#if this is bait. still fuck you cause this is bad for my blood pressure

[dailyfigures]

Bashing and hating on petite grown women and the people who love them doesn't help kids. You just really hate non large breasted women. Here's your award ig. 💕

Love that body positivity only means plus sized, we hate petite women. I hate myself more because of these communities tbh.

Have fun spreading misogyny.🩷

is this satire. is this bait. am i being pranked. how in god's green earth did you see me saying i don't like loli figures that are intentionally made to look very young for men who are into that, and somehow felt like i was talking about you. what's next? am i fatphobic if i don't like feeder fetish content? am i lesbophobic if i don't like lesbian porn made for men? am i racist if i don't like blackface? this has to be bait oh my god 😭😭😭

i could take this seriously and make a point about how (petite) asian women face a lot of abuse from men who infantilise them and don't see them as real people but instead as some fucking anime/hentai waifu, and how normalising loli content is actually not very helpful for those women (shocker!) but you seem like such an expert on feminism already that i'm sure it would be wasted on you. also sorry you hate yourself because some people don't enjoy drawings of naked kids!

[mizunetzu]

Can I request a Iida x male reader with a skin problem? Like every time they finish training or after a stressful event the reader's skin would inch then they would scratch it, red blotches would appear on their chest, stomach, back. The reader insecure about them and hate their body, so in the locker room Denki points them out which they realize and start to become insecure and the itching becomes unbearable. They make an excuse then Iida becomes worried about his classmate then hears quiet cries in their door, Iida asks to come in then sees them curled up on their bed scratches their skin harshly which Iida quickly stops them. Iida confronts them and tries to comfort them.

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰LOVE YOUR WRITING BYE THE WAY!!!!!!!!!!!

Aaaah thank you! This request was very fun, and I do love me some iida~ I feel bad for antagonizing kaminari once again in my fics tho 😅😅

——————

Iida x reader - Don’t Itch Your Neck

⚠️warnings - two (2) mentions of itch attacks, one in the beginning and one at the end (sorry, didn’t know the word for it) kaminari being insensitive to reader.

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

‘Please don’t compare me to a villain.’

It should be common sense. Why would you ever compare someone to something as wickedly as a villain? It’s rude and distasteful, and you’re practically saying they’re just as bad as illegal thugs and murderer.

But as (Y/n) mindlessly scratched the itch on his neck, a normal itch, not one caused by his skin condition, a villain who terrorized their school at USJ suddenly popped up on the news channel he was watching on his phone.

“-Villain known as Shigaraki Tomura, the alleged ring leader of the League of Villains, has last been seen atop of a high building.” His phone buzzed. He stopped writing answers onto his notebook, as well as unconsciously scratching harder at his neck while turning his attention to the news channel on his phone propped up on Iida’s bed.

Iida would come back any second, telling him to get back to studying, but hey, he’s doing something productive like watching the news, right? Watching news is productive, right? Apparently, it was a special on Shigaraki, and knowing more about villains as a future hero is good, right?

“Shigaraki is estimated to be in his 20’s, and he is commonly seen in disputes against U.A, especially first-year hero class 1-A.” Yep, that was them alright. The news castor continued.

“It is also estimated that Shigaraki has some sort of skin condition, or due to his quirk his skin seems to be very dead and brittle.” The screen cut to some surveillance footage zoomed in on Shigaraki, clawing at dry blotches covering his neck.

His scratched-up, blotchy neck looked uncannily similar to (Y/n’s), especially with the way he was scratching it while being confronted by heroes. It must’ve been caused by stress too. (Y/n’s) skin would burn under the pressure of stress, and he couldn’t help but scratch all over.

(Y/n’s) neck decided to flare up at the sight of Shigaraki. Does that mean he was similar to a villain? He had some sort of trait that was identifiable with a villain? One that attacked his school, no doubt? He scratched his neck harder, bringing up his other hand to scratch the other burning side. Does that mean he was like Shigaraki?

(Y/n) let out a whimper. The itchiness would only scream more if he retracted his hands from his neck. He rubbed his skin raw, scratching so hard he could’ve swore there was blood starting to seep out from his neck.

The door to Iida’s dorm room clicked open silently. (Y/n) paid no mind to it, more focused on the unbearable itch on his neck and the tears clumping at his eyes.

“...(Y/n)-kun? Are you alright?” Iida’s voice broke through the small breaths and scratches of (Y/n), making him look up slightly with blurry eyes. When (Y/n) said nothing, Iida immediately dashed into his bathroom, looking for a small container of ointment.

Iida timped back into the room with a tiny white container in his hands, unscrewing the cap and placing it on under the container. He sat down on his bed, next to (Y/n).

“(Y/n)-kun...I need you to remove your hands, please.” (Y/n) whimpered out a weak, pained “No...” Iida pursed his lips.

“I promise it’s only for a second, it won’t itch.”

“It-it won’t stop-!” Blood was starting to drip down (Y/n’s) nails. Iida winced, quickly shuffling to the bedside table to grab a tissue from a half-filled tissue box. He returned calmly, sitting down next to (Y/n).

He gently set his hand on top of one of (Y/n’s), testing the waters and gently urging him to pull away. “It will only be for a second, love.” He said, with the tissue in his free-hand and the cream resting on a book laying on the bed.

(Y/n) let him pull away his hand, and Iida immediately went up to dabbing the tender, red area of his neck. There wasn’t much blood to begin with, only a few drops, but Iida didn’t want to take the risk of rubbing in the ointment while there was blood on his neck. He dipped his fingers into the white cream of the container, gently cupped (Y/n’s) cheek with his dry hand, and blotted the reddest parts of his neck as gently as he could.

(Y/n) eventually cooled down, the cold substance of the cream as well as the medicine inside it enough to soothe his nerves. Iida hummed.

“How are you feeling?” Iida earned a hum of satisfaction in reply. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

(Y/n) paused for a second, before patting the bed around for his phone. His hand eventually landed on it, and he turned on the newscast in hopes they were still playing the same topic they were on to show Iida. Iida bent over slightly to examine (Y/n’s) phone screen.

“...a villain? The one who attacked us at USJ?”

(Y/n) nodded. “He also probably has a skin condition that makes him all itchy too....the news said it and they played a video of him scratching his neck—and I don’t wanna be like that-“

“Ah...I understand. I understand how upsetting it must be to share something in common with a villain.”

“It’s not just that, though...” (Y/n) sighed. “Because of the scratching, I have all these ugly red blotches on my body...and it makes me look scary...I don’t want my skin to end up like his either...”

Iida hummed. He set a hand on (Y/n’s) shoulder. “I can assure you, you are nothing like a horrible villain such as him. I’m sure there are many heroes with conditions such as your own!”

(Y/n) bit back a smile. He downcast his head, trying to avoid touching his sensitive neck as much as he could.

“Thank you...”

——

Hero training.

(Y/n) dreaded hero training.

The class itself wasn’t so bad, no. No, it was before and after hero training. Where he’d have to change into his hero costume, and change out of it after class was done.

When he did that, everyone could see the ugly red splotches or red scratch marks that made it look like a cat attacked him nonstop. He always made it a point to get in and out of there as fast as he could so no one would ever bring up the rough skin plastered on his body.

But luck didn’t seem to be on his side today.

(Y/n) tore off his hero costume, eager to get out of there as soon as possible. Or at least have something covering him by the time every one else arrived. Of course, Iida was there—he could never beat him first to the locker rooms somehow—but he trusted his boyfriend enough to let him change in the locker room while his vulnerable, spotty body was exposed.

But just as he had every single article of his hero clothing off, leaving him in his underwear, he heard footsteps rattling closer, before the door to the changing room swung open. His stomach dropped.

“Yooo! (L/n)! What’s-oh?” Kaminari’s boisterous voice dug pits in (Y/n’s) guts. He slowly turned around, doing his best to cover his torso with his U.A button-up shirt as he did so. He saw Kaminari standing a few good feet away from him, as the boys of 1-A began filing into the locker room. (Y/n) glanced at Iida, his anchor in a situation like this, before catching his apologetic expression.

“Dude...did Tokoyami really fuck you up that bad in trainin’ today?” Kaminari pointed at the red marks nipping at (Y/n’s) forearms and legs. Sure enough, he sparred with Tokoyami today, but that wasn’t really the cause.

Tokoyami turned around. He shook his head. “Dark shadow cannot inflict such...scratches. And if he did he should be in Recovery Girl’s office instead of the locker rooms.”

(Y/n) silently wished Tokoyami would just take the bait and say it was Dark Shadow. Because Kaminari wouldn’t be rubbing his chin and saying,

“So then what’s all that?” While gesturing circles to the rough, red skin on (Y/n’s) body.

“S’nothin...that’s all...” (Y/n) quietly mumbled. He turned around swiftly, shrugging on the button-up of his uniform and trying to button it up with shaky fingers.

Hands reached down from behind (Y/n) and grabbed his wrists, lifting them high above his head and twirling him around.

“Duuuude! They’re all over your stomach too!”

“Please...lower your voice, Kaminari-kun.” Iida voiced as kindly as he could, not facing (Y/n) to at least spare him one less pair of eyes that were staring at his red-blotched body.

Kaminari’s eyes were plastered onto the red scratch marks and flaked skin on (Y/n’s) barely-buttoned shirt, while (Y/n) wriggled his hands free from his grasp. He completely ignored Iida’s request.

He unconsciously brought his hands up to his neck, still sensitive from yesterday’s...incident and certainly still itchy. The itch was coming back.

He started pawing at the growing itch on his neck, his back pressed against the locker door as he tried to reach for his pants with his free hand.

He started pulling them on the best he could with one hand, not hearing the growing voice of Kaminari asking about why he was itching his neck; or the quiet protests from Iida. Once his pants were sloppily hanging from his waist, his hand flew up to scratch another forming itch right under his eye.

Kaminari suddenly clapped his hands together, looking very appealed all of a sudden. “Dude! I just realized who you looked like!”

“Kaminari-kun, thats-“

“Remember that villain who attacked us at USJ? Shigaraki? The one who kept scratching at his neck and stuff? I think they did a special on him on the news yesterday!”

“Kamina-“

“You look exactly like him!” Kaminari chuckled. “The scratching-“

Iida abruptly slammed his locker door shut. The loud bang it produced shook waves across the locker room, loud enough to silence every one there. Kaminari flinched in surprise, along with everyone else in the changing room.

“...Shut the fuck up, Kaminari.”

Silence ensued the once talkative changing room. All eyes fixated on Iida, a dead scowl on his face that replaced the mighty rule-abiding gaze he wore. The use of no honorific for the first time was absurd, but hearing Iida tell Kaminari to ‘shut the fuck up’ really took the cake. Iida was glaring dull daggers at Kaminari, who was standing there staring back with awkward eyes.

(Y/n) took that opportunity to mumble a quiet “I have to use the bathroom..” and slip out from in front of Kaminari, and slink out of the changing room. He buttoned up his shirt as quickly as he could, not caring about his long forgotten tie or blazer with the burning, unbearable itch that pulsed from his entire body.

He figured he couldn’t last in class like this.

——

Iida sped-walked all the way to the U.A heights alliance. He was worried when (Y/n) didn’t show up to afternoon classes, but didn’t want to run in fear of immodesty on school grounds.

Though, he supposed it hardly mattered anymore, especially after his spiel in the locker room. He was so irritated he didn’t think to apologize until they got back to the classroom. And boy, did bowing hundreds of times, chittering “I apologize for my rude behavior!” Millions of times over again count as an apology.

Iida started sprinting, before ducking into the door and up the stairs.

He ran around the whole dorm building, in case (Y/n) was hiding in someone else’s room or the restrooms. No luck.

And he had no further luck until he passed by (Y/n’s) dorm room, hearing soft sobs and skritches from inside the room. Iida hummed, knocking on the door.

“(Y/n)-kun?”

The sobbing from inside (Y/n’s) room went silent. Iida set his hand on the doorknob.

“Please open the door. Or let me in, please.”

Iida was trying his best to keep his voice level, but inside he was probably just as panicked as (Y/n). Even though he knew (Y/n) kept his medicated cream in his room, Iida had grabbed the spare laying in his own just in case. The soft whimpers from inside the room resumed. Iida sighed.

“I’m coming in. Pardon the intrusion.”

The door the (Y/n’s) room softly clicked open, the light from the outside casting a strip of yellow light into the dark that was (Y/n’s) room. Iida took a moment to let his eyes adjust, before his red eyes fell onto the curled up ball of itching that was (Y/n).

Iida quietly sat down next to (Y/n) on his bed, who paid him no mind. He kept sobbing into the school uniform he never bothered to change out of, one hand under his button-up and the other scratching at the back of his arm. Eventually, his arms switched to scratch at his legs and his neck.

“It burns...it-it burns, Ten-“

“I know, I know,” Iida refrained himself from patting (Y/n’s) back, in fear he’d accidentally inflame that area. Instead, he calmly rose from the bed, walking briskly to (Y/n’s) closet. He opened it gently, shuffling through clothes and picking out a loose shirt and basketball shorts.

He laid them out on the bed. “Do you think you can put these on for me...? Oh, but before you put the shirt on, please allow me to apply your medication onto your stomach..”

(Y/n) briefly looked up to see Iida squatted down infront of him through his tucked-in knees. He looked from Iida to the clothes waiting for him on the bed.

Iida set a hand down on the mattress next to (Y/n). “I can turn around if you would like me to.”

(Y/n) nodded, and Iida stood up and faced the opposite side of his room. Waiting as he heard shuffles of clothes being removed and slipped on, accompanied by more itching, he alas heard the dry “m’done..” from (Y/n) he turned back around.

(Y/n) was scratching at his arms, his head turnt down and tears still cascading down his face. He was holding the shirt in in between one of his armpits. Red blotches and scratch-lines littered (Y/n’s) chest, arms, and legs. The irritated skin looked even more irritated as (Y/n) scratched and clawed at them even more.

“Thank you, handsome.” Iida cooed. “Are you comfortable with me applying it to your chest or would you like to do that on your own?”

“You can do it...I don’t...” (Y/n’s) voice died down, but Iida got the gist of what he was saying. He set (Y/n) back down to his bed, drawing the cream out from his possession and popping off the cap.

After smearing on a generous amount to his chest, his forearms, and his calves, (Y/n) was able to stop scratching for just a bit. It soothed the burning itch for only just a bit, though.

Iida brought his cream-covered fingertips to (Y/n’s) red neck. He tilted it up, giving Iida access, as he rubbed gentle circles around it.

“Would you like to talk about what happened?” Iida said, not taking his eyes off of his current task. (Y/n) sniffed.

“...Do you think I act like Shigaraki? I know you said I didn’t...but you were just being nice, weren’t you?” (Y/n’s) voice was barely audible over the sounds of his sniffles and hics. Iida pressed his lips into a fine line, making sure to coat every area of his neck before retracting his hand. “S’ok...you can tell me, I won’t be mad.”

“(Y/n)-kun...darling, you know that’s absurd.”

“But it isn’t!” (Y/n’s) voice cracked. “Y’know-my body’s already all ugly and disgusting, I might as well become a villain especially because I look like one.”

“Just because you have these splotches on your body doesn’t make you any less handsome.”

“Stop lying, Tenya.”

“You know me, I don’t lie.” Iida placed his hands on his lap as (Y/n) carefully slipped on his shirt. “What kind of class representative would I be if I were a liar? I’m just stating facts like a good civilian.”

“And it’s a fact that (L/n) (Y/n) is the most beautiful, handsome, alluring boy I have ever laid my eyes on. Kaminari-kun took his ‘joke’ too far, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t qualify as a joke in the first place.”

Iida finally set his hand on (Y/n’s) shoulder. “Please don’t let his words get to your head. Your nothing like a villain, nor is your skin any less beautiful than you think it is. If you can’t love it yourself, I will just have to make sure to love you just as much to make up for it.”

(Y/n) stayed quiet for a second, before shifting closer to Iida and laying his head down against his shoulder. Iida smiled, reaching up to pat (Y/n) appreciatively on the head.

“Thank you, Tenya.”

‘Please don’t compare me to a villain.’

Because (L/n) (Y/n) was far from it.

——————

I apologize if I got any information wrong, I am not the best educated on topics such as skin conditions :((

[darkeninganon]

Arachnophobia part 2! As stated in the link, this AU is the fault of me being me and darkening bittydragon’s Webbed AU. Trigger Warnings for: Arachnophobia (Driders/spider people), Death (Unnamed adventurer), Killing, Blood (Kind of implied), Vore, fatal vore, and Cursing! Read at your own risk!

Ranboo hated this, hanging just a few feet off the ground, tied up in a web with the predator keeping him there just out of sight in the bushy leaves of the giant tree. "HELP!" His voice was hoarse, having been screaming for help for hours. He was bait. Bait for anything or anyone who happened to come by and hear him yelling. He coughed, too violently. He relaxed, casting one last glance at where he knew the drider- Dream, apparently- was hiding. "Please... Help us..."

"Hello?!"

Ranboo perked up, coughing slightly as he heard the stranger call out in response.

"I heard you! Keep calling! Kid?!"

"Over here!" Ranboo yelled, falling into another coughing fit, causing him to sway slightly from where he hung. "Help! I'm stuck!"

Ranboo saw a strange man stumble through the undergrowth, the other's eyes lighting up as he saw Ranboo. "Thank goodness you're alive! Usually kids who wander into here don't make it out you know!"

Ranboo rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I wonder why. Look, can you get me down? My friends are in danger!"

"What? From the spider that got you?" The stranger laughed. "Come on, you know spiders are dumb and blind. Just hold still and I'll get you out in a jiffy!" The man bragged, approaching where Ranboo hung.

Ranboo could only glare at the guy. Okay, he was not going to feel bad about this guy's fate. "Yeah, well, it's much bigger and smarter than you-" Ranboo yelped as he was pulled up into the foliage, yelling and kicking as he fought from instinct. Ranboo froze, once again face-to-face with the giant drider.

"Good job. I knew you could do it."

Ranboo yelled again, pleading for Dream not to as he was dangled and then dropped into Dream's mouth. Ranboo fough and squirmed, still bound by the web  as he was tossed around by Dream's tongue, before finally being swallowed down into the drider's storage stomach.

"Hey bossman."

Ranboo sighed, cringing as he was once again trapped with Tubbo and Tommy inside the giant spider human.

Right near his actual stomach.

With a stranger outside.

Ranboo's eyes shot open. "Shit."

"What?"

The three boys yelled, suddenly thrown as Dream moved, jumping from somewhere and landing roughly. The boys could hear some sort of yelling outside and Dream talking, likely mocking the guy Ranboo had just helped him capture.

Ranboo squirmed enough to prop himself up against one of the walls, hopefully not the one that was against Dream's actual stomach, and looked to Tubbo and Tommy. "There... was a guy... he heard me yelling, and-" Ranboo felt something, no... someone fall behind him, the wall of Dream's storage stomach giving way for the much more useful actual organ. Ranboo threw himself away from the wall. "Crap! I'm sorry! I didn't-"

"What the fuck did you do to me?!" The man yelled. The teens could just barely see the man pressing his hands against the organ, trying to find where Ranboo was. "I try to help you, and you betray me?! You play bait and let everyone die in your place?!"

"Hey! It's you or us asshole! Don't blame us for wanting to live!" Tommy yelled back, trying to stand and intimidate someone who couldn't even see him.

"What- How many of you guys are there?!"

"There's three of us in here!" Tubbo replied, attempting to free Ranboo from the web he had been trapped in. "Look, we're... we didn't mean to! We just want to stay alive!"

The man was silent for a moment, before asking almost too quietly "Wait... if you guys are over there, where am I?"

The three boys fell silent. They had found out on day one what was on the other side of that side, after all, Dream did get another "Meal" that he saved the trio from. Dream had only brought them out that day to force feed them some of his own food, talking about how it was no different from eating a regular spider or a cow, and made sure they ate what he perceived to be enough before throwing them back into his storage stomach and eating some himself.

"Boys... where am I?!" The trio cowered away from the wall, still moving from the pressure the man was putting on the walls in an effort to find them. "Hello?!"

"You're... uh..." The trio and stranger yelled, the boys suddenly thrown against the one wall they didn't want to be anywhere near. Of course Dream had chosen now to rest on his stomach. He was probably relaxing in the sun.

"Ow! What the hell was that?!" The stranger yelled, squirming underneath the tangled trio.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god-"

Tubbo smacked Ranboo over the head. "Shut up! We're fine!"

"But he's not!" Ranboo yelled, motioning toward where the stranger was.

"What?!"

"He didn't need to know that!"

"He'd find out eventually!"

"Oh god... I'm going to die..."

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!" Ranboo finally broke down, burning tears streaming down his face. The tall teen curled in on himself, covering his ears as he tried to block out what he knew was coming sooner or later.

Then the thread on his leg was pulled.

Dream had tied a thread to one of each of the boy's legs, and somehow they never got tangled. He used them to pull whoever he wanted out of his storage stomach when he only wanted one. Dream glared at Ranboo, teeth clenched in anger. Sure enough, the drider was laying on his stomach in a sunny spot. Wow he was predictable.

"Would you four calm down? I'm trying to nap and you all moving around and punching is keeping me awake."

Ranboo could only stare, tears still falling from his eyes. "What? You... You're doing this on purpose!"

Dream's scowl suddenly turned to a smirk. "Well, I have to keep you three in line somehow. Tell me, do you want to join the stranger?" Dream asked, sickly sweet with a tilt of his head.

Ranboo frantically shook his head, "N-no! I'm sorry!"

Dream waved his free hand. "Relax. Just chill out and you'll have nothing to worry about. Got it?" Ranboo nodded. "Good, Do me a favor and Tell Tubbo and Tommy to chill as well, okay?" Another nod. "Good boy. Back you go." Dream praised before quickly swallowing Ranboo back into his storage stomach.

"What the hell was that about?" Tubbo yelled, trying to stand without stepping on the stranger.

Ranboo grabbed Tubbo and pulled him down, pulling Tommy and Tubbo to an area he hoped would be far enough from what was to come. "Dream wants us to calm down..." Ranboo let the sentence hang there. The other two boys knew what the silence meant.

"Calm down?! How can I calm down!? I'm going to be fucking digested by a shitty spider asshole!"

"Not you! Us!" Tommy yelled back, only to have Ranboo clamp a hand over his mouth, motioning for Tommy to be silent.

"You guys?! What are... Oh... I get it. Hey! Spider! Dealing with one is so much easier than dealing with three brats! Come on! I could convince others to come into the forest and bring you twice as many people as these three!"

"You son of a-" Ranboo grabbed Tubbo, slapping a hand over his mouth now and doing his best to keep Tubbo from moving too much.

"Tubbo, please!" Tommy hissed, pleading with the shortest boy to calm down.

"Come on! I've got no ties to this dumb town! They hired me to look for some lost kids! Three brats from the orphanage!"

Uh oh... The trio looked between each other. The headmaster knew they were missing and knew they went into the woods. "We're not getting out of here... ever..." Ranboo whispered, tightening his grip on Tubbo out of fear.

"Come on I- Holy shit ow! What the fuck?!"

The trio flinched. It had started. For the next hour, the trio was forced to listen to the adventurer yell and scream, plead for life, and slowly fall still. Sometimes Dream shifted and it threw the trio against the wall right where the stranger was. They were quick to scurry away, scattering to any direction they could that was "not here". The three were silent, and refused to move as it finally fell silent, aside from the gurgling on Dream's stomach as it dealt with metal and cloth.

Tommy and Tubbo seemed to be asleep, hands over ears and back-to-back as they sought any form of comfort from each other. Ranboo could only stare. He had killed that man, it was his fault. The thread on his leg was pulled, and he once again found himself fact-to-face with the giant drider.

"You did good today. But, maybe Tubbo would be better, he looks more like a child, you know. And like that guy said, I only need one-"

"No! I'll do better! Don't hurt either of them! Please!"

Dream hummed, rubbing his chin as he thought. "Well, what could you three offer me that I couldn't get from one?"

"Well... you get us alive and us putting in effort."

Dream stopped, frowning to glare at Ranboo. "What?"

"If you kill two of us, the one remaining isn't going to help you. And, even if you just kill one of us, the other two aren't going to help you either!"

Dream tapped his finger against his temple, humming quietly. "So, it's all or none?"

"Exactly." Ranboo hopped he sounded brave, he certainly didn't feel it.

Dream hummed again, shifting to sit up. Well, that certainly woke up Tubbo and Tommy. "Well, guess I can't do much about that. You do make it easier to get food, so guess I don't have a choice."

Ranboo smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. The trio was safe for now. That guy's attempts to remove them had failed. Ranboo yelped as he was thrown into the air and swallowed again. He had gotten used to this far too quickly.

"What now?" Tubbo hissed, clearly still worried about what had just happened.

"We're safe... for now at least." Ranboo stated, not moving from where he landed. He was exhausted.

"Unless he makes one of us immortal." Tommy stated, glancing up with worry. "I hear some forest beasts know how to do that."

Tubbo rolled his eyes, "That's an old wive's tale!"

So were the spider beasts Ranboo thought bitterly. So many stories from the orphanage came to mind as he lay there. Spider beasts, immortality, snake monsters, giant bird beasts, plants that mimic people. Ranboo sighed, slowly dozing off.

Wilbur looked out to the forest. His three charges were still missing. He had seen the broken window in Tommy's room and the footprints leading into the forest. Phil had warned him and his brother about the forest, and him and Techno had warned the children, but as the kids got older they got braver and would inevitably go into the forest. Wilbur let out a sigh. He had sent a hunter out to find them, and that guy still didn't return.

Then Wilbur saw him.

His heart stopped in terror as the giant drider stared at the orphanage from the forest, sickly smile plastered across its face as it tossed something towards the building. Wilbur ran to the side exit, tripping and stumbling in his desperate attempt to get there before the drider left.

"Woah! Wil! What's the rush?"

"Drider! The worst one!" Phil was suddenly running behind him, cursing under his breath as they ran out the door and towards the edge of the forest. It was gone. It was so silent and quick.

"Shit... we missed it. Aw fuck and it knows where the orphanage is now. Fuck! God, we need to get Techno, mate."

"Dad..."

That made Phil freeze. Wilbur rarely called him Dad at this point. Phil turned, walking over to where Wilbur was crouched. Sitting there, on the ground, was a rather damp and partially melted bag. A familiar bag. "Holy shit..."

Wilbur stood, looking towards the city walls that were just past the orphanage. "We need more than Techno, we need a whole army." Wilbur cast one last look at the hunter's bag, kicking dirt over it to hide it from the children, The didn't need to know the stories were true.

[blue-bird-kny]

Steamy Seduction

I’m back!! I finally finished that fic I mentioned forever ago lol. Believe it or not but since school’s started I’ll be able to produce more work. Without further ado here is some long overdue love for Mitsuri! As always, enjoy~Amanda

Side note: the fact that I'm almost to 1k followers is mind boggling so thank you all!!

Warning: NSFW, mild dom/sub themes, eating out, semi-public, Fem!reader, language

(1.7k+ words)

“Hmmmm” you sighed in relief, submerged up to just below your nose in the boiling water of the hot spring. It had taken some major planning, but you managed to gather most of your Hashira friends (Sanemi and Obanai both thought this was a waste of time) to take a much needed vacation at a local hot springs in the mountains. “Sometimes you could be such a child” Shinobu snickered from the edge of the water; she and Mitsuri sat wrapped in white towels, the water morphing its shape to hug their form- you almost purred at the sight of Mitsuri’s breast, just barely covered by the cloth.

floated over to the girls, tightening your bun in the process. Mitsuri couldn’t help but giggle as she watched the way her friend glared, your fingers finding Mitsuri’s. Shinobu stretched, pulling herself out of the water, “I don't want to end up like a prune so I’m going to bed, you two love birds stay out of trouble” she winked, grabbing her robe and disappearing.

As if on instinct, you moved to Mitsuri’s lap, your legs trapping her against her seat. “You look so pretty with your hair down” you cooed playing with the loose strands. She looked away shyly, her arms softly hugging your waist. “You always say I’m pretty, so how will I know when I look bad?” she probed. “Impossible. You’ve never looked anything but beautiful”. You moved on from her hair, your fingertips brushing against the skin of her neck up to her cheeks, holding the rosy flesh in your hands, your thumbs rubbed soothingly along her features.

Mitsuri hummed in content as your lips traveled along her skin, leaving open mouthed kisses along her jawline, down her throat, until finally reaching her lips. You pressed your chest against hers, groaning into the kiss at the feel of Mitsuri’s hard nipples against yours. Your tongue slid along her bottom lip, silently asking for permission, nibbling gentle against the swollen skin. Her grip on your waist steadily tightened as her legs figgetted between yours. “We can get into a little trouble, no?” you flirted, toying with the edge of the towel. Mitsuri fervently shook her head, already trapped under the spell of your touch.

You shifted, bringing your knee between her thighs, pressing against her naked mound. “Agh!” you swallowed her moan with your mouth, moving your knee back a bit. “ Sorry baby, but you’ll have to be quieter than that” You held her chin, staring into her wide eyes, “Just over that wall are all the guys, you wouldn’t want them to hear you” you inched your knee closer again, just brushing against her folds. The sound of Uzui’s booming laughter emphazed your point. “Or maybe you want them to hear how easily you come undone at my touch. But you know baby, I don’t share, I want all your delicious noises for myself so if you can’t keep quiet I’ll just have to stop” you pulled away slightly, “No! I’ll be good I promise” Mitsuri pleaded, pulling you against her. “That's what I like to hear baby, you're always so good for me” you dawdled, your knee gently grinding circles against her cunt. You pulled her towel open, riding her of the pesky cloth and leaving her on full display.

You thumbed at her nipples, watching the way Mitsuri  shuddered at your touch before taking one in your mouth, sucking. Mitsuri covered her mouth quickly, broken moans muffled as they slipped through the cracks. If she was having a hard time piping down now, you couldn’t wait to watch her struggle during the main event. You switched between sucking and nipping while your leg still worked under the water, never putting more pressure than needed. Your whole body worked in a steady pattern, never easing the pleasure you were giving- if you weren’t careful Mitsuri would come sooner than you wanted.

You pulled off her breast with a wet pop, marveling at the hot mess beneath, pressing harder against her clit. Your face landed in the valley between her breast, licking a trail up over the juncture of her neck, across faded marks from previous nights. Mitsuri’s eyes were screwed shut, she was biting her fingers so tightly in an effort to suppress her mewls that you were afraid it’d draw blood. In one swift motion, you pulled away completely, ceasing all movement. Mitsuri whined at the loss of your touch, her bulging eyes pleading. “Don’t worry baby,” you removed her hand kissing the palm lovingly, “you were so good for me, of course I’d let you cum” you pushed her wild strands back behind her ears, peppering her skin with kisses. “Could you sit up on the ledge for me please? I promise you’ll feel good”  you urged, placing the towel on the cold floor for her to sit on.

She nodded hazily, lifting herself out of the water and onto the towel. You growled at the sight of the water beads falling down her naked skin, her flushed cheeks filled you body with warmth- oh how you couldn’t wait to taste her. You gripped her legs, pulling them apart slowly, too slowly for Mitsuri’s liking. Your eyes bore into hers through wet lashes, biting at the supple flesh of her thick thighs. “Y/n please” she cried, her arms unsteadily holding herself off the ground. “Be patient baby girl, you know I just love this part” you mumbled against her inner thigh, the skin littered with bruises. You could smell her juices, close enough that your breath caused shivers to pass through her spine. Your index finger trailed her sopping slit, gathering her slick on your finger. “See? Beautiful.” you showed off her mess like it was some glistening prize, before bringing your finger past your lips.

Mitsuri couldn’t take much more of this teasing, she was desperate for anything. For you though, she would sit through hours of torturous teasing and that thought alone brought you face to face with her dripping pussy. “Baby you should lay down, your arms will get tired” you spoke caringly, your nose grazing her navel. She did as she was told, yelping at the sudden feel of your tongue prodding her hole. You pushed her lips apart, your tongue moving as far inside as possible, your nose bumping against her sensitive bud. Her delicate fingers held your hair, the others returning to her own mouth.You licked and stretched, drinking up as much of her as you could. “You’re delicious baby” your sultry voice rang, the muffled vibrations causing Mitsuri to clench around nothing.

You moved south, stuffing two digits into her soaked cavern; she winced in pain slightly. “It’ll only hurt for a minute baby” you consoled, your thumb rolled against her nub in hopes of distracting her from the dulling pain. You circled your lips around the quivering bud, tugging it gently. Mitsuri sobbed quietly, your fingers scissoring inside of her, just brushing that special spot she yearned for you to touch. You were relentless; edging her closer to her release with each swirl and thrust.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the girl writhing on the stone floor in front of you.. Her face was flushed and her brows knitted tightly in ecstasy, sweat mingled with the drying water that cascaded down her milky skin. Her knotted tresses sprawled out on the floor, while her own manicured tips gripped your roots yanking from time to time- Mitsuri’s fucked out image was stunning.

Swiftly, you hoist her legs over your shoulders, the new angle giving you easy access to her g-spot, ready to abuse. Mitsuri’s muscles constricted in a feeble attempt to keep herself from suffocating you- if you were going to die, there would be no better way then to be suffocated by your girlfriend. . “Go wild baby” your sinful smirk pushed her over her limit. Her moans sprunge free and breathy from her puffy parted lips, her eyes locked on your bobbing head as she held you in place with a firm grasp, feet digging into your shoulder blades. She came hard, a string of cries and stuttering “Y-Y/n”. You drank every drop of her salty-sweet slick, Mitsuri ground her hips against your face, riding out her climax.

You savored the lingering taste on your tongue, cleaning the glistening residue off your chin with the back of your hand only to wipe it away with your tongue. A shiver passed through your spin as the chill air tickled your damp body, clambering out of the heated water at last, slithering up Mitsuri’s spent body slouched against the stone. “You were so good for me baby” you smiled softly, petting her unruly hair. “It's the least I could do, you always treat me right my Love” she mumbled wearing an exhausted expression. You relished in the feel of your slippery, bare bodies pressed flush against each other for only a moment before moving to stand. “Wait.” Mitsuri moved to clutch your hand, “what about you?” she huffed wistful, round eyes. “Don’t worry about me princess, you’re body’s spent” you reached for a dry towel, engulfing Mitsuri’s shivering form in its warmth. “Besides, there’s always tomorrow” you baited with a seductive glare.

You woke up alone, Mitsuri’s flowery scent already fading from your shared space. You groaned, rubbing your sore knees, the rocks from last night really did a number on the tender skin. “Where is she?” you thought, scrambling out of the mess of bed sheet.

“Morning” you grumbled to the gaggle of Hashira’s, all baring a creepy knowing smile. You watched confused when Shinobu spoke up, “I heard you had a pleasant time in the springs last night” her eyes hiding something sinister. “Yes! We could hear all your gasping laughter from our side of the wall!” Rengoku added, sporting his own grin as Uzui’s wolfish laughter shook the room. “I’m going to find Mitsuri” you shouted exiting, “Oh she went to go shower, she said she was dirty” your face flushed- They fucking knew.

Main Masterlist

[xmalereader]

Thomas Shelby X Male Reader

—

|| Masterlist ||

—

Requested: Heya, can i request a thomas shelby one where the reader is new to the gang and Thomas starts getting feelings for him but tries to suppress it until they have to go on a dangerous mission and the reader gets hurt? Love your writings and hope you have a great day❤

Warnings: Language, blood, slight angst, some fluff, reader being sweet, Thomas being protective.

Tags: @ravnulfjohansen

—

—

“Protection?! We don’t need any bloody protection!” Ada shouts at Thomas, slamming her hand on the table as she glared at her older brother.

The Shelby’s were having a family meeting, lately things have been getting dangerous. Thomas has been making deals with other gangs and he may or may not have betrayed a few, so now he needs to focus on his family’s safety.

“Ada this is for your safety,” he glanced at Polly and then back at ada. “Polly will also have protection.”

Polly chokes out a laugh. “I’m sorry? I can protect myself Thomas, I don’t need protection.” She clarified, taking Sip from her drink as she frowns deeply.

Thomas sighs deeply as he rubs his temples. “He’ll only be following you and keeping a close eye, I trust this man and I know that he’ll complete this job.”

“Who is this man?” Said Polly with a raised brow.

Thomas gives her a look before sitting back in his chair, he knows that he shouldn’t have said anything. Not only is he trying to protect Polly and Ada but he’s also putting someone that he cares deeply for in danger.

“An old friend.” He simply says as he stands up from his chair and collects his cigars. “Tomorrow morning you’ll be meeting him here, he’ll be around to guard you two and he’ll report to me in case anything is to happen.” He explains to his sister and aunt who only huff in annoyance.

“Until tomorrow.” He repeats hismelf and leaves the room. He adjusted his cap and steps outside where he takes in a large inhale of fresh air.

“I wouldn’t really breath in this disgusting air, it could kill you.”

Thomas turns his head to face the source of the new voice, his lips slowly twitch up into a smile. “Y/n.” He says in a soft voice.

“Thomas.” The other replies as he approaches him and stands close to his side. His eyebrows raise as he examines Tommy’s face and hums. “I take it that your sister and aunt didn’t like the idea of me being around, huh?”

Tommy’s smile fades away into a frown. “No.”

Y/n lets out a deep sigh and rubs his hands together. “Don’t worry, I know they hate this idea but maybe I can get on their good side? It’s my job to protect your family, I promised you that I would.” He gives Thomas shoulder a pat, smiling widely at him.

Thomas could only stare at the younger man. He knows that y/n can protect his family but he’s mostly worried about him. The two have been friends for years and no one in his family knows about it! He was afraid of getting him involved with his family problems.

But he can’t refuse y/n when he needs his help.

“Why are you packing?” Thomas suddenly asks as he enters y/n’s flat, taking notice of the packing as y/n bites his lip nervously and moves around his room, grabbing small stuff and putting them inside his suitcase.

“Do you remember my job back at the post office?” He asks as Thomas nods, tossing his coat on the bed and taking a seat.

“Well, turns out that they didn’t need me anymore so they decided to fire me.” He explains his situation to Thomas who sat quietly on the bed. “I still had some money left to pay off for my room but I slowly started to run out, I’ve been looking for a new place and a new job for awhile now but I’ve gotten nothing!” His voice starts to raise. “I don’t have a choice but to move to the country side...I called my brother and he said that he had an extra room for me, told me that I could stay their until I find a job.”

“So, you’re leaving?” Said Thomas as y/n stops mid pack, turning to look at Thomas. He notices the sad look in his eyes, causing him to give off a small sad smile. “Tommy...” he approaches him and places a hand over Thomas’s bigger ones. “I can’t stay here, I can barley afford this place.” He whispers out.

“Stay with me, I have enough room back at my place.” Thomas suddenly says as y/n shakes his head. He didn’t want to be a bother and he defiantly didn’t want to surprise Tommy’s family with him being around. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You won’t be.” Thomas pulls him close, wrapping an arm around his waist as he pulls him onto his lap, causing a dark blush to appear on y/n cheeks. “Thomas, even if I stay with you—id still need to find a job.”

“I’ll give you a job.”

“W—what?” Y/n eyes widen.

“You know what I do and I trust you, I trust your loyalty and I know you’ll be perfect for it.” Thomas lies his head against his chest as y/n ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to be honest, I’m not really good with money.” He chuckled out tiredly as Thomas smiles against his chest. “You won’t be doing that.” He muffled out as y/n rasies a brow. “Then what will I be doing?”

Thomas lifts his head up. “You Can become my sister and aunts guard, keep them safe while I’m gone doing business.”

“Oh, Tommy I don’t—“

“I’ve seen you fight, you’ve taken down people twice your size and you know how to handle a gun.”

Y/n blushes a little and sighs deeply. “Fine, but I make my own rules.”

This causes Thomas smile to widen a bit more. “Deal.”

He remembers that night clearly, the two planning out everything in case anything bad was to happen. All y/n was suppose to do was keep a close eye on his aunt and sister and not get in the way of any of their little ‘activities��.

“Promise me you’ll be safe.” Said Thomas while y/n chuckles. “I can handle myself and a pair of girls Thomas! No need to get worried.” He gives Thomas a smile. “Things will be okay, I promise.”

But things were not okay.

The day that y/n was meant to guard the girls was the same day that a few of Tommy’s own men decided to betray him and use the girls as bait, but of course the first thing they had to do was get rid of the guard, which was y/n.

On that same day he actually got to know Polly and Ada a bit more and the two actually liked him in return. He was a stunning man and a caring one, he spoke softly to the two and offered to carry their things when they bought new stuff. He was a gentleman and the two adored it, they thought he was special since most men weren’t like that anymore.

The girls decided on having some tea outside the shop where they can enjoy their day while y/n stood next to the small table, smiling at the girls as he listens to them gossip about their family. “Thomas is always making us stay in the shop, do you know how frustrating it is having to deal with cranky men?” Said Ada To her aunt as she rolls her eyes and lights a cigar. “Men are always rude when it comes to betting.” She says in return.

Y/n chuckles to himself which catches pollys attention. She looks up at him and smiles, “of course not you y/n, your different.” She points out as y/n shakes his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” He quickly apolgizes but Polly waves her hand. “Dont apologize!” She says. “To be honest, I wonder why tommy chose you as our personal guard? He said that he trusts you.” She sits up in her chair, leaning forward as she rests her elbows in the tables. “Theirs something about you that tommy likes.”

Y/n feels himself grow anxious, both him and Thomas have been friends for years and the way they first met was very weird and childish, you could say but through out the years he’s grown to love tommy. But of course he couldn’t tell him that, he didn’t want to lose the friendship they had.

“Tommy’s a good friend...he helped me when I needed it the most and I’m greatful for that.” He’s quick to tell Polly. Hoping that she doesn’t figure out about his unrequited love.

Polly can only stare, letting out a puff of smoke as she grins and slowly sits back. “Whatever you say, darling.”

Y/n rasies a brow and tilts his head. What was that suppose to mean?

He opens his mouth to ask something but is cut off by a car approaching. He looks up to see Thomas and his brothers exiting the vehicle, his eyes scan the brothers and notices the hint of blood smeared in their clothes. Once his gaze turns to Thomas the two make eye contact, causing y/n to smile a little at Thomas. Glad that he’s okay.

Smiling at Thomas, he notices a strange man approaching them from behind. It causes him to squint his eyes a little, noticing the gun the man was holding as realization hits him. His eyes widen in fear as he takes a step forward.

“Thomas.” He calls out softly as the man raised his gun up and aims at tommy from behind.

Y/n has no time to process things as he sprints towards Thomas, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him to the side. Causing the other to stumble back as a gunshot is heard.

It takes Thomas a few seconds to notice y/n’s limp body in the ground. His fears becoming a reality. “Y/n...y/n?!” He shouts out in worry as he crawls to his side and slowly turns him on his side to see a gun wound on his shoulder. “Fuck!” He curses out in anger as he looks around.

His brothers were dealing with the man that shot him while Polly and Ada rush to side. “Oh my god.” Polly tries to take y/n from Thomas but he wasn’t letting go, he couldn’t.

“Thomas we need to lie him down and stop the bleeding, you have to let him go.” Said Ada as she stares at her older brother, noticing the fear in his eyes as she slowly pried him off y/n. “Finn has already called for an ambulance, they’ll be on their way.” She explains, using a part of her dress to apply pressure onto the wound.

Thomas can only stare in horror, “is he—is he breathing?” He asks, his voice shaking in fear. Ada takes notice of that as well and makes a quick check, “he’s still alive...but he needs a hospital quick or else he won’t make it.” She turns to her aunt and brother.

Polly looks anxious as she turns to Thomas only to see him sitting back, he was growing dizzy and faint. His vision was slowly going dark as he hears his aunts cries, feeling her hands on his shoulders as she tries to keep him up but that didn’t seem to work. “Y/n.” He looks over at his friends limp body as Ada begins to scream his name, trying to bring him back to reality but it was alreayd too late. His vision suddenly goes dark as he falls back on the floor.

“Tho—“

“Thoma—“

He can hear his name being called.

“Thomas!”

He’s quick to open his eyes, staring at his aunt who stood Over him. A drink in hand as she sighs in relief, “finally you’re awake.” She says as Thomas groans. He slowly sits up from the couch and asks. “Where’s y/n?” He remembers everything that happened today, all of the anxiety that he had suddenly comes rushing back.

Polly sits next to him and hands him the drink. “In the hospital, doctor said that he’ll be awake soon, Just needs time to rest and to heal.” She explains as tommy takes the drink from her and chugs the whole thing down.

Polly watches Thomas closely as she takes the empty glass from him and sets it down on the coffee table. “Y/n.” She suddenly says, catching Tommy’s attention. “That boy, he’s caring and loving.” She mumbles out. “He told me that you two were friends, but I know that’s a lie.” She slowly turns to give Thomas a look that he knew far too well.

“So tell me, what is y/n to you?”

Thomas can only look away, not wanting to answer his aunt but he knows that he’ll have to tell her how he really felt or else she’ll force it out of him. The two have been friends for as long as he can remember, the two helped each other out. Y/n taught him how to be free without having to fear, he taught him what love really was. He was their when Thomas needed someone and when he had breakdowns that no one else knew, He was special to him he’s—

“—my everything.” He randomly blurts out.

Pollys eyes soften as she stands up and collects her things. “Then you tell him that, he’s a sweet boy and I can tell that he means a lot to you, Thomas.” She approaches her nephews side and placed a hand in his cheek, stroking his cheek like a loving mother would. “When he wakes up, you tell him how you feel and be happy.” She whispers, placing a soft kiss on his head. “Now rest, will visit the hospital Tomorrow. I told John and Arthur to stand guard at the hospital in case anything were to happen.”

Tommy’s eyebrows knit together. “Do they know?” He asks Polly who shakes her head. “I doubt your brothers know a thing, hell they could barley figure out that Michael was their cousin when they first met him.” She says, a bit disappointed that her own nephews couldn’t recognizes their own cousin.

“Get some rest Tommy, I don’t want you out of this place until morning.” She warns with a pointer finger as tommy groans, leaning his head back, he was still worried for y/n and he wanted to see him and make sure that he was really okay.

“Thomas.”

He hears his aunts voice and looks up to see her with a soft look in her eyes. “He’ll be okay.” She says, Immediately knowing what he was thinking as she gives him one last smile and leaves the room.

[acdeaky]

bad liar | II

warning: major angst, strong language

note: here’s part two in the bad liar miniseries! this is very angsty!! and i’m so sorry!! but we also love two idiots who fall in love; enjoy!

word count: 2.2k

there never seemed to be a good time to say anything. after that first date and the first article that came out, the days seemed shorter and the nights were long. you had decided on a regular date night on friday, with it being the best night for both of you (and if the press knew your schedule, it would be easy for them to find you).

things were going well. it took you a while (a few dates both in public and at the other’s apartment) for you to truly settling into the new... agreement in your relationship. ben was everything you could have wanted. he was gentle, warm, giving.

that was the thing.

ben was giving. he always gave; whether it was time, little gifts, his coat. no matter what, ben always seemed to be giving himself to this. of course, so were you, but not in the way that he was.

he made sure you were happy, that this was still what you wanted to do. but ben didn’t just do this because he felt like he had to, especially in the current circumstance. he did it because he wanted to.

he wanted to see you in his coat, he wanted to make sure you were happy, he wanted to be his. for real. and yet, in your self-destructive way, you played it down to ben just being a good person. why else would he be doing this?

since being friends, ben has always been like this and you loved it. you loved him for it.

and when you fell too hard, that’s when you began to slow down. it was like your feelings decided to put your whole lift on hold while your brain figured things out, instead of letting you help ben while figuring your heart out.

the dates began to slow. they weren’t as frequent and you always had an excuse. whether it was tiredness, or a meeting for work, or work needing you to stay late, ben took the bait and let you off.

and yet, he was still understanding. he knew this was a lot, he understood this was a lot for you. so, he brought you flowers. at one point, your front room looked like a ginormous grave. you knew the flowers where to show the press that you were still together; your sudden disappearance would have them believing the worse.

but you didn’t want flowers. you wanted - needed everything to stop. the feelings, the guilt, the pressure, the agreement. everything.

the text you sent to ben let your world know that it was okay to crash down around you. it was simple; i can’t do this anymore, i’m sorry; but effective. ben left countless texts, called your phone so much that it almost vibrated off of your kitchen table where you had left it as you drowned your sorrows in ice cream and TV. the voicemails would have broken your heart if you listened to them. piece by piece, you were falling apart, and it was all at the hands of yourself.

god, you were angry. angry at yourself for agreeing to this. angry at ben for letting him convince you that this was a good idea. angry at your heart for allowing you to be so stupid.

ben knew you would be. he knew how you thought and, almost completely, how you feeling. he could imagine you now, could see it as clear as day, as if he were there. the dirtied spoon resting limply in the now-empty cartoon of ice cream. the tv playing whatever show you had put on, one to cheer you up, but left you numb inside anyway.

ben knows he shouldn’t be where he is right now. he knows that the consequences of his actions will cause more emotion than the actual doing. but he can’t seem to help as his knuckles lift from his side and hover above the wood of your front door.

he was certain you hated him, more certain than that you loved him. but he’s selfish and even though the very last thing you want is to see him, he can’t resist the urge to just be here.

there’s no reason why you’d want to see him. you made it pretty clear in your text that this wasn’t what you wanted and that it was best to leave things and move on to something different, something new and less heartbreaking than whatever just happened.

which was fine. fuck - it really was fine, because he cares about you and your feelings and if this isn’t right, then it isn’t right, right? he isn’t good with these kinds of things - these things being fake dating your best friend to please your management and these things being being in love with your best friend. those things are what ben isn’t good with.

but he’s here, thinking again and again whether he should be and whether this is a good idea. he’s here and he really shouldn’t be, but he is selfish and taking the last few inches for himself before letting his fist rap against your door - the knot in his throat makes itself ever so present.

it’s only then that he realised that he’s shown up empty handed. ben almost knows exactly what you’re going through (having been through many ends of relationships with you before), and the last thing he does in this situation is show up empty handed. the thought of flowers flashes through him, but he can’t begin to imagine how many dead flowers you’ve thrown away in the past few weeks.

so he decided that it was best that he didn’t bring anything.

and it’s only then when he’s struck with the horror that he could have at least done something other than show up empty handed and with no real plan then take his chances with no call, text or warning.

he turns his attention to his pockets, patting them down as if they harbour some secret gift he isn’t aware of which��ll be the key to winning you back. yet, all he pulls out is a scrap piece of paper and a token from a previous date of yours. and he’s so caught up in what he’s doing that he doesn’t notice you standing in your doorway now, looking at him as he scuffles to find something, anything, which will take the pain he knows you’re feeling away.

“what do you want, ben?” you had just been wollowing in self pity, the circles under your eyes becoming darker by the hour as you even struggle to stand up. making - forcing yourself to get off the sofa had sent a rush of blood and a wave of emotions to your head, and now, standing in front of ben as he stands there almost emotionless, a piece of paper and a coin in your hand makes you turn bitter. the wound you had begun to scab over with ice cream and unhealthy self-destruction split open and renewed.

“i just- i wanted to see you. i wanted to check you were okay.” he stated, letting your voice drag him out of whatever was happening in his mind and into the real world, with you. god, you were you. you were here and real and stood in front of him in your comfiest pyjamas and one of his old t-shirts from years ago which didn’t fit him and he-

“i’m fine.” you practically spat, ready to step back into your apartment and slam the door on his face. but you didn’t need to. ben was being ben. and being ben meant that he would be with you until you were happy, or until you resembled you again.

“please don’t lie to me.” ben sighed, taking another look at your outfit and then your face, seeing your eyes filled with sadness and screaming a thousand words to him when you had only said two.

“ben, i’m not lying; i’m fine.”

“you’re not fine,” you weren’t, god, you really, really weren’t. this fantasy you had created with ben was something you didn’t want to leave. you wanted to stay in th bubble of dates and small gifts and sweet kisses when you were together. it felt real. and you let yourself believe it. but it wasn’t. and you weren’t fine. you could put on an act to show ben that you were 100% fine, but he wouldn’t believe you.

he wouldn’t love you like you love him.

so you put on an act, pretended that every minute you spent together wasn’t breaking your heart little by little. and if it wasn’t fully broken, it was now. anything that was holding your heart together, holding your head, your soul, your whole being together, was now non existent.

“ben, i’m fine, honestly,” lie. “you didn’t have to come all the way over here to check on me.” he didn’t, but part of you was glad that he did.

“i did-”

“ben, you didn’t,” he really didn’t, but that other part of you wished he didn’t even leave the comfort of his apartment. you would, eventually, get over this, but seeing the person who unknowingly caused you indescribable pain over the past few weeks was not the way to begin healing.

“i just- i wanted to see you, but, well... um - i...” he paused for a moment, trying to inhale as if it would give him any fucking idea of what to say. he’s angry. so angry at himself for not seeing what this whole thing was doing to you sooner and now he realises that you must see his anger as he stops his knuckles from turning white by his side, “i’m realising how bad of an idea this was - i’m sorry.”

there it was. the slight crack in his voice, the broken syllables which told you ben was as upset and angry about this whole thing, maybe even more than you were because you at least knew how to hide how you were truly feeling. well, that’s what you thought anyway.

it wasn’t until ben took a deep breath, released his shoulders and relaxed his hands that you realised you were holding the exact same amount of tension as he was.

“there’s nothing to be sorry for-”

“there is.” there was, in ben’s mind, a whole bloody lot to apologise for, and he just couldn’t think of the right words to begin. so you just stood there, your body still well inside your apartment as your hand grasped onto the door as if it was the only thing holding you up. and ben, god, ben was stood there looking as beautiful as ever, regardless of the sadness hidden behind his eyes and beneath his baggy clothes.

“ben,” you start, carefully thinking of whatever else you could say without leaving this as a whole mess, “please go home. even though this ‘relationship’ is over, you’re my best friend and i don’t want you stood here feeling like this-”

“please, let me in.”

“no, ben. not like this, not while we’re both like this.”

“but we can sit and talk and eat ice cream and watch crappy TV like we always do.” god, the desperation in his voice and the pleading that came with it was almost enough to let him in. almost enough to let him back into your apartment and back into your self-pity cavern you had called your home for the past few weeks. it was almost enough for you to fall into his arms and tell him everything you felt.

but it wasn’t enough.

“goodnight, ben.” he didn’t move as you closed the door. he didn’t even move when he heard the lock clicking into place, nor did he move when he thought he heard your footsteps receding back into your apartment. instead, he stepped closer to the door, letting his forehead rest against the cool wood while his right hand lifted into a fist and lightly bang on the door.

it wasn’t a knock, no, far from it. but as you stood with your own forehead against the door and one hand resting on the shut lock, it scared you. almost as much as your own mind scared you.

neither of you moved for a moment or two. ben could feel the spirit of his body leave him before he left your door. he took his fist off of the wood first before standing up straight and stalking away. as you heard him leave, only then did you let a soft sob escape you. it rattled your entire body, but it was so powerful that you dropped to the floor, your side leaning against the wall beside the door.

it was ugly. your eyes began draining, your hands and shoulders shaking. but your cries were silenced. there was no noise leaving your body, the only noise filling your apartment was the TV, your little muffled cries and the whispers of what once was.

<- previous | next ->

-

TAGLIST: @shes-over-bored @i-barely-go-on-online @sohoneyspreadyourwings @brian-maybe-not @deakysbabybooty @1001-yellow-daffodils @retromusicsalad @hardcoredisneynerd @painkiller80 @leatherjacketmazzello @scarecrowmax @mebeatlized @seesiderendezvous @alright-mrfahrenheit @someone-get-a-medic @miamideacon @chlobo6 @teenagepeterpan @spacedustmazzello @deakysgurl @forever-rogue @xcdelilahxc @keepsdrawing @igotsuckedintothevoid @kill4hqueen @supersonicfreddie @laedymoon @inthedayswhenlandswerefew @warriorteam1924 @painandpleasure86 @boomerangbassist @mamaskillerqueen @lookuptotheskiesandsee @seouloffebruary @lost-aesthetic-of-past @madeinheavxn @xbarrjallenx​

[thereluctantinquisitor]

pssst i saw you reblog some witcher stuff and i was wondering - DA Witcher AU??? (maybe with Varlen as a witcher, because white hair and all, but up to you!)

So I made Hanin the bard. I don’t know why. Let’s do this. (3320 words)

[PART 2]

When Varlen shoved open the tavern door, he had expected the usual warm welcome of conversations warbling to a halt and a dozen sets of eyes silently rolling in their sockets to face him. He could judge any place by that single, simple act. Some people were very good at pretending not to watch every step he took with the wary apprehension of peasants who were raised on stories of monsters and beasts. Others, less so.

The presence of a Witcher was proof, after all. Proof that it was all true.

Well, some of it, at least.

But this tavern was different. The atmosphere inside was already tense, and for once it wasn’t his fault. Stepping through the threshold, shrugging off his damp cloak, Varlen looked for the eyes but found them all elsewhere, lingering in mugs or on the feeble flames of the hearth. There was music, faint and slow - almost reluctant, as though each note was an uncomfortable interruption of a much larger, heavier silence. If Varlen didn’t know any better, he’d guess someone had died.

But he did know better, and there was no need for guessing.

Not entirely sure what to do when he wasn’t immediately confronted by hostile villagers, Varlen made his way to the bar, hoping the old trick of asking the tavern owner for news would work its usual magic. He settled on one of the tall stools, shifting slightly, the blades hanging from each hip bumping awkwardly against the outside of his thighs as he adjusted. 

Steel for humans. Silver for monsters.

“Gold for the Witcher?”

Varlen started, surprised to see what he assumed was the owner of the tavern standing before him. He must have come in from the kitchen. “I… What?”

The stocky man cocked one of his bushy grey brows, then nodded to one of the casks behind him. “Honey brew. Local specialty.” He shrugged. “Folks just call it ‘gold’ around here. You want that or something else?”

So, he was actually being offered a drink first. Things must be worse than rumour suggested. “That’ll be fine,” he said after a moment, meeting the older man’s gaze. “Thank you.”

With a brisk nod, the tavern owner bustled away, fetching a mug and heading for the cask. He turned back and introduced himself as Rolf in what felt like an afterthought as the sound of rushing liquid filled the room. Varlen didn’t bother watching what he poured or how he did it. Most folks knew better than to try to poison a Witcher now. After enough failed attempts, word gets around. 

“Took your time getting here.” The mug sloshed but didn’t spill as the man set it down in front of Varlen, the stiffness of the movement one of the only things betraying his true feelings about having a mutant at his bar. “Can’t say I’m glad to see you, but we lost another one last night, so…”

“Another one?” Varlen ignored the drink for a moment, giving the man his full attention. “How many is that now? Six?”

Rolf sighed and nodded, and something more defeated washed over him. His shoulders sagged slightly, and for a moment Varlen actually felt sorry for him. After all, the tavern was where people went to drown their sorrows. It would be difficult, being submerged in that kind of grief every day. Easy to drown in it. “No one has a clue what’s doing it,” Rolf continued with a sigh, “but whatever it is, it seems to like hunting at night.”

“Like a wolf,” Varlen muttered, picking up his mug and taking a deep gulp of ale. “Or a bear.”

“Could be.” Rolf seemed a lot more open to the idea than Varlen expected. “Sure hope we didn’t go pulling all our coin together to pay you to hunt an animal, though.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Varlen shrugged and set the mug down with a low thud. “So you have six people, all dead in the dark. Huh.” He frowned thoughtfully, then glanced up. “Men and women?”

A nod. “Four men, one woman. The Miller boy was the last taken.”

Varlen knew better than to ask, but somehow, he always did. “How old?”

“The lad?” Rolf huffed, leaning his large forearms on the wooden counter. “Not much more than fifteen winters. Can’t say I know for sure. Sorry.”

All Varlen could do was shake his head and take another drink. The boy was dead. That was always how the story went when he was involved. He was so used to it now that he never hoped for survivors. Even a wolf wouldn’t turn down such an easy meal. “Who do I speak to about the contract? You?”

Surprisingly, Rolf shook his head, then nodded towards the back of the bar. “Tall bastard over there’s who you want. He’s the one who convinced us to empty our pockets for one of your lot.”

Shifting, Varlen followed Rolf’s gaze. When he met his target, he raised his brows in surprise. Sure enough, there was a tall man at the far side of the tavern. He was in a low-backed chair, seeming almost bored, lute resting against his broad chest. His fingers absently plucked out the slow, halting rhythm that defined the room. Everything about his demeanor suggested he was a man lost in deep, melancholy thought. 

Everything except his eyes, which were locked on Varlen and likely had been since the second he set foot in the place.

The music stopped as the man stood, carefully swinging his lute across his back with the usual bardic reverence. There were no complaints that the song was over. In fact, no one even looked up as the man abandoned his post and crossed the room. Even Rolf just shook his head and disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Varlen very much alone as the bard approached. 

“Witcher.”

“Bard.” Varlen raised his mug half-heartedly. “I hear you’re the man to talk to about—”

The sound of something heavy thudding to the counter cut Varlen off mid-sentence. A brown pouch, sides bulging at odd angles, barely slid once it made contact, burdened by its own weight. Despite himself, Varlen gave a low whistle, surprised to see so much from a place that seemed to have so little. “That bad, huh?”

“Yes.” Dragging out a stool, the man sat, one foot resting against the metal bar between the stool’s legs. “If the people here had let go of their denial earlier, they wouldn’t be where they are now.” He nodded towards the room. Towards the hunched figures. The vacant eyes. The nursed ales, warming slowly to the temperature of the wavering hearth. “They’ve already paid a higher price than this.”

There was something about his words that piqued Varlen’s curiosity. “You make it sound like you’re not from here.”

“I’m not.” The man’s green eyes cut across to him. There was anger behind them, but Varlen got the distinct feeling it was not directed at anything in particular. It was just there. “I am a bard. I travel.”

Varlen hummed, lifting his mug, draining another two mouthfuls of the strangely sweet brew. “Well, you sure put in a lot of work for someone who doesn’t even live here. What’s your name?”

“Hanin.” It seemed he wasn’t going to take the bait Varlen had so casually dangled in front of him. A shame. “I take it you’re aware you aren’t dealing with an animal here.”

Sighing, Varlen nodded. “Yes. I know.” He’d felt it the closer he got to the village, like a pressure on the back of his neck. Fingers wrapping tighter and tighter. Whatever it was that lurked in the nearby forest, it was strong. It was hungry. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what it is?”

Typically, canvassing the locals was about as useful as interviewing a pig about the war with Nilfgaard. So, needless to say, Varlen nearly choked on his ale in shock when Hanin glanced around then leaned in close. When he was sure he had Varlen’s attention, he murmured a single, terrible word.

“Bruxa.”

Immediately, Varlen felt that same sensation - that same weight on the back of his neck, only this time the hairs on his arms stood as well. He didn’t need to study the man to know precisely two things. 

Firstly, that he was telling him what he really believed was the truth. 

Secondly, that he was right.

“… Shit.” Varlen groaned and ran a gloved hand down his face. What he’d give for a wolf. A pack of wolves. Shit, even something as unnatural as a pack of bears would still be preferable to a single Bruxa. “What the fuck is a Bruxa doing here?”

“Quiet.” Hanin glanced around again. His stern expression was definitely for Varlen this time. “The last thing we need is to cause a panic.”

“A little panicking wouldn’t kill them.”

“No, but fleeing their homes this close to sundown would.”

He had a point, as much as Varlen hated to admit it. In truth, if he had his way, he’d clear the whole town out, tell them to relocate, and call it a day. If they were smart, they’d go. But people were rarely smart. Not when land and legacy meant more to them than their lives. “A pissed off bruxa could wipe out this entire village in a single night,” he remarked, then glanced at the pouch of gold. “You’re going to need more than that.”

The bard’s disposition shifted again, and this time the anger behind those eyes was all Varlen’s. Lucky him. “This is everything they have to spare, Witcher.”

“Varlen.”

“I don’t care what your name is. The gold is here. Take it and do your job.”

“It’s not enough.”

“People are dying.”

“People die every day.” Varlen knew it was harsh, but reality often was. He couldn’t be blamed for that, even though he always was. “I’m not risking my life against a bruxa for pocket change.”

He could feel Hanin’s rage, now. It pulsed like a living thing, and he spat each word like a mouthful of blood. “Greedy bastard - it wasn’t ‘pocket change’ before.”

Varlen gave a bored shrug. “It wasn’t a bruxa before.” With that, he stood, the stool grating along the wooden floorboards. He checked his mug, drained the last few drops, then slid it towards the end of the bar with a small stack of dirty bowls and cups. “If I’m so greedy, find someone else to do it. Oh, and tell Rolf the brew was good. It’ll be a shame to lose it.”

Even leaving the tavern was uneventful. In a town being ravaged by a creature as deadly as a bruxa, Varlen expected something to happen. An angry blacksmith blocking his path. A weeping widow. Shit, even a pissed off widow would make more sense than the complete resignation that seemed to radiate from every person he passed on his way to the door. 

Stepping outside, Varlen paused by the town’s main road, closed his eyes, and tilted his head. The sounds of the world slowly rose to meet him, rushing forward at his insistence, surrounding him, drowning him in a steady roar. Leaves rustled high above him in the canopy and it was as though the sound was happening right against his ear. Somewhere down the road to his left, a squirrel scuttled out of a pile of drying firewood. It wasn’t what he wanted. He frowned, concentrating until he heard a sparrow sing out ahead of him, nestled somewhere well beyond the treeline.

One.

He honed in on the sound, searching for more. Seconds passed. Then a finch added its voice to the mix, its song delicate and thin. Two. The more he found, the easier it was to tune out the rest of the world’s noise. A partridge met his ears next, then a pigeon’s coo. With each new bird that joined, Varlen felt something hard sink to the bottom of his stomach. A shrike piped up. A jackdaw. A—

“Wait.”

The voice, even though it sounded distant and distorted like words spoken underwater, broke through Varlen’s focus, pulling him out of his search. Grunting, he blinked his way back to the roadside and turned to regard Hanin. The man was dressed very unassumingly for a bard, in a simple linen shirt and brown trousers. No wonder Varlen had missed him on the way in.

“I already told you, I’m not…” Varlen trailed off as the man, with no small amount of disdain, held out two bulging cloth pouches, one the same as before, the other slightly smaller. If Varlen had to guess, it was enough coin to buy him a new saddle and set of shoes for Arla, and with money left to spare. “Impressive,” he confessed, folding his arms and regarding the bard. “You must have more of a silver tongue than you let on, if you managed to get anything out of that room.”

“I don’t relish this, Witcher. Save your flattery.” With a sharp motion, he tossed the original pouch to Varlen, but kept the second firmly in hand. “That one now, this one when the job is done.”

His tone indicated that he expected an argument about that, but Varlen just hefted the pouch in his hand and shrugged. “Fine. But it better not go missing while I’m gone.”

“It won’t.” Hanin made a point of sliding the pouch into his satchel, fastening it shut with a metallic click. “Because I’m going with you.”

This time there was no helping it. Varlen stared at him blankly for a moment, then let out a bright, astonished laugh. “You’re not serious?”

Hanin did not seem to share his amusement. “I won’t risk you running off with these people’s money. I will have proof that this thing is killed.”

Again, it wasn’t the first time he’d been accused of something like that. “You have my word that I won’t run off into the night,” he said, and actually tried to sound as genuine as possible. “And I don’t give that lightly.”

“Your word means very little to me.” Moving a few steps closer, Hanin paused beside Varlen, his eyes trained on the treeline. “Listen. The birds.”

While that kind of sign was clear to Varlen, he had to admit, he was surprised to hear a bard comment on it. “Yes,” he ventured, following Hanin’s gaze. “I hear them.”

For a moment, they just stood together by the dirt road, silent, shoulders drawn tight by an unspoken tension. Then, softly, the bard began to murmur something to a tune that was barely there. 

“In the tall woods of Velen, where the oak meets the sky,

seven lost birds in the treetops did cry.

But at sundown the sound of her silent screams bled

into the dreams of the woodsman asleep in his bed…”

Quietly, Hanin trailed off, and while Varlen was certain there was more to the verse, he let the matter slide in favour of something more important. “Listen. Don’t come with me. Stay here. You will be safer.”

Again, Hanin shook his head. “I… can’t.”

“Why not?” The question seemed simple enough, but Hanin clenched his jaw tight, and something about the dread that seemed to radiate from him set the pieces in place for Varlen. “You’ve heard her, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” It seemed to take everything he had to say a single word, and for the first time Varlen noticed the dark circles beneath the bard’s eyes. “I’m not alone. Here, no one can sleep anymore.”

With a sigh, Varlen reached up and rubbed his forehead wearily. “Yes. Bruxae like to do that. The stronger ones, at least.”

“Why?”

“They’re clever. It’s dangerous for them to venture into populated places, especially if they’re alone. So they drive people half mad with nightmares. Keep them awake in the dark hours. Stop them thinking rationally.”

Hanin frowned. “The people she’s already taken all went out for a walk in the middle of the night.”

Breathing deep, Varlen nodded. “People tend to do that, after a nightmare. Something about clearing their heads.” He shrugged. “It’s probably not a bad idea. Most times.” He looked across at Hanin, the bard seeming a shade paler than usual, and tried one last time to talk some sense into the man. “The only thing more foolish would be venturing into the bruxa’s territory on purpose. You clearly know the warning sign. Don’t risk your life for this.”

The words jolted Hanin out of his reverie, but much to Varlen’s frustration, he just shook his head again. “No. I… I am going with you.” He turned slightly, glancing back at the tavern. “I’ve seen a lot of places end up like this. Watched things fall apart and towns collapse on themselves as their people are picked off one by one.”

In truth, Varlen wasn’t sure where Hanin was going with his story. But the reality was that the sun was setting and he had preparations to make. So, he started to walk down the dirt road, back towards where he left Arla tethered to a tree. “So… what makes this place any different?”

For a moment, Varlen thought Hanin had come to his senses and wasn’t going to follow. But then the sound of a second set of footsteps joined his own, Hanin’s longer legs making short work of the distance between them. “All of the other times, I convinced myself it wasn’t my problem, and I left.” He shook his head slightly, eyes trained forward, something fearful but determined in that green gaze. It would have been impressive, in any other context. “But I won’t. Not this time. I’m tired of monsters and beasts tearing people apart.”

In more ways than one, Varlen thought. In truth, he could almost understand the man’s drive. Don’t get him wrong - Hanin was clearly out of his mind, wanting to accompany him into a bruxa’s lair. But at the same time, Varlen could sympathise. He used to be like that, when he first left Kaer Morhen. He’d take any job for half the coin other Witchers asked, simply because he wanted to help. But the world had a way of beating that kind of generosity out of you. After enough shredded bodies, lifeless eyes, bloodless corpses and thankless scorn, you learn that compassion comes second to survival. It has to, or no one would be left to walk away.

“I won’t be able to protect you,” Varlen said after a moment, not bothering to sugarcoat the truth. “I’ll have a hard enough time keeping myself alive against a well-fed bruxa.”

Hanin nodded. “I don’t expect you to.”

“When we get out there, you do exactly as I say. Down to the letter.”

Another nod. 

Varlen didn’t buy it. “That means if I tell you to run, you run. No questions asked. You run all the way back here and lock yourself inside. Understood?”

“Understood.”

To Varlen’s surprise, there was something else in the man’s voice. Something almost… amused. He paused, turning to look up at Hanin skeptically. “What?”

Again, there it was. A faint quirk of the lips this time, like he was sharing a private joke with himself. “Hm? Nothing.”

Varlen narrowed his eyes at the bard, then shrugged, continuing down the road. He could see Arla now, her tail flicking back and forth as she spotted him in return. In his mind, he went through a checklist of what he needed. Moon dust bombs. A black blood potion. Vampire oil. Silver.

And beside him, Hanin walked a few feet away, a hand on his satchel, his gaze fixed on the trees. As the sun dipped low on the horizon, the shadows of the branches stretched like reaching fingers across the uneven road.

The birds had stopped singing.

[katsukikitten]

Majo - Late night

You have always been familiar with darkness, what with the many hours you've were forced into it but now it is welcomed.

There is always something about darkness that blankets you in a calm, you can hide in it so easily becoming nothing but baited breath.

Still something feels off about this darkness as you walk through it, only you are illuminated as if by moonlight or street lamps as you wander with no other streaming conciousness around you. Which is peculiar in of itself. You stop in your tracks as something odd catches your attention.

The figure stands in front of you sheathed by shadows completely, leaving you with an unsettling feeling as you stare into the featureless face before you. All your eyes can detect are slim chapped lips, that slowly open to display its maw. When the mouth is fully agape a scream tears up its throat. But it is no normal scream, no something is wrong with it. It does not sound human at all. More machine than anything.

The sound is so loud as it echoes in the stream of consciousness that it startles you awake. But the screaming doesn't stay within the confines of the dream, it escapes in the form of a blaring horn coming from a semitruck headed straight for you.

You stare like a deer in headlights, unable to fathom how you're in the middle of the street. The sound of screetching brakes pleads you to move.

So you do, dodging with seconds to spare. Your hand is clutched to your chest as your heart slams into your ribcage, attempting to run from the threat. Your fingers are shaking as you smooth your oversized shirt, one stolen from your ash blonde boyfriend which whom you should be tucked under, a muscular arm trapping you to his mattress.

You drink in your surroundings, the landscape feeling familiar and yet not before you see the figure from your dream standing as a silhouette on an upper floor apartment.

Your mouth goes dry as your throat closes up. You know that silhouette, you know that apartment from a previous conscious exertion that happened weeks ago.

Fear grips you, seizing control of your gut and sending adrenaline rushing through your veins, burning in your feet. Begging and urging you to move.

To run.

As he will keep good on his threat. And he's called you here with his soft tune that seemed like an undertone in the dream. Reminding you that although his new found quirk is weaker than your mother's was, weaker than yours, he could still sing you here.

Hum or whistle his tune to summon you, to manipulate you to force your hand. As if he were Pavlov and you the drooling dog with a bell echoing in an empty skull.

Your heart stills to a sluggish beat while your body stands petrified as the backdrop of the street melts away starting with sound. No longer can you hear the couple on the first floor screaming at one another. No longer can you hear the cars rushing past you on the busy side street and no longer can you hear the blaring buzz of the over head street light.

And how could you hear any of it over your once again rushing blood as you stare up into the shadow, eyes and teeth shining in a cruel smile.

You swallow debating if you should alert Katsuki or if you should do this alone.

"Do not let me remember them or their death will be slower than your mother's..."

You think better of it as his words echo in your head. He motions for you to join him and so you do. Climbing up the dingy stairwell with flickering lights and flecking paint all the way to the top floor. Knowing which room he would be his by feeling alone.

His thoughts are as loud as ever as you reach the hall, or at least the thoughts he proudly projects to drown out his truly twisted mind.

"That's a good little witch. Come to Papa."

You fling open the door, suddenly feeling angry that he's called you here and that you walked up those well worn steps ready to give into his demand as you always do.

He rushes you, stronger than ever, as a vice grip clamps down onto your throat. He slams you against the wall as the door creaks shut due to the uneven floor. The building attempting to foreshadow the inevitable of its future. Of buckling under the pressure of neglect.

The same foreshadowing of what is to become of you should you not tread lightly.

"You little bitch, I told you to come find me in three days not three FUCKING WEEKS!" Spittle flies from his lips and onto your cheeks. You pull your mouth into a snarl, ready to pick apart his mind but he will not allow it. His mental walls higher and thicker than you've seen in a long time.

So that was fear in his eyes that afternoon, shining bright behind too wide pupils but there is no trace of it now. Especially not with his hand bruising your throat.

"People are going to ask questions." You choke out and he eases up but does not release you.

"You owe me." His voice comes out like gravel, or nails on a chalk board and you wince, "I'm going to need a strong quirk for the boss and if I remember correctly you're in the strongest class in UA."

His smile is haunting as it splays against his too taunt and graying skin.

If the scattered needles, rotting take out and half decayed pizza boxes wasn't sign enough that something was wrong than his skin was every indication that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

His breath reeks of rot as he speaks close to your face causing your stomach to lurch from both the smell and the fear of hearing his next words.

"You're going to bring me someone from your class." His grin reveals a few blacked teeth, your blood runs cold.

But you do not show it. You inwardly square your shoulders as you grab onto his claimy arm, twisting hard but his face stays neutral.

"And if I dont?" A growl so low it could only be taught to you by one person. You feel red eyes flash over your skin and goose bumps erupt over your flesh.

"Then I guess I will just have to take that little boyfriend of yours." He shrugs, "Boss wants him bad. But I want him more. I'd risk it all just to take a stab at you, little majo."

"I don't have a boyfriend." You quip quickly, "What man would trust someone as deceitful as me."

"Someone who you taught to follow you to the plan of unconciousness." His ghastly smile returns to his worn and twisted features as he continues, "Someone with burning red eyes and ash blonde hair."

You try not to react, forcing your face not to twitch but your pounding pulse gives you away. Rushing so hard your Father is sure to feel it beneath his burnt off fingertips.

"I'm not stupid girl. But I have to admit you did damn good at keeping that memory lost." He releases your tender column just to pull you by the hair swinging you onto the bed. Dust, bugs, and reflective shards of glass scatter from the disturbance of the ruffled sheets.

"You little fucking majo! Do you know how long it took me to remember?! WHAT IS RULE NUMBER FUCKING ONE?!" He's screaming now but no one will come to your rescue, not even with the door slightly ajar.

No one will even bat an eye, too preoccupied with being miserable to aid you. Instead they will turn the volume up on their TV sets, hoping the mixture of static and reruns drown you both out.

"It took me up until tonight. Until I took another dose of Boss' serum. Then so suddenly I could see that little prick with dumbass spiked hair." He comes closer, grabbing you by the hair again, yanking hard enough that your scalp burns with the threat of releasing the roots, "Now I won't ask again. Bring me someone from class 1A or Bakugou Katsuki will become my new *favorite* toy."

You stare up at him, rushing back into the feeling of being unbearable small sending you back.

Back to when you were insignificant as he held the closet door slightly ajar and the low hall light burned your now sensitive eyes.

"And you know I play rough. See you tomorrow at 8pm, Musume." He slams your head hard agaisnt the mattress.

Hard enough it sends you back to your body that jolts up right in a cold sweat and an impossibly dry throat.

Abandoned in the room of your hotheaded boyfriend as your phone reads four in the afternoon.

An unread text banner stays stead on your home screen but is read by muddled eyes.

You didn't sleep well last night and you had a fever. I told Aizawa and got your homework. Skip training or I'll kick your ass. Text me when you wake up. ❤💥💣'

[dsmroleplay]

#SweetTorture #DSM Part Two #BDB #RP

Written by: @TohrmentNLoss & @TridentsPen

Bitty: *I felt like my body had been hallowed out. Nothing but darkness swirled in my body. There was nothing left inside of me. My heart was ripped from my body. I was drowning in the blood that poured out of me. I couldn’t breathe, I screamed and no one would hear me. Only the dead would hear me. And some fucking help the dead are. They would just hover and watch as a person broke apart.

Her tiny fingers stroked the cold stone. I never thought in my long life I would have lost my family, all in one night. That my dad, would look so cold to me. I could still feel the coldness. The way that he locked down and walked away. That broke me in ways that I don’t know if I ever come back from.

Worse of all, the one female in my life. That I had let into my heart, she promised that she would never leave me. That she would stay behind when my dad went into the fade. I would never would be alone. I would never suffer the loss of another. She’s gone and I never got to say goodbye. To hug her one last time, to tell her that I loved her. Would that have changed her mind? Would I have been able  to say something, anything to stop her? I would never know the the answers to those questions. She made up her mind to leave. To walk away from dad..me.

A deep sob broke from my lips. I curled harder into mud. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t wrap my head around the loss of my whole world.

The smell of baby powder softly tickled my nose. I paid it no mind. I had nothing left in the world.

A prick to my skin barely registered. I could feel the drug or whatever it was course through my body. I let it take me. With each part of my body that  relaxed. The faces of my family flashed before my eyes. Phantoms of my mind, each ripped from my fingers. Mom’s smiling face flashed before my eyes, I tried to reach out, but my body was heavy. I couldn’t reach her as she was ripped from me. The last to flash before me, my dad. His bright teal eyes, a smile on his face, I fought to try and reach him. But it was no use. He was ripped from me, and darkness took me.

I felt nothing, darkness pulled me deeper and deeper. I had nothing felt, I was alone. A single tear fell from my cheek as I  fell into a dark dreamless sleep.* ::::::::::::::::::: Forelesser: Lesser: -Put in a steel-reinforced room with a toilet and sleeping bag on the floor. Completed with a drain in the center of the room and a chain and hook coming down from the ceiling. Most that entered this room was removed in pieces or death. The forelesser sent men to guard the doors and plenty of security outside, JJ stood with glee in his eyes if it was really possible to feel much of anything but hey they couldn't wipe out muscle memory. Pulls a zippo from his pocket flicking it open and giving the wheel a crank lights up a smoke thinking about what he was going to do to the little bitty thing they've captured so easily if the Brothers where this lax in security then he and his pals could end their asses for good. Turning up the music till the music resonated against the walls, head nodding in time with the jams.

Smoke hanging from his lip as he took his shirt off and laid it on the table picking up a kit, he wanted to keep the vampire pliable. Lifting the steel lock and opening the door, she was still out that was good this would be easier. Kneeling by her body he picked up her arm and tied it off with an elastic band. Opening the foil not knowing how much for sure but putting enough of the heroine into the spoon it seriously kill a human. Balancing the spoon he took his lighter out hitting up the metal watching the solid melt and turn into a discolored yellow color. Taking the hypodermic needle out taking the cap off, putting the needle into the fluid draws it up into the tube. Once down he taps the woman's arm looking for a vein. Finding the brachial he inserts the needle a little testing to see if he gets a backflow of blood. Score! Got it on the first go. Pushing the heroin into her vein, once down he puts it back into the kit. Pulling up enough to get her wrists shackled overhead and secure it. Now how long would it take for the vampire to wake up and would that heroin keep her laid back enough to enjoy the torture he had planned. The Omega was aware of the capture and had rewarded JJ with some fun time with her till the final plan was put in place.

She hung there limp and he stroked her shiny black hair, if he were still human he'd had wanted to tap this for sure but all that life was gone. Now he served a higher purpose, these vampires were infesting the world and he like many others had been chosen as the great protectors of the humans. They'd been promised so much for their faithful service and no one would go against the Omega because his level of play would be what JJ would consider hell in the flesh. Vampire and Lesser pitied against each other for all time, "Fuck that", JJ wanted out of this shit so he could go do his own thing although he didn't realize there was no life waiting for him but this. Aggressive and ambitious he'd risen fast through the ranks because he believed if he pleased the Omega he'd reward him.

Walking out of the solid cell he hooked up a roll of firefighter hose to city water tanker just out back in the alley and had one of the guys turn it on. She had dirt all over her and he was sure she'd appreciate being clean? I mean women need to look their best for their owners, picking up a knife he cut her clothes off. Such a tiny thing she was, she'd made a killin' at pulling trix's for him. Backing up he picked up the nozzle and opened it full blast, the water pressurized would hurt like a bitch and erode skin slowly away and cause micro-fractures in the new flesh above the dead skin cells.- WAKE UP BITCH! BATH TIME! ::::::::::::::: Bitty: *The sweet silence of the darkness. There was no pain, no broken heart, no feeling of loss. A loss of my family, a family that was meant to be. But now it wasn’t. That broke something inside of me. That I never thought would break. Even knocked out, the anger I had, boiled beneath the surface. It was easier to hate, then it was to deal with the pain. I hold onto the hate and anger, that course through my body, like a poison. It would eat alive the last of who I am, and what I was meant to be.

As I floated in the darkness, pain started to register, cold washed over my body. As my skin burned. It burned like that of acid against my skin.

I fought to open my eyes and i didn’t know why. Gritting my teeth, as my eyes opened. Blasted with cold water. The assault on my body made me want to scream. But I had has pain worse then this. I would bare it, and not show any feelings. That was easy, they were locked away anyways.

As the water covered my body, shaking, head hang. I barely could lift my own head. Eyes cold and hallow see the blurry image of a man. A hint of baby powder tickled my nose. My voice flat, I forced the words through my teeth.* is that all you got, you dick less fuck. *my words a little slurred.* Can’t expect anything to bright from the likes of you. *a growled rolled through my chest.* Might want to try harder. *i smirked through the assault. I didn’t care if pissed off the lesser. What did I have left to lose? Nothing.* :::::::::::::: Forelesser: -JJ looked at the bitch with a sneer.- What a mouth you have on you little vampire... your Daddy must be so proud. -He laid the hose down and went over and backhanded her. Then punched her in the guy.- No wonder the Omega wants you dead. You are a filthy abomination. You'd be dead already but you're bait. We'll see how much of a smart mouth you have once we play more. Do you think you're in pain? Poor little Bitty? You haven't seen pain yet. But all in good time. ::::::::: Bitty: *Face unreadable, I hung in the middle of the room. Tingling pain raced all over my flesh. I almost smirked, but I didn’t have it in me at the moment. At the mention of my dad, my heart stuttered in pain. I wouldn’t let it show. I couldn’t show anything.

The backhand across my face made head whip to the side. Pain bloomed as I saw stars. Air whooshed out of my lungs, gripping the chains my head hung down. I couldn’t curl into a ball. My body was to heavy. Trying to get breath in my lungs, wheezing a chuckle.* Am I, or is it you? *blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. Lifting my head as best I could, meeting his eyes.* You..can’t even get it up to fuck. It’s just a limp muscle between your legs. *I didn’t care I was pushing. Fuck, I didn’t care what happened to me.* Wait.. *taking a shuttering breath.* I bet..  ...you love it in ass I bet. Does your daddy, fuck you lesser? *chuckling once more, face unreadable.* Don’t hold back now. Wouldn’t want your daddy to take his dick from you. *I wasn’t scared of what was to come. If I lived or died, who the fuck cared?* ::::::::::: Forelesser: You sound like a cheap whore, maybe once this is all said and done they'll let me turn you out as trick. Would be fitting, I mean you do seem to have a very dirty mouth on you. -He went outside the room and brought back his took kit and opened it. Picking up a blowtorch he lit it, eyes glazed over as he walked closer. He adjusted the flame making it hotter, changing from blue to nearly clear putting the torch to the bottom of foot.- This might hurt... -Laughs- :::::::::: Bitty: *Head swimming, the room was tilting on its axles. Shaking my head trying to clear. What the fuck was wrong with me. But one thing, I felt good. I felt nothing of my emotions. I could get use to this. Chuckling, hair draping around my face like a curtain.* Nah, wouldn’t want me to bite a dick off. Bad for business. Tell you what, let’s trying my skills out of you. You don’t need your dick anyways. *Eyes closing, rode the high I was on. I could hear everything around me. Fuck it was loud. I didn’t care what the asshole was doing.

Time passed,  hell if I knew how long. The sound of torch and then the blistering heat. Gritting my teeth, grinding hard. I wasn’t about to scream. Pain raced through my body from the souls of my feet. My skin boiled, it felt like my skin was dripping off. The hot fire exposed my muscles, frying the nerves on the bottoms of feet. Fuck it hurt! Breathing Bitty breath. I chanted to myself.* :::::::::::::: Lesser: He watched, she was stronger than most men he'd tortured. But he'd find a way to break her, after all that was the point. Pulling the flame away he put it to the bottom of her other foot. The smell of burnt skin hang heavy in the air as he alternated it against her foot and legs.- ::::::::: Bitty: *The brief moment of reprieve made my whole body sag. Shutting my eyes as tight as I could. It was over for now. But that was all wishful thinking on my part. Flames licked and kissed against the flesh of my other foot. The flesh of my legs blistered and popped. My blood weeped  and bubbled from the burns of my legs, cooking against my burnt flesh. Hissing, a growl rolls through my chest, head falling back. My body trembled and shook. Pain seared through my body. I didn’t scream oh no, I started laughing. Pulling my head up, it hung to the side.* I.. that..tickles. *something had broke inside of me. The pain was going to drive me over edge. I might already be falling into the abyss and not know it.* ::::::::: Forelesser: -He shut the torch off and sat it aside. Lighting up a joint he sat on the edge of the table looking at her.- Does anyone even give a fuck you're gone? I mean your Daddy is a "Brother" suppose to be some badass but I'm not seeing him anywhere princess. They've brainwashed you know that right? You're not blood to him or any of them, they think they're this bunch of heroes but in truth, they were never supposed to exist. Do they train you? Teach you have to keep from getting yourself into these predicaments? You wanna borrow my cell phone and call for help? -Pulls out his cell, holding it up.- You be good little princess and I'll let you call your Daddy and we'll see if he comes to save you yeah? It's a win-win, so you game? :::::::::: Bitty: *His words were like a dagger driven into my heart and soul. Each word pushed the dagger deeper. I was bleeding out, there was no way to stop it. I was drowning it. Yeah I wasn’t blood, no I lost my family long ago. I watched my mahmen die as I spoke. My father? Left for the   Sun. A flash of dad’s cold, closed off eyes came to mind. The way he walked away from me. Z..holding my dad’s beast. The way dad asked about Z, but he didn’t even know I was there. My mom left me. They broke their promise to me.

My face a stone mask. I let nothing show. How hurt and broken I truly am. Eyes locked on the fucker before me. All the words he spoke were true. Even Tohr left me, our...I couldn’t even think about them. They were better off without me anyways.

Was it all really a lie?

I didn’t answer it. Because I didn’t know the answer. I thought I knew, but I don’t know anymore.

Eyeing his cell phone. A smirk crawled across my lips.* As you said..he won’t come. I bet if you sent him pictures or video. *laughing without humor.* He still won’t come. But let’s play your game. Don’t hold back  on me. Because I do love games. ::::::::::::::::: Forelesser: Alright, we'll do it your way. Which is your dominant hand vampire? Or do you do mundane things like writing? -Walking over to her he reached up and took hold of her pinkie on her right hand.- Should we try right first? -And without even blinking he broke her finger.- :::::::::::::: Bitty: *I wasn’t about to make this easy on him. No. I smirked watching him.* Why ask? There’s no fun in that if I just give it all up. *pain ripped through my hand and up my arm. I could feel the bone as it broke, as well as heat it. It was at an odd angle now. I groaned, panting. A sheen of cold sweat covered my face. Body shaking from the pain.* Oh I read and write. I’m a smart one. ::::::::::::: Forelesser: Smartass maybe. Intelligent? Not so much, you are hanging here being tortured by the enemy. Just saying. -Snaps her ring and middle finger nonchalantly. Walking over to the table he picked up a knife.- You like blood right? Me too. -Psychotic smile.-

[argylemnwrites]

Living with the Consequences

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Post The Royal Heir, Chapter 2)

Word Count: ~1900

Rating:  PG-13 (adult language)

Summary: Drake knew that choosing to allow their child to be named heir to the throne would have its complications. He just didn’t fully realize how many of them there would be, or how soon they would hit.

Author’s Note: Written for Day 2 of the Choices July Challenge (prompt - Regret). Trigger warning for mentions of pregnancy loss and blood.

I know that PB won’t give us a miserable MC and her spouse in TRH, regardless of how stressful and upsetting I think this whole our-baby-will-be-heir scheme would be in reality for Drake and MC. But after chapter 2 of TRH, I just had a lot of angsty ideas, and I wanted to explore them.

The first twinges of regret came early. If Drake thought that the media attention when they arrived home at Valtoria was overwhelming, that was nothing compared to the sheer frenzy after the announcement was made: their baby would be named heir to the throne upon his or her birth. Drake knew that their, no his, choice would draw more attention to the two of them, but he was quickly realizing that he hadn’t fully processed the ramifications as he found himself staring at shot after shot of his wife’s midriff all over every news website.

The content of the articles was endless speculation with zero actual sources, of course. It was the typical cheap, lazy bullshit he was used to from the press. But the photos were nothing he anticipated. It was like the rest of her barely existed, a token full body shot to prove that the torso in question belonged to her. That all that mattered about her was whether or not she was pregnant.

“What have I agreed to put her through?” cycled through his head over and over. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at his phone. Eventually though, he was jolted out of his self-loathing thoughts by a pair of hands on his shoulders. His first instinct was to kill his phone screen. Shield her from the stories for as long as possible. But she was quicker than him, reaching down and snatching his phone from his hand, her long hair swinging against his cheek as she leaned over his shoulder.

He waited with baited breath as she skimmed over the screen, wondering just how pissed at him she would be.

“Well, at least I was wearing a cute shirt,” she quipped, handing him his phone back before she walked around the island, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and pouring herself some coffee.

“You aren’t mad?” Drake couldn’t believe how cavalier she was acting about the whole thing.

She shrugged as she walked over to the fridge, pulling out the creamer. “These photos were kind of inevitable. At least they were taken on a public sidewalk, not drone shots on our grounds.”

Taking a sip of her coffee, she walked back to the other side of the island, plunking herself down on the stool next to him and grabbing a muffin out of the basket before she continued, “Besides, they’re wrong, at least this month.”

“So you got your-”

“Yeah, this morning.”

So, she wasn’t pregnant yet. It did explain why she was drinking coffee today. Drake wasn’t sure how he felt about that. How he was supposed to feel about that. Hell, he wasn’t really sure how she was feeling about it. But one thought kept creeping back into his mind as they shared their breakfast - Should he be glad that the speculation in the article was wrong, or should he dread the fact that they would probably have to endure this all again next month?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drake thought he felt bad about his choice before. But as he looked at the article on the tablet Bastien handed him, he wanted to be sick. What had he gotten them into?

“What the fuck is this shit, Bastien?”

“It came through on our media cull for mentions of Liam. Obviously, The Ruby Rise is not known as a reputable source, but this story is salacious enough we fear it might gain traction.”

“We?”

“Liam was notified, of course.”

Drake sighed, “And he sent you to deal with it?”

Bastien paused for a moment before he responded, “He wasn’t sure if you wanted his input on anything related to this pregnancy at this point.”

Drake clenched his jaw. He knew that Bastien was trying to frame things diplomatically, but things between him and Liam had been pretty strained recently. It had all started with that positive pregnancy just two months after they’d agreed to Liam’s plan to name their child heir. Liam had asked them to announce the pregnancy early. It would ease the pressure on him so much, he’d said. But only five weeks later, when Riley’s scream had woken him up and he’d seen the blood all over the pyjama pants, the sheets, her skin, suddenly what should have been their private loss had to be a national story.

Drake knew he wasn’t being fair to Liam. It’s not like the miscarriage was his fault. But if he hadn’t had them announce in the first trimester, they would have been able to grieve and heal together, without reporters breathing down their necks for an exclusive interview. And no number of apologies from Liam could change that fact. 

So a few months later, when they had a second stick with a plus sign, they made the decision to not tell anyone until the second trimester. That had been a few weeks ago, and when they invited their closest friends over to Valtoria to announce their good news, it was clear that Liam wasn’t thrilled they had kept it from him. Since then, their once open friendship felt tense and closed off. More adversarial, confrontational. It hadn’t helped that Liam had asked for numerous public appearances from the two of them, not seeming to understand that Riley’s morning sickness was still horrific and had no respect for its name, popping up at all hours of the day, causing Riley to want to stay home near a bathroom. It had not shown any improvement like her doctor hoped it would by this point, making Drake defensive, wanting to protect her from any additional stresses.

When he took moments to think about it, Drake knew more of his anger was directed at himself than at Liam. If he hadn’t said yes to this insane scheme, if he had just focused on protecting his family, then Riley wouldn’t have had to endure half the shit she’d been put through. The most recent offense was the list of “approved names” that had arrived at Valtoria two mornings ago. Drake had been ignoring the texts from Liam, asking if they had a chance to review the “communication.” He hated feeling like there was this third awkward party in this pregnancy.

And now, this. A piece of tabloid trash, to be sure. Drake just hoped it didn’t gain any traction with the larger news outlets.

“Thanks for letting us know. Lemme go warn her before she sees it.”

Bastien said his farewells, perfectly comfortable seeing himself out as Drake went upstairs to their bedroom. Waking Riley up with this would not be pleasant, but he had to let her know about this sooner rather than later. But when he got to their bedroom, their bed was empty. Her phone was sitting on her pillow, though. She often browsed some websites before she got out of bed for the day, and Drake just had a bad feeling about what she could have been reading this morning. He unlocked it and saw it was on The Ruby Rise website. Well, shit.

The sound of Riley retching in their bathroom interrupted his thoughts. He slowly pushed the door open, crouching down next to her by the toilet, taking her hair out of her hands and holding it back himself. She gagged several more times before sighing and shifting backward, leaning against the side of the bathtub and closing her eyes.

Drake ran his hand across her shoulder, letting her catch her breath for a few moments before broaching the topic.

“Is it morning sickness, or did you see the article?”

“Yes,” she said, opening her eyes and looking at him. She looked exhausted.

“Yes to which one?”

“Both. I’m pretty sure it’s the morning sickness, but seeing that someone decided to publish that they have some bullshit ‘source’ who has it on good authority that we have a traditional Cordonian marriage and that the only reason our child will be heir is that it might be Liam’s didn’t exactly do anything to soothe my stomach.”

“Riley, I’m so sorry.” Drake had lost track of the number of times he’d apologized to her since their honeymoon. “I never should have made you agree to this.”

She just shook her head. “Drake, you didn’t make me do anything. We decided to do this together.”

He brushed her hair back, dropping a kiss against her temple. Her revisionist history was sweet, but Drake knew that the blame here lay more with him. But at this point, all he could do was try to make her life easier in any way possible.

“You want some of that mint tea?”

She nodded. “Thanks, I’m just gonna brush my teeth and meet you downstairs.”

As he went to their kitchen, pulling the kettle out of cupboard and grabbing the tea bags, he tried to calm his own thoughts. He needed to stay steady for her. But that article kept running through his mind. It was just one more burden on their road to becoming parents. He just wasn’t sure at this point how many more of them they could endure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drake didn’t think it was possible for him to love anyone more than he loved Riley, but forty-two hours of labor later, he learned that wasn’t the case. The moment he held their child, his son, in his arms, he felt a wave of emotion, of love and protectiveness, that he’d never felt before. His love for Riley grew, too. Somehow, someway, he felt so much more than he ever had before. It was overwhelming, but in the most perfect way possible.

Or rather, these moments would have been perfect if he had never agreed to Liam’s insane plan. Because this wasn’t just their child. He was Cordonia’s future king, at least for now. And that meant they couldn’t just keep him to themselves.

So now, mere hours later, a team of stylists were swarming around Riley, brushing her hair, putting on makeup. Because god forbid she looked like she had just been in labor for almost two days. She had to look polished. Poised. Like the mother of a future monarch.

Liam had seemed genuinely sorry when he arrived, telling them that the length of Riley’s labor was causing a lot of concern, and that moving up the first public appearance would help soothe tensions. Drake wondered if he should have fought it more, but here they were.

As Riley winced as she was helped into a pretty green dress, Drake felt powerless, standing there watching, holding their newborn son, trying to protect him from the vultures of the press and the court for just a few more minutes.

And then they were whisked through the hallways, much more security surrounding them than before. Liam joined them in the lobby with a sad smile.

“I can’t thank you both enough. I know I can never repay you for all of this.”

Drake nodded roughly before turning to Riley, “Are you ready for this?”

She shrugged. “I guess,” she replied, standing up from her wheelchair and stepping close to him to take their son into her arms before the public appearance. As they struggled through passing him between the two of them, an awkward task they hadn’t quite gotten the hang of yet, she dropped her voice, whispering so that Liam couldn’t hear them.”

“Do you ever wish we’d just told him no?”

“Everyday, Walker. Every damn day.”

Tags: @dcbbw @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @butindeed @choicesjulychallenge @kinda-iconic

[malereader-inserts]

Tribulation

Fandom: Kingsman Pairing: Harry Hart x Son!Reader Summary: tribulation/ˌtrɪbjʊˈleɪʃ(ə)n/noun : a cause of great trouble or suffering. OR a state of great trouble or suffering. Word Count: 1993 A/n: HEY HAPPY ONE YEAR OF THE BLOG! 5TH OF JAN I MADE THIS BLOG AND LOOK AT US - ENJOY THIS FIC

Harry loved his son with his whole heart.

The problem was the fact that it was hard to show it, as a Kingsman you were never supposed to have a relationship and having a kid could risk the agent and the child itself to more potential harm. 

You knew of your dad’s line of work, you were twelve years old - a wide-eyed boy with curiosity in his eyes and a lot of admiration to his father. As you grew up older, you grew to resent the man. 

With the lack of affection and care, you’ve assumed that your father had even forgotten you had existed. Most mornings he had left the house and returning days later or late into the night. When you manage to bump into each other in the house it’s often awkward.

Harry wished he could be a better father, but he felt like he was too late to try. Moments when he returns home for tea, you always take your food away from the kitchen, refusing to eat with him. When he has a day off and suggest that you both should do some bonding, you would scoff and make up an excuse to do some University work. 

He tried being a dad, telling you off and scowling when he sees the butterfly tattoo on your upper arm on your left. Tried to scowl at you when you end up getting jumped by taking a shortcut through the rough ends of London. Yet you dismissed them with equal rage and annoyance. 

You somehow ended up calling him Harry rather dad, he just hadn’t been in your life so he had no right to be called a dad. 

You wished he had tried harder when you were younger, you remember the nights when he would tuck you into bed and read you a bedtime story. Or telling tales of his missions and what Merlin had been doing lately, visiting your uncle James but he takes pride being called Lancelot.

When you turned ten, everything just seems to wash away. The tales of the missions, your visit to the headquarters, your worth to your father just gone.

It was amazing how your dad barely knew how old you were. He had assumed that you were the same age as Eggsy with the ripe age of twenty-three yet you stood younger than the desirable son at the age of twenty-one. Not much of a difference, yet Harry saw everything between the gap.

“Where you going young man?”

“Out,” You mumbled, shrugging your jacket on, “Not like you would care anyway, see you whenever.”

“(Y/n),” Harry had a warning tone, a glare that you basically became immune to.

“Harry!” You mocked.

“You know I care for you, don’t ever say that,” Harry scowled, and yet here you were rolling your eyes again, “Those people are bad news, the-”

“The world’s a piece of bad news and I’m here to protect you from the dangers of it,” You voiced back his words from a previous similar conversation, “Forget it, Harry, you make me feel like I’m not good enough.”

Typical attitude of a teenager/young adult as you slam the door shut. Harry could barely stop you when he hears the engine rev up outside his house, with you shouting in joy and glee. He watches a car speeding off, he shakes his head and sits back on his office chair.

An hour later, Eggsy came through the door with a grin, “Hey Harry!”

The boy was cheerful, sent a wave to the older man as he holds a white plastic bag with a takeaway.

“Eggsy.”

“Merlin’s on his way too,” Eggsy smiles, “He heard I bought KFC and wanted some - lads only, amirite?”

Eggsy grinned as there was a knock on the door which he had answered, Harry softly smiles, sitting on his office chair. Elbow leaning on the armrest and his hand covering his lips as his eyes flicker to the picture of you when you were eleven on his desk.

Eggsy making himself at home as he shrugs off his jacket whilst Merlin unpacks the takeaway on the desk, which Harry couldn’t complain. 

“Hey, Harry, is this when you were young?” Eggsy asked, looking at a bookshelf, noticing a picture of you with your rugby uniform, aged fourteen, a grin on your lips as you hold a trophy in your hands, mucked from head to toe with dirt.

Harry looked over, remembering how he was on a mission during that game, but your mother had visited you and took the picture, it was one of the few memories you had left of her.

“My son, (Y/n),” Harry responded as Merlin looked at him with his eyebrow raised at the mention of you, “He’s currently out.”

“I didn’t know you had a son,” Eggsy continues, sitting across Harry and next t Merlin, “Why’d you pick me rather (Y/n)?”

“(Y/n) is emotionally driven rather logic paving the way, that and I never wanted to see my son in the field, he’s never showed any interest really.”

“That and Harry and his son don’t have the best of relationship,” Merlin continues, addressing the elephant in the room. Merlin gave his friend a sheepish smile, “Sorry.”

Eggsy looked awkward, he had noticed photos of you in the office, barely outside the room. He wondered if there was any reason behind them, but brushed it off as Harry continues to talk about you.

“I don’t have a good feeling tonight,” 

You knew your father had bad guys, enemies, but you never thought as yourself worthy to be held against you will to be bait to your father. But, all you remember was going out with your friends for the night and calling for a taxi cab to take you home.

Next thing you knew, a needle was in your neck and everything was becoming fuzzy. So, here you were awake, your hands tied behind the chair and your legs roped with the legs of the chair. 

“Where is Harry Hart?” A masked man with two other men with sharp objects stood behind the main man.

“Fuck knows,” You spat at him, “I’m not his fucking GPS.”

The man in the middle chuckled, “You’ve got an attitude, kid, tell me where your dad is or this will be less painful.”

You knew your dad could be home, yet, deep down inside you, you just couldn’t tell where he was because he is your blood. You don’t betray your own for your own safety. You clenched your hands into a fist as you glared at the three men.

“Give me your best fucking shot.”

“He’s missing, I know he is,” Harry gritted his teeth, “He might hate me, Merlin, but he would never run away - not having his whole life here.”

Merlin nodded, his finger typing furiously on the keyboard trying to locate the chip in your necklace, which was given by your mother. Your mother wasn’t part of the Kingsman but suggested to Harry if you were ever lost, missing, kidnapped or something along those lines the necklace would guide him to you.

You had been missing for two days and Harry hadn’t been thinking well. At first, he wondered if you were with your friends, but they had shown up wondering where you had disappeared off to which made the worry and anxiety sink into Harry.

Meanwhile, within the two days, you have never felt your body endure so much pain and aches. You didn’t know that different knives could do different damage and yet by now, you could identify which knife out of the six they had they were using on you. You’ve felt the burns from the lighter, cigarette burns on you as they smoke a couple and put them out by pressuring the lit end on your skin.

Sometimes, when they had a few drinks down them they would use their fist, the number of times you’ve been sent flying on the chair from their heavy punches where high. What you hated the most is when you refused to speak they would tip the chair onto its back legs as one covers your mouth and nose, flushing loads of water on to you. God, drowning wasn’t pleasant. 

“Wanna talk yet?” 

Lifting your head up slightly, the black eye, cut face as you spat blood out from your mouth. There was still a glare on your end if this was your head then fuck it.

“I’m never going to tell.”

The man stood in front of you, looked up at the two men by your side awaiting orders. He nodded, “Hold him down,” a swizz blade snapped out, “I’m skinning that butterfly tattoo off.”

Your eyes widen, pressure on your shoulders grew heavy. Despite your ever-growing hatred for your father, that was the only thing that kept the good memories of the older times alive. The blue butterfly was your dad’s favourite as you remembered correctly.

You tighten your grip on the chair and closed your eyes.

It was the last you saw the tattoo on you.

Harry knew he shouldn’t have burst into the enemy base camp, but the only thing he cared about was your survival whilst Roxy and Eggsy can take care of other matters. He wanted to grab you and take you to the agency hospital.

“Alright, to find (Y/n) you’ll need to use these directions...”

Merlin’s voice was drowned out in Harry’s thought as he gripped the rifle in hand. Eggsy and Roxy taking the lead in killing any people that tried to stop Harry from reaching you.

“Harry turn to the next room on the left!”

Harry didn’t hesitate as he holds the gun up and sees you, passed out he assumed, guarded by two men. 

“Don’t touch him, don’t you fucking touch him.” Harry sneered as he starts to fire the gun, killing both the men.

Dropping to his knees, not caring if he was staining the suit, he placed the gun next to him as both his hands went to your face. His right hand to your neck to feel a shallow, weak pulse whilst his left hand tried to push your head upright.

“(Y/n)?” He murmured, “Oh, my child, I promised to protect  you.”

You stirred softly, gently waking up as Harry took out a small Kingsman gadget to use a laser beam to untie you from the ropes. You were fast to open your eyes when you feel someone throwing your arm over their shoulder.

You whine, groan and moan - one after the other.

“I’ve got you.“ You hear your dad speak, holding your weight as your feet were just carrying as much as they could hold out, often stumbling over themselves, “Please be okay.”

“Dad?”

Your voice was broken, almost sounding like you were about to lose your voice. It was quiet and Harry was sure you’d probably start having delusions and hallucinations if you don’t stop the bleeding from a concerning stab wound. Your voice was soft as well, yet there was comfort within the tone.

Pressing your forehead against your father’s shoulder, your speech slurred as you felt your dad carry you to safety.

“I’m sorry I failed you, I should’ve been there,” Harry was guilty but there was movement in you, a tighter grip over his shoulders - as if it was a bad attempt to say that you disagreed.

“You could never fail me, dad, you always make me proud.”

Harry could have broken down in tears just then, you were so close to making the helicopter as Roxy and Eggsy shoot down people behind you two. Harry softly smiles.

“You got to stay awake,” Harry mused as you mumble about something it hurting and it was too difficult, “You know, your mum would be proud of you.”

“I don’t need her to be proud of me, I need yours.”

“Then you’ll always have it.”

[turtle-steverogers]

titanium- 2

whoaihfslkjfl heres chap 2

chap one is on my masterlist under #masterlist or under #titanium,,,somewhere

warnings: mentions of suicide, implied past abuse, pain, violence,,,tread lightly

editing: noooo and its vvvv obvi sorry

ship: eventual ralbert

Race held up a hand, wincing as Albert’s words echoed in his brain, causing a sharp pain to shoot through his skull and down his neck.  He lowered himself shakily to the pavement, overexertion causing the familiar soreness of fatigue to spread through his body.  He wasn’t used to being this out of control.  Usually, he could reign in his abilities, focusing them on a singular point and never allowing them to get to the point of danger.  

Queso nudged his nose under his arm, resting his chin on Race’s shoulder and licking his neck soothingly as he reached up to rub at his temples, willing the pressure to go away.  He was aware that his nose was bleeding heavier still, which wasn’t helping his case in the slightest, but he didn’t have the means nor the energy to try to stop it.  

“Queso, c’mere boy,” Albert coaxed, his voice still shaking with fear, “Get away from him.”

He reached out to grab his collar, but Queso turned his head and growled, nipping at his hand.  Albert pulled his hand away abruptly, frowning when Queso resumed his position on Race’s shoulder, continuing to nuzzle into him as he regained command over his mind.  

Police sirens wailed in the distance and Race lifted his head, a familiar wave of anxiety washing over him.  

“Shit, fuck,” Albert hissed, head also turned in the direction of the sirens, “Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, uhh-” he pulled off his hat, raking a hand through his hair and glancing nervously down at Race and Queso, “Are you good to stand?” he asked Race.

Race nodded sluggishly, using the wall behind him to push himself into a standing position.  The world tilted violently and he pitched forward, stumbling into Albert’s arms.  Albert’s eyes widened and he straightened Race up, leaning him on the wall before taking a step backwards.

“Just,” Race closed his eyes, head lolling lazily, “Gimme a minute.”

He mindlessly dug into his back pocket, extracting his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out.  He sighed in relief as he lit it, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs and calm him down.  The pressure that had remained constant in his head all day eased up slightly and the nausea seeped out of him in waves.  Queso had resumed licking behind his ear and he sighed, feeling calmer than he’d felt all day.

“Can you,” Albert’s voice wavered and Race looked up to see him standing even further away than before, arms wrapped defensively around his stomach as he eyed Race, “Can you...not do that.”

“What?” Race frowned, taking another drag and Albert flinched, involuntary tears filling his eyes, which he hastily wiped away.

“That,” Albert pointed a shaking hand at the cigarette in Race’s hand, “Please stop.”

With a jolt, Race remembered the burn scars that covered Albert’s arms and he threw down his cigarette, bending his leg awkwardly in front of him to stomp it out.

“Lord, I’m sorry,” Race said as Queso paced away from him, crossing to Albert, who had knelt down next to the wall, right hand pressed against his eyes as he attempted to regulate his breathing.  

Queso sniffed at him a bit before shoving his nose underneath Albert’s armpit.  Albert chuckled breathlessly, pulling his hand away from his face and scratching under Queso’s chin.  

“That’s okay,” Albert shook his head, “But seriously,” he fixed Race with a confused and almost pleading look, “What the fuck happened back there?”

“I, uh,” Race bowed his head, “I’m…” He trailed off, trying to think of how to explain himself.

“Fuck, Jesus!” Albert squeaked and Race lifted his head to see miscellaneous pieces of trash floating around them,.

“Sorry, fuck, sorry,” Race said, willing the trash to move away from them, “I’m stressed.”  

Albert watched with wide eyes as the trash floated to a nearby dumpster, depositing itself in next to various trash bags, “Whoa,” he breathed, “So you’re psychic?”

“Um, no,” Race stood, tilting his head and wincing when he heard it crack, “That’s like, mind-reading and shit.  I guess I’m technically, like, telekinetic?”

“Whoa,” Albert repeated, “That’s fucking awesome.”

Race shrugged one shoulder, eyes darting to the mouth of the alleyway as shouts echoed outside of it, “Not really.  Kinda sucks if I’m being honest.”

“Oh,” Albert bit his lip, “How long’ve-”

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Race asked, a panicked edge to his voice as Queso started barking at something in the distance, “I’m incredibly fucked right now.”

“I don’t know where else we can go,” Albert said, a defensive lilt to his tone, “I don’t got no safe space either.”

“Yeah, okay,” Race scrunched up his nose, considering their options.  If he wasn’t being targeted before, the police were definitely after him now.  

The distant sounds of the city washed over him.  Cars honked from the street, dogs barked loudly as people shouted to one another.  Everything seemed so uniformly hectic, that Race cursed himself for not being able to find a solution within the confines of this goddamn place.  

He tried to focus, zoning out Albert’s frantic questions and Queso’s insistent barking as he stared at the street.  Car after car passed through his vision, but the world seemed to whiten as a taxi zoomed past and he gasped, new options lighting the way for him.

“I got it,” He breathed, turning to Albert, who shut his mouth.

“Got what?” Albert frowned, cocking his head slightly.

“A taxi,” Race said, a giddy grin spreading across his face as his plan solidified in his mind.  He didn’t wait for Albert’s answer as he rushed out of the alleyway, Queso on his heels.  

He tried to relax being back out in the open.  Being on edge would only draw unwanted attention to him and he couldn’t afford that.

He waved his hand, hoping to flag down one of the many taxi drivers that sped by him.  Albert was pulling on his sleeve, trying to get his attention, but he shook him off.

“Trust me,” he murmured as a taxi pulled up, “I know what I’m doing.”

Albert raised his eyebrows as Race opened the backdoor, allowing Queso to hop in before sliding in himself.

“You coming?” Race leaned sideways in his seat, staring at Albert who was still standing nervously outside of the taxi.

“Isn’t this risky?” Albert asked, bending down so that their conversation was kept somewhat private.

“Yes, but I’ve got an idea,” Race peered at him with pleading eyes, “Trust me?”

“Not really,” Albert deadpanned.

“I’ve got your dog.”

Albert squinted at him, shifting his jaw as his gaze traveled to Queso, who was now lying in Race’s lap, “You got me there,” he swooped down to enter the vehicle, “Scoot over.”

“Where am I takin’ ya?” The taxi driver asked, not bothering to look back at them, much to Race’s relief.  

“Towards Jersey,” Race said.  It was a vague answer, but the taxi driver seemed to take it as he sped away from the curb.

Race and Albert waited with baited breath as they drove through the city.  Traffic wasn’t particularly bad that day, but it wasn’t fast moving either and they were caught up at different intersections more often than not.  Every time a police car passed, Race ducked his head reflexively and Queso would give him a comforting lick.  

Albert was gripping the seat in front of him as if it were a lifeline.  All things considered, he was calm, but it was evident that he hadn’t yet processed the events of that day.  His tongue was poking between his teeth, as if he were physically restraining himself from talking and Race could imagine the questions he was going to be bombarded with once they reached solitude.

The George Washington Bridge loomed closely in the distance and Race’s chest bubbled in anticipation as he called for the taxi driver to pull over next to a mostly remote bodega.  

“I’m gonna need your help,” Race muttered, leaning a little closer to Albert as the taxi slowed to a stop.

Albert glanced at him, alarmed, “With what?”

“Hang tight,” As soon as the taxi driver put the car in park, Race closed his eyes, willing for his subconscious to focus in on the image of the driver in his mind.  He clenched his jaw as energy sparked in his gut, travelling up to his brain and enveloping his entire being.  He squeezed his hands into fists, blood rushing loudly in his ears as he felt the tips of his fingers heat up.  

Opening his eyes, he reached forward, zeroing in on the back of the driver’s head as he pressed his left pointer and middle finger to his ear.  The driver’s eyes wided momentarily before he slumped forward, mouth hanging open as his forehead rested on the steering wheel.

“Oh my fuck,” Albert jumped, sliding away from Race and pressing himself to the window, “Did you just-”

Race shook his head, “He’s not dead,” he assured Albert, diving uncoordinatedly into the front seat and digging through the driver’s pockets, “And that wasn’t my best work, so he’s gonna wake up soon,” he let out a little triumphant hum when he found a wallet in one of the driver’s pockets.

“Are you gonna steal that?” Albert asked warily.

“I don’t got no money,” Race said, avoiding Albert’s gaze as he rifled through the wallet, pleased to find a fair amount of cash, as well as several credit cards in it, “And neither, it seems, do you, sooo…” he trailed off, fixing Albert with a pointed look as he shoved the wallet in his own back pocket, behind his pack of cigarettes.

“Help me get this guy into that alley,” Race jerked his head to the alley next to the bodega outside the car and climbed back into the backseat, holding Queso by the collar as he opened the door.

Albert blinked at him, dumbfounded, before following.  He was tense as he helped Race drag the taxi driver’s body out of the front seat, glancing around nervously as they set him down against the wall of the alley.

“Anyway,” Race exclaimed, wiping his hands on his jeans as they trekked back towards the taxi, “Let’s get out of here.”

Albert huffed out a disbelieving laugh, “Your plan was to steal a taxi?”

Race nodded as he made to climb into the driver’s seat, “Essentially.”

“Oh, hey, no,” Albert rushed forward, yanking Race away from the door, “You are not driving this thing.”

Race scowled, “Why not?”

“I don’t want none of your,” He gestured wildly at Race, face rumpling as he tried to find the words for it, “Blam blam shit to crash the car.”

“Blam blam shit?” Race quirked an amused eyebrow.

“Superpowers, telekinesis, whatever!” Albert exclaimed, pushing past Race and climbing into the driver’s seat, “Just get in.”

Race laughed as he circled around the car, ducking into the passenger’s seat and buckling himself in.  Albert adjusted the mirrors, grinning at Queso resting in the backseat as he pulled back onto the street.

“So, where are we headed?” he asked, casting Race an apprehensive glance.

Race gave a noncommittal grunt as he stared out the window, resting his chin on his palm, “Anywhere.”

XXX

“Tell me about your shit,” Albert turned off the radio, breaking the silence between him and Race.  They’d been driving for close to an hour, taking aimless turns and avoiding police cars when needed.  They didn’t really have a destination, both boys desperate for an escape from different persecutors.  

Race could only assume what exactly Albert had left behind, but if it was enough for him to leave with nothing but his dog, then it couldn’t have been remotely good.  He wanted to ask, but he figured that he’d let Albert tell him if he wanted to.  He didn’t want to overwhelm him more than he already had.  Besides, if someone was going to answer questions first, it would be him.

“What do you want to know?” Race sighed, lifting his head off the cool glass of the window and fixing his stare out the windshield.  The sun had long since set, leaving the two boys to navigate through the nighttime traffic.  

Race had always found driving at night to be peaceful.  The real world seemed so distant as the lights from cars passed through his line of sight.  Almost everyone driving at night had a destination far from where they began.  It was as if the roads were paved for thousands of escapees, all of whom drank in the aesthetic of a long winding path, leading them to where they were meant to go.

“I don’t know,” Albert sounded slightly hysterical as he rubbed his hands up and down the steering wheel, “Anything.  Just, like, tell me about it.”

“Well,” Race scrubbed a hand down his face, “It started I think when I was, what, 13?  So, like, my brain’s always been really whack.  Like, smart whack, I guess, and I was always really ahead of my grade.  Anyway, so, I thought that was the extent of it, but then one day, my dad came home high again and he and my mom got in a really big fight.  Screaming, cussing, the whole nine yards, and I was really freaked out,” He hesitated, words catching in his throat as he became acutely aware of how much he was sharing.  He shook his head, regaining confidence.  He was too far in now, “So I, uh, I locked myself in my room and was like crying and shit next to my bed and I looked up at one point and my desk and shit were floating.”

“Damn,” Albert murmured, eyes still trained on the road.

“Yeah,” Race chuckled, “Imagine my surprise.  Anyway, from there I learned that I could control certain aspects of it if I concentrated hard enough, but there are still times when I slip.”

“What makes you slip?” Albert asked, fascination laced in his words.

“The worst I slip is when I’m overwhelmed or scared or shit,” Race answered, “Like back in the restaurant, you saw.  But, really, any really strong emotion can be dangerous with this shit.”

“Ah,” Albert nodded, “And the nosebleeds?”

“Yeah, brain strain and all that jazz.”

They fell back into an awkward quietude and Race floundered for something to say.  He really didn’t want to overstep into Albert’s business, but there seemed so much hidden in Albert’s scars and his debilitating thirst for answers was nagging at his mind.

“My mom died when I was fourteen,” Race startled as Albert spoke softly.  He tensed up at the words, but remained silent as Albert relieved him of his internal predicament of deciding whether or not to question him.

“She’d always struggled with mental health, but I guess her depression got the best of her.  Lost her battle to a bottle of pills.  Left me and my brothers alone with my dad,” He was speaking in a monotonous voice, but Race could sense the mournfulness that stayed carefully veiled underneath his mask, “Dad changed after that.  Got drunk a lot,” he paused, sparing a peek at Race, who was looking at him with expectant sorrow, “You said your dad was a druggie?”

Race furrowed his eyebrows, thinking back to his own narrative, “Oh, I guess I did mention that, yeah.”

“Did he ever hit ya while he was high?”

Race shook his head, “Not me, no.”

“But he did get violent?”

“Yeah.  Hit my mom a few times.  That’s actually what made me snap this morning.”

Albert took a deep breath, adjusting so that he was holding the steering wheel with one hand and the gear shift with the other, “Yeah, so my dad got violent, too.”

“So he’s the one that did…” Race motioned to Albert’s various visible injuries, “that?”

“Better me than my brothers.”

“So why’d you run then?”

Albert winced, “We all have our breaking points.”

“Yeah,” Race agreed, feeling the sense of understanding that he’d felt in the alleyway when they’d originally met return.  Albert seemed to be reverting back into his head, hands turning white as his grip intensified.

“What are your brothers like?” Race asked, hoping to bring him down from whatever he was working himself into.

Albert’s eyes lit up almost imperceptibly, “Yeah, so there’s Thomas who’s 14 right now.  Total jock, but real good kid,” his lips twitched into a ghost of a fond smile, “And then there’s Elijah.  He’s nine and a genius,” he paused, “wonder if he’ll turn out telekinetic, too,” he joked.

Race smiled faintly as he watched Albert get lost in thoughts about his brothers, but a daunting concept entered his mind, causing his stomach to turn, “Are they safe?” He asked, before he could stop himself.  He recoiled slightly, internally cursing himself for asking that right now.  It was a valid question, but Albert had obviously just gone through something brutal.  He didn’t need any guilt.

Albert’s face fell, “I don’t know,” He croaked, voice catching, “I just left, I had to.”

“Hey,” Race said, “It’s alright.  You did what you had to do.”

Albert’s expression had hardened and he set his jaw, abruptly pulling into a random 7/11 parking lot.

“Albert, what,” Race watched as Albert got out of the car and walked towards the entrance, stopping halfway and turning back to the car.

“Can I have the wallet?”

“Uh,” Race fumbled for a moment before handing him the wallet, “What are you-”

“I want a slurpee.  You want one?”

Race blinked at him, “Uh, yeah, cherry coke?”

“Sure,” Albert turned on his heel and stalked into the 7/11, shoulders shrugged somewhat defensively.

Race felt a pang of guilt for bringing up the prospect of Albert’s brothers being in danger.  It was probably something he’d thought about, but he didn’t seem ready to face the reality of his situation and Race couldn’t blame him.

Albert returned a moment later with two large slurpee cups and a plastic shopping bag.  He slid back into driver’s seat and handed Race one of the cups, then placed his own into the cupholder before extracting the contents of the bag and unwrapping it.  Race realized immediately that it was a large dog bone and he watched as Albert tossed it back to Queso, who perked up and gleefully began gnawing at it.  

“It’s getting late,” Albert commented, looking at the digital clock on the dash.  It was nearing 1:00 am and Race yawned as he became acutely aware of how tired he was.  

“Wanna stop at a motel or something?” Albert asked, eyes scanning the various exit signs for a possible rest stop.

“You don’t think people will recognize me?” Race asked, his nerves flaring up at the prospect of being sought out.

“Shit,” Albert tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in thought, “I mean, we’re pretty far from the city at this point?  Plus, I doubt dingy motel owners are paying too much attention to the news.”

“If I’m even on the news yet,” Race could hear the uncertainty in his voice, but he shook it off, “Yeah, we can try.”

“Bet,” Albert pulled off the next exit and they drove for a couple more miles before parking the taxi in the parking lot of a sketchy looking motel.  The rooms were spread out in pairs, circling the main building of the establishment.  The paint was chipping on the outside of the buildings and the doors all looked damaged in some respect, but the place as a whole seemed generally safe and inconspicuous.

“They ain’t gonna find you here,” Albert said as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Knock on wood,” Race mumbled.

“I’ll go check us in,” Albert said, “Will you watch Queso?”

Race nodded, turning around in his seat and reaching out to scratch Queso’s curly fur.  He was sleeping soundly, stretched out unceremoniously across the backseat.

Race smiled as he opened an eye, peeping up at him, “Hey, boy,” Race cooed, “You’re a good little man, huh?” He giggled as Queso lifted his head to lick at Race’s face, “You could tell I needed help, couldn’t ya?”

Queso whimpered happily and Race kissed his head, “Thank you.”

The room Albert had gotten them was decently big considering how much they paid for it.  There were two beds and a clean bathroom, which was more than either boy could have hoped for.  They showered quickly, relieved to rid themselves of the leftover dust and dirt from Race’s outburst earlier that day, and settled into each of the beds.  Queso rested himself at Albert’s feet, curling in on himself and falling back asleep almost instantly.  It wasn’t long until Albert’s snores intermixed with Queso’s and Race rolled over, pressing a pillow over his head to drown out the noise.

He laid awake, eyes frozen on the wall opposite of him.  His entire world had been turned upside down in the span of twelve hours.  He hadn’t meant to hurt his dad like that, but he didn’t have a choice.  His mother would have died if his father had continued to choke her as violently as he had.  Race had just intended to give him a taste of his own medicine.  It had been like that for years.  Race coming home to find his father fucked up in some way, hurting his mom or passed out on the couch, drooling and spluttering like a child.  His mother had become the shell of the person she once was during his father’s slow descent to addiction, leaving Race to care for himself.  But he’d stuck around.  Too scared of the outside world.  Too scared of what would become of them if he left.  Too scared of himself.  But now he’d gone and he’d probably never see them again.  He didn’t want to think of what that meant for his mother; being alone with his father.  She’d lost something that morning, too.  Her protector, her last tie to sanity in a world that had fucked her over so badly.  And it was his fault.

He pressed the pillow harder to his temples, willing the tears that had formed in his eyes to go away.  He couldn’t get worked up here.  He couldn’t cause anymore destruction than he already had.

Queso must have sensed his change in mood, because he’d leapt up onto the bed behind Race, curling into a lying position behind him.  Race let out a watery sigh, allowing Queso’s presence to calm him.  He rolled over, tucking an arm over the dog and pressed his nose into his fur, pressing a soft kiss to his back.

He wasn’t sure what stars had aligned to allow him to meet Queso and Albert, but he thanked them with every ounce of gratitude that his heart could offer as he drifted into a heavy sleep.

-

yikes that wasnt v good

anyway, fugitives coming soon i hope

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @bencookisagod @we-dont-sell-papes @suddenly-im-respecsable

@aw-jus-let-em-try @well-the-kids-do-too @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn

@tongue-blep-tommy

@andthewoildwillknow @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @sunshine-e-cigarettes @have-we-got-news-for-you @musical-shitposts @thebroadwayaesthetic

@thomasbeingthomas

@irondad-spiderson-duo

@snakesarenonexistent

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing

@kpop-kk

@mentallytiredgoat

@yxseminx

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen

@stopthe-presses

@elmers-half-a-cup

@and-i-lostmy-shoe

@spot-me50-papes

@honeynutpoptarts

@newsies-ensemble

@bennie-badeend

@auspicioustarantula

@faithmil

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

@bxnesof92

@backgroundnewsies

@sure-as-a-star

@skybert-daherty

@eveningpaper

@malex-13

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert

[imaginemycroftholmes]

@grand-admiral-luna

“No one can know about her,” Moriarty fussed to his loyal sidekick Sebby, the Terror Tiger, looked unfazed by the declaration from his boss.

This wasn’t something new to him considering their gigs as superheroes for the greater part of London.

As Pyro Professor and Terror Tiger they constantly battled with the evil masterminds such as Ice Man, Purple Pirate or even worse, tango with their favorite henchman, Captain Action.

It was always a game of cat and mouse as the lone duo tried to rid the city of their influence and control while managing to evade arrest. A deed, most annoying slow considering Mycroft Holmes aka Ice Man had his hand in the pockets of every major business and authority.

To have their own sibling Eurus as their mole was a blessing the city couldn’t afford to lose as she had a watchful eye on both her brothers evil schemes. 

“Boss, if the Ice Man and Purple Pirate haven’t caught onto our real identities by now then I don’t think we have to worry about it,” Sebby rationalizes to Jim, “I mean they still won’t come to terms that the Holmes brothers are villains so why worry about us?”

“Because if they figure out who we are our families will be in danger,” Jim stresses, “They  could be used as bait or worse!”

 This isn’t the first time that Jim had gone off like this about his sister _____ after a difficult foiling of the dastardly duo but this is one of the few times it was too close for comfort.

However, being an orphan of war Sebastian can’t imagine what it feels like to lose someone but if its anything by the way Jim acts he know it can’t be good.

Not one of them could figure out why or how ______ kept ending up near their battles but it was starting  to put Jim on edge and when Jim is on edge then he’s crawling up his back with complaints that makes him want to claw off the backs of the infamous Holmes brothers just to make Jim stop crying.

And he just got his titanium claws resharpened just for the occasion. 

Watching and (tuning out) his boss’s ramblings about keeping his sister safe Sebastian turns his attention to the big screen showing off the city’s zones praying for a distraction when a cellphone rings.

“I’m holding out for a hero! I’m holding out for a hero until the morning's light..”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Jim was surrounded by some of his most dangerously sensitive bombs-the ones that only required just a light pressure to set off- Sebastian might have found it funny how he fumbled for his phone to answer it. 

With his cat-like reflexes he swooped in to drag the the nervous man from dropping his device on what would be an instant death for them both and answered the phone for him.

“Hello?”

“Sebby,” comes an excited voice from the other line, “It’s great to hear you! How has the canning business going with you two lately?”

Sebastian winces both at the moniker that ____ picked up from her brother and the fact that she still believes that lie.

How anyone believes that lie is beyond him but then again, people still can’t believe that Sherlock Holmes is the Purple Pirate DESPITE WEARING THE SAME OUTFIT EACH TIME BUT ONLY PURPLE. THERE’S NO MASK TO OBSCURE HIS FACE OR HAIR BUT WHEN HE TRIES TO SHOW PEOPLE THAT THEY THINK HE’S “CRAZY”.

But thanks to his ever witty and not good with lies on the spot partner the first thing that came out of his mouth for their nightly activities is starting a canning business and they’re in a relationship.

Needless to say, this puts a damper on his dating life but for the life of him Sebastian doesn’t have the heart to cheat on Jim for fear of _____’s private version of “You hurt him and I’ll make sure you have a 4 year slow death in the backyard tool shed back in Sussex where no one can hear you scream.”

If ______ is anywhere near as bad as Moriarty Sebastian doesn’t want to be on her bad side. 

“Yeah, its going great _____,” Sebastian says convincingly while shooting a glare at Jim who is piteously trying to reach for his phone, “So what are you up to sunshine?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” she continues with enthusiasm, “You see, I met this guy...”

“You met a guy you say,” Sebastian parrots loudly knowing good and well that it would send her brother into a rage.

“A GUY?? WHO IS HE?? SEB! GIVE ME BACK MY PHONE!”

It really shouldn’t bring Sebastian as much joy as it does but Jim jumping desperately to retrieve his phone but it does and he continues to torment him.

“So what? you want me and Jim to meet him,” Sebastian carries on causally like Jim isn’t trying to scale him.

And failing.

“Yeah, actually. I’ve kinda been seeing him for over 2 months now and want him to get acquainted with you guys because I might be bringing him home for Christmas this year,” she states with more confidence than her brother wearing spandex tights.

“Ya know that’s a pretty big step in a relationship right?”

“I know,” _____ agrees, “But this guy is just so right for me that I don’t feel like its too big of  deal.”

  ‘Yeah I know,” Sebastian concedes, “But you know that your brother is going to have kittens right?”

“Well, that’s why I want you to come with. Nothing can settle someone down like their spouse am I right?”

“Spouse...right...”

“Speaking of which is my brother around?”

Looking around and finding that Jim had skunked off somewhere was alarming.The guy never gave up that easily which was why he was the Purple Pirate’s favorite target. 

“I think he may have ran to the loo-” Sebastian tries to say before an image of terror, Moriarty running full speed with one of his guns toward him with a battle cry of “GIVE ME MY PHONE” being heard throughout the hide out. 

“No, wait! ____, here he is,” Sebastian cries as he throws the device at Jim and runs for cover.

The phone is quickly caught by Jim who purrs his hellos to her and then promptly hangs up.

Sebastian doesn’t have to turn around from his hiding spot to know that its Moriarty standing behind him. His voice is dark and deadly as he leans closer.

“You tease me like that again when ______ is calling and I’ll clip those claws permanently.” 

“Yes boss,” Sebastian responds carefully knowing that when Jim is in one these moods that his life can very well be in forfeit because for all of Jim’s silliness he was a damn genius with an affinity for violence and murder. 

He could only shudder of what horrors Moriarty would unleash if he had not been on the side of angels.

“So, when are we meeting him?”

“Next Tuesday at 6″, Jim spats coldly, ‘And you had better not make us late.”

“You know that’s not my faul-” Sebastian says defensively until he sees the look of murder in his boss’s eyes. “I mean, sure boss,” he corrects himself, “are you going to use Eurus to spy on the bloke?”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I want to know the scum who’s shacking up with my sister? I want to know who he is, what he does and what he shits to see if he’s good enough for her! I wanna maul the guy with all the dirt I have on him so he’ll fuck off and leave us alone.”

Poor guy Sebastian thinks as his boss stalks off to Skype Eurus he can’t be all bad if ____ likes him.

                                XxXxXxX

“YOU.”

“Believe me the feeling is mutual.”

“Guys, can we settle down please! We’re in a public place!!”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Here, sitting before him in the flesh in one of his bespoken suits, is the Ice Man at one of the nicer restaurants in London acting like he’s an honest to God good man beside Jim’s sister. 

Like the guy hadn’t tried to murder them last week for foiling their slave labor camps in India or tortured them on occasion.

And to make matters worse his hand is on _____’s thigh, oh my God Jim is going to murder him before the waiter even arrives.

________ has her hands up as is to stop her brother from launching himself over the table to fight and pronounces quickly, “I can explain!”

Well this would explain why Eurus couldn’t find information on him Sebby muses as the air becomes frigid. 

Crap, its one of Ice Man’s classic moves Sebastian thinks as other civilains begin to feel the icy sting.

“Explain what,” Jim spits out venomously, “that this monster brainwashed you into thinking that it loves you? That not even you can recognizes that he’s the Ice Man, the man responsible for the poverty and waste in our country? That he’s so evil that members of his own family are trying to end his tyranny?”

“Jimmy!”

“Now you see here, you two-bit genius,” Mycroft interjects, “I may make up causes and strife for my own gain but my love for ______ is one of the few things from me that are true.”

“Bullshit! You’re just using her to get to me!”

“Why would he want you when you already have Sebby,” _____ cries.

“I’m not gay!”

Sebastian can already see their waiter in the distance looking far too nervous to approach the shouting match that was their table so he shooed him off with a “come back later.”

Realizing that this would not only lead to a needless blood bath but to unmasking their identities to the public Sebastian tries his attempt to at least save this meal.

Tapping his glass to get their collective attention Sebastian starts,” Shut the hell up, you guys are causing a scene.”

Pointing at Mycroft accusing Jim begins to mouth out, “But he started-”

“I don’t care who started this I told you to shut up!”

He looks around the table at the lot of them.

______ looking confused and hurt that anyone would accuse Mycroft of anything less than sainthood, Mycroft torn between tearing ____ away with him like the villain he is or staying to suss out any evil intent toward her and Jim seemingly five seconds from ignoring the command to maul the Ice Man outright.

Praying to whatever deity that cursed him into a situation like this Sebastian began. “Look, we can’t outright believe that Ice Ma-I mean, Mycroft has the best intentions toward you _______-”Only to be interrupted by Jim’s HA!

Giving Jim a glare Sebastian continues, “However, JIM, we also can’t lawfully say that Mycroft’s feelings aren’t true because we aren’t mind readers.”

“I bet I can find us one on Craigslist!”

“Jimmy shut the hell up,” ______ hisses before gesturing for Sebastian to carry on. “So, my proposal is that we, Jim and I, monitor you two just to make sure that you’re safe.”

“But I’m 32,” ______ complains, “I’m too old for a chaperone!”

“Listen, I’m doing what I can _____. It’s either this or Jim’s going to try and murder Mycroft when you’re not around. It’s a compromise.”

“As if he could after all this time,” Mycroft snidely remarks.

“Maybe I just didn’t have the right motivation,” Jim counters getting squared up.

“Promises, promises,” Mycroft teases as he gestures for a waiter,” Besides we both know who the better genius is.”

“Yeah, your little sister.”

The air was becoming increasingly frigid to the point where Sebby was sure that he would have to evacuate people from the premises until _____ leaned onto Mycroft’s shoulder, melting away the frost.

“Guys, guys! Let’s stop the banter and eat! I’ve been dying to try this menu for ages,” _______ says cuddling Mycroft’s chill into submission.

“Anything you wish ______,” Mycroft says fondly in a way that makes Jim’s skin crawl.

Later after the bill was (fought over) and paid for  _____ hung back with him while Mycroft and Jimmy went to “talk” about some ground rules in private.

 “Sebby, why do Mycroft and Jimmy hate each other,” she asked innocently, “I know they never went to school together and Mycroft rarely leaves his office so how would they know each other enough to despise one another?”

Cursing his boss and this ridiculousness of their town Sebastian states, “We’re rival canning companies.”

“Oh, well that makes sense.” 

Listen, I’m not the best at superhero/villain names so cut me some slack. 

[gratitudejoyandsorrow]

M-I-A-M-I (PART 2)

Prompt: Please read Part 1 first. Inspired by Daveed’s Instagram post that made the fandom go wild. Y/N and Daveed are in Miami, and things are about to get hot.

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x reader

Warnings: Smut. It’s porn, basically.

A/N: *smokes a cigarette* Shout out to @imaginebeinghamiltrash, @tempfixeliza, and the anons who made sure I wouldn’t abandon this story. Also, @tallish-hobbit  here ya go. Ready to sin? Lehggo.

 You were trembling.

 Even in the crowded elevator, you were focused on Daveed’s hand that was tightly squeezing your hip. No one else mattered when your sexy boyfriend was pressed against you from behind, his dick snuggled between your ass cheeks, a prominent reminder that you were going to get fucked very soon.

 You silently beg the elevator to move faster, feeling like it ascended in an extremely excruciating speed. You ignored the quizzical looks that were thrown your way when you pushed the ‘close door’ button right after a person left for their floor. Sure it was rude as hell, but you didn’t care.

 “Y/N,” Daveed laughs, grinning from ear to ear. He kisses your neck, right above your fluttering pulse, and the gentle brush of his beard against your sensitive skin caused goosebumps to rise on your arms.

 You wanted to feel that sensation everywhere – against the valley of your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs…

 You snap out of your thoughts when the elevator dinged, indicating that it reached the top floor. You and Daveed rush out of the elevator, leaving the remaining occupants behind. He guides you towards the room, and you couldn’t help but laugh when you saw that one of his hands was failing to cover up his very obvious hard-on.

 Your giggles were smothered by his lips the second that you were inside.

 Daveed pushes you against the door, his hands weaving around your hair to kiss you deeper, teeth clicking together from the force of his kiss. His knee parts your thighs and you groan, standing on your tippy toes and shifting your hips to feel the delicious friction on your sensitive flesh.

 He runs his tongue over your lower lip, his hands moving from your hair to your undulating hips to help you move. He sucks on your lower lip when you whimper, eyes screwed shut as you focus on the pressure on your clit. His tongue begins to imitate the motions of fucking, and you nearly lose it, the rolling motion of your hips becoming faster.

 With a shuddering breath, you come, waves of pleasure washing over your body. You kiss him fervently, your lips swollen from his affections.

 But the feeling of satisfaction was brief. You wanted more. Needed more.

 Determined, you push him away from you. Understanding what you wanted to do, Daveed lets you guide him to the bed. He sits, eyes gleaming, and you slide down to your knees. You help him out of his shorts and underwear and your eyes lock with his as you reach for his cock.

 “Baby,” he murmured as you kissed the tip of his dick. His hands find your hair again, brushing it behind your ear tenderly. He groans, hips lifting up from the bed when your tongue swirls around him. You run your tongue along his length then engulf him into your mouth, causing him to tighten his hold on your hair to control your movements.

 Daveed caresses your hollowed cheeks before gently pulling you off him. He grabs your chin, tilting your face up to press a heady kiss on your reddened lips. Wordlessly, he tugs you up to your feet and guides you to straddle him.

 “It’s not fair that I’m naked and you’re not,” he says, voice thick with lust, “so let’s fix it.”

 You tug your sports bra over your head, breasts feeling full and heavy from his stare. “Better?” you ask.

 You squeal and automatically wrap your legs around him when he flips you over. Daveed grins as he hovered over you, loose strands from his bun framing his face. “Much better,” he answers.

 You reach for him and he meets you halfway, lips pressing together in a languid kiss. With your mouths still sealed together, he unwraps your legs around him and trails his hands down your sides, seeking the waistband of your shorts. He pulls away from you and with baited breath, you watch him tug the material down your hips.

 Your panties came next.

 You were reeling with anticipation as his fingers stroked up and down your wet heat.

 “Damn,” he murmurs, “your pussy is so wet.”

 You bite back a moan, loving the dirty talk.

 His thumb circles your clit once. “Have I been neglecting you for too long, baby?”

 This time you couldn’t hold back the moan when his finger slides into you. You grip the sheets, breathing heavily as he finger-fucked you.

 He hums, adding another digit. “You want my cock bad, don’t you?”

 “Daveed,” you whine, desperate. You wanted more than his fingers.

 You needed him.

 “Don’t worry,” he coos, tasting his fingers coated in your juices, “I’ll take care of you.”

 You both groan when his cock slides against your pussy. You felt intoxicated when the spongy head of his cock brushes against your clit. “Daveed, I swear to God,” you pant, feeling light-headed. Every single fiber of your body was thrumming, ready for him to fill you up.

 “Maybe I’ll make you cum this way first,” he teases, slowly sliding his length along your pussy, lingering on your too sensitive clit at each pass.

 You wanted to scream. “No,” you command, “you fuck me right now.”

 His playful demeanor diminishes and he pulls your legs open wider. With one hand on your hips and the other on his cock, he sinks into you, inch by inch. You tense, his girth stretching you.

 “Breathe, baby,” he grunts, voice tight, then kisses your nose.

 He waits, thumbing your clit to ease your discomfort as you adjusted. He reaches for your hand, intertwining them together. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, stomach clenched tight from fighting his urge to move.

 After a moment you nod and shift your hips, gasping when it hit a sweet spot. Daveed doesn’t miss a beat and surges forward, your breasts bouncing from the sharp movement.  He sets a steady rhythm and you wrap your legs around his waist, his body grinding wonderfully against your clit. You blindly reach for him and kiss him, tongues rolling over each other.

 “Oh fuck,” you quiver, feeling like a coiled spring ready to be released.

 He starts pounding harder into you, loving how you were losing yourself. The sound of the bed squeaking and the headboard thumping against the wall in a steady rhythm were erotic to your ears.

 In the distant corner of your mind, you hear the banging against the wall.

 “I need to,” you gasp, losing your train of thought. You clutch at the sheets as your body began to tense, ready for the mind numbing orgasm that you knew was coming.

 His hands dig into your skin, hips rocking in a ruthless pace, and you sob, succumbing to your orgasm. Tears blur your vision, shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body.

 Daveed clenches his jaw, relishing the feel of your pulsing pussy around his cock. He’s panting heavily, a bead of sweat running down his temple, fighting against his orgasm. The sight of you with glassy eyes and hair tangled mess was driving him wild.

 You let out a moan of disbelief when he slings your leg over his arm, starting a slow, rutting motion. “I can’t,” you keen, blood roaring in your ears, too sensitive.

 “You can,” Daveed growls, his thrusts reaching deep, then uses his other hand to pin your wrists flat on the bed. He leans forward, planting a kiss on your neck, and repeats himself. “You can.”

 Your breath hitches and you arch your back, trails of fire burning down your body to where you two joined. Daveed’s thrusts begin to get sloppy and your foggy mind barely registers his command to touch yourself. You obey, plucking your nipples, crying out with each of thrust of his hips.

 He loses his tempo, but each roll of his hips pushed you both closer and closer to oblivion. Sweat collects on his forehead, droplets falling on your skin every time he moves. He’s muttering words under his breath you couldn’t catch, but you didn’t care once his fingers reach down to circle your clit.

 You yell out, orgasm causing the Earth to stop spinning on its axis.  

 Daveed follows suit, groaning long and loud, and you burn the image of him frozen on top of you to memory. He slips out of you and rests his forehead against yours, still panting.

 The two of you sit in silence, eyes locked, basking in the glow of each other.

 Finally, he smiles and brushes his lips against yours. “Hi.”

 You smile, “Hi.”

 Another silence.

 “Finally,” you whisper, grinning.

 “You silly, impatient girl,” Daveed laughs, gently knocking his fingers against your skull to reprimand you, “let’s go and get cleaned up.”

 You give him a sheepish smile.

 “I can’t feel my legs.”

 He lets out a shout of triumph.

[icantlose]

The very concept of a “good idea” is objective; just because you don’t think something is a good idea does not mean it is a bad idea. Fans have different perspectives and these are usually based on different life experiences. But frankly, multiple members of the community don’t believe that your ideas are very good: particularly the one of yours where you infantize Krystal. It’s fuckin’ gross and creepy and minimizes the character more than the fandom already does.

People are judgmental of you because it is natural human defense mechanism. You have come out of nowhere to criticize people and their ideas based off of canon story, which you have violently rejected on multiple occasions. You have a long history of attacking people unfairly for writing fiction based within the margins of established Star Fox canon. Of course people are going to be judgmental of you, because you’re the villain in this situation: they did not ask for your opinion and you never fail to deliver your opinion in a very rude, insulting and frankly non-constructive manner. You get what you give, Jacob. 

Nobody cares that you don’t like Krystal being on Star Wolf.

You’re not being called out for “simply” disliking something. You’re being called out for all the hateful messages you keep sending multiple people across multiple platforms. Don’t mix things up, sweetheart. 

Acting like a martyr, acting like you are the only one who has ever suffered through hardship is the fastest way to alienate yourself. People don’t want to befriend someone who weaponizes their hardships in the way that you do. It makes you come across as very hard to approach, very judgmental--there’s that word again--and like no matter what, the person trying to get to know you can’t win because you, yourself, are going though “absolute HELL.” 

Speaking of going through “absolute HELL”, so are many of us in this community but I’ve yet to see you reach out and actually give a shit.

You have not been trying to “play nice”. You’ve been trying to duck under the radar and avoid accountability. There is a major difference.

If something as simple as the idea of a video game you’re not forced to play pisses you off, it’s time to get off the computer, bud.

I’ve referred to you as a “white knight” because you’re coming to the defense of a character that nobody hates here in this particular community. In fact, in recent years Krystal has been widely celebrated and widely adored ESPECIALLY with the unofficial release of Dinosaur Planet. You’ve created a problem there isn’t one; any idea that you disagree with regarding Krystal and her character has been met with an onslaught of HATE MESSAGES from YOU, JACOB. You’ve expressed extreme reactions to multiple attempts across several platforms by several different people to give Krystal a dynamic character and award more than Nintendo has given her: Nintendo themselves has admitted to wanting to use her as a sex-symbol and you’ve done nothing but kick and scream any time someone presents her as less than perfect in your ideal. That is not fair. 

Nobody here has depicted her in a negative light and it’s very sad and very insulting of you to suggest that her being a part of Star Wolf, a squadron of anti-heroes (anti-hero: n. a central character in a story, movie, or drama who lacks conventional heroic attributes but whom cannot be identified as a villain) is somehow a negative depiction.

No one considers that Krystal isn’t the only character that you think of when you think of Star Fox because you’ve shown us that it she is the only character you think of UNLESS you are confronted with the fact that you don’t think of anyone else except Krystal. You told @blackarwing​ that you have a “crush” on every female character in the Star Fox roster. That is extremely discomforting and hard to take seriously because this is an extreme opinion was only admitted once you were confronted with the fact that you only seem to be obsessed with Krystal. You NEVER talk about Fox, or James, even; you have never expressed opinions of Slippy, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mention talk of Peppy or Pepper or Beltino. You FREQUENTLY villainize Wolf even though in-game he has proven he’s not a bad guy, you shit on Panther and you have attacked Leon. But we sure do know how you feel about fuckin’ Krystal.

You’re not sorry.

Just as most of us have both suspected and claimed, it is clear that you do not understand what “I’m sorry” actually means. If you were actually sorry, you would express actual sorrow towards your actions and you would purposefully make a point to stop acting the way that you have that has upset several different communities, but you have not. 

While I’m at it, you apologized to me and I said I hope you’ll do better, you responded with “I hope so too”. That is the perfect indication that you were unwilling to actually try to improve yourself. You weren’t sorry, you’re just looking to get all the pressure from the groups of people you’ve pissed off off of your back. Not only is that the perfect indication that you’re not willing to improve, but it is also the best possible example of you, Jacob, and your shitty character. You “hope” that you will do better. Instead of actually putting the work in to improving yourself. You do not “hope” that you will do better, you just fuckin’ DO BETTER. It’s not a gamble when YOU are the person behind the goddamn wheel! Wake. Up.

You cannot blame “stress” for how you are acting the way that you are online. We all have “stress”. The majority of us are older than you and have bills to pay, you don’t see us using that as an excuse online to shit all over people we disagree with. I’m not talking at you because I’m stressed, I’m talking at you because you’re a young person that needs to understand that this is not how someone communicates to other creative content creators. This is not okay. You’re being really fuckin’ shitty.

Whatever you are going through in the real world, it is absolutely unfair to bring that forward and take your “stress” out on the people who have nothing to do with your “stress” online. That is extremely selfish, destructive and fuckin’ mean. Blaming stress for the bullshit you’ve been providing us since fuckin’ March is NOT an excuse for an adult to make. If you’re referring to ‘stress’ online, then I know I’m victim-blaming, but you brought this on your fuckin’ self, dude. You’ve been causing nothing but “stress” on everyone else since you arrived your garbage and yet you’re the only one lashing out at people and citing “stress” as the culprit.

If it’s driving you nuts then do something to change it. 

If your dog is that sick, being on the internet whining about a fictional blue fox, is the absolute fucking LAST thing you should be doing.  

I’m glad you’re trying to treat his cancer as best you can. But that still doesn’t excuse the environment you’re providing for the poor thing. If he’s that sick, he ABSOLUTELY. SHOULD. NOT. be in that dirty of an environment, what the fuck is wrong with you!?  Actually. Don’t answer. I don’t want to see you come up with a shitty excuse for this one either.

This was posted while I was typing this response.

If you wanted to be my friend, you WOULD NOT lay into me for the shit we disagree with. the idea behind making friends is focusing on what you have in common with others. You would put effort into getting to know people. You’re not trying to befriend me; you’re trying to prove how much “better” of a Star Fox fan you are than I am because I see things differently than you, (y’know, despite the fact that I’m much older than you, have been playing the games longer than you, but here I go fuckin’ gatekeeping). I guarantee you, you don’t know how old I am, what my favorite color is, what Star Fox game I prefer, what my opinion of Krystal is, or hell, what my real name is: all you have ever cared about is how I’ve presented Krystal to a space you have invited yourself into. Don’t try to twist things, buddy.

Don’t you ever. Ever. E V E R. try and suicide-bait me ever again, do you understand me? it’s disgusting that you would ever even fuckin’ try that shit. There are people in this platform that SERIOULSY struggle with suicide, that are struggling to find the strength to go on, to face the entire day for real; it is a constant battle and you’re just making light to make me feel bad for pointing out your shitty behavior is incredibly outrageous and infuriating. The fucking fact that you would try and use that as a fuckin means to get the upper-hand in this conversation is absolutely, positively fuckin’ disgusting, and outrageous. I mean how dare you? How. Dare. You? Fuck. You. NEVER do that again. You are an absolute insult to those who actually struggle with depression and self-esteem. The fact that you would actually try this shit as a means to get me to back off over something this fuckin’ trivial is absolutely disgusting. DISGUSTING. You’ve made things absolutely fuckin’ worse. 

This is not a game. I’m demanding accountability and I’m making sure that every single person is aware of what you just tried to pull with me. Newcomer24 just pulled the suicide card over Krystal bein’ acknowledged as a Star Wolf team member.

Suicide threats are not a joke, they are not a weapon. You’re crossing a major line over FUCKIN’ KRYSTAL. How. Fucking. Dare. You. Over the course of an hour, you’ve made yourself look a hundred times worse. Stop trying to save your skin. Of course you meant to send those messages; you wanted to get back at someone that upset you and you chose the most toxic, most vile most evil way to respond. You wanted to hang your life over my head. You wanted to put your blood on my hands. 

You are talking to a suicide attempt survivor. Any amount of respect you still had with me, you’ve absolutely lost. 

All.  Over.  Krystal.