#its instinctual i know that's right then i fucking question it and i'm there for 10 minutes puzzling out semantics at their base level

[chronicowboy]

nothing will ever humble you as much as writing a double negative

[zablife]

Now You Know the Truth (Part 4)

Summary: As you begin an uncertain period of recovery, Tommy is left to decide what's best for you.

Author's Note: This is an accidental series 🙈! For some reason I can't stop thinking about this couple. Ty to all my lovely readers who have kept me inspired by leaving such wonderful comments!

Warnings: child loss, manipulative behavior

Part 3

“Who am I?” Tommy repeated your question back to you in a hoarse whisper, his throat going dry as he realized you didn't recognize him. "I'm your husband, Thomas Shelby," he issued forth with authority, feeling a chasm open within his chest at the thought of you belonging to anyone but him. His hurt manifested in a sudden flicker of rage behind his eyes, causing you to jerk your hand away. The speed of your reaction surprised you, but not so much as the instinctual sense of fear coursing through you.

Pulling the blankets up to your chin protectively you muttered, "I'm sorry, I-I'm trying, but I can't seem to recall."

You sounded so weak and helpless before him, Tommy softened instantly at your apologetic tone. All the tension he held in his shoulders fell away as he offered a word of encouragement. "That's alright," he said gently. "Take all the time you need."

"Thank you," you sniffed appreciatively, feeling the throbbing ache return to your temples. No matter how you tried, you couldn't place him. While he had a handsome face, you knew you'd never seen him before in your life and that shook you to your core. The deep emotion behind his words made the situation worse, knowing he expected you to speak with equal passion. The whole ordeal was rather taxing in its complexity and you felt yourself becoming tired yet again.

"I think I need to rest," you informed him as you felt your eyelids grow heavy with sleep.

"Of course," Tommy replied. "If you need me, I'll be right outside."

---------------------

"What are sayin'? She don't remember nothin'?" Arthur asked, leaning in to study Tommy's perplexed expression.

"No," Tommy said simply as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Maybe it's for the best," Arthur offered quietly.

Tommy snapped his head sharply as he demanded, "What the fuck did you say?"

Arthur ducked his head submissively as he mumbled, "Sorry, Tom, I meant the accident. She shouldn't have to think about it."

"No," Tommy murmured as he stood deep in thought. Then his face slowly began to lift as he considered his brother's words. "You're right. Perhaps it is better this way."

"How do you mean?" Arthur prodded, suspicious of Tommy's sudden change in demeanor.

With a glimmer in his eye, Tommy proclaimed, "I couldn't make her understand before, but now I have another chance. It's a whole new beginning."

-------------------------------

You opened your eyes with a start as the gravel crunched beneath the tires, signaling your arrival at Arrow House. "We're here, darling," Tommy announced triumphantly. Hastening to open your door, he helped you to stand with the utmost care.

Despite the dreary weather, you squinted against the daylight, unaccustomed to being outside for any length of time. Leaning into Tommy's strong arms, you whimpered at the pain at the base of your badly bruised spine.

"I'll have Frances bring the morphine as soon as you're in bed," Tommy promised in a soothing voice. You smiled up at him, wondering how someone could love you so completely. Though you still couldn't recall a single memory of your life together, you'd come to trust his recollections as replacement. He'd dedicated the better part of a month sharing photographs and stories at your bedside to ensure you knew every detail of your charmed life.

In that time, you also spoke of your future, with Tommy frequently expressing his desire for a son. The tenderness in his voice convinced you to lean into the first kiss you'd shared since your accident, a languid embrace which set you ablaze with need.

However, renewed anxiety and emotion swirled in your gut as he informed you of news from the doctor. Nuzzling his nose against yours Tommy promised, "We can try again soon. With any luck, you'll be pregnant again before Christmas." He lovingly rubbed a thumb along the base of your neck and you only hoped he couldn't feel the way your pulse thumped in terrified response.

"It's going to be everything we ever dreamed of," Tommy mused, oblivious to your panic.

Part 5

---------------

Tag List:

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@trixie23

[laertesthelocalstranger]

"Well! This Is Just Like Old Times, Now, Isn't It?"

Laertes stands up off the worktable. It won't be. It will be different this time. He'll make it that way.

"Feeling nostalgic?" That's right, stay angry, stay on his guard. She's learned a lot from her brothers and father. The second they stop biting back, let their spark die, they lose.

"Not Really! This Is Far More Interesting! I Wish You'd Done This Before!" Nikola turns to a drawer, rummaging through the contents. She doesn't know exactly what she's going to do yet, but that's half the fun! An effect, is what she wants. Something new.

Laertes scoffs and desperately tries to ignore the way she feels something in her puncture at those words.

"Sorry for being bad entertainment." If he pumps his voice with enough sarcasm, it will sound like he doesn't mean it.

"That's Alright! You've More Than Made Up For It With This!" No, no, no, no, he doesn't want that godawful hope there- "How Did You Manage To Stay Out Of Our Reach? We Worked Very Hard To Find You, You Know!"

They pause at their pacing, like a nervous dog's movement before a storm. He's twenty six, around his brother's age. The age he'd been in the hospital with Marc. The age of someone bigger and less afraid than they are.

"I'm a magic quilt."

Nikola tilts her head. "I Think You Mean A Doll!"

Laertes feels the sudden and violent flash of a blank canvas through her head, before letting it pass on with the wind.

"No. I didn't."

She turns again to watch him, painted face alight with curiosity and confusion alike. When had it learned to stand its ground?

Instinctually, he sits back down on the table.

"You Really Have Changed Quite A Lot! I Didn't Know You Could Do That!"

"You didn't know a lot of things." Laertes spits out, unadulterated spite tempered only by a little sadness. She didn't know the dance, and she didn't know him. She'd never even wanted to, had she?

"Well, That Is Rather The Point!" Nikola giggles, which was never the point at all. "Where Did You Get That Skin, By The Way? It's Rather Nice Quality! I Guess You Did Pay Attention To Our Lesson! And Here I Thought You'd Hidden Yourself Away For It!"

He had hidden himself away, and this isn't real skin at all. But Laertes stands firmer ground in deflection and obfuscation, so he grins wide with a mouth full of teeth and old, wrathful desperation.

"Was That A Question, Nikola?"

Hmm. This trick is getting old. Is the room starting to smell like smoke?

She bridges the gap, cupping his cheek in a gentle plastic hand. "Nikola? Why, I Thought You Called Me Momma, Poppet!"

The effect is instantaneous. A wide-eyed twelve year old stares back at her, broken eyes an anguished tug-of-war.

Does she want it to call her that?

Laertes panics, trying to wrestle himself free. Nikola smiles wide at the odd affair. "Fascinating!" She pulls her hand back, and they slump, like she'd somehow taken all the energy out of them with that simple motion. At this rate, he isn't going to get out of here as himself.

As if she ever could have.

"Fuck you." He mumbles, one last defiant swing. "Touch me again, and I'll- I'll bite."

Nikola pokes a broken eye, nearly cutting herself on it. Huh. She'll need to find more durable buttons than these last ones.

"Ah-Ah-Ah! I Could Just Get Your 'Friend' Back Here, Couldn't I? Ooh! Or One Of Those People Convinced You're Their Brother! Very Clever Act, By The Way! You're Smarter Than I Gave You Credit for! Now, I like Jack, So Not Him! But He Had An Older Brother Too! Jude, Right? I'll Just Bring Him In Here! Wouldn't That Be Lovely?"

Fuck. That can't happen to him. It can't. Not like Ellery. They- They wouldn't be able to-

"Cat Got Your Tongue? Shame! And Here I Thought I Would Be The One To Cut It Off, Ha Ha!" She finally finds the tools she wants. His eyes lock on them and don't let go.

There's no point talking to her. S h e p r o b a b l y w o u l d n ' t l i k e t h a t , a n y w a y .

No. She would. And they won't give her the satisfaction.

Nikola frowns after a moment. Well, that's not so interesting. But this steely resolve is still more than the hollowness she's seen so much of. It makes her want to find out what will happen if she takes the step and starts cutting.

She takes her position, seam ripper held delicately as a flower and precisely as a scalpel. Laertes stares back silently, the both of them focused so intently on what comes next.

Time to see what it takes for this one to break.

[infamous-if]

Hi sunshine!!

Hehe I’m gonna pretend I was the first to send an ask to your newly-cleared inbox 🤣 I was just reading your writing advice post about beat sheets and I was wondering if you had any more writing advice? Mainly how you’re able to write so much but also how you’re able to do so in a linear fashion.

I have..absolutely no writing background and my writing process is very instinctual rather than organized. I type with my eyes closed so I can visualize scenes like a movie and I follow a beat sheet consisting of “fuck it we ball”

it’s dope that you have a novel writing background, little me would think you’re like the Viola Davis of literature if she heard that. (23 year old me thinks you’re cool too dw HEHEH)

Anywaysss you know I love your IF and I’m sending you a virtual hug!! 😁

Hi! and lolol I'll pretend you were too hehe

And good question! I think having a novel background does help since I've gotten used to writing a lot. I really respect IF authors who jump into IF with no writing experience because no only do you also have to code and write multiple books (routes) in one, you're also sharing that work to the public almost immediately.

It took me having to post fanfic + indie publishing to grow a thick skin and an understanding against hate and criticism, so people who choose this as their first foray into writing have my immense respect lmao it's not easy!

Mainly how you’re able to write so much but also how you’re able to do so in a linear fashion.

I've said before that I'm able to write a lot because I plan everything before hand. I'm not capable of pantsing and I'm a plotter through and through. When I know the beats to a scene and have a goal, I can just focus on reaching that goal instead of trying to come up with a purpose.

For example, I'm currently working on a novel as well as Infamous, and I just spent like....eight hours today just working on the outline (again). I think I have about 15 different variations of the outline, but I can't write if I don't know what's coming up next. I think I spend more time working on the outline than the book. (For example: One book I spent one year working on the outline and then wrote the book in 3 months lmao).

Anyway, almost every conversation in a book has a purpose, even if it's not obvious. Sometimes it's to express motivation, further the plot, create conflict. Sometimes it's to add depth to characters which usually results in conversations that seemingly have no purpose (like the band talking about whether orion would be a good band member or not) but they do! (its to establish the dynamic and level of closeness + personalities). When I know what I want to tell in a scene and what I want to express, I don't meander as much. So I plan plan plan plan.

But really, if you work best off instinct, I encourage you to go that way. There's no right way, and you don't want to force yourself. Sometimes people write their best when they're figuring it out along the way. I'm not capable of that hahahahah

As for linear, I can NOT jump around as much as I wish. I need CONTEXT like...I love referring back to old conversations and using the older conversations as context to newer ones people who can jump around and write non-linearly are superhuman.

Typing with your eyes closed seems so cool. I do have a cinematic approach to writing as well, but I also only type with three fingers lmao (I never learned how to use all your fingers for typing) so I need to see plshfhsdfhdsj

thank you!! I love your IF as well and your energy! Your posts are so fun to read and Memento Mori is SOO GOOD!

[keycarabiner]

Hi! I'm Em. I write fanfiction for fun over on AO3!

♡ Nonbinary lesbian (they/them pronouns)

♡ 20s

♡ Hobby writer

♡ Currently writing stranger things fic (mostly steddie)

My inbox will always be open for any comments, questions, and requests.

Thanks for stopping by! ♡

Masterlist of fanfictions below the cut, sorted chronologically from most recent update:

AO3: mourningshowers

storge (G | 4.1k | 1/1 | part one of forms of love)

Steve Harrington is claimed by his mother the same night he arrives at camp. And it happens in the middle of the campfire sing-a-long, go fucking figure. 

Storge, or familial love, refers to natural or instinctual affection, such as the love of a parent towards offspring and vice versa.

carry me home (T | 10k | 1/3)

“I missed you,” he says honestly, the words muffled into Eddie’s skin, and something within him just— Clicks into place. Eddie doesn’t waste a second in climbing up onto the bed to hold Steve, too, his hands stroking up and down his back. Steve continues to murmur, “Even though back then, I didn’t really know you—I missed you so much when you were gone.” “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Eddie says, and he draws back if only to run his hands through Steve’s hair softly, pushing the strands back just to lay soft lips at his temple. It feels like love, so it must be. Love. He needs it. So much he’s dizzy with it. He leans into the touch. Eddie smiles against his skin. “I never left.” Steve Harrington wakes up in a world where he is loved. It's not real.

any way the wind blows (M | 34.9k | 5/15)

Steve's mind is carefully blank. It has been from the moment his father walked him to one of the castle’s balconies, the one that oversaw his home kingdom in its entirety, and said the word betrothal.  He had suppressed every single thing, every emotion and feeling and conviction that had risen inside of him that very moment, and has continued to suppress them, and he will continue well after he is officially wed tonight—most likely until he takes his final breath. He had known for a while now that this would be his fate. He wishes knowing had made it any easier. From childhood, Prince Stephen of the Northlands has been a disappointment. When his parents forged a new alliance with the Southlands, he did not expect his own hand to factor into the treaty. Yet on the dawn of his twentieth birthday he finds himself being carted off to the capital of the Southlands to marry their infamous bloody-handed warrior, Prince Kas. Prince Kas’ reputation precedes him. But upon his arrival Steve quickly realizes that the Southlands aren’t all that they seem to be, and neither is his betrothed.

silver fox (G | 2.3k | 1/1)

Steve stops short. He meets Eddie’s eyes in the water-stained mirror, then his own. A beat passes. Before he knows it he’s crowding up way too close to his own reflection, pulling at his scalp this way and that and sure enough— There are a few hairs that glint silver in the dim bathroom light. “What,” he says again, as he feels his world slowly begin to implode around him. Grey hairs at twenty-one years old, he despairs silently. At this rate he will be almost entirely grey at age thirty, probably. “Kinda super sexy of you,” Eddie is saying, manhandling him a bit out of the way so that he can spit and rinse. “Silver fox Stevie. Ha.”

only i remain (your friend, eddie) (T | 9.5k | 1/1)

Dustin, I’m awake now. Finally. And I’m alive.

Dustin, Weird things are happening. Guess that’s just par for the course in Hawkins though, so I can’t say I’m all that surprised.

Dustin, This is the last letter I’ll be able to write.

hunter's moon (T | 17k | 2/2 | part one of moonstruck)

“What about your pack?” Steve asks, because, well— Werewolves are social creatures. Humans may not be right about the specific dynamics, the leaders and the runts and pack structures, but they got the general idea right. The idea that wolves have a distinct need for life, to be surrounded by it, sustained by it. There is no point in running beneath the glow of a full moon without people you trust. People who understand what it's like. “Don’t have one,” Eddie replies stiffly. “Don’t need one. I have my uncle. And my friends. Even though they’re human, they help with the whole socialization thing.” He’s a lone wolf, Steve realizes. That’s the smell that rolls off of Eddie Munson in irrepressible waves: it’s loneliness.

convalescence (M | 23.3k | 2/3)

Eddie met Steve the year he turned twenty, in a kitchen with peeling yellow wallpaper. Further down the line, he'll remember thinking that the wallpaper was dull in comparison to the glowingly beautiful boy stood at the stove. Even if the boy had the saddest eyes Eddie had ever seen, a deep brown and frosted over like the earth in January. You can be sad and beautiful, Eddie reasoned: wilted roses do not stop being lovely just because they’re looking down instead of up. Or, it’s winter and Steve is stolen.

baby love (G | 2k | 1/1)

Eddie looks better than he has in a long while. His hair is a little shorter and curlier than it was back in March and he’s wearing a short-sleeve Night of the Living Dead t-shirt, proudly displaying the healed, jagged scars that crawl up his arms and neck. His eyes are bright, his mouth fast, his posture relaxed, and he’s— He’s holding a baby. It’s shocking how quickly Steve’s mind goes hysterically loud one moment and then carefully blank the next.

stay safe (T | 4.3k | 1/1 | part 3 of first meetings)

“My name isn’t Junior,” Junior cuts in, like that’s the thing he should be concerned about, not the fact that Steve was calling out his perceived shitty relationship with his father. “Yeah, no shit,” Steve says. “But I don’t know your real name and Hopper calls you Junior, so.” “I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson. I’ve been in your pre-calc class all semester. And gym, but I never go.” “Oh,” Steve says. He recognizes the name, has heard it before, murmured in the halls of Hawkins High or on the back patio during a house party. He’d never been able to put a face to it. Never really cared to. It’s funny how quickly things like that can change. 

brighter in the dark (T | 13.9k | 1/1)

Eddie thinks that he’s probably judged Steve too quickly. He thinks Steve’s probably full of surprises, if the past two years are anything to go by. And then, of course, Steve just has to prove him right by stepping out of his BMW in a full sailor suit fantasy that not even the most depraved recesses of Eddie’s mind could have cooked up. Jesus. He’s got the little hat and everything. Cute tiny shorts, too, that are regrettably not as short as the ones included in the Hawkins High gym uniform, but still short enough for Eddie to be able to appreciate Steve’s legs. He has nice legs. Good knees. White socks pulled halfway up his calves, for some reason, stark against his golden tan skin. Wispy little hairs that probably go up his thighs. Eddie needs to stop looking at his legs. “Eddie Munson,” Steve calls as he approaches, his voice all easy and light like they’re actually friends. “Hi.” Eddie blinks at him. Because Eddie's life can never be normal, the summer of '85 finds him working a firework stand just outside of Starcourt Mall, catching up on school work, and tutoring Steve Harrington in all things D&D.

let the light in (M | 19.4k | 1/1)

Eddie’s blood sings out for him in a way that is distinctly not-human, and that’s really the final nail in the coffin. The proverbial one, at least. He’s not so sure what happened to the real one. “What did you do?” Eddie asks, when the horror fully sets in and takes over and the dread crawls up from his chest to claw at his throat and choke. He asks, desperately, “Steve, what did you do?” “What I had to,” Steve answers, and Eddie breathes out with decayed lungs, coughs up some more soil, and weeps. Eddie wakes up.

moonbeam (T | 6.1k | 1/1 | part 2 of first meetings)

Eddie hums. “We’ll figure something out,” he tells Steve, like they’re friends or something. Like they’ll see each other somewhere after this and won’t just let their eyes skip over one another’s faces—like they’ll actually call out to one another, sit down, catch up. Steve knows better. Knows their tentative alliance doesn’t exist outside of this mediocre 24-hour diner, at nearly midnight a few days after the Fourth of July. They both know it, Eddie’s just pretending not to. Strangely enough, it doesn’t stop Steve from saying, “Sure.”

in my life (T | 9.5k | 1/1)

Eddie will say goodbye to Dustin and Mike at the same time then move on to the rest. Two birds, one stone. And then he’ll be off. Easy peasy. Except it isn’t, because when has Eddie’s life ever been easy? He drives over to the Wheeler’s place down Maple Street, parks at the curb in front of the house. Stumbles up the front steps and raps on the door a bit. Is so lost in preparing his last-minute improvised goodbye speech that he doesn’t register the fact that Mike Wheeler isn’t the one answering the door until, well— “Eddie?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing. Eddie gapes at him stupidly. Eddie is leaving. Steve is doing his damnedest to get him to stay. Also, Holly Wheeler is a fairy princess.

you win some, you lose some (G | 2.3k | 1/1 | part 1 of first meetings)

Eddie hums. His eyes are blazing with something Steve can't really put a name to. “What were you and Hargrove fighting over?” “None of your business.” “Title of Best Car in the Hawkins High senior parking lot? Captaincy for the game in which you throw balls into laundry baskets?” He pauses, leans forward and grins wickedly. “A girl?”

chimera (T | 5.5k | 1/1 | part 1 of transmutation)

“Friend,” the demogorgon repeats. It reaches a hand up. Long and thin and veiny. Distinctly not human. Black beneath the clawed nail. The tip of its finger comes closer and Steve stops breathing right up until it gently brushes the denim of Steve’s vest. Not Steve’s vest. Eddie’s vest. Steve looks down. Jammed onto the finger is a chunky silver ring in the shape of a tombstone.

fixer-upper (T | 20.5k | 3/3 | part 2 of love letters verse)

Steve wakes up the morning of their two-month We-Finally-Got-Our-Shit-Together anniversary to find Eddie staring at him, crouched over at the foot of the bed with his round unblinking eyes like a fucking gargoyle. It should be creepy. Steve is used to this, though, so now it’s just kind of a thing that Eddie does. “What,” Steve says groggily, wiping the drool from his mouth. “Nothing, angel, go back to sleep,” Eddie trills. Or, two months after Steve and Eddie officially get together, Steve finds himself thinking about home, his heart, and how to let go.

you all the way down (T | 6.7k | 1/1)

Steve steels himself, grips his bat tight, and whips open the door. Instead of the kids, or Wayne, or any of the remaining basketball meatheads that have made Eddie’s life a living hell since the spring, a girl is standing on the stoop. She looks about Steve’s age, maybe a couple of years older. She’s short. Petite. She has freckles all over her round face, kind of like Robin does, with the same hair length, although hers is dark and straight with a chic cut to it. She’s wearing all black, ripped jeans and big heeled boots and an oversized denim jacket. Her dark eyes are ringed with smudged eyeliner and look wide, almost frantic; her hand is poised just above the door, and the dozens of thin silver rings on her fingers glint in the early morning sunlight. “Oh,” she says, her voice all airy like she’d run out of breath. “Oh, sorry. I… I must have the wrong place.”

in the meantime (T | 13.3k | 1/1)

Now that Eddie’s officially retired, him and Steve are engaged and they live in a huge house together in a state where apparently, it is currently at least a little bit legal for two people of the same gender to adopt or foster children together. They have a family; not some ragtag mishmash of people bonded by the trauma of surviving multiple apocalypses together, but an actual family. Two parents, a slew of children, and a home. The mismatched decor of the house suddenly makes a lot more sense, the pastel yellow color of the walls in the family room clashing horribly with the stuffed crow and plastic skull on the mantelpiece. It’s so them it hurts. Mike and El went off the grid for a number of years following the death of Henry Creel. Except it seems as though nothing is truly dead and gone, because the Upside-Down reawakens more than ten years later for reasons unknown. They soon find themselves calling everyone to come back to Hawkins and stop the end of the world from happening yet again. Some people have moved on, though.

two-headed calf; twice as many stars (T | 3.6k | 1/1)

The music has stopped. Eddie mutters something about a quick smoke break and slips out the front door, wood planks creaking and settling in his wake. The old guitar is abandoned against the wall. And who would Steve be, if he didn’t follow?

follow the sun (T | 11.1k | 1/1)

Eddie walks into a Michaels Arts and Crafts Store at 4PM on a Sunday stoned out of his goddamn mind and is immediately accosted by the image of Steve Harrington crouched over in the yarn aisle, wearing glasses and an apron over what can only be described as a grandpa sweater.

love letters in your lunch (T | 20.2k | 4/4 | part 1 of love letters verse)

Rumor has it that whenever any one of the seven or so gremlins that Steve has magnanimously decided to adopt sleep over at his ridiculously large and empty house, he’ll get up extra early in the morning and pack them all lunches in brown paper bags. He’ll make them breakfast, too, and drop them off at school with a ruffle of their hair, a slap on their shoulder, or a pep-talk, depending on the kid. Not that Eddie Munson, of all people, would know anything about it. It's October and Steve starts packing Eddie lunches for work. Eddie doesn't know what to do about it.

wake up the dawn (T | 7.6k | 1/1)

The worst part about the secrets is that Steve will eventually find someone else to share them with, someone else to show his big dorky glasses and play a subdued game of Two Truths and a Lie with, and Eddie will fade into the periphery, into the background, into nothing until he dissipates completely. It’s inevitable. That doesn’t make the dull ache right smack dab into the middle of his chest any less painful. Or, Eddie considers grief, hair, secrets, lullabies, and the unattainability of dreams.

[ceramicdove]

hi dove!! not a deep question or anything but can i aks u two things?

1. whats a musical genre u would never touch again or ever? i feel like u have a wide musical palate so i cant rlly think of anything youd be Very Against but id want to know anyways

2. what birds would everyone in fine be :) n wjat patterns if its ok to ask!! also what colours did u wish birds came in

HI LAB! you may always ask me two things!

you are correct about me having a wide musical palate...so it actually took me a while until I could really think of a genre I didn't like...but you know what? Fuck dubstep. Stupidest genre on earth. It's funny to listen to ironically if you want to LARP as a 12-year-old boy doing a Minecraft outro, I suppose, but genuinely? Genuinely? I think the genre is almost irredeemable, perhaps even evil. and this is coming from someone that generally enjoys quite a lot of loud "bad" music.

2. THIS IS WHERE IT GETS REAL! I'm genuinely using up a high amount of my brain capacity trying to think about this. I'll be putting the rest of my response under a read more because I will be including photos of the birds ^_^.

TORI! he would obviously be a smaller bird...but it's hard to really find a species that feels right for him.

Hmm. I think in terms of general energy, he reminds me of a (pink-breasted) robin. whenever I see photos of robins I always laugh. I cannot really word what about them looks so deeply stupid and special...perhaps their faces, especially their eyes, read weirdly human to me in the sense that they oftentimes look quite serious or domineering despite their stupidly small stature.

essentially, they are very cute, but it's impossible not to laugh at them mockingly at least a little bit. which goes along well with how I feel about tori.

YUZURU! For some reason, my first thought was the jaybird family? Do you see it. Do you understand...perhaps an island-scrub jay, or even the fancier black-throated magpie-jay. I'm still not sure if I can 100% confirm, but these birds are just oddly Yuzuru-shaped to me. They also have beautiful dark blue feathers...I'm quite fond of them.

EICHI! This is another interesting one. My instinctual response was the mute swan. they are well-loved as symbols of elegance, gracefulness, light & love, but they also have a long-running old wives' tale reputation of being powerful and vicious (mostly because they're very protective of their partners and cygnets).

There's a pretty famous saying that you should steer clear of swans because they're powerful enough to break your arm, and though there may be a few (rare) accounts of swans going beyond usual intimidation tactics, they definitely do not go around breaking random people's arms...so...swan mischaracterization is real? SAD! This happened to my buddy Eichi.

Though, oddly enough, I think Eichi can also be somewhat dove-like at times? It's a high honour to award from me, Dove ceramicdove, but I can see an air of doveness in him at times. Perhaps a ringneck (they are on the smaller, "scrawnier" side, but they are very endearing to me). Or a seraphim pigeon.

Ultimately, however, I think I'll leave it off at the mute swan!

WATARU! Saving the little birthday princess for last (even though his birthday already ended, but it doesn't matter. every day is his birthday to me). Everyone already associates him with doves and pigeons, but I feel like he's versatile enough to fit the bill for multiple birds.

Sometimes he has the airs of the Indian peacock...sometimes, something like a garden fantail dove...I've heard that some of the CN fandom associates him with geese because he's big and loud, which is very funny and endearing to me, so I'm adding geese to the list in honour of that. I ALSO THINK HE COULD BE A BIT PARROT-LIKE but I'm not at all well-versed in parrots...!

I think there can be more answers to this question than the ones I gave, but I still tried to be accurate! Thank you for giving me this opportunity...the reason why it took me so long to answer this was because, as I was looking for photos and species and such, I kept going down accidental rabbitholes and reading all sorts of articles and posts about birds...but I have reached the end!

Also, I think birds already come in many beautiful colours, but I wish there were more blue and silver birds...iridescent is not a colour, but more types of iridescent birds would be awesome.

Again, thank you for asking ^_^.

[puffin-smoke]

I barely have WiFi rn I'm in the middle of nowhere, pray for me yall

1 - (She's got that emotional repression swag) Not being able to fix something they've done, being told that she can't be forgiven. It's a sense of helplessness mixed with that sense of just, I don't know, anger? This happened when Natalie came back. The moment Duarte was finally alone she sunk to the floor and began to sob.

2 - Excessively salty popcorn. Like salty as the sea salty. Like can be used as slug deterrent salty.

3 - Doesn't like it, weirds her out for some reason. She can't explain it.

4 - (In simple words: Icky icky icky, gross, fuck off, ahhh) It feels violating. She's a very private person, and she enjoys that; it makes her feel safe, as though having another layer of armour. So the idea that somebody could be that obsessed with her to the point of knowing her every move, every detail of her life, is genuinely fucking terrifying for her. She becomes more paranoid, not a moment goes by where she isn't looking over her shoulder.

5 - Initially she was worried. This is her friend, so of course she is. But that worry didn't stop her fraying nerves setting her body on fire, nor the way she picks at her fingernails. But she forced her unease down, swallowing it like bile. "Nothing, I just- I just wanted to check in on you."

She instinctually took a step backwards, towards the door. "Just- shit, tell me if you need anything? I'm around if you need to talk. Or something. "

The sentiment was genuine, she'd do what little she could to help, but it's aim is underhanded. Just to end the conversation, to get her a way out of that fucking room. Brittle leaves crackled like bones breaking as she backed out of the room, her eyes never leaving Chester, refusing to turn her back on him.

6 - (run DUARTE RUN) "What the actual fuck." She breathed the words, almost entirely unaware that she was speaking, each syllable falling from her tongue of its own volition.

Her eyes frantically darted across the array of photos, inevitably settling back on the photo of her training. She remembered that day, she remembered drilling herself over and over again, untill the sun went down. She'd been alone, she could have sworn she'd been alone. How long had he been there for? How the hell did he get that close without her knowing? Questions raced through her mind and into her veins, every bone in her body told her to run.

She wanted to puke, right then and there. But she couldn't. She grabbed a few of the photos, the one of Ulysses performing, the one of her training, and a couple that seemed to be from a few weeks prior. Dread further settled in her gut like a lead weight.

Not wanting to spend another second in that room, she slammed the wardrobe shut and hurried out of it. She needed to find Ulysses, show them what she found, figure out what to do next. And then maybe throw up.

Holy shoot it's been a while but here we are again ig

Bug Army Questions/ Scenarios! Also quick warning but I really do ramble on here sorry <3

(The new au talk gave me some ideas lol)

1) Smth that makes them cry like instantly?

2) Modern! AU

What's their go-to cinema/ theatre snack?

3) Opinion on velvet? (the fabric)

4) Yandere AU! (Check @strayharmony943 acc for list of Yandere Bugs/ the obsessed/ to enlist ur Bug)

For the Yandere Bugs: who are they obsessed with? why?

For the Bugs being obsessed over: how do they feel abt smbdy being obsessed with them?

For the rest of the Army: how do they support those who are being obsessed over?

5) Scenario #1 - back to Yandere AU! :D

Bug had noticed that Chester's behaviour had been slightly odd recently. He hadn't spent much time out of his room, Bug doesn't remember the last time they spoke, the biggest pointer that something was up was the flower beds...all the flowers were dead. He hadn't even come out to water them

Bug decided they would go check in on him, just to see if he was okay...if he was even alive. They knocked on his door, no response, they knock3e again, still nothing, so they announced that they were coming in and pushed the door open

Chester had been staring into a wardrobe but as soon as Bug entered the room he roughly pulled a the door of said wardrobe shut, hiding whatever was in there from view. He turned quickly to look at them. His eyes were bloodshot and wild yet he tried to regain his composure.

"*Bug*! What are you doing in here?"

It wasn't till now that Bug got a true look at the room...it was a mess? Chester was usually so well put together, so neat, so pristine but now there were clothes everywhere, grime/ dust covered every surface, dead plants surrounding the entire area...what tf happened?

Chester is staring at Bug waiting for their answer as they try to silently usher them out of his room

6) Continuing from Scenario #1

It had been a few days since Bug had went to check on Chester, they had failed to find out what was in that wardrobe but today they seemed to have found a way

Nobody knows where he went but Chester suddenly dissapeared from the house and Bug decided to take the chance and find out what's om the wall. They knew he could be back any moment so they had to act fast.

They snuck into the room, being mindful that Chester may have set up some sort of trap to harm those who came in when he was gone...luckily there wasn't anything. They cautiously made their way over to the wardrobe, pulled it open and....

Photos, poems, flowers, gifts...what? They stared at the wall until they finally realised what they were looking at, a shrine. They picked up one of the many photos that lay there, it was a photo of Duarte training in the forest nearby...they didn't seem aware that the photo was taken, they looked at another Ulysseus playing their flute to some of the Baby Bugs.

As they scanned the rest of the contents of the wardrobe they found that everything linked back to those two, the photos were all of them, (if there was smbdy else in the picture they were scribbled over in bold, black ink) the poems all abt them, flowers with labels describing why they reminded Chester of the two, letters addressed to them and gifts they had given him/ gifts he intended to give to them.

Holy shit...he was watching them, constantly. He was fucking obsessed with them!

What do they do with this new, sparkling information?

☆---------------☆

Huge thank you to Duarte/ @puffin-smoke and Ulysseus/ @lunaritychuwolf for sacrificing their Bug to this awful fate <3

Tags -

@rozeliyawashereyall @willowve01 @asmrbrainrot @kaiamtt @iistxrmyskyii @insignificant-anarchy @stxph-artist @aspenm00n @keyaartz @fangsshadow @rustycopper4use @piffany666 @dreamyshape @idontevenknow7878 @lunaritychuwolf @littlesiren79 @castbracelet240 @strayharmony943 @proxdragon @tiefling-chaos @threeweekinsomnia @recated @wilderrorcard @diamondzoey @fennaboysenberry @lunnats @lightdragon789 @pinkcocopuff-aqualoid @astralbulldragon13 @ccstiles @puffin-smoke @fruity0salad @takashishihoin @reefhastoomanyaccs

[chaseadrian]

Hey can I request a drabble where the reader, who isn't really overly touchy, comes home after a bad day and is like really touchy and cuddly to Adrian Chase and he is slightly concerned please? Idk I'm just in the mood for a hurt/comfort because of the day I've had 🥺💕🧜‍♂️

i hope today is going better for u and that this helps some!!! :)

requests open through today!

spilled coffee

tags: general, concerned!adrian, reader has a bad day, established relationship word count: 600+

Adrian knew something was wrong the minute you came home and flopped yourself down on the futon. It was the most uncomfortable futon in the world, but you just laid there on your stomach with your arm hanging off the side.

He sat down by your head, and you immediately crawled into his lap, resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his neck. He sat there, frozen, at first.

You were never like this, it was one of the things that you and Adrian had in common. It wasn’t like the two of you had an aversion to touch, just that it wasn’t a love language for either of you. Sure, you usually sat with your knees touching, and neither of you were afraid to swat the other on the shoulder after a stupid comment, but touch like this only happened on bad days.

“What…what’s wrong? Are you okay? Did you get hurt today? Do you need a shower or something?” Adrian hurtled questions at you as you sat on him with your eyes closed, heavy sighs heaving against his chest as you tried to decompress.

“I’ll fuck someone up, did someone do something? If it’s even a little bit against the law I’ll break their jaw just give me a name and I—”

You put a hand to his lips and let it fall when he shut up.

“I just had a bad day. I spilled my coffee in the car, and tripped on the fucking stairs and just…things didn’t go right for me today. It’s like the universe took a look at me and said ‘hey you know what would be fun?” You paused, lifting your head up to look him in the eyes.

“What’s their idea of fun?” He asked, completely in earnest.

“To fuck up my day, Adrian. I just want to lay down.”

Adrian brought a hand to your head and guided it down to his chest again before sliding that hand under your knees and standing up with you in his arms, bridal style.

Your grip on his neck tightened instinctually. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, the man was lithe but strong as a fucking horse.

He walked you to the bedroom, taking care not to knock your head on the hallway walls, and placed you on the bed, sliding next to you right after.

You scooted closer to him, hands tucked between your chests and head nuzzled underneath his chin.

“So, just to be clear, I don’t need to kick anyone’s ass?” He wrapped his arms around you, planting his lips on the top of your hair.

You laughed, “No, Ade, you don’t need to kick anyone’s ass. Thank you for offering, though.”

He kept pressing kisses to your hair, before pulling back and guiding your gaze up to him with his fingers holding your chin. He kissed your forehead, and each of your eyelids, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. Before he hovered in front of your lips, his forehead meeting yours.

You closed the gap between you, and he kissed you softly, his lips warm and gentle, a hand making its way to hold your cheek.

“Sorry you had a bad day.” He spoke when you broke the kiss, moving to lay your head on his chest.

“Mm, it’s better now.” You wrapped an arm over his waist, and he squeezed you tight.

The two of you lay there silently, the warmth of his body lulling you into a nap.

Adrian stayed awake, watching you breathe, your eyes fluttering with a dream. He smiled at the thought that he brought such comfort to you that you could dream peacefully in his arms. It wasn’t often you slept like this, but the moon tonight was blue and he was happy to have you.

[tobegiggledat]

Weak Skin, Tough Heart

18+ CONTENT AHEAD MINORS DNI

❀pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x yandere!reader

❀warnings: hand job, blow job, name-calling, cum swallowing, manipulative behavior, unhealthy relationship dynamics

❀word count: 2.3k

❀a/n: this shit is kinda edgy so beware💀

Original Post, Soft Version

It’s early in the afternoon, as you lounge passively, that a solemn voice breaks your concentration by asking to talk for a moment, but from Shigaraki’s unusual demeanor, you would assume that the subject is quite serious.

“In a few days from now, I'm going to undergo an update with the Doc’s supervision”, he finally reveals after bringing you back to his chambers.

Though, his words are laced heavily with that stubborn determination; or the same determination that has always held you captive to his leadership despite its self-destructive and murderous trail.

And it’s evident this hold still remains when the pace of your heart quickens upon hearing him—yet a part of you also yearns selfishly for the day his fearless demeanor eventually crumbles.

The nature of your ability calls for it; revelling in others' frightened expressions and sense of panic. It’s instinctual, just as much as those other traits that are typically ingrained in quirks.

“And you trust him?”, you question in a faux fearful tone.

“Sacrifices are necessary for goals as big as mine. You knew this before you got involved with me—”

“So, you don't?” The tears you try so hard to collect finally tumble down in heated streaks.

Crimson eyes stare dejectedly with no way of comforting you while calloused palms attempt to rub you gently, but retreat quickly before they ever do.

“I trust him enough to go through with it. If I die, then so be it.”

“How could you say something like that! Do you even care about me!” You frantically swipe away more of your manipulative tears.

Only for your response to be met with silence and another one of his stoic, unreadable expressions.

“Just fuck off already, then”, you hiss before clumsily rising to your feet and throwing yourself on the side of the bed opposite of him. Though, your eyes stop leaking once they're away from his view, and you reckon sleeping off the rest of the night is enough to emphasize the extent of your “heartbreak”.

It is only when you awake the next day with thin, pale arms surrounding your sides, that you realize you’d do anything to see him break down before you, now that you've gotten him close enough.

Throughout the day, you contemplate using your quirk to see this come into fruition.

If you were to make a deep incision on your body, the blood that flows out of it would instantly vaporize, negatively affecting all who inhale it. Its vapor is also potent in a stress-like hormone that causes victims to temporarily lose their drive for most tasks.

The League is aware of these effects, of course. However, if given at a much larger dose, victims are permanently fear-ridden to the point of panic attacks. Fearful of everything unless…aided by the user’s touch.

This was an aspect you avoided revealing to the League to gain their trust as a quirk like that would only make them weary of you turning against them.

You swore to never use your quirk as a catalyst for revealing Shigaraki’s fear, but your judgment is impaired by your impatience and your longing to be the only one to see his inner self. With your newfound resolve, you decide that later that night you'll attempt your plan while he’s asleep.

Once the moment arrives, you take the scalpel from your nightstand and make a deep ridge along your right palm. You then carefully place your hand where father's would usually be, until he begins trembling slightly in his sleep.

Shigaraki's awakening gasp is enough to startle you, as he jerks up and quickly looks around the room with widened eyes.

“What's wrong?”, you ask as you hide the wound on your hand. “You woke up so suddenly.”

“I-I don't know where—I don't know what it is”, he began. “I'm just so—so scared all of a sudden”, he turns to you with eyes still as wide as saucers.

“It’s alright”, you reply before bringing his head to your chest, stroking his cheek gently.

His body eases into your touch and you cherish the way he is calmer in your grasp, almost dependent on you.

It was exciting for you to see him reduced to nothing more than a frail, whimpering husk of his former self. After all, you never knew if his usual lack of fear was due to his disregard for himself and everything around him or his strong faith in his own abilities.

It's not like it matters anymore though.

“It won’t take long before the others arrive. Just hold out until then”, you mutter.

As if on cue, you hear a few harsh knocks on the door before it abruptly bursts open. You quickly release him to allow the effects of your quirk to briefly return.

“What the hell was that yelling?”, Twice asks urgently whilst scanning the room for intruders. However, he quickly stops upon seeing Shigaraki's jittering form.

Spinner and Trumpet follow soon after him to investigate, only to be left just as dumbfounded.

“Shigaraki—what—”, Spinner begins, slowly approaching him. “What's going on?”

He's quickly met with hostility as Shigaraki starts thrashing on the bed to get away.

“Get away from me!”, he yells and becomes increasingly erratic. “Get out!”

Spinner's shoulders slump, with his brows furrowing at the sight. “Dude, what's your problem?”

“I've never seen you act this way before”, he continues but is given the same blank stare. Soon, it becomes harder for him to recognize the frightened man as his leader anymore.

“I think it's best if you all to leave”, you say quickly afterward. “For now, at least.”

Trumpet casts a look of disapproval. “Is this really our leader now? I'm usually not one to question Re-Destro’s judgement, but this is troubling.”

Spinner merely disregards his comment. “Can't you just tell us what happened?”, he asks now, looking at you.

“I would if I knew myself”, you brush him off.

“Really? I feel like this stuff didn't start happening until you arrived”, his voice raises.

“What? A traitor!”, Twice says abruptly. “No—There's no use turning on each other”, he quickly refutes. “Let's just wait things out. I can't see anyone in the League purposely sabotaging him.”

There's a brief moment of silence before Spinner smacks his teeth and leaves begrudgingly.

Twice then gives you one last glance before Trumpet and him take off soon after.

Once they leave, your eyes trail down to Shigaraki and his current weakened state.

If only it wasn't this easy to—you quickly think to yourself before brushing off your inner disappointment.

“It's all right now. There's nothing to be afraid of”, you speak softly, but he still shakes and keeps a small distance from you.

A huff of annoyance falls from your lips.

“Don’t you want to destroy hero society? What about your goals?”, you continue in hopes that he’d given up on them. Things will only be confirmed once he admits it from his very lips, but he never answers.

“Don’t tell me you still plan on doing it even in this weakened state?”

Still no answer.

“You were just over ambitious, that’s all. I think it’s best that you avoid going through the procedure you mentioned earlier.”

Silence.

“It’s much easier to give up on such things and just live a quiet life. Don't you think so—”

“But I can’t”, he finally interrupts, his voice verging on a whisper. “I just—I feel this crushing weight and anxiety but despite it all I still feel passion.” He turns to look toward you. “F-fear doesn't cancel that feeling out. The weak can still have big dreams.”

You're taken aback by his input, brows raised and mouth slightly agape, yet you purse your lips and shake your head gently. “I feel like I've made things worse with nothing to gain”, you say, despite your passion for him igniting once more.

It’s clear your efforts were futile, but deep down you’ve always wanted them to be. You'd always known it'd be a challenge to truly destroy his courage, but it was even greater experiencing it firsthand.

Shigaraki’s features contorts in confusion at your words but he makes no effort to question them.

“No matter what I do, I can never get you to depend on me”, you continue. “What will it take for you to give up?”

“I never said that I didn't give up”, he replies bluntly. “I'll just never be satisfied now that I did.”

“Still got that fighting spirit, huh?” You smile and place your hand on his cheek to cancel the effects of your quirk. “That's what I love most about you. Not even I can put a dent in it.”

Shigaraki’s eyes finally darken. “What did you do to me?”

“I used my quirk on you.” You meet his cold glare once more. “What it does isn't important but I can choose to cancel it out temporarily once I touch you.”

“Your quirk? You never mentioned that being one of your abilities.”

“I didn't think it was necessary to reveal. After all, I only use it for…“special” occasions.”

“Like being a pervert?” The corners of his lips quirk upward.

“I guess so if you put it that way.”

“Tell me. What do you gain from this?”

“Nothing, right now, seeing as you were able to overcome the fear I instilled in you.” You match his grin from earlier.

He finally releases a chuckle or two. “You're really different from how I thought you were.” His head tilts slightly. “If you want to touch me so badly then do it”, he continues.

Your fingers inch closer toward him. “If that's what you want.”

You eventually reach him, gently placing your hand on his chest while still watching for his expressions.

“Lower”, he speaks, and your hand moves towards his abdomen.

“C’mon, lower.”

You wrap your digits around his clothed member as a burning in your lower abdomen begins to swell at the intensity of his gaze.

“Will this please you”, you ask.

He nods before you begin gently tugging at the hem of his pants to glide your eager fingers inside. You’re met with the warmth of his skin and his tangled strands as they tickle your wandering palm. His hardened cock soon finds your fingertips and you slowly remove it.

It’s quick to spring outward and you’re mesmerized at the veins that branch along the underside of it, towards the head. A large droplet of cum rests on the top of his glistening pink tip, which you start smearing with the pad of your thumb.

He lets out a low groan as he watches your movements and you shake at the intensity of its vibration. Once you’ve gathered enough slick, you wrap your fingers around his length, jerking it in its entirety. The skin of his shaft responds to your movements, reddening and stretching with each motion. You occasionally swipe at his slit to hear more of his grumbles and slight murmuring.

His cock twitches as he starts approaching his orgasm. The sound of his quickening pants fill the room as the warmth of his breaths tickle your skin.

“That’s—ugh—it. Keep going. Just like that.”

You increase the speed of your hands as you bring your lips to his tip, giving it a small peck. Your kiss is enough to send him over the edge as ropes of cum trickle down onto your fingertips and wrist.

With fluttering lashes, you look him in the eyes as you clean his liquids off of you, yet he hardly acknowledges it.

“Get on your knees”, he says and you oblige with your hands tucked neatly on your lap.

His cock is pressed against your mouth so that you’d open it.

“Don’t move”, he continues before placing it inside.

A bit of his semen from earlier still remains. The salty residue coats your tongue and the roof of your mouth while drool drips from the corners of your lips as you salivate from the taste of him.

His hands are placed on the sides of your face as he starts to push his length further inside of you. He then pulls it back out and repeats the motion continuously, at an agonizingly slow pace.

Though, the speed of his movements begin to quicken after a few more sharp thrusts. It becomes increasingly difficult for you to withstand the brutality of it as your throat starts to sore from his treatment and your eyelashes dampen from sensory overload. Moaning for release, you struggle to breathe through your nose and your chest begins swelling.

You try tugging harshly at his pants, desperate for air, but his iron grip never relents and he continues to batter the back of your throat. With a rough tug, he finally removes his cock yet a string of your saliva still connects your mouth to it. You finally take in a gasp of air to catch your breath.

“Keep it open, slut”, he orders as he uses his own hands to bring himself to climax onto your waiting tongue, which you swallow eagerly.

Shigaraki suddenly grabs you by the neck with four fingers and pulls you to your feet.

“You can continue to pull your stupid tricks all you want, but it’s clear I’m still the one in control”, he spits, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Don’t let your little obsession with me get you killed.”

He finally shoves you away, but your sex still throbs achingly at the loss of his touch.

“Now, does it still cancel out if your finger is detached from the rest of you?”, he continues.

“I’m not sure”, you say hesitantly.

“Well, should we test it then?”, he questions but you're certain he doesn't care for your answer.

“Yes, gladly.”

[yoonpobs]

cold | pjm

pairing: park jimin x oc

genre: fluff, slight tsundere jimin, just cuteness tbh

words: 3, 339

summary: where jimin is ice cold but he wants you to warm him up (not in the way you think)

When Jimin pulls away for the first time in a year since you’ve met him during your movie nights, you suspect that something’s up. But, you also know Jimin—he would have said something to you if there was.

You raise an eyebrow at him, “You good?”

Jimin sighs at you, frustrated and you can’t help but feel confused at the sudden shift of atmosphere. You thought picking La La Land was a good choice, but you suppose that since Jimin was a little emotionally constipated he didn’t like it as much.

“I’m not, actually.” He declares, tugging off the blanket that covered both of your lower halves and withdrew from the warmth that settled into the couch.

“Do you—” You contemplate on asking because being Jimin’s friend meant respecting certain boundaries, and you weren't intending to be that friend that stuck their nose in his business.

You choose to remain silent and purse your lips and settle back into the couch, though it felt a little empty without Jimin bunched up next to you. But he was an enigma of unopened thoughts, and the time you spent navigating the course of your friendship in the first few months was ... heavy.

He’d never tell you anything, let alone allow you to indulge in the greatness that was his mind. You’d always hear from Namjoon how much he looks up to and respects Jimin’s way of thinking and mindset, but you rarely get to see that part of him. Sometimes, you felt more of a seat-warmer than a friend. You appreciate him, nonetheless.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about it?” He pries you.

You shrug, covering yourself with the blanket in hopes that it masks your vulnerability and insecurity, too.

“I know you.” You tell him, “You don’t like being questioned unless you say something about it first.”

He purses his lips in a straight line and looks at you ... like he really looks at you. So much that you feel his eyes burning into the side of your head; as if he was attempting to unravel your mind and dig into its deepest depths to understand its content.

“I don’t …” He says after looking at you, head-turning to face the television. Was La La Land seriously still relevant now?

“But I’m asking you to ask me.” He says, and the look of surprise on your face doesn’t disappoint. You gaped at him, forgetting the fact that Ryan Gosling looked really handsome on the screen—because Jimin had just prompted you to ask him about his … feelings.

“I—I don’t understand …” You say, dumbly. He rolls his eyes at you, and you’re familiar with his expression because it’s the one he usually has when he wants to call you an idiot.

“Ask me how I feel.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Your words fail you because the entire situation was sprung onto you so unexpectedly, and you suddenly feel self-conscious about everything. Was this Jimin’s way of assessing you as a friend and throwing you to the curb after a year of being platonically involved with one another?

As if he could hear the millions of thoughts running in your head, he turns to you and grabs your cheeks in between his large palms, and this time you actually short-circuit.

Your intimacy with Jimin stopped at sitting next to each other during movie nights and embracing the warmth that your bodies radiated. Maybe even the occasional accidental brush of fingers when he hands you something, but besides that—Jimin was conservative with his touches.

You can’t lie and say that your heart doesn’t react differently, because for the most part of your friendship you’ve suppressed any romantic feelings that you had or could have had for Jimin. Mostly out of self-preservation because Jimin was just … Jimin.

Cold, aloof but still someone that cared deeply. Yes, he was emotionally constipated when it came to his own feelings, and yes —his gaze more often than not had you cowering in fear. But he never made you feel uncomfortable. Even in the silences, you spent with one another you felt safe. Home.

Not to mention, his entire brooding and stoic persona hit it really well with the women on campus—and the fact he was obscenely attractive. He and you were the types of people that remained just as friends. And suddenly, that could end tonight, too.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He hums, eyes chasing your own but you divert your attention away from him because your eyes tell.

You shake your head, “I’m just confused.”

And confused you were because this was a territory that was unheard of for you—much less for Jimin. If only you could telepathically speak to Namjoon right now because you had no idea what to do or say.

“Well, I’ll keep it simple for you,” He says, “ Ask me how I feel.”

He doesn’t ask you anymore, instead, he insists—as if there was a preconceived answer for you already in the back of his head. Maybe this was how he softened the blow.

“No.” You push him away, flustered. “I won’t let you friend break up with me like this!”

He raises an eyebrow at the sudden rise of voice you admitted, “I like being your friend even if you don’t—and—and I know that yeah, consent matters—but I do not consent to be friend broken up with.”

He listens to you, and his face is still in its signature blankness and you nearly scream at how you wished he’d display a little emotion or a reaction to your blow up. But it seems that between the two of you, you were the emotionally unstable one.

“I know I can be annoying and all over the place and loud but ...” You immediately opt to self-deprecate yourself because nothing could triumph the way it felt to do it yourself than have him say it to your face, “... you’re not allowed to leave me. Ever .”

You fold your arms across your chest and look away because what the fuck did you just do and your face was undebatably on fire right now.

As if he’s noticed the way your eyes widen in realisation, he holds you again—but this time he pulls you closer to his chest until you are forced to look up at him with your flushed cheeks.

“Silly girl.” He hums and you whine.

“What!”

“I have to do everything myself, hm?” He tucks a strand of stray hair behind your ears and it was instinctual for you to pull away because you’ve never felt Jimin like this before. Close, and warm—and all yours.

“Jimin I don’t understand— mpf!” And it was like a scene straight out of a romcom, and you nearly forget that La La Land was still running in the background. You felt like the main character of your own movie, and Jimin was the protagonist's love interest because he kissed you.

Jimin was kissing you.

Kissing. Like lip-locking. Sharing saliva. With you.

He pulls away too soon for your liking, but you gape at him like a fish out of water.

“You—” You stutter, and he chuckles. You feel it more than you hear it because his chest was resting against your cheek.

“Do you understand now?”

You shake your head, “... you feel bad for me?”

He snorts.

“I don’t know if you’re actually this much of an idiot, or are you just hopeless in the romantic department?” He says, and you open your mouth in the offense, ready to defend yourself but he hugs you closer to him and all you could feel was him.

“Excuse me? I’m not an idiot.”

“I just kissed you and you thought I felt bad for you.”

You huff, “What am I supposed to feel! You never speak about your emotions to me, and the most I’ve ever got out from you was a chuckle from the time where I slipped in front of the entire campus during freshers week.”

“That was when we met, yes.” He hums, “Why did you think I’ve been with you ever since?”

You still looked confused and Jimin internally sighs at the way he let himself fall for a dense excuse of a human being like you.

“Cause … you felt 'bad for me?”

"Just because you air-quote it doesn't make it any different from what you said earlier ____."

He groans, “No you dumbass—it’s cause no one makes me feel things the way you do. Strange weirdo who slipped on absolutely nothing, and as a friend who forces me to watch shitty romcoms like La La Land.”

“La La Land is not shitty!” You gasp.

He blinks.

“Is that all you got from what I said?”

“La La Land is phenomenal! All from the artistic production, to the soundtrack—so I don't know why people keep shitting on it because personally I really enjoyed—” But he kisses you again, and you melt into him immediately.

This time he lingers for a bit longer, and when he pulls away you grab onto his shirt to keep him close. You realise your mistake and suddenly push him away, but his hold on you was tight enough to resist your poor attempt.

“I like you, dummy.” He says, and you gasp.

“Nooo.” You say in disbelief.

“I like you.” He emphasises again, and you gasp. Again.

“No, you don’t.” You tell him, and he sighs—knowing that this was going to take a while.

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do .”

“Nope.”

“ Yes .”

“Nuh-uh—!”

He clamps his hand over your mouth and glares at you.

“Me. Park Jimin—likes you, ____ ____, and yes —I can’t believe I like a complete idiot like you, but I do because you fucked up and made me like you from the moment you embarrassed yourself in front of everyone so bad that it was probably the hardest I’ve ever cringed in my life—”

“Hey!”

“—but you quite literally stumbled into my life with your whirlwind of emotions and you made me feel things that I’ve tried to avoid my entire life.” He holds your chin between his thumb and finger so you’d look at him. And you know that Jimin never lies, but something in your heart doesn't allow you that moment of happiness for yourself.

“But I'm annoying …” You say, a little unsure. Jimin simply looks at you, and you're frustrated again at the lack of emotion on his face.

“Yes, you are.” Is all he says, and you gape at his audacity.

You huff, throw the blanket off your body and make way to grab at your belongings that lay idle on the floor next to the couch. You pulled away from Jimin who attempted to grab at your wrist and glare at him so vehemently that he looked taken aback.

“This isn't a joke.” You tell him, and you hoped you looked as strong as you sounded because you felt played. Jimin didn't do this—you were just the clumsy freshmen that somehow befriended him, and he had no way out of it. So you decided to give him a way out on your own.

“Wait—of course, it's not—where are you going?” He exasperates when you make a beeline go to his door. You've never seen Jimin move as quickly as he did, but he manages to secure a tight grip on your elbow.

You try to shove him aside all while you felt like an immense idiot for allowing yourself to feel this way. To feel so human, and raw when you were with Jimin when he hadn't shown an inkling of emotion even when he declared that he ‘liked’ you.

“____—what’s wrong? Is it because I kissed you without asking you? I'm sorry but— ” He apologises and you groan.

“Stop treating me like this!” You yell at him to cut him off, “I know I'm clumsy, and a ditz—but I have feelings and it's not cool how you're doing all of—” You gesture to the hand on your elbow and to your lips, “— this, making me feel things that I shouldn't be feeling.”

“You're missing the point—!”

“Am I Jimin?” You exasperate, and he lets go of you for a moment to allow you space. “You've never shown any sign that you liked me for the past year of being friends, and now you're telling me you do?”

You scoff, “If you wanted out of this friendship, here it is.”

You reach to his doorknob with your back turned towards him, but Jimin was far stronger than you and reached out at the same time; essentially locking you into your position with nowhere to go.

“Just let me go,” You sigh, “I'm giving you your out.”

Jimin turns your body to face him and you avoid his stare. He was taller than you so being locked against the door was a little intimidating, given the fact that Jimin’s stare was nothing short of intimidating.

“Why would I want out?” He asks you, and you blink at him as if he's grown a second head.

“Now you're just treating me like I'm stupid .” You pout, “Did you not hear what I said? I know I'm annoying and I'll get out of your hair, just let me go—!”

You pull at his wrist but he holds you tighter and uses his other hand to softly grab at your cheeks to look at him. You stare at him with wide eyes and mouth scrunched like a fish, and you're sure this doesn't look the least bit flattering at all.

“Dude!”

“Please don't dude me after I just said I liked you.” He grimaces, then sighs.

He proceeds to clamp his hand over your mouth, “Now I need you to listen to me. And I mean— really listen. Not the thing that you do where you completely ignore my point and go on some childish rampage of how I think you’re annoying and want out.”

You glare at him.

He sighs, “I don't know how explicit I have to be—but I like you. I like your presence, I like hanging out with you—and I want to date you. I want everything that's in the book of romance and relationships with you.”

Your eyes widened and you attempt to speak but he clamps down harder than you whine.

“I know I'm an emotionless brick but I've been with you for the past year and my physical presence is the way I show you that I like you.”

You blink.

“And, I don't know if you've noticed but I've been inviting you over every fortnight just to cuddle up next to you to watch movies that are cheesy as fuck because I know that it makes your heart flutter—” He looks straight into your eyes and you're sure he can feel the heat of your cheeks on his hand.

“—I didn’t say this earlier because I was under the impression that you were aware and that we were kind-of-dating but not really— clearly, I was wrong.”

You manage to rip his hand off in his moment of weakness and gasp, “Kind-of-dating? Since when did that even happen?!”

He pointedly looks at you, “You have a toothbrush at my place, half of your closet is in mine—you walk my dog when I'm not home, and I buy your favourite cereal when I do groceries.”

“But—”

“Nope—the only reason I explicitly told you tonight because it was now clear to me that you weren't aware—” He gestures to your frazzled state, “—and that you said you were going out with Taehyung. Alone. To a pizza parlour.”

You barely manage to respond because he exasperates, “Do you know how datey a pizza parlour is?”

You gape at him, “Well excuse me! I didn't even know we were kind-of-dating until a minute ago!”

He glares at you, “And you didn't even believe me when I told you I liked you.”

You fold your arms across your chest, “Obviously. You don't even hold my hand, and you've never kissed me until tonight.”

You punch his shoulder and he hisses, “You didn't even formally ask me out!”

“You’re a scaredy-cat and if I did ask you out you’d probably run away from me!” He exasperates with his hands in the air.

“I’m not a scaredy-cat and I won’t run away!” You argue back and you were suddenly aware of how close he was to you.

You look up at him and notice how pretty his eyelashes were, and how he does look at you with an intimacy that you've only seen for yourself. The look that he reserved for you.

“I'm asking you out now,” He whispers, cupping your cheek.

“Date me. Be with me.”

You scoff, “God. Can’t you even be a little romantic? It’s like you’re demanding me to be with you.” You respond petulantly like a child.

He groans, “I'm not going to grovel you if that's what you're expecting.”

“Tell me why then.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You clear your throat and fiddle with your thumbs, a nervous tick you have.

“Tell me why you like me.”

Jimin stares at you and you want to complain about his stoic expression but he cups your cheeks in his hands a little harder and forces you to really look at him—as if his face held all the answers.

And when you did, you see the desperation behind his eyes, the dedication that he possesses only for you. The way he looks at you like he's meant to prove something to you, and then everything made sense to you—he wasn't inexpressive—you were just too caught up in your own world that you never noticed.

“Jimin—” Your voice cracks but he shushes you, softly.

“Listen to me, okay?” He asks of you and you gently nod.

“I like you because you're here,” He starts off and you were about to scoff but he speaks again knowing your predetermined reaction, “You’re present— always. I don't mean just because we're always together, but because even when we're texting you're there. You're involved.”

“You're expressive in ways that don't need words to tell me anything, which is why I know you like me too.”

“Cocky, much?” You scoff but the burn on your cheeks give the truth away

He smiles a little before continuing, “But that's not it—I like you because you're patient. You stuck with me being emotionally constipated for the first half of our friendship, and yet you're still here.”

“Even though you nearly ran out of here spewing some bullshit about me taking you as a joke—”

“Okay … I may have blown it out of proportion.”

“—but I wouldn't want to have you any other way. Even if it took me literally trapping you against a door for you to listen.”

You melt into his touch and look up at him, “Do you really like me?”

“I really do.” He affirms you, and you tug him closer to bury your head into his chest.

“Can you hold my hand next time?” You ask, softly. And he chuckles against the top of your head, caressing it gently.

“Of course. That's the only way you won't run away from me next time, right?” He teases.

You whine.

“I'm never going to let you go.” He tells you, “You're pretty like this—all mine .”

You smile up at him and Jimin swears his heart melts to be rebuilt whole by you again.

“But you called me an idiot ...”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

You gasp, “Rude—!”

He shuts you up with a kiss more passionate, and a lot more eager that has your head spinning.

When he pulls away, you feel your heartbeat a little faster—especially at the string of saliva that connects your mouths.

“Mine,” He says. You can't help but nod.

His.

[shig-a-shig-ah]

Please I'm on my hands and knees begging for some kind of angst/comfort or whatever sequel to Solace what do I have to pay to see it at last

You know what, anon? Fuck it—ask and you shall receive. 

DISCOMFIT ━ PART 2 OF SOLACE

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader, previous shigaraki tomura x reader

» cw: noncon, free use (mostly implied/referenced), implied anal, mentions of cheating, little bit of comfort, whole lot of angst. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: This picks up exactly where Solace left off, and isn’t exactly canon-compliant because the war arc hadn’t ended when I first posted Solace. It’s also more angsty than smutty, but def still NSFW. As always, reblogs, replies, etc. are welcome <3

» wc: 5.3k

» ao3 mirror

Like my work? Support me on Ko-fi or request a commission.

There's lead in Dabi's stomach as Shigaraki drags you towards the door, and he's already scrambling to tug on his sweats, staggering to his feet as though he could effectively intervene. He'd heard the threats hissed in your ear, the ones scattered among the taunts Dabi had tried so hard to counter with his own exaltations, but he hadn't been prepared for them to be genuine, had thought that in the end Shigaraki would view your shame as his own. That he wouldn't want to make this betrayal public, not really.

Apparently, Dabi was wrong.

When you're hauled across the threshold, he falters. The thought of your imminent defilement is enough to make him feel sick, bile rising at the back of his throat as his gut twists; he doesn't think he could bear to witness such a desecration. But in the end he also doesn't have a choice—Shigaraki pauses in the doorway, his vicious gaze fixing on Dabi as he gives the order. "You're coming too."

Dabi's throat tightens, because he knows there's no use trying to oppose Shigaraki's will, not with his newfound power. And there's no clemency in the man's burning red eyes, no hints that Tomura has doubts about his chosen retribution, nothing at all to give Dabi hope that perhaps the pale-haired man can be dissuaded from this corrective action.

So Dabi swallows back that bitter taste in his mouth, and he follows.

***

Your heart is in your throat as you're dragged into the hall for the second time, only vaguely aware of Dabi trailing behind, failing to interfere though you don't blame him for that, could never condemn him when this is so much more your fault than his. Had you ever really thought you could gladden yourself with Dabi's comfort and then return unscathed to Shigaraki's arms?

You're loud at first, and desperate. You rake at Tomura's forearm as you try to free yourself from his bruising grip, clawing until red droplets are blooming from the scratches on his skin and his flesh collects beneath your nails, but those marks knit themselves back together almost as quickly as you carve them in. Your feet scrabble ineffectually against the carpet too, trying to slow Tomura's movements, but all that accomplishes is friction burns when you stumble, collapsing to your knees even as Shigaraki continues his unyielding march, dragging you along without so much as a backwards glance.

You beg shamelessly again too, pleading with him to stop, to not, to simply let you go. You swear that you'll leave, that he'll never have to see you again, but he ignores those cries just as he does your pathetic attempts to grapple yourself free. It isn't until your implorations grow quieter, more disheartened, that he pauses—you're weeping, not even thinking about what you're saying, rash words falling from your lips. "Tomu, please, I'm sorry, it was a mistake. Please, if you ever cared about me, just let me go."

It's then that he freezes in place, every muscle in his body going rigid, the cords in his neck standing out as he whirls around to face you. His eyes are impossibly wide, his mouth twisted in disgust, and something dark flashes behind his expression, something that, but for a moment, makes him look wounded rather than filled with rage. It's gone almost as soon as it comes, replaced by an expression stonier than any he's fixed you with thus far. He spits his retort through gritted teeth, his tone so tight and glacial that it sends a shiver down your exposed spine.

"Who could ever care about a whore like you?"

***

Dabi can see you struggling, tears streaming down your reddened cheeks as you beg, but he hears none of those supplications, hears nothing but blood rushing in his ears and the wet glug of his throat every time he tries to swallow down the lump that has lodged itself there. Just moving forward consumes all his focus; this sprawling mansion may as well extend for miles for all the effort it takes him to continue putting one foot in front of the other as Shigaraki tows you down the hall.

Your grotesque procession ends in the cavernous ballroom on the ground floor. It's ornate even in its empty glory, sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows and glinting off the crystal of the chandelier that hangs unlit from the ceiling. Dozens of observers trail behind, every inquiring mind that had peered out to investigate the commotion now obeying Shigaraki's commands for them to follow. They're watching warily, whispering behind their hands as their eyes flick curiously from Dabi, shirtless and shaking, to Shigaraki and you.

Dabi comes back into himself when Shigaraki hurls you unceremoniously to the floor, the sharp crack of your head against the hardwood echoing loudly enough to breach the disassociated haze in which he's been trapped. The sight of your face, dazed by the blow, has him instinctually moving forward, but he's stopped at once when a chiseled arm casts itself across his chest, halting his movements. A low growl issues from the back of Shigaraki's throat. "Don't."

It was easier not to protest Shigaraki's rough treatment of you when the three of you were alone in Dabi's bedroom. He'd been able to convince himself then that Shigaraki had some claim on you, some right to do what he was doing, a sense that had been given all the more weight by your own equivocal response to those harsh touches. But the sight of you now, curled on the floor clutching your head, your legs tucked to your chest as though that could somehow preserve your modesty, is harder to abide. It has heat roiling under Dabi's skin, his insides near-roasting as he does his best to restrain himself, to keep emotions too tumultuous to define from bubbling up and setting him alight.

So Dabi looks away. He does his best to tamp down on that growing heat and to endure, to think about the importance of being there for you. After.

Even after Tomura extends his sadistic invitation to the assembled remnants of the Paranormal Liberation Front, Dabi is naive enough at first to hope that no one will take the bait, that even a crowd of villains won't be depraved enough to indulge in what Shigaraki is offering. Except, Dabi had, hadn't he? Had found his own satisfaction in the first part of Shigaraki's punishment, even as you'd wept. He tries to tell himself that was different—he'd already had you, more than once and voluntarily, and you'd asked for him, implored him so desperately that he couldn't have refused, especially not when it was something Shigaraki had been so intent on enacting.

A darker thought flits across the back of Dabi's mind when he remembers the way you'd writhed under Tomura's domineering touch: if Shigaraki insists on it, will you beg here too?

It's a question that goes unanswered. You spend less than a minute sniffling on the floor surrounded by that mob of villains, and then Dabi's glancing up against his better judgement to see Re-Destro stepping forward, dark eyes glinting with curiosity as he shrugs off his suit jacket and loosens his tie, the balding sycophant unabashedly eager to avail himself of Shigaraki's sloppy seconds.

All your struggling has ceased; you're not trying to leave or asking for help, or mercy. Dabi's not sure if you're still trying to please Shigaraki or are only clinging to some last shred of dignity, if he should be disgusted or proud. Still, you flinch when the redhead crouches to trace one large hand up the outside of your thigh, and that small sign of discomfort is enough to have Dabi moving without thinking, every fiber of his body screaming out to defend you from that unwanted touch. But he only manages one feeble step forward before Shigaraki's hand is curling in his hair, yanking him back so hard that Dabi's scalp throbs. Shigaraki maintains that tight hold, leaving Dabi immobilized and with no choice left but to keep staring forward.

"You're going to watch every second," Shigaraki hisses.

Dabi nods. Grinds his teeth. Watches.

***

He thinks nothing could be worse than the powerlessness he feels as Re-Destro takes you. It's a sense of impotence that settles in his bones, that unearths and amplifies every inadequacy he endured in his youth until his knees are weak and there's blood leaking from the corners of his eyes. Just like back then, he's too weak to do what is needed. He can only watch in dismay as someone slots themselves into a role that should be his.

He's wrong, of course, that nothing could be more horrible than witnessing that first act. It's worse when he starts to notice the familiar tensing in your body, and hears your high-keyed whines reverberating off of walls designed to carry just such a pitch. It's worse when he spies Skeptic with that camera trained on you, documenting your disgrace as he palms himself through his pants, and even worse when Spinner comes forward, casting a long, uncertain glance towards Shigaraki before burying himself in both your holes. It's worse when they stop taking orderly turns coupling with your pliant form and start to share instead, and it's worse still when Dabi realizes that somewhere along the way he's grown shamefully, achingly hard.

But the worst? The absolute worst?

That comes at the end.

You're nothing but a crumpled heap on the floor, one cheek squashed against the stained hardwood, your expression glassy and far away. People have stopped coming forward, all those who wanted a turn having taken one, or more. Their faces are uneasy now that they're spent, murmuring again and shooting furtive looks towards the door, obviously unsure if their continued presence is required but too wary of Shigaraki to ask. So it's Dabi who finally works up the nerve to speak, his voice tight through his clenched jaw.

"You did what you wanted. Now can we go?"

A sense of relief washes over him when Shigaraki releases him, but it's short-lived as the other man fixes that red-eyed stare on Dabi.

"Huh," he muses thickly, his expression unreadable as he cocks his head. "You still want her."

Dabi hesitates. Because he knows Shigaraki doesn't want that to be true, is intent on ripping apart whatever tenuous connection you and Dabi have forged over the past weeks, but Dabi's not sure that such a thing is possible. Right now he can't imagine the future any further than getting you both far, far away from here, but even after watching you submit to Shigaraki so readily, after seeing you clench and moan while being offered up like so much meat, Dabi doesn't think he could ever turn you away, not so long as you want him. So he nods.

Shigaraki's unreadable expression morphs, his lips splitting into a wide, depraved grin. "Fine." There's something in his tone that has Dabi's chest tightening with dread already, a sense that only intensifies when Shigaraki continues. "Finish her off, and you can have her. After all, what the fuck do I care if you want to keep the toy you damaged?"

Dabi swallows hard, looking around again. The crowd is watching intently, exchanging hushed whispers, and he knows they can hear every word, have no doubt anymore about just what has happened here, if they had any doubts before.

"Better get on with it," Tomura jeers, followed by a quiet, callous chuckle. "Take the last turn, and the two of you can go. Or don't, and I'll keep her here for days."

Fuck, Dabi can feel the weight of all those eyes on him, of dozens of gazes flicking between his torn expression and your used up form. He wants to say he can't, that he could never, but it's not the truth. The thought alone might have him fighting back a wave of nausea but that doesn't mean he isn't still erect, tenting his pants in a way that's painfully obvious to himself and to everyone else. Physically, at least, Dabi absolutely could.

He takes a step closer to you. Grimaces. He wants to reach out to you, to give you the reassurance of a soothing touch, but there's nowhere your skin isn't reddened or contused, the evidence of that damage exaggerated by the sheen of sweat and worse coating your skin. Your eyes roll up just enough to meet his hesitant stare, and Dabi gives you what he hopes is an apologetic look.

Dabi does what he has to do.

***

The moment it's over Dabi is scooping you up, hooking his arms around your shoulders and behind your bruised knees and lifting you gingerly from the floor, taking you in his arms as gently as he can manage. Your eyes drift to him again, the corners of your lips twitching and a tiny whimper issuing from the back of your throat, a sound so small and feeble that Dabi has to bite hard at the inside of his cheek to maintain some semblance of composure.

He avoids making eye contact with anyone as he leaves, not even sparing a glance towards Shigaraki to confirm this is really over; if the other man decides to change his mind, Dabi's sure it will be painfully obvious. But no one tries to stop him from taking you—he flees the scene of your discrediting successfully, with his heart pounding and his eyes fixed firmly on the floor ahead of him. Just as when he'd followed Shigaraki's march before, he puts one foot in front of the other and wills himself to think of nothing else.

It's difficult. Your skin is slick against his unclothed chest, and feels feverish. Every time he shifts you, he can feel wetness dribbling down your thighs as he tries to lie to himself it's nothing. Tries not to give it any attention at all.

Dabi's never been very good at deceiving himself, and it's all the harder now with the images of your defilement burned into his retinas—Shigaraki knew just what would make him suffer, Dabi has to admit that much.

When he reaches his room, he sets you gently to the floor, whispers that he'll be right back and then disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. He cranks on the bathtub—it will be necessary to clean you up since he's certain you couldn't stand if you tried. It also serves to drown out the sounds to come, because the moment the water starts pouring he's lunging for the toilet and heaving his guts into the bowl, coughing and sputtering as he retches.

By the time he's finished being sick, the tub is nearly full.

He checks the temperature of the water. Once, twice. Three times. It's hard for him to gauge it adequately when he runs so hot, and the last thing he wants is to scald your abused skin or any of those tender, overworked parts. When he's finally wrangling you into the tub, he dips your hand in first, one final test to ease his anxious mind.

"That feel all right, baby girl?" He's not sure if you really nod, or if you're simply shifting a little, but either way he takes it as a yes.

In the end, it doesn't matter so much. The water turns disgusting almost the moment you're submerged, an oily sheen rising to the surface that Dabi doesn't want to think too hard about it. He drains it and doesn't repeat that mistake, only fills it a few inches full the second time and then scoops water over your irritated skin to rinse away the worst of the mess, a painstakingly slow but necessary measure. He repeats it twice and only after that muck stops rising to the top does he let the water creep higher so that he can wash you properly.

He starts with your hair. It's another slow process, trying to keep from snagging your damp tresses on the staples that line his palms as he massages shampoo into your scalp, and moving carefully to avoid the lump that's formed at the back of your head, where it cracked against the hardwood floor. He does his best not to grimace visibly at that swelling, does the same as he's working sweat and sticky clumps out of your matted locks—your eyes are still bleary but he knows you're watching him, and he couldn't bear for you to see how much it affects him to witness you like this.

Conditioner is probably an unnecessary touch, but he works it in anyway once the last of the suds have been rinsed away, thinks it might help you to feel some sense of normalcy, if that's even still a possibility for you. He lets it soak in while he tends to the rest of your inflamed skin, trying best as he can to be gentle, though that doesn't stop you from wincing every time he brushes over some raw, tender spot. When he finally works the washcloth between your thighs, the last horribly necessary task left, you let out a choked sob, your face contorting in distress in a way that has his throat tightening again.

"Shh, baby girl," Dabi soothes, his voice raw even to his own ears as he lifts a hand to stroke at your hair. "It's okay. I've got you."

You can't help but wonder if that's entirely true as you bite back more complaints and let him tend to your ravaged sex. You can see the tightness in his face, the way he can't seem to look at you for long, and Shigaraki's words keep running through your mind, a grim mantra that sticks in your head even more than the memories of the past few hours.

You'll be ruined for him, just like you're ruined for me.

The thought is enough to have panic brewing in your chest, a near-hysteria clawing its way through you. Because what would you do without Dabi? Who else would ever want you now? It would be too much to lose them both.

You don't realize tears are streaming down your cheeks until hot thumbs are brushing them away, cerulean eyes fixed worriedly on your own. "It's okay," Dabi murmurs again. "You're okay."

But it's not, you're not, probably won't ever be again, and you need more than those thin reassurances. Your arm aches when you lift one hand to catch his wrist, your feeble grip a reminder of just how worn you really are. "Am I—" your voice is hoarse, your words interrupted by a painful cough as you struggle to speak through your wrecked throat "—am I ruined for you?"

The way his face falls at your question is reassurance enough, that tight expression going slack and defeated, the corners of his brows lifting in grief. Then Dabi's pulling you to his chest, water sloshing over the side of the tub and cool porcelain digging into your side as he wraps both arms around you, his face burying itself in your damp strands as he cradles you close.

"No. No, of course not, baby girl. Never."

***

When Dabi finally releases you, he leaves you soaking in the tub long enough to take a shower. He's loath to abandon you for even one second, but he needs that cleansing and, more than that, needs a moment to breath. Because you'd never clung to him so eagerly before, never needed him the same way he needed you, not when you had someone else to hold tightly to.

So just now, when you'd burrowed against his chest and made clear that he was the one you were counting on? Well, he'd be lying if he said it hadn't felt good.

Shigaraki might have succeeded in cracking the pedestal Dabi had placed you on, but all that's truly accomplished is to bring you down to Dabi's level, to a place where he can actually hope to make you his. And Dabi doesn't want to find that thought reassuring, doesn't want to dwell on the realization that this whole fucked up situation might be the only way he'll get the one thing he still wants in life. But he does.

He cranks the heat in the shower as high as it will go as he tries to wash away that guilt, but the scalding water isn't enough. It can't rinse out the shame of finding personal satisfaction in your suffering, just like it can't scour away the memories of obeying Shigaraki's final order, of burying his length in the slick sensation of a dozen other men's seed, of squeezing your thighs together in a desperate bid to create some sort of friction, or of sinking himself into your tighter hole when it seemed like the only way to end that agony.

The list of things that require Dabi's contrition is endless, it seems.

Perhaps it's some kind of fucked up penance, then, that once you're both clean Dabi finds himself offering to go collect your things from the room you'd shared with Shigaraki.

It's an offer born of necessity; you have nothing to wear and while Dabi would love to dress you in his clothes, would relish the sight of you parading around in some oversized shirt that belongs to him, the way you had with Shigaraki's clothes back in the old hideout, he has nothing to offer on that front. An extensive wardrobe isn't among his precious few possessions—the options are his filthy tee shirt and jeans, the ones that reek of booze and ash, or his sweats, amply stained from your walk of shame. None of that seems anywhere near adequate.

So Dabi grits his teeth yet again, tugs on those dirty clothes himself and leaves you tucked safely in his bed, bundled in his only towel. There's an anxious look in your eyes as he departs, one that has a strange thrill coursing through him as he murmurs a promise to return quickly.

He tells himself as he journeys down the hall—pointedly ignoring every person he passes—that Shigaraki won't be there. Dabi's seen the boss angry before, knows he's one to wander and destroy rather than to sulk, and if Dabi were a betting man he would wager that Shigaraki won't be setting foot in the room he'd shared with you any time soon.

Unfortunately, Dabi is wrong once again. There's no answer when he knocks, but when he slips inside it becomes painfully obvious that lack of response wasn't because the quarters were unoccupied. He pauses inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, and is almost immediately assaulted by the sounds issuing from around the corner, just out of sight: sheets rustling and heavy breathing, the faint slap of skin on skin, a quiet moan.

Fuck. Fuck no. This is the last thing that Dabi wants or needs to witness, even if the stab of incredulity and anger he feels about it is undeserved. It's how he himself would have coped, he knows, had Shigaraki's return to the Liberation Front and your return to him gone according plan, but the thought that he could avail himself of this ever after today's display has Dabi's stomach twisting.

He holds his breath as he immediately retreats, the carpet muffling his slow, quiet steps. Dabi will try something else, ask Toga to loan you some things, or rifle through the remnants of Jin's possessions if he has to. All he has do is get out of here without—

"What do you think you're doing?"

The sound of Shigaraki's low voice has Dabi freezing in place. He sounds different than when they last spoke, some faint trace of amusement there in place of that calculated callousness. Dabi keeps still, tries to convince himself that it's not him Shigaraki is addressing, but that hope proves unfounded.

"I can smell you, you know. You reek of smoke. So why don't you stop hiding and tell me why the fuck you're here?"

Dabi's first instinct is to simply turn and leave, to avoid this unpleasant encounter all together and pray Tomura will simply return his attentions to whoever had the poor judgement to leap into his bed. But in the end he steps forward, not willing to test the other man further than he has with his mere presence, not when there's still a sinister edge to his tone and the damage Dabi's wrought is already likely to haunt him to his dying day.

A light clicks on when Dabi steps into sight, the sudden assault on his pupils making him blink rapidly, and when the room finally swims back into focus, Dabi freezes. Tomura has some woman tucked neatly in his lap, her back nestled to his chest as he peers at Dabi from over her shoulder, the sheets barely covering where Dabi is positive they're joined together.

"I just came to get some of her shit—I didn't think you'd be here," Dabi says flatly, trying to not to let his eyes drift from Tomura's face as deadly hands grope at exposed breasts, dark bite marks and hickeys starkly visible even from the bottom of Dabi's field of vision. "I'll come back later. Or just find her new shit."

"Why bother when you're already here? Just get on with it." Dabi can sense something forced in that casual dismissal of his presence even as Shigaraki lets out a low laugh, and that impression is only strengthened when the woman—some MLA holdover Dabi recognizes but couldn't name—tugs at the edge of the blankets, obviously intent on providing herself with some sort of cover. Shigaraki growls immediately, pale fingers clamping around her wrist so tightly that she whimpers in protest. The first syllable of Tomura's name falls quietly from her lips, a paltry whine that's quashed as soon as it begins, Shigaraki's wide palm slapping harshly over her mouth. His eyes narrow in displeasure as scowling lips ghost over her ear.

"You're the one who wanted to fuck," Dabi hears Shigaraki hiss, "so don't you dare stop."

Dabi might have felt some sympathy for her in another life, some pang of unease at the way her eyes widen and she fidgets nervously before hesitantly rocking her hips, but in this moment he can muster no sympathy, not when her apparently voluntary presence far exceeds even Dabi's expectations for the shamelessness of these meta liberation freaks.

He does, however, feel a twinge of disquiet when he realizes, after a moment of staring, that she looks like you. Not exactly, of course—the nose is wrong, the hairstyle different—but enough. Her hair color, her eyes, her build: they're all reminiscent of your own.

Dabi tries not to think about what that means.

"Well, aren't you going to do what you came for?" Shigaraki taunts. That malicious glint is back in his eyes, the corner of his thin mouth curving up into a smirk that makes it clear he's enjoying Dabi's discomfort at the scene playing out before him. His hands start to wander again as though to emphasize it, pinching and tugging at puffy, exposed nipples while the woman continues to issue muffled mewls from behind his hand. "I'm busy, if you couldn't tell."

Dabi grits his teeth and looks away. "Where is it?"

Shigaraki only shrugs, that sneer widening, and Dabi turns stiffly towards the dresser, doing his best to tune out the soft cries as he rummages through the drawers. After a moment it's clear that nothing within belongs to you, and reluctantly Dabi steps further into the room to search the closet. He finds what he's looking for there, thank god; neatly folded stacks of pants and shirts line the shelves, blouses and those fancy nightgowns you're so fond of arranged neatly on hangars beside them. There's a duffel bag on the floor too, and Dabi quickly busies himself shoving as many of your belongings into it as he can, working with unceremonious haste and chewing at his cheek, still trying to ignore the way the sounds behind him are escalating, the moans and lewd wet smacks growing louder, more rapid.

He only stops when the duffel is overflowing, too stuffed full to even zip shut. It's certainly more than enough for now, but he wonders briefly about the rest of your possessions, if there's some other source of comfort he could and should bring you before Shigaraki decides to dispose of anything you've left behind. But Dabi has no way of knowing, has never been permitted to so much as step foot in this space before.

When the unmistakable sound of a slap emanates from behind him, followed by a throaty groan, Dabi decides it doesn't matter.

It takes him a moment to steel himself, to work up the nerve to turn back towards the room and the vulgar performance occurring mere feet away, but he once he does he strides purposefully towards the door without so much as a glance towards Shigaraki and his new—and very temporary, Dabi suspects—lover. He's almost out the door, seconds from feeling as though he can breath again, when that mocking voice is once again demanding his attention.

"Dabi," Shigaraki calls out liltingly, and Dabi pauses.

"What now?"

His obvious impatience draws a cold chuckle from Tomura. "Don't try to leave. Either of you," Shigaraki says. "The Violet Regiment still needs its lieutenant, and I need you motivated."

For a long moment, Dabi simply stands there, his hand still resting on the knob as he considers those instructions. Shigaraki isn't wrong to think he would consider it; Dabi's mostly accomplished what he hoped to with the League, and his more protective instincts have been screaming at him to get you out of here since the second it was clear Tomura intended to honor his threats. But he'd already had doubts that the jilted man would let that happen, not when the punishment he'd devised is most effective if you're both forced to stay, forced to face everyone who witnessed your downfalls and shared shame.

And also, well...Dabi's more protective instincts might tempt him to flee—he's disappeared before, after all, thinks he could do it again even if it would be harder to evade Shigaraki's reach—but his possessive instincts? Those have more self-serving thoughts brewing in the back of his mind. Because if the castigation you endured is most effective if you stay, it also means that Dabi has no advantage anywhere else. Would you cling to him so sweetly, so fiercely if you weren't surrounded by those who had seen you so thoroughly humbled? Or would such an escape only taint Dabi's presence in your mind, single him out as the last reminder of your humiliation and debasement?

It would, he thinks. So Dabi nods even though Shigaraki can't see him, noting the opportunity present in what was surely intended as a threat. The sadistic leader might be intent on dangling this over both your and Dabi's heads until at least one of you is dead, but Dabi's made the best of bad situations before, ones worse than this.

"Sure thing, boss," he says, working to keep his tone level and mild. He steps out into the hall, lets the door click closed behind him.

For the first time all day, Dabi smiles.

[instasiswetrust]

Cherry Lane Challenge Day 3 - Crow

A flutter of black, out of the corner of his left eye is what first catches his attention. His hand raises, signaling his party to stop in their tracks. There's some shuffling and a few annoyed huffs which he ignores in favor of taking careful steps towards what caught his eye in the first place.

All is still for a second and then- There. The dry sound of feathers brushing together.

Silently, he steps closer to the source of the sound. When he sees what it is, he relaxes minutely allowing himself another breath. It is but a crow, its left wing dragging over the dewy grass of the clearing. He sees no blood so he assumes it must be broken.

Another careful step takes him even closer to the scared bird, his fingers nearly brushing its feathers, so close-

"Steve, what's the hol- Is that a bird?"

Tommy and the rest of the hunting party burst into the clearing with too loud steps and raised voices, startling the bird into a frantic state once again. It squawks in its fear, broken wing fluttering pitifully as it tries to escape what it assumes to be a predator.

"I almost had it, Tommy!" He turns to his companion, features set into an angry scowl. He may only be seventeen but he was the Crown Prince and they should've listened to his orders! "Why did you break position?"

Instead of answering his question, Tommy walks past him as crouches right by the bird, poking it with a stick and laughing at its resulting squawk. "Can't believe you stopped a hunting party just to save a bird, Stevie. What are you? Snow White?"

Heat rises to the prince's cheeks and he smacks the stick out of Tommy's hands. "Leave it. It's already hurt enough without you making it worse."

Tommy quirks an eyebrow, teeth bared into a nasty smirk. He gives a mock bow that makes Steve's eyes narrow.

"As you wish, milord."

And then, making sure he's got Steve full attention, he gives the injured bird a sharp kick sending it smacking against a tree with a feeble squawk.

The bird struggles to upright itself, collapses, and tries again, before eventually just laying there. Unmoving if not for the minuscule shifts of its diaphragm. All Steve can do is watch, knowing full well that if he so much dares make a move to help it again, Tommy might outright try to crush it under the sole of his boot.

Under the raucous laughter of the soldiers, he follows the hunting party back to the deer trail they were following, the back of his neck red with poorly contained rage. All thoughts of injured crows and helpless birds are stored at the back of his brain where he no longer has to think about them again.

---

So that night, when he walks into his chambers half-drunk on too much ale and a hearty roast, the last thing he expects is to find a girl sitting on his desk chair. Her vermillion hair is cropped short and would help her pass for a man were it not for her curvaceous figure, so distinctly female even under the black robes she wears. On her head, a crooked hat sits adorned with what he thinks are feathers.

As he steps inside, she stands up and he notices her eyes appear yellow behind her spectacles.

"Who are you?" He tries to sound authoritative, like the prince he's supposed to be, but he's too drunk to manage anything more than slurred inquisitiveness.

"Don't you recognize me?" Her lips barely move as she speaks and yet her voice comes out as a shrill squawk, not too different from the frantic sounds of the crow in the forest. It makes him flinch, taking a step back. "Maybe this will help jog your memory."

Under his watchful gaze, he sees her shift into the same crow he saw that morning. His eyes follow the bird as it flies around the room once, before landing on the chair. A blink later, and the girl from before is sitting in the same spot.

No. Not a girl.

A witch.

Because of fucking course the crow had to be a witch. That was just his life.

"Look, I'm sorry for what Tommy did to you earlier today and I truly wished to help you but if I did-"

"But if you did, your companions might've killed me while you watched." She hums, inspecting her sharp nails with clear disinterest. "Those are but excuses and we both know it."

"They are not-!"

The witch clicks her tongue disapprovingly and he finds the words he meant to say dying on his tongue. Fear rises in him, and only then does he consider that the reason she's here and not with Tommy is that he's the one she's planning to hurt.

"It is an excuse, darling." She fixes him with a sharp glare. "You're Steve Harrington, Crown Prince of the kingdom of Hawkmond. They should respect you and yet your own foot soldiers treat you like you're below the sole of their feet."

A feeble protest rises in his throat but she only has but to look, before silence descends upon him again. The worst part? She is absolutely right.

"You're weak-willed. Spineless. A disaster in the making." She huffs, taking the few steps that separate them until they are standing almost nose to nose. "I shall not allow a person like that to ruin what this kingdom could become."

In her yellow eyes, he sees rage flash however briefly, and he wonders what sort of circumstances led a witch to care this much for the outcome of a whole kingdom. It is but a split-second judgment, yet it's all he manages.

For the next thing he knows, pain radiates from every single nerve ending in his body. He falls upon his knees, writhing in agony, and through his anguished screams, he swears he can hear the witch croon in a sticky-sweet voice.

Scion of swords and kings

A curse of feather and blood

Placed upon thee

For thine will is brittle as bone

This shape thou shall keep

Til’ the day thy soul’s to pass

Unless thy lesson is learned

And thee flies with thine own wings

By the next morning, every single person in the Capitol knows Crown Prince Steve Harrington has gone missing. None a single clue left behind to find him.

---

He finds out pretty quickly that the best way to find food in the forest is to follow the wolves.

It's been two months since the night he was cursed, and Steve's come to the conclusion that while sometimes annoying, being a bird wasn't as awful as he first assumed it would be. Flying was nice once he managed to get the hang of it, and messing with the occasional villager while he indulged in the instinctual desire to steal shiny things was something he hadn't expected to enjoy so much.

But he really could do without the feeding.

The first few days he had outright refused to take part of any rotten bit of meal he found, no matter how appetizing it might've seemed to his new instincts.

By day four he had to give in and eat, or he risked worse injuries.

It had been a distasteful ordeal up until he had found the wolf pack during his first full moon as a crow. Night had fallen, and as he made his way through the thick trunks on unsteady talons, he had heard the first howl. For a second, he had almost considered leaving. Retaining this half-human form was still something he struggled with and he wished to enjoy the little time he had before he once again had to return to his feathery prison.

But the call of the wolves ensnared him, and he had to find them.

Except none of them were normal wolves, as he found out once morning came.

From what he has observed in the last month, most members of the pack preferred to stick to their wolf forms as much as they could. Occasionally, one or two of them would venture into the closest town for certain necessities but that was about it.

It was weird.

It was also fascinating.

They didn't seem to mind his prolonged stay, in fact, it almost looked like they welcomed him among their midst without so much as a second thought. He didn't question it, just enjoyed it for the time being although he always made sure he only shifted into his halfling form where the wolves wouldn't find him.

At least, that had been the plan.

But now, staring into the ice-blue eyes of the blonde wolf he had started thinking as his wolf, he realizes that he overlooked one tiny but very important detail.

Wolves tended to have a keen sense of smell.

Well, shit.

Silence pervades the small nook between the trees he had taken as his hiding spot away from the pack, as he simply stares back at the wolf. Waiting for something, maybe a shift, a lunge. Anything.

Except a whole minute passes with nothing happening, and Steve is starting to feel foolish.

"So is this the part where you try and eat me? Or warn me to stay away from the pack?" He chances, hoping for a reaction.

The wolf cocks its head to the side, blue eyes looking almost mocking before there's a ripple and a human is crouching in its place. A very blond, very handsome, human with ice blue eyes. Who's also kind of naked.

Huh.

"The fact that you think nobody knew what you were as soon as you hopped into the clearing that night is telling." At Steve's confused look, the wolf (the man?) chuckles. Guess he was right about the mocking part. "You reek of magic, little bird. Magic and human flesh."

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" He snaps, the small feathers that cover his neck fluffing up.

"Common sense?" There's a smirk this time, along with a flash of fangs. "Did your mother not teach you about magical signatures once you came out of the egg?"

"I- ah" He falters, unsure if he should explain that he wasn't born like this but rather turned into this. He runs a talon through the feathers that have replaced his hair before sighing. "I'm a human, actually. Just got cursed to look like this."

The man-wolf hums, giving him an appraising look. "That explains a few things."

Steve scoffs, ready to stand up and leave this guy alone to go bother somebody else when suddenly he feels a heavyweight drop onto his lap. When he looks down, he's met with a pair of ice-blue eyes looking back at him.

He wonders, not for the first time, why he picked this particular wolf to stick close to out of all the others.

"Does the little birdy have a name?" That smirk is back again and it almost makes him blush. Makes him glad that his whole skin is now covered in black fluffy feathers.

"If I tell you, will you stop calling me that?"

"Nope. But I might give you my name too."

It sounds like a fair deal at least. And that way he could stop calling him man-wolf in his head.

"Steve."

"Steve. Hm. Not quite what I expected." It's been so long since the last time someone said his name, it feels weird hearing it now from someone that is not himself. "Mine's Billy, by the way."

"And what did you expect, Billy?" The name feels foreign on his tongue but he figures time will make it easier. After all, it's not like he ever can return to Hawksmond unless whatever conditions the witch placed upon the curse are met.

Billy shrugs, stretching languidly across Steve's lap in all his naked glory. Something that Steve's doing his best to steadfastly ignore. "Some fancy bullshit like Stefano or Guillermino."

He snorts at that, covering his mouth with a clawed talon. "Why would you even think that?"

"You look the part, little birdy."

[angrylizardjacket]

it's in the blood // this is tradition

Summary: Children inherit all sorts of traits from their parents. Not all these traits are good.

"My reputation preceded me before I was born."

[ charlotte & lola au ]

A/N: 2292 words. Halsey's new album killed me on the spot. i talk a lot about the next gen being mirrors of their parents, but i'd like to go into detail about that not necessarily being a positive. @misscharlottelee this made me feel things. i love these kids.

Warnings: overdose mention, addiction discussion, mentions of drug abuse.

Penelope Dingley-Lee

Tommy can count the amount of times he'd seen Razzle truly angry on one hand, and here and now he can see it again, written all over his neice's face. He'd thought she would look like Charlie when she's angry, and occasionally she does, the way her lip curls derisively, dismissively, that's very reminiscent of his cousin, but here and now, her blue eyes are hazy, cloudy, and her lips twist with an irate arrogance that is worryingly familiar.

Angry and high and wearing clothes that don't quite match, in this moment she's exactly her father's daughter.

She's been in the papers again. Her tits have been in magazines again. Tommy bites down on his instinctual desire to repremand her; she'd call him a hypocrite, call him an old man, tell him to keep his opinions to himself while she could still buy his sex tape out of a shady car boot down the street.

Charlie was like that too, on occasion, wit too quick for him to keep up with. When she got into a mood like this, Tommy didn't have to worry so much; usually Razzle would egg her on, but knew when to pull her back.

"It's my god given, motherfucking right to go feral -" he'd heard Charlie back in the eighties holler at three in the morning, high on amphetamines and waving a gossip rag above her head. Razzle would be on the sofa, equally fucked up, but gazing at her like she hung the stars in the sky.

"Lola gets photographed at least once a month stark naked along the strip like it's a sport, why is my Playboy shoot a national crisis?! My tits are fantastic!"

"They are, my love," Razzle nods seriously, and Tommy pulls his pillow from beneath his head, trying to either block out their voices through the thin walls, or maybe smother himself. The girl beside him, the groupie whose name he doesn't know, asks blearily why there's so much yelling. Tommy doesn't answer.

A week later, Tommy is the one to bail out Charlie and Razzle for public indecency, and they're both beaming from ear to ear.

Here in the present, Penny is draped out on the sofa, laughing low and pleased as she watches TV.

"TMZ blurred out my tits," she snorts, "cowards."

"Penny..." he can't help the faintly disappointed notes in his voice when he says her name.

"Thomas, I've read The Dirt," Penny fires back venemously. Hypocrite he hears in her tone, you have no power over me.

There's something hollow in her eyes in the photos he sees of her in the papers. She wears her father's inflluence and her heart on her crushed velvet sleeve, on the arm of a shallow, pretty, band boy who plays badly and loudly. But she laughs louder, though tthe sound is low and unconvincing if anyone bothered to listen hard enough, and Tommy wonders if he has enough dark hair dye left for when that boy breaks her heart.

Jupiter Lee

Tommy is proud to watch Jupiter on stage, but he is afraid.

Their anger is something he remembers from Lola, the way they cling to the past with vitriol echoes their mother, but on stage, they drink up the attention, get high off the love the audience gives, and he sees himself in those moments.

A child of addicts, Jupiter had drawn lines in the sand for themselves that they refused to cross; no alcohol, no drugs, and they'd stayed loyal to that. But highs come in all forms; they simply picked a different kind of poison without realising.

On stage, halfway between the gutter and a god complex, Tommy knows the smile they wear all too well.

Rebellion from Jupiter didn't shock the world like it did when it was Penny's name in the papers. Jupiter's trajectory was spot on in the eyes of the public, but rebellion wouldn't be the thing that broke them.

Once, so long ago that it's a miracle the memory survived, Tommy remembers asking Lola what she would be doing if she wasn't with the band. Lola gave him an easy, bleary smile, laughing sweetly when she told him that one way or another, she'd be here. In the moment it overwhelms him with love. In hindsight it breaks his heart.

"Come on, I think this is inevitable," Jupiter smiles on television as an interviewer asks them the same question; if they weren't making music what they'd be doing, "as if I'd do anything other than this."

'Don't you know where I come from?' is left unspoken, but Tommy still hears it.

He tries to picture himself in a life without the world at his feet the way he has now. No image comes to mind. Nothing else makes sense. Even if he wanted to do something else, wanted to grow up to be something else, he couldn't even begin to picture it for himself, tragedy and all.

They play their parts. They let history repeat itself. Jupiter makes mistakes Tommy and Lola had already learned from. Penny plays Jupiter's conciousness until the role grates on her nerves, diving head first into chaos, taking Jupiter with her with little convincing.

Tommy remembers this too.

When the world looks at Penny and Jupiter, they like to remember how Lola was seen as a bad influence on Charlotte, but forget that Tommy would have followed Charlotte in to Hell without hesitation.

Leo "Seo" Sixx

Lola has google alerts set up for her son, Seo, because he disappears for months without warning. Tommy asks how he is, and Lola looks to her phone with a tight smile, telling him that he's competeing in a skateboarding competition in Prague. She learned that from Twitter.

Seo comes and goes without warning, and talks to his siblings more than his parents. He loves them, but he hasn't allowed himself to stop for years. He doesn't know how. Then again, neither did Lola or Nikki.

"Jupiter thinks a lot about legacy, don't they?" He's in Tommy's kitchen, eating a poptart, when Tommy returns home one friday evening. He's waiting for Penny and Jupiter to finish getting ready, the three of them going out.

"Do your parents know you're in town?" Tommy asks with faint amusement, though there's a twinge of guilt in his gut when Leo considers that he should probably let them know. Says he forgot. Tommy's not sure if he believes him; like his parents before him, he tends to leave a lot unsaid. It's part of his charm, the world seems to think, but Tommy knows all to well how deliberate of an act it can be.

"Jup's got all this stuff in their head about legacy and who they should be," he continues his earlier thought, "which I guess makes sense, they tie a lot of themselves up in their identity," he shrugs, then, "I don't know Leo."

Tommy's not sure if he's talking about the grandfather he's named after, or himself.

"You've given this a lot of thought," Tommy says quietly, humouring him.

"I think a lot," Seo responds, "I've been thinking about going back on my meds, its weird being off of them." Of course this concerns Tommy, who knows objectively that Seo isn't his kid, but he's close enough that Tommy feels like he's allowed to be concerned. "I'm worried a doctor's note isn't going to be enough to let me compete at the Olympics on speed," falls too casually from Seo's lips, alarming Tommy in an instant. Though it must clearly show on his face, as Seo breaks out into an apologetic grin, "dextroamphetamine, for my ADHD. I've been trying to wean off it for the Olympics, it's been hard -" but his next words, said so blithe, so casual, have Tommy's heart stopping in his chest as he's thrown back thirty years, "I've been on them since I was like eleven years old; it was great, I could think, like the right amount, but now I... I think everything. I feel everything. Its a lot." He shrugs, like he didn't just become an echo of his father.

Seo's parents both died twice from overdoses, and now their son feels like he can't function without amphetamines.

Objectively Tommy knows that they work for Seo, that he's not abusing them he simply uses them to help him function, but the irony is not lost on him. It's a lot to unpack. He doesn't think to ask about the Olympics; it slips his mind until he sees Seo and a silver medal on his Twitter feed.

Lola calls Tommy in tears. She's proud, but she wishes she'd known, wishes she'd been able to watch it live, or go over and support him in person.

No-one in Seo's life seems to fully know or understand his intentions or actions, no-one can predict his next move. He puts up a bright facade, but like his parents before him, he does not trust the world to know him.

They don't know where he goes in the few months after the Olympics, all they know is that he doesn't come home.

Cerie "CerieThree" Sixx

Since she'd turned sixteen, Tommy has never seen Cerie Sixx without a smile. That is a very deliberate choice that she's made.

She's made a choice to rise above the percieved grime of her origins. She's halfway across the country, smiling for a camera she can control, editing her image before she lets it out into the world. Cerie Three - even the name the world knows reflects this; she's picked apart the context she was born into, disecting it, deciding which was useful to show the world, disposing of the rest.

She speaks warmly to her family, from what Tommy can gather, but the people on the peripheries of their life seem more like associates in the coldest sense of the world. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes half the time when she sees Tommy, and she shakes his hand when her brothers will hug him. The internet is closer to her than he is.

Cerie looks the most like her mother of all her siblings; she's 21, the exact same age Lola was when she met Tommy, but half the time he can barely see the resemblence. Lola had let the world see a villain at that age; Cerie had learned from that, had rejected that, rejected the cold, hard humanity of her mother's fronting. Cerie wanted to be perfect. Cerie had to be perfect, hyper aware of her own image, like her siblings seem to be, but the way she'd so effectively shaped her public identity was kind of terrifying.

Perhaps this was what it was like for people who didn't know Lola, only allowed to know the image she put out into the world, or people who only knew Nikki for his stage presence.

But the more Tommy thinks about it, the more he remembers just how effectively Lola had wrapped the band around her little finger when she set her mind to it, how she talked her way around exectives despite being dressed like she'd woken up in the gutter and fucked up on any number of drugs. Lola understood people, and it seemed Cerie did too.

Cerie Sixx, twenty one, doesn't stop creating content, doesn't stop studying, and doesn't stop smiling. Two of those three things are inhereted traits, inhereted determination, and the third is a choice.

Cyrus Sixx

Though Cyrus had inhereted much of his parent's musical talent, the same way Jupiter had, Cyrus had also inhereted a love of the high life. Even so, he's so full of love, kissing his mother on both cheeks before he goes out to get shitfaced in the bars she was decades before he was even born.

He works hard, at his job, on his music, but his partying matches it just as well. He knows exactly how far he has to fall before he meets the depths his parents' had sunk to, and though he doesn't voice this, his arrogance comes across in his actions.

There'd always be someone to pull him away from swan diving to rock bottom. He takes that for granted, and keeps getting closer and closer.

The only one of Nikki and Lola's children who still lives at home, he's the only one like them in the way they'd feared.

"He's going to have more success than he will ever be able to comprehend," Nikki had told Tommy, the day after Cyrus had been admitted to hospital after staying up for four days while high and obsessing over a song he had been working on. Nikki had found him having a fit after having fallen from his desk chair. Now, sitting on Tommy's patio in the sunset, he looks tired, he looks afraid, "if he doesn't end up killing himself first."

A month ago, the fire department and the police had to pull him, kicking and screaming and bareass naked from a tree in the middle of town. His parents had bailed him out, had felt a familiar sting of guilt as they find themselves reminded of their own youthful exploits. They repremand him, of course, but they both know the only reason they stopped climbing trees was because there had been no-one to pick them up after.

Nikki sees himself in his sons mistakes, but he'd had to learn concequences the hard way.

Tommy loves his family and all it's strange branches, as well as their raucous youth, but his closest friends were some of the most volatile people he'd known, and somehow he'd forgotten that as time as taken people and memories from him.

But these children were made in their image.

[commanderserwin]

— week 21 with levi ackerman.

✧ tags. fluff (in the beginning?), angst, bad language, slight nsfw, & descriptions of blood, weapons, and character death 🧍🏻‍♀️

✧ more. zombie apocalypse AU b/c why not?

✧ notes. ‘tis a word vomit and i have no idea why — just me and my small love for zombie movies and aus, so here goes! enjoy !!!

“Stay.”

Levi grumbled at how your arm and leg kept him captive on the bed, his hand finding your thigh— as he rolled his eyes, feeling your lips pepper kisses onto his jaw, and he loved it.

“One minute,” Levi turned his head, capturing your chapped lips onto his, his thumb playing with the waistband of your underwear, as he winked at you.

You laughed onto his shoulder, kissing the spot below his ear as you snuggled closer, closing your eyes as you breathed in the morning, greeting it with minute long cuddle and few kisses that painted your nose and forehead from the man laying beside you.

“Time’s up,” Levi groaned, feeling your hold on him tightening as you refused to let him go.

Levi let you hold on a minute longer again, kissing your temple as he counted to the last ten seconds, with the last as a smack to your thigh while you yelped loudly, a scowl forming on your lips but Levi kissed it away with no fail. He smiled at your morning dilemma, his heart bursting as you followed him behind him, a stomp on your feet as Levi made his way towards the kitchen.

He has always loved making breakfast with and for you and with your grumpy state made it all better. His hands instinctually made its way towards the kettle, flipping the mugs as he made tea and your preferred drink for the day— as he knew it like the back of his hand, and one look at your face. His basis was the frown on your lips, and it all dissolves as the steam from the hot water hits your face in a welcome delight.

“What time do you have to go to work?” You asked, taking a bite of his toast as you passed by him, grabbing a slice of your own.

“In two hours,” he responded, taking your seat as you settled into your office space, a little desk that he has set up for you. “What time do you have to get to work?”

“Now,” you winked, making kissy faces at him as you opened your laptop— ready to start the day facing the screen.

Levi nodded, finishing his breakfast as quietly as he could while you talked to your client— camera off that’s why you twirled around on your chair, watching Levi with teasing eyes. He shook his head, a blush washing on his skin as he caught glimpse of your eyes— but he’s got enough self-control to not fall for them, kissing your forehead as he made his way to the bathroom to start and get ready for his work.

Every morning was like clockwork already— and by the time he has come out of the bathroom, he would see you making a homemade lunch, while you continued to talk, moving your hands animatedly. He settled again on the kitchen table, graciously accepting his second cup of tea from you while the minutes flew by until it was time for him to go.

With a hug and a kiss, you walked Levi to the door, covering the mic from your earphones as you confessed your daily love, leaving the stoic man a blushing mess as he walked out of the door, a paperbag on his hand as he drove to work.

The day went by slowly, his own clients calling him as he watched the hours go by. He checked his phone multiple times, a text from you from hours ago, and he bombarded you as much as he could hide his phone whenever his boss would walk by.

Then something unusual happened— like straight out of a fucking movie.

The tall ceilings didn’t rumble, the streets did. The building has got thick walls and windows, withstanding few rainy days but what it didn’t withstand was the shrilling screams of people running towards each other— out of the cars, out of the building doors, as they watched others with a scream cut short.

“What the fuck,” Levi mumbled to himself, pushing the chair away as his hand fumbled with the phone, his thumb clicking your contact number with a nervous tap. “What the actual fuck?”

No answer.

His coworker bumped into him, cursing them with his eyes as he clicked on the notification— a news article from his phone. He skimmed it, his eyes rereading the words: blood, humans, trial gone wrong, infection, and the infected.

“Are they filming down the street?” Levi asked, holding the shoulders of his colleague, his eyes piercing through them as they stuttered incoherently, but they only pushed Levi away with a tear down their cheek.

His phone vibrated— your caller ID flashing and he fumbled to accept and finally, his mind has come into peace as he heard your voice amidst the chaos down the street. He walked closer to the windows, seeing flashes of dark liquid that he refuses to acknowledge that was blood.

Levi listened to shrill screams on your phone, and color drained from his face as it all sounded the same. It was noisy, it was full of screaming— agony until the last second that it lasted. He couldn’t help but worry about you, his hands fumbling with anything to keep him grounded. He clutched his phone tighter as usual, hearing your voice and never wanting to let go of it, of you.

“Levi, where are you?” You asked, double-locking the car as people rammed into your car, but you held on to the phone with such urgency as you listened to the other line. “Are you safe?”

“What do you mean, ‘Am I safe?’” Levi walked towards his cubicle, turning his monitor on as his office turned into its own secluded chaos, “I’m at work. Where are you?”

“Going home, I went to grab some groceries,” you answered, ducking your head below as you made use of the tint on the car windows.

Some elderly man slammed on to your trunk, making the car shake as cars honked loudly.

“I thought you had work? It’s only been a few hours.”

“My client rescheduled their telerehab. So I went to the store.”

“Okay,” Levi nodded, breathing through his nose, “Okay, listen.”

“Do you know what’s happening?”

“Did you lock the doors?” Levi asked, avoiding your question.

“Yes, I always lock the door.”

“And how far away from you from the apartment?”

“Ten minutes.”

“You have to walk.”

“I’m not walking!” You gasped, looking at the backseat where a couple of grocery bags were sitting, “And I’m not leaving the car!”

“Darling-,”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” Levi raised his head, his eyes almost bulging from the updated news articles— and he really couldn’t believe his eyes.

The human trial from the nearby city had an outbreak. Their subjects resorting to death, but undead— zombified beings as infected blood ran through its course in their own bloodstream, affecting their brain and nervous system— paralyzed yet moving. Things— humans that doesn’t make sense.

Fucking zombies.

“You only call me darling when you are nervous.”

Levi arched his brow, breathing hard as he shut his monitor off. He looked down again, the streets covered in blood and bodies— and he backed away, the color from his already pale skin draining as he looked at the traffic block. It was going to take him an hour to usually get home— but with this mess, he has no idea if he could get there in a hour.

He wanted to go home.

“All right,” Levi breathed, his hold tightening on the phone, finally coming into terms with the movie-like situation. “Drive home. Carry whatever you think you will need inside the apartment. Grab the toolbox from the trunk. Get the food— anything essential inside.”

“You’re making me nervous,” you whispered, driving carefully away from the crowd as you took the longer route just to get home, “This whole thing is making me nervous.”

“Me too,” Levi murmured, grabbing his things from his cubicle as he grabbed whatever he could find that would be useful. “Don’t forget to lock the doors, do you hear me?”

“Lock the doors,” you repeated, driving a little faster as the roads were clear of any slosh of liquid and less bodies.

One mistake that you have done was stopping— the car coming into a halt as you watched the scene before you.

It was a little girl, her mouth dripping with her blood and mixed with whoever was dead on her hands. Her eyes were red, every vein dark underneath her dark skin, and stared right at your very being. With delicate steps, she moved closer, and you moved the car in reverse. But when she stood by your window, she slammed her hand on it, marking your window with her tiny hand.

Her handprint marked blood all over your car window— and you eyed at her victim. Perhaps her mother, as you guessed from the matching shirt. Her mother twitched— heavy and dark blood gushing out of her neck. She should’ve been dead, and should’ve stayed dead— but her fingers moved little by little, until she stayed upright, her eyes drilling into yours.

Every fiber of your body turned into dust, as you screamed, biting down on your hand as the little girl screamed with you, clawing her hand— but she couldn’t.

“What the fuck is happening?” Levi asked on the other line, his voice muffled as you dropped your phone. “Hey! Hey!”

“She was dead!” You screamed into the phone, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles turned white, “She was dead and... she! There was blood everywhere... how is she alive?”

“Get out of there, darling,” Levi seethed at the situation, clenching his eyes shut as he focused on your voice, “Go!”

Finally, you gassed it, accelerating— feeling the car bump as you drove over the body, while you sweat for your very life. You placed the phone on loudspeaker, finding hope and solace through the curses of your significant other, focusing on his voice as it always calms you down. You counted his curses, finding a smile on your face and his new record of fifty bad words in a matter of minutes.

“Are you near the apartment?”

You nodded— agreeing a second later as the parking opened for you, and you held the phone near to your ear hoping it would close the distance between the two of you.

You wanted him home.

“I'm home already, get here now.”

“Good,” Levi ran down the stairs, towards the garage. He spotted his car, jumping on it instantly, “Wait for me.”

“Come home,” you sobbed, fumbling with the house keys as you opened the door— finding power to carry all the things in one go. “I love you. You have to come home, okay?”

“I love you,” Levi kissed you through the phone, an edge of a smile forming on his mouth as you chuckled-sobbed, “Don’t cry. Don’t go out, I’ll be home in a while.”

That was the last thing Levi has said to you.

His voice echoing in your memory, distant and near as you waited, and waited.

He didn’t make it home that day, and you waited for hours, until the suns changed and the moon waved for a new awful morning as screams made its way towards the quiet apartment. The moment that you hit home, you charged your phone, anything that will be used to communicate, even scrounging for Levi’s radio that he insisted on keeping, and with the mention of your beloved, your body shook in sobs as you tried to reattach yourself from what was happening as you waited for him. 

You should have contacted him every minute and every hour— asking where the hell he is, but the mocking message of an unattended phone sang into your ears. Until all signal towers came down— no phone, no lines, no television, nothings. And all you could do was fucking wait, and you have waited too long that food has been stale for a while— days, weeks, months and you closed off from everybody. Yet, you didn’t move. The sofa has become your bed, a hand on the hilt of a knife as the other clutched the pillow while you slept in a shallow slumber— dreaming of when he would be home and what people have become.

The door and the carpet tainted red, your blood mixed with whoever tried to pried your door open. The handle was broken, and you repaired it as best as you could with Levi’s commanding voice echoing in your head.

Everything revolved around Levi— and you still wonder where he was.

Days, weeks, and months since he made that promise, and as each day goes by— it becomes ruined and broken, your life breaking down slowly as hope washed itself away, leaving you alone with nothing but a wish for him to still be there. 

Another wish to whatever innocence is left within you and him.

The walkie-talkie became your friend— going on and off as you tried to catch a glimpse of whatever or whoever would be there to answer call, but nobody responded to the static buzz.

“I’m running out of water,” you coughed, counting ten small water bottles.

You were running out of everything as the long months drained your supplies.

And so you made a promise to yourself— get out of the apartment, find more food and water, and look for him.

If he couldn’t find his way to you— maybe it was best to find him yourself.

Week One: you started from scratch as you left the apartment. What you had was Levi’s large backpack which contained all your food, and water, a few pair of underwear and clothes, your dead phone, a wrench and a knife, and the walkie-talkie.

Week Two: you stayed in the car, a bad fucking move as an infected person broke your windshield, as they heard you crying. You ran them over— and it that makes them your second death.

Week Three: you saw an empty deli store. You went in— further and further into the back but the door opened and came a big dead man running but you placed a wrench on their big dead head.

Week Four: you were farther from the city. The signs becoming a maze to understand, words illegible as it was covered in blood.

Week Five: you passed by where Levi was working by. The car stopped, sputtering its last gas as you bid goodbye— but seeing Levi’s car, abandoned. With a heavy hand, you destroyed the window, seeing the keys stuck into the ignition as Levi’s briefcase collected dust on the backseat. There was no sign of him, as you left a note and a few tears as you broke down— biting down on your hand because you had to mourn in silence.

Week Six: you carried Levi’s briefcase for a week, but you left it as it became too heavy for you to carry. The only thing that you kept was the little pin on his briefcase— the one that he says that reminds him of you.

Week Seven: your shoes broke down, and comes your fourth death.

Week Eight: fifth death.

Week Nine: the winds grew a little colder, and you find shelter inside a car, the smell rotted as you later found a hand on the backseat.

Week Ten: you were tired, and comes the sixth victim.

Week Eleven: your mind was fucking with you, and you brushed it away.

Week Eleven: it was a dream— and that was the result of sleeping in a stupid store where mirrors all perfectly stood, every glimpse a fucking joke. A sick joke that is— because the mirrors reflected him.

Week Eleven: Levi’s here.

Levi crushed you into a hug, his hair somewhat long yet his face stayed smooth— a few mentions of stubble but it was him. His body felt so familiar that you found yourself curling for his warmth, for the security, for the home that he was.

Levi thought, he’s finally home. He’s found you.

Nobody spoke for a few minutes— unbelieving of what was happening. If you were alive. If he was alive. If that was you. If that was really him. The only thing that was said in those minutes were tears and quivering chins as Levi fumbled with his fingers— holding on to you as you pulled him close.

“Are you going to eat me?” You quietly asked, cupping his cheeks, as you checked his grounding eyes for any evident him.

“Stop with that,” Levi kissed your cheek, hugging you tight again.

His kiss felt like the sweet drops of wine, color finding its way towards the dark hues, as you leaned on his touch— tired yet there. The feelings that blossomed on your chest was huge, almost drowning you again into your sorrows but Levi pulled you back again, and it brought you to tears.

“I waited!” You suddenly cried, curling your knees to your chest as you felt Levi’s arms anchor you to reality, “I waited, Levi! You told me... you told me to wait and that you were coming home.”

“I know,” Levi breathed, cradling your head as you drove him to tears— making him shudder in regret and anger, but it all turned to smoke because you were there and so was he.

But everything felt flat— the hues darkening once more. Tough love— survival at the cost of one’s innocence, but it was there. Levi brought your face to his eyes as he looked for you somewhere deep within the months that you were alone and scared.

And you were still there, fleeting but there.

Love stayed the same while hope tarnished.

Joy pooled at your eyes— the very ones that he would look into, from the moment he would wake up in your bed with the light brushing your skin, and as he closed his eyes, a smile gracing your lips as the day ended. Fleeting but there.

Levi held your hand, carrying the bag as he guided you to his secured spot. He looked back and forth, breathing a little easier as he locked the doors behind him. It was a small family mart, aisles and racks empty with crusting blood and shredded skin, but safe.

In the morning, he woke up with your arms around him— just before. Just like that morning. His lips turned to yours as your very habit stayed the same, your voice carrying himself to agree with nothing but a kiss again on your lips. Levi found himself wrapping his leg around you, flushing you on his chest as he peppered kisses on to your nape while you chuckled softly— prying his arms.

“One minute,” Levi kissed your ear, nuzzling his cheek against your shoulder as you turned around in his embrace.

His grey eyes comforted you, carrying a hint of love and life while you allowed yourself to be hugged, relishing the way he feels after almost a year of him being gone and found again.

A year of it— and nobody spoke about what actually happened that night.

Infected. Infectious diseas. Blood. A human trial gone wrong.

Zombies— like the goddamn movies.

“Will you make me toast,” you whispered, asking him as you placed a hand over his chest— holding on to him and the memory of when it was good, like it was now.

“I believe what I only have are crackers,” Levi whispered in your ear, kissing your nose as your eyes fluttered open once more— and he took you in.

By the way your hair turned greasy, by the way the clothes on your back became ripped and drenched in dried blood, by the way your chapped morning lips stayed the same, by the way your face still contorts into his favorite smile.

“Has my darling turned cheap?”

“God.” Levi rolled his eyes, kissing your cheek numerous times as he finally caught on your dislike for the pet name.

“Now you understand how I feel when you call me darling?” You laughed, placing as much distance as Levi attacked you with tickles and kisses, his shoulders shaking in laughter as he breathily agreed.

Then, he stopped.

Bodies still tangled with each other— and you listened. Nothing was walking by the store, no slosh of liquid echoed into the empty street.

“Listen.” Levi murmured on your lips, his eyes closing as you saw him through the corners of your eyes— and you closed your eyes too, “Listen. This is my favorite part of my morning.”

After a few still minutes, your face lit up in tears, “Birds.”

“Don’t they sound beautiful?”

You opened your eyes to see him staring right at you, his eyes tired yet happy. Levi pushed away your tears, pecking your forehead.

That was the only time that you’ve realized that the tree beside your apartment housed a nest that Levi always prepared worms by the windowsill and that the birds always woke the both of you.

A new start— but this time after a broken heart, you were glad to start the day again with him.

Week Twelve: he always held your hand whenever the both of you would walk. His hand clutched yours that you even complained that it was too tight— but Levi would only kiss your palm and would loosen it.

Week Thirteen: Levi found an empty bodega, making the makeshift beds again, and he held you through the night as you cried, telling him the victims you have killed. That week marked your seventh kill.

Week Fourteen: he was drenched in blood because doesn’t want you to add another one to your list. Levi killed three instantly, and when you asked him how many has he killed, his eyes turned lifeless for a second, until he whispered— “Let’s not talk about it.”

Week Fifteen: you practiced with Levi as he gave you more effective tips to efficiently mark for the kill. He disagreed first, but he confessed later on that he was sick of it.

“I don’t want to kill one more,” he whispered into the dark as both of you listened to the loose footsteps outsides— daunting to add one more. Just one more. His hand found yours in the dark, turning his head to you as he pulled you to his side of the makeshift bed, whispering once more.

“I’ll take care of it,” and you marked the dead teenager as your eighth.

Week Sixteen: Levi found some tester bottles of perfume on clothes store— surprising you as it was the one that sits on your dresser, making you bawl into your hands as the scent brought back too many memories. He sprayed some on to his skin, making you even cry but he kissed your tears away— his eyes later turning into a shade darker.

His mouth found yours into a fervor that night, silent moans and groans echoing in the same bodega as Levi made love to you— and you him under the gaze of the daring moonlight, bodies moving slowly and sensual, hands finding each other, lips swollen as Levi kept you quiet with his own.

“Levi,” you moaned, feeling the coils of your stomach tighten— hips hitting together as his thrusts became lazy, his thumb finding your folds while you squealed.

“Be quiet,” Levi grunted against your mouth, his tongue grazing your lower lip as he held your hips down, watching you with hooded eyes with the way your back arch— face nodding.

“Fuck—,” you breathed, running your nails on his back as his thumb found your clit, driving you to oblivion as he felt your walls flutter around him. “Fu— Levi-,”

He lost himself, thrusting harder and deeper, listening to the lewd sloppy sounds as he felt your slick cover his length, groaning as your walls fluttered again— as his breathy voice moaned your name over and over again like a song that he would gladly sing over and over again.

Week Seventeen: Levi plucked a grass from in between the cracks of the sidewalk as he gave it to you. In return, you surprised him with a loose tea bag with lukewarm water and he accepted it happier than ever.

“I love you,” Levi murmured, cupping the thermos, bringing his lips to the edge for the first drink of his year that was made by you.

“Me or the tea?” You asked, munching on breakfast as you tilted your head to your partner with a teasing smile on your face. 

Levi answered your question with an attack of kisses on your cheeks and neck— making you giggle until he held you steady with his hands on your waist, eyes closed as he rested his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around him, breathing him in as he snuggled into the crook of your neck— your shirt becoming wet from each other’s tears.

Week Eighteen: you cut Levi’s hair, using a broken razor as he listed his instructions with his wavering voice as he looked right at you through the mirror. Levi admitted that it was the best haircut he has ever gotten, even when his bangs were choppy.

In return to find another space, comes your ninth.

Levi hesitated as the undead little girl that you saw from the day slowly walked over to him with a sinister smile. She marked as your tenth, and you mumbled a little prayer for the mother and the daughter that you have killed before and now.

In the evening, he held you close and dear, your shirt turning wet as he angrily cried but you only shushed him gently— “I’ll take care of it always.”

Week Nineteen: he turned to you in his sleep, fluttering his eyes open as you groggily reached for him. You kissed the sleep back on to him, giggling through the kisses as he tried to capture your lips with a failed mission.

On the last day, marks your eleventh kill.

Week Twenty: it was another sick fucking joke.

“Give me a minute.”

“Go.”

“Give me a fucking minute!”

Levi closed his mouth as his chest heaved heavily, his hands wrapping around his leg, unsuccessfully stopping the gush of blood that painted his skin and clothes dark red— and yet in whatever pain that he was in, he gave you a minute.

He has always given you a minute, spare— lots of it, but now he can’t risk it.

Not one spare second because he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

Levi watched you with careful eyes as you murmured to yourself, eyes closed as tears fell angrily at the corners of your eyes. He looked away, his eyes straining at the pain, and when he finally opened his eyes— he saw you looking straight at him with bright and hopeful eyes.

“We could... we could,” you stuttered, hands pressing into his wound to stop his breathing as Levi nodded, listening, “the best thing that we could do is cut your leg off.”

“It’s already in my bloodstream,” Levi whispered, the blood never stopped flowing no matter the pressure.

“You don’t know that,” you smiled— cried, wiping away your tears.

Levi shook his head. He breathed hard, inhaling and exhaling at the way his body turned into something sinister, watching his veins darken under his pale skin, but weakly pulled his sleeves down, as you watched closely. Your eyes were still filled with innocence— and after everything that you have been through, he wanted to preserve an ounce of it, for himself and for you.

That’s why you needed to go.

“Please,” Levi sighed, closing his eyes as he counted in his mind. Perhaps in a few seconds, the blood vessels in his eyes would pop, his sclera gone dark, “Please.”

The feeling of his warm hand covered yours and you pushed away the thoughts that came next as he heaved, controlling the minimal thrashing of his body. Levi nudged your chin, holding it form as he opened his eyes— and you tried to focus on how it looked like before.

Grey and nice, warm and soft, everything that you have loved, everything that he said, everything that was him— Levi.

“I want you to stand up,” Levi coughed, leaning on to the wall as you helped him. His hand found his spare gun and knife, as he pushed them to you gently. “I want you to get up. I want you to go.”

“You’re asking me the impossible,” you whispered, hand loosening from his wound as Levi blinked, his breath staggering.

“But it is for the best.”

“I can’t lose you,” you breathed, cupping his cheeks as you wiped away the tears— the blood that ran through his beautiful face. “Not again.”

“I know.”

Levi smiled, wiping his hand on his pants to clean them— as he ran his knuckles on the apple of your cheeks, one last time. He soothed the furrow between your brows, he cupped your cheek, making you lean for his touch as you kissed the inside of his wrist, murmuring against his touch.

“I can’t lose you.” You whispered, looking at his wound. 

He pushed you to the wall at the moment it happened— the infected person crawling quietly as it sunk its teeth on Levi’s leg, making him topple over but he killed it in a second— all to save you.

“Levi, I can’t lose you,” you repeated quietly, chest shaking as tears clouded your eyes, “Not again!”

He screamed from the agony, his chest constricting whatever air was left in his body, holding himself close as he bit down on his hand as it washed through him. He pushed his weapons to you hard, making you stumble over as he watched your figure crawl away from him, inch by inch— and the hunger inside him fought its way towards his mind as he longed for the flesh and blood that rests perfectly on your body.

Yet, one thing stays the same.

His lips turned blue, as you watched him carefully, his mouth turning— whispering his very words that would make your heart skip a beat, be the reason for the unending adoration and devotion between the two of you.

“I love you,” Levi mouthed, his hands aimless around his body— no longer fighting whatever was inside him.

“I love you,” you cried, the tears falling freely as you found yourself standing to the other wall, feeling the cold cement hit your skin as your fingers fumbled with the gun and knife.

For whatever cruel reason, life has beaten the air out of you, your mind escaping its own as you chose— suffocating you, strangling the love out of you as you pocketed the knife.

Your whole body shook quietly— crying silently. The chest-heaving kind, where everything made it so fucking difficult for you to breathe, when you didn’t want anybody to know that you were bawling your eyes out, hands almost scarred from how hard you bit it down. Betrayal for the one that you truly love ran straight to your core— as you chose.

Levi smiled as his eyes became red— proud of how steady your arms were as you raised the gun— just like how he taught you. With the last ounce of life in his body, he professed his love for you one last time, and the farewell that mourned for himself, his fate, and for you. His memories clouded into colors that he hasn’t seen before, mundane things and memories with you, the way your lips would turn up at the sight of him, the way your eyes would convey such a deep message— deepest as the ocean as he would always compare.

He felt the air become static in his skin, feel his heart stop, feel everything stop. His eyes opened, seeing the hesitation in your hands but he has to do this, and he pushed you to save you. He saw his life with you— and he has to say goodbye one last time. Levi used whatever he could muster, as he whispered, hearing the shot echo in the cold room.

“Stay away.”

[nightswithkookmin]

JIKOOK MMA 2020- COMMENTARY

Disclaimer: This is a commentary, not an expert analysis. I am not a ballerina. LTRS.

Let's all agree right here, right now, that if ever a moment deserve to be immortalized for all eternity, that it is this moment right here: the moment Jungkook lifts Jimin off the ground- it is the most super iconic IT moment of the year as far as shipping goes. Damn, was it beautiful. Goddamn!

Personally, I had so many flashbacks of unchartered fantasies, hopes and dreams- the least delusional of which is JK saying with a deep voice, after lifting JM off the ground, 'would you marry me please' and Jimin, shook out of his wits would respond in Satoori, 'we are already married, you idiot. Now put me down!' Lol.

What? A girl can dream... Leave me alone. Lol

A lot has been said of this dance and so I won't rumble on for long. I'm just gonna focus on the moments that stood out for me:

The first of which would be the build up to that performance- BigHit, you sneaky conglomerate bastard! Lol.

Y'all saw what they did there right? For weeks I have been bombarded with questions about the seemingly 'tensions' between Jikook- everyone was slipping me the 'something is up with Jikook' pill but chilee, I look at them and all I could see was Jikook up in their shenanigans. Lol

I think I mentioned this in a previous post? Anywho. I think the thing that most of us was experiencing with Jikook was the unnecessary 'limited' interactions between them in the recent content we had been getting post Jimin's birthday but regardless, there were still moments of them 'giving themselves away' like in the Grammy reaction video when Jimin instinctively turned to JK in his moment of excitement.

His hesitation was worrying though, because normally he wouldn't- they wouldn't, hesitate to hug the person that they want to hug in their moments of emotional outbursts unless something was hindering them.

Ergo, I felt, if he was hesitating, then clearly it meant there was something holding him back or stressing their dynamic- I think I've definitely talked about this right? Instinctual reactions and all that jazz?

It didn't feel like he was having problems with Kook though, honestly. Because, in spite of all these little inconsistent moments of 'tensions' between them, Jimin for the most part has been giving me the vibe he is falling in love all over again with Kook- Dont ask me why. Lol. This is just gonna be one of those statements I make in passing. Take note of it though, I'll talk about it again soon.

But from the little I've seen post Jimin's birthday, that's the vibe I'm getting. If you believe Jimin is in love with Kook and you have an idea of when he started falling in love with Kook in their love Journey, then I think you'd catch the signs too? If not, never mind. Lol.

Every now and then, I see him go through this phase- in my opinion. I can't wait to talk about it. And yes, it is what I meant when I said Jikook's dynamics seem to have flipped again lately. Time to turn on the crazy. Lol.

These minimum interactions between Jikook however, to me, felt more as if they were being 'monitored' or asked to 'tone things down' by the company or something rather than that they were having actual issues in their relationship- know what I mean?

For the love of me, I couldn't figure out why the company would ask them to tone things down... Until the blackswan performance.

I feel somehow that the lack of content and moments between Jikook in recent times, coupled with the seemingly faux tensions between them prior to their performance at the MMAs, without question, contributed to the wow factor of their performance. In my opinion- but stay with me.

BigHit ain't slick. Lol.

It's so on brand for them though, isn't it? Demand and supply and all that jazz. Chilee. Scarcity inflates the value of a product. I mean we've seen JK lift and carry Jimin in their dance performances several times now yet we can't deny this came as a shock and surprise for us all because we had zero idea what was 'going on between Jikook' behind the cameras- straight up Jedi mind trick. Lol.

Not to say the performance itself wasn't spectacular in of its own. I'd be mad damn liar and a fool if I peddled that nonsense anywhere. Lol.

I just want to point out how BigHit utilizes and taps Jikook's brand and magic in their business model, as this provides a stark contrast against BTS's marketing strategy for their self produced Album Be.

I tried explaining in my LGO analysis, how that project was a personal project of BTS' as a group and how as a group they had their own perception of brand and what sells- or who sells amongst them, as such they weren't going to and didn't star Jikook in that project as front and center.

Contrasting that project to this project, which is more of a BigHit piloted project rather than a personal project of the group's, you can see how Jikook's brand stands out and how it is being highlighted or even exploited for maximum return.

This is what I mean when I say Jikook is a brand. A powerful brand at that and that BigHit has a stake in their brand.

Jikook once again, overshadowed and dare I say, over powered BTS's own brand in that Blackswan performance- chileee, that performance was so Jikookcentric I forgot the others were even there. Lol.

I mean I saw NamJin jump in the foreground somewhere... I'm gonna get canceled am I not? Lmho.

VHope were powerful too. But I couldn't help but notice how neither of those individuals could have sold it the way JK did, had they been in his shoes. V and Hobi both have stamina and presence, yet for some reason I just can't picture either of them lifting Jimin up and spinning him the way JK did and does- not that they can't...

It's just, they take the spotlight too. Jimin is captivating when he dances- or does anything quiet frankly. And usually, he shines under the spotlight when there is undivided attention on him.

When he is paired with Hobi, V or even Suga, very often they act as distractions as they tend to compete with him for the viewer's attention and as such they don't necessarily compliment him. In my opinion.

Often too, when he is paired with RM or Jin, he tends to outshine them and make them look like rookies- Namjin... bless their hearts. Lol.

Kookie is the only member in the group that I feel compliments Jimin- well. Not that he isn't a great dancer too like Hobi or V, it's just whenever he is paired with Jimin in a performance he has the tendency to waive his spotlight and cede it to Jimin by letting go off his own shine and spotlight as well as his competitive spirit so Jimin can be highlighted.

It's why he is the perfect partner for Jimin and the perfect choice for this role in their duet. I think. He pulled it off guys. He PULLED IT OFF-chef's kiss JK. Chef's fucking kiss! Lol.

JK often talks about how he prefers to 'be behind the cameras,' how he often films the members but doesn't like being filmed or being in the spotlight and you see this in his GCFs where he takes the back bench and allows Jimin or even the others to dally in front of the camera.

I don't know if he is aware he does this in his dance too- because for the longest time critics often commented on his stage presence or lack of it there off- their words not mine...

Frankly, I never saw it that way. Because, paired with any other member, he squares up. Chilee. Lmho.

It's one thing to look great next to your partner, it's another to look great together next to eachother and Jikook looked great together in that moment- just exquisite and outstandingly beautiful.

The point of the black swan dance as RM had said in their blackswan Film reaction video, is not to highlight all seven but one- Jimin and that is exactly what JK did on that stage.

Jimin I felt wasn't as intense as he often is in his solo performances. He is brutal in the way he captures attention when he performs alone on a stage. His aura is demanding and alluring and if you can tear your eyes away from him when he is in the height of his performances then- share your magic formula you lucky bastard. Free us all from Jimin's hold. HELP! Lol.

But for some reason, in this performance, he wasn't lost in himself in the moment. It took me a while to understand what was happening-he was equally relinquishing his shine so Kook could share the spotlight with him- please, leave me here to die.

They each compete against the members when they perform with them on a stage, but they never seem to compete against eachother. They move in awareness of eachother and lift eachother up. They enhance eachother's presence and when they collide it's harmonious. This is what we mean when we say Jikook compliment eachother- nobody is doing it like them.

They were both powerful in their strides, graceful in their descent. They did it. They killed it.

Signed,

GOLDY

[msmarvelwrites]

The Winter Ghost - Part 3

Info: A Devastating car crash causes you to lose your memory and start over. The only thing left in the wreckage was the horrific nightmares which plagued your mind. If you knew what today would entail you would have just stayed in bed. But you didn't and because of that, everything you knew was about to change.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x y/n

Warnings: PTSD, violence, swearing, anxiety. 

W/c: 2k 

A/n: Big thanks again to @cutie1365​ for editing this chaper. Girl is a hero, honestly. And thank you guys for all the love on the previosu chapter. Enjoy! 

   "Welcome back, мой ребенок " His breath drifted across your cheek and startled you awake. The sound of the lights above you buzzing, mixed with the musty smell of wet basement made you nauseous. You tried to move, but your arms were chained down to the table. Frantically you looked around the small room for some way out. That's when you saw him. A ghost of someone you couldn't quite remember. The way his crooked body twisted as he approached you made you squirm. 

   "Do you not remember me? Did I not leave a lasting impression? мое сердце разрывается." He chuckled and clutched his chest dramatically. You opened your mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Instead, you pulled on the chains violently trying and failing to free yourself. 

    "Please, do not hurt yourself. That's his job..." He trailed off looking in the direction you couldn't bend your neck to see. Suddenly there were two large bodies on either side of you, holding your arms tight against the bed. 

      "Where is the blueprint, мой ребенок ?" He questioned. You thrashed against the two zombie-like men but it was no use.

 "Fuck you!" You nearly spat. His only response was a sinister cackle that bounced off the walls of the room. 

"Fine. Have it your way... Tell me, Y/n. If I cut off your arm, do you think 2 more will grow back in its place?" He smiled a wicked grin. The two men next to you looked to him, awaiting his orders. 

   "Сломать это." He shrugged, casting his gaze to the floor. In seconds, the man on your right twisted your arm so it was stretched out, palm down. In one swift movement he brought his elbow down, colliding it against yours, shattering the bone. Your screams mixed with the sound of your bone cracking echoed all around you.

     "Fucking monster! I don't care what you do. You've already taken everything from me! I'm dead already." You all but shrieked. Purple and yellow bruising was already growing around your twisted arm.

   The lanky man took two wide steps toward you, now hovering over your head. A long deep scar ran from the top of his brow, down his nose and along his lip. His eyes bulged and he spoke.

"Not everything... However, that can be arranged. We cannot kill you, you have our blueprint..." He paused for a moment like he was thinking.

 "Это готово?" Is it ready? He asked the man to your left. He only nodded. A sickly grin spread across the ghost’s lips. 

"Perfect. Call me when you're done. We'll put her on ice, so to speak." He walked towards the steel door in the corner.

   "What do we do with her after?" One of the men by your side asked. You were surprised by how high pitched his voice sounded. Their leader grumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"Put her in a car and push her off a cliff for all I care. I don't need her remembering anything but the blueprint. Not yet anyways." With that, he left. The steel door slamming behind him. There was a horrible drilling noise as an excruciating pain ripped through your brain. Tears welled in your eyes as you passed out.

   Your eyes burst open, squinting as you adjusted to the bright lighting. You looked around panicked, realising this was not the coffee shop. The room was white and clean and bright. You noticed a quiet beeping from the machine beside you, echoing your heart beat. I.V's protruded from your forearms. Your eyes slowly fell to the man sitting in an arm chair across from you. 

     "Hey there, slugger. How'ya feelin'?" He chuckled. You recognised him as Captain Rogers. As you focused, you noticed he had a pink gash on the bridge of his nose and bruising under his eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, but a dry cough came out instead. You cleared your throat, and tried again.

 "I-I'm okay. What happened to your face?" Your voice only came out as a raspy whisper.

   "You." He spoke matter of fact. When you only stared at him he continued. "You can really pack a punch. Are you sure you're just a barista?" He scoffed, eyeing you carefully like at any moment you could attack. As if your body didn't ache at the thought of moving a finger. 

"I'm not sure of anything anymore." You signed, staring at the tiles on the ceiling. You looked back to Captain Rogers. "Where are we?" He smiled and stood crossing the room towards you.

 "You're safe. That's all that matters, Y/n. A friend of mine will come by later with the nurse. He's kind of an expert when it comes to your situation. Hang tight, get some rest. I'll come check on you later." And with that he exited the room. 

  About an hour later you began to feel your muscles relaxing. Slowly, you sat up on the bed, taking in your surroundings. ‘I'm never going to financially recover after staying in this hospital,’ you thought. 

   "Well it's a good thing this isn't a hospital, doll. Not really." You looked up startled by the man leaning against the doorframe of your room. You weren't aware you had said that outloud. He noticed your surprise and chuckled deeply. He had a sort of lopsided grin and long, dark-brown hair that framed his stoic features. The deep red shirt he wore was pulled taut against his broad shoulders. And then you noticed a silver metal arm loosely tucked into the front pocket of his dark jeans. The man quite literally looked like he could tear you in half like a piece of paper, but his eyes gave him away. They were soft and kind and crinkled just slightly at the edges when he smiled. You stared at him, hypnotised for what felt like forever until he cleared his throat, knocking you back into reality. You felt the blood rush to your face and looked away, the floor suddenly becoming very interesting to you.  

     "It can be really overwhelming when you first get here. Trust me, I know." He spoke, asking with a nod if he could enter your room further. You smiled weakly and he took a step through the door. 

"Steve told me what happened. You really knocked him around good." He laughed, his ocean eyes sparkled as he did. 

"I don't remember," Your voice was much softer than his. He must have been referring to Captain Rogers. You didn't peg him as a Steve. Maybe a Brian, or Bruce... Or Grumpy. The nickname made you smile. 

    "Yeah, I know that feeling all too well." His smile faded but his eyes stayed locked to yours. The intensity of his stare made you blush. "It used to happen to me a lot. But, Steve helped me remember myself. He can help you, Y/n." The way he said your 'name' made you shiver. You couldn't tell if you really liked it or not.  

   "Who are you?" You blurted, sounding more direct than you meant it to. He smiled, "Everyone around here calls me Bucky." You looked around as he said that. 

"And where exactly is 'here'?" You fired again. He chuckled softly. 

"Welcome to Wakanda, doll."

      A little while later, after Bucky explained to you several times who the Avengers were, who Steve was and why you were here, one of the nurses entered. The nurse took a few tests, drawing blood from your arm. You winced and instinctually looked to Bucky. His eyes were soft and filled with concern.

   Steve took a seat beside Bucky on the windowsill and smiled half heartedly. "I'm sure you're very confused Y/n. My friends and I are going to do our best to try and help you remember everything Hydra made you forget." He disclosed. 

You looked to Bucky and he nodded reassuringly. "Piece of cake, doll." He offered, kindly. 

You smiled and looked back to Steve. "Okay... Fill me in."

   An hour and about 80 questions later Steve finished explaining and you finished asking. You didn't remember anything he spoke of, but you knew if you were here, there must be some truth to it. It helped that Bucky sat beside you the whole time. Steve explained that your father had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D for many years but when he realized they had been infiltrated by Hydra he left. Same as you. Hydra was behind your family's house fire. They  murdered them, just like they did Tommy. Steve explained what a good man he was. That he worked across the hall from you and would often leave you notes on your desk. You looked to Bucky who was staring at the floor, picking at his nails uncomfortably. 

     "They were working on a new type of brainwashing. One that would wipe a person's memory's completely leaving only fragments of the truth. It was a way to keep S.H.I.E.L.D agents who knew too much quiet." He continued. He looked to Bucky, whose eyes were still fixated on the floor. 

"Is that what they did to you?" You asked him. His head snapped up, empathy in his eyes. 

"Nah, doll. Not exactly." He explained. You waited for him to continue but he never did. 

     "What about my car crash? The doctors said-" Steve cut you off, "Hydra staged the whole thing. After they cleaned your slate they couldn't have you questioning where your memory had gone. It was easier to keep you thinking the crash had caused brain damage and that's why you had pieces missing." He finished. Suddenly the strange nightmares began to make sense. Maybe your memory was beginning to return?

   "Will I ever remember?" You asked, your voice small. You didn't know if you really wanted to. From what Steve had told you, your life sounded pretty fucked up. Maybe Hydra did you a service by wiping your memory. 

   "There is a way," Steve started, looking to Bucky who was gazing out the window now. "One of our friends, Shuri, has come up with a remedy. She helped Buck regain his memories, too. We can start the process today. We have to take it slow, though. A lot happened to you, Y/n. It may be really painful to re-live. But, you have the blueprints to a weapon that could quite literally end the game, so-"  

  "Ultimately, it's your decision Y/n. We're here to keep you safe. Not just from Hydra. I won't let anything bad happen to you." Bucky interjected suddenly, cutting Steve off before he could finish. His words were soft and kind. Steve looked to his friend and back to you, knowingly. 

"Thank you Bucky. But, these assholes took everything from me. I can't stand by when I know how to end this." He nodded in understanding. Part of him looked almost disappointed. But you quickly brushed it off. 

  "Then it's settled. I'll ask Shuri to start prepping. We'll get you a better room to keep you comfortable. Oh, and Y/n" he paused, getting up and heading to the door. 

You looked up and he smirked, "Welcome to Wakanda -" 

"I already said that." Bucky mumbled over Steve. The blonde gaped at him, taken aback by his sarcastic tone. 

"Fine whatever, I thought we agreed that it was my thing but okay."

.................................

A/N: ahhhh chapter three!! Im having so much fun with this you guys! thank you so much for reading. As always, any and all feeback in welcomed! Hope you have a great day!