv 10 i particularly liked from the set (not, perhaps, the 10 best, because i'm terrible at judging that kind of thing). That's still in the works, and actually pretty close to being done; just need to do a couple of passes to make sure the mechanical elements are working right and consistently, and then go through decorating and putting in music. Wiv luck it should be up sometime this week, or next Wednesday at the latest.

[after-witch]

Serpent [Yandere!Naga Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Serpent [Yandere!Naga Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re so lucky to have wandered into his den. Others might have eaten you, but he’ll keep you safe.

For request: 

If your requests are still open (if not then ignore this) could you maybe do a Naga Overhaul? Where the reader wanders into his domain and gets lost and he takes advantage of the Naga’s ability to persuade the reader into staying with him? And whenever they catch on to whatever’s happening around them he slowly reels them back in and keeps them soft and compliant and cute?

Word Count: 1336

notes: yandere, naga, drug-induced hypnosis

You don’t know how lucky you are to have stumbled into his den the exact moment that you did, when he was alert and well-fed (a hunter, filthy thing) and feeling curious rather than vengeful. He was just as curious as you, it seems, from the way you wandered into the dark dampness of the cave, like a little lamb, naive and blind to the dangers of the world. You had a human map in one hand, and a little light in the other. You looked around, your eyes blinking and trying to adjust to the lack of light, and then you spoke.

He remembers the first words he heard from your mouth so clearly: “Oh, oh, I am definitely lost.”

With those words, he knew: he couldn’t possibly eat you, sweet thing, soft thing; no, he would simply have to keep you.

The noises you made as you looked around the cave, spotting bits of bones from his previous kills, were so charming, so helpless from your lips.

And again he must consider your great luck: if you had wandered into another naga’s nest, they likely would have eaten you. Or worse, wrapped you up and had their filthy way with you, breeding you like a sow until you were panting and dripping and unable to think of anything but lust with your belly stuffed with eggs.

He did no such thing, not to the lost little lamb, not to the helpless creature who wandered inside with soft footsteps and eyes wide open. Not to you, who heard him slithering and gasped--so scared so meek--and then pulled your arms up to your chest when you saw him in his full glory. It made you look even smaller, even cuter.

He forgave you for screaming the instant that the sound came from your lips. It can’t be helped, it’s only natural for humans to fear what they don’t know, especially something as awe-inspiring as his form, engorged with a meal and eyes glinting with intention.

He does regret the force he had to use at first, the force it took to wrap his tail around your shaking form and squeeze firmly until you stopped struggling so intensely. But it was worth it, all worth it, the moment he lifted you and brought you closer to his chest. Oh, you were beautiful. Truly a creature worth keeping. Your lips quivered and parted and you’d mumbled out, “Oh, please, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know this was--”and surely you were also about to apologize for screaming at him, but he didn’t want to waste anymore time, and swooped down to bite your neck.

The effects of his venom were swift and, thanks to years of practice, exact. It’s not enough to kill you. Not even enough to hurt, no, no, Just enough to keep you subdued, calm, susceptible. In a moment you went from a shaking little thing to something pliable, malleable, something that he could make his.

If you were a meal, he’d use that effect to lure you into his den and devour you.

But you’re nothing of the sort. So he lures you into his den and intends to never let you out again.

That was… oh, months ago, he thinks. And you’ve been so easy to keep under his control. Maybe it was your inherent nature to be subservient, submissive. You hardly even questioned where you were, all thanks to his talents.

You’re safe, lamb, he told you. You’re mine, and you’re safe.

Oh, you’d said, mouth parting and staying that way for a moment, thoughts slow and wrapped in cotton. Okay. But what am I supposed to do now?

And he’d told you exactly what to do. Stay with him. Sleep with him. Clean for him. Talk to him. Be your sweet, perfect self, always and forever.

And you obeyed.

You snuggle with him for warmth when its cold, and sprawl out, naked, taking comfort from the cold stone below when the heat becomes too much. You tell him about your dreams, about what you like, all nice, pretty things. Flowers and tea and dresses that swish-swish; you don’t notice that your own dress is tattered and you haven’t seen a flower in months and the human food you consume is stale, old, pilfered. You never cry about missing your family--you can’t even remember if you have any--or the human world. He brings you human things, after all, because you’re so good for him, so sweet.

You’ve taken to the role so well that he sometimes debates not giving you your regular dose of venom; the novelty of having a human mate who didn’t need to be dosed was tempting, a potential bragging point, even.

But then those unfortunate moments come where the effects slip and you become scared and your cheeks run with tears as your eyes flit about the den in terror, and he knows he can’t do that to you, can’t subject you to the horror of not being completely his. He is nothing if not merciful in the way he swoops down as quickly as possible, giving you the dose you need to revert back to reality--his reality. Your reality, most of the time.

That’s where you are now, as he watches you flit about the den, organizing and reorganizing the little things he’s brought you. Treasures--blankets, books, jars of preserves and foods, all stolen from his kills.

The way you hum and hmm, biting your lips as you take a step back, glance at him for approval--does it look okay?--and then go back to tidying is enthralling. It all brings a thrill to his chest. You’re such a good homemaker, even if your touches are far too human for his liking. But he’s willing to compromise with the future mother of his children. Your belly will look simply stunning, stretched and swollen with his eggs.

You place a hand on that stomach now, as if sensing his thoughts. Or maybe you’re recalling what he’d told you that morning, after your recent dose--that he was going into his mating season soon, and it would be time for him to mate with you. You smile, a prideful smile that makes his heart flutter.

He imagines what it will be like when he finally takes you. You’ll take his eggs without complaint, he’s sure. As long as he times the dose right, to avoid any unpleasant…mishaps. He won’t keep you dumb with lust, though, like some others of his kind. The idea of you coming undone for days, weeks, rutting yourself against the air like humans were prone to do after being hit with the pheromones makes him feel a bit sick. That’s not what he wants for you, his lamb, his pure, soft thing.

“Overhaul?” You ask, voice quiet and sweet, and just a bit sluggish from being dosed that morning.

“Yes, my dear?” He says, slithering up behind you and pulling you into his arms in a swift, strong motion. He pets your hair and rests his nose against the softness of it, inhaling your scent--a scent that has long ago lost its hint of human soaps and lotions, an earthy scent now intermingled with the scent of his den, which you never leave.

Your hands rub up and down the expanse of your stomach, covered now in the thin remnants of your human clothes. You giggle a bit, and it makes his heart want to burst while reaffirming the need to keep you here, treasured and locked away, for the rest of your life.

“How long have I been yours?”

He squeezes his arms around you, breath ghosting over the puncture marks, bruised and healing, on your neck.

“Forever.”

[nervouscupcakeinspace]

BTS FIC RECS (PART 2)

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope

Don't Get Charmed by shikiso

When an injured omega is found on their territory, Jungkook's instincts scream danger. He is the pack's omega, they don't need another one. Jungkook is doing a good enough job by himself, protecting the den and soothing the tension off everybody's shoulders.

Why is the pack so adamant on keeping that useless omega in ?

They have Jungkook, they don't need Hoseok.

Why can't they even see his little game ? Hoseok definitely knows how to play the scared and helpless omega. But, if he manages to trick everybody, he can't trick Jungkook. He is immune to his sweet scent and sweeter eyes.

He won't fall into his trap.

Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin

Omega Drip by sugamongoose

Park Jimin is the kind of alpha who makes you coffee and asks about your day before reducing his partner to a crying, writhing mess on his organic cotton sheets. He doesn't even seem to care one bit that Jungkook is a broken omega who doesn't get wet when he's supposed to.

“Are you busy right now, alpha?” Jungkook asks, holding his breath in anticipation. He can already visualise getting on his knees for the smaller man, can imagine those soft-looking hands petting his hair in approval when he shows just how good his mouth is.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon | RM

Every Kind of Way by Oh_Hey_Tae

And then he realizes, quite belatedly, that he’s not supposed to be shaking the hand of the barista. Because that’s weird. And uncalled for. And really, really weird.

So Jungkook draws back his arm, grips the straps of his backpack, and promptly flees the building without a word spoken. Which is fine. Sometimes you have to get out of awkward social situations and blacklist particular cafés and adjust your route to school to avoid said café and the barista with the heart shaped face and his sweet pea scented hands. It happens.

“Jungkook-ah, meet Kim Namjoon.”

And sometimes during your bi-weekly dinner one of your good friends introduces you to said barista with the terribly soft hands who also happens to be getting his masters in social work to help underprivileged youth in inner city neighborhoods. Which is fine. This is fine. Jungkook is doing just fine.

 (Or: Jungkook adores everything about Namjoon except that the man can't catch a clue.)

Here Is What I Know by Oh_Hey_Tae

There are flowers growing on Namjoon’s arm. They aren’t real flowers, of course. That would be absurd. Impossible. Ridiculous. But Namjoon spends most of his lecture on Kant watching the garden of ink bloom on his skin, beginning at his pinkie and spreading across his wrist, trickling down to his elbow, curling up and around his bicep and out of sight under the sleeve of his shirt. Irises and peonies and roses and sunflowers. The girl who’s sitting beside him is staring, and when caught, gives Namjoon a bright-eyed grin before glancing back to the board. Namjoon spots a faded smiley face inked into the skin of her thumb, what looks to be a grocery list scrawled over the back of her hand. Notes or reminders from her soulmate maybe. Soulmates. Huh. It looks like Namjoon has one of those now.

try to resist, i still want it all by exarite

At first, Namjoon doesn’t think much of him.

He looks familiar, but he’s too far away for Namjoon to really see or scent out his dynamic. He’s cute, but Namjoon's not new to cute boys either. He's far too used to handsome, and pretty, and everything in between in the industry.

But then he stands up. Namjoon's eyes catch on the swell of his belly, and every nerve in his body lights up, his mind going blank, and—

Oh, he breathes. He's pregnant.

::

Namjoon fucks a pregnant Jungkook.

just let me adore you by elle_O_moonchild *

Rockstar omega Jungkook has never let an alpha tie him down. He was independent, and happy, and had no need for a domineering knothead to mess up his career and lifestyle.

But powerful and wealthy alpha Namjoon only wants to spoil the pretty omega rotten.

or

A smitten alpha Namjoon gets a weary omega Jungkook to go on a date with him and shows him just how good they can be together…

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Seokjin | Jin

more and more and more by moonsuns

"If you haven’t had sex by the time you’re twenty, then I’ll have sex with you. That way you’ll have a guaranteed end date for your virginity.”

“Do you promise, hyung?”

"I promise."

The problem was, Seokjin never expected to be called on it.

you shouldn't give it to me (good like that) by jamaisvore

opposites in the eyes of the media, but a perfect match in each other's arms.

or: supermodel!jk x rockstar!jin

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM

Pull Me Under by Oh_Hey_Tae

It’s been two weeks. Hoseok has managed to survive two weeks of Kim Namjoon’s progressively darkening thighs and his cheek craters and his swooshy hair and that stupid laugh he does that makes him sound like a bleating sheep.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. Stares. Slowly draws his gaze back to Hoseok. “Are we discussing the same man who tried to brush his teeth with sunscreen yesterday?”

“Ew, he did that?”

“Your voice says that’s disgusting but your face says you’re enamored.”

Hoseok presses his palms against his eyes until he sees colored spots. “Make it stop, hyung.”

  (Or: Hoseok works at a summer resort and Namjoon is the newest lifeguard. Chaos ensues.)

fall underneath by crycoby

“Is this secretly about your huge crush on Namjoon?” Jimin asks, his fingers digging into the back of Hoseok’s neck in a way that is frankly criminal. “You know that if you like him, you’re going to have to be more direct. He doesn’t like to assume things about people and… He overthinks a lot,” he finally settles on diplomatically.

Hoseok groans, half because of the pressure and half because the idea of talking about this, about any of this, about any of the gnarled mess that is the clutch of Hoseok’s emotions in the knot of his chest, gives him hives.

//

hoseok could talk about his big messy feelings about namjoon, or he could talk around them instead and just hope for the best. yeah. that sounds good.

Methods of Mutual Stress Relief by Only_A_Fangirl

Hoseok cringes, “How weird would it be if I actually asked to jerk off in here with you?”

“Very,” Namjoon answers instantly.

Hoseok nods, “You can choose the porn.”

Namjoon blinks, “Are you for real?”

lyre lyre lyre by oliviacirce

Namjoo regrets every life choice that has led her here, to the hard wooden floor of this dance studio, where she's lying on her back like a beached whale.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Taehyung | V

the long and winding road by moonsuns

Hoseok is (basically) forced to go on vacation and leave his stressful idol life behind, at least for a little while. He wasn't expecting to find Taehyung, that's for sure. (He's glad he did, though.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin

Procurement by FlyYouFools1 (WIP) *

Seokjin and Namjoon have waited decades for a little of their own. Taehyung just wants to pay for his little brother's education.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Taehyung | V

Dandelion Love (part of the (Not) Destined series) by almostsophie1

Taehyung is twenty-one when the word on his wrist turns ashen. The kind of love that soulmates share is forever out of reach.

(But enter one Kim Namjoon, who doesn't think the same.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

Bleeding Love by beebalm

Yoongi was already dressed and halfway to the door, nothing but a dry chuckle and a See you around when Namjoon asked for his number.

OR

It's not that Namjoon is hurt Yoongi only ever wanted him for a one night stand. And he doesn't have a crush. He just wishes they didn't have to keep seeing each other all the time.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin

but i want it anyway by ameliabedelias *

Park Jimin’s roommate goes to study abroad for a semester. Kim Namjoon takes over the lease.

only lingering around you by moonsuns 

“I don't. I mean...this is going to sound awkward, but I’m...not really looking for a relationship right now.”

Namjoon considers, for a moment, elaborating and telling Jimin about everything with Hoseok, but there wouldn't be any point in that. And also, Namjoon is pretty sure that Jimin doesn't care about any of that anyway.

And he's right. At this, Jimin outright laughs. It isn’t a mean laugh, but Namjoon is pierced by the sound anyway. “Who said anything about a relationship, or even feelings? It’s just sex.”

Or, Namjoon and Jimin are friends with benefits.

Kim Seokjin | Jin/Min Yoongi | Suga

운명 (Fate) (part of the (Not) Destined series) by almostsophie1

Yoongi is part of that three percent population left without a soulmate word. It doesn't matter if he falls in love, because love isn't meant for people like him.

(Then he meets Seokjin.)

candy on my lips (part of the just desserts series) by moonbabie

Anonymous advice columnist and baby bi Kim Sujin meets queer club president Min Yoonji, and does the following: writes some cheesy advice columns, cuts her hair, and figures out her shit. (aka a queer romcom meets emotional constipation, self-discovery, and clueless wlw)

Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin

pull me closer in the backseat of your rover by moonsuns

Jimin had just wanted to get off. He didn't think he'd end up with a boyfriend at the end of it all.

Or, another friends with benefits AU.

Nip & Bloom by sugamongoose (WIP) *

The year is 2021, and yet traditional and oppressive views of alpha/omega relations run rampant in the Korean society. Unmated Park Jimin is placed in a government programme which pairs delinquent omegas with support mates to make them more comfortable in their submission. Jimin’s alpha for six months turns out to be Min Yoongi, a tiny music producer who wears fuzzy sweaters, and who won’t stop talking about his kitten Holly.

“You look like an omega,” Jimin blurts out. The strange alpha flashes him a smile that reveals the pink of his gums. “Is that something you prefer? I saw your file, and it said you identify as queer.” “Oh, you looked at my file just to see if I like to fuck other omegas? Knot swelling yet?”

POLY RELATIONSHIPS

OT7 - Relationship

indiscentsible by cloudyworld *

Jungkook had been a little disappointed when, after all the build-up and speculation, he'd presented as a beta. Betas are great! They play an important role in society: level-headed, big-picture thinkers, the solid foundation that holds everyone together. But that pull of instinct that comes with being an alpha or omega, the feeling of belonging... He was crushed at the thought he might never get to have that.

In a pack with three alphas and three omegas already, presenting beta was a gift; Jungkook learns to see that too.

Precious Mettle by glitterandgilt (WIP) *

Jin loved his nest. He'd built it very carefully from the ground up. Spent centuries on selecting the individuals he wanted to spend the rest of his immortal life with. He was proud of his nest and protected it with a possessive love that rivaled a dragon's guard on their trove.

Jin didn't get the chance to go through that evaluation process with his newest treasure. But he would never let it go.

Or

When Jin's blood is stolen and used to sire a new fledgling, Jin has two choices: to ignore the strands of magic binding him to his new childe, or to lay claim to another jewel for his collection. He chooses the latter and drags his entire nest into a situation none of them were anticipating.

Kim's Seven by Gobi17 (WIP) *

Jungkook, 17 year old YouTuber, is in awe of the 6 hot boys who have adopted him online.

Bangtan are a dangerous group of vigilantes who seize the opportunity to kidnap the stepson of their latest target.

Found Kin by Adaptive_Artist (WIP)

Jungkook is starving. Food doesn't make anything better, and his teeth ache like someone is hammering on them. He thought he was cursed. Turns out he's a hatchling kin, and is now the precious baby of the renowned Kim nest. He's also growing little fangs.

Huh.

love bites (series) by feraljk (WIP) 

Summary from the first fic:

newly-turned vampire jungkook still has a lot to learn, but his hyungs are there to help him. taehyung enlists yoongi and jin to teach the fledgling how to teethe and helps him discover how much of a bonding activity teething can be.

or: trans koo and tae teeth on their hyungs and also come

Isn't it lovely? (all alone) by hopefully2020

At age eighteen, all citizens are given a concentration that will determine their fields of study. A small empty square on their wrist will gain a color corresponding to their skill set. Everyone’s fear is that their square color is black, meaning they are destined for a life of crime. When Jungkook turns eighteen, he waits anxiously for his square to gain color, only to be presented with a blank square. He is shunned by his family, having to struggle through high school while trying to figure out what to do for the rest of his life. Jungkook's life gets flipped upside down on the day of his twenty-first birthday when the store he works at is robbed with Jungkook at the cash register. Fearing for his life he believes he is going to die, only to be saved by a figure in black with a mask covering his face. To make things even worse, Jungkook suddenly becomes the target of one of the largest drug syndicates, solely because of his new connection to his savior and five other men who turn out to be the biggest crime lords in Seoul. What happens then, you ask? Well, then the blank world Jungkook always saw starts to drip with black, just a little bit.

blueberry peaches (a serendipitous summer) by elle_O_moonchild (WIP)

Jungkook spends a life changing summer working at a beachside car wash and meets 6 new lovers who change his heart and life forever.

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM 

Falling For an Alien From Amalthea 5 by Pyotr_Keats78 (WIP)

Jungkook has been in and out of the hospital for years with various medical problems. Eventually, his heart becomes so weak that no human medicine can save him. Believing he will die never having come out as trans to anyone, he gives up. That is until his brother Jimin tells him, “You have two choices, Jungah: you can stay here in this hospital and get high every day until your heart fails you, or you can go to Amalthea, grow a parasite, and live.”

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin

Mentoring on Marsa by FlyYouFools1

Jungkook comes to the planet Marsa after being promised a full scholarship to Marsa National University. When the scholarship falls through, his academic advisor gives him the number for a mentoring service for newly stranded omegas on Marsa. With rent due, no way home, and no success in finding a job, Jungkook calls the number. The organization sends him Min Yoongi, a fellow omega who's been living on Marsa for 8 years. Yoongi teaches him how to survive. Jungkook's first attempt at survival is alpha couple Jimin and Taehyung.

Features: Yoongi doing his best to teach Jungkook how to manage handsy alphas, handsy alphas (like all of them are touchy) taking liberties with omega protagonists, and my best attempt at writing problematic but entertaining sex. A lot of fluff too, actually. The alphas are fluffy as hell with the omegas, and pamper them a lot, even though their actual behavior is wrong.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi | Suga

November (series) by cuttothequickk 

Summary from the first fic: 

Sometimes, Jeongguk gets so lonely he doesn't even feel alone anymore. He's practicing, and he's very good at it. Loneliness. Being alone. It's blustery cold, and the leaves are falling from the branches of trembling trees, and Jeongguk is alone in a big city, shivering without a jacket, trying desperately to keep himself warm.

There is no one, and then there is someone. Two someones. The lovely winter boys from Daegu, Taehyung and Yoongi, opposites and equals, so loving and in love.

It would be ridiculous, really, if Jeongguk didn't fall for them, too.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

how, or when, or from where by moonsuns

“Stop calling it my quest,” Namjoon whines, and Hoseok laughs.

“You’re the one that said it first.”

“I was drunk.”

“Well, the bad thing about going out with people, is that you can’t take back the stupid shit you said when you were drunk. Especially when they’re way less drunk than you.”

Or, after Namjoon almost dies, he decides to go on a quest to live his best life, and takes Yoongi and Hoseok along for the ride.

(* Personal favorites)

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 1

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity

Three months, two days and seven hours.

That is how long you’ve been in Dimitrescu castle for. If rumor is to be believed, you are well on your way to setting the year’s record for longest living maid. Well. ‘Maid’, according to their perception. Your mind always automatically corrects it to something more fitting:

Prisoner.  

You did not choose to work for them. You did not choose to be in this godforsaken place, cleaning crimson stains off the floors, trying to convince yourself the wailing that sometimes reaches your ears is simply the wind. You never would have imagined your life’s end like this, serving wine –no, who are you kidding, it’s too crimson for that— to the Dimitrescus at dinner until one of them snaps and drives the nearest blade into your throat.

Probably Daniela.

It’s not unheard of. And stories of other maids’ murders are plenty.

Daniela has bitten one’s throat off for the crime of addressing her wrongly. Cassandra has left increasingly deep gashes, some of which resulted in deaths, for random offenses, like staring at her for too long. Bela, arguably the more merciful of the three, has snapped necks only when the staff disrespected her sisters’ names, or her mother’s.

You aren’t sure if you want to thank the older maids for this information or yell at them for the nightmares it has caused you. You are lucky to not be in the village, they say –everyone there must already be dead. You are even luckier to have been taken from the dungeon by the Lady herself. It means the daughters don’t know you and the castle is big enough that they may never spare you a glance.

You hadn’t believed it, at first.

Yet in the three months of your stay, you have never come across anyone other than Bela in the sections you were assigned to clean and polish. She passed you by the hallway like she did the decorations and the furniture –and you couldn’t be happier about it. You have caught scarce glimpses of Alcina Dimitrescu, too. Never the other two residents.

Not until the fateful day another maid disappears and the staff’s assigned posts change. You have no say in it and no power to object.

May as well keep my head down and continue to work as carefully as I have. That is the idea. Not to look too much, or think too much, or feel too much. Avoid mistakes because those in the castle are fatal.  

It is a little difficult to remain utterly calm when the sound of swarming insects comes from far behind you, though.

Your blood starts to kick in your veins. Your heart wants to jump out of your chest and make a run for it. You lock your muscles down and summon all the willpower you possess to stay focused on your task.

Please be Bela, please, please, be Bela—

The buzzing dies down. Steps approach you in the otherwise silent hallway. They are too light to be Bela’s. You’re probably screwed, you think, but you keep cleaning the surface in front of you until it’s practically a mirror with how it shines.

The steps halt too close to you for comfort. Out of the corner of your eye, you realize they’ve left bloody imprints on the floor you’ve been polishing for hours now. Dainty, pale fingers are wrapped loosely, almost lazily, around a sickle dripping crimson.    

“Never seen you around, before.” the sound of her voice makes you freeze.

You stop and turn— to face none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her hood is down, brunette waves on point, the dried blood at her chin a terrible contrast to her otherwise attractive face. You… didn’t know she was that pretty, up close.

“I… I have been here for three months. On the opposite wing.” you say. Was I even supposed to reply? You’ll find out soon enough, if your tongue is still attached to your body.

Her eyes give you a quick once-over. “Bela’s been keeping you a secret, huh.” she tsks. Her free hand goes to the handle of the door next to you… and only then do you realize it must be her bedroom. You’re literally assigned to clean the wolf’s den. “Come wake me up when the sun has set, completely.” she emphasizes.

What.

“Uh—”

The crimson-dyed sickle moves until its blade rests underneath your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet hers. From this angle, under the pale lighting of dawn, they look more –stunning— blue than inhuman gold. “No loud sounds. No lights. Got it?”

How can you not, when your life depends on it?

“Yes, my lady.” you reply. You don’t even dare draw breath.

“Good.” In one swift movement, the sickle is gone, the handle turned and she’s already shedding her robe.

You catch a glimpse of a black corset and a narrow waist before you avert your eyes.

The door shuts.

...

Waking Cassandra up can be… tricky, the other maids tell you.

She detests light when she opens her eyes but she also doesn’t want it to be pitch black. You’re not supposed to talk but you can’t shake her, either. Which brings you to the very logical question:

“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?”

To which they have no answer.

They have no answer, you realize with a start… because there’s nobody alive to tell the tale of how to actually wake the brunette sleeping beauty up without simultaneously signing their own death sentence.

The hours pass both too slow and too fast. The sun sets over the horizon.

And you stand, riddled with nerves, outside Cassandra’s room.

A deep inhale later, you turn the handle. The door is left half-open so a bit of light comes in from the hallway. Her bedroom smells like shampoo, bath salts and spices. She must have taken a shower before she went to sleep. You approach the figure tucked under the silken sheets of the queen-sized bed…

Cassandra is lying on her side, one hand underneath her pillow, the other extended loosely towards the edge of the mattress. She probably sleeps naked, at least from the waist up, but thankfully the covers are wrapped around her chest. Their royal red color makes a stark contrast against the paleness of her skin.

Her face is so… serene.

She is a monster and a sadistic killer, yet right there you can’t deny she looks more like a renaissance painting.

Now onto the hard part.

“My lady… the sun has set.” you whisper, kneeled on the floor beside her. No movement comes. “Hey… I’m here to wake you up?” you try again. Still nothing. Shakily, you bring your hand up to the bed. Not daring to touch her, you leave it beside hers, over the covers. “Cassandra?”

She turns her face deeper into her pillow –no, no, you don’t think it’s cute, what’s wrong with you— but at least she’s finally reacting. You call her name one more time.

Her nose scrunches up a little. Long fingers flex –and they touch yours. She’s cold. A pair of blueish ambers blink open to regard you. Not with malice, or with annoyance.

“Good evening.” you speak, unsure of what else to say.

A smirk slowly curves her lips. She looks like a lazy cat pondering whether or not it’s worth it to pounce and that’s not good. It’s not good, not ‘hot’ like your mind suggests. God, you’ve been in this castle so long you are starting to get messed up.

“Mm, breakfast in bed.” she grins and licks her lower lip sexily. Your eyes fly wide open, but her hand is already gripping the front of your black shirt, trapping you there.

How could you ever find this psycho attractive?! you get mad at yourself. Is she hot now that she’s going to kill you?  

But Cassandra only lets out an airy laugh and releases you. You fall backwards on your behind. “Breathe, darling, I’m joking.” She rolls onto her back and seems to wince from it. Her smile vanishes.

“…does… your back hurt?” you ask when you finally find your voice again.

“Ugh, a Lycan landed a hit on me. He’s pieces now, of course, but my muscles still pull.” she says it casually, like it’s a thing that happens.

Silence falls over the room. You take it as your cue to leave. You stand and bow while she’s looking blankly at the ceiling—

But she stops you.

“Wait. Come here.” you don’t like it when she gets that tone, like she came up with something she cannot wait to try. You’re already close to the bed, you’re not sure what she means. Until she pats the spot right next to her. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You won’t. You know what’s good for you.

Hesitantly, you take a seat on the –admittedly very comfortable— mattress. “Yes, lady?”

“Give me a massage.” she says like it’s your job, like she’s the rich woman in a spa and it’s what’s expected. She turns onto her front, bearing her naked back to you and you have less than five seconds to come to terms with the thought of straddling her.

Carefully, you bring your knees on either side of her thighs and pull the sheets so they rest low at her waist. You feel warmer than you should given the temperature of the castle. If she knows the fine teasing line she’s walking, she is loving every inch of it.

Cassandra loves being the center of attention and she loves being pampered, you realize.

It’s probably amusing to her to make you fluster, but this is also an opportunity for you to get on her good graces. She is a dangerous one and it’ll be a great asset for your survival if she’s leaning favorably towards you. Win-win situation. You just have to be good at your job. Like always.

By some miracle of God, you do know how to work the tension out of muscles.

The first time you touch her, you simply rest your hands on her back to warm it. She doesn’t seem to object, from the way lean muscle stretches out under your fingers. Cassandra feels cool, but not hard like marble. Her skin yields under your touch, soft and smooth.

As you apply more pressure to your stokes, she starts to let out little sighs that you have to mute in your mind before they start to affect you. You’ve been high-strung and without sex for too long. Your body all too eagerly intercepts this death-trap as foreplay.

Minutes roll by.

You alternate between all the methods you know. The one that really seems to get her is when you drive your thumb into the knots and end with a little circle.

Cassandra is –God help you— openly moaning every time you press more. It is a bit too much pressure you’re applying though and you don’t know if you’re hurting her and she’s just into it.

“Is this too much…?” you ask. Fuck, why do you sound so breathless?

“No, it’s good.” she husks back.

“Harder?” You don’t know what innocent means, anymore.

Cassandra sends that little smirk again over her shoulder. “Harder.” she replies and the extra flair she puts into it is enough to nearly fry your brain. And other parts of you.

You’re pretty sure you need a cold shower by the time you leave her room.

...

At diner, you hang back in the shadows, gaze downcast.

You do not need to know what the Dimitrescu family is eating, nor what they’re drinking. You do not need to see Cassandra or risk catching Daniela’s gaze. You love your anonymity in the castle. It has kept you alive.

But it is shattered like frail glass when you bring another bottle of Sanguis Virginis to the table. You’ve almost retreated back to your place, when Daniela’s eyes zero in on you.

“She’s the human!” she exclaims like she’s made the world’s most startling discovery. Bela seems to understand, but the Lady and Cassandra frown over their glasses.

“I am almost afraid to ask, love.” Lady Alcina says…

And she’s right.

“The one who made Cassandra go ‘harder’ and ‘yes, yes!’ earlier this evening.” she impersonates in her sluttiest voice and then breaks into a fit of cackles. Bela’s lip twists into a withheld chuckle.

Lady Dimitrescu nearly chokes on her wine.

Cassandra slaps the back of Daniela’s head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Girls.” Alcina warns and glares until the table calms again.

Then, her eyes curiously fall upon you.

So much for your anonymity.

Ko-Fi

[w1dowed]

     𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆  𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱  𝗼𝘂𝘁  𝗼𝗳  𝗵𝗶𝘀  𝗺𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗵  𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗲  𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻  𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘄𝗹,     she  could  barely  look  at  him  for  extended  periods  of  time  without  rage  just  building  inside  of  her  and  it  took  a  level  of  self  control  that  she  wasn't  aware  that  she  even  had  right  now.     the  only  reason  she  had  been  fearful  last  night  was  because  she  couldn't  bear  to  watch  another  person  she  loves  dies,  she  didn't  even  fear  for  her  own  life  in  that  moment.     having  to  watch  the  love  of  her  life  be  murdered  like  that  was  something  she'd     𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿     forget  and  she  wouldn't  stop  until  negan  was  dead  at  her  feet.     maggie  didn't  know  what  was  going  to  happen,  how  rick  or  anyone  else  was  handling  the  situation,  but  she  wasn't  just  going  to  be  able  to  sit  here  in  the  lion's  den  and  play  the  victim.     she  may  have  to  do  it  for  a  while,  to  not  draw  any  more  attention  to  herself  than  she  already  had.     whatever  negan  had  planned,  she  refused  to  allow  him  to  use  her  to  hurt  rick  and  the  others  she  cares  about,  she  also  knew  that  she  had  to  be  careful  because  she  could  quite  easily  get  them  hurt  too.     she  had  to  play  this  right  and  she  refused  to  let  him  think  he  had  more     𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿     over  her  than  he  already  did.

     𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲  𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆  𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗱  𝗮𝘀  𝘀𝗵𝗲  𝗳𝗲𝗹𝘁  𝗵𝗶𝗺  𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗻  𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲,     wishing  she  could  flinch  away  from  his  touch,  hating  herself  for  even  giving  into  his  crazy  idea  of  ' marriage '.     but  she  supposed  if  this  was  the  best  way  to  stay  close  to  him,  to  give  her  the  access  she  wouldn't  get  from  a  cell.     she  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  wipe  that  smug  grin  of  his  face  as  he  looked  at  her,  she  wished  she  could  lash  out,  claw  at  his  face  and  make  him     𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘁     ever  coming  after  them.     but  instead  she  just  looked  at  him,  her  expression  unreadable,  knowing  this  was  her  only  option,  her  only  way  of  finding  out  exactly  what  was  happening  here,     "     i  already  agreed,  you  don't  have  to  keep  trying  to  sell  it,     "     maggie  said  softly,  looking  away  from  him  and  down  at  her  hands.     how  could  this  be  happening?     how  could  they  have  let  it  get  to  this  point?     maggie  almost  regretted  helping  hilltop,  if  she  had  any  idea  that  this  would be  the  result,  she  never  would've  let  rick  talk  her  into  this  at  all.

     𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝗷𝗮𝘄  𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱  𝗮𝘁  𝗵𝗶𝗺  𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝗮  𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗵𝘆  𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲,     mainly  because  that  was  exactly  what  she  was     -     his  prize  for  winning  over  alexandria.     she  keeps  her  eyes  trained  down,  she  didn't  trust  herself  to  stay  calm  if  she  looked  at  him  and  she  didn't  know  how  much  longer  she  could  keep  it  together.     like  everything  was  starting  to  catch  up  with  her  and  she  felt  this  close  to  breaking  apart,  which  she  couldn't  do  with  him  looking  at  her.     she  hated  how  amused  he  sounded  by  what  she  said,  she  wasn't  trying  to  be  funny  and  she  absolutely  didn't  know  how  to  keep  handling  this  situation  with  him.     she  just  needed  some  time  to     𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸     about  what  she  was  going  to  do.

     𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗶𝗲  𝗴𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗱  𝗮𝘁  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘆  𝗼𝗳  𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻  𝘂𝗽  𝗮𝘁  𝗵𝗶𝗺  𝗳𝗼𝗿  𝗮  𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁,     she  hated  the  way  he  kept  saying  her  name,  like  he  almost  enjoyed  the  way  it  sounded.     the  temptation  to  throw  the  tray  of  food  back  at  him  again  was  incredibly  strong,  she  couldn't  do  it,  she  had  to  just  play  along,  play  nice  even  though  it  may  very  well  kill her  to  do  so.     tongue  flicks  out  over  dry  lips  for  a  moment,  running  a  hand  through  her  hair  as  she  sighs  softly,     "     got  it,     "     she  said  softly.     play  nice  to  escape.     that  was  all  she  had  to  think  of.     pulling  the  tray  of  food  closer  again,  a  small  sigh  leaving  her  lips,  she  didn't  know  how  far  she  could  push  it,  but  she  had  to  see  if  he  really  meant  about  her  not  being  a  prisoner,     "     can  i  at  least  have  twenty  minutes  to  eat  alone  please?     i  promise  to  eat  it  all,     "     maggie  asked,  it  almost  killed  her  to  be  polite  to  him,  especially  when  all  she  wanted  was  to  claw  his  eyes  out  and  never  look  at  that  smug  smirk  on  his  face  again.

MAGGIE ? MAGGIE RHEE. PRETTY NAME FOR A PRETTY FACE. He watches her closely, intrigued by how she would react to him bringing up her deceased husband. Despite her soft-spoken response, he hears her plea. If it were anyone else, he would keep insulting those close to her without a care in the world. However, he decides that it wouldn't be ENJOYABLE if she wasn't spitting FIRE back at him. He knows that she has the potential to explode the whole place with just her wrath, and this is precisely why he chose her. He could sense that she was in there, even when she looked unwell, there was something in those eyes that could kill a man with just a glance. There's STILL something in those green eyes that sets her apart from Rick, who looks like a walking corpse since Negan tore him a new one.

Perhaps Maggie is even more dangerous than he initially thought. Taking her in as much as he could at the moment, the way her brown hair framed her face perfectly, the way her jade-colored eyes pulse with emotion, her HATRED for him must be boiling.

He moves on from taunting her, for now, and moving forward to the good part ! Oh, happy days indeed ! What can he say ? He's a sucker for marriage ! Especially with the one and only, widow herself. He could fill her up GOOD--- if she's willing that is. She wouldn't have to be empty for long, but Negan knew she wasn't one to lower herself like the other women did. She wouldn't give in to him easily. But hey, he did like a woman who wanted to be chased ! Annnnd he also liked a woman whose ass was willing to get down on her knees and be the dirty girl she was meant to be.

SHE WAS A DAMN FIREBALL, THAT MAGGIE. He knows she's biting her tongue, but she's in there. So he's excited to see what his new trophy wife has to offer. Would she try to slit his throat while he's fast asleep ? Oh, he'd loved to see her try.

WHAT A WOMAN.

MARRIAGE. Wedding bells and all ! " That's right you heard me, darlin' ! " His excitement was palpable. To have caught her attention with this little bomb of his. He should get a camera ! Taking pictures of his finest accomplishments to hang around the Sanctuary. Marrying Maggie being one, the pure look of shock on her face was wall worthy as well ! Oh-- and Rick the Prick looking like shit is a plus.

It's gonna add some personality to this place.

The expression in her eyes said all he needed to know ! HE MOVED CLOSER to her in a matter of seconds, and a chuckle escaped his lips as he tilted his head to the side, batting his lashes. It was clear that he was relishing this moment. " Here comes the bride, all dressed in white ! " Negan playfully SERENADES THE BRIDE-TO-BE with a teasing tune as he twirls a lock of her silky brown hair around a single finger, finding himself once again in her personal space. With a charming grin, he straightens up and places his hands on his hips, offering her a tempting proposition. He promises to provide her with everything, and anything she needs, ensuring a life of comfort and luxury. " You heard me. You become my wife and you won't have to worry that pretty little head of yours on struggling downstairs with the workers. You'll have everything and anything you need. "

AGREEING WAS LIKE SIGNING a deal with the devil himself. And that's exactly what happened here for Maggie. The devil was her safe place, the devil would keep her from being harmed. Negan's nose crinkles, grinning like a madman while Maggie spoke. He digs her humor... even though it probably isn't humor, but hell ! She's hilarious without even trying !  She's a keeper already, and she doesn't even know it. Would love to see more sides to Maggie fucking Rhee. " Well, aren't you fuckin' cute ? Of course, there is more to this place, darlin'. This ain't your room, you'll be stayin' somewhere else... My people are jus' setting it up the place, makin' it perfect for my trophy wife. But there's one thing... "

Clearing his throat, he gestured to her untouched plate of food with a nod from his head. Arms crossed, body leaned against the wall, one leg over the other. " You're only confined here till you finish your food doll face, and then, you'll be free to roam The Sanctuary as you please- oh but ! You can't leave The Sanctuary, yeah oops, that's off-limits. And har-fucking-har you aren't my prisoner, you are my wife... Maggie... I thought we spoke 'bout this Maggie ? " He said confidently, testing her name on his tongue, his signature smirk gracing his features. " So yeah I'll tell you once more, " He continued to speak, adjusting his leathered glove on the one hand, this time not looking at her for the first time. " You aren't a prisoner. If you were a prisoner you'd be locked up like one. Don't yeh' think ? BUT--- eat first, explore later, got it ? " 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Come Now, Little Prince

Prompts: Hey uh... *brushed off dust from crashing in through the roof* Could you write something about Roman or Remus having Agoraphobia and them getting trapped somewhere? My brain just wants to relate. If not that’s fine! Love your writing! - anon

Might I suggest,,,, writing trope where the severely hurt person goes to their nemesis and says “sorry, I just didn’t have anywhere else to go” but it’s with Roman and Janus - 1namelessalien1

Ahh, yes, the inevitable. Honestly a lil surprised I haven't done this sooner but here we go! Finally...

Read on Ao3

Pairings: roceit, dukeceit, creativitwins. can be platonic or romantic you choose save for creativitwins. they brothers

Warnings: roman gets stabbed and has to get stitches, agoraphobia

Word Count: 7611

Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the 'good guys.' Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.

The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don't see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.

No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don't shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.

But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake's den.

He didn’t mean to.

He didn’t mean to.

It just—his hand slipped and they fell and they—they—

He didn’t mean to drop them. They weren’t—they weren’t supposed to fall but the knife hurt too much and he flinched and he—he—

The choppers roar around the roof, battering his head with their noise, noise, noise. The wind whips up around the concrete railing, whistling, whining, wailing as the body falls down, down, down. The searchlights glint off the knife as they pull it down with them.

And then he is alone, in a crowd, on the top of a roof, king of the clouds.

The lights glare in his face as their body disappears. Then…then…

Then fear.

———————————

One of the best things about being seen as a ‘super villain,’ and how gauche is that term, is that no one wants to ask too many questions when you rent an apartment. There are really far too many landlords that want to get to know you, want to be your friend, while knowing full well that they participate in a system where there is no ethical consumption or behavior. Really, if he ever starts renting his own property, there will be no illusions on his end.

But hey, at least these ones know not to put their noses where they’ll get bitten off if they poke too far.

Janus sighs, opening the cupboard and taking the teacup down. The kettle whistles merrily on the stove as he reaches for the tea boxes.

Black, green, white, herbal…really, there are so many options. What to have for tonight, then? It is awfully late in the evening, there’s no real justification for consuming caffeine. Then again, he’ll do what he likes.

His phone buzzes. His real phone, not the one everyone sees him carry when he’s out and about. He rolls his eyes and takes the kettle off the heat as he spots the name on the text notification.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

“What’ve you done now, Remus,” he mutters as he slides the message open, “and which one of your messes am I cleaning up now?”

The message opens to a report. Brief, as is the style of all the reports Janus demands, but the thing that gives him pause is just how brief.

Remus, as one can very well imagine, is…not exactly compliant when it comes to following the rules. And while that can be useful in its own special way, it does mean that Janus occasionally has to factor emojis out of Remus’s reports.

Well, more than occasionally.

But this time the report is two sentences. Janus pours the water into the teapot as he glances over the words.

R. Sanders: Slaughter down at 85th and Marilyn. The head of the beast is cut off.

Well, on paper, that should be a fantastic report. The rival infringing on Janus’s turf has been, ah, taken down a few notches.

That’s undermined considerably by the fact that this report lacks any of Remus’s enthusiasm.

Janus sighs as he settles on the loose-leaf blueberry mint tea, placing the cup aside to brew as he wanders toward the window. Perhaps Remus is simply tired from all this work today. It wouldn’t be the first time the man’s manic energy had been tempered by a good amount of strenuous activity. And cutting off the head of the beast was never going to be a simple job to begin with. True, it was always an issue with causing more collateral damage than Janus was personally comfortable with, but what’s done is done.

The city starts to slumber, the last of the pleasant natural light fading from the sky, giving way to the horrid stained brown of the light pollution. The skyscrapers barely flinch in the oncoming night, instead choosing to stand firm as the workers inside slave away. The smaller shops close their doors, the nighttime crowds vanishing into subway tunnels and bus stations. Janus leans against the window, the glass reflecting the elegant lines of his suit alongside the angles of the buildings.

If he were slightly less himself, he’d say it looks like he belongs here.

When the light fades further, he sighs, turning away and fetching his tea. He drops into his favorite chair next to the window and raises the cup to his mouth.

The head of the beast has been cut off. He has no appointments, no reports, no debriefings to attend. He has his cup of tea, Remus will handle anything that blows up on the networks. It is the perfect evening to be alone, secure in his apartment.

So of course, there has to be something that sends a prickle up the back of his neck.

Why is Remus’s report sitting with him like this? This should be fantastic news, he should be willing to open the bottle of champagne that’s sat in preparation for this moment. And yet, as he raises the cup to his mouth again, his teeth hit the rim and he jolts, spilling a little more than he meant to into his mouth. He swallows, thankful that there’s no one else here to see it, and sets the cup and saucer aside.

He folds his gloved hands behind his back and goes to the window again.

If there were something wrong, someone would tell him. He has eyes all over the city, ears everywhere, and those under his employ know better than to try and cross him. Remus is alive and well—clearly, given by the way the evening’s progressed so far—and wouldn’t hesitate to gleefully drag anyone he suspected into his rooms or an abandoned warehouse.

He spares a glance over his shoulder. The phone stays silent.

Fingers tap against his hand as he looks down. Not for the first time, he wonders what it must be like, down there, scurrying about, without the faintest idea of what it looks like from up here. Oh, he’s walked on the sidewalk outside his building, who hasn’t, that’s how he gets into the building in the first place, but…not like that.

The outside world is so…temperamental. So many people, so many things. There is no better place to be alone than a crowded city street, but there is no more dangerous a place to be yourself.

When he’s finished his cup of tea, and the prickle has not left the back of his neck alone, he stifles a curse and turns. Remus will listen to him. Or, more precisely, Remus will ramble and scheme and reassure him that nothing is wrong. He might get a strange look—because while everyone else can underestimate how much Remus sees at their own peril, Janus never has—but he will do it.

Janus opens the door, idly wondering if he needs to bring his coat, and abruptly stops walking.

There is someone on their knees right outside his door.

Well.

That would explain the feeling he’s had of something being wrong, how on earth his security system didn’t alert him to their presence is beyond him. He doesn’t bother to hide his sigh as he pulls his cane from the holder and tilts their chin up.

“I’m certain that you must be…”

Janus trails off as he tilts up a chin to reveal a bloodstained, agonized expression of someone who should not be here.

“I’m sorry,” Roman Prince says in the voice of a lost child, “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go.”

Janus’s fingers twitch on the cane as he watches the roll of Roman’s throat.

“Y-you said if I—if I—ever needed help one day to know better than to—to try and go back to th-them.”

Remus’s report is beginning to make more sense.

Janus remembers. Janus remembers this upstart pain in his ass getting in the way of many operations, from transports to exchanges to hostage negotiations. He remembers the crooked smile straight out of a movie as this little shit got in the way of everything, including his resolve to not get involved with any of the so-called heroes that ran around in this city in their spandex and naiveté.

He remembers shaking his head at this shiny new one and saying that when he realized the world was much, much grayer than he wanted to believe, Janus would be there to watch. He remembers a softer offer, after a rescue had resulted in a building—abandoned, but a building—blowing up and the poor thing looking like someone had kicked his puppy.

He remembers watching the rival’s henchmen carted off to jail as the hero of the hour was reprimanded for causing too much collateral damage by the people who supposedly adored him.

“You were right,” Roman continues in that lost, lost voice, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

It takes Roman reaching for him for Janus to remember what is going on and the cane jerks his head up higher, forcing him to stop. Janus narrows his eyes at the hero kneeling on the floor, takes in the blood on his face, his neck, his hands.

“Why are you here,” he asks, wrenching that chin just a little higher, “why did you come to me?”

“You said you would help,” comes the reply, “if I—if I didn’t want to do this anymore.”

Has the perfect prince killed someone for the first time? Is that what’s brought on this little display?

His eyes trail lower, looking for the weapon.

The light from his apartment shines on a tunic stained with blood, cut and torn, and a dark, ugly stain that is not getting any smaller.

Roman’s head lolls forward, almost nuzzling Janus’s thigh as it slips off the cane. His hair sticks to his face, too soaked with blood.

Janus’s eyes go wide.

Roman Prince is here, on his knees, bleeding out because he has nowhere else to go. He came to Janus, the person he should trust the least out of everyone in this city, and he’s here on his knees, pleading.

The hand not on the cane twitches, then slowly reaches forward to find the least bloody spot on Roman’s head. It runs gently through his hair and finds its way to his chin, lifting it up once more. Roman’s eyes, full of tears, stare back at him.

“Come inside, little prince,” Janus says, his voice far softer than he would normally allow, “you’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

There aren’t many places to go that aren’t carpeted inside Janus’s apartment, but they make it over the threshold before Roman’s state begins to truly worry him.

How did he even get here? By how much blood there is, surely he would’ve passed out by now? Roman seems oblivious to his inside questions, simply looks around for wherever Janus is leading him before he notices how much blood he’s leaving behind him.

“It’s alright,” Janus says, surprising the both of them, “I can have the floor cleaned.”

Roman just blinks at him. And oh, if it doesn’t hurt to see that innocence still in the eyes of the little lamb, even as the wolf goes to take his arm.

“The bathroom is through this way,” he says softly, “come now…”

It is an odd experience, surely, to have one’s own nemesis bloody, wounded, completely at his mercy, as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, and want to do nothing but hunt down the people that made him this way.

Roman sits like a broken doll, he realizes as he watches the man ease himself down and wait as Janus pulls on a pair of plastic gloves. He is not uncooperative when Janus pushes his limbs to the side, snipping away at the fabric, trying to figure out what precisely is going on. He does not protest when Janus finds the stab wound and presses a cloth harshly on top, nor when Janus grabs his hand and bids him to hold it there, hard. He is not unfeeling, just very, very quiet as Janus begins to douse the pads in antiseptic.

He doesn’t flinch when Janus cleans the wound as best he can—he’s no doctor, after all—before muttering that it’s going to need stitches.

“Oh,” he mumbles instead, “okay.”

“Yes, so—hold still,” he barks, forcing Roman to sit back down, “where do you think you’re going?”

Roman blinks. “You said it needs stitches.”

“Yes, which is why you shouldn’t be moving.”

“I was going to go get the stitches.”

Now it’s Janus’s turn to blink. “I will stitch you up, Roman, now stay.”

And there’s that lamb-like innocence again as Roman tilts his head. “You will?”

“I may not be a doctor,” Janus mutters, twisting to grab the first aid kit, “but I do know how to suture a wound.”

He takes a few more wipes and cleans the blood he can, pointedly ignoring Roman’s attentive look.

“You could be a doctor,” comes the mumble, “you seem…good at it.”

Janus huffs. “Less a doctor, more a medic.”

Roman’s brows furrow. “What’s the difference?”

“A doctor fixes you, a medic makes dying more comfortable.”

There’s a moment of silence. Janus half-expects the poor thing to seize up in fear, tremble before him, or—god forbid—try and fight him, but he does none of that. Because that would make sense.

Instead, Roman just closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side against the tiled wall.

“You don’t have to make it comfortable then.”

Janus’s hands falter for a moment. His eyes flick to Roman’s bloodstained face before refocusing on the wound in front of him.

“You’re not going to die here,” he says firmly, and if he starts to work a little more quickly, that’s his business, not yours.

“Oh.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t’ve come here with the intent to die on my doorstep, that’s quite rude, you know.”

“…no.”

Now, see, as the best liar in the city, Janus knows when he hears one.

The absurdity of the situation strikes him once again, fainter this time, but still there. Roman Prince is here, bloody, wounded—fatally so if Janus hadn’t started tending to him right when he did— forced to roll over and show his belly, Janus’s teeth at his throat, and yet Janus reaches up to turn that pretty face to his.

“Tell me what happened, little prince,” he commands softly.

Roman swallows. “I didn’t mean to.”

Janus simply raises an eyebrow and starts to stitch up the wound. Roman doesn’t flinch but accepts the silent chide.

“I-it was the building security guard,” he mumbles, “they called in that someone was firing shots in the upper stories and couldn’t—couldn’t get away in time. They were—they—the call wasn’t completed.”

They died while they were on the line, Roman doesn’t say, but Janus hears it.

“Wh-when I got there, there were—they must’ve thought there was a mole in the—on the inside and they started—they were—“

They were killing their own people, Janus realizes, hiding his disgust behind another tied-off suture. He’s starting to have an awful feeling about where Roman’s been tonight.

“Something went wrong in one of the labs. They made a toxin, and it—it—“ Roman swallows— “it drove them insane.”

It made them homicidal, they killed each other.

“I...I think they were going to flee from the roof.”

As Janus ties off the last suture, he freezes.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I tried to stop them,” Roman whispers, “I was holding onto them, it was windy, they were going to fall, they ran too fast out of the door, I caught them, I—I had them, they—they were going to be safe but then they—they—“

Janus presses two fingers to the warm chest next to the wound. He can feel Roman’s heart jumping. He rubs in slow circles.

“They stabbed me,” Roman finishes, “and I—I—I—“

A small noise that sounds too much like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

Oh, this poor little prince…

Roman swallows another sob. “I’m sorry.”

Janus tilts his head. “What’re you apologizing to me for, little prince?”

“Well, I can’t imagine that this is how you imagined spending your evening.”

“No,” Janus says, folding his hands in front of him, “but I can’t imagine this is how you imagined spending yours either.”

The little prince bruises as easily as ever, only this time he doesn’t bother to hide behind his bravado.

“Off,” Janus says softly, tugging lightly at the remains of Roman’s costume, “the rest of you needs to be cleaned.”

He watches unashamed as Roman follows his instruction, eyes traveling over the scars littering the body revealed to him piece by piece. Too many scars. When he stands bare, Janus takes his hands and deliberately cleans them of the blood.

Roman doesn’t stop trembling until Janus has cleaned away every last bit.

The costume will need to be disposed of, there’s no saving it. The floor in the bathroom is littered with bits of blood and the carpet near the door will need to be cleaned quickly. Luckily the cleaner that Janus employs is well-accustomed to such a request. Instead, Janus walks back to the bedroom.

There the little prince sits, looking far too much like a lost child. Janus pauses at the door, tugging his normal gloves back on.

The little prince looks far too good wrapped in Janus’s colors.

“Why did you come to me, little prince,” he asks after a moment, “you had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t kill you.”

Roman lowers his head and the lie from the bathroom plays uncomfortably in his head. Janus tilts his head as Roman clears his throat.

“I thought—part of me thought you would.”

A harsh laugh tears out of his throat before he can stop it. “So what, I was to be your confessional? You would fall on your knees, repent, and I would put you out of your misery? Or put you down, like some misbehaved dog?”

Roman hunches his shoulders. Janus’s mirth disappears in a flash.

“…maybe.”

Roman Prince dragged himself from the roof of 85th and Marilyn, all the way across the city to Janus’s real apartment, disarmed his security, and did not once tend to the stab wound in his chest.

Roman Prince witnessed a slaughter, watched people be driven out of their minds, and dropped someone who did their very best to kill him off a roof by accident.

Roman Prince fell to his knees in front of the one man in this city who he knew would be capable of killing him without a second thought.

“…do you want me to kill you?”

There’s a softness in his voice again, one that slipped unbidden into the words to make the blow seem more like a caress.

“I would make it quick,” he murmurs, still leaning against the doorway, watching the little prince, “it wouldn’t hurt.”

Roman looks at him. The child is lost, so lost, and so, so tired. He opens his mouth.

“Don’t you want to?”

…well.

Does he? Certainly, the little prince has caused more than his fair share of mishaps, messes, and mistakes, and putting him out of the equation permanently benefits Janus in more ways than one. And it’s not like it would be difficult. No one knows Roman is here, let alone anyone who would care, and even fewer that wouldn’t expect him to never be seen alive again. Janus could kill him in half a dozen ways in the next minute that Roman couldn’t possibly fight against, a dozen more that would take scarcely any longer.

Unbidden, his mind begins to list off the possibilities. The gun in the cabinet, the knife tucked into his shirt, the poison stored in the bathroom, even snapping the little prince’s neck.

But he takes one more look at the little prince and all of them vanish in an instant.

“Why did you come here?” he murmurs again.

Roman lets out a long breath. His hand on the borrowed shirt tightens and loosens, tightens and loosens.

“You’re the only one I trust,” he tells him quietly, and it’s the saddest thing he could’ve possibly said.

Janus crosses the room and cups the back of the little prince’s neck. Roman just bows his head, the little lamb waiting for another hand to come up and twist. Janus bites back the snarl of rage at how resigned Roman is to dying tonight and brushes his thumb along the curve of his cheek.

Stroke by stroke, he coaxes the tears from the little prince’s eyes and wipes them away.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, leaning his weight against the edge of the bed, “there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve held on.”

“You’d just been stabbed, flinching is a perfectly understandable reaction.”

“But I’ve been stabbed before.”

“It’s not like you build up an immunity to knives going into you.”

“But I—“ Roman cuts himself off, curling his fist tightly in his lap.

“What is it, little prince?”

He just shakes his head firmly, lips pressed tightly together, red blooming on his cheeks.

Well, at least there’s blood flowing properly again. “We’re well past the point of embarrassment, little prince,” Janus remarks gently, “and if you’re worried about sharing weaknesses with me now…”

“I got scared,” Roman blurts, sounding every bit the reprimanded child. Janus pets his hair absentmindedly, encouraging him to speak again. When he won’t, Janus hums quietly.

“You were stabbed,” he reminds again, “that’s understandable.”

“Not of being stabbed.”

Janus frowns. “What then, little prince?”

“I…”

“I won’t harm you, little prince,” Janus murmurs when he hesitates.

“…I got scared of being outside.”

Janus’s hand pauses in Roman’s hair before gently lifting his chin. “What do you mean, little prince, that you were scared of being outside?”

“There—there was nowhere to go, I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t escape, there were too many people, the choppers were so—so loud and I—I didn’t know what to do—“

Fucking hell, Janus realizes as he shushes the little prince tenderly, he’s agoraphobic.

Flashes of their fights and altercations start to make more sense now. Why Roman prefers fighting in dark, cramped warehouses, why losing the hero on public transportation was so easy, why he almost never confronted Janus in public in broad daylight even though he clearly knows where Janus lives.

The weight of the expectations on Roman…how difficult his chosen occupation must be…how little support he gets for something that makes it infinitely harder for him…

Janus doesn’t realize he’s cradling Roman’s head until he strokes his thumb down his cheek and feels the soft brush of hair against his forearm. He looks down and sees Roman’s eyes all but flutter shut, lulled by the gentle touch against his face.

Trapped under the spotlights of the world, laid bare, stripped by their merciless eyes, unable to look away, escape from what they would only see as a colossal failure…

No wonder Roman sought out a denizen of the shadows where he could be sure no one would look for him.

What should, by all rights, feel like a cage to Roman might just become a den.

The snake tightens its coils protectively around the little prince and leans down to whisper in Roman’s ear.

“You’re safe, now,” he soothes, “there is no one else here but me, and I will look after you. There are no expectations here, you cannot do something wrong. I’m here to help you.”

The snake hisses in contentment as the little prince slumps into the coils, letting it pick him up and deposit him gently in the mass of the den, leaving only for a brief moment before returning to his side.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes as Roman blinks about in confusion, “you need to rest, I’ll be right here.”

“Why—what—“ Roman’s head hits the pillow and Janus almost laughs at how quickly his eyes close— “why’re you…helping?”

“You came to me for help, little prince.”

“But you…care?”

And oh, if that doesn’t make the snake’s cold black heart beat warmly in its chest.

“You may be surprised, little prince,” it hisses, drawing the little prince closer and closer, “but you’re not that difficult to care for.”

No, Janus decides, resigning himself to a night of little sleep as he watches Roman’s breathing begin to even out, stroking a hand through his hair, the little prince isn’t so hard to care for after all.

The snake has never been one to spare those that wander carelessly into its den, but this little prince did not do it carelessly. And it is surprisingly easy for Janus to soothe the remaining prickle on the back of his neck by scratching his fingers lightly along the back of Roman’s, to gentle the furrow in Roman’s sleep with a murmured reassurance into the little prince’s ear. The night passes slowly as the little prince dozes under the snake’s coils.

Only later, when the sun has begun to rise, does he realize he’s left his phone on the counter. He sighs, extricating himself gingerly from the sleeping Roman and going back to the kitchen.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

He glances toward the bedroom and opens the text.

R. Sanders: if you don’t get your security system back online yourself in the next 30 seconds I’m coming over

Well, considering this message is from two minutes ago, Janus simply sighs and opens the door.

“That,” Remus snarls as he stalks inside, “is not the point.”

“I was about to reboot the system, Remus, do calm yourself.”

“I’m not the one who spent the entire fucking night in an unsecured location!”

Janus raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Remus, do keep shouting about my security system at the top of your lungs while the door is still open.”

Remus mutters angrily to himself but has the decency—or perhaps, the self-preservation—to quiet down while Janus shuts the door and turns the security system back on.

“Now then,” he says easily, setting the kettle to boil again—blueberry mint really was the correct choice to make last night— “what would you like to drink?”

Remus regards his tea boxes like he regards the new bottles of bleach.

“You still don’t keep coffee in your house, do you?” At Janus’s look, he sighs. “Just hot water.”

“Splendid.”

Janus takes his time setting up his teapot. Looseleaf black tea, a new teacup, the honey laid out just so, all while Remus’s tapping gets more and more impatient. But Remus is a good dog, he’ll wait until he’d given leave to speak again.

“I imagine you must have a reason for infringing upon my privacy this morning,” Janus says as he stirs the honey into the tea, “if not just to turn my system back on so that a corpse could not be tampered with.”

“I didn’t know if you were fucking dead, Jan,” Remus snarls, and oh, the poor thing was worried. How touching.

“I’m fine, Remus,” Janus says, softening his voice just the barest amount, “and it certainly speaks to the faith you have in me.”

“Yeah, yeah, faith in your something.”

“Come now, dear, let’s not be crass.”

“You like me crass.”

Janus hides a smile behind the rim of his cup. There’s the Remus that was missing from the report. Though as he looks at the loyal minion sitting across from him, he sees that something is still bothering him.

“Well, if that’s all then?”

Remus takes the bait. “Wasn’t us.”

“Pardon?”

“The beast,” Remus mutters, still glancing around the apartment, “wasn’t us.”

Then he spots the blood.

In Remus’s defense, Janus did open the door right as he arrived and he was definitely given time to look around before Janus swept him into a conversation. Still, the fact that it took Remus this long to spot the blood is…well.

“Shit—“ Remus springs to his feet— “are you hurt? How many?”

“Keep your voice down,” Janus murmurs, “I’m not hurt.”

“Then explain to me why there’s blood everywhere—“

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why the fuck should I keep my voice down? Someone was here, there’s fucking blood—“

Both of them freeze as a rustle of covers comes from the other room. Remus’s eyes widen and his hand goes to the gun at his side. In two quick steps, he’s almost to the bedroom.

Janus catches him by the arm.

“Don’t.”

The steel in his tone finally gets Remus to settle, the man glancing at the door once before allowing himself to be held in place.

“What the hell is going on here,” he hisses, finally keeping his voice down, “what aren’t you telling me?”

“Stay out of that room,” Janus orders, even though it’s a redundancy at this point, “and tell me what else you know.”

Remus opens his mouth to protest but a look quells him. He glances at the door one more time before sighing.

“By the time we got there, everything was over. There were network choppers crawling over every inch of that place, swarming with civvies. We had to fence to get in. Janus, they—“

If Remus has to take a breath, what the hell happened?

“God, Janus, it’s like someone gave a neurotic thirteen-year-old a hallucinogenic and a sledgehammer and told ‘em the building was a giant whack-a-mole.” Remus shakes his head. “Heads bashed in, eyes gouged out, like they—they—“

“Like they did it to each other,” Janus finishes.

Remus nods, his face pale. He looks up at Janus and it’s the second time in the last twelve hours he’s been caught off guard by someone’s expression.

“Jan, it’s bad,” he says quietly, “if they—we’re lucky it only got into that building.”

“And you’re certain it’s contained?”

“Someone tripped the quarantine field. The building locked down. Only way out was the roof.” Remus shakes his head. “The head of the beast was splayed out on the street, spine snapped in half, bloody knife. Like he was pinned up like a butterfly.”

He quirks his brow.

“Gotta admire the craftsmanship.”

Janus nods. Remus notices his silence and steps a little closer.

“So who the fuck is in that room?”

As if on cue, there’s another muffled hiss.

“Don’t,” Janus says when Remus’s hand goes to his gun again, “you’ll scare him.”

Now Remus looks at him like he'd grown another head. “Who the fuck is in that room?”

Janus bites back a curse when there are more noises.

“The person who cut the head off.”

“If you think that’s gonna stop me from getting in there—“

“Remus.”

Remus subsides, looking at him carefully. Janus sighs. Remus knows better than to directly disobey an order, and if Janus pushes, Remus will leave.

And yes, part of the snake wants to wrap around its den and keep its precious charge safe from anything else.

A larger part of Janus knows that keeping this information completely under wraps will become a liability quickly.

“Watch the door,” Janus says, letting Remus go.

Remus hasn’t worked for him for this long without picking up some of his observational skills, so he goes without complaint. Janus opens the door to the bedroom and has to stop the fond smile on his face as he sees the little prince trying to feign sleep. As if it’s going to work.

He crosses the room and leans down.

“You can stop pretending now, little prince.”

Roman’s eyes open and the snake hisses gently, noticing the pressure the little prince’s position is putting on his stitches.

“By all means, ruin the work it took to suture you up,” he remarks dryly, chuckling as Roman quickly—and carefully—rolls onto his back, “better.”

“D-do—I can go now,” Roman mumbles, “if—if you—if you want. I can leave. You don’t have to see me again, I’ll—I’ll go.”

Janus quirks an eyebrow. “And let you leave without breakfast? How rude of me.”

Roman’s eyes widen. “N-no, I didn’t mean—you don’t—I—“

“Hush, little prince,” Janus murmurs, petting Roman’s hair again, “none of that now.”

Roman’s eyes keep darting around the room, from the closed door to Janus’s hands to his face and away again. Janus frowns.

“Oh, little prince, have you always been so afraid of me?”

“Yes.”

The honesty takes Janus by surprise. Roman Prince has never been afraid of him, at least not like this, like some creature constantly bracing for a blow. He’s responded brilliantly to whatever jibes Janus throws at him during one of their altercations, always ready with a quip on his tongue or a pretty blush to a flirtation. He’s not—he’s never been this.

Perhaps the little prince is a better actor than I gave him credit for.

There are not many people in this city capable of doing that.

Then there’s the sudden realization that the reassurances from the night will no longer work. Roman was safe because he was alone with Janus, there was nothing he could do wrong that would hurt him, there was an easy way to escape if need be. But now Remus is here, there’s another variable to worry about.

And Roman is no match for the both of them.

“Let me have a look, little prince,” he says instead, leaning down to gently tug the shirt up and out of the way. Despite the hero’s movement, there’s no blood, no popped stitches. The wound will still be tender for a while yet, but there’s nothing to worry about. Not at the moment. He says as much, ending with a soft: “sit up, let’s get you something to eat.”

Roman glances at the door again.

“Remus won’t hurt you,” Janus reassures, “not while I’m here.”

Roman’s head whips around so quickly he frets that the little prince will snap his own neck.

“R-Remus?”

Janus blinks. “Yes, Remus, he’s who’s here, he works for me.”

“Remus Sanders?”

He quirks a brow. “And here I thought you didn’t bother to learn my staff.”

“N-no, Remus Sanders, he’s—he’s not dead?”

Not dead?

Judging by the sudden silence in the other room, Janus has about three seconds to brace for it before Remus slams the door open.

Remus’s eyes are giant, his face almost drained of color. Three quick steps and he’s got a fist in Roman’s shirt, wrenching him away from Janus and slamming him up against a wall.

“Remus,” Janus barks, “put him down.”

It says something about Remus’s state of mind that he doesn’t even register Janus’s command. Instead, the man has a knife pressed to Roman’s throat, every muscle in his body bunched up like a clenched fist.

Roman hasn’t flinched. He’s just staring at Remus, his hands sliding and scrabbling uselessly at Remus’s shoulders.

“Y-you’re alive,” he keeps mumbling, “you’re not dead, you’re alive, you’re safe, you’re—you’re—“

Remus abruptly lets Roman go, shoves him further against the wall and yanks the shirt out of the way to see the stitches. The knife goes back in its holster as Roman keeps babbling about how Remus is alive.

“Was it him,” Remus asks in a soft, dangerous voice, cutting through Roman’s babble, “did that bastard stab you?”

Roman jerks his head up and down.

“…well, at least you finally learned how to stand up to your bullies.”

Ah.

Janus must be getting rusty.

“As much as I hate to interrupt the family reunion,” he says, startling the brothers, “I believe there is still business to attend to.”

Remus has the decency to look a little ashamed at directly disobeying several orders now, but the little prince is still staring at Remus like his life depends on it. Janus shakes his head, crossing the room to gently take his chin again.

“You need to eat, little prince,” he murmurs, “come now.”

He doesn’t have to ask Remus to help the little prince to the kitchen. By the time he’s followed them out—and made sure his tea isn’t ruined—Remus has Roman sitting on one of the bar stools, stood next to him, every bit the guard dog as Roman clutches Remus’s tactical vest. As Janus starts to get something together for Roman to eat, Remus doesn’t move once. Instead, he lets Roman cling onto him, mumble to himself, and absentmindedly rub his cheek against Remus’s chest.

Janus sets a plate of food in front of Roman and picks up his tea again, taking a sip and staring at them over the rim of the cup.

This could be a problem.

Remus’s loyalty is not easily won, nor is it easily lost. The man’s been dragged behind a truck by his fingernails and not squealed once. And yet as Remus lifts his head—finally—and looks at Janus, it’s the first time he’s seen that loyalty waver.

Janus stares back. Remus knows better than to try and cross him. Remus himself has been the blunt instrument that disposes of those who did. Remus knows the extent of Janus’s influence better than anyone else, aside from Janus himself.

And still, that loyalty wavers.

The little prince, oblivious to the staring match happening over his head, mumbles a small thanks as he starts to eat. His hands are still shaking. Remus steps closer, pressing Roman further into the counter and the little prince lets him. The message is clear.

This is the one thing of Remus’s that he won’t let Janus take.

Which would be a problem—or wouldn’t be, depending on how quickly Remus cooperates—if Janus weren’t currently dividing his attention between Remus and how his hands are itching to wipe the last speck of blood from the little prince’s hairline.

It takes barely a glance for Remus to understand that Janus would never.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, coming around to the other side of the counter once Roman finishes, “I need to have a talk with Remus, do you think you can sleep a little more?”

“I can try.”

“Let’s have you try.” Janus glances at Remus.

“C’mon, Ro-Bro,” Remus says quietly, one arm around Roman’s waist, “back to bed.”

“Re?”

“I gotcha, Roro, I’m right here.”

How adorable.

Remus closes the bedroom door and there’s a long pause.

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Janus takes another sip of his tea. “Does anyone else know what happened?”

“The networks have a hold of the main story, they won’t know what happened inside until the lockdown expires, but Jan—if he was there—“

“The choppers saw him.”

“Shit.”

“They saw him drop the beast’s head but him fleeing the scene won’t look good.”

“I’ve got the team scrambling the data, the location of the beast’s head won’t reach the airwaves.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

“…why’d he come here?”

Janus settles the cup back in its saucer. “…he said I was the only one he could trust.”

Remus snarls. “As if we needed more proof that they treat their people like shit.”

“Believe me, I’ve got quite the list of people I’d like to question.”

Remus bares his teeth. “Don’t do it without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He watches Remus stare at the door. “So…you have a brother?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know that from the extensive background check you did.”

Janus accepts it, setting the teacup aside. “The famous Roman Prince…oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Remus’s head flicks sharply around to stare at him. But Janus says it with none of his usual flare, dragging his gloved fingertips along the counter.

“Has he always been so…” He fumbles for the right word.

There isn’t one.

Thankfully, Remus understands what he’s trying to get at.

“It’s hard not to,” he mumbles, “even when I hated him—and I hated him, he was always…”

Remus trails off into silence too.

“There was never a moment where I didn’t know that he was still my fucking brother.”

This is dangerous.

The closest thing Janus has to a weakness, up until this point, has been Remus. And Remus is a loyal man, but even he knows Janus will watch him die and feel only the slightest bit of remorse that a useful tool will no longer be in use.

But not anymore.

“I think he wanted me to kill him,” Janus murmurs, noting the way that Remus jerks in surprise.

“Do you think that’s why he came?”

“He told me that I was right,” he says, “that I was—that he remembered I’d told him if he ever realized he couldn’t do it anymore, if he ever needed help, that he should know better than to go back to the people that pretend to care about him.”

“You basically told him you’d be his suicide gun?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Remus,” Janus says lowly, looking up.

Remus regards him. “Would you have?”

“Killed him?”

“Yes.”

Could he have killed Roman Prince? Yes, easily.

Can he kill the little prince in the bedroom?

“My God,” Remus breathes, “you can’t do it, can you?”

Janus shakes his head. Like it or not, the snake can’t kill the little prince.

“So what now?”

Janus stands up straight. “The city isn’t just going to let Roman Prince disappear, not like that. They’re going to look for him. He’s going to have to make another public appearance.”

“And we have to clean up the rest of the mess.”

“That we’re used to,” Janus sighs, “that I’m not worried about.”

“You’re worried about Roman’s people trying to look for him.” Janus nods. “We’ve got feelers out, we can keep tabs on that.”

“Good.”

Remus spares another glance at the door. “Are you gonna keep him here until then?”

“Yes.”

He lets out a low whistle.

“Go. Get to work.”

“Aye aye, boss.” Remus fixes him with one last look before he disappears out the door.

Janus walks to the bedroom. This time the fond smile crawls across his face unhindered.

“You don’t have to pretend, little prince,” he says as he crosses the room, “if you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep.”

Roman blinks up at him as Janus sits on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” He tilts his head to the side. “I never offered you painkillers, are you alright?”

Roman nods.

“Roman,” he asks softly, “why did you come here?”

There’s a pause.

“You said that you remembered me telling you that you could,” he continues, “and that you…trusted me, and yet you seemed surprised that I was—I am willing to help.”

“Still am.”

Remus’s words play in his head again. “You said you remembered what I said—and you be honest with me now,” he says, giving Roman a look, “did you want me to kill you?”

Roman swallows. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

And oh, Janus has waited so long to hear those words from that pretty mouth but not like this.

He pulls a tissue from the side table and tilts Roman’s head just so to get that last speck of blood, pausing at the way Roman shudders under his touch.

“When was the last time someone touched you,” he asks gently, “before this?”

Roman just shakes his head.

“What is the point,” the snake hisses, “of people pretending to care about you when they don’t give you what you obviously need?”

“You were,” the little prince mumbles, still a beat behind, “I think you were the last person to…to touch me.”

“Before…?”

“Yeah. When we…when you…”

When he had the little prince tied up in the factory downtown, another attempt to persuade him to back off. When he cupped the little prince’s chin in his hand and chuckled as a pretty blush spread across those cheeks. When he let gloved fingers run through his hair and smirked at how easily the little prince lost track of the conversation.

Now, though, Janus cradles the little prince’s face in his hands and lowers himself onto the bed.

“You can have it,” he whispers, running his fingers through the little prince’s hair, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”

Roman’s eyes flutter, lost on the sensation of Janus’s touch, all but floating on the bed. He starts to curl unconsciously towards him, pliant and still. Janus lets him, moving to wrap his arms around the little prince as he tucks himself under Janus’s chin.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he asks gently, “that you were hurting so badly?”

He feels the roll of Roman’s throat. “Didn’t want you to think I was any weaker.”

Janus bites back a curse. “Well, I’m afraid you’re about to witness firsthand how weak I am.”

Before Roman can ask what he means, Janus cups the back of his neck and gently, gently kisses his forehead.

“If no one else will do what needs to be done,” he murmurs into Roman’s hair, “then I will.”

If no one else will take care of the little prince that sacrifices so much to protect this city, then the snake is happy to oblige.

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