#like my god all these characters are wearing his sharp edges down and now there’s a baby?????? Mr Farnon you have been softened

[tricki-woo]

FINALLY GOT TO SEE EPISODE 1 OF SEASON 5!!!!! :D IT WAS SOOO GOOD!!

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Can I just have a small bit of headcanons or a Drabble on your pick of multi Gotham boys and their hands? Like I dunno if this is weird or not but kinda like just a dive down on what their hands feel like, who’s are soft and who’s are rough, who has vein hands, who has calloused hands. Just that kind of stuff please?🙏🤭🥺 (reason being of a specific hand edit I saw on tiktok 💀, also don’t feel obligated to do this if you don’t wanna. I completely understand.)

'FLESH, [hand! hcs]

-GOTHAM!VILLAINS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Victor Zsasz, Jonathan Crane

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; gotham villains and how they use their hands on reader ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. Not pure porn but smut. Suggestive. Might be the most vanilla thing i've written? but I love this request so much and I AM A SLUT for these men. Canon typical violence for Victor, Oswald getting a little rough ;)

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “This is just my way of unleashing the feelings deep inside of me.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

I know what you're thinking.

Oswald's hands? Out of every Gotham man I could've chosen???

YES. YES OSWALD'S HANDS. Have you seen this mans HANDS? Whether they are on a knife, or in those red gloves, or if he's leaning forward on them? All predatory like...

Not to mention...the VEINS. In almost every scene I've seen of this man? His hands are VEINY. Skinny bird man is not living up to that penguin stereotype, especially not in the earlier seasons.

God- just the way he stirs the wine glass or glass of brandy. Yeah. He's thinking and wishing it was your thighs he was holding, staring into the golden swirls.

The man has some issues with being nervous during sex, but when he lets loose he lets LOOSE. And he becomes feral, desperate, grinding and PAWING for every part of you he can kiss and hold and worship.

C'mon. We see the way he grips that cane of his. The way he holds the custom made knife. The way he gets his knuckles all bloody from hitting Fish or doing his own dirty work in season 1.

Also...going back to those red gloves of his. Could you imagine? Him making you grind yourself into the palm of his hand, watching you, mesmerized at the feeling of skin on leather.

He just wants to watch you writhe from pleasure. His little true love all needy for him and his hands. Gah.

He's so flustered, by the way, if you tell him you like his hands. He's sputtering, and asking why, but that little cheeky (and villainous mastermind) part of him is making a note to use them even more.

"You-," He says with a bit of an unbelieving smile, brows furrowed, voice wavering before his face turns to a look of complete shock, "You want me to what?"

Don't get him wrong, he's listening intently to your wishes, he just looks like he's seen a ghost at your vulgarity. He's not used to being wanted.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “You can dominate the game 'cause I'm tough / This spark of black that I seem to love.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

This man might have the most iconic hands out of EVERYONE on this list.

I mean, c'mon now. When you think of leather-clad knuckle-less gloves, who do you think of?

The man, the myth, the legend himself. Victor Zsasz has the hands of a working man and he likes to use them.

These are the same hands he carries his guns in, the same trigger finger that will pump inside you while you mewl around him.

In all seriousness, though, he LOVES his hands too. They are his favorite part of his body. Without his hands, what would he be able to do? He's skilled with them. Pleasuring you with them is no different.

They are slightly calloused from the sharp edges of the guns he holds, but he's learned to use his gloves to protect them. Regardless, the old scars and marks from when he was just a boy playing with a tec-9 still remain.

Also, he canonically wears rings when we first see him in the show. Yeah, he's using that to his advantage.

You'll feel the cold metal as he drags a finger along your spine, watching you shiver. He'll do that lazy side-smirk, breathing heavily as he watches you arch up into him just from a touch.

Don't tell him you love his hands. Please, for the sake of the zsaszettes having to suffer a total EGO trip. He's taking it in stride.

But if you do happen to mention it...he's bragging about it.

Every time he gets complimented on a nice shot, he's bring you up.

I can imagine him holding someone hostage, whether its Jim or someone else. He notices them staring at the gun in his hand, full of fear, and he'll look flattered.

"Oh? Are you staring at my hands? Sorry, I'm taken." He's mentioning, off-hand, to the rando he's kidnapped. It doesn't matter if the hostage is a full on 50 year old man. "My girlfriend says she loves my hands. Y'know, life's work, and all that."

𝐽𝛰𝑁𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑁 𝐶𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “This is not the way into my heart, into my head. / Into my brain, into none of the above.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

Okay, maybe i’m just a monster fucker, but HEAR ME OUT!!

Uncut nails behind those talons of his on his costume. On or off.

Sometimes, he’ll be fully clothed, drawing scratch-marks into your skin, lowly humming in pleasure. That little spark of fear in your eyes when he draaaaaags down just right makes him go crazy.

He can’t help it. You’re his armeggedon, his muse, his savior all in one. The remedy to his madness…and you get all worked up from just a touch. It strokes his ego, like Victor, but he’s quieter about it.

Dirt beneath his fingernails, callouses and blisters from working with those damned poisons. He’s suffered a chemical burn or two, and you’ll see the small circle scars on his knuckles.

You’re like his personal test subject. He likes to study you- watch your expressions when he glides his nails down your skin, almost touching you- but not quite.

Surprisingly a tease when he finds out. He’s nonchalant. He won’t let you see the sheer arousal simmering beneath the surface.

But boy, it’s there. His heavy breathing. It affects him just as much as it effects you. The chill down your back, the shivers left in his wake. He takes his time edging playing with you.

You might need to ask him to cut them lowkey because they can be kinda painful when he’s fingering you. Or…if you’re into that little sting of pain while his tongue massages your clit through his mask.

He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s filthy.

“There you go, little mouse. You like it, don’t you?” He pauses, in thought, while you grind for friction like a cat in heat against his finger tips. “I wonder…where I should sink my claws into you next?”

That damned deep voice of his…the subtle curl of his fingers inside you. Before you know it, he’s pumping in and out, trying to elicit the most vulgar reactions from you. He can’t help it. For a man who prides himself on control…he looses it all when he’s with you.

[eintausendschoen]

They grow up so fast.

Rhea's and Cronos's kids. Yes, all together for one pic. No, they didn't fight, I didn't bribe them, no one was hurt this was a peaceful affair I am totally fine and I totally did not stitch single portraits together because it was less of a hassle.

Oh, a few of them transitioned their appearance growing up. They have their reasons.

👀 Detail below from left to right (with a few shoutouts) 👀

Poseidon Enosichthon (Enesidaone) Themeliouchos — The pale, lively kid with the always busy hands. What happened to him? A younger brother and his detached father, basically. He's excited about life in general, but still very bad at saying no to his family (or anything else), so he'll end up doing everything at once and trouble always finds him. Being the middle kid ain't always easy.

Big shoutout to @rin-solo for the huge inspiration her Poseidon design was for his clothes and armour pieces. My Poseidon doesn't believe in clothes, usually.

Demeter Sito Thesmophorus — Though she isn't technically the big sister, she always took to the task of keeping her arms open for her siblings, no matter the grief it brought her. Always will she be singing songs, in part to forget the lot bestowed on her by her brothers and her father and keep on – but also in part to give the joys of life to gods and mortals who walk her realm and feel at ease with her. As Rhea's kid she'll uphold tradition gently and firmly, and feed everyone who comes to her table, even if it costs her.

Hestia — She might be gentle, but she can never be forgotten. To all that come to her hearth she will listen and grant them protection, even if this sacred solemnity cost her the arms of a lover. She is a lover to none, and loved by all, first she receives sacrifice. Herons gave her their wings to stoke flame, brush out cold cinders. She would rather her skin be stained white by flour than black by soot, though. Her baking is still the very best.

Zeus Olympios Panhellenios — Wide are the shoulders of this son of titans, and they carry burdens of judgement across all Greece. Over the years he aquired a thick skin on them, but never do the troubles of his family wear him down for long, although the same family has brought him to the brink of constant paranoia. The jewellery he chose to wear on the day Typhon cleared out Olympus is something he will never again take off, like the memory and fear of defeat it is part of him, conductor to lightning and passion.

A big grateful nod to @justcommander for the long and wonderful talks about Typhon, he is part of all my thoughts about Zeus now.

Hera Syzygia Alexandros — The sharp eyes of this queen of queens will trace you through darkest night. By her fathers sickle and her great veil she safeguards and upholds sacred laws and traditions and unions, and as protector of men her word triumphs. A guardian of women, she neither tolerates betrayal nor does she hold the cutting edge of her jealousy back for the sake of those who must obey discriminating law against those who the same law allows to overstep a hallowed bond of two. The shade of Baphomet suits you, honey.

Hades — In form and might and character he outgrew his father by far. He is still the same quiet and thoughtful person, but despite the darkness, he, too, is a guardian of life, a keeper of flames. In his gentle hand rests the light of life, on his other arm coils the means to give it, to take it away. Fiercely he rules over the line between realms, allowing hardly any crossing, but on a late summers evening he'll walk the golden shaded groves among the company of all flowers of the earth, too.

See, lovely @ruthlessness69 , how confident he has grown? The kindness of your Hades helped him. A lot! Ask Persephone, though, she'll tell you that he can solve his beloved crosswords without extra light, because he is still a big glowing kid in his heart.

All designs by me. Rhea's aspects come with a broader frame, more pronounced colours and animal traits, and no fear to show skin. Cronos shows in matters of lines, contrast and temper, and a certain tendency towards introversion.

So, what do you think? Next level eldritch? 🖤

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

BABES IM ON THE FLOOR 😭 I watched this Price Voice Lines Video and my god 🫠 His voice is so deep im litrally insane. Could you maybe do something with his lines around the 13:35 mark, where he’s being a self-sacrificing jerk? 🤭 Maybe the Reader is with him on a mission or something and like their both super protective and trying to save eachother or something ❤️

All, Most, Some, None

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS:  Snow melts in the heat of blood.

WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, major character death(s), some fluff in the beginning, protective!Price, pre-relationship pining, obliviousness, blood, bullet wounds, hurt/no comfort, etc. no happy ending

A/N: You know I have to finish out my requests with just pure heartbreak.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You look out over the dark landscape and take down a breath as the atmosphere of the camp behind you murmurs like a warm drink. Night had fallen swiftly two hours beforehand when you’d first volunteered to take watch, your smile bright and eyes eager. Snow was just beginning to slide down from the gray sky, thick clouds hanging like a navy cloth—splotch marks of yellowish stars a far-off glimmer of infinity. 

When the footsteps echo out, coming to your position, you already know the weight and pace of who it belongs to; can trace the way his feet will conform to the dirt and the crunch of white powder. A grin flickers your lips easily but you don’t bother looking over your shoulder. 

John huffs as he takes his place beside you on the lookout, crossing his arms over his chest. In the corner of your eye you spy on his loose yet measured face, that authoritative edge that seeps into his skin at times. 

For a long moment, the two of you look out over the earth, studying the dips and drags of the Northwest Territories of Canada in early winter. While cold, the jackets the both of you wear take the chill off well enough. Along the body of your MK14 EBR, your fingers rest casually—no need to be tensed and ready. Your sharp eyes hadn’t spotted anything for eons. 

“Sitrep, then, Sol?” You hum under your breath as John looks over at you with a raised brow.

“Rabbits and Caribou, Sir.” Your voice goes teasing, “I think we’re boxed in from all sides—I suggest immediate evac.”

A low chuckle and a firm shake of a beanied head, a puff of condensation as the darkness seeps over all to be seen. John glances at you with a smirk.

“Unfortunate, seeing as we just got here.” You smile and laugh deep in your throat. It was at moments like this that you thanked whatever deity was out there that Captain Price had seen your potential all those years ago. 

He’d handpicked you when you were nothing but a Private—brought you up with knowledge and stern, yet gruffly companionate, assistance all the way to Lieutenant. You don’t know the exact moment when you started to get flustered around him. 

Your chest is tight right now, fingers that were once cold going clammy as you twitch them. Inside your chest, your heart pounds blood into the thin drums of your ears like boot-thumps. Clearing your throat, you shift your feet and push out, “Did Laswell get in touch?”

“Ah,” John shakes his head, taking a breath as he says, “Negative. We’re on our own for this.” He turns his head fully to you and for a moment you’re enraptured by the shine in the depths of his blue irises. Teasing, “Think you can handle it, then?”

You turn away quickly, face burning. 

“Doubt me?” Matching his jab you smile widely. John chuckles and jerks his shoulders, grunting as his chin tilts. 

“Never.” Hiding the violent burn of your cheeks, you look at the landscape quickly, nails tapping the metal of your gun. 

“Sol?” John speaks after a moment of tight silence. You blink over with an interested look, cocking your head. The Captain had shifted to fully face you, and one of his hands itches at the side of his finely-trimmed beard. Fast eyes glance over your form like a studious teacher—your lungs still inside of your ribs. John mutters, “Stick near me tomorrow, yeah? Want you on my six.” 

Touched, your brows still furrow with confusion. 

“Don’t…you need me to lead Unit Two?” John’s already shaking his head, gritting his teeth. It’s like something’s bothering him. 

Feet taking you forward, you grab onto his bicep and stare into his tense face with slight concern. “John?” You ask, lids narrowing. 

The man stills at the sensation of your touch, even separated by the layers of his gear and jacket. Eyes slip to yours and lightly soften, the edges easing in their relentless wrinkle of dark thoughts. Like the star that your codename emulated, you seemed to be a ray of illumination for the Captain, and John’s nose twitched before his eyes quickly looked away from your open face. 

It wasn’t right to think the way he did about you. 

“Just have a feeling, Love,” he shakes his head slightly, clearing his throat. Your hand drops from him and he stops himself from snatching it back. 

You smile at him, huffing a laugh. 

“Well, who else’ll be able to take my place, then, seeing as you’re so eager to have me by you?” Gazing behind you into the small camp, John grunts, keeping his eyes on you. A small smirk slips over his lips and pulls his beard back.

“Daniels has got it…copy?” Your throat hums in consideration before you nod in a firm flinch of your head. 

“...Alright.”

“Good.” The Brit shifts his feet and the snow squeals. Snowflakes collect on the top of your head, sitting atop your scalp like tiny insects as the swell of your mouth goes back in a grin. John blinks at you, and before he knows it, he’s extending his hand up to his beanie with little thought beyond how lovely you look like this. 

He plops the fabric down on your head and you snap a hand up to press into it in shock. The man’s large frame slinks back as he takes his leave with you looking back at him; his feet make tracks, leading away to mirror the ones that came before. 

“Don’t get a cold, eh? I’ll expect you to be back in your tent within the hour, Lieutenant.” Face burning, you can’t answer. 

Blue eyes peek over a wide shoulder. Something sparks in those met gazes, a pinprick of wonder and deep affection. Perhaps it was even love.

The snow falls faster, and as John disappears into the darkness the chill of the open ridge suddenly seems less violent than your pulse as it thumps to the humming of the earth. Hiding a giddy smile, you look back out and rub at your neck; hat upon your head perfectly ingrained with a scent of charcoal and pine. 

—

“Leave me! I won’t make it!” The words made your stomach drop through your intestines. Shouted over the open line John’s voice barks the order like a knife with break-neck efficiency. No hesitation. 

It had all gone to shit in a matter of hours. The sun was just on the horizon, spreading its hands of dawn over the camp that was awash with blood and bodies. Enemy soldiers, the ones that your squad was tasked with taking out within the next day, had killed the next sentry on duty after you and stormed your position. 

To think you were minutes away from being that very sentry was mind-numbing. But now the real problem was the state of the camp. 

John had been hit through the right thigh.

Taking cover behind a large pine tree, you dart out at every other interval to fire rounds into anything that dashes like a wild animal into the open. Most of the squad was dead—the rest scattered in the sparse cover that was offered or in the process of dying. Snow melted in the heat of crimson fluid.

Spying the downed figure of your Captain, you growl and sprint out before you can talk yourself out of it, taking the recoil of your MK14 EBR into your shoulder and teeth gritted. John writhes on the ground, trying to maintain control over the remaining forces as his leg is limp and useless. He growls out in pain as his head hits the ground behind him. 

“Fuck!” He shouts. You feel a bullet whizz past your head as you skid down to your knees beside him. 

“Sol!” He glares at you as you survey the damage quickly, ducking when the metal projectiles get gradually closer and closer. There’s shouting in the far treeline; death cries. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!”

“You’re stupid if you think I’m about to do that to you!” You yell, jerking your gun up to release three bullets into someone who had burst out with a raised assault rifle. Pain flares in your left bicep, but you barely notice it beyond a strained, instinctual, whimper. “I’m getting you out of here.” 

Panic had gone as deep as your DNA, seeing the large pool of blood around John, his venom-laced words that stem from agony.

“Leave! Fucking hell, Lieutenant, that’s an order!” 

“John,” you shout, “shut the fuck up!” The man’s eyes go wide with shock. It wasn’t often that you swore at him. 

Making your hands dive under your Captain, you loop your hands behind his shoulders and latch at his armpits. With all of your might, you shift and begin dragging him backward into the trees; gritting your teeth at his pained yell and the bare of his own pearly whites.

Moving like this was stupid, you wouldn’t be able to take out your gun without dropping John—and you certainly weren’t going to do that. Not on your life.

“Christ,” the Brit groans, and you frantically watch the blood trail he leaves behind along the ground. Like a rabbit who’d gotten his leg bit off by a wolf but was still trying to run.

There was too much blood.

Agony explodes in your side, but you keep dragging backward with a new hitch in your lungs; eyes awash with tears before the air leaves you with a ragged and violent gasp. The sounds you hear from all around are horrible—the screams and the popping of rapid-fire shots. Sucking down oxygen with a vile cough, you get John behind a cropping of rocks and have to settle him down as you hack into one of your arms; chest shuddering.  

There is a pressure inside of you that digs into your flesh, but the adrenaline floods your brain over the alarm bells, drowning them.

You pull back your arm to see blood. But it doesn’t matter—not now. Not with John like this.

Looking down, you stare into his eyes while you get to your knees by his side. His gaze is wide and stuck at your abdomen with panic, where you already know the damage a bullet can do. 

“Love…” he begins, but his fingers curl into fists of pain instead. John breathes heavily, and when you look down to his thigh you find far more than one bullet. 

There were three, all spaced out in an arch. One at his thigh, one up on his pelvis, and the other directly in his stomach. Your eyes widen with mute horror, mouth stuttering as your throat closes. 

“Yeah,” blood bubbles from John’s mouth as he chuckles in quick gasps. “No good, eh?”

Tears build in great waves, but you force out, “No,” growling, you feel your own blood stain your gear and clothes. No exit wounds for either of you, you can already tell. “No, John—not like this.”

“Sweetheart,” he tries, but you grip the beanie on your head and shove it into his stomach, pressing on the wound there as he wheezes and you sob. 

“No, John!” A large hand finds the back of your hair, and you shake your head wildly. 

Blue eyes stare with regret and torment before darting back down to your wound. You can feel it—you already know; knew the moment the stray bullet hit you. 

The both of you…

“I’m sorry,” he says, quietly so that you have to strain to hear it above the noise. “I’m sorry, Love.” With a shiver of intense throbbing, the strain growing, you dart forward with waning strength and place your lips to his. 

Bloody hands grip his cheeks, slipping over his beard in fruitless desperation. Blood coats your mouths, but the moment of pure love and tenderness takes over. For a minute you can both forget the chill of metal and the blood pooling to the ground. The shaking in your muscles.

You can forget that the both of you are dying.

John keeps the back of your head to him as strength begins to slip. When you pull away with quivering limbs, his thumb weakly brushes your undereye to dispel the bitter tears. He hums with wet eyes. 

“I never got to take you out, did I?” You slip down beside him, shivering and losing heat not only because of the snow. Limbs grow heavy and in the back of your mind, you know you should be afraid—terrified. Maybe you were.

The comment makes you want to scream and rage and wail. 

“No,” you instead say, laughing through a sob at the cruelty of it all as you latch onto him. “No, you didn't, John. But I’m here now. I’m right here.”

Eyes slide over your face as you stay near him; waiting. A tiny smile as his bloody fingers brush your cheek. 

“When we get back I’ll show you ‘round Hertfordshire,” you both know that will never happen. His forehead knocks against yours. “You’ll love it, Sweetheart. Know you will.” 

“I will,” you promise, knowing you can’t. The world besides both of your eyes swirls. “Anywhere with you, John, is worth going.”

It’s obvious what you mean.

John presses his lips back to yours with one last whispered breath of his vow. “I’ve loved you since I first saw that beauty of a smile.” 

The two of you whisper promises and secrets as the gunfire dies down, lips making up for all of the times you should have kissed before and now don’t have the time to. Eyes don’t leave each other as the blood keeps flowing into two large pools of crimson sin. You’re drowned in it—flooded in it. 

You should have told him sooner.

“I’ll find you,” you whisper, eyes fluttering. But the body is long cold. 

You let your muscles loosen as the last of the fight leaves. Content, even in this, but for the simple fact that John’s arms are around you forever in this moment of endless infinity. The sky rolls back, and your last view is of him.

—

In the snow, preserved by the elements even weeks later, they would find your bodies, curled amongst themselves as if to protect one another. They would say that it had been because you were cold, freezing, and bleeding out from your wounds that you’d huddled for comfort. But that wasn’t the truth. 

The two of you had never been warmer than when you were with the other. 

What they couldn’t account for were the twin smiles on frosty lips.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[saturnsorbits]

Walk This Way

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Kink Discovery, A Touch of Foot Humping, Shoe Appreciation. Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Kink discovery with Kirishima: Heels.

A/N: I've been toying around with random kink/character generators and this was the first thing it spat out, so here's my Kirishima + Heels offering.

Kirishima's throat is dry.

It shouldn't be.

He's seen you get dressed countless times and apart from the occasional stiffening in his jeans (You're hot and although, gentle, he is, but a man) and him having to avert his eyes occasionally, for decencies sake, he's never felt like this.

Licking over his lips, he readjusts his seat on the edge of your bed and subtly rests his forearm over the crotch of his pants. From his perch he can see you through the half-ajar door of the en-suite. Your hair and make-up is already done and you've slipped yourself into a dress that is positively sinful. It's new, something he's never seen you wear before and damn, he thinks, do you wear it.

So lost is he in his daze, wondering just what it is that hides under the delicate lace and thin straps he doesn't quite register you slipping out of the bathroom and heading towards him.

Tilting your head, you prop a hand on your hip and tilt your head. 'I'm taking the slack jaw to mean that I look alright, then?'

Kirishima coughs the saliva from his throat and shakes his head. Reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, he tries to ease his tension with a thumb digging hard into the muscle. 'Yeah, you look... You look great.'

'Good.' Turning on the balls of your feet, you slink over to your wardrobe and bend to rummage in the small shoe rack slipped inside. 'Let me just throw my shoes on and we can head out, yeah?'

Nodding, Kirishima turns his mind to the mundane – point blank refusing to stare at the curve of your ass as it pokes up and out of the wardrobe. God only knows what hot water he'd find himself in if he allowed himself to stare. 'S- Sounds good.'

'Can you -.'

The air is knocked clean out of Kirishima's chest when you turn back to face him. You're wearing shoes now, heels, tall black things with a strip of material that bars across your toes. At your ankle two black straps hang loose, waiting to be tied.

Swallowing, Kirishima lets his eyes trace the heels. He gains a whole new appreciation for curves as he looks at you.

There's a delicate bend to your foot now, a subtle 'S' that pushes you up forcing the muscles of your calves to tighten. It's too easy to loose himself, becoming absorbed in the jutting bend of your ankle bone, to the long stretch of your calves that leans out stretching wide around your knees before giving way to plush thigh and an ass he can tell by your posture is pushed out enough that he'd be able to slip behind and grind against.

Still, his eyes slip down again.

Despite all of that, it's somehow the heels that stick out.

'Do you mind?' Tottering towards him, you take three measured steps crossing ankle over ankle before coming to a stop directly in front of Kirishima. 'I can't -.'

Kirishima nods before he really knows what he's agreeing too and gets the broad flat of your foot almost square against the crease of his thigh for his trouble. The pressure, as gentle as it is, has his cock stirring in seconds as he reaches for your ankle on reflex.

'I can never get them tight enough and I don't want to feel like I'm going to slip out of them all night...' You complain, pouting.

It's the soft jut of your lower lip that seals his fate. Kirishima smiles, flashing the sharp edges of his teeth before attempting to steady himself as he reaches for the first of the straps.

His fingers are rough when they drag across your skin, but his touch is nothing but soft as he loops the strap and begins to fiddle with the clasp. Using a thumb to steady himself, he lets his knuckles brush against the roof of your foot before covering it with his palm as he finishes with the second strap.

'Thanks...'

Adam's apple bobbing, he chooses to ignore the fact that you use a little too much pressure when you pull back your foot. His cock twitches, almost fully swollen in the confine of his pants as he waits, patiently, head down for his next task.

This time, when you place down your foot, you do it harder, with purpose and a little closer to the undeniable swell in his pants.

To test a theory, you tell yourself.

A theory that is easily proven when you feel his cock kick against the sole of your shoe.

Kirishima blushes bright. Everything from the tips of his cheekbones, to the slither of pec visible between the low cut of his shirt burns.

It makes you wonder just how low the colour travels. 'Oh...'

'I... Uh...' With shaking hands, Kirishima sets about clasping the next strap. In his vein's, his blood thrums, heart beating almost out of his chest as he waits of your next move. He wonders if you'll call him out, label him a pervert and kick him out of your apartment, but all doubt is clearly forced from his mind when he feels you shift.

Pressing your shoe firmly over his cock, you press down and rock forward earning yourself a moan that vibrates through his chest. 'You like that?'

There's a wet spot on his pants now, he can feel it. The seam rubs at his cock, chafing slightly as he tries and fails to stop his hips from rolling.

Something heavy crawls into your voice as you watch him squirm. Who would have thought, Kirishima Eijirou brought to his knees by a simple pair of heels.

'You do, don't you?' This time, when you press down a large hand wraps around your ankle, but he doesn't do anything to stop you. Instead, he tilts his chin to look at you, exposing the naked lust in his eyes and whines. Licking your lips, you press harder still. 'Go on then, I know you want to...'

Bucking up, he grinds against the sole of your shoe, revelling in the dull throb that comes with the stabbing of the heel at his crotch. He can't help himself. Pleasure builds in his stomach with each roll of his hips bringing with it a new bloom that has him close to cumming in his pants like a teenager. At either side of your ankle, his fingers loosen, twisting to wrap around the shoe itself as he feels his way along the sole of your foot.

'You really like that, don't you?' There's a darkness in your chuckle as you settle into the power you now hold.

His voice is gravelled when he answered, lost as he feels the telltale sign of his end nearing. 'Yeah, fuck... Fuck, I'm -.'

'Go on... Cum for me.' Pressing down exceptionally hard you watch as his whole body tremors. The muscle in his thighs and back tenses, the hand around your shoe tightening as he almost curls over on himself with the sheer force of the orgasm that tears through him.

It leaves him breathless, disoriented almost, as reality comes crashing down on him with a viscous intensity only rivalled by the orgasm still ebbing from his body. Swallowing, he looks up through his eyelashes at you and offers you a nervous smile. 'I – Fuck, I'm – I'm sorry, I -.'

You shake your head, blinking as you try and focus past the steady pulse of your cunt. Slowly slipping your foot off of his lap, you slink closer until you can straddle his hips. He's broad, forcing you to stretch your thighs wide enough that your cunt presses flush to his already re-stiffening cock. Linking your hands behind his neck, you play with the strands of red there as you press your nose to his and whisper into the air between you. 'How about round two?'

Kirishima's eyes blow wide before he pulls you in with a strong hand wrapping your jaw. The kiss is hungry, full of soft nicks and the flick of his tongue against the seam of your lips. Pulling away, he licks across his teeth, tasting you before growling: 'The heels stay on.'

-> Masterlist

[voidcat]

— the maker, far away and the muse, ardent

characters: endo yamato, you

notes: this is more in the style of my typical dazai content so iykyk. artist!reader, gender neutral pronouns used. small picture of dorian gray reference. a mini post explaining my vision for this fic basically

Drawing Endo Yamato is a tricky feat.

Despite his simple looks, you realize there are more details to him that meets the eye. Sharp edges and curves, eyes and lashes that cut through, wavy locks of hair that fall with an order to itself.

It is difficult but so is to create. That’s the thing with art, and that’s what you love about it until the very end.

No matter how hard, how detailed something is, no matter how long it’ll take you to reach that level of skill required to make it, it is never impossible.

And so you sit back and keep observing him, smoothing out the page before you, you sharpen your pencil.

Despite the numerous pages adorned with his face, you’ve never spoken with Endo Yamato, not even once. Nor did you feel the need to.

Does god often seek an audience with their followers, does a nature artist eat the apple even after days of mold has accumulated— does everyone kill the thing they love? Or do they just leave it be, to their happiness or misery.

To you he is nothing more than a pretty face, beautiful features and an impressive body, one he uses as his own canvas, recording his life and feelings onto his skin permanently.

Endo Yamato never sits still, as if offering a challenge to you. Another thing that helps you in the long run, your pen begins to hasten, your sketch line improves and you begin to remember and transfer every small detail of a millisecond to paper without breaking a sweat.

It begins piece by piece, part by part. When one thing proves difficult to grasp, you have no choice but to dissect it one by one.

You begin with his structure, how he carries himself and his body. You have confidence in your figure drawing but it takes something extra to show off his pride and nose high up attitude in his posture. You don’t know Endo Yamato all that much but you know enough that you don’t like him or his kind at all.

Then comes the face, the edge of his jaw and the softness to his cheeks despite coming off as thin. It’s the details that prove the real challenge. When drawn apart, be it his eyes or the hooked nose, you’re good. Yet the way they have been placed on his face, you have to remake the dough figurine over and over again. His hair proves a great distraction, you’d suppose it is the real source of your problems. It hides everything characteristic to him, every small detail, the arch of his brows, the wrinkles on his face when he smiles or furrows them, the angle of his nose and how the bridge comes down, the light in his eyes though they are absent majority of the time.

You sketch over and over, the pencil glides off the pages. You change the materials but the subject remains the same. Noticeable changes begin to appear after some time. You’ve lost for how long you’ve been drawing, but it comes natural now.

So you switch up the medium, and try the process from the start with watercolors. The uncontrollable nature of the medium met with the difficult subject growing familiar on your muscles perfectly.

Too perfectly in fact, as you are lost in the thrill of it, that you don’t even notice how time passes nor the shift in scenery unless it contradicts your paintings— and you’re slouching over the papers once more, face contracting in focus as shadows disturb your view and lighting.

When you steal a glance above, you’re met with not a cloud but none other than Endo Yamato himself.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets and his confident yet relaxed posture, he glances down at you and the papers, wearing a smug smile the whole time.

You wait for a moment of breath then divert your attention back to the work before you, adding shadows currently.

You hear him let out a slight grunt, and maybe you’d see his expression shift into something of surprise too, were you to be carefully watching.

“It’s sublime knowing I have a fan.” He says, still not stepping one step to the side, adamant on blocking the light apparently.

His words register far too late for you, you let out a hum at first, “hmm… oh?” The sound fades into surprise on your end, “ah, no, you see-“

You dip the brush into water and to the shades of blue and purple, mixing and lightening the amount of paint on the brush. 

A tapping of feet brings you down to earth and reminds you for once you are not alone in your leisure time of painting.

“Ah… sorry.” You say more as an apology for forgetting he was right there up until a second, “it’s nothing like that.”

Your words take him out like a chain of inconveniences following one after another, building up until you’ve lost your temper.

You don’t notice this either, focus solely on perfecting the shading, calling it another painting done and complete.

To Endo, your nonchalance is odd to say the least. Here he stands, the subject of your attention for many a while now, from what he has seen, and you don’t seem to care one bit. Or is it the paper that is holier than him? Or is this another, albeit looser case of Takiishi, not caring for the people but for their reflections, their end products, what comes out of them and the hand that crafts them into something bigger, brighter.

Along the lines Endo Yamato says to you, you do catch something like ‘having the real thing before you already.’ An enlightenment perhaps, a revelation you didn’t need nor asked for.

So he is a charmer, you think, or tries to be. Considering the things at hand it’s the former most likely— walking up to you without a care in the world as if you’ve interacted before. It takes some sort of confidence, as most charmers carry with them. He is just not trying it to the fullest with you, but is it because he thinks he already holds a part of you in his hand, you’re unsure.

In the short timeframe of thinking over a man you couldn’t care any less, you notice your brush staggering, slowing down. Any more and the drops of water will be too much for the paper, ruining all your hard work on this completely.

“So… listen,” you begin, cutting off whatever he was saying. “If you don’t have anything important to say, would you mind-“ 

You wait and wait for him to catch on. Instead met with empty eyes looking at you with not a single clue inside that brain of his, you let out a sigh.

“The light at this hour is very good and you’re making me lose it minute by minute right now.”

Endo looks at you, in disbelief again. Not the reaction he was expecting and definitely not the words he expected to hear. And compared to how quiet and just shy you sounded up until the last sentence— that last demand, all that timid nature of you dispelled within a second. 

Deflated, he admits his defeat for the time being and leaves, stealing one last glance at the paper.

As the man leaves, you watch his back for a bit, waiting for your brush to dry.

Odd, you think. 

What did he really expect you to do or say? 

You may not know Endo Yamato but all you’ve observed is more than enough to deem him as weird. You are somewhat aware he is filled with burning passion down to his very being but that’s just not who you are as an artist.

The views people have on you, and by extension, on artists has always been far fetched from what you’ve seen.

Must art always be loud and intense, waging war upon any heart that gazes at it? Should you too be destructive and heavy— not all artists see their subject like Basil to Dorian, not all art is an all consuming fire, an endless devotion, a declaration of war. Art can be natural and gentle, like a breeze, like a stream of river.  Love can be accepting and gentle, unifying and kind with the familiarity it brings, the comfort hidden in the routine, as he fails to see.

By the time the painting has come to an end, darkness has fallen. Endo Yamato has already left, and the sunlight soon after him. The sky begins to darken, purple spreads of paint among the clouds. You turn the page and leave today in the past, crossing another thing off the list and moving on.

[kaiboone]

Here is my playlist that I listen to when I’m writing Twisters fic! ^_^

it includes a few songs from the movie, songs that remind me of the fics I’ve worked on, and some that I think the characters would listen to— mostly a lot of country and (as per my own headcanon) classic rock :0

Its also pretty long, so I’ve added little details abt why the song is on the playlist, and you can pick and choose what you want to listen to or skip the ones you already know :P

The fics in question for reference vvv

Getting Over It • Skip to Next Summer • Carry On

🦂Rusty Cage by Johnny Cash

Could apply to any of them— this song reminds me of Scott and Javi’s unhealthy relationship

🌌Skip to Next Summer by Homestyle Dinner Rolls

I’m sure you can tell which one this reminds me of— it even inspired the title! Lowkey I think it’s a must-listen if you’re really liking that fic

🪩Sharp Dressed Man 2008 Remaster by ZZ Top

This one is for Getting Over It lol, makes me think of the scene where Boone and Javi are going through Boone’s old clothes together

🌵Circle K Acoustic by Ricky Chilton

This one’s mostly for Skip to Next Summer bc that’s the fic where they spend the most time out in the middle of nowhere. I think Tyler would like this song lol

💀God’s Gonna Cut You Down by Johnny Cash

Javi listens to this song in Getting Over It :0 it makes him think about his guilt regarding the decisions he made in the past

🌾Arkansas by Chris Stapleton

This is one from the movie :) good for Skip to Next Summer because that fic includes storm chasing scenes with the same positive tone as the movie

⛪️The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie by Colter Wall

For Getting Over It bc it sort of reminds me of Javi’s business dealings in a metaphorical sense.

🍃Feelin’ Country by Thomas Rhett

Also from the movie. Sort of reminds me of the happier moments Boone and Javi have together in both Getting Over It and Skip to Next Summer

🎸Safari Song by Greta Van Fleet

One of the songs they listen to in Getting Over It <3 pretty dang perfect for their stupid situationship

🛤️Ain’t No Love in Oklahoma by Luke Combs

Of course I have to include this one!! I love it sm.

🍻C’mon Down by Poor Man’s Poison

Another one that Javi had on his playlist in Getting Over It

♥️Closer by Nine Inch Nails

Doesn’t really match the genre, but it really matches the way Javi thinks about sex in Skip to Next Summer. It’s sort of a double edged sword; he’s so obsessive about being “good enough” for Boone, he’ll ignore his own interests. Still, it’s not inherently a bad feeling for him, it’s just the way he’s programmed after having been taken advantage of for so long.

🔥Highway to Hell by AC/DC

Just for funsies!! I think Boone would love this song. He and Tyler definitely sing along to all their favorite songs on long roadtrips

🌩️Steal my Thunder by Connor Smith

Another from the movie— any country love song makes me think of them. The exciting new feeling it carries is reminiscent to the second year Javi and Boone have together in Skip to Next Summer

💌I wanna know by tea

Okay this is the odd one out 💀 it’s just really sweet and sad, and perfect for how Javi feels about Boone in Getting Over It. Like, they aren’t quite close yet, but he really wants to be

💋Kiss Me by Homestyle Dinner Rolls

More nonsense about Javi and Boone finding solace in one another regarding their respective unrequited feelings for Kate and Tyler. Every line is perfect as always. Like, “holding on until it breaks me” SHUT UP “I need to know what life is like without you in my head” SHUT THE FUCK UP

💥Dead End Road by Jellyroll

This is literally my favorite part in the whole movie Boone is so cute I love him with all my heart

☠️Come with Me Now by Kongos

This is a song that I think Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers would listen to (and have fun dancing to hehe)

💫Taco Bell by Homestyle Dinner Rolls

This song is perfect for Skip to Next Summer Boone/Javi ^_^ it’s so cute!

🪶Blackbird by The Beatles

Something something recovering from grief and learning to move on— omg Getting Over It what are you doing here??

🐍Greedy Man by Poor Man’s Poison

Another one about Javi being a little bit of a snake when it comes to business

✈️Too Easy by Tanner Adell

Another movie one lol. This one is super fun! The Twisters soundtrack really is my favorite :]

🦴Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi

Another one for them to listen to in the car— this one especially reminds me of Carry On, because the song was also featured in Supernatural and that show served as good inspiration for that fic

💕You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC

A song they listen to while cooking together in Getting Over It <3 also foreshadowing to when they fucking FUCK like 1 chapter later

☀️Salió El Sol by Don Omar

Just one more song from the movie :P

🦟American Kids by Kenny Chesney

I love this song <3 it doesn’t have a lot to do with the story that each fic tells, but rather it reminds me of the way I think Tyler and Boone grew up together

🌙Go All The Way by Raspberries

This song reminds me of Getting Over It Boone/Javi— tender and a little uncertain, but still very enthusiastic

🐾Sleeping on the Blacktop by Colter Wall

A song that Boone definitely loves. He is obsessed with cowboy stuff and songs like this are his favorite

🌸New Flesh by Current Joys

Okay nvm THIS is the odd one out lmfao— It reminds me of the way Javi feels in Getting Over It; like absolutely no one in the whole world cares about him. Also for the mention of staying awake all night to avoid having nightmares, that’s very Skip to Next Summer Javi

🌪️Ain’t in Kansas Anymore by Miranda Lambert

How could I not. But yeah, it really captures the draw of storm chasing that Boone feels in all my fics— especially Skip to Next Summer. Also, “You’re torn apart like a trailer park, but you still can’t wait ‘til I come back around” is soooo Boone/Javi coded you have no idea

🌺Sink the Pink by AC/DC

This song was mentioned early on in Skip to Next Summer, as one Tyler plays when they’re storm chasing and Boone is showing off for Javi

🐄Ghost Riders in the Sky by Johnny Cash

This song is in the movie ^_^ I love it

🥃Good Times Bad Times by Led Zeppelin

Applicable to all of the stories, but especially Getting Over It

🧨Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap by AC/DC

For the vibes mostly :P

🏜️Highway 61 revised by Dave Alvin

Another just bc I think it would be on Ty’s playlist

🧳Help! By The Beatles

For Getting Over It. Javi just needs help for the first time like ever and it freaks him out

🎣Already Had It by Tucker Westmore

More dumb country love songs from the movie <3

💰Providence by Poor Man’s Poison

A lot of Poor Man’s Poison songs remind me of Javi’s business bullshit

💞Tear Us Apart by Sam Barber

This is a rlly good one for Boone and Javi’s relationship in Skip to Next Summer ^_^

🔪In Hell I’ll Be in Good Company by The Dead South

Some more country music for singing along to in the truck

🚪Never Left Me by Megan Moroney

“Came back a different me, but it’s good to see you’re still you” come onnnn come on come on oh my god. “I bet you knew that I’d be back the day you watched me go” COME ONNNNN “now here you are all open arms” RAAAAHHHH (its giving Skip to Next Summer. Javi feels most at home when he’s with Boone ❤️)

🛞Should I Stay or Should I Go by The Clash

This one inspired the title for the first chapter of Carry On because it’s upbeat tempo reminds me of Addy, but it also sort of reminds me of the unsure yet playful tone of the first little bit of Skip to Next Summer ^_^

🍒Cherry Pie by Warrant

This is one that I almost included in my chapter titles lineup for Carry On— maybe that’s a little bit of spoilers for the direction that story is headed oops 👀

Anyway that’s all! Tagging @amelia-mariee because you replied to my initial post <3

Also pls lmk if any of the links are mixed up 💀

[kookaburra1701]

Fic Lines! The Wives of Shor

I was tagged by @dirty-bosmer, @sylvienerevarine, and @mareenavee! Uh, I have many, many (so many fics on the go, so I chose Wives of Shor (unpublished WIP) because then I have technically three fics to choose from.

A line from your fic that makes you laugh (from Moth to Flame)

In caves like this it was nothing new to see fleeting movements at the corners of his vision, only to turn his head and find nothing. But two pale-blue glowing dots appearing in the middle of what had appeared to be a blank wall were something new.

"...Kaidan?" Lucien was looking at Kaidan, seemingly unaware of the strange phenomenon over his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

A line from your fic that makes you sad - (from Moth to Flame) I published this is a previous WIP Wednesday, but pretty much any time Kaidan thinks about Brynjar makes me sad.

Repeatedly Kaidan tried to still his thoughts and center himself, but every time he attempted to begin a breathing exercise, his thoughts would turn to Brynjar, and a sharp pang of guilt would lodge in his chest.

A line from your fic you're proud of (from Moth to Flame)

The waters of Lake Ilinalta were smooth as glass, broken only by the occasional ripples of a fish breaking the surface. Fog hovered over the depths of the lake, obscuring the opposite shore as the first rays of sunlight turned the eastern sky pink. A pair of thrushes sang from the underbrush, and were answered by another farther down the lake shore.

The haunting call of a loon, muffled by the mists, echoed over the lake as Kaidan walked towards the water's edge.

A line for your fic you think could have been better - (from Moth to Flame) since this is still a WIP, I'm hoping the true form of this line will reveal itself to me. It's very stilted.

"Gods, everyone was there. The General, Jarl Ulfric…even the Thalmor Ambassador. If even one of them did not escape, the war is going to get complicated very quickly."

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character (from Moth to Flame)

"You're one of the Riverwood levies, aren't you? The Battle-born family paid that armor you're wearing, will pay for its replacement, and pays part of your war-wages. As head of that family, I'm telling you to do what your jarl commands."

Hadvar's face darkened, but his tone was coolly civil. "I'm not a levy, sir. I took my oath before the war."

"So then my family's coffers paid for all that and your Legion training in Cyrodiil!"

A line from your fic that makes you go 'aww' (from Moth to Flame)

Kaidan laughed quietly, the ale making it easier to find the mirth in the statement. "You fret about the rabbits I shoot. You don't like anything or anyone being hurt."

"You're not just anyone, Kaidan."

A line from your fic that's full of symbolism (from Kaidan Peregrine)

Lucien’s body felt like it was burning him where skin touched skin, but Kaidan pressed eagerly into that warmth, now feeling as if there was a chance he might not be doomed to eternal chill.

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg - (from Moth to Flame) Lucien is not actually squeamish about Arvel's body, it's one of the hints that Wives of Shor takes place in the same continuity as another WIP, What Waits 'Round the Corner

Lucien was standing as if rooted to the spot, staring at the face of the dead Dunmer, his own skin matching the paleness of the spiderwebs that formed the bandit's death-shroud.

"This must be that bauble the shopkeep was yammering about." Idolaf withdrew his hand from the Dunmer's belt pouch and held up a cunningly crafted gilt dragon claw.

Blinking and swallowing Lucien averted his eyes from the body and took the claw from Idolaf, color returning to his cheeks as he examined the artifact.

At least he can put aside the squeamishness for the glint of gold. He might just make an adventurer yet, thought Kaidan.

A line from your fic that's shocking (from Wolf at the Door)

The metal in Kaidan's hands was now white hot, the acrid smell of singed leather made his eyes water as his gloves began to burn - but still he held on, muscles knotting like ropes against the force trying to overcome his grip.

For a brief moment he was prevailing; then Auriel's Bow shattered into countless glittering pieces.

A line from your fic you want to talk about more - (from Moth to Flame) I learned how to write in Dróttkvætt meter to give Jon Battle-born a proper skaldic song to sing. Ho boy is English not meant for kennings.

Doom-smoke rose from drake's corse Death-struck by Ir'leth's hand! Blood spilled red and boiling By Whiterun watchmen strong! Swords fine-honed as hawk's claw Hew'd deep through scale to bone. War-fell'd Tsun bids welcome Whalecross'd Shor's Hall awaits!

I tag @nientedenada, @thana-topsy, @greyborn2 @gilgamish

[acefiree]

𝗯𝗮𝘆! 𝗹𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗼 | cuddly teddy bear ⁽ ² ⁾

Leonardo ✷ Alaska ( pining friends ) MASTERLIST 2012! – BAYVERSE!

ᕦ(๏益๏)ᕥ: cringe humor, third pov, turtle anatomy, pining like a damn idiot, Raph being the big softy we know he is, spidergirl persona, all characters are 18+, NSFW scenes, and Leo being a fucking simp. wordcount: 1565

⁽ ¹ ⁾ ... ⁽ ³ ⁾ , ⁽ ⁴ ⁾

"HAVE YA' ATE TODAY?" Raphael questioned, his Brooklyn accent bleeding through his deep voice. He stood in the threshold of the bedroom as his eyes observed the small ebony-haired twenty-year-old carefully. To anyone else, his tone would have come off as rude, and seemingly irritated. But to Alaska, she heard the underlying concern.

Guilt festered in her chest for only a moment as she figured the red-banded turtle was worried for her health again, and she felt herself wanting to shy away from his observing eyes. She took a moment to answer, leaning forward in the old chair that was resting beside the bed as her elbows found a spot on her knees.

Honestly, she didn’t feel hungry and no, she hadn’t eaten yet, and it wasn’t like she was trying to starve herself; she just didn’t have an appetite.

“Donnie brought me a pop-tart,” she told him without looking back, and it wasn’t a lie. Early that morning, at the butt-crack-ass of dawn, the purple-wielding turtle had busted into the room as if he were on a mission, practically forcing the sugary snack down her throat along with a glass of milk.

She was still traumatized by the events that took place.

Raph was silent for a moment, eyes trying to see her face to look for any indication of her lying before he asked, "When was that?"

Damn, persistent ass turtle. She thought as she kept her gaze locked on Leo as if staring would somehow magically wake him up. “Um..I dunno,” She lied to him, knowing if she was to tell the truth, he’d drag her from the leader's side and she couldn’t have that.

He let out a gruff grunt "Fine. I'll ask Don—"

"Oh my god—this morning!" Alaska was quick to snap, her face pinching in annoyance as she swiveled around in the chair to face him. “Are ya’ happy now?”

Raphael couldn’t stop the twitch from his lips as she gave him her normal attitude, “Yep,” he answered, an award-winning smirk now growing as his perfectly sharp white teeth peeked out from between his scarred lips. Even though he was wearing his usual confidence, Alaska could still see the underlined concern in his gaze as he assessed the dark circles under her eyes.

She turned away from his stare once more, hoping Raphael would just buzz off and leave her alone so she could watch over Leo in peace before having to train. She should have known better though, because just as she settled back into her seat, large hands were placed under her arms and her body was suddenly levitating as she was placed over the edge of a very familiar chipped shell.

"Raphael Hamato put me down!" She screeched in a pitched voice, sounding like a knock-off pterodactyl as she kicked her legs in an attempt for him to drop her. She knew if she really wanted to, she could overpower the turtle and escape, but she didn't want to risk hurting him.

The terrapin only chuckled, tightening his grip around her thighs as he bent through the doorway to make sure she didn't hit her head as he kidnapped her. "Would ya' stop squirmin' before I drop your ass,"

"That's the damn plan you big oof!"

He didn't reply to her words, but she could feel the vibration of his chuckle through his carapace as he walked down the stairs and took her to the dining area, placing her in a chair like a fucking baby. She frowned at him with narrowed eyes, her arms folding over her chest as she watched him go to the icebox and pull out some leftovers from the night before.

"Raph, I'm a grown woman, I don't need to be fed like a baby." She reminded the turtled as he fixed a plate and placed it in the microwave to heat it up.

Raphael turned back around to face her as he leaned his shell against the wooden counter, large arms folding over his plastron as he turned his gaze to her with a lifted brow ridge, "Oh really? 'Cause it sure as hell seems like ya' need to be treated like one,"

Alaska made a noise of offense as her tongue hit the back of her teeth and she sharpened her eyes on him in what she hoped was a threatening glare, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Before he could answer, the microwave beeped and he turned, pulling the plate of food out before passing it to the girl with a fork. Her eyes followed him as he moved to lean against the counter again, being too big to sit in the chairs occupying the dining area. He lifted an expecting brow ridge, and she nearly groaned as she realized he wasn’t going to leave until she ate. So, with a sarcastic wave of the fork, she stabbed the food and made a show of taking an over exaggerated bite.

Raphael rolled his eyes at her antics and folded his arms over his chest, muscles flexing as he placed his fingers around the bicep, "This is what I meant...ya' can't starve yourself, Rebel. I understand you wanna be there when Leo wakes up, but ya' can't kill yourself in the process." Long gone was the normal gruff tone he usually used and was replaced with a strange softness she wasn't used to coming from her best friend.

Alaska paused in eating, her eyes shifting away from his face so she didn’t have to see that look of concern anymore. She took a few more bites of the food before pushing it away, her stomach clenching as it ached. How could she explain her lack of eating when she didn’t even understand it herself? A deep sigh passed her nose as she lifted a hand to run her fingers through the mess of waves on her head.

"I'm not trying to starve myself, Red...I just lose track of time when I'm up there with him."

Her words weren’t completely a lie. When she was up there, watching over the unconscious leader, she would be so lost in her inner turmoil to realize how much time had passed.

Raphael nodded, his large shoulders lifting as he leaned more onto the counter and crossed his foot over his ankle. His eyes drifted back to her face again, “I know...jus' worry me with how long ya' stay up there — I know you don't sleep."

Alaska looked away again, suddenly finding her fingers more interesting as she suddenly felt like a child being scolded. “I can’t sleep…” She slowly admitted, this being the first time she had said it out loud.

It had been three months since New York was invaded. Three months of being stuck on the farm, and it was three painfully long months of no Leo. Her lack of sleep started a few weeks in, and it was only getting worse with each passing day. Alaska didn’t know what was wrong with her. The stress of whether Leonardo would ever wake up keeping her mind busy.

She honestly didn’t know how she was still going, seeing she was only running on a few hours of sleep, and she only got that because she dozed off in the chair beside the bed, only waking up when Donnie busted in to feed her and do his routine check-up on Leonardo.

Her attention was brought back to Raph as he let out a deep sigh, running a hand over his face, stressed.

"Jus' promise you'll start takin' care of yourself, Leo would kick my shell if he woke up and saw how ya' looked right now,"

Clucking her tongue, she gave him a mock-offended look, "Damn, Red, you really know how to make a girl feel pretty." She joked, trying to lighten the mood so he'd stop stressing over her.

Her chest swelled with pride as a smirk twitched onto his scarred lip and he gave her a look, shaking his head. "Ya' know me, gotta make sure my girl feels appreciated.”

She laughed and he seemed to soften at the sound.

"Saska! Raph! Time to get your asses kicked!" Mikey bellowed from outside, urging them to turn and look out the kitchen window to see the youngest turtle. Michelangelo was doing odd-looking stretches and trying to do some weird ass ninja shit, punching at the air while flinging his nun-chucks around before pulling a stunt, epically failing as he face-plated the ground. “Totally meant to do that!”

Alaska let out a snort, shaking her head at the orange-clad turtled as stood up to place her food back in the icebox, promising herself to finish it later if she felt hungry. She turned to face Raph with a lifted brow, “You ready to get our asses kicked?”

His mouth kicked up into a crooked grin, "Our's? Rebel, yer' the only one that's gonna get their ass kicked," and with that, he left her in the kitchen as he went outside to get ready for training.

Alaska shook her head with a soft smirk on her lips before her gaze gradually drifted to the staircase that led upstairs. Just a few hours. She told herself as she went outside to join the brothers.

[britishassistant]

Trick or Treat? (I'd be fascinated with whatever you want to share!)

Aah, thank you so much!! Happy Halloween!!

And for your treat…well, here’s a crossover between Hannibal and the Magnus Archives that’s been sitting in my notes for years now. Hope I got the characterization right!

Warnings for character death, Hannibal-typical mindfuckery, and Flesh-typical ideation of cannibalism.

The forest around Wolf Trap is dark and deep.

Will can hear the crunch of hooves nearby, stepping delicately over packed leaves and loam.

But…something’s off.

The forest is too quiet. Even at night, there should be insects and movement, the song of birds of prey feasting in the dark.

There is a silence. Too deep, too thick for it to be normal.

The silence of a predator stalking.

Prepared to strike—!

The forest bursts into noise. The crunch of claws over leaves. The patter of darting hooves. The snarls and snaps of toothy maws.

Abigail, eyes wide and wet and frightened as they stare down at him, stifling sobs.

The Ravenstag bolts.

Teeth lunge, snap.

Bring it down.

The meat is left unfeasted on, to fester, to rot.

Will Graham wakes up on a sofa.

It is not his sofa. He could never own anything as plush and luxurious as this, firm packed goose down supporting him even as it cradles his weary body.

He’s at Dr. Lecter’s then. But how? The last he can remember, he was at Wolf Trap—

There’s the smell of something burning.

Will pushes himself up, hobbles over to the kitchen.

Four dinner plates, stacked neatly on the countertop.

Forks, not nearly so neatly posed, scattered as they are. Silverware drawer still slightly ajar.

There are the trimmings and trappings of a meal. Root vegetables, sliced wafer thin. A dirty bowl, smeared with the remains of oil and herbs and spices. A hunk of unidentifiable meat, waiting on a chopping board and glistening pink with its own juices and marinades.

Another, larger joint going black in the pan.

Will switches off the heat.

Something prickles down his spine that Will can’t name. Doesn’t want to name.

“Doctor?” He calls. “Dr. Lecter?”

Something crunches underfoot.

There’s broken glass on the floor.

Will follows the trail to one of the windows

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is lying in his foyer, the front door wide open. His eyes are wide, mouth gently parted.

No need to check him for a pulse, part of Will thinks hysterically.

Not when his throat’s been so violently savaged only the vulnerable vertebrae and cartilage of his spine still attach the head to the rest of the body.

Hannibal leans against the filing cabinet, full of easy grace.

“Tell me, Will.” He asks quietly, gently. “Why do you think that I was killed?”

Will exhales, shaky.

You aren’t supposed to talk to hallucinations.

Julia Montauk does not look like she has the right to be Hannibal Lecter’s killer.

A tall woman who somehow manages to make the orange jumpsuit she’s wearing look scruffy. Running the edge of one filthy nail under the other, trying to scrape out the black remains of god knows what. A rangy tenseness to her frame, a false show of casualness that betrays her eagerness to strike.

Will feels bile boiling in his stomach at the sight of her.

“You can hear it too, can’t you?” She leans forwards, eyes blown wide. “The call to chase down those bastards that think they’re top dog. To make ‘em quiver, make ‘em scared, make ‘em run. To Hunt.”

For a moment, Will feels a sharp cold across his face. An itch in his trigger finger. The specter of Garret Jacob Hobbs stares out from her face.

Hannibal’s hand comes down on his shoulder with all the force of a slammed door.

Will’s stomach roils in protest.

“Those who have suffered abuse in childhood oft-times find themselves trapped in relationships with a new predator during their adult lives.” Hannibal tilts his head. “Why do you think that is?”

Will shoots him a glare. “…This better not be a weird form of victim blaming.”

A flicker of a frown passes over Hannibal’s face. Recrimination. “Will. Being obtuse does not become you.”

Will raises his hands in mock surrender, then pauses to think about it.

“…Those who prey on others look for insecurities. Vulnerabilities.” He says slowly. “Chinks in armor that they can twist themselves into. Survivors have those because they’ve been through more battles than most.“

Hannibal nods, a pleased smile spreading over his face. “And often lack the proverbial blacksmith who would reinforce said armor for the battle with the next dragon. How could any wyrm resist such an opportunity?”

“So, what?” Will busies himself drying Buster, trying to ground himself in the scent of wet dog and the feeling of damp fur. “You’re saying that these…these things and their ‘avatars’ are coming for me because I’ve had the misfortune of surviving one of them?”

“Hyenas pride themselves on stealing from those greater than them.” Hannibal stands, walks across to examine the bookcase behind Will. “Many of the entities, the Hunt and the Eye among them, delight in tormenting those who have escaped greater threats than they.”

Will gives an absent nod as he chews his lip, wholly unprepared for Hannibal to continue, “Or those who serve them.”

He stops.

Buster lets out a whine, nudging his nose against Will’s shoulder.

“Wait.” He twists, stares up at Hannibal. “You aren’t saying. You, you weren’t—?”

Hannibal smiles, indulgent and proud.

“No.” Will insists. Denies. Pleads. “No, you’re. You’re a hallucination. You’re in my head.”

“And it took so long to put myself there.” Hannibal purrs, stride slow and purposeful as he stalks towards Will. “So many meals, only the choicest morsels for someone as dear as you. To whet your appetite. To feed the impulses I saw could free you. To know you as intimately as I wished you could know me.”

He kneels as Will rears back, hands slippery with sweat. “And you, my dear Will, you ate so well for me. You partook.”

His hands are warm as they cup Will’s face. Too warm. Much too warm for what should only be a hallucination, a ghost, a memory—!

“For my Flesh is food indeed and my blood is drink indeed.” Will quotes, without quite knowing why. Without letting himself understand why.

This close he can see every wrinkle in Hannibal’s face that crinkles with delight, with undisguised affection. “I wish we had more time. More chances to prepare you, to nourish you before we were set upon by scavengers. But you will not be alone, Will. I will never let you go hungry.”

The scents of Hannibal’s dinner table fill the small house. A communion, for the two of them alone.

Saliva bursts in his mouth.

“Let me be your armor, dear Will.” Hannibal whispers. “And we shall feast on any who presume you to be prey.”

[ace-of-hearts-and-spades]

Okay I had to read this twice bc it was so scrumptious that I wanted to savor it again and also I needed the second reading to organize my thoughts. We’re coming out of the tags for this babyyyy. Anyways. Somewhat coherent ramblings under the cut.

I’m obsessed with how you captured Randy and Benson as characters. Benson’s sharp, sudden movements that always seem to have an edge of aggression and unpredictability – immediately and sharply driving off the road to switch places with Randy, grabbing the jacket to use as a pillow. And sticking his head out of the window like a fuckin dog!!! He fuckin would!! I can fucking picture it. And Randy flinching at almost every damn thing, every noise and movement. Mentally playing out the things he wants to do and say but struggling to actually do them. Wanting so badly to be helpful and be trustworthy and be good for Benson. Sweetie you are down so bad and you don’t even realize it.

As always, I’m in love with the visuals and descriptions you use. I’m just gonna throw some of my favorite bits in and commentate on em okay. Okay.

“Fear still gnaws at the edges of him, jittery and mean like rats in the walls, but it’s not the same.”

MMMM fuck yeah this is good shit. 10/10 imagery. Perfect for these two.

“He gets out and the breeze hits his face, smells a little like home and a little bit different.”

FUCK DUDE the visceral longing this line hit me with……… oof. Just OOF. And then Randy wondering if he and Benson could see all the 50 states together. God.

“He's been wearing his shirt for two days now, the smell of stale cigarette smoke working itself into his skin. It's like he's being assimilated, wrapped in a cocoon of brash words and an army green jacket.”

Oh mannn. Within the span of a couple days, Randy’s life has been so irrecoverably changed and torn off course because of Benson. They’ve become intimately familiar in a way that isn’t quite covered in a single word, but maybe assimilation is the best way to describe it. A sort of codependence that neither intended and neither can quite pull themselves out of. Something something the lines between you and me are starting to blur something something. So wonderfully captured here.

And Benson calling Randy “Good boy”??????????? Hello????????????? God??????????? I need to sit down I need to think about this. Good Lord. Yeah I think Randy would enjoy being told he’s a good boy, IN A VARIETY OF CONTEXTS 👀 but nay we shan’t linger on that. Onward we go.

“It's a cute snore, kind of nasally and pitched higher than his voice. He slams the door on that thought the moment it arrives, shoos it away and casts a guilty look over at Benson.”

BUDDYYYYYYYYYYYY YOU’RE DOWN BAD FOR HIS UNSTABLE ASS DON’T LIE TO ME. It’s always the lil disarming things. And then the section where Randy thinks about Benson pre-everything, about the two different “sides”…….. man. Much to ponder. Much to think about. And wanting to be someone Benson can count on. Oughhh that got me in the heart a lil.

“His shirt rides up and in the dark of the dawn Randy can just make out the triangle of hair on his stomach. He bites his cheek.”

I think I’m going to be ill actually ‼️‼️………. AND ON THAT NOTE I THINK I’LL STOP. I’m rambling a lot and I’m not sure what I’m saying is making any sense, but I hope Randy and Benson find a lil motel to stay at and oopsie maybe there’s only one bed HMMMM sdhgshdsd. This was FANTASTIC and I’m obsessed and I’m thinking so many thoughts about them rn. Good good GOOD fuckin shit here. Delicious. Thank u for this meal Meg this is canon to me 🙏💜

the driver

it turns out I am chewing on them every moment of every day. I'm sure this fic will permanently satisfy the hunger of course ✨🌷🙃

2.3k words. character study happy ending post-credits type beat where everyone lives and drives off into the sunset together. pre-slash but Randy is so down bad he doesn't know how to cope. nobody do the math on mileage or drive time I made it all up Minnesota isn't even real

They’re about 50 miles over the Missouri border when Benson asks him. 

“You think you could drive, man?” 

Randy looks at him sharply, not sure he heard him right. He must not have heard him right. 

Benson glances over and his eyes are bloodshot beyond belief, the skin beneath them dark and hollow. His crow’s feet have multiplied. “I gotta sleep, Randy, or we’re gonna end up in a ditch.” 

After a beat of careful consideration, Randy nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I could–I can drive.” 

The car lurches to the right as Benson pulls over immediately, puts it in park and slumps in his seat. His head falls back against the headrest and he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck.” 

Randy watches him with an intent he can feel but can’t parse, hasn’t been able to parse all day and the night before and the day before that. He stopped being scared, really scared, a while ago. Fear still gnaws at the edges of him, jittery and mean like rats in the walls, but it’s not the same.

He’s no longer afraid Benson might kill him. He’s afraid he might decide he doesn’t need him anymore. And those are different things. 

Benson’s big hands drop into his lap. He stares blankly through the windshield at the half-set sun, exhausted.

Randy has the urge to touch him. To clap a hand on his shoulder, give it a little shake. He plays it out in his head. Yeah, man. I’ll drive for a while. Don’t worry about it. Get some rest.

His hands stay clasped between his thighs. 

“Don’t really know where we’re goin’, so I guess you can just pick a direction,” Benson says. “Anywhere but back that way.” He shoots Randy a pointed look, but the point is dull and bleary. 

Randy nods. “North. I got it.” You can trust me. I know that sounds like bullshit, but it’s not.

Benson pours out of the car like his bones are dissolving. He stretches mightily, arches his back and groans loudly, and Randy flinches and doesn’t know why. 

He gets out and the breeze hits his face, smells a little like home and a little bit different. He gazes down the highway, tracks it all the way to where it disappears beyond a sun-washed hill. He’s never been this far north before, never been out of Louisiana except for a family reunion in Florida one time. 

He wonders, for a second, if maybe they could see them all. All fifty states. Benson’s car might not make it that many miles. But it would be something. It would be cool. 

“You sure you’re good?” 

Randy turns, squints into the sun. Benson is lit from behind, face in shadow, but Randy can feel his eyes, the way they probe like fingers at his mouth, his neck. 

“I’m good.” 

Benson taps his fist against the roof of the car. “Super.” 

They trade sides, cross paths in front of the bumper. Randy slides into the seat and it’s still warm from Benson’s body. He feels like he's sitting in his shadow. He's been wearing his shirt for two days now, the smell of stale cigarette smoke working itself into his skin. It's like he's being assimilated, wrapped in a cocoon of brash words and an army green jacket. He presses his spine against the backrest and folds his arms around himself without thinking about it. 

Benson yanks open the door and snaps him out of it. He sits forward and feels under the seat for the lever to slide it up a few inches, touches something sticky, makes a face. Benson’s got longer legs than he does, even though they're about the same height. Benson is big in Randy's mind. Or maybe Randy is small. Does Benson think he's small?

Like he can read his mind, or thinks he can, Benson shoves his seat way back. “Jesus, Randy, you’re allowed to take up space,” he mutters as he pushes the backrest almost horizontal. 

No one’s ever told him that before. Does Benson know no one’s told him that before? 

“Don’t wreck my fucking car.” 

“I won’t.” 

“And don’t get pulled over.” 

“I won’t.” 

Benson nods once like a punctuation mark. “Good boy.” 

Randy exhales heavily. 

He buckles up, hesitates as he sets his hands on the wheel. Ten and two. He slides them together to meet at twelve, where Benson always grips the wheel with half a hand, pointing at things, eyes anywhere but the road, talking with his whole body. Then he slides them back to ten and two, at least for now. One thing at a time.

He signals before he pulls back onto the road even though there’s not another car in sight. He presses the gas gently, like he’s wiping a smudge off someone’s cheek. And just like that, they're back on their way.

Benson’s car is old as shit and runs like it’s doing him a favor. It takes Randy a minute to get used to it, the resistance of the pedals and the way the wheel is about as sensitive as the bottom of a work boot. He’s careful with it, not because it’s old or unreliable, but because it’s his. Because he’s trusting him with it. 

He’s the driver now. 

Benson moves in his periphery, fast and sudden like he does, and without meaning to Randy jerks, jerks the wheel. Benson gives him a look, reaching around for something in the backseat. “Sorry,” Randy mumbles. 

“Just be cool,” Benson says with his jacket in his hands. He balls it up to use as a pillow, shifts around, settles in and shuts his eyes. 

Be cool, Randy repeats to himself. Be cool, be cool. 

“Are you…going to buckle your seatbelt?” he asks. He’s been waiting to ask. Now seems like the last opportune moment. 

Benson opens his eyes and looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What are you, a fuckin’ cop?” 

Randy feels his face flush. He looks away. “Sorry. Do whatever you want.” 

“You know if you slam on the brakes and I’m layin’ down like this I’m goin’ through the windshield, seatbelt or no.” 

“Do whatever you want,” Randy says again. “I’m just…trying to be safe.” 

Benson grabs the seatbelt, yanks it across his chest, clicks it into place with attitude. “Happy?” 

Randy glances at him and away, almost smiles in spite of himself. Yeah. “Yeah.” For once, he thinks he might really mean it. 

Benson grumbles and closes his eyes. He fidgets for a while, bullies the jacket into a different shape, but soon he falls still and quiet. Randy figures he has nothing left in the tank after the events of the last thirty-six hours, nothing more to give to Randy or anybody else.

He drives like the backseat is full of fine china, nice and easy, until Benson starts to snore. It's a cute snore, kind of nasally and pitched higher than his voice. He slams the door on that thought the moment it arrives, shoos it away and casts a guilty look over at Benson.

He’s never seen him look so at peace. There's a tension missing from his face, a furrow between his brows that Randy only registers in its absence. He wonders if he has nightmares like Randy has nightmares. Probably. Probably worse. But there’s no sign of them now; he’s too wiped out. 

Now that he’s not waving a gun around and yelling, he resembles the old Benson. The guy who greeted him at the start of each shift with a casual wave and nothing to say. The man who moved like he was in a dream, seemed checked out completely until you caught his eye and realized he hadn't missed a second of what was going on around him. Not even the little things. Not even Randy.

As the miles wear on, he wonders which Benson is more real, the quiet one or the loud one. Maybe they’re two sides of the same coin. Maybe everyone has someone else inside of them, raw and bright, harder to swallow. Randy always figured he was the only one slumming around with that particular burden–the monster of his guilt, his anger, feelings too big to unbottle lest they rip him in half–but maybe he was wrong. He's been wrong a lot the last couple days. 

It doesn’t probably matter which is more real because he likes them both:  the Benson who once followed him out the back door under the guise of a smoke break to make sure he was okay after a particularly egregious run-in with Chris, and the Benson who beat the shit out of his own personal boogeyman in the parking lot of an elementary school until his hands bled. Randy understands both of them. Feels a connection to both of them. Knows he can count on both of them when it matters. 

Randy leans back and feels it then, feels it all, the world shrinking behind them, the past pinned to it like a poster on a corkboard, the dying sun to his left and the man on his right and Benson’s fingerprints worn into the leather of the steering wheel. And it's exhilarating, it's amazing. It's freedom and possibility. Hope, even.

And he desperately, deep in his bones, wants to be someone Benson can count on. When it matters or doesn't. He knows he isn’t a fighter or a talker, but he cares. He cares so fucking much sometimes he wants to bite through his own tongue. Maybe that could be worth something. For the first time, sitting in the driver's seat on the run from the law, he thinks maybe that might be enough. He might be enough. 

He has Benson to thank for that, too.

He hasn't felt like this since he was a kid. Maybe ever. Light. Free. The way the highway unfolds in front of him forever makes him feel like maybe he could fly. He kind of wishes it would rain and he can't say why. Only that he wants the air to smell like wet asphalt, like dirt. 

And he wants to thank Benson. He doesn’t think he can, like, he can’t just say it. Thanks for killing all those people. It really opened my eyes. Thanks for scaring me shitless, I needed that. No way. He’s gotta be cool. Find some other way.

He reads the names of towns he’s never heard of on the highway sign. They’ll have to stop somewhere eventually, right? Get a motel room or something. Benson deserves to sleep in a real bed. Randy would love to sleep in a real bed. Probably they’ve got to lay low a little while longer. Probably two states north isn’t far enough. 

Benson drives like a grandma. Randy hasn’t said anything, but he figures they could be at least to the border of Iowa by now if Benson wasn’t so hung up on driving three miles under the speed limit and calling it “flying under the radar,” even as cars peeled by them on all sides. 

But he’s the driver now. 

He realizes this is something he can do. A way to repay him, just a little bit. Randy didn’t get them into this mess, not exactly, but he can get them far, far away from it. Safety, serenity. A place where no one knows their faces. He can find that for Benson. He can take him there. He can make sure he wakes up somewhere better than the shithole behind them.

He eases his foot down on the gas, coaxes the needle on the speedometer up and over 80. The car huffs a protest, but it obeys. 

Good boy, he thinks, and he smiles. 

Benson stirs just after they leave Iowa. It’s still dark out, but the horizon is starting to bleed pink. He sits up slowly, stretches, nearly elbows Randy in the face. “Fuck,” he groans, “what time is it?” 

“Breakfast time, almost,” Randy says. “Just looking for somewhere to stop.” 

Benson blinks around the sleep in his eyes, peers through the window into the dark rushing by. “Where are we?” 

“Wisconsin. Or maybe Minnesota. I’m not…a hundred percent sure.” 

Benson furrows his brow. “Jesus Christ, Randy. You break the fuckin' sound barrier?”

“No,” Randy says calmly. “Everyone speeds on the interstate. You just keep an eye on it, it's fine.”

Benson gives him a long look and for a second, Randy thinks he might be mad. But then he breaks into a grin, chuckles, shakes his head and stretches again. His shirt rides up and in the dark of the dawn Randy can just make out the triangle of hair on his stomach. He bites his cheek. 

“Speed Demon Bradley. Who’d’ve thought.” Benson yanks the backrest up, sits back and looks out with fresh eyes on new scenery. “You got a destination in mind, captain?”

Randy does. Has for the last few hundred miles. “Yeah. I was thinking…maybe Lake Superior?”

“What's so superior about it?”

“I don't know, it's…really big. Like…huge. I just thought…it would probably be pretty. I’d–I’d like to see it.” With you. I'd like you to be there too.

He glances over and Benson is staring at him with an odd look on his face. 

“...what?” Randy says. 

Benson starts nodding, frowning thoughtfully, then reaches over and thumps Randy on the chest. “Then let's go see it.”

The impact echoes through his heart and lungs. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah. Randy makin’ decisions.” Benson claps his hands once, loud. “I like it. You wanna go see some big fuckin’ lake? I'm all for it.”

Randy fights a grin and doesn't know why, so he stops, lets it come, feels the stretch of it across his face. “Cool.”

Randy looks over and thinks he’s beautiful. Bloody knuckles, bad attitude, and all. He lets that thought linger for one, two, three seconds before it blows out the window like a wayward receipt.

“Cool.”

Benson rolls down the window and sticks his head out like a dog. The air whipping into the car smells nothing like home. His hair blows back and he squints into the wind, the early sun kissing his cheeks pink. 

“I can take over,” Benson offers over his shoulder. “I’m guessin' you need a break.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Randy squeezes his hands on the wheel at ten and two. “I got it. I'm good.”

And he really means it.

[brisbookmark]

The Three Times Jason Wasn’t Saved- and The One Time he Was

Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: detailed descriptions of torture, angst, character death, blood, needles, knives/ cutting, batfam au where the gangs all here, Robin!Jason, reader can summon weapons, sad ending

One

His head hangs, he doesn't have the energy. His feet barely touch the ground, and yet he makes no move to stand himself up. They're tingly and fuzzy and cold, as are his hands that are tied above his head. 

Jason Todd hangs in chains like a slaughtered pig, and his breathing is hoarse. His dull blue eyes land on the bloodied crowbar laying on the floor. It's his blood, and it makes him groan in pain. Hyper realization of his injuries hits him and he whimpers. It's low, pathetic, and his breathing picks up.

He doesn’t remember how to wear clothes that aren’t covered in dirt and grime and acid. The fabric of his robin suit sticks to his skin, blending with his wounds. Every small move of limb sends fires of pain throughout his body, and he tries his hardest not to make a sound. 

The Asylum wing is freezing and he’s cold, skin almost blue. He shivers every once in a while- it’s different from when the Asylum is scorching hot and he feels like he’s in hell where he belongs. The hair he used to keep so elegantly messy, it's dirty and scorched and matted and greasy against his head.

And he’s scared.

He knows that if he looks up, he'll see pictures. Taped to the dusty and damp walls of Arkham Asylum. Red circles trace each of their faces, and whether or not it's paint or blood he doesn't want to know.

It’s blood, it’s always been blood.

He can't bear to see their faces right now. Barbara, happy and smiling next to Dick as they enjoy a Gotham carnival. They're happy without him, he always held them back. He was too dependent on Barbara as a sister figure and was just an annoying kid to Dick, they're better now. 

Bruce. With a child on his shoulders. The son Jason could never be. A new Robin, one that could properly fulfill his duties. He was the failure, he was never going to be what Dick Grayson was. Maybe his replacement could, his replacement wouldn't let himself get captured.

Barbara and Selina and Alfred who had only ever taken care of him.

All with red targets around them. Everyone he'd ever cared for. Marked.

Everyone except Y/N, who's picture lay in pieces on the ground. Unlike the others, it wasn't taken by Joker's goons, and it wasn't recent.

It was her student ID from their first year at Gotham Academy. She was young, really young, eyes still bright and skin untainted by the scars of vigilante work. And she wasn't even looking at the camera but rather off to the side, caught by surprise when the photographer flashed his equipment. She hated pictures, and going to school was never a part of the deal. She’s mid laughing and so alive and happy in a world where Jason never hurt her. 

He'd stolen it soon after it was taken, sticking it in his wallet so she'd be forced to ask him for his own. You couldn't access the Academy Library without one after all. 

And the Joker had found it in his pocket and took it and ruined it and tore it and left her in pieces in the corner, her name never spoken from the maniac again. 

Jason assumed that was good. Better to be left in silence than threatened and marked for death. Hell, he couldn’t remember how long it's been since he’s seen her, and he softly starts to whisper her name. She promised him a night out once he found his mother, 

No, he couldn’t. 

Maybe the Joker couldn’t find her, hadn’t figured out her identity. He could keep her safe.

"What's that my boy?"

"No.. no," Robin pleads, the voice of nails on a chalkboard sending fear into his every bone. "Not again, not again."

The Joker comes into view and a weak cry comes from Jason's lips. His body jerks and another cough wracks his body, warm blood spilling from his mouth. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, punctured lung, he has no idea what it could be. If only Alfred were here, or Dick. To let him rest as they fixed him up, took care of him.

His chin is grabbed harshly, the bruising making it worse. The Joker laughs, pushing his face upwards and close to his own. He can smell death and acid on this villain, and Jason whimpers again. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

The robin doesn't answer. He can't keep track. He tried counting the amount of times Joker visited him, but then again, that was most likely more than once a day. And sometimes it was Harley, or a low level goon dressed like Batman and Nightwing and Batigrl and her. 

Time is a blur to him, he's been in pain too long. Everything hurts, even if someone were to save him now, he feels practically gone already. 

He wanted someone to save him.

"What about it Jason? You think Bats will come? Save his precious son?" The Joker prods, mouth wide.

Jason wants to say it. But the words dont leave his mouth. 

"Go on, don't be scared Jason. Tell me, tell dear old Joker."

"HE'LL COME FOR ME!" he yells, and it uses all his strength to just move his jaw.

"Even when he's better off without you?" The Joker asks, and he bends down to lift the bloodied crowbar. 

No. Please, anything but that. 

"He's going to! He has to!" Jason screams, and then tears start streaming down his cheeks.

The metal finds its way onto his hip, sending his body swaying helplessly as he cries. 

"Tell me, who's hurting you?" The Joker asks, grin never leaving his face as he hits Jason again. 

"Please stop, I'll do anything," the boy pleads, desperately trying to think of anything else. If only the Joker would end him now, let him go free.

"Who's hurting you Jason?"

"YOU!" He shrieks, the crowbar smacking painfully across his chest and ripping at the skin. It's like his lungs have collapsed, he no longer has bones. 

"Wrong!" 

"The, the Joker-"

"WRONG AGAIN MY BOY."

Jason looks up at the pictures on the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pours into his mouth and he spits it out, shaking in his chains. "Batman.. batman is hurting me."

The next hit never comes. "Attaboy," The Joker mutters, and then he leaves.

Two

He returns the next morning. Jason assumes it's the next morning, as he's in a new purple suit. Harley gave him a dosage some odd amount of time ago, it must be a new day. His limbs are numb, his wrists are cracked and bleeding. He tries to keep his tongue in his mouth but his jaw is slack and disfigured, it’s increasingly difficult. 

Jason hasn't slept in days. Dark circles accessorize his black eyes, it's a miracle he can see at all.

The green haired man sets a timer in the corner of the room, and the Robin's brain goes into endless loops of trauma. The crowbar, the explosion that almost killed him. His mind wandered to warm arms pulling him out, thinking Bruce had pulled him from the rubble. Except it wasn't his father at all.

Batman hadn't even tried. 

"Jason." The Joker says sweetly, walking around the boy like a predator. The robin is helpless, he's lost all feeling in his limbs. "I thought I might tell you a story today."

The dark haired boy stays silent. He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream, he prays to a god he doesn't know for it all to stop. A bullet, a poison, the world ends in a fiery explosion, he didn't care.

"Jason."

"Just kill me already," he pleads, voice cracking and desperate.

Loud laughter echoes through the room. Jason's head hurts from the sheer volume, and it doesn't stop. It gets louder, and it carries around, and Jason lets out hushed breaths. 

"I can't kill you boy, we're a great team you and I! Would you like to hear my story?"

Jason closes his eyes in anticipation for today's beating.

The Joker grabs his face again, and Jason is groggy. Fading in and out of consciousness. But as his eyes are forced open and the first thing he sees is a blade, Jason screams.

It's a dull knife, long and serrated and bloody and dirty. And in its reflection is the lunatic's face, grinning like mad. The light catches on the razor as the Joker's eyes go wide.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" He sneers, and Jason cries. He struggles to get away, hanging helplessly from his suspension. Nothing works, and two goons from the shadows hold him still with no thought towards his bruised and broken body.

He's in agony, and he's begging. He's in insurmountable pain and he can't do anything about it. The razor is brought to Jason's lips, presses to the side of his mouth with dull pressure.

He’s muffled now, and he continues fighting. 

"Just,, like, this!!" The Joker yells, dragging the blade upward through Jason's skin at a slow agonizing pace. He wants this to be slow and torturous, and Jason only cries and shakes. It hurts, god it hurts, he's being cut open, and the blood and tears mix and cause him more pain, 

He almost wishes for the crowbar again and once the knife is finished on one side, he screams again. His blood bleeds from the blade and falls onto the floor, joining the rest from the past days. Months? It couldn’t have been years.

“Such a handsome young man,” the joker croons, erupting into even more laughter. “Tell me what brought the chicks in, your crippling daddy issues or your criminal record?”

Jason couldn’t answer if he tried. The Joker grabs his face, almost smelling his newfound wounds, and then pulls back, leaving him in a hanging sway. 

“Let me go..” he pleads, mouth sore. His bright blue eyes are so devoid of color it hurts, and he closes them. Blood and dirt clumps on his pretty eyelashes. 

“Now I don’t think I can do that dear Jason.”

Joker licks the blade clean, it catches on the man's tongue and cuts him, not that he cares. Jason's glad he's not forced to swallow the damn thing.

Well, be careful what you wish for. 

Its sharp edge is brought down his jaw, down his neck, so close to his jugular veins, if only he could shift and catch himself on the blade, he could end it all. 

He starts crying.

He doesn’t know when he stops.

The Asylum walls go black, and he's shrieking. Harley Quinn brings a bat to his body as the Joker moves his knife, and it finds solace along Jason's cold chest.

One cut. Two cuts. Jason screams more. His throat is raw, he doesn't even know where his terror is coming from anymore, it'd been beaten out of him. 

"Bruce-, bruce stop-"

The Joker laughs. "AHA, the boys learning, don't you see? That's right, that's right."

The cuts are few, and after a while they're bearable. The hardest part to deal with is Harley"s high squeals as she beats him. She calls him cute, handsome, a songbird.

Songbird.

"You can't.."

"I can't what Jay darling? Hmm?? What can't I do?" The Queen of crime pouts, and Jason sees red.

"Don't say that," he spits, finding his voice. "That name isn't for you bitch."

The next time the knife touches his skin, it's coated in acid. And he's yelling for it to stop, he's pleading, thrashing around.

His kicks find Harley and he's flown forward and backward, still chained to the ceiling. Its desperate.

"JAY DARLIING," she sings. "Puddin what else gets our birdie going?? Mm? What makes him sing like a good pet. Oh this is exciting!" 

"SHUT UP-"

"Jay," Harley flutters her eyelashes, bringing herself close to his face. "Baby? Love? Is it sweetheart?" Her mouth is wide, eyes deranged. "Perhaps it's Mister J! He stares into her gaze, and for a second the jester flinches.

If Jason wasn't suspended and restrained, he'd kill her. He knew it and she knew it and Joker most definitely knew.

"Well Jason, kill her then! Do it loverboy, why won't you end her?" He croons, and Harley feigns sadness. 

"I-" he starts, unwilling to let himself hang in shame. How could he do this? 

"Oh come on angel! Why don't you try?" She shrieks, and then Jason is shouting, further tearing into the cuts along his mouth as he brings his legs up, attempting to wrap them around Harley's neck. 

He doesn't get very far. Someone holds him steady, and the stinging knife is brought back to his chest. An H. An A. Another H and an A. 

Straight across his chest, and then it begins again. Jason's breathing is labored from his attempt to retaliate, and he slips back into his daze of unconsciousness. He can't do this much longer.

THE.

Jason can see it in the mirror on the opposite wall. He doesn't remember when that got put there. If he could reach something with his feet he could throw it. Break the glass, pick it up with his feet again perhaps, end this torture-

JOKES.

Jason feels like vomiting. 

ON.

Jason vomits on the ground in front of him. Sweat sticks to his skin and he's pale, he feels a fever growing on him. The knife continues lower to his bruised skin. This couldn't get worse, could it. 

YOU.

The words are engraved on his body, marred by the blood dripping from it. Jason's eyes roll to the back of his head. The trauma puts him to sleep, and the Harley Quinn whispers another "Jay Darling" into his ear before departing. 

Three

Y/N’s picture is gone now, he can't even piece it together in his mind anymore. The scraps are scattered and disintegrated into dust.

This time he hears Harley before Joker, she's hanging off of the clown's arm, looking at him with the adoration of a psychopath. In her hands is a long poker, tip red hot, and she swings it without a care in the world. She giggles as her love comes closer to the half dead boy, untying his chains.

Jason lands on the floor, a crumpled heap of skin and broken bones. His head hits the ground, but it's the most beautiful thing he's touched in a long time.

He doesn't move, curling into a protective ball. 

"Mister J our bird isn't moving," Harley whines, kicking him in the back. He groans, shielding himself as best he could. There's nothing on the ground that's usable, not even a sharp stick or rock, there's a used abandoned needle but it sends him into nausea.

The Joker's laughing brings him back to reality as he attempts to crawl away. The floor is appalling, disgusting, a mix of wax and blood and body fluids that he wished he could forget, but he's let go. 

Jason slams his hands on the cement, using the force to wake him up and pull himself forward. His legs don't work, he's going delirious again, and then there's the sizzle of water behind him.

"Where are you going birdie?" Harley asks, and the Joker takes another step closer. 

"No, no, NO-" Jason pleads. Please let him go, dead or alive he doesn't care. Just get him out of here, make it stop. It's the only word he knows at the moment, every syllable is tortuous to pronounce. He bangs his head on the cement. God he’s going insane.

Stop touching him. Stop hurting him. 

He’s been beaten and tortured and degraded in the worst ways possible. He couldn’t remember what it was like to be human. And still, this was the worst pain yet.

He's pinned down as the hot poker nears his face, the symbol bright red on the end. Like a branded piece of meat. His flesh burns and sizzles as the Joker gives more pressure, and Jason's never screamed louder. 

It's in the intense silence within which he screams with his whole body. It forces its way from deep in his throat, demonic and angry and scared. 

He's hiding a truth from himself, and soon he's not screaming from the burning, but rather that he's stuck here. Forever. 

Edged with the tantalisingly sweet release of death, the Joker will never give it to him. 

The Joker will never let him die, he will never let him go. And now his cursed J is on Jason’s cheek, he’ll forever be the Joker’s pet.

When the brand stick is taken off his skin, Jason is sweating and pale and falls asleep.

"What a shame you couldn't handle it."

x

Y/N runs through the hallway with desperation. She'd tracked down Harley one night and by some god forsaken miracle, the deranged woman had blood on her skirts.

Another miracle hadY/N sneaking into Wayne Manor to ask Barbara to help her, analyzing the blood samples to track down the Joker.

They found something better.

For a second she believed Bruce's high end, most technologically advanced equipment was wrong. Babs assured her it wasn't. That was Jason's blood on Harley, less than two weeks old. 

"Jason?"

The boy looks up, whimpering. He almost doesn't hear her.

"Oh Jay," she whispers from the hallway. She's just a shadow but Jason knows it's her. No one has ever said his name with such gentleness. 

The woman lets out a sob. He's here, he's alive, he's gonna be okay. 

Jason holds back sobs of his own as she runs to him. Her fingers are first to touch him, resting on his chest and trailing over his scars, his wounds and his blood. His torn clothes, the dirt and acid burns. Her hand stops over his heart, beating so slow she would have believed him to be dead.

But this is Jason. He's not dying anytime soon. Especially not if she can help it.

Tears stream down her face as she wraps her arms around him, holding him close. 

He's gonna be okay.

Y/N is immediately supporting him as she conjures a knife to cut him down. His arms are free and he nearly goes unconscious.

She catches him before he can fall. It's not like the Joker when he needs to crawl away like a wounded puppy. He welcomes the other presence in the damp room, shaking. Jason lifts his head, and he doesn't even have to move until she's at his side. It's so different.. he forgot what this feels like. 

Jason forgot what it felt like to have emotions besides fear. 

He curls into her lap, slowly using her body to sit up. 

"Jay look at me, please," she murmurs, holding his face and brushing the hair out of those colorless eyes. "Oh my god I knew it.. I knew you were alive.. Jay I'm so sorry-" she stops herself, kissing the top of his blood matted head.

That doesn't matter now.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, you're okay sweetheart. Stay awake okay? Okay. Stay awake for me please."

Jason nods, hanging onto her. If he lets go, she'll leave. He'll lose her and he'll be stuck here again. She'll fade away.

It hurts to move, every bone and every limb is on fire. Then she's grabbing him and they're standing up, she's practically half carrying him.  

Mumbles of his name fill the empty asylum wing. Js and Jason's and Jay's pass her lips as if just repeating it is gonna make him alright.

One step, and Jason crumbles. He can't walk, it's a miracle he can feel his legs at all. "I'm not going anywhere," he mutters. 

She doesn't say anything. She knows.

Footsteps in the background. Walking, jogging, running. 

Maniacal laughs and snarls and spit.

Y/N bends her knees and slings him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and then she starts running. Down one hallway and then the next, the Arkham Asylum is a maze.

"Jay, side of my mask, the-"

"Comms," he finishes, holding the button to turn it on.

"Bat? Batgirl, do you read me?" The girl whispers, ducking into an alcove.

"I'm here. Did you..?"

"I've got him. Babs, he's alive, Jason's alive, he's breathing-" It feels so good to say, to not just breathe an empty statement. 

Crying comes from the other side of the comms. Barbara composes herself enough to speak, but even then, emotion hangs in her voice. "Let's bring him home then, where are you right now? Dicks outside the Asylum with Bruce, don't worry about the thugs or the cameras, we have it covered."

"I'LL FIND YOU BIRDIE!" 

"The Joker's here," Y/N tells Barbara and the air hangs with a pregnant pause. 

"Okay, Tim's gonna have you turn right, we got his signal."

The woman turns, ducking into the darkness.

"Y/N,." Jason wheezes, hanging onto her shoulders with the strength he could muster. 

"Jason if this is one of, one of your 'if we don't make it out' speeches-"

"Nevermind," he replies, wishing he had the energy and the ability to smile. She does, she smiles for the both of them- even if he can't see it from this angle. 

"God I'm going to make him pay for this. Writhing and screaming and begging for me to end him," she threatens, listening for the next of Barbara’s directions.

She's told to go right and through a door.

There's two sets of footsteps now.

Y/N continues, trying to fill the silence. The Joker won’t track her voice, the alarms are too loud. "That doesn't matter now, I guess. You're alive and I- we thought you were dead and it took so long for me to accept that, and I still don't know how I found you but I did and Jay I'm so proud of you-"

"Hey this doesn't mean you can give me a speech of your own," Jason interrupts, and she cracks another smile. She’s rambling like she always does when she overthinks, and he closes his eyes to imagine that they’re once again on a Gotham skyscraper with a bottle of champagne. Spilling secrets and laughing like they weren’t masked vigilantes with secret identities. 

"I love you Jason, and you're not leaving me again."

"HAHA I LOVE THIS GAME-" The Joker yells. His psychotic grin fills Jason’s vision as the maniac throws open a hatch, jumping down into the room. Jason is dropped to the ground and Y/N has her sword in hand, stepping in between the two men. 

His vision is blurry, he can’t see anything, and the ground is warm. 

He can’t succumb. Jason stands up again, grabbing a pistol from Y/N’s leg and he shoots. The feel of a gun trigger isn’t unfamiliar. 

Yelling fills the room, as does the clash of metal and fists, Jason smiles as the Joker cries out in pain. Another door opens, there’s girlish laughter now, and so many footsteps. He keeps shooting, dropping enemies like a second nature because he was Jason Peter fucking Todd. 

Jason’s ribs get stomped on again and he loses his gun, and metal echoes on the ground as something is dropped. Three gunshots ring through the room. 

No. 

No.

The Joker and the Harlequin keep laughing in glee, and Jason blacks out from crying again. 

x

Cold hands grab his face. The man who laughs is, well, laughing and pulling Jason’s face close to his own. The smell of death fills his senses and Jason opens his eyes. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

[rotzaprachim]

absurdly good fic i read this year (which is somehow both completely unrelated and yet of a similar vibe)

1) it doesn’t mean you can explain the ocean - 14k, rageprufrock. gen

this is some background season 1 gen sam and dean road tripping america fic that works as an incredibly well-realised and dense entry into the whole magical realist on-the-road americana genre. spn fic in general tends to cluster post the season 4 introduction of the angels and castiel and so this fic is fantastic as something that marks the deeply, unnervingly isolated tone that early season spn had and then later forgot about when it really was just Two Guys going town to town. it functions briliantly both as fanfiction for the CW’s supernatural and an incredibly sharply realised depiction of small-town, middle-of-nowhere america that manages to be eviscerating (as the show never was) and deeply empathetic (in a way that i think is oddly key to the cocktail of early season supernatural, when it was good.) read it! 

There are noises in the cosmic grapevine about three women in Savannah, about prophesy and oracle and older gods than even they know the words for, and Dean hears about it from a waitress at the counter of a diner off the side of a North Carolina freeway. It's muggy outside: like collards and carrot tops and green gumbo, stewed until it's mostly brown, like mudslides and the thick scum left on everything after a storm.

Sue, whose brother is a sergeant serving in Afghanistan still, wears a yellow ribbon on the breast pocket of her server's uniform and snaps her gum as she tops off Dean's coffee. She talks about how she misses her baby brother and how she's real proud of him for standin' up for his country and fighting for the sake of freedom in the US of A; she tells Dean her momma's the best damn quilter on this side of the Carolinas and that she'd be happy to take Dean around this sleepy, southeastern town if he's gonna be round these parts for a few more days.

Sam drinks sweet tea and listens to her chatter at his brother, stacks Land O'Lakes non-dairy creamers into a pyramid and listens to newspapers rustle, the metallic slick and slide of spatulas and things on the hot griddle, the shouting of the Mexican short order cook. The diner smells like the meatloaf blue plate special and frying sausage and bacon, smells like the steak and eggs Dean ordered with black coffee. Sam looks at the counter's ugly, specked blue linoleum and the pleather covers of the diner stools, split open, with the fluff inside spilling out.

"Now what's this about oracles," Dean says and he drags out all the syllables in 'oracle' until Sue laughs, eyes bright, and winks.

2) i’ve lived since then - scioscribe, 11k, jyn erso/cassian andor, explicit 

there’s rumours round these parts (based on interviews) that tony gilroy read fanfic before fleshing out andor and well. if he did. let’s just say this one would probably be on this list. like yes, yes i DO know this is a jyn/cassian arranged fanfiction from 2017 and it’s 11k words and a good portion of those words are straight up porn. but ALSO, this fic manages to capture beautifully, woundrously, fascinatingly well the tone of andor and many of its canonical preoccupations, and yet feel fully contiguous with the characterisations of rogue one- which is something that andor itself is still fiddling with the hems of i just live for this particular fic’s depictions of jyn and cassian, who remain sharp and spikey and brutal and yet have this place in a story that neither removes them of their sharp edges nor sands them down to booktok romance leads but still suffises them with an odd, off kilter humanity and warmth. the subtle slice-of-life lived-in worldbuilding is great too. i have a particular fondness for the star-warsy birth control moment, which is so deeply scientifically bizarre and ridiculous it rests in my mind that if sw characters ever were to fuck on screen, that would be exactly what the birth control would be like. 

Cassian adjusted his jacket, which had been tailored for another man. The Alliance’s funding ran to fighters, bribes, and base installations, not to salaries, and so when someone fell, their possessions went into an informal commissary, to be bought, begged, bartered for, or stolen at will or convenience. Never entirely without sentiment, though. They all had sewing skills rudimentary enough at least to stitch the necessary black X, the acknowledgement of whoever had come before them. Maybe it was bad luck, getting married in a dead man’s clothes.

3) i won’t be going gentle - cyanocorax, 1.2k words, gen modern day odyssey trucker au 

it’s hard to choose a single quote from this, because the entire thing is dense (while maintaining a sharpness and paucity that keeps it feeling pure midcentury this-feels- like-an-Intro-To-The-American-Short-Story material. in the best way possible. this fic comes in the long and great media tradition of The Odyssey but it’s [blank]- in this case, odyseus as a long-haul trucker across middle america. like a great odyssey au it asks real questions about the odyssey itself. i’ve been thinking lately about the odyseus frame story being used by both the more recent Greek and other diasporas- russian jewish (joseph brodsky), vietnamese (ocean vuong), - in order to explore more recent experiences of war and displacement, and what ithaka can mean to so many different people across time. this fic goes in a different direction, instead twisting the stories of odysseus’s decades of wandering into the story of a working man’s struggle with daily life and to earn a living. one of the most haunting aspects that comes of this interpretation is of the mundanities of life itself as what separates him and penelope, given they are more physically united than in the myth. anyway! just really, really good writing and storytelling 

All his journeys tend to start off just the same, as is their way: in the dawn-dark, a thermos of Pen’s best (or worst, depending on who you ask) coffee burning a ring into the cup-holder beside him, the windows rolled down just enough for the breeze to turn his nose tip red. The radio, on, but silent, until he hits the interstate and can see nothing in his rearview mirror save the bleak, unyielding line of the horizon.

There’s a photograph taped to his dashboard, now ten years old, of his wife standing next to the lip of Meteor Crater with their boy in her arms, all the round, living warmth of her distilled into a single fleck of color that the passing gas station, motel lights will illuminate, briefly, briefly.

[apompkwrites]

phantom tales of teyvat || first engima

masterlist characters: aether, venti, zhongli genre: fluff? idk it's something contains: spoilers for phantom tales of the night (manga series), my own au i literally created on the spot, aether's tired of being teyvat's dog,(name) is not referred to by name but it's you :), some talks about cannibalism, some similar to hypnosis is kinda insinuated? i don't know how to describe it summary: it seems a traveler has wandered into a quiet inn on the outskirts of teyvat. however, the source of payment the innkeeper seeks isn't mora. in fact, it's nothing physical. it's the visitor's deepest darkest secret. notes: so i've been waiting for phantom tales of the night vol. 5 to be delivered to my house so i can finish up to vol. 7. so while i'm waiting, here i am making a weird au based on it. i hope you enjoy :D this basically follows the first chapter of vol. 1 but with genshin,,, also i got a bit carried away with this going to 2,979 words...

all he wanted was to find his sister. his sweet twin sister who always stuck by his side, no matter what challenges they were faced with.

instead, he was stuck here, in a world he was widely unfamiliar with accompanied by a strange pixie-like being. he traveled through cities, aiding in whatever fetch quests he was asked to complete in exchange for... nothing.

mora here (which was always used up for resources, leaving him with double-digit amounts), food there (which were always eaten by paimon), respect elsewhere. what about the help he was promised by the higher ups of the cities?

the knights of favonius promised to help find his sister after he defeated a raging storm fueled by a dragon's anger. and all they did was put up missing person posters.

the liyue qixing promised the exact same thing in exchange for defending the city from an awakened ancient god. and, once again, all they did was put up missing person posters.

he was tired. he was tired of being teyvat's dog with no reward.

all he wanted was his sister back.

"aether?" paimon called out nervously, watching as the blond traveler trudged through the grass. heavy bags had formed under his eyes and his blond hair stuck out of his braid is curly wisps.

"not... not now, paimon," aether sighed, swatting at his floating companion. a few moments passed before aether heard the familiar sparkling sound of paimon disappearing to archons know where. he let out another sigh, one that was more resigned and choked.

as he wallowed in his sorrows, he didn't notice the geo creature towering behind him.

"watch it," a calm voice echoed through his ears. just as aether turned to face the roaring geovishap, he felt the back of his scarf get tugged on as he was pulled back.

from what he could see through the blur of rock and ash, the dark brown scales were what caught his attention the most. the creature's tail flowed along with the golden fur gathered at the end of it, its claws tipped as gold as mora. the polearm it grasped in its clawed hands matched its body perfectly, from the color to the rigid edges mimicking crystals.

"who...?" was the only word aether managed to mutter as he stared up in awe at the creature. it, or rather he, peered over his shoulder to look down at the traveler, his eyes sharp as he stared.

"i'm afraid we will attract more attention if we remain here," he bellowed, seemingly speaking to someone other than aether. "it would be wise to bring him inside."

"of course," a distant voice responded. as aether blinked, he found himself a ways away from where he had been before. instead of the soft grass of liyue, he found himself sitting on smooth rock littered with sparkling geodes and crystals. in front of him stood an intricate building framed by lanterns of varying sizes and designs.

"aether," the same voice cooed, this time coming from a source visible to him. walking towards him was a figure wearing a (color) kimono covered by a similar haori. hanging from their fingers was a lantern, its light illuminating the area far better than the countless lanterns hanging on the building behind them. "i have been awaiting your arrival. please come inside."

aether managed to push himself up, careful to avoid the sharp and ragged edges of the rock beneath him. the figure stared at him for a moment before greeting, "i shall be your host. if you have any requests, please feel free to ask."

"my... host?" aether echoed, cautiously walking towards the (h/color)-haired figure. their smile remained unchanged as he grew closer.

"yes. that is our job here, after all. come, we mustn't delay," the host ushered, reaching out to grab aether's wrist. they pulled him along the trail before continuing, "if we do, there's no guarantee they won't catch up to us."

"they...? huh?!" aether quickly glanced over his shoulder to see a hoard of geovishaps and their hatchlings barreling towards them. he reached out to summon his sword but was quickly interrupted by the hand of his host.

"ah, there's no need for that," they muttered, lightly pushing aether's hand down as wind began to swirl around the two. "let us handle this matter. for now, let's head inside."

"inside... this?" aether questioned, nodding up to the lantern-filled building.

"my inn," the host answered with the same smile, watching for a few moments as the wind began to flow towards the hoard of monsters. "i can assure you that this inn is the safest place to be when being chased by teyvat's creatures. however..."

the host released aether's wrist, prompting the traveler to pause just before the steps of the inn. the host turned around slowly, their haori flowing behind them as if it were a cape.

"i do need... one thing from you." their lantern seemed to glow brighter, causing the shine in their eyes to become more intense than before. "i ask that you grant me one of your secrets."

the moment aether stepped inside, the inn was far grander than he had previously thought. keeping up the theme, the ceiling was shrouded in lanterns, making the wood that presumably supported it invisible due to them while tatami mats lined the floor in a distinct pattern.

"well? is it suitable for your tastes?" the host asked, sliding the door closed as quietly as possible.

"uh... how do i say this...?" aether muttered to himself, looking around at the room he had just stepped foot in. "it's... actually really nice. am i even allowed to be here?"

"of course," the host reassured, ignoring the roars outside the door. aether jumped back suddenly as the door was pushed in, barely keeping intact as another roar was heard.

"how is this even standing...?"

"ah, company secret," the host grinned before clapping their hands lightly. "now then. venti! get the luggage, would you?"

aether yelped as he felt wind fly up behind him, the bag he had carried being hoisted from his shoulders into the air. as the wind began to swirl, a figure began to manifest from the air.

"huh?! wh-what?!" aether gaped, looking back and forth between his host and the wind being only known as "venti".

"don't fret," the host called. "he works for me."

"that's not what's weird..." aether clarified, fiddling with the end of his scarf. "he... formed from the wind."

"oh? it seems our guest is not as shocked as we thought he would be," the host hummed, glancing over their shoulder at the traveler.

"he isn't one to be easily scared," venti points out, twirling the end of one of his braids with his finger. "in fact, i would have been surprised if he were afraid of a mere wind spirit."

"i guess let the wind lead was literal, huh?" aether laughed to himself, earning a small smile from venti.

"that it is," venti hummed softly, part of his body disappearing as the wind carried it away. the upper half of his body remained, allowing him to float around the host and wrap his arms around them. the host remained unbothered, lifting one of their hands to lightly glide their fingers along venti's neck. "the people of mondstadt cherish that saying. in a way, they cherish my ability to lead them in the right direction. and you were led here. we will do our best to help you relax. both body and mind."

"follow me," the host ushered as venti fluttered after them in a gust of wind. as aether walked down the halls, he couldn't help but take in the only piece of decoration that littered the inn.

lanterns. varying lanterns of size, color, shape, and design lined the walls and filled the ceilings. he recognized a few of them as xiao lanterns, the very same ones he had written a wish in during liyue's lantern rite.

"uh, excuse me?" aether called out, prompting the host to look over their shoulder at him. "i'm... i'm really grateful for all of this but... i don't think i can afford any of this? it just looks really expensive..."

"...pfft!" venti, who had appeared beside the host in a gust of wind, tried to suppress his laugh but to no avail.

"venti, you're being rude," the host scolded as they guided aether into a separate room, they led the traveler to a small table beside a window, the outside still littered with floating lanterns. the host took their seat and motioned to the chair in front of them, causing aether to sit opposite of them.

they placed their lantern on the table and interlocked their fingers, resting their chin on the small platform they had formed. "aether, the compensation i'm searching for is not mora. i've told you before, the one request i ask of you is simply your secret. nothing more."

"that... that's it?" aether asks, nervously squirming in his seat. "there's no... extra thing you need? nothing for me to find or fight or make. just... a secret?"

"that's all," the host reassures, smiling softly. "and in exchange, we promise to do whatever we can to find your sister. and that's not putting up missing person posters."

it was as if aether just shut down at that moment. anything regarding his sister, even if it's a lie, is sure to attract aether. all he could think about at that moment was reuniting with lumine and leaving this world that took advantage of him and his kindness.

"just a secret... just a secret..." aether muttered to himself, squeezing his hands. "let's see... i guess my secret is that i'm not from this world."

"..."

"ah-hahahaha!" venti's laugh echoed throughout the room, causing aether to furrow his brows in confusion.

"venti!" the host calls, snapping their fingers as if scolding an animal. they let out a quiet sigh before leaning forward, their arms resting on top of the table. "i'm afraid that isn't much of a secret to us."

"...huh?"

"it's quite clear to anyone who has heard of you and your deeds. no normal person from teyvat should be capable of that," the host explains, prompting aether to hum softly.

"...i guess? so, that means i can't stay here, right? and... you can't help me?"

"i wouldn't say that," the lantern's light suddenly dims, casting shadows on the host's face and body. "but... i hope you don't think that's all you have to offer."

"i... what are you talking about?" aether felt a chill run up his spine.

"there are other secrets, one that particularly interests me. it's a secret that may shake your very existence," the host points out, reaching across the table to place their finger on aether's lips. with a sickeningly sweet smile and glazed over eyes, the host mutters, "and unless we reveal that, i'll be unable to assist you."

he really should have left this inn when he had the chance. one minute he was in the hot spring outside with the strangely pushy host and the next...

he's caught in the middle of a geovishap attack with nothing but a towel to guard him. not even his sword was hidden away in the pocket space it always disappeared to.

just as the geo creature's claws were about to crush the blond, a familiar polearm-wielding creature intercepted the attack.

"owner..." the creature huffed, kicking their weapon towards another geovishap. "with all due respect, why did you let him outside?"

"he is a bit carefree, isn't he?" the host, now known to aether as owner, hummed. similar to aether, the only item that guarded them was a towel obtained from the hot springs. however, in their hand, they held their signature lantern, brightly lit with a flame. owner wipes away the water dripping from their face before explaining, "we were in some sort of rut regarding what he is, that's all."

"...i trust your judgment, owner, but we must be more careful with our guests," the dragon-based creature sighs as it traps the geovishaps in stone.

"yes, yes, of course," they hum as they head towards the grassy area aether had previously been taken to. they face the geovishaps before smiling, "now then, i ask that you return my guest."

the geovishap lets out a roar followed by a series of growls. venti's top half begins to form behind owner as he drapes their haori over their slightly dry body. "zhongli? what's it saying?"

"hm... they're complaining," zhongli answers, his tail swishing as he continues to translate. "they claim to have found our guest first and that we stole him from them."

"huh... odd," owner hums, reaching up as venti peers over their shoulder to cup his chin. "surely you wouldn't be complaining once you admit you followed the wind and the earth to him. without them, you wouldn't have found him. if you're making excuses, at least make a good one."

as the geovishap lets out another roar, owner moves their hand to cup their lantern's flame into their palm. "this will be my final warning to you."

"this outlander is my guest. keep away from him."

zhongli seems to growl at the geo creature as it responds to owner. the innkeeper lets out a dry chuckle before placing their finger on their chin, lightly tapping it as they warn, "or else, i'll expose your secrets right here and now. do i make myself clear?"

surprisingly, the geovishaps let out a noise akin to a low whimper and scamper off, leaving aether behind in the grass. he looks off into the distance, searching for the monsters as they disappear beyond the horizon. he opens his mouth to say something before letting out a sneeze, earning a light laugh from venti. "you know, you're the first one to run off with nothing but a towel. do you want your clothes back? they might not help much, though..."

"did... you know those things?" aether grumbles, ignoring venti who simply fiddles with the end of his wings. "you... knew their secret. you must have known them, then!"

"...i suppose you're not wrong," owner nods, lifting their lantern to illuminate their face. "we definitely aren't friends, per se... but regardless, you were too occupied with the idea of us being enemies. had you stayed calm, i would have answered any questions you had. although, i don't blame you due to all of the fetch quests you've been through..."

owner fiddles with the top of their lantern, the quiet squeaking of the handle moving filling the air.

"to answer your question before, they're a part of teyvat's creatures that are in an active search for their country's downfall. or rather, they were recruited by that nation's survivors to search for their oppressors or their lost comrades. it was only a matter of time before he found us since we house a myriad of creatures."

aether paused before slowly turning to stare up at owner. oppressors. if those geovishaps had infiltrated this inn after encountering him...

what had he done to be labeled an oppressor?

"what... what did you mean by oppressors?"

owner slowly looks down at aether to meet his stare, their eyes darkened as they lift their lantern up to their face. "oh dear. you really don't know, huh?"

they slowly walk towards the blond traveler, reaching down to trace the underside of his jaw lightly. as their finger curls back towards their palm, aether finds himself drifting towards them as if searching for their touch once more.

and as their finger pressed against his forehead, he remembered.

the cataclysm.

the fall of k'haenriah.

he wasn't an oppressor they were searching for.

he was one of the lost comrades.

"what... what do you want from me?" aether hissed. his first question was to ask of their identities, but he felt in his gut that he already knew the answer. "you're not... here to take me celestia, are you? or did you save me to... eat me or something...?"

"eat you?" owner echoed, covering their mouth with the tips of their fingers. "me? eat you?"

the air was soon filled with loud laughs which came from owner themselves. they turned to look at their employees, giggling, "guys! did you hear him? another one's asked if we're here to eat him! why do they all think they're worth it?"

"i have no answer for that," zhongli hums softly, his tail, once again, flicking behind him.

"maybe it's what they want deep down," venti giggles, his body half formed from the wind.

"heh... aether, do you remember what i've said before?" owner asks quietly. "mora holds no value here. we have no interest in the weight of your soul as ordained by the gods, either. and, to answer your question, i am not interested in eating your body. i've lost the pleasures i felt when indulging in those actions. the only thing i wish for is your secrets. nothing more."

aether let out a yelp as he was pushed to the ground. he blinked to see owner directly above him, their legs straddling his waist and their face mere inches in front of his. they reached up and seemed to cradle his face, their thumbs brushing against his bottom lip.

"gnawing at your bones, nipping at your flesh, swallowing your remains, all of that is a source of nourishment that my body does not need nor crave. aether," as his name came out as a soft coo from their lips, aether felt his mind fogging up and becoming distant. "i yearn for something that is much deeper in you. and that only comes to the surface when your mind and body are completely offered up to me through your deepest, darkest secret."

"that is what i strive to have."

[silversatoru]

Hi, I just finished burdens and OML 🥺🥺🥺

May I request some sort of megumi x reader continuous where the reader ends up becoming a powerful sorcerer (or a cursed spirit👀 whichever you’d like tbh) megumi and the reader somehow cross paths again a little while after the break up and he witnesses her fighting for the first time? I just know that boy would fall in love all over again but she’s moved on and he feels guilty and just angst? And maybe fluff idk. I’m new to requests so I hope I did this right, thank you so much❤️❤️

burdens pt. 2

a/n: hello, part two of this not-so-lovely story is finally here. every single one of you is allowed one free punch to my face for taking so long to write it,,, i’m so sorry. this is its fourth rewrite and it got a little darker than expected but it’s finally done,, i hope you enjoy <3

fushiguro megumi x f!reader

synopsis: you finally see megumi again at the kyoto sister school goodwill event

tags/warnings: angst, some graphic depictions of violence, character death

word count: 3k

“Do you know how tired I am of watching the people I love die? Things would be so much easier for me if you just stayed the fuck away”.

Megumi’s bitter words were on repeat in your head — the harshness of his voice leaving a hollow feeling carved into your chest. Tear-stained cheeks and shaky breathes had become your new normal these past few days. Tight, sharp pains filled your empty stomach, waves of nausea coursing through your body.

You’ve had no motivation to get out of bed lately, nevermind to shower or cook yourself a proper meal — honestly, for all you cared you could rot away in your blanket filled bed. You checked your phone like a fiend too, thinking that eventually, a miraculous text from Megumi would appear and make everything better. It never did.

He’d completely ghosted you since that dreadful day, and that hurt more than anything. You’d held onto a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't meant what he said. But as the days continued to pass, your hope quickly dwindled.

To say your current state was shameful was putting it lightly, and you were embarrassed at how poorly this was effecting you. You liked to think that you were strong, motivated, independent — that you didn't need some douchebag just to feel happy. But truth be told, breakups are fucking hard, and it's okay to not be okay for a while — or at least that's what you kept telling yourself.

So when you were trudging miserably down the street to your local convenience store and you saw a familiar pair of jujutsu sorcerers, you wanted desperately to sink into the ground. You made a quick turn to head to a different shop, but it was too late, you were spotted.

“y/n! hey!” Two lighthearted voices sang through the air, filling your ears and making your heart clench in your chest.

You turned around and anxiously approached them, your unkempt hair and baggy eyes sending looks of concern across their faces.

“Hey girl, you good?” Nobara shot you a sideways glance, Maki raising a suspicious eyebrow.

“Yeah, uh, ice cream,” You croaked, speaking for the first time in a couple days, “I’m here for ice cream, that’s all”.

“Yeah, but why do you look like a fucking zombie?” Maki pushed her eyeglasses further up her nose, her sharp eyes looking you up and down.

“Ah, he didn’t say anything to you guys, did he?” You shook your head, heavy eyes falling to ground as you refused to meet theirs.

“Don’t tell me…” Nobara’s face contorted, “Did he break up with you?”

You nodded, a pitiful chuckle falling from your lips, because if you didn’t laugh, you’d start sobbing right now.

Maki threw her arm around your shoulder, pulling you to her side and ushering you into the store, “It’s okay, men suck. Hang out with us today”.

Meanwhile, Nobara trailed quickly behind the two of you, anger seething from her teeth and steam practically billowing out of her ears.

“That fuckhead! I swear I’ll fuck his shit up big time, he won’t even know what fucking hit him. I knew that boy was stupid but shit, this is a whole new low for him! I-,” She continued to ramble and rant as Maki led you through the store, picking out drinks and snacks to help ease your pain.

The three of you ended up in a nearby park, sitting around a small picnic table and gorging on the massive array of snacks. Lighthearted conversation and lots of food make your chest ache a little less, and you even found yourself laughing and chatting as if things were normal. You’d told the two of them all about that day, about Megumi’s irrational words and his tragic breakdown that led to some kind of fucked-up break up sex.

“So, how are we gonna get back at him? Egg his car? Put bleach in his shampoo? Bugs in his food? God - it’s a shame his dad is dead because from the pictures I’ve seen that man was FINE and revenge sex—,”

“Nobara,” Maki shot her idiot girlfriend a dirty look, and the orange-haired girl quickly shut her mouth, “As much as I support any idea that revolves around ruining a man’s day, I don’t think revenge is the healthiest coping strategy here”.

You were tracing your eyes around Maki’s face as she spoke, and you found yourself carefully inspecting her purple glasses that rested softly on the bridge of her nose. And that’s when it clicked, the light bulb ignited in your head and you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

“Maki,” your voice was urgent, “You don’t have cursed energy, you can’t even see them without your glasses!”

Her face twisted and her nose scrunched, a look of distaste in her eyes, “I know?”

“So, you could teach me, right? You could help me learn how to use some cursed weapons?”

“Yeah! You have to Maki, then she can beat his ass with me,” Nobara chimed in.

“That’s not a bad idea actually,” Maki’s mouth formed an evil grin, “Could you imagine his face after watching you exorcise a curse?”

The three of your conversed for a bit longer, speculating and potting about training, weapons, and your very own pair of curse-seeing glasses. By the end of the night you had a plan, and a pretty good one if you say so yourself.

From that day on, teary eyes and achy hearts were a thing of the past, not because it was that easy to get over Megumi, but because Maki didn’t even allow you the time to feel dismal anymore. You met her everyday after classes without fail, and everyday she would train you until you thought your arms would fall off. After months and months of sore muscles, sweat, and the occasional injury, you were convinced that Maki was incapable of feeling pity or remorse for other living things. Every time you speculated about quitting, she’d set a fire under you, unafraid to remind you how weak you still were.

The green-haired sorcerer had ultimately decided that you worked best dual-armed -- a long, lightweight blade in each hand. On your final day of training, she officially gifted the two swords to you, as a “graduation” gift.

Skill-wise, you were by no means as incredible Maki, but you definitely held your own, and the progress you’d made in a mere 8 months was astronomical. They’d introduced you to a strange silver-haired man at some point, Gojo, who had taken not only an interest in you but also your plot against your ex-boyfriend. He cackled to himself when you told him why you were here, going on and on about how priceless Megumi’s face would be when he saw you.

Your appearance was highly anticipated, so why not debut at one of the biggest jujutsu events all year? The Kyoto Sister School Goodwill Event — Gojo thought it was the most perfect idea.

You tried hard to exude confidence as you walked at Nobara and Maki’s sides, but behind your arrogant facade your stomach was twisting itself into knots. Truthfully, you were scared to see Megumi again after so long.

And when your eyes met with his as you walked into the meeting room, you thought you just might pass out. You thought you were ready for this — but the look of complete shock, fear, and anger on his face as he looked you up and down almost made you regret all of it.

“What’s going on?” Megumi’s words were incredibly calculated, an edge on his voice.

His question was pointless, however, because judging by the fact that you were wearing a jujutsu tech uniform and had two swords sheathed at your sides could only mean one thing. Your hair was longer now too, and your frame was wider with an extra layer of muscle from all the training — you almost looked like a different person.

“I’ve been training with Maki, I-,” You spoke up to explain yourself, but you weren’t even granted the opportunity.

“No, no, Maki, what the hell did you do?” His eyes were shaky and laced with concern.

“I only did what she asked me to. I’m not the one who gave her a complex about being weak, you did that,” Maki shrugged, “and she’s not your girlfriend anymore dude, what do you care?”

Absolute confliction flashed through his eyes, uncertainty and madness swirling in his irises, “You’re right, I don’t care. Let me know when the event is starting”.

He took a sharp turn out of the room and let the door slam a little too hard behind him. The sound of his icey voice and the door shutting with unkind force was all too reminiscent of the night you broke up. Burying every emotion you had deep into your stomach you gave Maki a small, reassuring smile and plopped down on one of the couches.

“Alright, so when does this thing start?”

after the start of the event

Fighting the Kyoto students was proving to be much harder than you initially expected, but you were holding your own at Maki’s side. The two of you had easily taken down a small, kind, blue haired girl named Miwa, and now you were watching an emotional battle between Maki and her sister unfold.

Wait here, she’d told you, I want to do this one myself. Take some notes on my form and watch our backs, okay?

Okay, you’d said, a little confused but ultimately finding a nice spot up in a thick tree to carefully observe from. Maki was truly a force of nature, and it seemed like the other girl never actually had a chance of winning. It was honestly only a few minutes before the small black, haired girl was slumped against a tree and Maki was making her way back to you. Things were looking good, two of Kyoto’s student’s were down already and adrenaline was pumping through your veins.

You couldn't quite shake the awful feeling churning in your stomach though, and Megumi’s face was haunting your thoughts. You hadn’t seen him since before the event started, when an odd, pink haired boy jumped out of a box and freaked everyone out. Nobara had later explained who he was and what had happened, and you wondered how many awful surprises Gojo had planned today -- first you, then that.

A small rumble rippled under your feet, and Maki grabbed your arm as you watched a giant brown vine lurch it’s way out of the ground a few hundred yards in the distance.

“That technique doesn’t belong to anyone from Kyoto,” She shot you a look of concern and determination, “let’s go check it out”.

You gave her a firm nod, the two of you making your way towards the horrifying wooden vines. By the time you managed to arrive, Inumaki was already down and so was a dark-haired boy from Kyoto. A muscular, white curse with black markings and wooden branches for eyes was moments away from taking Megumi on all by himself — thank god you got here in time to help.

Megumi, however, was horrified when he saw you jump over the tall roofed building with Maki at your side. He’d just watched two incredible sorcerers get their shit rocked by this curse, there was no way you would stand a chance against this thing. But before he could even try to stop you, you and the green-haired sorcerer were flying through the air and taking shots at the curse. The two of you worked perfectly in sync, the months of daily training finally paying off.

He watched with intent glazed over his eyes, his heart threatening to lurch up his throat. You were a spectacle, and he always thought you were beautiful but seeing you now with dirt and blood stained clothes, cursed weapons gripped firmly in your hands, you truly were ethereal. He hated it though, he hated that he was falling in love with you all over again, especially under these circumstances. Guilt and anxiety was eating away at him — why did you have to get involved? Why couldn’t you have just stayed away like he told you to?

He was quick to join the two of you, sticking close to your side to protect you if need be — but, even with all three of you together the curse still had the upper hand. Maki had been swatted to the side, her back slamming hard against one of the tiled roofs and knocking her unconscious. It was down to just the two of you now, beads of sweat causing your hair to uncomfortably stick to the back of your neck. This was something that Maki’s training could have never prepared you for.

Megumi was getting tired, taking one wrong step and losing his footing momentarily. The curse saw this as a perfect window of opportunity, sending a spiral of vines and branches hurling for Megumi. It was fast, but the adrenaline coursing through you helped you to move faster, launching yourself through the air and intercepting the attack. The barky, wooden vines twisted violently through your stomach, shooting clean through your back and ripping a violent scream from your throat.

It hurt so bad, feeling the plant wriggle through your organs and tear you apart from the inside out. The curse retracted his vine a few moments later, leaving your mangled body to fall helplessly to the roof. Tears rippled from your eyes, your body shaking and seizing as you coughed up a few sprays of blood.

A long, strong pair of arms scooped you up instantaneously, and your head was resting against a firm chest — probably Megumi, but you didn’t quite have the energy to open your eyes to check.

“We’ll take it from here, get her to Ieiri!” You heard a pair of deep voices yelling to Megumi, but it was too foggy and far away for you to understand what they were saying.

Megumi was seething with anger, moving as fast as his feet could carry him and he ran through the school. As you waved in and out of consciousness, you batted open your eyes, stealing quick glances at his twisted features and — were those tears on his face?

“I- I’m sorry Megumi… I think I finally understand what you were so afraid of all this time,” Your voice was barely a croak, “when I saw it coming, I couldn’t stomach the thought of having to watch you die. I suddenly just thought I would do anything to keep you safe”.

Yeah, those were definitely tears, you could see them a little clearer now. His eyes were red and his cheeks were dried with salty streaks.

“You’re so thick-headed,” he mumbled, his grip around you tightening slightly as he picked up his pace, “I wish you would have made that realization before there was a giant hole in your stomach”.

“Me too,” You hummed, but you weren’t really in any pain anymore. The pain had subdued to a sweet warm sensation inside your stomach, and an intoxicating sleepiness was washing over your head, “I was angry for a long time, but I’m not mad at you anymore, Gumi. I hope you can forgive me too”.

You offered him a tiny smile, but the blood leaking from between you keeps made it anything but sweet.

“There’s nothing to forgive you for, you never did anything wrong,” He spoke quickly, his voice quiet and cracking.

“No, but we’re not gonna make it to Ieiri, I know that and so do you,” You fell into a violent fit of coughs again, sputtering red splatters all over the front of his uniform.

“Shut up”.

“It’s not your fault, none of it was ever your fault,” you choked out once the fit of coughs subsided — and you weren’t just talking about yourself, you were talking about all of the unfortunate tragedies he’d witnessed throughout this life.

“And you’re allowed to be selfish sometimes, you know? I hope that when you meet someone, your soulmate even, you can allow yourself to love them with every part of you”.

The words painfully left your lips, but you meant every single one of them. You were starting to realize that you and Megumi were never meant to make it to the end. You weren’t his soulmate, you were here to help him grow, so that when he did finally meet them he’d be ready.

“You deserve to be loved, Megumi,” You looked up at him with big eyes, but his face was starting to get really fuzzy now.

Your fingers were going numb and your mouth felt like it was filled with sand. You were so tired, letting your eyes flutter shut and your head rest softly against Megumi’s chest. You felt him stop running, you could even hear him screaming at you — but it was too far away for you to hear. You drifted closer and closer to eternal sleep, your soul swollen with love for the boy who broke your heart.

Megumi didn’t even feel sad when you stopped breathing in his arms — he just felt hollow. More empty and broken than he’d ever thought possible. You were the most incredible person he’d ever met — someone with extreme motivation, who acted with no fear or hesitation, who always had love to give, even when he didn’t deserve it. He’d never forget you, not for as long as he’d live anyway.

Even when he did meet a new girl a few years later — a compassionate, brave girl, who reminded him a lot of you — he wouldn’t forget. He wouldn’t forget your words and for the first time in his life he’d let his walls down for her. He’d allow himself to truly love, and be loved in return.

And maybe you were right, maybe he did deserve to be loved like this, because god, he finally feels whole again when she’s around. He just wishes you were still here so he could say thank you.

[dorimena]

Hello hello! Your blog is beautifully constructed. I hope there will be more dom reader blogs like yours in the future. If you aren’t busy could I please have g/n reader brat taming Bakugou or Shinsou? I’ll leave it up to you to decide. Remember to drink water!

Hello! Thank you! (´ ω `♡) I chose Bakugou, but I might do something similar for Shinsou later on huhu~ And thanks for the reminder! I hope you’re hydrated as well! ╰(*´︶`*)╯

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; bakugou katsuki

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 1.5k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; gender neutral reader, impact play (not too hard though), brat taming, crying, mentioned overstimulation, implied edge play, paddle, dom!reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; sex toy (cock ring), lowkey headcanon Bakugou being into impact play, some aftercare before round 2, mentioned safe word (cues like the traffic light colors), aged-up character, Bakugou is 18+

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; I hope you enjoy it notwhatiseem. I might’ve had to do some investigation, as I was unsure if my plan on how the story was going was a correct, or as correct, portrayal. Maybe in the near future Mr. Paddle will make a comeback-

𝕸𝖗. 𝕻𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖑𝖊

“Baby boy! What has gotten into you today?”

You scold Bakugou as he glares at you from the couch, arms crossed and body relaxed on the cushions as he tries not to show how his anger is making his body tremble.

Unlike you, because you’re quivering in anger, in utter disappointment with the stunt he decided to pull during the Bakusquad’s monthly game night.

It was a fun time, a casual time and place where everyone could leave behind their prohero responsibilities before somehow being dragged away to missions, patrols, paperwork, all the glorious hero work.

But Bakugou decided that this very night, in the very moment Kaminari ‘accidentally’ placed his hand on your thigh, that he’ll be a brat. A jealous brat, which is worse than his usual bratty behavior.

But he isn’t usually a brat? It’s confusing and a whiplash for you, not really expecting to punish him after months of him being so obedient, so nice, so docile with you and everything you wanted or needed.

“Answer me, Bakugou.”

Okay, that made him furrow his eyebrows in worry, wondering if he’s crossing a line, but that already happened the moment he began sassing back at you and insulting you. Not even playful banter, it was just outright rude and degrading.

He went against opening his mouth or talking in general, just huffing as he slouched a bit more into the couch, as if he wants the cushions to swallow him in or maybe he’s trying to keep riling up your mood.

“Sit up correctly.” You snapped, halting your pacing as you standing in front of him, hands on your hips as you take in his sitting position. He’s barely such a slouch; he’s taking this too far.

Or maybe you got too used to him being such a sweet baby boy that you forgot just how impatient you can sometimes get.

This is one of those times.

“You’re not gonna talk?”

He shakes his head. Well, at least he answered, but his posture remains the same.

Sighing, you leave the living room and head to the bedroom, rummaging through your closet to find- aha!

Bakugou, in the meantime, is trying not to let his nerves get to him, not wanting clammy palms and possibly causing more harm with his reactions. All he can hear is stuff being moved around in your shared bedroom and then hearing a small shout of victory.

But for what- wait, why the fuck did you take that out?!

“Alright, baby boy. I hope you remember Mr.Paddle. He will aid me in your punishment.”

No, no! Anything but the paddle! You’ve never used it, at all. Even if there were some close calls, you still never had it anywhere near his skin, or him. It was a gag gift you gave him out of the blue.

“No!” Bakugou yelled, getting on his feet as his arms fell on either side of him, eyes wide in shock and slight fear. How hard could you go with that? How bad will it hurt?

But your amused chuckle seems to make him even more confused. Aren’t you angry at him?

“So you speak when threatened, but not when spoken to nicely? I told you to sit correctly-”

“I will!”

“Baby boy.” Oh he’s done it. He interrupted you just as he was kind of redeeming himself.

Well, shit.

“I’m s-sorry…” He trailed off, slowly sitting down on the couch as he never loses eye contact with you, waiting to see if you’ll finally use the paddle or you’ll continue trying to talk things out.

But you made a good point: why does he only speak up when threatened with punishment instead of avoiding all of this anger?

“Baby boy. Today you’ve gotten bold with your actions and your words. But you’ve been terribly rude with Kaminari! Isn’t he your friend? What did he do wrong?”

You do know, but you wanted to hear it from him.

But Bakugou kept his silence, fidgeting on the seat as he battled his inner, mini Bakugous about the pros and cons of speaking up and answering.

The main pro is that he’ll be given attention.

The main con is that that attention will be given with the paddle.

Well, his pride be damned.

“He was touching you! I hate it when other people do!” He spoke out, voice raising in volume just a bit at the end, but he shyly whispered, “you of all people know how jealous I can get.”

“Oh~ so baby boy was jealous?”

He groaned, covering his face with his hands before taking them away in a flash, grimacing at how sweaty they are and how sweet it smells.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, goddamn it.”

“Language.”

He grumbled, pouting as he looked at you again, slowly averting his gaze to the paddle as it just stared back at him.

Why does he feel like even if he spoke, he’s going to get that touching him?

He was right after some time, his body moving forward with every hit you landed on his ass with the paddle, a cry of the number he’s on leaving his mouth as more drool lands on the bed, more tears wetting the sheets, more precum falling in stringy drips on the sheets.

He can’t even come to care about the rapidly dirty sheets, or even come to think about anything really. Not with how every smack he receives, the hornier he keeps getting. The tighter his hands grip the bed sheets, and if he were at least conscious with his actions, he would’ve heard fabric tearing up and smell a bit of burning.

Is he into this? Has he always been into this? Well, yes. But he didn’t think taking the paddle instead of your hand would be so much better.

God, please-

“H-harder! Please! H-hardeeeeer- ugh fuuuuuuuck.”

You snicker before rearing back into a serious expression.

“Excuse me? You’re not allowed to speak, baby. Keep counting.”

Bakugou groans before it ends in a sob, a weak ‘68’ coming out as you land the last spank on his bruising ass and a small ‘69’ squeaks out of his throat as he falls forward, face resting on a nearby pillow. And if you somehow catch his hips gyrate slowly against the bed and small, hoarse whines leave his body, you decide to ignore and let him come down from the high the way he usually does.

You’re quite surprised at how he hadn’t used his safe word, or any safe cues, within the spankings, and actually asked for you to go harder. But his bruises are enough to make you feel kind of bad, just a bit.

“You know,” you speak, throwing the paddle on the floor before rounding the bed, squatting to look at his tear stricken, blush decorated, sweat sticky face, “I knew you were a slut for impact play, but I didn’t think it’d be this much.”

Bakugou just mewls weakly, voice lost in his trance as he tried recollecting any thoughts of his, especially the coherent ones so he could speak. Even if they’re just curse words.

“Sh-shitty y-y/n…” He blinks a couple of times, trying to unblur his eyes with the tears that seem to stubbornly stay on his lash line.

“Th-think tha-at be ‘nough? Hah… y-yer cute.”

Blinking yourself, you stare as you shake your head. So he wants to act difficult today, huh?

“Oh baby, baby, baby. All you had to do was ask nicely instead of being mean to your friends. You know I would do anything to keep you happy, to please you.”

You reach to pet him, scratching his scalp as soothing as possible, watching as his eyes slowly come back to being sharp, the fuzz lingering leaving as his mouth twitches into a smile, a relaxed, serene smile as his once tense body slowly melts into the bed, the small shudders from the intensity of the situation for his body slowly disappearing as he lets out something close to a purr.

How cute, he thinks he’s off the hook.

“Since baby boy isn’t satisfied with what I gave him, guess I’ll just have to fuck the brattiness and attitude out of you, hm?”

You slowly lift your hand, standing up as you go back to the closet, leaving him with enough time to gather his thoughts back together and come to realize how you’ve tricked him, how you’re not even done yet, how he’s still gonna get punished.

But, he loves overstimulation? How is that punishing?

“Oh! Forgot to mention: you’ll be wearing this until I feel like taking it off, okay?”

And in his line of vision is his cock ring, the horrible toy that vibrates in teasing tempos and makes him pathetically cum, humiliating him. God he hates that fucking thing.

He growls lowly, as if he’d have a threat ready between his teeth, but then you flipped him over gently, the coolness of the sheets soothing his ass as you flick one of his nipples.

He whimpers, puffing his chest out more for you to keep playing with.

“What’s your color right now, Katsuki?”

“Green m-master.”