#jojo is getting its claws back into me

[mingot-studios]

Someone PUH-LEEZ draw April Cassandra and Sunita dressed up as Jolyne Ermes and FF from Stone ocean it would TOO perfect

[tinycoded360]

Jojo's Big Adventure Chapter 7

The giant's voice sent icy tendrils of fear down Corrin's spine, paralyzing him. His wide eyes trailed upwards, desperately searching for the source of the booming sound. All he could make out were tower-sized legs clad in long black pants and a blue shirt that seemed to stretch on forever. The dizzying height obscured the giant's face, leaving Corrin uncertain if they had been spotted. With a sinking heart, Corrin also notes a second pair of giant feet behind him; they are boxed in. Corrin can feel the two pairs of giant eyes’ on him and his friend.

As he remained frozen, his attention momentarily diverted; Corrin failed to notice the cat stalking closer with malicious intent. Suddenly, a powerful paw struck him, its razor-sharp claws sinking into his back with unrelenting force.

"AAHH!" Corrin screamed, pain flaring through his small body.

"No! Get you!" roared the giant voice again, filled with anger and urgency.

In the confused blur that followed, Corrin heard the scuffle between the cat and the giant—the yowls and growls. Yet, as suddenly as it began, the cat's presence vanished. Corrin tried to catch his breath, his mind racing with questions and worry.

Still reeling from the shock of the attack, Corrin's thoughts turned to his friend. "June… where's June?" his pained whisper barely audible even to himself.

Before Corrin could fully register what was happening, he felt a powerful shift beneath him. He rolled onto a warm, rough surface that smelled strongly of sanitizer and mint. Panic surged within him, his heart pounding like a jackhammer as the realization struck – he was resting on a giant palm.

"Wh-what's happening?" Corrin whimpered, trembling with a mixture of fear and pain.

"Shh, easy there, little fella, I gotcha. I'm not gonna hurtcha," the giant man soothed in a gruff whisper. His voice was gentle, but the sheer size and volume still made Corrin flinch.

As the giant man stood up, Corrin felt himself rising higher and higher.

*Please don't drop me, please don't drop me,* he repeated like a silent mantra, heart pounding in his chest as he felt the giant's loosely curled fingers around him, not squeezing, but rather providing a gentle barrier to keep him from plummeting to his doom.

Corrin's breath hitched as the giant man's blue eyes seemed to bore into him, scrutinizing his tiny form. The brown-haired giant looked worried, but what Corrin found most unnerving was the man's sheer size and the fact that he was now the sole focus of such a gargantuan being.

"June," Corrin suddenly remembered, his voice barely audible as he choked out her name. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"Easy, kid," the giant replied, his surprise evident in his wide eyes. "I got her right here."

As the giant lifted his other hand closer to Corrin, he saw June lying unconscious; her small body cradled gently in the massive palm. Her face was pale, her hair was disheveled, and she looked so vulnerable that it made Corrin heartache.

"Is this June?" the giant asked, his voice softening with concern.

"Y-yes," Corrin stuttered, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Relief washed over him like a wave, but it was quickly replaced by apprehension about their precarious situation.

Corrin's heart raced, his breath coming in shallow gasps as fear continued to grip him. He couldn't shake the overwhelming sensation of being so utterly insignificant in the giant man's grasp. "W-what are you going to do with us?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The giant man's face softened, and he responded gently, "Do? I'm a doctor, I'm gonna help you, I'm not gonna hurt you, kid. My name is Doctor McCoy, CMO of the Starship Enterprise. What's your name, kid?"

"Corrin," he managed to reply, his voice shaking. The revelation that this giant was a doctor offered some comfort, but Corrin couldn't ignore the sense of vulnerability that still gnawed at him.

“Doktor, you found more! This is good; the place must be close by!” a new voice exclaimed, causing Corrin to flinch. He had forgotten about the other giant.

“Keep your voice down, Chekov. Shoot, I still need Jo to ID that guy.” Dr. Mccoy frowned, looking down at his two tiny new patients.

"Alright, Corrin," Dr. McCoy said, his tone reassuring. "I'm going to take you and June to the sick bay. We need to check on her and those claw wounds on your back."

As Dr. McCoy shifted June's unconscious form onto the same hand that held Corrin, the boy marveled at just how easily the doctor could hold both of them in one massive palm. "Sorry about that, I just need a hand free," Dr. McCoy explained, his voice tinged with awe. He smiled slightly as Corrin instinctively snuggled closer to June, curling protectively around her fragile frame.

"Is she going to be alright?" Corrin asked hesitantly, his eyes fixed on June's pale face.

Dr. McCoy nodded; his blue eyes warm with reassurance. "I'll do everything I can to make sure of it, Corrin."

With that, Dr. McCoy reached into the side pocket of his shirt, pulling out another tiny figure. Corrin stared in surprise at the other shrunken teen. “This is my daughter Joanna. She’s in the same mess you're in.”

Dr. Mccoy turned to Chekov. “Here, take Joanna to the station. I need to take these two up to sickbay.”

Chekov gently held his palm out. Joanna walked from her father’s palm to Chekov’s hand. Joanna couldn’t help but blush under the young ensign’s gaze. Chekov gently cups her to his chest.

“Now, I’m trusting you to keep her safe.” Mccoy gruffly told his co-worker.

“You have my word Doktor!” Chekov cheerily told the grouchy doctor.

Mccoy pulled out his communicator and spoke into it, asking to be beamed up. As the transporter hummed to life, Corrin closed his eyes, burying his face in June's hair, and whispered a silent prayer for their safety.

The world around them dissolved into a whirlwind of sparkling energy as the transporter buzzed to life.

"Easy there, kid." Dr. McCoy spoke gently, sensing Corrin's unease. As they rematerialized, the doctor instinctively cupped his hand against his abdomen, shielding his tiny passengers from any harm. "Hang on tight."

"Wh-where are we?" Corrin stammered, forcing himself to open his eyes and take in their new surroundings. The sick bay was filled with advanced medical equipment, each piece looming like a towering monolith above him.

"Welcome to the Enterprise sick bay," Dr. McCoy said."I'm going to get you two looked at right away."

As the doctor crossed the room towards a large examination table, Corrin felt a renewed sense of hope.

"Alright, let's get you both settled," Dr. McCoy said as he carefully lowered his massive hand onto the examination table. Corrin felt the cold surface beneath him, and his shivering intensified.

"Are you cold, son?" Dr. McCoy asked, noticing Corrin's trembling.

"Y-yes, sir," Corrin replied.

"Let me fetch you a blanket," Dr. McCoy said, retrieving a small fabric to cover the children. "Now, let's see what we can do about those injuries."

As the doctor examined Corrin's claw wounds, his precise movements betrayed years of experience. "I'm going to apply some disinfectant and a dermal regenerator," he explained. "This might sting a bit."

"Alright," Corrin said, steeling himself for the pain.

"Almost done," Dr. McCoy reassured him, his voice soothing despite the discomfort. Corrin couldn't help but feel grateful for this giant's gentle care.

"Doctor, will June be okay?" Corrin asked, his eyes filling with worry as he glanced at her still form.

"Let me take a look," Dr. McCoy replied, turning his attention to the unconscious girl. After examining her for several moments, he looked back at Corrin. "She's got a concussion, but I'll do everything I can to help her recover."

"Thank you," Corrin murmured. As the doctor continued his work, Corrin allowed himself to consider the possibility that they might just make it through this ordeal after all.

[unknown-art-room1]

hello! i saw ur post about an original stand and i would love to about its abilities :]

it looks p cool and i like hearing about any fan stands

ALSO cool jojo pose

My friend! I would like to start out with saying, you have just made my day by simply doing this! So, I shall gladly answer your question!

Vita Spectrum in the image provided is actually similar to Echos Act 1. As in, before they gained a form that could actually be used they were what looked to be a blob of muscle that was constantly changing, some areas being skin, some covered in fur, feathers, scales, etc. Once the user was able to activate the stands ability that allowed them to take on a more physical form.

The ability, is to change its body or part of its body into that of another creature that isn't human or used to be human (so vampires and zombies are a no). Now this is where it starts to get a bit complicated. To start off with, the stand isn't limited to one creatures ability at a time, they can use several animal abilities at once, though the more creatures used requires more energy and focus to maintain that form.

Next is how this can be used, now the stand can either take the form of the creature as what it actually looks like, so if they wanted to look like a wolf they could look like an actual wolf. Though the telltale sign that this isn't a wolf would be behaviour and that the eyes don't visibly change. But in the more humanoid form it would look more like a wolf man: the tail on the back changing shape, more prominent claws, fur, etc.

Depending on how this ability is used actually affects the stats and does one other interesting thing. The stand though one being, can actually split apart into several smaller forms similar to Highway Star, the difference being instead of turning into flat feet they turn into basic small animals like bugs! To put it simply, the bigger and more complex the creature the closer to the user they have to be and in one singular form, the smaller and less complex can travel further and be split into several forms.

This affects the stats, as depending on what creature feature/s is used can dictate how this stand can be used in battle. I would personally say this stand is more used for tracking and being on the defensive. Lets say for example Vita used the strength of an octopus, that's roughly eight to nine times the strength of a human. You put that up against another stand, the only thing you know for sure is that Vita isn't as physically strong, but is more flexible and less likely to break a bone.

However that leaves a more... Interesting subject to talk about. When first creating this stand a few years ago, I was only new to the fandom and didn't know much about what this ability could do in detail. But after getting into the fandom fully, this left me with a question. Could this stand copy the ability of the Pillermen?

Despite the fact they are human like, they aren't human are they? So looking at the information given, I would say they probably could use the abilities of the Pillermen. Only under certain conditions that is. The first one is simply, it has to be used at night otherwise we get the whole situation of turning to stone. The other condition being, the user would have to know about the existence of Pillermen.

So if the user wanted to use this 'Pillar' power stand - since it is technically muscle - would have to be basically attached to their user on an almost cellular level. The stand would most likely have to wrap itself around the cells of the user, which has it's benefits and downfalls.

A benefit being the healing ability, durability, increase in reflex (probably thinking time as well) and the overall strength/powers they have. The downfall was something I had to discuss with some friends, but we figured out that if the user did use this ability. They would have an overall increase/want for blood, their morals would temporarily become more questionable and they would have a voice in the back of their almost egging them on to be more violent and less caring about the humans around them.

I hope this wasn't too much reading for you and I hoped it explained everything you needed to know!

[slowd1ving]

PENDULUM ✦ . 　⁺ iii.

UNDERGROUND (MAREUX)

"But you're barely holding on, In a world of false reflection. Keep looking for yourself, Never got enough attention." wc: 6.3k

JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE MASTERLIST

PENDULUM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ・゜NEXT PART

 Goodbyes are more trouble than they’re worth . 

This was a philosophy Johnny Joestar had painfully etched into the very fibres of his miserable existence. Goodbyes were deceitful: brimming with a false security that preluded a death sentence. Calamity and courtesy – all wrapped up in a neat little package of two syllables. 

At midnight, the outskirts of Kentucky were quiet, with nary a cicada to break the peace. Too quiet. The deafening roar of silence meant that Johnny only had his thoughts as background noise: poison thorns striking his mind over and over (an incessant loop of malicious laughter running through a theatre audience was the only other comparison he could make). 

It was at that moment that the covers in his bed felt like vices restraining his body; the familiar panic wracking his brain catalysed an overdrive in his neurons. Reflexively, he grappled for the wheelchair with a blind fervour – even in the complete pitch of his room, each night contained such a routine that it had become muscle memory for his arms at this point. 

He’d probably never fully get accustomed to the polished timber lining the floors, but the wheels navigated the well-known route to the kitchen without any skids. His elderly caretaker had never remembered to order carpets, but now that she wasn’t here anymore, he never remembered to get round to it either. 

It didn’t matter in the long run. Nothing did. 

He hadn’t said a word as she bid him farewell. Old age was taking its toll, and she had gone to stay with her remaining son. A perfunctory, tight-lipped nod, and she was on her way without a backward glance. He hadn’t bothered writing to his father to ask for a replacement; George Joestar wouldn’t reply. 

Rosie was just a last courtesy to his estranged son: a cursory attempt to make sure his last living son wouldn’t die off immediately after being shipped off to Kentucky. Not in a genuinely, familial-concerned way, but an ‘I’m already getting shit for disowning you so don’t die off like your brother and make me look worse’ way. 

No, George Joestar would never write back. 

It was something he’d accepted after he was disowned; reality was already bleak enough without Nicholas, so what was one more blow from a father who never liked his younger son anyway? If he thought about it too long at sixteen, he’d drown in his own tears. But now, three years later, the raw wound had stopped stinging as much – Johnny was more hollow than he had been in his past. 

Sure, if he dwelled on it long enough, the hurt festered: turning into a septic, writhing mass filled with the unrelenting, putrid sensation of maggots crawling through his brain. It wouldn’t let go – not until he was choking and heaving with cold sweat and the tell-tale taste of bile escaping his throat. 

But that was when he thought about it, and he was determined not to; not when his usual routines of Waking Up Amidst Bouts Of Nightmares and Staying In The Kitchen Until They Passed was going so blissfully well. 

Light flooded into the small space as he lit the oil lamp lying in the middle of the kitchen table: a balm to his disquieted mind. Top it up , he noted mentally, before rummaging around in one of the bottom cabinets for a glass. If he was in particularly bad shape, he’d just shakily take greedy swigs from his water decanter back in his room – but that wasn’t tonight. 

If he remembered correctly, there was- there , in all its glory, was the small bottle Rosie had mercifully left. Warm light shone through the coppery liquid and made it look like fucking ambrosia . It was half-full – just enough . He’d stave off the darkness clawing at him for another night. 

His hands trembled slightly as he poured the drink into the tumbler; glass clinked against glass, and some of the liquid droplets spattered onto his thighs. Mournfully, he looked at the amber staining his threadbare pants, but it wasn’t like he could feel the cold seeping into his skin. If he had any sensation in his legs, he might’ve changed out of those pants – though, as it stood, he didn’t feel the discomfort. So, he simply turned away. Not like I’m going out anytime soon , he thought bitterly. 

Against his chattering teeth, the rim bit into mouth uncomfortably. Doesn’t matter . And it wouldn’t matter, not when he was chasing the alcohol to light his worries ablaze. 

With blond strands of hair stuck to his face with cold sweat, he drank. There – in the light of the moon and lamp meshing together, in the tiny kitchen he barely cooked in, in the rickety apartment he called home – he took an avaricious swig of whiskey that left him reeling from the burn. His previously clammy skin already began its steady journey to warmth (though it might also have been a placebo effect from sitting by the lamp). 

Small, steady sips. Even in the empty apartment, he schooled his face into a neutral expression. It wasn’t like he’d never decanted a glass from his father’s extensive bourbon collection, or sipped on a glass of wine at dinner back in England – but that was years ago. He barely remembered the taste of those ridiculously expensive liquors; all that remained was the stark feeling of contrast between those glasses and this cheap, almost gritty alcohol. 

His face contorted into a grimace at the memory. No, this was infinitely better : without his father breathing down his neck with terrifying pressure, in a place he could actually call his home. Kentucky was familiar. Safe . The dusty breeze that blew when he had the chance to sit on his porch was nothing like the harsh wind that stung his face in England. 

By now, his head was tipped back and his eyes were tightly shut – heat was taking its leisurely voyage through his bloodstream. Nothing more than a pleasant buzz; he’d have to make the journey to the store to buy more bottles with the monthly allowance from a distant uncle, if he truly wanted to feel life slip out of his fingertips. A fitting end for the prodigal son.  

The prodigal son . 

Johnny’s eyes opened by a fraction. Any neutrality – any comfort – he’d just felt in the liquid washing over him dissipated in a fragile plume of smoke. It all came crashing down: even the tiny, fragile bird of a dream – to forget – withered in its delicate cage. 

He drained the rest of his glass in silence. 

Nobody to say goodbye to in an empty home . 

. 　⁺ ✦

(“ Raskolnikov had a terrible dream .”)

Life was starting to shape itself into something pleasantly ordinary until this morning. This morning, when the cornflower-blue skies and clean breeze had lured Johnny out onto his porch with a flask of tea and a dog-eared paperback to flee from a particularly bad nightmare. Before he got shot in the spine, the outdoors had been a bountiful playground to escape to from the claws of his father.  

Nowadays, the outdoors tended to be a figment of his imagination. Though not today. Rather, the rolling, verdant fields of his mind’s landscape were replaced with the yellowed fields of the Kentucky backwaters stretching out before his eyes. And that was enough.

After the clutter of his jockey life – the sleeping around, the constant swarms of reporters, and the incessant comparison to Diego – the peace and quiet was somewhat relaxing. No, it isn’t . Any optimism he might’ve felt was promptly ground into dust by the very fact that it came at too high a cost . 

He didn’t think the feeling of bitterness would ever relinquish its hold from his heart. How could it? In less than a second, the bullet found his spine and robbed him of everything he had known. 

(“ He’ll suffer when he realises the error of his ways. That’s his punishment .”)

Was this the judgement sent down from God? Was this lonesome the punishment for causing his brother’s death? Just as Cain before him, was this the retribution for his crime? 

It was with spiteful resignation – nothing more, nothing less – that he wallowed in loneliness. All his friends had left him behind after he’d ceased to remain Joe Kid. Not once had they written, and he certainly wouldn’t try to reach out. They had made their choices; he wouldn’t grovel at their feet for scraps of pity. He’d quietly live out his days in the place where he was born and had his major break as a jockey. 

And that had to be enough . 

For three years, he’d committed to his penance. A frugal life – he wouldn’t be caught wanting when the day of judgement came. He shut himself away; it was surprisingly easy to slip into solitude. The harder part was getting out of it. Any confidence he possessed as JoJo, the genius jockey, was gone. All that remained was a timid husk of a man, of a boy who’d been marked out by Fate far too early in life. 

He’d lost his voice. 

Not literally, though the instrument was shy and rarely taken out. Somewhere along the line, he’d become an observer : swept away by the passive tide of cynicism and detached from the workings of man. Sure, he occasionally read the newspapers and wrote a remark in the margins with a hastily sharpened pencil for his tomorrow self to find, but those occasions were few and far between. 

He was slowly losing himself. 

That, above all else, was what had affected him the most. For years, he had fought for his place at the top: until his fingernails tore from his skin and bled with how hard he grappled. That was his to bear proudly. Years of torn muscles, years of rigorous training for the top, years of reins cutting into skin until all that remained was stony calluses – all for him to forget his own tenacity. 

It was something to think about; something to store away in the distant galaxies of his neurons until the miserable clutches of night. He paused the train of thought to adjust the knitted cap slung over his brow, before tugging open the paperback nestled in his lap. 

(“ Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing .”)

When the creaking of the wooden patio next-door sounded out, it was only then that Johnny realised that the sentences and words before him were swimming in the deep pools of his eyes: meaningless and indecipherable. He’d been skimming over the same passage over and over. Looking but not seeing . A strangled sigh emerged from him before he snapped the novel shut. 

It was the elderly woman, emerging from her matching one-storey apartment with her daughter. He’d only exchanged a few words with both of them in the few years he had spent here, but if he recalled, Rosie had been friends with the pair. It didn’t matter . He busied himself with looking at the woodpecker hammering away at the hickory in his small yard. 

“Good mornin’ to you, Johnny-boy!”

The enthusiastic warble of the old lady calling across broke him out of neutrality. Johnny-boy . He didn’t think he’d ever heard of that particular moniker for him, but it was significantly better than Joe Kid - much better than listening to an audible reminder of his crumbling laurels, in any case. 

“Good mornin’,” he responded with a politely curt nod. Despite his coldness, she never stopped the greetings when she saw him; she even sent her daughter over with food occasionally. It was surreal, and completely unfamiliar territory for him. Even small talk like her sharing tidbits of the current news felt alien . 

It felt like there was someone looking out for him: a breath away from eternal condemnation.

“My granddaughter was just talking my ear off about it a few months ago,” she continued in that rolling Southern drawl. Maybe her cadence was the reason he’d never outright ignored her; this mirror of his own lilting accent, which his father tried to beat out of him, was proof he was out of George Joestar’s reach. 

“Apparently, it’s all the rage with the young’uns now that the details are being finalised,” she lowered her voice conspirationally, then drew in a long puff from her pipe. Smoke billowed out of her nose as she sunk into the rocking chair in satisfaction. It was obvious she was trying to draw her point out for as long as possible to entice him to excitement; it was a tactic Rosie had employed to interest him in something . Anything , so long as he finally went out for a bit. 

“Get to it, Ma, before you get any older,” her daughter teased, before looking back at Johnny with good-nature and- there it was . That glint of pity in her eye. Venomous fury stirred up; it clouded the clear waters of impassiveness until it was murky. Don’t look at me as if I’m some martyr to look at with sympathy , he wanted to snap, but he bit his tongue. 

Johnny met her gaze with an icy expression instead. Say it , the stony set of his brows challenged. I dare you .   

She looked down at the weathered timber beneath her feet, with only silence carrying in the breeze between them.

“The Steel Ball Run is going to start in just a few weeks – isn’t it exciting?” his elderly neighbour interrupted: oblivious to the growing tension. His heart dropped. Did she know who he had been? Had Rosie told her? No, she wouldn’t , he tried to reason with himself. 

“Yeah, I heard,” he mustered up. More than heard . Two years ago, the newspaper declaring the race being scheduled had been stuffed into his mouth to keep him from waking the other patients in the ward he was in. With tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes and the intense pain stabbing through his back, it wasn’t like he’d forget the name. Even now, his vision clouded with watery streaks, and he blinked furiously to dispel the tears threatening to burst out of him. 

“Buncha prissy jockeys and brass hats are going to San Diego for the beginnin’ of it,” she prattled on. There was a vapidness in her tone that reassured Johnny to no end – just another impersonal sharing of news . It didn’t matter in the long run. It doesn't matter at all . 

A few weeks, and he’d still be home: rot consuming his living body until he was just a breathing corpse – just a decomposing, useless pile of flesh and blood. He was no longer Joe Kid. That was another life; JoJo was dead and buried back in the racing tracks in England. He was Johnny now: an unlucky kid who got unto him what he did unto his brother.  

He tuned his neighbour’s babble out. Today reminded him of the day he’d won the Kentucky Derby: the incandescent glory racing through his veins, sweat pouring down his body, and the echo of his father’s words etched forever in his mind. 

God had taken the wrong son . 

At sixteen, he had lofty hopes of finally making his father acknowledge him by following in his footsteps. He’d win the Preakness Stakes and Belmont Stakes – cementing his name beside his father’s in the Grand Slam. Johnny Joestar’s name would finally carry as much weight as George Joestar’s. Some secret, tiny part of him still sought greedily after his approval; the rest wanted to carve out a legacy that didn’t get overshadowed by his father’s. His own Triple Crown victory, something to raise his status to George’s. A tribute to Nicholas. 

That never happened. 

Diego Brando had claimed first in the Preakness Stakes. He could almost picture his father’s reaction – “ He’s beat you once again, you snivelling dog . If Nicholas were here, he’d prove his worth as a jockey and take first .”. Pursed lips, that faint curl of disgust in the muscles surrounding his mouth: “ The only reason you won at Preakness was because Diego hadn’t competed .”. Muscle for muscle, he could see every furrow in his father’s brow, even now – even in the safety of his home across the globe. 

Before he could even think about regaining his scraps of dignity in the Belmont Stakes, he’d said one too many words to a nobody – his arrogance had cost him all connection to his legs and any hope of fleeing his father’s shadow. In one second, his dreams crumbled around him; his very future had crashed and burned because of his conceitedness. 

And he’d never once won against Diego. Not once had he proven himself worthy of being George Joestar’s son. Not once had he proven himself worthy of being Nicholas Joestar’s brother. Not once had he remained a star; instead, his legacy had crashed to earth like a fleeting meteorite. Dirt and metal disguised as the shining lights in the sky . 

There was nothing he could do about it. 

Physicians all across America had peered at the scar stationed at his spine, and done numerous examinations on his legs; the results were identical. He’d never ride again. The clinical detachment with which they broke the news was significantly more bearable than the pity letters he got afterwards from fans clinging on to trophies past. 

It was his punishment for saying goodbye. 

If he just drowned Danny, would it all be different? If he hadn’t begged Nicholas for help, if he never let his pet mouse go into the woods with Nicholas, if he hadn’t whispered that final, naive goodbye (the one that hoped both parties would remain alive, but separate), would Nicholas still be alive?

A mouse over his brother. 

When Nicholas’ horse stumbled on the racetrack near the woods and his brother had been crushed to death, Johnny’s ears rang. He would have slipped into unconsciousness had it not been for the words of the witnesses crying out in shock. Diego Brando, the stablehands, and his brother’s friend all said the same thing: a white mouse had startled the skittish Thoroughbred.

A white mouse. Danny . 

All because he said that hopeful goodbye. All because he was too cowardly, too sentimental to get rid of a pet that would die within a year anyway. All because of Johnny . 

His father was right. God had taken the wrong son . 

. 　⁺ ✦

(“ All who met him were loathsome to him – he loathed their faces, their movements, their gestures. If anyone addressed him, he felt that he might have spat at him or bitten him. ”)

In the cool air of dawn, the Kentucky train station felt more like a ghost town than a place of journey – hauntingly empty, with only the ticket operator to fill in the soulless area. Even the wind didn’t stir the silence; it was with trepidation that Johnny moved forward to the kiosk. And it was immediate – wheel crunched against gravel and the sanctity was broken. He felt more like Cain than ever. 

Something had snapped within him yesterday. As much as he tried to stop himself, there was a tug pulling him to San Diego. I’ll be able to get my wheels changed and axles oiled , he attempted to rationalise.

Deep down, he knew that it had everything to do with the Steel Ball Run, and nothing to do with wheelchair maintenance. He’d get closure. He’d watch the start of the greatest horse race in all of history; he’d face it after running away from his problems for so long and drowning himself in rage. Finally, after three years, his life would begin anew and he would be reborn. No longer did Joe Kid exist – in his place was someone whose mind had been ground to a bloody, fleshy pulp by Fate. 

Will and want had taken over the reins of his body for once. 

Last night, he’d packed ascetically: another pair of star-spangled pants, a few sparse shirts, a book, and toiletries. Maybe there was a stony loaf of bread tucked in there somewhere, but he really didn’t want to check. It was all packed tightly in a tube-shaped overnight bag; the comforting weight was clutched to his chest in something that almost resembled a hug. 

He hadn’t said goodbye to his neighbours, but that was only to be expected. Well, he might’ve pinned a note to their mailbox explaining that he’d be gone for a few days, but surely that didn’t count. Surely it wouldn’t condemn them to their deaths as well?

“Ticket to San Diego,” he rattled off, almost subconsciously with how much he had thought out this interaction before. 

“First class or not?” the ticketmaster eyed his wheelchair pointedly, and Johnny desperately suppressed a glare. 

“Non-first class is fine,” he replied curtly. As he handed off his four dollars, he felt the ticketmaster stare more closely at him. No, no . God forbid. 

“Ya know, you’re starting to look a bit familiar,” he slid the paper under the window thoughtfully. Johnny snatched it hastily, feeling his heart start the tremulous journey to rapidity. 

“I get that a lot,” he uttered nonchalantly. Was it too late to draw his hood over his face? I hate you . Carefully, he manoeuvred his hands to his wheels after making sure his ticket was safe in his pocket. 

“No, sonny, it’s nagging at my mind,” the ticket master tilted his head to the side. Johnny turned away.

“I don’t look like anyone ,” he spat out viciously. Amongst the crunch of gravel and the newly arriving people, he could faintly hear the man call out, but it didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t , but the trembling of his arms suggested otherwise. 

He was safe behind the brick wall a few metres away. As casually as possible, he pulled the blue wool of his cap further down his face and tucked the loose strands of hair dangling in front of his eyes away. The train would arrive in a mere ten minutes anyway. He’d sequester himself in the privacy of a booth, and that would be that. 

And with some careful board manoeuvring as a makeshift ramp, he was on the metal monster. It wasn’t like he’d never been on a train, but the last time he had was when he first arrived three years ago – his eyes were too puffy with tears to really take in the landscape.  But this rocking – this fast-paced rattle of metal against metal – felt like the canter of his horse. 

It was captivating. 

For the first time in years, a tiny smile had wriggled its way onto his face. 

Life itself was racing past him: villages, fields, forests – all flying past in a hazy blur through the window. It was relaxing , and he could feel the taste of freedom on his tongue. This was what he had desperately missed in his mournful imaginings of the outdoors: the fast-paced movement of a galloping steed beneath him, countryside and crowd blending into one.

Against his will, those eager, greedy eyes began to shut. He tried, he really did – yet, the soothing motion of the train propelling him caused his eyelids to flutter to a hesitant close. He tipped his head against the window; to his fevered cheeks, the cool glass was a pleasant respite. 

For once, his sleep was dreamless. 

It was with the juddering halt of the beast that he woke up. Groggily, he registered how dry his mouth was, and how refreshed he felt. With the sun on his face, he felt more alive than ever – like some pathetic little plant that just got its daily fix of nutrients. He stretched and unfurled his arms as if he was a goddamn sunflower basking in the light rays.  

It was late afternoon. If he was eyeing the angle of the sun over the station correctly, he still had over twenty hours left of travel. Over 700 miles traversed in the blink of his dreamless eyes – these locomotives were truly something . Each passenger booth was equipped with a bed and plush green seats: wrapped up in the privacy of a secluded room. By the vast window, there was a cord to alert a steward of any needs or queries.

In his reflection, he could see his hat had fallen off onto his lap; blond curls framed his face delicately in a deceitful halo. He was suddenly reminded of the flash of the camera – capturing this exact image. I made headlines . At sixteen, he regularly found his face embossed on the front of the papers – “ Genius jockey wins Kentucky at the tender age of sixteen” . An ode to his success. A ballad sung of failure . 

He tore his eyes away. 

Would he truly be prepared to let go when he arrived at San Diego? When the glory of the starting contestants hit him at full force, would he be able to detach himself into a mere spectator? How bad would it hurt ?

The crawling feeling of trepidation started. He wasn’t ready, and he’d likely never be ready. But it had to be done; for three years, he’d drowned in his own grief. Life had been severed in two jagged sides, and he had stood at the cusp – unwilling to move on, unwilling to adapt, unwilling to live . It was time to make peace and truly enter the state of penance. 

It felt like sacrilege. 

He buried his head in his hands: a staunch refusal to enjoy the changing view as the train pulled away from the station again. I’m sorry, Nicholas . He could never atone for his sins. It felt wrong to try to accept Fate as it dealt him a terrible hand – it was like rejecting justice itself. He had no one to blame but himself for the loneliness. It felt wrong to try to find happiness. 

“I’m sorry, Nicholas, I’m sorry , I’m sorry,” he whispered against the warm flesh of his fingers. Nobody responded, save the screams of wheel against track. The lump in his throat grew and grew, until he was choking and suffocating on the acidic taste. 

Cain kill Abel, Cain suffer . 

He breathed harshly. Nails dug into the meat of his cheeks and he could feel the dull pain blossoming into a delicate rouge. No , he couldn’t possibly move on and be at peace – but it was too late. His own want had taken over him, and he was powerless against it. A passive observer – someone who allowed his fate to be dictated to him. 

A useless, wretched human. 

Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but any appetite disappeared as quickly as it came. He felt as lethargic as if he were Atlas shouldering the burden of the sky; though, unlike Atlas, he was painfully human. 

A few minutes passed before it occurred. Quiet murmuring right outside the door, before it was flung open with a gusto that forced Johnny’s head to shoot up from the tomb of his hands. 

There, standing in the doorway and looking around appraisingly, was a young woman of roughly twenty years. Grasped in gloved hands were a large bag and a notebook, neither of which looked to be in particularly good condition. She was clad in a grey suit jacket and a conservative style of skirt, while her hair was neatly tucked into her woven hat. But it was her face that struck Johnny the most: long and thin, like the hares he saw occasionally. 

“I thought this cabin was unoccupied, sorry about that,” she apologised snippily, but it was her voice that caused Johnny to start. The nasally inflections in her vowels practically dragged Johnny by his hair back to the outskirts of West London, and his face twisted into a brief grimace. 

“It’s fine,” he forced out. Just leave , he wanted to add, but he bit his tongue before it could slip out. 

“I’m Judith Elton, with the London Evening Standard,” she continued her prattling, and Johnny felt the profound spike of horror in his very soul. His very body seemed to be collapsing inwards. A reporter . “Are you going to San Diego for the Steel Ball Run too?”

“No,” he lied tersely. He was looking everywhere but her eyes at this point: a fervid prayer to get her to go away . She paused at that, and Johnny saw her gaze move to his folded wheelchair tucked under his seat, then to his face. His heart sank. 

(“ A new overwhelming sensation was gaining more and more mastery over him every moment; this was an immeasurable, almost physical, repulsion for everything surrounding him, an obstinate, malignant feeling of hatred .”)

“Could you be Johnny Joestar, the ex-jockey?” she marvelled, flipping open her notebook. In her eyes was the wild look of glee of reporters who had just found their big break. Johnny felt nothing but disgust at that pivotal moment.

“Unfortunately, no,” he denied evenly. It was getting harder and harder to quash the resentment that welled up within him. 

“You look more gaunt and ragged, that’s for sure,” she surveyed him critically. Shut up , shut up , he wanted to yell. But once again, his voice betrayed him. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried again. There was nowhere to escape to, nowhere to hide from the rising ebb and flow of panic threatening to consume him whole. “Please leave.”

“I’d recognise those haunting azure eyes anywhere,” she rambled obliviously, waving her pencil around in punctuation. “I can’t leave this story when you’re so clearly going to San Diego for the beginning of the race. Reminiscing about your glory days?” 

If she hadn’t looked at him while she said it, he might’ve continued to attempt to pacify her. It had been so long since he was anything but passive. But that glint in her eye – she didn’t even see him as a person , but a relic that she could still squeeze out for a story. It was sickening; it was wildly entitled . 

Simply put, she was provoking him until he made her a story – “ Ex-jockey ‘Joe Kid’ attacks journalist over bitterness with the Steel Ball Run ”. He was no longer human in her eyes – nothing deserving of any respect. Ink on paper . A ticket to a name as a reporter. If this had been right after he was shot, he might’ve quietly conceded. But currently, there was nothing but a seething rage where his heart was. 

(“ But science says: love yourself before all, for everything in this world is based on self-interest. ”)

“Lady,” he enunciated with cold fury. He didn’t love himself, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her use him to fuel her own selfish whims. He knew she saw the flip in character. He could see it in the rise of those plucked brows, in the tightening of those thin lips, and especially in the narrowing of her eyes. “ Fuck off .”

And he could see the minute when his remark hit her ears: the muscles of her shoulders tightened like a compressed spring, and he could see the rolling whites of her eyes as she glowered at him with an unrestrained venom. There goes your ticket to fame , he thought as his lips curled into a spiteful, defiant smile. There goes your golden story . Then, to really drive it home, he raised his eyebrows in good-natured amusement. This was his victory. Judith Elton had lost.  

“Good day,” he dismissed her, but she wouldn’t budge from where she was seemingly frozen to the maroon carpet. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

It was probably that provocation that pushed her to the very edge. She shook with anger: veritably trembled with it. 

“How dare you,” she gritted out, raising her arm as if to strike him. He looked at her levelly. “ How dare- ”

“Is there a problem, sir?”

It was the steward. Johnny let go of the cord by the window and gave him a polite smile, one that practically screamed of tired innocence. Perfect . Judith’s eyes widened in abject incredulity; her arm was still raised in the picture of someone on the verge of violence. 

“Unfortunately, yes. My peace has been disturbed,” he explained simply. His voice, timid from disuse, was just the right wobbling frequency that the steward looked at him with concern, then to the reporter with exasperation. She lowered her arm sheepishly. 

“I’ll get her escorted to another car,” he promised, and Johnny heaved a sigh of relief. As the steward turned around to face the corridor, he met her eyes with a stony glare. 

“ Don’t come near me again, Judith Elton ,” he mouthed. It was an empty threat, but she looked away in angry shame regardless. Finally, the door closed, and everything was quiet again. 

It was only when he was truly sure nobody else would intrude upon him that he sank back into the seat. Though he had carefully kept it under wraps, his heart was racing uncontrollably and his hands were shaking. The sour taste of vomit was intruding in his heaving mouth, and even his palms were clammy with cold sweat. 

(“ ‘Enough, enough, Sonia, enough! Let me be!’ he cried in a sudden spasm of agony. ‘Let me be!’” )

  His fingers desperately raked over his face in a fruitless attempt to cool down his feverish cheeks; they beat with such a heavy pulse that his very mind was spinning rapidly. He felt sick, down to the very marrow of his bones, but he had won – something so small it was insignificant, but victory was his nonetheless . 

In that brief exchange, he had found a fragment of his voice. 

Those nails dug and twisted back into his face, pressing down on his eyelids in a forceful caress; his muscles were shivering, shivering with adrenaline. Even his blue lips – glum as they usually were – had tugged themselves into an arrangement that looked like a distant relative of a smile . It was twisted, sure; he’d just found a scrap of satisfaction in standing his ground vindictively. But he had a voice . 

It wasn’t happiness he felt. No, Johnny’s teeth peeked out his lips in exhausted relief: the kind that swept through one after finishing a particularly gruelling project or job. In his case, it had felt like he had just crossed the goal of a strenuous training session – full of determination and hope . He hadn’t lost.

There was still a chance of regaining the boy he used to be. 

(“ Accept suffering and redeem yourself by it, that’s what you must do .”)

And surely, that meant there was still a chance of redemption. 

Thoughts swarmed his mind as the sun began to clamber down the horizon; he was drowning in the words that weighed down his brain, but there was nothing he could grasp at: not a syllable that was coherent enough to follow, not even an emotion he could latch onto desperately. 

All that his mind could comprehend was the ever-shifting landscape before him. Paint-strokes of crimson backlit the clouds until they looked like bloody rags; something that had always reminded him of Nicholas had never appeared so beautiful. Orange washed over the tears in his eyes until it was all he could see, all he could understand . Plumes of sanguine danced in the salty kaleidoscope refracting his sight – it was all he could imagine, all he could grasp at with his trembling arms. 

His hands slumped to his sides, dropping his knitted cap near his feet. A wave of nostalgia buffeted his very soul until he could barely think – let alone attempt to rationalise it. It wasn’t much, only a fragment from his childhood: the petrichor smell of an English forest, foraging around looking for interesting plants with Nicholas, and a tangerine sky just like this one. 

(“ For no reason, but the sunrise, the bay of Naples, the sea—you look at them and it makes you sad. What’s most revolting is that one is really sad! No, it’s better at home. Here at least one blames others for everything and excuses oneself .”)

He missed it – he missed Nicholas, he missed the freedom he had before, and he missed the feeling of life itself. Had this been enough punishment? Was this plenty ? Have I atoned ? There was no going back to whatever he had; no one would turn back time for him and bring back the dead. 

“I’m sorry, Nicholas,” he repeated for the final time, turning to watch the sun dip beneath the horizon. The watery tracks lining his face had never felt so unburdened.

At the starting line of the Steel Ball Run, he’d accept the cards he was dealt from Fate, and he’d finally move on. 

. 　⁺ ✦

It had been noon the next day when he finally got off the clanking metal beast; the locomotive had come to a grinding, screeching halt and roused him from another dreamless sleep. Despite all that had happened yesterday, he had fallen asleep as soon as he drew the covers over himself. A small mercy, but he was grateful nonetheless. 

The first thing he noticed was how much warmer San Diego was compared to Kentucky. Arid wind stirred the hair at the nape of his neck and left him feeling the awful mixture of a feverish heat that clung to his skin. When he put his hands on his lap, he could feel the warm sweat seeping through the dusty blue fabric of his pants. 

The second thing he noticed was the amount of reporters lounging around in the taverns; after all, the race was in less than a few weeks, and prospective jockeys were already trickling into town to scope out the starting line. He avoided both parties.

It was with no small relief that he checked into a cheap hotel that had a functioning elevator. The sparse room upstairs was no paradise, but it was private. And that was all that really mattered – seclusion had been his happiness for the past three years. 

Even though he’d overslept the night before, a small dinner was all it took to make him lethargic again. Soon after he ate, the bustle of the town had lulled him into a sleepy stupor that was rather difficult to escape from. So he didn’t even try. 

. 　⁺ ✦

[savagebisand]

y'all are so funny to me over here panicking and stressing meanwhile my state of delusion runs so deep that I simply refuse to accept canon if it differs from my prediction and I predict an angry sandray makeout at the music club BABEY!! Sand ain't holding rays shirt that tight whilst ray grips tf outta him for no reason. Also these are the faces of men who are toRn between a carnal desire to claim the other and another desire to shove him away and scoff in his face. ITS DELICIOUS. like look at how desperate rays expression is, he's trying to come off fierce but it's so clear how much he needs sand to reaffirm he still wants ray. Its like his face is begging sand to hold him and dig his claws in right back and kiss him hard even as he knows sand will likely shove him off and tell him to get lost.

Sand looks like a man on the edge between desire and spite, theres this pained look like he's fighting a losing battle. It's evident part of him wants to push ray around a little and yell at how stupid and selfish he is but another part is seeing the ray he's grown to care for, seeing those hollow eyes searching over him for hope and part of sand wants to crumble and give ray what he needs. Even if ray doesn't know how bad he needs it. Sand always wants to give ray what he needs. It's something he's growing to despise in himself whilst still being unable to resist the pull of. Now personally, I could be sad and frustrated or I could sit back and enjoy the yummy angsty meal JoJo is serving me about the hold love has on us and the ugly ways it can make us act.

Look, love is often glamorised to us as this beautiful wholesome thing that always mends and completes you. And sure love is that. But narratives often neglect to present the other side of love too, it can be selfish, possessive, confusing, desperate, all consuming, jaded, frustrating. It's a breath of fresh air to finally see a show, particularly a BL at that, highlighting the complexities of catching feelings and being in love whilst still capturing the hope that lingers and the beautiful moments mixed in when you see the best in someone as well as the worst. It reminds me a lot of The Priests speech on Love from the series Fleabag:

It's in The way that by the point you see them showing an ugly side it doesn't matter because they're already beautiful to you. It makes you fight for them to show up for themselves and you, even in moments you'd rather walk away and wash your hands of it. I have no idea if they'll get their happy endings. But I know that part of the fascination of watching sandray for me is that I have been that person, unable to give up on a love against all odds because what if I never love the same way again.

Anyways strap in for today's ep everyone and good luck recovering from the emotional rollercoaster it'll take us on. Remember to drink a hot cocoa, curl under a blanket, maybe cry and scream a little but try to laugh too and remember that the point of entertainment like this is to take us on a journey. There has to be bad and fighting in the trenches before there can be light and good. The mess and damage won't be this severe on the characters till the end just for a part of the duration of their growth.

If you're feeling hopeless just keep in mind that characters like Ray and Boston can't grow emotionally and get to any place where a hopeful ending is possible unless they travel to a very low dark point first, they're going to become worst versions of themselves before they can be the best and that will hurt people around them. But I truly believe JoJo wouldn't take these characters to those points unless he was going to use it to form some self realisations and repentance. Everyone will recover eventually because that's just life, we all have to. It has been said that characters must go to uncomfortable places to start contending with truths about themselves that allow an anti hero or antagonist to become something more of a vigilante or at least a better morally good (mostly) version of themselves and as a writer I know that often is a very effective method of characterisation.

You will get through this, your favourite ship will get through this. Dissect and enjoy the journey but don't let it haunt your mind to the detriment of your own whimsy and wishful thinking. Shows are made to be excited for each week. When you start dreading if the ending you hope for can happen it's time to take a breather. Don't let it affect your experience of a character or pairing and make it a negative one! That's what fix it fic is for or shows where these actor duos do get a happy satisfactory end. JoJo may write this story a certain way but you get to choose where you think the end works for you. Love you all, stay safe out there. Happy watching!!

[gomlet]

how to make moonstorms pls

Overview: The Making of Moonstorms was my attempt at capturing the ridiculousness of puzzle fight manga Jojo's Bizarre Adventure with enough of a deathgame spin that it ended up growing beyond that and not being fanfiction at all. It features two strangers who meet on a subway to hell and decide that they hate each other on principle. Only one of them has a supernatural power; the other is convinced he'll get one eventually if he sacrifices his sanity for it. Both of them are there to kill and eat the subway's magical, beast-spawning heart. Snippet from the first climactic fight (cw heavy violence):

Isabel’s femur blade whistles through the air. Its edge bites into the neck of the bear. Blood flashes from the wound and then pools on the ground. The bear roars. A claw cuts the air. The speed of it is more than human, more than beast.

Instantly, Isabel is crumpled against the table beside him. Rob can’t hear her pained screech over the deafening waves in his ears.

She pulls herself to her feet. Blood is rolling from a dent in her head. Her eyes are glaring but unfocused. It must be a concussion. He starts laughing hysterically. “The two of us are gonna die!”

In his fear, Rob recalls the sensation of being pressed upon by choking, spiritual smog. Desperation mounts. His gestalt reaches out for the intangible.

The process is perilous; not for the weak-bodied or weak-willed. For the second time in his life, he sees a soul. Isabel’s is a green flame, and it is sputtering like a candle in the wind. She’s going to die. Then I’m going to die. He turns that focus inward. His own soul is a colorless, transparent blob of space. Like water. Like the universal solvent.

The process is one of consumption.

The beast licks its lips, but Rob’s desperation-powered pounce is faster. He crashes into Isabel just as its wide claw smashes apart the table behind him. She coughs. Her words are briefly audible over his screaming heartbeat: “idiot, what are you doing?! Run!”

Remember: Zones do not think like men...

Rob bites into her throat like a wolf.

...it is for this reason that we can devour them without the usual consequences.

There is a single, extremely important reason why even in an era of Abilities, society has not collapsed into a second feudal era. It hangs over every head, colors the background of all banter. It is the unspoken rule that binds humanity together against all else.

If a human soul preys on a human soul, the disease that results is terminal.

Her knee finds his stomach and his flailing arms smash against her face, over and over. Her nails smack against his back leaving furrows and they roll, locked in snarling combat, out of the way of another crushing paw.

Isabel’s reserves must’ve emptied to survive that blow, or she would’ve knocked me out already! Without the interference of Completed Portrait of Picasso, the two are simply human. One is concussed. The other is crying but resolved to kill.

His fingers find her eyes and dig in. Someone is screaming. It’s Rob.

I refuse to believe I’m nothing! I refuse! I refuse! 

His wordless yell is choked off when he coughs up bile. Her kicks injured him more than he realized. But she’s already dead. His soul wraps around her green fire, douses it, turns murky like a swamp.

His mire begins to spark. In that moment, Rob knows that he had an Ability his whole life - merely one inert. Of course! My soul isn’t weak! It was merely all invested in an incomplete construction, to the point all auxiliary functions were forsaken! And now I have enough material to finish my life’s work! The process! I can feel it manifesting! Not a moment too soon! My ability! It Takes Two!

The bear's claw splits his head and his body knows no more.

- - -

Subway wheels whine in a jarring cacophony; metal on stone. Rob is pulled backward, body sliding through the air, arm on a strap— it jolts him back into place. He overbalances. The reverse sway brings him in front of Isabel’s large leather-bound book, and she doesn’t even bat an eye. 

Rob stares at her. Her eyes trace over Lewis Carroll.

I poked out those eyes.

[wayystey]

Birth-at-Hellzmas

The City of Hellsville, a metropolis where anything but good resides, being the mirror contrast of Townsville. Ranging from the lowly Worms to the feared Baphomets, the very essence of evil kept this place alive. The roads and homes were bustling with celebration, for the spirit of Hellzmas was alive in every villain's twisted hearts. Inside His Workshop, macabrous carols were sang constantly, and the monarch known as Him was giving out presents to the unscrupulous and naughty fiends that waited in a long line. He was dressed in what normal people would call "Santa's outfit", but He made the plump and kind gift giver look thin like a demonic tree. In general, He is Satan Claws of His town. Two devil-like aides flanked his chair, and a demon in the form of a child sat on his lap.

"Hello there, precious Beelzebub! Care to share with me on one thing you have done this whole year?" He spoke in his usual echo induced voice, asking the little demon.

"I bit my uncle's ear for 5 days!" he exclaimed excitedly, the wings on its back buzzed like a bee.

"That is well enough to be in the naughty category! Now here's your present!" a spider-like boomerang appeared on the hands of Beelzebub.

"Wheeee! Now I can hit my whole family with this for a bajillion Wednesdays!" The little demon chuckled and vanished off.

"Hah, kids will always be evil." He chuckled at the bad seed's euphoria.

"Next!"

The process of giving out gifts to the malignant children continued. Inside the ruler's grand chamber, His close associates were immersed in a party that they deserved. Fuzzy Lumpkins, the pink hillbilly monster was playing his Banjo, singing a "hell-fied" version of "Season's Greetings" song out loud.

Mojo Jojo, an ape with ingenious intellect was also present at the hullabaloo. Despite being invited to the party, he was dabbled in his usual insidious research to get rid of the Powerpuff Girls.

"I, Mojo Jojo, will find the canker that will cause the Powerpuff's downfall. Holiday or not, I, Mojo Jojo, shall focus on nothing but this plan, and make sure it is foolproof!"

"Oh Mojo, would you lighten up and have fun already? It's Hellzmas for crying out loud!" Princess Morbucks, a haughty spoiled brat, was nearby the oblivious simian. She took a moneybag from the base of the Hellzmas tree, and kissed it like it was her own precious pet.

On the Powerpunk's and Rowdyruff's side, Brick chased Berserk around the room in an attempt to kiss her under the mistletoe. Boomer and Bubbles were pulling each other's hairs and making funny faces to pass their fun time, while Brute and Butch were engaged in an arm-wrestling competition.

However, one principal agent of evil was missing from the scene, and she happened to be bedridden. Sedusa, the Queen of Hellsville, was feeling weak and out-of-the-holiday-spirits all month long. She was dressed in a red nightgown, and her black hair was static instead of her usual snake-esque tresses. The cause of her long-term ailment was because she was pregnant for 9 months, and the eve of Hellzmas was her time to give birth to a hellspawn. Her significant other sat on a chair by her bedside, taking care of her every minute. It seemed that He left a duplicate of His that attended to the important Hellzmas duty as being Satan Claws.

"Darling, don't worry about me, I'll be just fine." Sedusa breathed out faintly, looking straight at His green eyes.

"I have no intention of worrying, because I am quite sure you can handle yourself well, my dear Empress of Hell." He kissed her bloodless hand affectionately, praying that the birth of his heir will be a success.

"And it is quite…." Sedusa paused for a moment, for her kind hardly ever utters the pair of pending words.

"….nice and selfless that you decided to leave a duplicate to manage the Hellzmas gift-giving, and stay by my side." the bedded demoness finished her statement.

"Sacrifices are to be made on occasions, you know." He replied.

"So what do you think it'll be? A boy? A girl? A Sweet Transvestite?" the snake-mistress added jokingly, making the circles on His cheek flash brightly.

"It's only a matter of time." He looked at the clock above them, waiting in rapt anticipation. The excitement in his blood began to fluctuate, unable to keep his patience alive.

Berserk, who was flying away from Brick, happened to pass by their door, and she could not help, but eavesdrop at their conversation.

"Whoa! Sedusa never told us that they were to have their baby today! I must go tell the others!" Berserk thought, and flew towards the other villains, whilst Brick continued to chase after her.

"Guys! Berserk called out. The villains stopped doing whatever they were immersed in, and turned their attention to Blossom's malevolent contemporary.

"You won't believe on what I've just heard! Sedusa's knocked up, and….."

"Yea, yea, Satan Claws told us months ago, wiseass!" Brute interrupted and narrowed her green eyes.

"Oho! You said His name! You're gonna be in trouble!" Boomer and Butch jeered.

"Um, incase you haven't noticed, it's Hellzmas, and that means I can say his name whenever I want to only at this time!" Brute rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue in retaliation.

"No, silly! She's giving birth today!" Berserk clarified to her green-dressed sister.

"Really?" Brat gasped.

"Say it ain't so!" Fuzzy exclaimed.

The villainous gang stormed into His private quarters, startling (more like annoying) the rulers of the town.

"Him! I, Mojo Jojo, have heard this tremendous news of your seed of evil being born today!" Mojo brighteningly explained.

"Guess you don't have to waste your income in helping your wife go through labor, eh?" Princess smirked.

He had His back turned on them the whole time, and finally spoke in a soft, yet cold tone.

"Denizens of Hellsville. In case you haven't noticed……" He turned around and faced them at last, a psychotic expression alive on his magma hued face.

"SEDUSA NEEDS ROOM TO BREATHE AND YOU WHELPS ARE CLOGGING UP THE SPACE SHE NEEDS!" He yelled out in his aggressive masculine tone, sending a bolt of fear in everyone's spines, and the room began to quake momentarily. No one dared to utter a single word during the terse atmosphere.

"Chillax, pops!" Boomer replied, breaking the prolonging silence.

"Temper Temper, Fluffy. These wonderful darlings are just here to witness the seed blooming out of my unholy womb!" Sedusa reassured Him calmly.

"Yeah, what 'Dusa said." Fuzzy quickly added.

"Right…." He calmed down, and sighed. "So, who here wants to aid our beloved patient in delivering her progeny?"

"Ew!" Princess Morbucks, The Powerpunks and Rowdyruffs exclaimed immaturely.

"I NEVER ASKED YOU CHILDREN TO VOLUNTEER, SO SHUT IT!" He irritatingly yelled at the evil kids, who immediately went mum out of fright.

"Now, as I was saying……"

"I do!" Fuzzy loyally raised his furry pink hand.

"Fuzzy, did you ever take Gynecology?" Mojo narrowed his eyes

"Um, I dunno….." the mutant shrugged.

"I believe, that I, Mojo Jojo, am the perfect doctor for this job!" Mojo volunteered confidently.

"Oh, is that so? If you fail to deliver my future son/daughter, you have to feast ten flames on my chalice!" He smirked, raising the stakes for the monkey's task.

A drop of sweat slid down from Mojo's face, as he prepared to kneel before Sedusa's womb.

"Here goes nothing….." Mojo took a deep breath, and prepared for the operating process.

"Don't let me down." the pale woman whispered.

The simian's gloves reached for the patient's womb. Overwhelming pressure seemed to increase in his giant brain, and his inner conscience warned him that he was no man for such a task.

"I….. I can't!" Mojo gulped, and backed off. The demon king face-palmed His forehead, and was frustrated at the fact that the monkey made nothing but fair-weather boasts.

"Are you really a bright monkey? Because you just showed the symptoms of a cowardly chicken. And you call yourself a doctor? How dissapointing." He rolled his eyes, wondering why he would associate with such hubris induced fools.

"Must I do everything MYSELF?" He muttered to Himself, and took the initiative on delivering their unborn child into the realm of the living.

"Stand back." He warned the villains, and they backed off in order to give them the required space for the process to be done.

He raised his crab-like claws, and made Sedusa levitate up in the air like an imposing banshee. Her skin illuminated by a blinding flash, and her husband continued the process by chanting an arcane spell.

"Raef reverof lliw dlrow eht taht nomed lufrewop gnivil eht emoceb dna, rebmuls lanrete ruoy pu ekaw, Nwaps Nrobnu!"

Sedusa let out a pained wail, and a red slithering stream of energy was let out from the would-be matriarch's womb. It landed on the floor and went ablaze.

"Here I thought babies were delivered by storks!" Princess whispered in Brute's ears, who nodded back, since she too shared the perception that the birth system was conducted that way.

Out of the burning pyre, two identical twinspawns crawled out on all fours, making the villains gasp out in amazement. He then lowered his hand, making Sedusa gravitate down gently.

"Whoa!" The Rowdyruffs and the Powerpunks had their bug-like eyes set on the advancing newborns.

"Simply Ingenious!" Mojo exclaimed while triumphantly pointing his index finger up.

"They produced twins? Cute!" Fuzzy and Princess Morbucks said in unison, the latter clapped her hands with glee.

One of the demonic babies had the identical appearance of his father, though lacking the eccentric clothes, the pink frill and the goatee. The other one appeared to be a female, and her head already was crowned with tiny hissing black snakes, and she looked very much akin to her mother, complete with pale skin and jade eyes.

He bent down and took His two new children on his arms, and teleported near Sedusa's side.

"Attention, you lowly despicable villains! I now present to you the future generation of evil! But one cannot be complete without a name, and I hereby christen my new hellspawns: Lucifer, and Desdemona! May they both commit memorable wrongdoings that shall be known to everyone's, be they good or evil, ears!" He roared out in triumph, and raised the two demonlings high up in the air, making the villains cheer with excitement.

He then entrusted the twins to Sedusa's arms, who cradled them in her arms, overwhelmed by their adorable features.

"Aren't they the best products of all that is wicked?" the haughty criminal cooed at Him.

"Indeed, my love!"

In the nearby party hall, a portal materialized out of thin air and out from it emerged the GanGreen Gang.

"Party's over already?" Lil' Arturo asked his boss.

"Nah, it can't be over yet. We're just three hours late!" Ace reassured the Hispanic youth.

"I hope Him and Ssssssssedussssssa won't be mad!" Snake replied nervously.

"Gah? Wat's goin' on now?" Big Billy heard the noises from the ruler's chamber.

Grubber let out his usual raspberry, suggesting his crew that they should check what was happening in there.

"Wait till those miserable Powerpuffs cross paths with..."

The Satan's sentence was interrupted, because they GanGreen Gang came rushing in and joined the villainous crowd.

"Sorry we're late, Creeps. Took a detour to another portal by accident." Ace coolly explained.

"We ended up in some kind of Ghost Zone." Arturo added.

"And there was thisssss pretty ghosssssst rocker that knows how to ssssssing good!" Snake sighed, and daydreamed about the incident when he and his gang encountered a certain Ember McLain.

"Yeah, a pretty hot diva, right guys?" Ace smirked.

The whole gang nodded appraisingly.

"Never mind about that! You're just in time to witness the birth of my new children!" He let out a triumphant laugh, and the gang moved in closer to inspect the newborn twins.

"Looks totally like you." Arturo commented when he made eye contact with Lucifer.

"Niiiiissssse!"

Snake smirked approvingly as he got closer to Desdemona, and felt her serpentine tresses, but the snake heads bit his scaly fingers, making Snake yelp.

"A handful of darlings, aren't they?" Sedusa giggled dotingly.

"Yaaah!" Big Billy nodded, and Grubber let out another raspberry that Lucifer began to mimic for a couple of seconds.

"Can we play with them! They are sooooo cute!" Brat grinned, and she and her sisters flew around the babies

"Certainly! They just livened up this holiday!" He cheerfully replied, remained proud on what he and Sedusa had to work through to create such a worthwhile set of spawns.

"Just don't come crying to me if they spoil your fun." the devil added spitefully, and all the villains in the room laughed out loud. Raising the new twins would be a whole new adventure for the inseparable demonic couple.

6 Days Later:

There was a party once again in the same location of Hellsville. Except this time, they were concluding their one week celebration of Hellzmas with a new-years-eve party. The same group of villains was present during the celebrations, with the addition of Femme Fatale, Roach Coach, the Boogyman and his monstrous crew, the Amoeba Boys, the devious Cat, Mandark's Lab Duck Quackor, Mr. Mime (no longer Rainbow the Clown again) and many others miscellaneous monsters. Sedusa looked nothing like her weakened state any longer. She was back to her usual lingerie-wearing self, and her hair was healthily snakelike once again. The snake-haired demoness was apparently dancing near a pole like a stripper would do, flanked by two devil-like demonesses; and they gave Him, Fuzzy, the GanGreen Gang and the Rowdyruff boys quite the show. The Powerpunk girls gave the Rowdyruffs what appears to be the jealous look, and Mojo Jojo was still engaged in his usual Powerpuff-destroying plot cookings.

"Your Sedusa still is sexy, even after becoming a mommy!" Fuzzy clapped at the demoness trio's dancings.

"Don't get any ideas, Fuzzy." He gave the mutant a serious and leery look.

"Right, boss." Fuzzy nodded, and suppressed his laugh.

"Hey Mojo! Don't you wanna take a look at today's great show?" Ace called out the simian.

"Not now, juvenile fool! I, Mojo Jojo am still busy on thinking of diabolical plots to eliminate the Powerpuff Girls!"

"I beg to differ, Mojo. My kids are well qualified for the job, so why don't you cease your meaningless endeavors, and come join in the fun?" He thought otherwise, and offered the simian busybody.

"Meaningless?" Mojo exclaimed, and stormed towards the devil while fuming.

"I, Mojo Jojo, have wasted ten billion brain cells in thinking of such plans to get rid of my nemeses! And YOU are telling me that it is all for nothing?! Why, I'll see to it that….." Mojo stopped speaking, and his attention was now focused on the dancing she-devils.

"Mmmm, enthralling!"

"I knew that this would make you stop toiling in your meaningless plots." He smugly grinned.

Mr. Mime approached the cot where the twinspawns were playing with their dolls which their father manifested as their gifts; and made weird faces to entertain them.

"Aren't they just evilicous?" Junior and Slim said together.

"Indeed that the little girl is the precise apple of Sedusa's eye!" Femme Fatale admired Desdemona's hairstyle.

Big Billy poked the babies out of fun, but Lucifer belched out flames, which singed the cyclops' face.

"Fiesty lil' tyke!"

Amid the laughter and pomp, three shady looking criminals were apparently plotting something behind the rulers' back.

"…..so if we gleap the babies, we'll earn loads of cash, right boss?" the two henchmen greedily asked about their boss' ambitious, but foolish plan.

"You got that right! Now Doe darlin', you serve as the distraction, while Moe and I try to make off with those two little brats!" their boss Gruum instructed.

"Right!" Doe ran near the entertainment corner where Him and his posse were still enjoying Sedusa's pole dance. She went up with the three dancing wenches, and began to perform a loud vocal performance which attracted most of the villains' attentions. While they were all distracted, Moe and Gruum snuck near the twin demon babies, and snatched them away from the cot. They kept their hands over the infants' mouth to mute out their cries, as to avoid any unnecessary exposures.

"Why in hell did she make an unscripted appearance in our performance?" Sedusa paused dancing, and arched a brow. The answer came suddenly to her, when she took a glance at Moe and Gruum fleeing with her children. Sedusa went to Him, and whispered a few words in His pointy ears. An angered expression suddenly appeared on his face, then He nodded in agreement and went with Sedusa to thwart the foolish thieves.

Just when the two thieves were about to exit the Party Hall, the demonic couple teleported near the door; the cross expressions still showing bold on their faces.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Sedusa crossed her hands, now grinning scornfully at the thieves.

"Um, we…we were just uh….." Moe began to stutter.

"We are just playing with the newborns, that's all!" Gruum sheepishly answered.

"Spare us the excuses! YOU THINK WE WERE JUST BORN YESTERDAY?" He yelled at the thieves.

"PLEASE, SPARE US, YOUR HIGHNESS!" the thieves began to whine for their lives, for death seemed clearly inevitable just now.

"Oh we won't hurt you!" Sedusa cooed at their pleaders.

"You, you won't?" Moe asked, relieved.

"They shall be the one to determine your final judgement!" Sedusa haughtily pointed at the babies still held on the thieves' hands.

Desdemona and Lucifer began to transform into slithering red snakes, and they sprang out of the thieves' grasp, hissing at them viciously. The two fool-headed criminals let out a high-pitched scream.

"Think twice before you mess with OUR family!" the Satan laughed, as he and Sedusa witnessed their children devouring the two thieves whole as their dinner for New Years, and then reverted back to their original infant forms, belching loudly after a few seconds.

The whole villain crowd cheered at Desdemona and Lucifer's spectacle, and they earned the sight of a benign smile that were visible on their cute little faces.

"Wait, something's still amiss!"

The crowd suddenly fell silence.

Sedusa suddenly took another glance at Doe, who was about to flee for her life. The asp-queen took no second thoughts, and lashed out her snake hair at the fleer's direction, coiling her tight.

"No one upstages me and steals the show!"

Sedusa raised up the long lock that coiled Doe tight, and threw her into a nearby lava pit. The criminal let out a agonizing screech, and fell down to the engulfing flaming liquid.

"Dang, she got wasted!" Ace sneered.

"Guess we better be careful about stealing the demon kids!" Boomer and his brothers stifled a giggle.

"Real mature, Rowdyruffs." Brute, Berserk and Brat rolled their eyes, and Brick and Butch suddenly stopped laughing. At Brick's serious nod, Butch kicked the stomach of Boomer.

"Hey, I was just joking, guys!" the blond Rowdyruff clasped his stomach in pain.

"Kids….." Sedusa grinned, and looked at her Husband.

"Aren't they powerful already?" she commented on the crawling twins near the base of the demonic couple's feet.

"Of course! To be blunt, I was already over-the-top since I was only five days old!" He replied smugly.

"But alas, no words are coming from their mouth!" Sedusa contemplated the lack of language that the babies exhibited.

"Relax, Sedusa. In due time, their speech shall psychologically destroy their unfortunate prey!" He laughed, and pulled Sedusa closer to lock her lips in a tongue twirling kiss.

Half of the villains "Ooooh'd" in admiration, while the other half (consisting of minors) looked away with the usual "Ew!" remark. As both demons' finished their kiss, Sedusa picked up their pair of progenies, and placed them back in their cot.

"Guys! Since January 2008 shall start soon….." Fuzzy began to express his idea, but Ace apparently thought the same idea, and immediately finished his statement.

"….we should raise hell in Townsville!"

"Hmm, sounds like a nice way to spend the New Year's Eve, boy! What's better is that those insignificant Townsville fools shall begin their year BADLY BY OUR ARRIVAL!" He raised his crab-like claws and laughed maliciously, while the other villains did the same.

Sedusa bent over to the cot, and stroked the locks of baby Desdemona's hair.

"Now kids, Mommy and Daddy will be gone with friends for a while. Don't worry about any protection lax, some babysitters shall keep a good eye on you devils until our return!"

He nodded, and summoned a pair of Devil Guardians to watch over His children, and waved his claws to cleanse off the party mess from the whole residence.

"Now let's go and start the New Year OUR WAY!" Him roared and the entire group of villains (minus Desdemona, Lucifer and the demon babysitters) disappeared from the hall.

Enter, The City of Townsville.

11:59 AM

Every citizens were waiting in rapt anticipation for New Years to begin, especially the Powerpuff Girls.

"And now New Years shall start in a matter of seconds. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6….."

Everyone roared with excitement, as they watch the Powerpuff-style rocket (which Prof. Utonium created during the whole month of December) was about to take off in the skies to make great fireworks.

"5, 4, 3, 2….."

Suddenly, the countdown was interrupted, and a red hole appeared on the night sky. Numerous armies of villains (now enlarged as giants) dropped down from the skies, led by the monstrous Him and Sedusa.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR, PUNY MORTALS!"

"Uh oh, we've got trouble!" Blossom gasped at the sight of monsters everywhere.

"Why couldn't we have fun in the beginning of the year?" Bubbles dismayingly exclaimed.

"Who cares? It'll be fun getting rid of those creeps!" Buttercup cocked a grin, and the girls flew up towards the gargantuan villains. Even though the favor was against them, and were outnumbered, it was worth taking a chance to beat them up at the dawn of 2008.

(A/N: Hah, like those girls will even win against the bajillion amounts (written on purpose) of baddies! Unfortunatly, I have drained all my energies in writing this fic, so I'll have to stop writing here. Well, not really, since I have a few more writing juice left in me to add a few little plot teasers.)

Back in the Hellsville Grand Chamber, the twin hellspawns were busy playing with their toys, while the babysitters were still looking after them.

"We sure did keep up our appearances, eh?" Lucifer apparently can demonstrate language abilities at this age, and his voice was echoic just like his Father.

"Yeah. Mommy and Daddy have barely any idea that our intellect is as great as their's!" Desdemona cackled, her voice sounded similar to Sedusa's but with the echoic reverb added.

"It's boring in here. Playing with our toys and staying at home while we could also be having fun with Popsie and Mumsie! Why can't we fucking go kill some loser, Dessy?" Lucifer threw his rattle at Desdemona, her snake hair caught it in the nick of time.

(A/N: LMAO, Lucifer sweared! xD)

"Bleh, they think that we'll get hurt or something, dear brother." Desdemona reassured her twin.

"Wanna go explore the town, sis?" Lucifer eyed the window mischievously.

"I thought you'd never ask, Lucy! That way, our reputation can automatically attain its importance, instead of mother and father automatically making it for us!"

"Sounds like a great idea! Wait, hey! Don't call me that!" her brother pouted, earning a sly raspberry from her sister.

"But first….." Desdemona snapped her fingers, and two clones of theirs' appeared in the cot.

"Now we can get the hell out of here, Lucy!"

"CALL ME LUCY ONE MORE TIME AND I'LL……."

"Shush! The babysitters might suspect something. Let's go!"

"Alright!"

The twins exchanged devious glances and teleported away in a puff of red smoke that disappeared as quickly as it materialized.

"Did you hear something?" The androgynous babysitter asked its also-ambiguously gendered partner.

"Uh, no. We should probably feed them worms now!" The other babysitter replied, and they went to the cot to pick up the decoys.

And so once again, the day shall be doomed, thanks to Desdemona, Lucifer, and the rest of Hellsville

The End

[sugarakis-p2]

All knights and day must die Ch 19

Mothman Shigaraki is the new king, so much on his shoulders and wings. Nothing better than to use Ur (Aka Ur Name x reader) to relieve his stress as he plots to destroy the Order of the Azure rose.

Shigaraki's instincts are telling him to get back to his mate and grubs, only he can't with the MLA keeping him pinned. When his instincts starts screaming at him like a separate voice in his head he begins to wonder is he going insane? A least backup is about to arrive, Dabi and Shigaraki can have a play date with the MLA until they do. Thanks Spinner.

MLA has showed up at the hive, you are not feeling very stable or reasonable. Your rage is burning out of control, you want revenge, and don't like the idea of anyone trying to take anything else from you. Soon Maude is scolding you while you try to rest. You made yourself a target for the MLA. Master is taking notice of you too. You have a sinking feeling if you go down you may never get back up.

Warning: Obsessive yandere mothman Shigaraki. Light dream smut. Licking and wing flapping. Graphic violence and blood.

@lovingbadguys @balanceisrelative @nut-in-me-jojo

Ch 18

Chapter 19

The Present. 

"These guys are starting to piss me off," Dabi hisses. 

He looks over to see Shigaraki slumped against the wall, slathered in ashen mud and blood, fast asleep. He doesn't blame the battered Mothman. The MLA had attacked six days ago, giving them little rest. A new wave strikes after about an hour of reprieve. The humans and Nomu are a help. They would be dead if it weren't for how well they built this new hive.  

"I know. They show how bad you are at fighting in long spurts," Shigaraki mumbled.

"Lyra isn't here. I can't risk burning too bright before the real fight. They haven't thrown the heavy hitters at us yet. Besides, any day the rest will be here with our secret weapon, right?" Dabi counters, offering food. It's not much since they have not been able to leave. The MLA has them pinned down. The damn crystal is making a high-pitched sound. Shigaraki answers it.

"I want you to know we take no pleasure in this. We will spare your hive if you give yourself up," the MLA commander offered.

"Shut up. Busy," Shigaraki snarled, ending the conversation. That ramped up both their anxiety. They both want to get back to their mates. Shigaraki's Ur is pregnant, pushing him to keep fighting. Shigaraki takes a few bites and then lifts himself.

"Well, now, look at that. Some guys I can fight. I guess I have to do everything," Dabi says. Shigaraki is still clawing his way up to stand. He sounded delighted to go back out and kill. He loved destroying. But even Dabi can see it's taking its toll.

"I have to get back. I told her it was only for one night. She was mad, on the verge of tears, and begged me not to go. The grubs are killing her. Peter is eight; John can't get them to respond. I have to get ba-glarg," Shigaraki was saying when he puked. Dabi looks; at least it was mostly water and not blood.

"My mom drank a little opium when she was pregnant," Dabi offered, dragging him to a nest.

"Forgot your mother is human," Shigaraki groaned.

"Was, she's dead. My dad beat her to death," Dabi replied. Throwing him down on pillows, covering him with a blanket. Shigaraki is asleep, and he doesn't think he heard him. That's ok; Shigaraki was already becoming a better father and leader than his own. He wants to get back to his family. Dabi sighs, he doesn't want to waste his precious body, but he is a big brother.

"We'll get you back to the little queen. I want to see my mate too, despite her being a complete bitch," he says, placing a jug and the rest of what he didn't eat next to the nest where he could find it. Blood bound makes him crave, "Well, I've never been good at not killing. A bunch of low-level dragon born, they will make interesting kindling."

When he gets back, he is going to mate with Lyra. His instincts are screaming, maybe not as loud, but he knows he can be a better father too. Then he can rub it in his family's face.

About five days ago, you were fitted in chain mail and your crown. No eye patch, not this time. You want to see clearly. You walked out on the top of the front gate.

You can still taste blood from the rage that still pumps in your veins. No, Maude, your mind weeps. You are handed a speaking trumpet. Raising it to your lips, you greet the intruders with a smile in your voice.

"Greetings MLA, what brings you knocking at our gate?"

No Maude! The leader looks confused. A blue woman like the ones Shigaraki said are from their original lands. She forms an oh with her hand.  Impressive speaking-trumpet, you are jealous.   

"You are human?" She asks.

"Yes, I'm Ur, and your name is?"

"You can call me Curious. We of the Magical liberation army are here to free the humans," Curious says. No Maude, ever again!��Strange, it sounds like Maude is screaming at you. Just like she did when you were a child.

"NO, THANK YOU! Please leave. This is our only warning to you!" You shout. No Maude. He took Maude from you. Curious is studying you. Mom had died, dad remarried, the twins were born, and you needed to grow up. Maude always told you exactly what she expected.

"We know there are humans here against their will. Send them out, and we will leave," Curious states. He took her like he took you. He takes. You and the others near you scoff. Sure, they will just leave because they are so benevolent. Your village knows of what happened to the city a few districts over from your village. MLA took over, and the Order turned a blind eye as long as the Astral wizards kept making magical weapons and paying taxes.

"You don't get to come here and tell us what to do. We have already escaped people like you! We are happy. We are a family, and you don't get to break us apart!" you shouted. You are seething in rage.  He doesn't get to take from you! 

"Are you being forced to say this?" Curious asked.

"YOU WERE WARNED!" You scream. Like a hot knife, sharp pain in your eye felt like it was piercing your brain. But you don't blink.  No one gets to take your family from you!   It's not fair!  You've all suffered so much already. You want them all to die, to just leave you alone and let you be happy for once. The world flashed red. A giant black cloud formed in the air, shaped like an eye, crashing down on the crowd at your gate.

"What was that?" Curious shouted.

"That was the evil eye. Scatter!" Someone replied. You are not listening any longer. Blinded by rage, you pick up a spear and hurl it. You are strong, but not that strong. You didn't even aim. The spear broke through a shield spell, pinning a person. Blood everywhere, followed by his scream. A shadow travels overhead. Looking up, you see a volley of arrows rise and fall on the MLA like a flock of shrike birds.

The screams are haunting. But you watch. This is the ugly part of war, and you can't turn a blind eye just because you don't want to see it. A shield protected the leader. A large portion of the MLA are injured but not dead. As long as they stay away from your hive, you don't care if they live. Picking up more spears, you toss them with both hands.

Your white-hot rage was burning, the pain in your heart pulsing and spreading your hate. Your mind is spiraling into the clouds, blinded in the blaze of loss. You don't have much left, and you will die before you let anyone take it from you. You are frothing and panting as you slam back to reality. The leader is still asking questions as they retreat from your barrage. You are about to lose your temper again when strong hands usher you away.

"Little Ur, you used magic. They will be coming for you now. That woman is too curious about you. You showed grit. So much grit, we feel rallied. Let us fight for you," Mr. Duskin says. His large sons plant you in front of your nest sisters that yank you away, "Not gonna lie. Wish the King recruited actual fighters and warriors instead of farmers and tradesmen."

You nodded, about to agree when painted Mothmen arrived with Master. Zenru is there, and Master translates for them. You feel dazed and confused, the anger gone, replaced with fear. The MLA has marked you as a magic user and not with them.

"They were so impressed they decided to join the fight. Paint is hard to come by as their relationship with the mudders is tumultuous. The Mothmen's skin burns in daylight," AFO explains. You didn't know about the mudders. Zenru chitters something to AFO, and he nods.

"You are to go back to the bunker with your siblings," AFO pauses as he sees you look resistive to the Order. Zenru eruptions, chittering at you in aggression the way Shigaraki does when he was chastising you. Your sisters snarled and placed themselves between. Zenru is not making any attempt to get closer to you. 

"Zenru says you are to obey your warlord in times of war. No females or children on the battlefield are your orders. Zenru is responsible for keeping the queen safe, human or otherwise. The King would kill everyone if any harm came to you. For the sake of the hive, you claim to love as a family. You will remain safe. He asks that I translate with him for the humans. I will not be able to join you now. Go with Kurogiri, and around teatime, I will apprise you of what is happening. Don't worry, little Shiggy mate. You will not be cut out of the process," AFO said.

Your nest sisters drag you through Kurogiri's warp gate. Sitting there is the Doctor and Lyra. Lyra full tilt runs to you when she sees you. The sisters soften the impact. Your shock waring off, you grip her tight and sob. Your tears are soaking in her hair, darkening spots, and you can smell the warmth of the cotton she is wearing.

Seeing women crying, the Doctor gets up, leaving you and Lyra alone with Kurogiri. Your eyes widen in excitement. He must not know you are not allowed to be alone with Lyra. Kurogiri didn't seem to think anything was wrong. He was going about making tea as soon as the Doctor left the kids to appear, running to you.

Limbs are thrown around you, falling on your ass from the mountain of flesh wrapped around you. The nest sisters joined and chirped. You are not sure what is happening or why you are crying, but you accept it. You want all the hugs. Moments later, Peter is still crying, trying to explain why he was scared but can't. Kurogiri picks him up and pats him. John is trying to look too adult to discuss it while he and Mabel take the kids to the playroom. Shoto is standing in the playroom doorway, watching your family with a strange curiosity.

Most of the nest sisters follow, except for the big three and Beth, who is asking Kuro Daddy for treats. That made you stiffen. How much has Kurogiri been in their lives that she calls him daddy? 

It breaks your heart, made worse when she runs up to you yelling, " Mommy, look,' holding up the cookie she begged Kuro daddy for.

"Beth, I'm your sister. Big sissy," you say. She looks confused and smiles. You sigh, "Those look nice. Are you going to share? No, then it's our little secret," you wink. A huge grin spreads across her face. She calls you mommy and runs to join the others. Lyra is quick to bombard you with information as you sit down heavily on the couch.

"The Doctor ushered us into one room with a pepperbox and two Nomu aimed at us. He told us if you die, we die. Shoto and John stepped in and had him sit out here with me. Can you imagine the relief we felt when you showed back up? The kids were so worried for you more than their own skins at the moment. He's brilliant, though. Gods, how I wish I could dissect the Doctor's brain and keep it in something docile. Maybe a dog like Mochi-chan, with me forever," she hissed. That was a lot. Oh gods, another thing that is your fault, you have no idea what a pepperbox is, but it must have been meant to kill them. You are surprised Lyra did not figure out it was her they are focused on. 

"That was something I asked for….if the…uh…if the MLA got here. I know they torture and brainwash children to be on their front lines. So, If I did not come back, I wanted Master to kill you all rather than endure that. I….I, uh, just killed several members of the MLA…and I…I uh, I still don't want any of you to endure that," you admit to Lyra. She jerks and tenses. She looks off in the distance for a long moment, then back at you.

"Why would you say that? Aren't you worried I would be mad? That I would question you on your information about the MLA to think that? To suggest our murder is extreme, Ur," Lyra asks. However, she doesn't sound insulted or emotional. She sounds more calculating. That's Lyra for you. You should call her Curious instead of that blue bitch outside.

"Lyra, if I failed, you would be dead. I would be dead, so my concern was moot. There is no point in lying about it. Adam had infiltrated the group a long time ago. He was always looking for groups to give us money in the long run. He was always good at that. Adam would infiltrate a group and kill whoever he got in his way for status or food. Adam couldn't even handle the MLA. The things they do (swallows), death would have been a mercy. I just killed…I uh, killed….. I'm disturbed at how I had felt nothing but fury when I was doing it. Afterward, I was so confused and numb," you trial off weeping.

"Trauma from killing," Lyra nods in understanding. You scoff.

"I've seen death. I told you I felt rage and numbness. I still don't feel anything about it. I didn't enjoy it. It was necessary, like butchering a goat or eating your mom. One day it might catch up to me. But today, I'm disturbed at how the MLA thinks I use magic. Lyra, I was so mad. Then I felt pain, and next thing I know, I lost it," you confess. It looks like she is trying to process but failing. Her lip trembles, and Lyra doesn't look like the Lyra you remember. She looks so broken.

"I missed you. I was so lonely. I mean, I had Shoto, but the kid is damaged. I thought I had a disorder. He makes me look functional, he is Dabi's brother, but he can't know about that," she whispers. You smile because it is delicious gossip. She leans in, lowering her voice, "What is going on with the MLA? The last thing I heard, Shigaraki and Dabi were meeting the astral wizards. What happened?" 

Your gossip is less pleasant. Your eyes dart to Kurogiri. He is busy making cakes and cookies.

"I told him that it was a bad idea. The astral wizards and the MLA are pretty much the same. I received a package with the severed finger of the current major of my village after he left. Then the MLA came pounding on our door. That is why I wanted to ask you something," you say, hesitating. Lyra flushed and looked guilty, eyes darting everywhere.

"The Nomu are all homunculus from Dabi's offspring. Exclusively, because he is half-human. Humans can be more easily manipulated by magic. The Doctor has been trying his experiments on full-fledged humans. That wizard we are struck with is a legendary monster. He has brought the magical community to its knees. He almost wiped us out. Ur, they are evil creatures," Lyra hisses, eyes darting to Kurogiri.

"Lyra," you hiss intensely, "I know. I have seen it with this eye. The wizard that lives here is a child-snatching monster. I know. But I can only deal with one threat at a time. The MLA is here, and we are at war, Lyra. I need to ask you for something. I need poison, Lyra. If I get caught, I need a way out too. I will talk to Master about being less obvious about it. Lyra, I need this," You growl. Her eyes water as she bites her lip. Lyra has been more emotional, too, lately. She seems off her game. 

"Only if you cannot get here. Do not do that until they are about to…. don't do it. Stay here with us. The kids get so scared without you. Your death would kill them," she begs. You shake your head. She sounded so much like you when you were with Shiggy.

"They are coming for me; I need to stay far away from the kids and you until this is over. Trust me. I do not want to die. Did I tell you I'm having twins? Nasty little grubs beat up my insides, but I can't wait to see them. I wonder if they will be fluffy or have tiny antennae?" You smile, rubbing your belly. They are starting to calm down a little. You are happy as you wonder. You failed the twins, but you will not fail your hive. Lyra snaps her fingers in front of your eyes. Makes you gasp because you just realized you didn't put your patch back on. Groping for it, Lyra snaps her fingers again while holding up a piece of paper.

"I noticed you have an eidetic memory for writing. Get the bottle with that label. I will distract Kurogiri. Get up and go now," she said, walking over to Kurogiri, pointing towards the Master's room. You do as she says. Oh god, there are so many potions. You quickly start looking through them.

Lyra wrapped her arms around Kurogiri's middle. He stiffens at first, but when he sees it's Lyra with his glowing yellow eyes, he smiles inwardly.

"Where is Tomura's mate?" Kurogiri asked.

"She is with the kids. They were scared for her, so she wanted to spend a little time with them. Also, because I asked her, we may all be dead soon. I would like to ask a nice favor of you."

He looked at her again with new interest. He should check to see if the Tomura's mate needed anything. But Lyra slowly pulled away and looked back at him with smoldering eyes.

"Shoto is with them. I assure you we will have time alone," she said, stripping layers and walking to the far room. He's not dead, dead. Kurogiri follows, undoing his uniform.

When you come back, clothes on the ground, interesting sounds coming from the room in the back. You decide to go and keep the kids' interest, wearing your eye patch and sharing a plate of hot cookies. Talking to Shoto for the first time. Apologizing for being rude the last time you saw him. He said he didn't mind and blushed, then John hit him in the arm for it calling him gross. Until Master came back, you were having a good time, and Shoto was interesting. Lyra had disappeared, preferring never to see AFO again, Kurogiri setting up the tea.

"Stimulating things, will it just be us today? I was hoping to discuss more with that interesting arcane healer. She behaved more naturally with you around," AFO says. He removes his mask, and you force yourself not to stare. The upper half of his face is an obliterated mess. You shudder to think of what dark magic he uses to keep himself alive. He informs you of the fighting and the battle plans, all of which sound like they don't need you today.

"When your magic wears off, they might need you again. I would like you to start mastering your eye," he demanded. You didn't like that he was demanding anything from you. Like he owned you. He is dangerous, so you play with your fingers before answering.

"It really was me. That eye thing in the air was me," your shaky fingers brushed over your eye patch, "Shigaraki has not been able to explain it. It scares me. I rather not have magic. I know you can give and take magic. Can you take it from me?"

AFO steeples his fingers as they regard each other. The silence is awkward and tense. Beth runs out of the playroom, sees AFO, squeals, and goes running back. Kurogiri followed her with a plate of cookies. When AFO spoke again, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

"That would cause multiple problems. I could take it from you, but I won't. You are pregnant and with little self-defense against magic users. That is a gift from Tomura, and I won't take it away. I will not leave you and Shigaraki's offspring helpless in the middle of a magic war. The evil eye-opening on such a scale means you are on the verge of an awakening. That power is yours now, and you will have to own it and master it. Strong emotions, straightforward ones like love and hate feed your magic. You must have been very angry," He grins. You shudder in fear with that wicked grin. The grubs twisted and cried in you.

"I think Shiggy killed my sister," you whispered. AFO heard it. Putting his mask back on, he watches as the anger roils in you, quieting the grubs, "I want revenge if he has. You wouldn't happen to know?"

"Come here. This is the perfect time to practice. You can activate your eye more than once with my added power," he said. His mature, commanding voice compels you to do as he says. Standing in front of the mirror with him behind you. You feel more fear than anger. He is tall, very tall, and touching you on your shoulders, making your flesh crawl, "I once used this eye, but it would be a waste since the loss of my physical eyes. You are so pretty; it is highlighted by the night sky in your eye. Without it, I would not be able to tell you apart from your older sister."

You gave him a dirty look for that. He laughed and told you to focus and use that anger for your magic. Turns out your eye has ten distinct eye-related magic. Or quirks, as he called it since it is related to your emotions and personality. You are going to keep calling it magic. Training went on for hours. Your eye ached, and blood tears dripped down before he let you stop. The physical wasn't as taxing as the emotional up and downs AFO put you through. It didn't escape you that he avoided your question about your sister.

"Let's stop for now. I am pleased you didn't beg to stop. Such a vengeful little mate. You did very well holding that hate and bending it to your will. Rest now. I'll have Kurogiri bring you food," AFO said. You can't get angry at the moment; you are so drained. But you don't like how Shiggy sounds like AFO when he's being patronizing, calling you little mate. He carries you to the room you share with the siblings without warning.  

He lays you down on the bed and caresses your belly. You grab his robe when he tries to leave. 

"Thank you for helping me. It was very kind of you," you move to make room for him on the bed. He sits with an air of amusement and curiosity. You pull out the picture that Shigaraki drew, "I want to understand why Shiggy might have killed my sister. Do you know about his past?"

AFO sighed in appreciation for your efforts. But was not very forthcoming. Saying when he found Tomura, he was living in the fighting pits. Malnourished and fighting for what little scraps there were. He took him in, but the little wild Mothboy never stopped fighting at the pits and never talked about what it was like before he found him. Only that he did a terrible thing, was sentenced to death and escaped to this hive. It's small and has a lot of aberrants. Magic the Order deems too dangerous to live. You thanked him again as he left. Outside AFO pulled out a crystal.

"Old friend, I want you to add Ur to the list of potentials," he grinned, heading to his room. He hasn't stopped smiling since he saw you use your eye. You are amazing. That rage builds up to perfection. Still not as impressive as Tomura, but in such a short time, you are awakening. He will make you ask for more magic if he gets the opening. The horrors of war might foster a need in you. However, you seem to take the war in stride, seeing it coming without magic and rallying everyone to you.

"Her? Really?" the Doctor asks in shock.

"Yes, she is almost awakened," He smirks, dwelling on it. You seemed comfortable around him. There are ways to force a sweet submissive person if you don't volunteer. His smirk grew wider at the thought. He will take good care of you and the potential high ends you carry.

You don't know when you drifted to sleep. But you must be dreaming. You watch your stepmother cry while Maude berates her for being too easy on Adam. Something Maude often did. It's not her fault Pa bought a wife a year younger than Maude herself. Adam is a man now and needs to work harder to help out. You are holding the twins. Abigail and Benjamin, or A and B as you like to call them. They are growing in your arms while your sister shouts louder.

"Ur is too smart to be sold as a whore. You let Adam run around playing cult members while trying to sell the real potential to a damn podunk farmer or a whorehouse. Grow up!" She screamed at the nice woman. Again that wasn't her fault. That was Pa and Abraham's decision. A and B started crying and begging for food, shriveling up and turning to dust. A pitiful groan escapes you as you try to shape the dust into your brother and sister.

"Grow up!" Maude screamed at you. You cringed, unable to speak, only snivel. Samuel is next, then your stepmother. Long pale white fingers reach out and grip Maude's face. You are trying to warn Maude, but no words are escaping. She ignores the claws turning to dust, "Grow up! You have a brain. Use it. Men are simple and basic! Are you simple and basic?"

She disappears, and Shigaraki is hovering over you in concern.

"No cry, little mate. I here. See, little grubs A and B need love," he states, lifting you and keening to your belly. Oh gods, what kind of hell is this? Your mind screams.

"YOU KILLED MAUDE!" you shrieked. He smiles at you, planting dry kisses on your forehead. He points.

"She fine," he dismisses. You see Maude with a fake smile, her lips moving, but babble is coming out. He lays you down, carefully cupping your face in his hands, using his thumbs to rub away your tears.

"That's not Maude," you whimper.

"No proof, not Maude. What matter? That Maude enough. She no life mate. Maude can't give you grubs. You chose me. Are you going back on vow? Do you no love? Tell now, and I end both now," he rasps. Kissing you, pressing you down under him. His hands wrapped around your neck. The honest Maude is looking down on you from above him. Shaking her head.

"Grow up! Have you learned nothing from being with him? Have you not learned anything from me? I thought we taught you to be stronger and smarter than that. There is more than one way to punish someone and keep what you want," she snorted.

You have a hard time thinking. The grubs are twisting like they are fighting in you. There is a sharp pain in your eye. Maude is gone, and Shigaraki looks more like a winged demon. Roughly using your body. Making you bend to his need while he ruts in you. Too scared to fight.

Your dream is interrupted by gentle shaking. You wake with a start seeing glowing yellow eyes. It takes a few gasps and then restarting your heart before you notice it's Kurogiri. He shakes you and chitters something. Moving Peter and Beth from you.

You don't know when they crawled into bed with you, but you are happy to be woken up before things got too fun in your dream. Kurogiri holds out your crown to you. You take but put your eye patch on first. He moves to wake your nest sisters. You shake your head.  Let them rest and protect what matters to me. I'm not that precious , you think.

Kurogiri opens a gate. You stretch before you walk through it. AFO is waiting, but it's Mr. Duskin's voice that cuts through your sleep haze.

"Tell these dumb insects that losing that blue bitch is a problem. She has some kind of explosion magic! Ur speak sense to these," he is yelling when you give him a severe eye. He grits his teeth and quiets.

"Don't call them that. I was told we were doing well. What's changed?" you ask calmly.  

"That blue bitch has explosion magic. If she was to reach the caves under us, she could light up this hive like a real volcano. The Mothmen's shit is combustible if left stagnant. That was why Adam created canals from the outside first, to safely move the waste. We haven't gotten far. A bigger priority was mining crystals, but we got far enough that if they figure it out, boom. These dumb…uh…moths… don't think it's a big deal to leave the base of the hive unguarded," he says cocking his thumb to Zenru. You feel cold and frightened suddenly. You don't get a chance to respond when the ground shakes, rocking your world and tossing you into AFO. Oh gods, you just wish Maude or Shiggy were here. Grow up! 

[Meanwhile], at the new hive, Shigaraki and Dabi are having a good time. Shigaraki just got done pulling a weakling in half down the middle. Her screams died too quickly. Originally Dabi suggested they try to take the females alive, but they are making that too difficult.

He lets his killer instincts run wild, and it feels great. Pure bliss. It's up there with his little human riding him. Another human crying about the female throws himself at him. He snaps his neck and turns him to dust. One of his humans are gathering the remains. They will mix the dust with dirt and water so he can fight in daylight.

Something in him compels him to look at the full moon. Like his mate's eye. Why is he being pulled from his joy? Look! Something snarled in his head.

"Did you hear that? Did you feel it?" He asks Dabi.

"What the crunch of bone? You are messy when you go at it," Dabi says.

"Not that," he rasps, fiddling with his necklace. Staring back at the moon. Something in his blood is boiling. Get back to mate! "What did you say?" Dabi gives him a side look like he is crazy.          

"I didn't say anything. Pay attention. You can't let them breach the hive. He ignores the incident and continues. Later he wishes he hadn't. His instincts scream at him to get back. Repeating the same thing. Get back to mate! Making his malice rise to new heights. The MLA are keeping him from his lifemate, his grubs, and his precious little humans. His blood feels like it is seething and writhing under his skin. Making him itch.

[Present] He hasn't gotten much sleep. It didn't make sense that you were next to him. Snoring since your belly has gotten larger. You roll and snuggle into him, a content smile as you drool on his neck ruff. Your belly resting on him, he can feel the light pressure of a little foot or fist against him.

Fuck he loves you. You make him so weak. He stares at the canopy decorated with shiny things.

"I killed your sister. I wanted to after what she did to me. I liked it, and I feel some guilt, only because it will break your heart. I couldn't stand the way she treated you. Like her personal puppet," he graveled to the darkness.

"Unlike you?" you asked. Your pretty eyes are staring at him with devotion. That look beyond that has tamed his restless instincts.

"I'm restless. A fake sleep mate won't satisfy me," he rasps. He looks over to the side and sees himself. Only this version of himself is feral. Covered in blood, cock erect, lips peeled back from dripping fangs. Staring at his little human in contempt and yearning. Rasping hot pants and low growls. He turns back to you, ignoring his bitching instincts. You don't seem mad, and he wants to keep that.

"Isn't a puppet a toy? Don't you do the same thing? Use me however you like?" you moan sensually. He can't focus on your words or what you say when you pull him in for mating. He wants and needs this so much. Only he was yanked away with searing pain in his feeler and scalp. His instinct is to shake him like a dog with a chew toy.

"What the hell? We're not separate. How are you doing this?" he snarls, pulling himself off.

"So stupid. Is dream. Not real. Go back to real mate! Go to real mate now. Can you not feel? Mate and grubs cry for us. Wake up! This one is in head," his instincts snarl at him before letting him go with a snort of disgust.

"I'm stupid? You sound like a fucking imbecile who can't string two words together," he shot back.

"Sound like what mate hears. This one is speaking Moth tongue. This one not mad about the evil one. So stupid. Left with Master. Left grubs and mate defenseless. We are one when listen. You no listen. Fool!" His instincts seem to morph bigger and uglier. He turns to the side to look back at you rather than his instincts. Smiling after he confessed, he killed your sister. Yeah, it's a dream, all right.

"I have been trying to get back! You are here, and we're pinned down with no way to contact Kurogiri. What do you want from me?" he retorts. His instincts rise, dipping in a serpent-like motion. This is what he sounds like to you? It is a good thing you fill in the gaps because this is embarrassing. He needs to study harder.

"Want listen and end it! Go back to mate. Let go and go back to real mate!" it roars. 

Growing more arms and larger. Wings block out the sky as more eyes stare down at him. Tongue lolling to the ground. White hair pooling around the nest. It starts gouging his flesh, "Your fault. So stupid, no listen and left. Only listen to what Master want. So stupid. No point! Want kill. Want mate. Want be one."

"If I could, I would. We're stuck together in a nice place with a sweet submissive mate, and you want to state two contradicting things we can't have. We are killing, and we will get back after. But how about we have a damn moment to rest and enjoy this! Fuck get back down here and join me. This isn't right. You are not separate. We are one and the same. You want this too! I swear, not only do I sound stupid, I sound weak!"

His instincts jerk. It shakes his head in condensation. Staring at himself as if he is wondering why he is so small.

"You can't hear. So stupid. No feel. Not real, mate. So stupid. Real mate in pain. Pain we cause. Must make right," he mumbles as he fades into the inky black. He watches, curious as to why he doesn't feel him in the back of his skull. Small and petty. Shigaraki starts to forget the second your fingers are buried in his ruff, pulling him to you. You kiss him as your fingers play with hair up his wing. Dancing on his spine.

He remembers when you had spent days touching him all over. Exploring until you found every one of his weaknesses he didn't know he had. He doesn't understand why he was questioning himself? Sure, it's not real, but it feels real enough. He just wants a moment.

"Tell me you love and worship me," he demanded from you.

"Oh? On my hands and knees or with my mouth, Nii-chan?" You ask, licking your lips. He chirped and giggled. He covers his mouth quickly. He doesn't giggle in front of his mate. Not in front of anyone. It's ok because you are quickly making him forget with your body. When he doesn't answer soon enough, you flip him. Pinning his underneath.

"My onii-chan King wants to be used and worshiped. I can do that. The way you secretly like. Aww, look at you blush like a little grub. Do you want to suck while I ride? Should I tie you first?" You ask with a pout. Oh wow, he does want this, but it's not like you. You stroked your pussy over his cock, praising him while he was suddenly tied. Riding him hard. Your wet, slick, sticky walls coax him to cum in you.

"I love you. I love you. I will never leave. I will always love you. You are amazing. Brave. So good to me. You saved my family," you moaned. Your tight cunt makes him writhe. Sucking him in, dragging ecstasy and bliss throughout his body. Milking it at the tip of his cock. Your breast in his mouth. Feeding him warm liquid love, "little baby grub, do you need more?"

You asked, riding him harder. Fuck, too hard. It's making him cry and squirm. It's so good it is painful. His pleasure threshold is being pulled apart and pulled together with your tight core. Each stroke is tugging at his soul. He can't breathe. It's so good. He loves you. He wants to love and worship you the same way.

"I bind myself to you. Now and forever. Hail the King, hail my onii-chan, cum in me," you begged. The peak rises and crashes on him. Drowning him in you. He arches up and screams as he knots. Complete domination and pleasure. Blood rushed to his knot, making him dizzy. Your pussy squeezing the bulge. You laugh in delight as your peaked wet nipples enthrall him as they bounce. He wants more. You are laughing. He each he feels deep in his middle. Looking down on him, you giggle.

"Really? How delusional are you? Is this really how you want me? Do you honestly think I would get over my sister that easily? Such a lie and self-delusion, you would get bored within the week, like the other knaves you took but never bothered with trying to keep alive. You have always wanted, no, needed someone like me. Someone that loves you but makes you work for it. What you truly wanted was a soul mate that you could grow with! But I will grow to hate you. You will stupidly blame me. Killing my sister is not saving my family. Your lack of self-awareness will push me away. Quit kidding yourself with this and wake up!"

Without his instinct, things become unhinged quickly. You slap him hard. He is used to pain, but this stung deeper. He knows this is him torturing himself. This is his guilt.

"It was an accident! You promised me if I saved them and love what you love, you would never leave," he insisted.

"You wanted to kill her from the moment you met her because she had my heart. You wanted to fuck her because she looked like me. But the sin was worse than that. You couldn't handle how much she was like you. Her existence was a reminder of how awful you are for me. That you don't deserve my love, I will never forget or forgive!" You slap him harder.

"You put the hole there! I was changing for you. I was going to let her live," he cried. Cried like a child. This was shameful. He needs his instincts back. He hates this.

"You were never going to let that happen. At some point, your jealousy would have won because you hadn't grown. You use me! Manipulate my feelings! That is not love! Petty! Pathetic! Wake up!" you shout, punching his face and cracking his eyes socket. Wake up, his instincts scream. Slapping him harsher. He felt a sudden rising and plunging. He sits up, gasping.

"Oh, good. You were thrashing in your sleep. The crystal is ringing, Shigaraki. I found the MLA's hideout," Spinner says. Shigaraki doesn't respond. He already knew Spinner would come through. The battlefield is littered with several dragon born. Spinner was the perfect candidate for infiltrating and discovering where these jerks are at. Spinner is pressing water to his lips like a mother hen. He stares at Spinner's concerned eyes. Dabi is sleeping soundly.

"Do you have a mate yet?" Shigaraki asked. Spinner jerked and blushed.

"Yeah, sort of. She is owned by an older Mothman who wants to sell her to me. But it's a pretty hefty price," he replies, eyes downcast. Shigaraki nods.

"Come to game night. I bet you will find my mate easy to win against. She will probably cheat to let you win," Shigaraki rasps. Spinner blushes harder, his scales turning a deeper shade of red.

"Why are you bringing this up? It's so weird and random. Answer the crystal already!" Spinner shouts. The moment he touches the crystal, he hears Twice screeching in the background.

"This is Adam. We are an hour away. You better have something to throw at this guy. He's more of a titan than a giant," Adam panted.

"I'm on it," Shigaraki rasps. He adjusts the crystal to talk to the MLA. One of the leaders had been rambling for a while now. Clearing his throat as a way of answering. These bastards don't deserve his respect.

"We have your queen and captured your hive. Give up now," the leader is saying. That woke up Shigaraki. The gall of them trying to fool him. If his mate was anywhere near here, he would know. His instincts would be screaming at him much harsher than in his dream.

"Ok," he growls, ending the conversation. Getting to his feet, he smiles. Shigaraki and his instincts are one on this. He kicks Dabi's nest. Dabi cracks his eye, "We have an hour to play. Let's bring the fight to them for a change."

Dabi looks delighted as he buzzes with anticipation. Rising and amused.

"Let's burn them all," Dabi laughs.

Ch20

[petitprincess1]

What did you think of the Villainous eps?

Imma do a quick "review" since I can't fully understand everything that they're saying, but I can guess based on clues and what some friends translate for me.

Bulldozer and Airlock (Secret Sattelite): I honestly skipped the Bulldozer one and the Airlock barely held my attention. I'm probably not gonna bother with looking at them with the eng sub. I did watch a bit of the Airlock ep and....She's Samus. Like she's just a buff zero suit Samus and that's all I cared about because it seems like she gets vored in the end. Also, Demencia not being sucked out into space.....lizard powers, I guess. If you tell me because she has heavy stuff in her hair or her sticking powers keeps her from flying away...I will smack you.

VVV: It's okay. ......That's it. Nothing bad, nothing amazing. It was okay.

Muscular BH: This ep was so fucking funny! I loved it! I adore Buffmencia and Dr. Flex. I also love how much of a dork Sexy BH is compared to his other counterpart. Dude legit can't handle BH not finding him attractive x3 Also him constantly posing in some silly way is so good. I loved the "oh you're approaching me" JoJo reference! The only downside is that I dont like that the court thing was just 2 scenes. One being a gag and the other was the end credits. Could've been cut out....more time for that dorky BH. Also, Black piercing his tablet with his claw xD

Cruel Heart:

HEED MY BELOVED 💖💖💖💖

That's it. That's the review x3 Seriously, this the best episode of the entire season! Heed getting a mini arc/backstory was just *chef kiss* beautiful! Her relationship with Flug is super great too. Even if she was using him, the way she calls out "Kenny" in the end is so cute and it broke my heart aaaaaaaaaa! Like oh my god! This girl needs so many people loving her cause she can't love herself its just yessss! I take back all the awful things I've said! Heed is amazing!

Also, Goldheart looking adorable af! I love his redesign and the fact that he seems more annoyed with Flug returning than angered. Seems more like disappointment than anything else.

~~~

So, yeah, my quick little "reviews". The animation wasn't bad or anything, but it clearly isn't as good as it was in the pilot. The fight scenes are where the animation kinda tanks, imo. It's just a little jaggedy and rough. But, it's nothing terrible. I've definitely seen far, far worse and I've seen better. It's okay. Can't say much about story. Kinda guessed through context clues and friends' translations.

Overall....IS HEED COMING BACK?

[imagininghierophant]

Hello! I love your writing very much, may you please write a scenario of Kira Yoshikage with a S/O who is an insomniac please? Thank you!

I am on it, anon! I do apologise in advance if this isn’t that accurate or great since I focus a lot on part 3 of JoJo, but I am willing to give it a try. Hope this turned out somewhat okay! Also my first time attempting a scenario request so thank you very much! -Bambi.

.

Soothing Lavender

[Kira Yoshikage x Insomniac!Reader] [One-Shot] [Gender-Neutral] [Word Count: 575] [WARNINGS:] Lustful Intentions

""Restless night again?" Your spouse queried without shifting away from the stove. He must have caught the sound of bare feet against the rigid boards of the stairs while you made your way down. The aroma of grease welcomed you as you blundered your way over to the gentleman making you breakfast, which was a tradition of fried eggs and bacon with wholemeal toast. 

You couldn't help but lean your jaw on Kira's shoulder, having difficulty maintaining your body upright. This was not the first incident you had with sleepless nights; on most occasions, when you went to bed for the past few weeks, every night appeared to have merged into one. It was starting to get vexatious to the point where you'd devote anything to bring peace at night.

"Yeah..." was all you could mutter out; your lids seemed lifeless and uncomfortable to keep open due to the fatigue behind them. Your arms snaked round your partner's waistline. "I don't understand, love..." A sigh emerged from your parted lips. "I think I'm broken..."

"Nonsense. You're just going under a lot of pressure. That's all." He didn't move his eyes away from the pan he was guarding over. The second you sensed him shift under you, you freed him from your embrace. 

"Pressure? Sweetheart, when have I been-"

"Remind me of when you stayed up finishing that scheme to present to your administration team." 

"..."

Kira's comment wasn't giving off any form of hostility or judgment; it was only one observation that he picked up, and you understood him well enough to acknowledge that was his way of worrying about you. He thoughtfully arranged two plates to prepare your morning meal.

The Yoshikage you cherished so fondly over glimpsed over his shoulder. "It's your day off, no?" You couldn't help but nod as a response; it was rare these days for you to have a day of relaxation from your hectic workplace. 

"Have a seat," Yoshikage addressed when he directed his concentration back on the cooker, "Breakfast is just on its way." 

When your bottom hit the luxurious chair of the dining table, you folded your arms and relaxed your head on the solid surface of the table; the lack of energy was so unbearable. Your head was so hazy, and it was hard to even construct a healthy thought process. 

Not even a moment later, you overhear a light tap on the table, and the aroma of breakfast greeted you once again. Lifting your heavy head, you saw your partner settling in the chair beside you, setting a small luxury purple container beside him. 

"May I ask what that is?" you couldn't help but sought when you eyed the tub that he rested on the counter. 

"I offer a proposition for you..." It simply took just that one sentence to pick up the restrained excitement that Kira was suddenly radiating. He grabbed the jar in a claw-like motion.

"This is one of my favourite high-end brands for skincare. This hand cream is best for sleep since it contains lavender." The more he spoke, you could sense his tone becoming more and more laced with craving. "Would you let me...uh, massage this in your hands? After breakfast that is..." 

The fatigue behind your lids become softened with brightening warmth. Knowing that your beloved was willing to try their best to assist with your situation was an outstanding feeling for you. Their proposal was a comforting form of self-care. 

"Of course." 

[homoose]

Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part IV

Summary: The Halloween parade. Will and JJ are adorable. Anita suggests that Spencer become a classroom volunteer. Reader has a rough week.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, a smidge of angst

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 4.4k

a/n: I wish we’d seen more of Will and JJ as parents because I imagine it would be adorable and hilarious. Let’s see if you can guess all of their costumes before the reveal lmao. Your only clue is that Spencer loves keeping with a theme and the brown vest (I literally learned how to make my own shitty gif bc I couldn’t find the right one in the search and I do not understand embedding lmao) makes an appearance.

Series Masterlist

———

“Did you grab the bags?” JJ swept the pleated, platinum braid out of her face as she bent over to zip up her boots.

“No, I thought you did,” Will called, bouncing down the stairs.

“I put them in the car already,” Spencer informed them, popping his head back in the front door. “There was just the one box, right?”

“Yeah, that was it,” Will confirmed. “Shit— where’s Michael’s sword?”

“Should be on the counter,” JJ huffed, standing up and adjusting the bodice of the blue dress.

“Got it.” Will came around the corner of the kitchen, patting his hips where his pockets would be— if he weren’t wearing an adult-sized onesie. “Keys?” Spencer held them up. “All right then, let’s get this show on the road.”

The trio headed to the waiting SUV, Spencer climbing into the backseat as Will and JJ got into the front. Will and JJ chattered on about dinner plans and schedules for the following week, and Spencer smoothed down the brown wool vest layered over his white linen shirt. He’d spent entirely too long putting together the costume over the last week (with a little help from Penelope). He’d scrapped the Spock getup he’d been working on since September— he could always wear that next year. But he’d only get one chance to attend the Room 105 Halloween parade, and once the idea had wormed its way into his brain, he had to make it happen.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Would you be able to pick Michael up on Monday?”

He ran his hands down his thighs over the mint green cropped trousers. “Sure, as long as we don’t have a case.”

Will smirked at him in the rear view mirror. “How’s Ms. Y/L/N?”

“You’re about to see her yourself, so you can ask,” Spencer replied.

Will laughed, and JJ turned in her seat. “Whoa, coming in hot with the snark. You really do like her.”

Spencer fought and failed to keep the blush from rising, irritation at being teased blooming sharp inside his chest. He tried to shrug as nonchalantly as possible. “She’s a great teacher.”

“That’s not a no,” JJ noted, eyebrows raised.

“She’s Michael’s teacher,” Spencer said, like it meant something.

“Yeah, so?” Will shrugged his shoulders. “You’re his godfather. Technically, you’re not related, so it wouldn’t be breakin’ any rules.”

“Well, it’s not like that, so it doesn’t really matter,” Spencer insisted.

Will hummed and JJ turned back around in her seat. Spencer drummed his fingers on his knees and watched DC roll past through the SUV window. It really wasn’t like that. Y/N was just… very nice. A nice, beautiful, sweet, silly kindergarten teacher that he couldn’t stop thinking about no matter how many books he read or coffees he drank or chess games he played.

Monday was the last day of his sabbatical, and he was even more relieved to be headed back than usual— grateful that he’d have something to occupy his mind other than her. Because his mind was, indeed, occupied. The way her smile beamed like the spotlight on a stage, illuminating whoever happened to be on the receiving end. The way her hands moved in unbound, buoyant illustrations of her thoughts. The way her laugh felt like the first warm sip of tea or the wrap of his favorite scarf. It was getting out of hand, to say the least.

Will pulled into the parking lot, and instantly Spencer’s palms began to sweat. He glanced at the headband on the seat beside him and felt the mortification clawing at his insides. The costume was ridiculous; he was ridiculous. He should have just worn the Spock outfit.

Maybe he could just wait in the car and pretend like he hadn’t been able to make it. Or he could just leave the headband in the car. But then he’d just be in mint green capris with a sweater vest and platform sandals, and she’d have absolutely no idea who he was supposed to be. Then he’d have to explain it, and it would be even worse.

Will parked the car, and he and JJ immediately stepped out. Spencer watched them near the hood of the SUV, enjoying a rare moment of co-parenting without work hovering right out of frame. Will pulled the hood of the onesie up and JJ laughed, brushing her hand over the brown fabric twigs sticking out of the top. He supposed that if Will Lamontagne, Jr. could strut his stuff in adult footie pajamas, his handmade costume was probably all right.

With one last resigned sigh, Spencer slid the headband on. He grabbed the box of Halloween treats, opened the door, and hauled himself out of the vehicle. He pushed the door closed and looked in the reflection of the window, adjusting the headband around his curls and blowing out a breath.

“Ready?” JJ called, peering around the side of the SUV.

“Yeah—yeah,” Spencer agreed. He moved around the vehicle to join them, the three of them walking to find a spot in the crowd of parents standing around the carpool loop.

When they found a suitable spot, Will looked up at him and shook his head. The sandals added three extra inches to Spencer’s height, putting him a good six inches taller than Will. “Those shoes make you look like an actual giant,” Will chuckled. “I know that’s the point, but I feel like even more of a shrimp next to ya now.”

Spencer set the box of candy bags on the ground and would have shoved his hands into his pockets if the linen trousers had any. Before he could respond, JJ pointed to the door of the school, cooing, “Oh my god, look. Remember when the boys were that small?”

The PreK classes came out first, and Spencer could acknowledge that they were very cute, barely out of the toddler stage and holding hands with a line buddy. But he was waiting on a very specific cutie.

He’d barely had the thought when the kindergarten classes started to emerge from the door. He almost didn’t recognize her at first— just an orange blob and green shrubbery. But the converse gave her away.

“How is she so cute?” JJ threaded her arm through Will’s. “Even when she’s dressed as a giant orange blob.”

“It’s a gift,” Will agreed. He glanced up at Spencer. “Right, doc?”

Spencer nodded but didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. “I think so, yeah.” Will grinned and bumped JJ’s shoulder, but Spencer barely even registered his own response.

Thankfully they’d picked a spot near the very end of the loop, so he had plenty of time to get himself together before she was in front of him. While Will and JJ waved at all the tiny superheroes and princesses, he watched Y/N. She was all orange fabric from her shoulders to her knees, with bright orange Chucks to match. On her head was a strange variation on a party hat, bright green ferns sprouting from the tip of the cone and falling into her face. She looked absolutely ridiculous and entirely adorable, and he was in so much trouble.

When the class finally approached the final curve of the loop, Will nudged Spencer and gestured to the box of goodie bags. Spencer crouched down and lifted the box, standing back up to see Y/N laughing at Will and JJ. “Very cute, Lamontagne Family.”

Her gaze traveled across, then up, and then her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. Spencer wondered if maybe the earth could just open up and swallow him whole.

“Oh my god, are you—?” She stepped forward and ran her hand lightly over the vest, and he didn’t dare breathe. “Are you the BFG?!” Her hand dropped from his torso, and he didn’t have time to be disappointed before her face split into quite possibly the biggest smile he’d seen from her yet.

A tiny Superman shouted, “Ms. Y/L/N, we’re making a gap!”

Y/N came back to herself, gesturing to all three of them. “Don’t go anywhere.” She accepted the offered box of treats from Spencer and then turned to help her class catch up.

Will gave him a look. “It’s not like that, huh?”

“Oh my god, she likes you.” JJ clapped her hands together. “This is amazing.”

“I’m takin’ credit for this,” Will bragged. “I’m a regular ol’ matchmaker.”

Spencer couldn’t even be bothered to attempt a denial. He was still thinking about the feel of her palm on his chest, how it might feel to hold her hand, the way her eyes practically sparkled when she saw his ridiculous headband. He was in so much trouble.

Fifteen minutes later, the classes filed back out into the parking lot for dismissal. Y/N led the class down the sidewalk, grinning at the excitement coursing through her line. As they approached the end of the loop, Y/N caught sight of them and waved. The kids lined up in their normal spot, chatting excitedly about their costumes and candy bags.

“Lord, Ms. Y/L/N, you’re something else,” Will laughed.

“Is it not the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen?” She laughed and tapped the green shrubbery hanging in her face. “I have the kids do a little persuasive writing thing every year. They draw a picture and write a sentence about what they think Ms. Y/L/N should be for Halloween, and then we take a vote.”

She waved her hands in that way Spencer loved, the way that was so similar to his own. “Usually the options are pretty tame, you know—ghost, witch, bumblebee. This year was a near tie between runner-up Jojo Siwa and well,” she gestured at herself, “carrot.” Y/N cackled, and the leaves on top of her head shook with the action.

They all laughed along with her, and then JJ added, “The details are truly incredible. Is this an actual plant on your head?”

“I really thought about it,” Y/N laughed, “but no, it’s just fake ferns stuffed into a cardstock funnel.” She gestured at Will and JJ. “But also, excuse me— this family costume is ridiculously cute. Mr. Lamontagne, loving this onesie. Mrs. Jareau, I didn’t even know it was possible to look prettier than you usually do, but here you are. And Michael’s Anna costume?” She held her hands up. “Incredible. Show stopping. I wish I had an aunt Penelope to enlist the help of, because that cape is the actual height of fashion.”

“She helped Spence, too,” JJ prompted, stealing a glance in his direction.

“Oh yeah?” Y/N asked, turning to smile at Spencer.

“We um, 3D printed the ears,” he clarified.

“No way!” She took a step closer to him, peering up at the detail on the headband. He leaned down a little for her to get a closer look. “That is so cool. I’ve never actually seen anything 3D printed up close before— did you design them yourself?”

She met his eyes briefly, and he realized how close they were— close enough that he caught the faintest whiff of sandalwood and cardamom. Of course she even smelled like warmth and home. “Well. I, um— I drew a sort of sketch, I guess. And then Penelope did the software coding. I— I’m not very good with technology, honestly.”

She ran her fingers lightly over the plastic, and he decided she was really trying to kill him. “Yeah, I’m not sure I really understand how it works.”

“Well, first you create a blueprint file of the design you want to print, which you can do through modeling software or three-dimensional scanning. Then you convert the file into an STL file— named for Stereolithography which was the first ever 3D printing process. The STL file is made up of triangular mesh polygons, which is the data that describes the surface of a three-dimensional object. After that, you use a software program to complete the process of slicing— essentially dividing or chopping the 3D model into hundreds or thousands of horizontal layers that the printer can print one at a time to create the 3D object. And then the printer prints each layer until you have your finished product.”

Y/N was quiet, and he pulled back to see her grinning at him. “I thought you said you weren’t very good with technology?”

“I’m not good with using technology,” he clarified.

She nodded. “Gotcha. So you just know everything about it.”

Her joking tone had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I read a lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“I can read at a rate of 20,000 words per minute, so… a lot.”

Her eyebrows shot up into the tangle of ferns on her head, and he was just so overwhelmed by how adorable she was. “Well, if I ever have a question about anything, I know who I’m coming to.”

He was sure he was blushing, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “I’m happy to answer any and all of your questions.”

She let her gaze travel over the rest of the costume. “Oh my god, the sandals! Man, you really nailed it. I’m very impressed.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I thought about being Trunchbull, but I couldn’t find the sweatshirt,” he joked.

She laughed, and he wanted to bottle it up to keep forever. “As much as I would have loved to see your hair in a bun… you’re much too sweet to have been able to pull that off.” She smiled softly at him. “Much more suited to our friend the BFG.”

He rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, and it was only then that he realized Will and JJ had gone to the car. He looked back to Y/N, opening his mouth but unsure of what he was going to say.

“Y/L/N!” He turned his head to see Anita jogging toward them. “Did you—” The giant cardboard box she was wearing knocked into one of the few kindergarteners left in Y/N’s line, nearly sending them to the ground. “Oh my gosh, sorry sweetheart!” She righted the startled child, and Spencer gave her a once over, completely at a loss as to what her costume could be.

“What in the world are you supposed to be?” Y/N asked, choking out a laugh.

Anita looked at her deadpan. “A monopoly piece. Remind me that I’m never participating in team costumes ever again.” She rolled her eyes and gestured at Y/N. “Next year I’m gonna wear an orange t-shirt, call myself a carrot, and be much more comfortable.”

“I’ll have you know this costume was a lot of work,” Y/N remarked, crossing her arms.

“I’m sure it was. You could have put on an orange dress, stuck a green pipe cleaner in your hair, and called it a day, but that’s not the Y/L/N way.” Anita’s eyes slid across to where Spencer stood. “Well, hello, doctor. I have absolutely no idea what you’re supposed to be, but I love everything about it.”

“Spencer’s the BFG,” Y/N said, and Spencer could have sworn she sounded almost proud.

“Ah, Roald Dahl, of course.” Anita smirked. “I see you, Spencer. I see you.” She put her hands on her hips— or rather where her hips would have been if they weren’t covered by a ridiculously large box. “So, when are you going to volunteer?”

“Sorry?” he asked.

“Like, when are you going to volunteer in Y/L/N’s classroom?” She held up her hand, palm down, and made a circular motion between the two of them. “You know, hang out, but professionally.”

“Oh my god, did you need something?” Y/N’s squeaked, eyes wide.

Anita ignored her. “You just have to do a background check, but I’m sure you’ll pass it.”

“Lopez,” Y/N said, staring her down. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, I was just going to ask if you got the email about the PD after school on Tuesday. But this was much more fun.” She winked at Spencer. “Bye, Spencer.”

They both stared after her as she nearly skipped across the grass to the building. Y/N turned to him. “I’m— so sorry.”

He met her eyes and took the leap. “Volunteering could be fun.”

He watched her press her lips together to contain her smile. “It could be.”

He didn’t bother containing his own. “I’ll um— I’ll shoot you an email.”

“I’ll respond to your email.”

…

When he walked in the door, Spencer made a beeline for his desk. He opened his laptop and pulled up his email account, writing as fast as his one-finger typing would allow.

Spencer Reid Re: Volunteering

Hi!

I’m just following up about volunteering. Anita mentioned a form that I needed to fill out? Now that I’ll be back to work, I’ll just need to plan around the BAU schedule. Could you give me a list of days that would work for you?

Really looking forward to seeing you in action.

Spencer

He checked his two other email messages, and then left the browser up while he thumbed through his most recent reading material.

He sat at his desk for the remainder of the afternoon, distractedly perusing his book and glancing at his empty inbox every minute or so. His gaze flew up to the screen at the ding of a new message at 6:30, only to find a promotional email from one of his favorite indie bookstores.

He closed his laptop with a sigh. It was a Friday night. Y/N probably just didn’t check her email on the weekend. He could wait until Monday. He’d see her on Monday.

He limited himself to checking his laptop twice a day on Saturday and Sunday. When Monday rolled around, he checked it in the morning. He leaned back against the leather of his chair, staring at the empty inbox. He had some errands to run, and for the first time in his life, he wished he had a phone that had email on it.

He ran his last-day-of-sabbatical errands and stopped in at his favorite coffee shop for most likely the last midday, sit-down coffee he’d have for a while. Before he realized, it was 2:30. He brought his empty mug to the counter and waved to the barista. Then he walked to the car and prepped his conversation starters.

“Did you get my email? I sent you an email, just wondering if you saw it? Hey— Hello— Hi, I wasn’t sure if you got my email.” He blew out a breath. “Hi. How are you?” He waved his hand. “I’m great. Did you get my email?” He laughed into the empty car. “Ridiculous, Spencer. You’re ridiculous.”

When he pulled into the parking lot, his heart was racing and his palms were slipping against the steering wheel. He pulled around the loop, looking with a furrowed brow at the area where Y/N should be. In her place was a short woman with cropped grey hair. She held a clipboard and looked generally overwhelmed.

Michael sprinted to the car as soon as he saw it. He pulled open the door and let out a world weary sigh. Spencer turned in his seat. “Everything all right?”

“No, everything is terrible,” he huffed dramatically. “Ms. Y/L/N was sick today. Mrs. Franklin was our substitute, and she smells weird.”

Spencer looked through the window at Mrs. Franklin, struggling to keep a few rowdy boys in the line. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sure Ms. Y/L/N will be back soon.” He was secretly relieved that he had a potential explanation for the unanswered email.

“I can’t take another day of Mrs. Franklin,” Michael sighed, buckling his seatbelt. “I hope Ms. Y/L/N’s back tomorrow.”

Spencer let out a breath and pulled away from the curb. “Me, too.”

…

JJ huffed out a breath, glaring at the stack of paperwork in front of her. Spencer was nose deep in a book, but he glanced up at the sound. “I can take a few of those if you want,” he offered.

“No, it’s fine,” she sighed. “I’ve really only got six left.”

He looked at his watch. “Each report takes you approximately 37 minutes. With eight minute breaks in between, you’re not going to be out of here until almost 6:00.”

JJ laughed. “I can’t believe I missed out on these scathing performance reviews for thirty days.”

“Suit yourself.” Spencer dropped his gaze back to his reading.

His first week back from sabbatical had been uneventful to say the least. The team had just wrapped a local case, and they’d spent the better part of the week going over consultations and potentials. It was finally Friday, and Spencer was finished with his stack of backlogged reports.

He was finishing the last chapter of the book when JJ dropped a string of quiet curses. He continued reading, waiting for her to ask. She was quiet for another minute.

“I forgot I’m on duty to pick Michael up today.” Spencer looked up at her, slight panic coming over him.

“I really don’t mind finishing your reports,” he offered.

JJ raised her eyebrows. “What, no offering to visit Ms. Y/L/N?”

Spencer closed his book. “I, um. I sent her an email a week ago, and she hasn’t responded.”

“So?”

“So…” Spencer ran a hand through his hair. “That’s weird, right?”

JJ laughed. “You don’t really use email, so I’d imagine your inbox is pretty orderly. But if you use it a lot, it can be easy for messages to get lost.” She looked at him pointedly. “I can almost guarantee that she’s not ignoring you, Spence.”

He sighed. “I guess there’s a quick way to find out.”

...

Spencer drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the door of the school. He glanced at the clock, noting the class was later than they’d ever been. Without really understanding why, he pulled out of the loop and swung back around to park in the lot. He exited the car, and as he rounded the hood, he spotted them.

Y/N was at the front of the line, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket and mouth pressed into a thin line. The line behind her was unlike he’d ever seen it. No waving arms, no smiles, no giggles. Twenty small bodies followed behind her with absolute and total solemnity, and he felt uncomfortable just watching them. It would have almost been funny if it wasn’t so dramatically out of character.

The line weaved around the more rambunctious classes, maintaining their grave expressions and quiet pace. They reached their spot on the sidewalk, and Y/N didn’t even have to say anything. Spencer watched as the line took their spots behind her. She held one hand up to acknowledge parents as they pulled up, murmuring stoic goodbyes to students as they headed to their vehicles.

He hung back at the hood of the car until the majority of the class was gone, slowly making his way across the parking lot. Y/N’s line of sight was pointed in his direction, but her eyes were unfocused in the afternoon sun. He could see the moment that she registered his presence, her eyes widening slightly and bottom lip releasing from the place she’d been absentmindedly chewing. She shifted her weight as he closed the final few feet between them.

“Hi.” She held a silent hand up in greeting. He clenched and unclenched his fingers. “Rough day?”

“It’s not always sunshine and rainbows, despite what everyone thinks,” she snapped. She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes up to the perfectly blue sky, mocking her mood. “I’m sorry. Yes, it was a rough day.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“You don’t deserve my wrath.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the students. “They didn’t either, but— too late for that.”

He watched as she lowered her head back down, rubbing a hand over her face. He desperately wanted to slay whatever dragons had given her normally brilliant eyes such a grey cast. “You have strong relationships with them, and kids are resilient. I’m sure they know you—”

“Please— don’t.” Her voice was thick, and she looked at him with desperate eyes. “I— I appreciate the thought, but I’m— I’m a frustrated crier.” Her shining irises proved her point. “And I’m just— I’m really just trying to keep it together for the last four minutes of my contract time.” Her words were practically a whisper, and she swallowed thickly and glanced down the line, just Michael and one classmate left, eyes downcast.

“I understand.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out and touching her. “I’m sorry. I— I hope your weekend is better than today.”

Michael slowly left the line, murmuring a quiet goodbye to Y/N. Spencer put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the car, stealing one last glance at a crushed Y/N.

...

Y/N Y/L/N

Re: Re: Volunteering

Hi,

I meant to respond to this email, and then a bunch of things happened, and then I was out all week.

I don’t know if you even still want to volunteer after this afternoon, but it felt rude to not respond at all.

I’ve attached the background check form to this email in case you’re still interested.

Y/N

1 Attachment: Background Check

—

Hi,

I meant what I said this afternoon. Your students love you, and they know you love them. If my conversation with Michael in the car was any indication, they’re feeling rightfully embarrassed and guilty about their behavior while you were out.

Regardless of what happened today, your relationships with your students are strong enough that they will come to school tomorrow knowing that you still care about them. Children don’t hold onto things nearly as much as adults.

It would be a privilege to volunteer in your classroom, even on the worst day.

Spencer

1 Attachment: Background Check - Spencer Reid

—

If I wasn’t already crying, I would be now.

Thanks for that.

No sarcasm intended. Really. Thank you.

—

This might be inappropriate, and if it is, please just pretend like this email doesn’t exist.

I have a favorite cafe in the DuPont circle area, Soho Tea & Coffee. They have an excellent tea drink made with honey and milk that I like to order whenever I’ve had a particularly difficult day.

If you’re up for it, it’s on me.

———

Tags: @spacedikut​ @uhuhuh​ @itsametaphorbriansblog​ @90spumkin​ @blameitonthenight21​ @magenta145​ @annesauriol​ @watermelongubler​ @ampal98​ @rainsong01​ @meowiemari​ @mrsmyaweasley​ @mggsprettygirl​​ @ceeellewrites​ @coffeeandendlesswords​ @daybabyx​ @joalsglasses​ @chevyimpala00067​ @misshale21​ @sapphic-prentiss @danifaithkae​ @saspencereid @heyitssomegirl101

Permanent tags: @andiebeaword​ @averyhotchner​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @shadyladyperfection​ @coffeeandendlesswords​ @justanothetfangirl​ @no-honey-no​ @ajeff855

[ymiwritesstuff]

Hi, I'd like to make a request. Would you be able to write a fluffy part 3 dio fic? Something I enjoy thinking about is giving him kisses on his chest and stuff like that... also this my first time ever requesting a fic so I hope this is okay... thank you in advance (also, reader is gender neutral)

Hi there! Thanks so much for requesting, I'm pretty honored to hear that you decided to request your first fic from me. I hope this is to your liking! Please enjoy!

Your Attention, Please

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders

Dio Brando x GN!Reader

Summary: Your moment of relaxation gets interrupted by the Lord himself.

Notes: Fluff

The fireplace crackled in the surrounding silence that had fallen around the library, the warm tones produced by the flames provided all the light you needed to focus on the contents of the book you were buried in. Your eyes scanned the text, your mind processing the information and bringing them to life. The armchair you sat on was comfortable, soft behind your neck and back.

Your fingers turned yet another page, a soft sigh escaping your nostrils. Ever since arriving at the impressive mansion, you tended to spend time in its library, skimming through books you found interesting. The collection was massive and diverse, so it was a good way to kill time when you weren’t battling the enemy.

The silence never faded, if anything, it only seemed to deepen the more you focused on the text before you. Though, you didn’t fail to sense a familiar presence in the room that appeared rather suddenly.

“Dio,” you calmly said, keeping your eyes on the book and turning a page. “What brings you here?” These sudden appearances of his were common, most likely somehow connected to his stand ability he was so secretive about. You heard him hum and slowly approach the fireplace.

“Can’t I check on my mortal darling?” He asked, voice low and teasing as it always was. It made you smile. Dio stopped behind your chair, lowering himself so that he could press his cold lips on your cheeks.

“Of course you can,” you replied, licking the tip of your index finger and grabbing the corner of a page once again, not paying attention to the Lord as much as he would’ve liked.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, his clawed hand grabbed the book from yours and tossed it aside, the action surprising you and finally making you look at him. You were about to start complaining when you noticed a mischievous smirk on his lips and that he stood in the darkness with nothing covering his upper body.

Your face immediately heated up and the grin on his lips and the teasing glint in his eyes grew. “Like what you see?” He quirked his eyebrow at you, his body practically glowing in the warm light of the fire. You had seen him like this often, yet it always managed to catch you off guard. With a sigh and a shake of your head, you stood up and walked up to him.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t,” you stated, placing your gentle hands on his chest. You felt his arms wrap around your smaller form in an almost protective manner. Despite the rather suggestive sight before you, the atmosphere was calm and full of invisible affection. You admired his ethereal, perfectly sculpted frame and gently pressed your lips against his chest.

“The sun will rise soon,” you heard him say, that gorgeous voice of his reduced to a quiet one. He ran his hands along your back. They were cold but in a strangely comforting matter. You didn’t mind it in the slightest. Instead, you closed your eyes and leaned against him.

“Shall we go rest?” He lifted your head up with his clawed hand that could so easily destroy anything or break any bone. However, he held your cheek in the most delicate way possible.

You placed your lips on the skin of his chest a few times before planting a final kiss on his lips, which he happily returned.

“I would love that,” you whispered and took his hand, leaving the library behind to enjoy some much-needed rest with the vampire.

[lady-wallace]

Breaking Point: Whumptober Day 17 (JJBA)

Been loving writing La Squadra centric fics for @whumptober this year so it’s time for some Prosciutto whump. It’s more reluctant caretakee than caretaker but we’ll say it still works ;)

Prompt: “Hanging By a Threat” (breaking point, stress positions, reluctant caretaker)

Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 5

Character: Prosciutto

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

Masterpost

~~~~~~~

Prosciutto considered himself something of a stoic. While he had long since given up his ideas of long-term goals after joining Passione and becoming a hitman, he exchanged those for the simple satisfaction of completing every job that Risotto handed him. As long as he could see the end, the results, in sight, he was good.

It was when things started to go wrong in ways he couldn't do anything about that the ball of anxiety he had spent years learning how to repress to better do his job started to rear its ugly head, some grotesque creature that awoke when he least wanted it to and began clawing at its cage.

"Tell me, what exactly did you have in mind for our boss?"

Prosciutto snarled up at his interrogator but refused to say anything. Truth was, they'd been taking some shitty jobs to make whatever money they could. They'd been bad off before the Boss had been replaced with the new upstart Giorno Giovanna, but with how they'd gone about things with Bucciarati's team, Risotto hadn't thought that trying to make peace was the best option. So instead, they'd been taking whatever work they could, hits or not. They'd pretty much become nothing more than despicable bruisers.

Prosciutto hadn't even gone on this job to kill anyone. He'd been instructed by their client to send a warning—get a rival drug dealing gang off their turf. He'd thought it would be easy, go in, rough the guy up, and hopefully escalate the situation for a more pricy hit if he didn't run away. Instead, the info he'd been given was rotten, and he'd ended up walking into the base of operations when literally the whole gang was there seeing in a new shipment.

He'd called out Grateful Dead, but there were so many men already rushing him, that by the time his Stand started to take effect, he had already been grabbed and beaten unconscious.

When he'd come to, it was to a bucket of cold water, and the muted feeling that came with being drugged.

"He's awake, get him up."

Hands grabbed him and shoved him into a chair. One snagged him by the hair, yanking it out of its usual neat coifs as they wrenched his head back painfully.

"That's one of Passione's hitmen," a man said as he walked over. "Probably here to take the boss out, hm? You working for the little blond brat?"

Prosciutto spat out some blood from a split lip and refused to speak. He tried to reach for Grateful Dead, but his Stand wasn't accessible. Probably why they had drugged him.

Prosciutto viciously bit back the embarrassing flare of panic as he was only restrained more firmly to the chair.

He was a trained hitman. He knew how to deal with torture. Death did not scare him.

Nevertheless, he hated being helpless. Being powerless in the face of his enemies was an unforgivable sin in Prosciutto's book.

The only thing he had at this point was his silence. And he would hold on to that until he could think of a way to get out of here.

The drug dealers, it seemed were not happy about that.

"You really are a tight-lipped bastard," the interrogator snarled, throwing another blow with his brass knuckled hand, this time striking Prosciutto's cheek. The skin split and blood flowed freely down his face.

"What's this then?"

Prosciutto's eyes tracked up to the door as the thugs all turned to see a man stride through. Prosciutto's target.

"Boss," the interrogator said. "We found him skulking around; we think he was here to take you out, but he's not talking."

"Not, talking, huh?" the man said, slipping his coat off his shoulders and handing it to one of his men as he strode forward.

Prosciutto met his eyes defiantly as the man reached out to grip his chin. "What's the matter, pretty boy like you doesn't know how to sing?"

Prosciutto spat at him, the gob of bloody spittle hitting the man's cheek.

"You filthy little shit."

Prosciutto and the chair he was tied to were toppled to the side with the force of the man's blow. His head slammed into the ground, stars bursting across his vision. The toe of the man's shoe slammed into his stomach, forcibly knocking the air out of him.

"Get him off that, I want him strung up."

Prosciutto felt the thugs start to undo his bonds and he tensed, waiting for the perfect opportunity…

Agony tore through his shoulder and he couldn't help the cry of surprise that burst from him before he clamped his teeth shut again.

The thugs laughed as the sound of chains rattling was heard while they threaded them through the cuffs holding Prosciutto's hands behind his back. When he could see again, he glanced down and recognized a meat hook punched through his shoulder, right under the collarbone.

Before he could force himself to adjust to that pain, he was unceremoniously hauled up by the chains, arms wrenched upward behind his back sending a whole new wave of agony through his body.

Prosciutto shook as they finally tied off the chain, panting through the pain that had crashed through him. Even the drug they had given him did nothing to help with that.

"It's called strappado," the boss told Prosciutto as he watched him with a sadistic satisfaction. "Eventually, it will cause breathing issues from the pressure on your diaphragm." He took a small pistol out of his coat pocket. "Especially if you're not holding up your own weight."

The sound of gunfire proceeded a new agony tearing through Prosciutto's leg as the bullet found his thigh. The leg instantly gave out, leaving the job of holding up his body weight to his arms which felt like they were going to be ripped out of their sockets.

He staggered, gasping for breath, as the thugs laughed.

"We'll let him stew like this for a bit while we finish up with the shipment. Maybe he'll be more inclined to talk then."

"Fuck you," Prosciutto gritted out between clenched teeth. He was mainly trying to just breathe through the pain and the tightness in his chest that was making it increasingly difficult. He hadn't been in this much agony even after getting thrown from a train at top speed. This was…

Prosciutto had never felt this helpless; not even when he had fought and failed to take down Bucciarati. He always planned a mission to a fault, leaving no room for errors. This should not have happened, and he was finding himself closer and closer to unleashing the panic inside of him.

Could he actually, for the first time in his career as a hitman, be reaching his breaking point? All on this stupid, pointless mission that wasn't supposed to have been this hard to begin with?

He tried to fortify himself, tried to think of how he could escape this, but he was in a constant state of agony between his injured, bleeding leg, and the position he'd been put in putting immense pressure on his shoulders, and thus the meat hook through the right one.

Prosciutto had truly never felt this helpless, and he honestly didn't know what he was going to do.

XXX

He drifted through the waves of pain, fighting for every breath and then regretting each one when it only served to cause fire to shoot through his chest. His back was in agony, shoulders practically numb from the pain of the position now. On top of that the blood loss, and he was losing himself. Maybe, Prosciutto thought wildly, desperation surging through his muddied brain, maybe he would talk when the thugs got back to him. After all, what the hell did he have to hide? Even if they were to kill him, it would be an end to this right?

And then his teammates would have to go to his funeral knowing he had gone out while on a mission that could have been handled by any mediocre enforcer in Passione.

Then, at some point through his muddled brains, he started to hear the sounds of shouting and gunfire, cries of pain. Very briefly he thought that it might be Risotto and the others mounting a rescue mission. But they probably wouldn't have even expected him back yet.

When the sounds finally stopped, followed by silence, Prosciutto began to feel a new form of panic. Had a rival gang come in and killed the thugs off? And if that were the case, would anyone know he was here? Would this new party bother to help him or would they just increase his already unbearable torture?

He started to hear the murmur of voices outside the room he was in.

"Hey! There's still someone in here."

"Are you sure? I thought we cleared the building."

"I didn't pick up the signature before. It's pretty light. Might even be a rat."

"We'll check it out anyway just to make sure."

A couple of the voices sounded familiar, but not enough for Prosciutto to place them. It wasn't his team, he realized with surprising disappointment and…hopelessness? Where the hell was that coming from? He couldn't possibly be considering himself finished yet, could he?

The door opened, and figures with guns appeared as Prosciutto raised his head, finding himself staring at the head figure who stepped inside, wearing a familiar white suit.

Everyone stopped and stared at each other for a moment. Bucciarati's eyes wide.

"Hey," the scraggly brat named Narancia piped up, pointing. "That's—"

"Prosciutto," Bucciarati said, lowering his gun. "My god, what happened to you?"

Prosciutto suddenly felt the urge to laugh—well, he thought it was a laugh. But the pain in his chest was so horrific upon the spasming that it turned into more of a wheezing sob.

"Of course it would be you," he spat, right before his body just decided it had had enough. He felt himself slipping, legs completely giving way so that he was hanging by his arms, unable to breathe. He didn't care anymore though, just allowed himself to slip off into the painless darkness.

XXX

Prosciutto woke to a sickening sensation and opened his eyes to find himself staring at the ground and the tail of a black coat. He briefly thought it was Risotto carrying him like a sack of flour and couldn't decide if he was more or less mortified to find out he had been incorrect when he heard his presumed rescuer speak.

"I'll put him in the guest room. Fugo, grab the medical kit."

Prosciutto groaned. Leone Abbacchio. More hands grabbed hold of him as he was carried into a room and lowered onto a bed so that he was staring up at the goth and Guido Mista.

"Hey, you're awake," Mista said, eyebrows raised. "Gotta say, you actually look worse than I felt when, ya know, you shot me in the head."

Prosciutto groaned. "You want to hold a grudge, be my guest."

The gunman shrugged. "Oh, me? Nah. I can get over it. These guys however…" His Stand materialized and six tiny figures simultaneously glowered down at Prosciutto, one pointedly pounding a fist into their opposite hand while another ran a finger across its throat.

"I think he's had enough for one day, Mista," Bucciarati said as he came into the room with an armful of towels. Giorno Giovanna was behind him with an unreadable expression as his eyes wandered over Prosciutto's injuries. The hitman noticed that his shoulder and thigh and stopped bleeding and there was a strange pull on the skin there that he didn't recognize.

Mista's Stand disappeared and the gunman shrugged and turned to leave the room.

Bucciarati came over to the side of the bed and Prosciutto watched him cautiously.

"What are your plans with me?" he finally spat, unable to stand the anticipation. "If you want revenge—"

Abbacchio snorted, folding his arms before he left the room. "I'll go find him some pain meds."

Prosciutto watched him go before he turned back to Bucciarati who set the towels on the end of the bed. "Not revenge. Not torture. Just here to tend your injuries."

That was almost more surprising than any other option. "Why the hell would you do that?"

Bucciarati met his eyes. "We might not have parted ways civilly previously…"

"You threw me off a train," Prosciutto reminded him flatly.

Bucciarati shrugged in agreement. "I had a mission to see done. And I was protecting my famiglia. I'm sure you can at least respect that?"

Prosciutto looked away briefly. He could respect that. In fact, despite their last fight, he respected Bucciarati a lot. Both as a mafioso and as a man. That didn't mean he didn't also despise him.

"Regardless of past actions, we are on the same side," Bucciarati continued. "It's none of my business how you ended up in that warehouse. The only business we have now is tending your injuries as I hope your team would do for any of my famiglia if you happened to find them in a similar state."

Giorno stepped closer to the bed then. "I'm afraid I can't do anything for the bruises or the muscle strain—and I'm sure that's pretty bad right now." Prosciutto grunted in confirmation. "But I can fix the bullet wound and the injury in your shoulder, as well as replace your lost blood."

Prosciutto glowered, but had no intention of fighting the brat. He had knelt and sworn his fealty to him after all, just like the rest of them had. He was just annoyed that their luck hadn't turned since Giorno had taken the seat as Don.

Giorno started with the bullet wound in his thigh, ripping the material of his trousers enough to make Prosciutto grit his teeth. He would have complained if those thugs hadn't already ruined his suit. He'd definitely have to get a new one now.

He thought he was hallucinating when he saw a golden zipper seemingly holding his skin together. His eyes shot to Bucciarati.

"We had to stop the bleeding quickly," the capo told him as he reached out and his Stand's hand manifested and touched the spot, removing the zipper and allowing blood to sluggishly flow from the wound again.

"A handy trick," Prosciutto had to admit. He gritted his teeth as Giorno bent, revealing his own Stand as it placed it's glowing hands over Prosciutto's injury.

"Gah!" he cried, grimacing at the pain of his flesh knitting back together—somehow.

"There. I just changed the bullet into new flesh. You won't have effects from any scar tissue," Giorno said.

Prosciutto stared at him incredulously as the teen turned to his shoulder, peeling his blood crusted shirt away from his injury.

"This might hurt a bit more."

Prosciutto opened his mouth to scoff, but as Giorno's Stand worked, he groaned through his teeth, fighting the urge to pull away.

When it was finally over, he felt slightly woozy again. Bucciarati had approached with a wet cloth.

"I'm sure your arms aren't going to move very well for a couple days, so let me help clean you up a little."

"Not necessary," Prosciutto gritted out, embarrassed. He tried to grab the cloth away from the capo, but his arms genuinely wouldn't work, and on top of that, the pure agony that shot through him from his neck to the middle of his back nearly had him blacking out again.

Bucciarati didn't grace him with a reply as he set to work cleaning and disinfecting his other injuries. He was not gentle by any means, but he was efficient and that made it more bearable.

Abbacchio came back in with water and pills and Prosciutto dutifully took them, resigned at this point.

"Nero's on his way," Bucciarati told him as he finished up. "You can rest here until then."

Prosciutto didn't have the energy to protest. He drifted off into a fitful rest feeling only slightly better with two of his injuries healed, and was woken later by a familiar voice.

"Thank you for taking care of him. If I had known you were going there today…"

"It was no trouble. And perhaps in future we should collaborate movements? It might be beneficial for both of us."

Prosciutto pried his eyelids apart as the door was pushed open and a tall figure entered. Both relief and a grimace passed over Risotto's face as he saw Prosciutto.

"You look terrible."

Prosciutto sighed and rolled his eyes, too exhausted to argue with the truth. "Let's just go home."

Risotto eased him upright as carefully as possible and Prosciutto bit his lip to bleeding so he didn't make a sound. At least his leg was fixed so he could mostly walk by himself if not without pain.

"We'll discuss more soon," Risotto told Bucciarati as they passed the capo.

Bucciarati nodded and opened the front door for them.

Risotto eased Prosciutto down into the passenger seat of the car and closed the door for him. Prosciutto leaned back, eyes closed as he heard Risotto get in and start the car.

"Sorry I fucked that up."

"You got bad intel. I should have sent someone else with you."

Prosciutto clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"I'm glad you're safe, though. It was fortunate Bucciarati was the one to invade the warehouse."

And yeah, Prosciutto understood that he had been lucky. He was still a little bit annoyed, but was logical enough to understand when to let bygones be bygones.

And he felt even less annoyed when Risotto helped him back to their headquarters and Pesci ran to meet him, barely able to hold back tears. Prosciutto grunted and swore as he was squeezed by several pairs of arms, but didn't deny the support as he was helped back to his own room.

At the end of the day, he was alive, and for a man of his profession, that was about as good as it got.

~~~~~~~

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[fortune-fool02]

Warmth to Cold Touches

Vampire Joseph Joestar x female reader

Requested by: anonymous 

Request: Part 2 Joseph is turned into a vampire and hides this from Reader, but Reader finds out about it.

Vampire AU

I’m sorry this took so long! Please enjoy. 

The Joestar family had always had this misfortune thrown upon them, affecting each generation in some kind of way. So much potential snatched away far too soon, leaving a gaping hole in the hearts of those who remained, only having the memory of them to hold and love. The Stone Masks were often entangled in the Joestars, no matter what they did, how they lived, it always circled right back to those masks. 

This held no exception. It did not take much to know something was wrong with Joseph, how he went from being outgoing, loud and open to quiet, reclusive and isolated. Every phone call [Name] made to him was ignored. Every letter she sent was never returned. Worry had already started to plant itself when it first happened but now it had festered deep inside of her and whispered all sorts of things to her until she could take no more. She gathered her coat and shoes then headed out to look for Joseph. 

The first place she checked was his home. A dim light faintly glowing from one of the windows showing that someone was home, and that was enough to push her to go in. Normally, [Name] would have knocked on the front door to inform him of her presence but he would likely have ignored her and pretended no one was home, so she pulled out the spare key that he gave her before, some weeks ago now. She had not used it until now. 

“JoJo, I hope you are alright.” She softly spoke, making her way towards the front door and quietly sliding the key in and unlocking the door. Shadows dominated the building, spreading their wings like a proud hawk, wiping out any flicker of light. Pulling out her lighter, the small flame offered a tiny bit of light, trying its best to combat against the swarming shadows. Slow, careful movements was the wiser choice in this situation. Soft creaking was heard above her, someone in one of the rooms, pointing her towards where she was to go. 

Quiet footsteps made their way up the stairs as she headed up to the next floor of the house, doing her best to remain as silent as she could. The shifting and muttering became more clearer now as she neared the source. 

“-aybe I could just tell her? No, that’s stupid, even for me.” There was a tangle of emotions coating his words. Uncertainty. Confusion. Sorrow. Maybe even a light sense of pain. The sound made light strings of concern coil around her heart and give a squeeze. Joseph had always been one to mask his concern and fear behind crude and silly jokes. 

Softly, she knocked on the door, startling Joseph and yanking him from his little bubble of thoughts. 

“JoJo? What’s wron-” her words were cut off. 

“[Name]?! What are you doing here?! How did you get in?!” The panic in his tone before was only increased by her sudden appearance, when did she get here? Remaining in her spot, the [Hair colour] woman held a soft, gentle look in her [Eye colour] eyes. A look that had always made Joseph’s heart flutter. 

“I used the key you had given me. I was worried about you.” Her voice mirrored the softness in her eyes, the opposite tone of Joseph’s panicked, almost scared, tone. Wide crimson eyes flashed different emotions before trying to scramble to form a playful mask and failing, just by the way she was looking at him, he knew he could not lie to her. Not his [Name]. A low sigh passed him lips, large shoulders slumping, defeated. 

“I...I kinda....got into a fight a bit ago.” He spoke, “against a....vampire.” It was his own foolish mistake that he did not notice the stalking, hunting creature. He still recalled the feeling of sharp needles sticking into his neck, claws gripping tightly around his mouth and nose to prevent any breath from being taken. 

[Name] remained silent, quiet footsteps approaching him as he spoke. Her hand reaching to gently rest on his shoulder, immediately greeted by an icy cold sensation from his skin. Yet it was Joseph who was the one to recoiled as if he was struck by the cold. 

“Don’t. I...I don’t want you to see me like this.” He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her. Still, [Name] insisted. Gently resting her hand against his cheek and turning him to face her. Crimson eyes met [Eye colour] one. She held no fear, no wariness, nothing of that sort towards him. Instead her eyes radiated concern, compassion, warmth. 

“Joseph. I will not leave you to endure this alone.” The warmth from her touch was a pleasant feeling for him, the first proper contact he has had ever since this happened to him. “I simply refuse to. I love you, and this will never ever change that, JoJo.” 

“But-” 

“No buts.” She smiled lightly and pressed a gentle, loving kiss against his lips, feeling his tense form slowly relax against her. A light smile soon lifting his lips as he kissed back.

[brief-candle]

ᴡɪᴛɴᴇss - Yoshikage Kira.

this has been a hiatus and a half, huh?

first of all, i'd like to apologise for the wait on this. and a couple of other requests that i've yet to do, but this in particular. because this is a good couple of months old and,, omg i can't believe it. i'm so so sorry

a lot has happened. college is back, unfortunately, and i've just been taking a lot of time to myself to avoid writer's block! as well as having wrote like 3000 words for this chapter and hating it all so then purging the vast majority of it to make it like twice as dark and gritty. kinda. still kinda iffy on most of it.

hope it's at least passable, and apologies that my long hiatus resulted in,, this.

anyways! here's wonderwall everyone's favourite hand fetishist!

series: jojo's bizarre adventure.

notes: yandere, choking, minor character death, general lack of niceness here.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰ 

Work wasn't exactly stressful, but by god it was boring. Day in, day out; nine until five, nothing was ever different. Not that you'd expected anything different. It just came with the process of being an adult.

You almost snorted sardonically, thoughts wandering back to school. Back then, your head was full of dreams of grandeur, of something far better than some dead end job sat in an office, achieving nothing before death finally arrived. However those ideas were little more than delusions that would never be given the chance to develop to fruitation. Such were the realities of life, that childhood dreams very rarely were given the chance to become a reality. A truth. Something more than an unachievable, faroff pipe dream that could only be experienced through hard drugs or strange dreams that one would shrug off or forget by the time that a coffee is poured. Ah, speaking of, you could really do with one of those right now.

It was like he had read your mind, as per usual you'd found with him, as a cup of coffee exactly to your tastes had found its way onto your desk.

"Ah, thanks Mr. Kira."

You'd found yourself coming almost quite close with the man, despite him usually keeping to himself and separating home life from work. Well, as close as one could get to someone who seemed to distance himself from those who worked with him, anyway. In a way, you'd found it rather admirable. Some colleagues may have thought the same, or disregarded it entirely, with how they fawned over him. It was pretty gross to watch, but you tended to keep such thoughts to yourself. Life was easier that way, as less drama came from it.

Besides, you could see where they were coming from in a way. It was clear to anyone with functioning eyes that Yoshikage Kira was attractive, with immaculate taste that only seemed to compliment naturally good looks. Especially with his smile, which seemed so broad and genuine. You envied him in a way, with beautiful features and a smile that could make many a heart skip a beat.

Though you supposed that you were no exception.

Even now, after so many coffees brought to you and so many small sessions of idle chat, you could practically feel your cheeks redden as he spoke. Voice like honey and smooth as silk, with such a charming expression to match. You could only hope that your cheeks weren't as red as they were warm to the touch. As long as no one noticed, it would be fine. You feared you'd die of embarrassment if your little schoolgirl crush on your coworker was exposed, even at this stage in adulthood. It truly was a pathetic situation. Especially when you couldn't even dream of calling him by his first name else you'd immediately regret it from the sheer embarrassment it could bring upon yourself. Besides, no one called Yoshikage Kira by anything but his surname, seeing as he tended to keep to himself and no one was close enough to acceptably use his given name.

Then that smile emerged, and the revelation that your heart was not immune to the effects of his charm made itself known like a slap in the face. Oh, how the mighty do fall. Or how the pathetic fall further.

"You're welcome."

Just those two words, spoken like they were imbued with the very essence of charm itself, and he was gone. You almost sighed, whether from relief for your heart or some sort of wistful longing was beyond you. Perhaps it was even a combination of both, seeing as that would most likely be your only conversation with the man that day. Maybe even for the next couple of days.

That said, your cheeks felt like they were on fire. This interaction had been different, shockingly so, as there was something more than words there.

It was almost funny how things so quickly changed. From there you'd ended up in what felt like some sort of alternate dimension, as strange and silly as such a thing sounded.

"Don't kill me...! Please- please! I won't tell a soul, I swear!"

It was just a drunken night out; the first in a while and a chance to catch up with some old friends for the first time in a long while. Your separate careers had prevented you doing so for a good few months at the very least. And oh, how you'd wished it had been delayed for a few months longer. How nice it was to imagine how differently it could've all gone, to find comfort in the infinite possibilities of 'if', to seek shelter in it away from the harrowing present splayed out in front of you.

Or the lack of things splayed out in front of you, that is.

You were just a normal office worker who liked their morning coffees a little too much. This sort of strange, otherworldly phenomena were way beyond you. Was this some sort of dream? A sick joke that life had decided to play on you?

It was easy to believe that. Much too easy to fall into disbelief. And yet you couldn't do it, with your throat feeling like it was being constricted torturously slowly, closing in on itself little by little. Fraction of a millimetre by fraction of a millimetre. Tear ducts had long since dried up in your panic and sheer, unbridled fear. How useful they'd be now, adding any sliver of extra punch to your last resort: begging for your life from what you had believed to be your just-as-normal coworker.

His gaze was cold. Sharp as it seemed to pierce you completely, and only further convinced you that it was over. Useless to do anything but sit there on your just as useless, quaking legs and take the death he'd grant and hope to any and all forms of God that it'd be quick. Hell, maybe he'd just erase you completely. Like what had happened to the rest of your friends, drunkenly foolish in their suggestion to follow your coworker for the sole purpose of revealing your mundane, fruitless crush. How childish it was, and how unfathomably huge the consequences were. How what you'd stumbled in on, little more than a hand with no body in sight that he grasped so tightly onto, with a strange smell and thickness to the air. How quickly his head had snapped around as you'd all turned around the corner into the apartment's living area, bumbling and brainless as you'd almost literally stumbled upon such a horrifying sight.

The screams bounced around your head, echoing off each wall of your brain and skull and everything. Vibrating and reverberating through your skeleton, before crashing to a sudden, incomplete halting.

"You weren't meant to be here."

His voice was smooth as always, icy as it never was. You would've described it as uncharacteristically so, if you weren't so firm in your realisation that the Yoshikage Kira that you'd known was little more than a façade for this...

Whatever this was in front of you.

His eyebrows furrowed, perfectly groomed in their shape like every other immaculate thing about him, and you briefly wondered why he hadn't spoken about his obvious displeasure. You would've asked if you could, but the heaving movements of your body quickly told you the reason why.

You were laughing.

"Don't you think," and, as if you weren't already convinced your grave had been dug there and then, you decided to pipe up with your foreign, cracking and hoarse voice, "that I'd love to be anywhere but here, too? You think we followed you asking to..."

Asking to what? To continue that question, rhetorical or not, it'd require you to have an ounce of knowledge as to what was going on. You didn't even have a fraction of a fraction of a clue. And so, hysterical laughter finally grinding to a slow and weak halt, just like the rest of you, you abandoned that train of thought and speech completely.

"Just get it over with."

He was still silent, as if listening to the heightening of pride and lack of fear many humans seemed to have when realising that death at the hands of another was inescapable.

"I mean-" it wasn't even a laugh, more of a dry and desperate huff than anything else, "what are you even waiting for? I bet you're enjoying this, aren't you, you disgusting fuckin--"

Then you were cut off, a force akin to a truck at full speed crashing into your neck and

tightening

its

hold.

The prior panic and fear reared its head again in full force, limbs thrashing and clawing at thin air. You could feel the imprints of ghostly fingers around your neck, silently gasping in a greedy attempt for air and out of groundless shock as they pushed and slammed your already disoriented, powerless form into a wall and pinning you there. It was confusion, panic panic panic panic as you continued to struggle.

Air came just after the darkness threatened to invade, and your aching lungs welcomed it with open arms.

Whatever invisible, untouchable hand had grasped your neck was still present, if the grooves threatening to choke you within an inch of your life again were anything to go by.

"Now, now, now," he'd said, moving closer. Each step seemed to bring the already very present threat of immediate death closer, as if even one step into his shadow could wipe someone off the face of the Earth without a trace nor second glance. And, at this point, you'd believe it.

His mouth was moving, words spoken but drowned out by endless roars and waves of deafening white noise. You had to crane your neck to look at his face, and the hand around your throat used its thumb (? did it have a thumb? you didn't know, and didn't care to know at that point) to do so after noticing your lack of effort to do so. His eyes were daggers, and lip curled in disapproval.

You were looking at him, but all you could see were your friends becoming less than dust.

How their eyes, dull and lifeless, blamed you wordlessly with oceans of contempt. It was your fault for not stopping them, for having such feelings for such a monster. Even if you didn't know; you must've known! It was impossible for you not to notice something so inhumane lurking under that mask of pleasant smiles and warm small talk.

Even sharper than his gaze was the pain in your scalp as he wrenched your head to the side. When had he kneeled down? You weren't aware; you weren't present. But you were. Were you? Through his staring, you could see their tears and the unclosed eyes, wide and frozen in time. Doomed to shock and fear for an eternity.

"It'd be wise for you to start listening." They screamed at you, for you. To join them, that you would join them. To run, to lie down and just let him off you already. To scream for help, as if anyone who'd have offered help in the first place wouldn't have come running by now.

"What's the point?"

You were still snappy, it seemed. As if begging him to send you to meet your friends. Maybe you were. It would probably be better than teetering on the line of panic and terrifying calmness, seesawing between them with too much ease and swiftness.

"This is why you should've been listening."

He released your hair, cool and unsettlingly neutral eyes wandering to one of your hands. They were lay by your side now, having given up on your struggling some time ago. You didn't struggle when he picked one up, either, cradling it and rubbing soft circles into it. There was no reaction from you. Just apathy, letting him continue as he liked. It was easier that way, and would bring a less painful fate.

"It seems your manners need some work," neither of you were sure if you were even listening anymore. You doubted he even cared either way, with the way he tended to your appendage, "but there's time. We can improve it, can't we?"

Surely not.

Absolutely not.

If he was meaning what you thought he was meaning, you suddenly found that death seemed much more favourable. Desirable, even, rather than a resignation of yours.

"Don't stare so dumbly."

Yoshikage was quick to chide you there, and even quicker to strike you not-too-gently upside your head. Not quite enough to black you out, but definitely enough to daze you for a good while. Not that it mattered too much if you weren't fully unconscious; your chance of escaping was incredibly slim to none even if you did know the way. After all, Yoshikage's routine was perfect. Always followed meticulously. All he needed to do to make sure you didn't wander was to slot you in there as well.

Your hands weren't the most beautiful. Definitely not when compared to prior girlfriends of his, but (strangely enough) they weren't his main focus for once. It was everything else, too, from the curve of your smile to the lightening up of your eyes, to the way you styled your hair and the scent of your perfume. A combination of the small, meticulously analysed details that made you... you. And this strange fascination made you one of a kind. Dangerous, really, yet he couldn't yet bring himself to be rid of you.

Maybe one day. It would be easier to continue living that way, without you to confuse him so after a lifetime of being certain about everything he'd done. Having planned his whole life, only for you to upset it all and throw off the delicate balance.

He'd make it work. Until the day he could bring himself to rid himself of you, you'd stay no matter what. Even moreso after what you'd witnessed, after you saw what he hadn't planned you to.

Though you won't be seeing much of anything anymore, really. Three rooms maximum don't really offer much in terms of variation in sights.

[mangleschmidt]

My Jabberwocky Performance

In Grade 10th (like last year), there was this Jabberwocky performance for an english subject where we need to recite the poem. The catch is that we can do whatever we want as long as we get to recite the Jabberwocky Poem. Some did acting, some did singing, some danced, some just recite the poem like a poetry.

For me, I drew and present it to everyone. Kinda like reading a children storybook and show to children the visuals while giving emotions in your voice for immersion.

It was probably the one of the unique performances of the entire Grade 10 and also a unique take of the poem. I am not bragging when I say it’s a unique take.

It’s wack as like as in “My FNAF Mike Schmidt OC being the dad and warning about the Untitled Goose and Monokuma. Gonta summoning Silver Chariot to beat the fuck out of a buff Monokuma Jojo style” Yeah

The artstyle may be a bit wack. I’m more than willing to explain how I did the performance and what my thought process was lol

“’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves,      And the mome raths outgrabe.”

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! 

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand;      Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree      And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,      And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! 

He left it dead, and with its head      He went galumphing back. 

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?      Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”      He chortled in his joy. 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,      And the mome raths outgrabe.