#my manner of “nonverbal” as it's been called by others

[raving-two]

toy with me, play with me, tease me so hard i lose all verbal methods of communication and can only make mooans and cute little arfs and barks!! plesaseee!!! <3

[burnthoneydrops]

Language of Flowers (b.b. x fem!reader)

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: classism, use of "miss" and "y/n", stubborn mc

a/n: class differences in historical fiction have my heart and what better man to write them for than benedict! hope you enjoy and requests are open!

pt.2

For all your years helping run your family’s flower shop, you could not remember a day as memorable as this. You were in the back of the shop, cutting stems and bunching bundles of similar flowers together when you heard your little sister gasp from her spot in the doorway. Though gentlemen callers were not entirely uncommon, as flowers were a typical house gift when men went to call on their chosen lady, this one seemed to have caught her by surprise. 

“Who’s there Abigail?” you asked without turning around. “Abigail?” you asked again when she did not respond. It only took one look at the familiar chestnut head of hair to understand why your sister had gone as silent as Mayfair during the ton’s visits to the country. There stood a Bridgerton. Abigail had been obsessed with them ever since she got one of the printer apprentices to give her a copy of the gossip column the ton had been infatuated with. Anything that was ever written about them, Abigail had saved and regaled you when you were both in bed after a day’s work.  

“Y/N! I believe your expertise might be required,” your father called from the front of the shop, where he stood with parchment and a pencil, jotting down people’s requests. 

Abigail had not moved from her spot in the doorway, effectively blocking you out. “Abigail, I need to get through,” you waved a hand in front of her face but she did not move. She was utterly and entirely captivated, so you resorted to picking her up by her waist and moving her to the side. The perks of her being your little sister meant that moving her came easier to you than moving you did to her. 

“I was summoned?” You looked at your father who nodded at the man standing in front of him. “Yes sir, how can I help you today?” 

“I am here to buy flowers for a lady-” 

“What a novelty,” you muttered under your breath, glancing at the sheet your father had been working on moments before. 

“Pardon?” The man asked, clearly not expecting to be cut off in such a manner. 

“Apologies, good sir, you were saying?” 

“I am buying flowers for a lady. You see, my brother has crossed his wife and wants to apologise, but has no time for such an errand so he has sent me-” “He has truly no space to make time for apologising to his wife?” You interrupted again. 

“Do you interrupt every customer in this manner?” 

“Only the ones with ridiculous stories,” you countered. 

“I can assure you, despite how ridiculous it might sound, I speak nothing but the truth,” he looked at you, hoping you would change your mind. When you said nothing, he continued, “Now, I mentioned to your father earlier that I would like to gather flowers that mean an apology or makes it clear that the sender knows they have done some wrong-” “Ah, so you are keen on the language of flowers? I take it this has happened before then?” You interrupted yet again, raising a brow. 

“Apologies for my sister, my lord, she has been working long hours lately,” your older sister Jeanine stepped in. She gave you a harsh look as she finished her sentence, nonverbally telling you to scoot out of the way. You huffed and pushed the sheet of paper with the man’s order on it towards her before making your way to the back of the shop to finish the arrangements from before. 

It took Abigail no time at all to meet you back there, desperate to know how your interaction went. When you disappointed her with the fact that you had absolutely no thrilling news to report back, she smacked your arm and grabbed some flowers from the vases in the corner, complaining that you should have done a better job. 

“Well perhaps if he was not exactly like all other men who enter this shop then I would have something interesting to share with you,” you responded, grabbing some baby’s breath to add in. 

Jeanine came to greet you both with the sheet of parchment in hand, “something with an apology and sorrow but also suggesting forgiveness,” she muttered, looking at the selection in front of her. 

“White roses, forget-me-nots, and pink tulips,” you commented without looking at her. 

“If only you could do your job that easily in front of the customers”. 

“If the customers were not all so alike and insufferable perhaps I could”. 

“That poor Bridgerton did nothing to you and you know it,” Jeanine tried. 

“He irked me, is that not enough?” 

“Not when we are trying to keep a business afloat, no,” Jeanine replied as she stepped back onto the main floor to have Mr. Bridgerton pick the colour of ribbon with which the bouquet would be tied together. “Now there you are Mr. Bridgerton, and if I could grab a first name to keep our records in order and for possible future transactions?” Jeanine asked as she handed over the bouquet. 

“Do I truly look so similar to my brothers that you cannot tell us apart?” Mr. Bridgerton jested, at least you hoped he was jesting. 

“It is that arrogance that irritates me to be sure,” you muttered to Abigail. 

“It is merely a formality my lord,” Jeanine laughed lightly as she looked at him expectantly. 

“Benedict then, Benedict Bridgerton,” he placed the pound notes on the counter and picked up the bouquet, wishing Jeanine a pleasant day before scurrying away. 

So the annoyance finally had a name.

A few days had passed, and it felt like you had pushed the interaction successfully out of your mind, when the universe decided to spite you once again. You had already been at the front of the shop this morning, but you wished to do nothing other than sink to the floor or send one of your sisters in your place. 

“So we meet again,” Benedict announced, overly joyful.

“Well you did just walk into the shop my family happens to own-”

“I was hoping to make your acquaintance once again-” “At least one of us seems happy about it,” you conversed over each other, making it appear as if the dialogue had no point of breath. 

“I firstly wished to inform you that the flowers worked wonders and greatly aided my brother in his apology-” “Wonderful, now if that is all there is quite the queue forming behind you-”

“And that I have a plan to get you to change your mind,” Benedict finished his thought and it struck you silent. You must have done two or three big, slow blinks before what he said fully sank in, leaving you only more confused. “I must say, it is much easier to think when you are not constantly fighting back at me,” he smiled and you wanted to reach over the counter and smack that smile clean off his face. 

“Change my mind? On the flowers? I thought you said they were a great success?” 

“Oh no, not about the flowers,” he waved his finger back and forth in front of you, “about me”. 

“About you?” You questioned with raised brows, a scoff of disbelief escaping past your lips. 

“Yes. I noticed the other day we left off on quite the wrong foot and I would like to change your mind”. 

“And why do you think that is Mr. Bridgerton?” you bent your elbows a little and leaned closer into him from your spot over the counter. 

“Well I was not entirely sure, but I figured if I could get 10 minutes alone with you, your opinion of me would be much improved”. 

“Has anyone ever told you they do not like you Mr. Bridgerton? Has anyone, especially someone below your status, been honest enough with you to display how they truly feel about you? You might consider that notion and find the root of our problem there. I know you do not care much for your high society Mr. Bridgerton,” you noticed his ears prick up, so to quickly shut him down, “and do not think too deeply about my knowing of you for Lady Whistledown has printed much more than I cared to know, but as soon as someone is off with you, you suddenly become interested. Your ego is much too inflated to reason with the fact that some people just might not like you, present company included, and you cannot stand it”. 

Now it was Benedict’s turn to blink slowly, as your speech had halted all his energy to a standstill. “Good day, Mr. Bridgerton,” you shooed him out of the shop with your hand, waving forward the next customer who had been waiting very awkwardly a few paces behind this encounter. You sighed deeply, mentally resetting yourself back to your more demure customer service appearance.

Mr. Bridgerton had not been back for at least two weeks, not that you were counting of course, and though you claimed you were not thinking about him, you hated to admit how much that man had taken of your mental space. It did not help that Abigail was insistent that you two were fated to meet again somehow, even though you had explicitly told her you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Jeanine was upset that you had lost a valuable customer, but the money that he could have possibly brought in was the last thing on your mind. The season was usually a high reward time for your family’s shop anyway, you were sure one lord would not be such a loss. 

On an afternoon that felt uncomfortably reminiscent of your first meeting, the bell above the front door rang as you were arranging a bouquet in the back. Abigail gasped from her spot in the doorway, and you did not even want to turn around and guess what caught her breath this time. “Oh my god,” Jeanine muttered, joining Abigail in the doorway as a pair of frantic feet made their way to your father at the counter. “Good afternoon, I should like to ask for a moment alone with Miss Y/N”. 

You nearly dropped the flowers in your hands and stood staring at the wall while the heads of both your sisters whipped around to look at you, mouths dropped and eyes wide. Your father did not really know how to comprehend the situation, to be honest none of you did, but one nod from him and Abigail was grabbing the flowers out of your hands while Jeanine pushed you forward through the entryway. Your feet were cement, standing in front of the man that definitely had not been occupying your mind for days on end, his arms stuffed with different boxes and trinkets. 

As if taking advantage of the silence, Benedict started, “I come bearing gifts. It occurred to me that I had no idea what your preferences were and with the safe answer of flowers obviously gone I got,” he dropped some of the goods on the counter, “these”. There were chocolates and pieces of jewellery and perfumes and accessories. You stared in awe at the collection before you, admiring the beauty of them all before you snapped back into reality. Benedict Bridgerton had come to spoil you in an attempt to win you over and you could not stand for it. 

“If you think gifts are going to magically change my mind then you are-” 

“Oh they are not for you. Well not exclusively anyway, I believed some of them to be for your family”. 

It took your sisters absolutely no time at all to rush over to the counter, rummaging through all the items present and claiming their picks before your mother and father came to join you on either side. With a quick scolding from your mother and a muttered thank you to Benedict, your sisters were off, resuming their position in the doorway. “I hope I am not interrupting any major, I just wished to spend the afternoon with your daughter,” Benedict glanced between your parents, silently asking for permission. 

“Well I do not see why not,” your mother replied, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Mother!” You hissed, surprised she would respond in the affirmative so quickly. 

“What? It is not like you get out of here much anyway!” Your father piped up, making you tilt your chin down in embarrassment and kick his shin under the counter. Benedict stifled a laugh, and you could sense his eyes on you as you kept your head down. “The pleasure is all yours,” your father looked at Benedict as he and your mother stepped back, laughing between themselves. 

“I figured a walk would do us both some good,” Benedict put his hands behind his back as you looked up at him, suddenly very aware of how much he towered over you. 

“What makes you think I have the time to just step out and walk around with you? In case you were not aware, I am currently working-” 

“Oh for god’s sake! Just go!” Jeanine yelled from the back, her and Abigail having given the two of you some privacy. You huffed, crossing your arms in front of you and mentally squaring up Benedict before rolling your eyes. “I suppose one afternoon wouldn’t hurt, but if you try anything I swear-” His hands shot up in defence, “You have my word, nothing nefarious will take place. I simply want to walk”. 

“A walk it is then,” you nodded, making your way around the counter and into the main section of the shop. 

“I promise, you will not regret this,” Benedict commented, clearly happy with himself as he opened the door for you to walk through. 

“Let’s not go making promises we’re not certain we can keep”. 

“I feel pretty certain about this one”. 

[prncssie]

minors mdni

hobie absolutely does not care if you sass him.

to be quite honest, he finds the whole thing a bit amusing. you’re so little compared to him, huffing about. constantly demanding him to do things for you and rolling your eyes at his words. no matter, he cannot allow you to continue on like this.

usually, you’re so loving. always calling him sweet names, responding to everything he says as if he created you, himself. you only really get like this when you’re overwhelmed or when the day has been particularly draining for you.

it’s not hard to figure out the explanation behind your constant attitude and sideways glares when he thinks about how much time you spent with your family to these past few days.

they’ve finally gone home but you’ve come back to him in a sour mood. clearly you haven’t had any time to destress and possibly needed time alone, despite clinging to his side. when he does try to leave you alone, you’ll pout and whine about how he doesn’t care about you only to ignore him until you want something.

hobie knows you like the back of his hand. he knows that if he doesn’t eventually pull you out of your rut, somehow, your hums and grumbles in annoyance will eventually turn into silence. you’ll go completely nonverbal and it’ll be a terrible experience for the both of you. you’ll feel guilty for your lack of communication and fall into a continuous cycle of quietness while he tries his hardest to ensure your prolonged wellbeing.

that just won’t do.

“angel,” hobie settles in the car, reaching into the cup holder to take a sip of his drink. the ice crashing into each other is the only sound ringing through the air for a bit but he’s patient. your brain must be bursting at the seams.

you have the passenger mirror flipped, fussing with your hair. it’s such a minuscule detail but for some reason, it’s such a big deal. you thought it was fine this morning but now it was too tight, too high up, too far to the left. “mm?” your lips are pressed together as you preen.

to hobie, that’s a telltale sign. you’re too far in your head to turn and smile at him like you usually do. he misses it, misses your eyes full of adoration.

though if there’s one thing he’s is, it’s understanding. he knows you aren’t quite sure how to manage your feelings but it’s a bit difficult to take you seriously like this.

by this, he means all dressed in white. little poms hanging off the side of your skirt. fuzzy white hat acting as a halo. your nails click against each other. the pink and silver gems catch the sunlight. you look like a princess you usually are, swallowed by his jacket loosely strewn across your shoulders.

“what?” you say eventually when he doesn’t respond further. your eyes cut to him, narrow and expectant. his eyes were heavy on your frame and you do not like the way it feels.

“you gonna tell me what’s wrong or you gonna keep breakin’ my heart?” he sets the cup back in the cupholder and leans against the door. his head is pressed up against the window while he eyes you. you feel small under his gaze, especially when he looks so neutral.

this isn’t a new scenario to either of you and despite knowing how it’s going to end, you insist on taking the same route each time.

“don’t know what you’re talking about.” you flip the mirror up with a loud snap! and dig in your purse for your shimmery pink lipgloss. it’s always so much easier to change your focus on an inanimate object. “can you just drive? i would like to get everything done today.”

he doesn’t miss your lack of please and thank yous. not only have you decided to stop minding your tone, it appears you’ve thrown your manners completely out the window. hobie sighs. he already knows he has to mentally prepare the both of you for what’s coming next. his sweet girl clearly needs some help communicating. it’s his job to ease some of that distress.

“please cooperate with me, love. i know it’s hard for you to talk right now but i promise you’ll feel so much better if you do. at least a little bit. you’ve been talking crazy to me all day. i don’t like that.” his much larger hand encases yours. his fingers graze your knuckles lovingly and for a moment, your temperament softens.

until you actually have to form words.

you purse your lips. you want to tell him you just have too many thoughts running around but the stress in simply telling him made you feel icky. “nothing is wrong ‘bie.” you turn your head to face the window and stare at the pedestrians passing from the safety of tinted glass. “stop fuckin’ askin’ me.”

you draw a sharp breath when your head is tugged around. you can feel his hand anchored under your chin, pulling you close. there’s no where to run to now, no escape from him and his questions.

hobie’s eyes circle between your wide ones and glossy lips. his are just barely downturned. it was only a matter a time before he let you know just how displeased with your attitude he is. “☆, i’m trying to help you. you’re givin’ me an attitude for no reason and i’m trying to help you. you can tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty little brain of yours or you can figure it out yourself. what you’re not going to do is talk to me like that, yeah?”

you can feel yourself sinking into the seat with your hands gripping the center console. a whimper leaves your lips and hobie tsks, releasing you from his grip.

“you’re a big girl. use your big girl words.” he’s back to softly caressing your hand in an attempt to draw out his perfect girl, again.

you find yourself craving his comfort and proximity. he always had this effect on you. ever since you met, hobie’s closeness alone kept you docile. there was no need to think around him and he’s just as happy to guide you through the way.

“can’t,” you subconsciously lean towards him, eyes full of need. needing for him to do something, anything. fortunately, hobie is a mind reader when it comes to you.

he presses a kiss against your hand and another against your cheek. his lips graze the skin on the way down your neck. you can feel the coolness of his spider bite on your skin. your thoughts are all muddled and foggy. it has the perfect effect, having you no longer concerned with what to say and how to say it. “it’s too much.”

“what’s too much, pretty?” you can feel him speak against your skin, vibrating your nerves in a way that makes you tense. hobie suckles on your neck. his teeth graze and nip on the most sensitive areas. you do your best to sit still, to be present in the moment but you can’t help but squirm. your breath hitches when his tongue runs across your collarbone.

your mouth forms the words before they come out. you clutch hobie’s wrist and press your legs together. “e – everything. can’t talk.”

his tongue feels hot against your skin. his hand, trailing down your side, leaves your nerves burning in his wake. “too much goin’ on in there? need me to make it better?”

you nod feverishly. you’re just about ready to climb over the center console, keening to his touch. your body is on fire when hobie flips up your skirt. he shoves his way through your white tights and lace panties.

you gasp as he brushes his fingers against your clit. you’re already slumped over after days of stress and the lack of his touches making you extra sensitive.

“relax, angel. y’know i hate it when you move too much.” he lightly chastises you. hobie has a grip on your hip to keep you stabilized. his fingers plunge into you with little resistance. you must have been more worked up than you thought.

you lean against him, breath tanning over his skin. you can’t help but fist his shirt, pushing yourself into his hand farther. he’s knuckle deep in your cunny, drawing endless juices out and leaking all over his fingers.

you lurch forward when he bumps against that one spot, whining directly in his ear. hobie doesn’t have to wait for you to tell him to abuse it. he’s silent, grinding the palm of his hand against your clit.

he keeps you still while he plays with your hole. though your provocative reactions were the source behind his pants feeling suddenly constricting, this wasn’t about him. this was about easing your body, wound up too tight to function.

“ohmygosh, ‘bie. please! i’m gonna – don’t stop!”

you only invite him to drive his thick fingers deeper, as far as he could. hobie glimpses at your expression and nearly cums in his pants.

you look so erotic, glossy mouth formed in an o shape. your eyes are squeezed shut and the cute little hat that was previously so neatly atop your head was all lopsided. the glitter on your lids only helped his horniness. in his eyes, you were absolutely heavenly. he has the best girl with the best pussy.

you don’t even notice how he’s observing you, especially when your hole spasms on his digits. your creamy cum is siphoned out of you until your body twitches in sensitivity.

gradually, hobie’s fingers come to a stop and are gingerly sliding out of you. “all better?” he asks. he’s lifting your cheeks again, only to push his fingers passed your lips. he’s flashing you a satisfied smile when your tongue is swirling around him.

you hum in confirmation. the edge in your behavior is gone and it’s evident in the placidness in your eyes. you’re pleasant again, looking as if he’s built you the world by hand.

“you’re not gonna be mean to me anymore?” hobie pops his fingers out your mouth. he smears your spit on your cheek and even though it probably left some imperfections in your makeup, you couldn’t care less.

“mm mm.” you grin softly and settle back in your seat, only after hobie has fixed your tights and smoothens out your skirt for you. your gaze is fixed on the poms on your skirt, but this time in contentment rather than avoidance.

alas, after your little break, he starts the car. “there’s my girl.” he reaches over to buckle your seatbelt for you, fixing your hat immediately after.

and of course, you’re all gumdrops and rainbows after that. thank god you have hobie around to bring you to your senses, right when you need it most.

[fuckingstrange]

hiii :DD i have a small fanfic idea i was hoping u could write 👀 ?

hotch x non-bau!male!reader in which hotch has a case and the victims seem similar to Reader, loke either personality or looks?

for the whole case Aaron is just stressed out and worried even though Reader is in a completely different state than the case/unsub. so he's extremely relieved when they finally catch him.

then when hotch finally gets back home, hes extra affectionate with Reader and just sort of clings on to him for a while yk.

sorry if this is too specific or something, but I'd just rly like ur writing and this idea has been stuck in my head for a while 😓

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Treat(ing) him right

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WARNINGS: Talk of a case, no violence, poor baby Hotch, pain mentions (neck, legs), sex joke made by author, sweetheart hotchner, kissing, undressing each other (non-sexual), cuddling, implied nonverbal Hotch

WORDS: 760+

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x m!reader

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a/n - Ty for the request and sorry it took so long !!

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Hotch is currently driving home late at night after a two-week long case, each mile he makes him feel like more weight is being put on him. This case hurt more than it should, though Rossi keeps trying to reassure him that his worry and pain is reasonable.

One of the victims looked like you. Nearly identical. They even had the same personality you showcase. While he knew that you were simply back at home and in an entirely different state away from all of this, he still couldn't help but be scared for your safety, the worry and anxiety eating at him every night that he decided he should let you sleep instead of call you.

This case fucked him up, over, backwards, might have as well even bent him over, with how stressed he got. He's left with countless mental and physical pain, such as a painful kink in his neck from how long he spent up late at night, looking over the same files over and over in hopes of catching the guy sooner. The leg pain he feels was so bad, it was visible, even when he tried to hide the pain. The team was surprised he could still stand after running nearly four blocks at full sprint to catch the Unsub after he ran.

Hotch makes it home after a grueling 10 mile drive from the airport, slinging his go-bag over his shoulders and making it inside. He's quick to get over to the door, but slow as he opens it and enters, grabbing the bag and carefully setting it down as he locks the door behind him. He stands there for a few minutes, looking around the empty home. He nearly grabs his gun, but then you walk out from the bathroom.

Your eyes light up as you exit the restroom to find Hotch back home, making your way over to him in a quick manner, leaning up to kiss his cheek while saying “Hey, handsome.” He responds with a soft kiss on the mouth, leaning back for a second before deciding to give into his needs and pull you into a hug. He's not big on hugging, so this surprises you a bit, but you're aware of how fucking awful those cases can get. You wrap your arms around him in return, feeling his head slip down to hide his face in the crook of your neck. You smile and give him a light squeeze, hand absent mindedly running up and down his back as you ask “How was the case?”

Hotch doesn't respond for a couple minutes before mumbling “dreadful” in response. You frown, moving a hand to the back of his head to guide him to lift it so you can look at him. He lets you guide him up, gazing down at you in silence despite knowing you want a further explanation. He decides to lightly shake his head, trying to communicate that he doesn't feel like talking about it, or talking in general, at the moment. While this bothers you, you don't force him. Instead, you offer to help him get dressed for bed because of how late it is.

He takes you up on the silent offer with zero hesitation, giving a silent nod and letting you pull back from the hug so you can make your way to the bedroom with him. Hotch keeps a gentle hold on your hand the entire way, not wanting to stray far.

You pull him into the bedroom, turning to face him and pulling him closer by the sides of his suit jacket, which you then slip off his shoulders and toss it onto the desk chair not far away. Hotch leans in to press his lips against yours as you undo his shirt, his arms coming up to lazily rest on your shoulders. You smile into the kiss, loving how affectionate and clingy can be after being gone for so long. He might hate that quality about himself, but it might as well he your favorite.

You strip him down to his boxers and undershirt before letting him do the same to you, noticing the way he leads you off into bed as quickly as possible. He always does that when he wants to hold you, and who are you to deny him?

You each slip under the covers, now a mess of tangled limbs and occasionally giving each other kisses wherever you can. It's about an hour or two before he nuzzles his head into your chest, indicating he's tired. Your hand comes up to play with the hair on the back of his head, making soothing stroking motions to the short black strands to lull him off to sleep. You stay awake for a few more hours, simply to admire him, pressing small, feather-light kisses wherever you can. You swear you'll marry him one day.

[flocktothelight]

Thanks for the cool skykid ask game! How about 7, 9, and 16 for your skykid?

Thanks so much for this, I’ll use Fishbait to answer 💛🐟

7 - What is your take on Sky’s lore?

Uhhhh I dont know much canon lore so I try to keep it loose so it can be changed. Mostly in my lore, skykids are a slightly different creature than the Spirits are, just off enough for their natural mannerisms to be different and to seek out and require different things

-My idea of skykids is ghat they’re very nonverbal and communicate by copying what they see others do. (Thus the emotes, theyre literally learning how to express emotions)

-They’re hardly ever tied strictly to one place as home; they tend to wander and make temporary nests if anything.

- naturally solitary creatures that are friendly to their own kind and others

- are drawn to the Call of bringing light to the world (might be very specific like Fishbait’s calling or vague) as well as to fly freely like a bird

9 - Does your skykid have any friends?

Fishbait’s friends are the spirits in the rescue team. They’ve never been around other Skykids, but whenever they are they feel extremely awkward and displaced

16 - How old is your skykid? (Like are they a child, an adult, etc)

I’m not really sure, kind of Flock’s age (ambiguous child/teenager/something? Very old but stopped aging) ? They would see themselves as a teenager

[happy-tree-huggers]

All Characters - Their Pet Names for Their S/O

Note: Sorry for my long & sudden absence! Life has been hectic these past few months. I hope to get back to writing requests soon. Here's a tiny gift for waiting so long! Word Count: N/A Warnings: None

♡ Cuddles - Pet names sound quite unnatural coming from him, so he'll always go with rather playful names, usually something specific referencing his S/O. If they're short, it's Shorty; if they're clumsy, well... Clumsy.

♡ Giggles - She loves using cutesy pet names like Sweetie, Honeybunch, and Cutiepie, though sometimes she'll go with a casual Baby.

♡ Toothy - He doesn't call his S/O anything but their name for a while due to his inexperience with relationships. Eventually though, he'll begin calling them Lovey.

♡ Lumpy - He wouldn't normally use pet names unless his S/O asked him to; though he'd think of something cheesy and long like My One And Only.

♡ Petunia - Her go-to pet name is always Sugar, though she'll also use Rosebud and Precious.

♡ Handy - Many of his pet names are used in a sarcastic/joking manner like Dummy or Smarty Pants, but he does use some earnestly like Angel and Honey.

♡ Nutty - He doesn't often use pet names—mainly because due to being so hyper, he often just forgets—but if he does remember, it most certainly will always be candy related, like Lollipop, Jellybean, or Cupcake.

♡ Sniffles - He hadn't thought of using any pet names for his S/O until much later, eventually starting to use Dear; though it sounds somewhat strange coming from him, and he'll be flustered if his S/O says anything about it.

♡ Pop - Being very much the domestic type, he will use the more classical couple's pet names such as Dear or Darling; his favorite being Honey.

♡ Flaky - They are embarrassed to use pet names at all at first until they become more comfortable with their S/O, only eventually calling them Sweetie.

♡ The Mole - Being mostly nonverbal, he often doesn't speak at all and rarely uses pet names in general, but in the uncommon moment that he does speak, it would be something like Love.

♡ Disco Bear - He will almost always refer to his S/O with one of many confidence-boosting pet names, such as Beautiful/Handsome or Gorgeous. His most common however are Babe and Baby; though sometimes in a joking manner it'll be Hot Stuff, which he favors when he wants to fluster his S/O.

♡ Russell - He can get surprisingly romantic at times—well, tries his best to be—and uses pet names like My Sea and My Treasure; only in private, however.

♡ Lifty and Shifty - The two of them won't use pet names for the longest time until Shifty starts using names like Doll or Doll Face to fluster their S/O; of course, Lifty will get jealous quickly, and start using his own, such as Angel Face.

♡ Mime - Due to being completely nonverbal, he can't exactly call his S/O any pet names. Despite this however, he does show other forms of affection, such as using his hands to gesture a heart shape towards them, or sending them sweet letters.

♡ Flippy - Similar to Pop he is also very domestic, but enjoys using the sweeter variety of pet names like Sweetheart and Pumpkin. Even when triggered he may use these, though it's usually in a possessive manner.

♡ Splendid - Despite his pastime of being a superhero, he's quite the surprising gentleman, calling his S/O Dove or Charmer.

♡ Lammy - Being a more classy lady, her go-to pet names are Darling and Dear.

[vlerian-root]

PMDD + transitioning

I don't know how to write this in a more poetic manner, but I would like to put some words out of my head and into (virtual) paper. Being trans has saved my life

Quite literally! I have a medical condition called PMDD, that has been undiagnosed for 17 years. It is a neurological sensitivity to changes in levels of estrogen in the blood. There is documentation out there, don't believe anything that says "it's like bad pms". It has nothing to do with pms. This is your brain being "allergic" to you getting your period, and causing havoc on any and all brain functions - like a russian roulette! It can affect your mood (in a good and bad way, usually very extreme), leaving you suicidal, violent, nonverbal, manic... It can be very painful - and not just in your head, with the typical migraines that last for days, but also on the rest of your body, or localized areas. I used to not be able to move my legs for days at a time. "Just pms" my ass. It can affect your memory. Long and short term memory, some parts of mine are just gone. Erased. Not coming back. They are big chunks too. It can affect you psychologically, in all the fun flavors that can have, like paranoia, obsession, depression, hypomania, dissociation... This usually lasts up to 10 days and ends when you get your period. Which is a hell of its own, so I have lost half of my time for the last few years, when it started getting really bad. It only got diagnosed for me when my psychologist noticed a pattern of me getting really bad every month around the same time. He assumed I knew this. I did not. Nobody had every mentioned PMDD, I didn't know it existed.

But here is where we get to the good part. I was in medical psychological therapy for something unrelated (OCPD, a personality disorder, although most of the symptoms got really bad with PMDD), and the psychiatrist assigned to me is an expert in this matter. He talked to me about the research he had done, and the research I had done while obsessively browsing the internet for any morsel of info I could get. So far any medical treatments had been from ineffective to making things a lot worse, so I needed to talk to someone who knew their stuff. And he did! But we found that since this is your body being "allergic" to a thing it naturally produces, and will continue to produce for at least another 20ish years, the best treatment was to stop that cycle. I had tried this before with my gyno. This went terribly bad. Twice. Or rather, it went great for 3 months, then worse than ever after that, and it became the new normal. It was hell. I was at a point where I couldn't have any sort of normal life. Half the time I would make projects and live happily by myself, and the other half I needed help to even walk to the bathroom because my head was about to explode, my legs didn't work, I wanted to jump out of a window, and I forgot about all my deadlines. Oh, and the muscle spasms that looked almost like seizures. This shit had cost me 90% of my social life, all of my professional life, and was now simply trying to take my life.

BUT!!! Did you know that if you remove the ovaries, the estrogen blood levels stop rising and falling? Did you know that triggers premature menopause? Did you know that testosterone is a very effective treatment of the side effects of menopause?

That was my whole approach, and my brilliant psychiatrist agreed it was a good one. To this day, he has been the only person to not question this decision even if it's pretty radical. He's the only one that has understood there is no sense in asking someone whose brain is killing them from the inside "are you sure you want to do that? you won't be able to turn back!". I'm aware you can't put the ovaries back in. But they are. Killing me. Driving me insane. Please.

It took me ages to find a doctor that would even contemplate doing this (quite simple) surgery. Every single one of them used the "but you are a woman of childbearing age, I can't do this in good faith" argument. Or the "I don't know about PMDD so I think you are lying" covered in sugary lies approach. It was hell.

In the end, I have gotten the surgery. I no longer have overies. I'm writing this weeks after it, and I can assure whoever is reading this that I no longer suffer - or will suffer - from PMDD ever again. Writing that feels so liberating... The kicker is that I wouldn't have been able to access any of this if I wasn't trans. Because PMDD is so badly researched and documented that even the doctors that specialize in the organs it affects think it's "bad pms". I had to say "but I am a trans man, this is very dysphoric". Then, and only then, would they give me T. I am not a trans man, just transmasc. I wanted to get healthy before transitioning, because it's not very great to be in an unstable mental state to handle the tsunami of changes and their (sometimes social) repercussions that come with it. But irony of ironies, the cure for 90% of my health issues has been transitioning.

OCPD has gotten easier to manage thanks to the emotional resilience I got on T (and what my therapist taught me) No ovaries mean no periods, which means no spending up to 2 weeks each month with my brain self destructing. No more memory loss, no more pain, no more spasms, no more migraines!!! No more dreading the days before the next T dose in case the previous one is a little too short (this has sent me to the ER before). No more pregnancy risk. No more depression, no more low energy, no more low libido, no more bullshit!!!! I am ME, inside and out, forever!!!!! I haven't felt like this since I was 14, and I'm 32 now! This is insane to think about @_@ It sucks that I had to lie to some doctors to get where I am today. But if I hadn't, I don't even know if I'd be here. It wasn't that big of a lie anyways (I hope). Feels bad to me, because I hate lying, but... no, I think this one was ok.

TL;DR: I have PMDD, meaning my brain is allergic to estrogen, so you can kind of say I was allergic to being a woman, and transitioning has saved my life ♥

If you are still reading this, thank you. I'm very sleepy and this probably makes very little sense, but my dms are open to any questions.

[littlefaething]

hello! I have many different names, but the one you can call me when in doubt is cleo!

This blog is a place for me to post about agere imagines, agere content, and my own journey with being a regressor!

I will also post vent content. If that doesn’t interest you/triggers you, all vents will be tagged with #vent #faevents #agere vent for your filtering preferences.

Key things you should know about me:

I’m 21 years old

I am polygender (they/she) and hate being called ma’am but don’t mind being called feminine pet names (e.g. princess, babygirl, etc.) (I prefer it 🥰)

I’m plus size (not that it should really matter)

I have ADHD, ASD, OCD, GAD, Major Depressive Disorder, Dermatillomania, Seasonal Affectiveness Disorder, cPTSD, Social Anxiety Disorder, and synesthesia

I’m bisexual and write about both men and women as daddy caregivers (women can be daddies, too!)

Now, recall that I said I go by many names. Here’s why:

I discovered I was autistic about a year ago. Since then, things have really changed for me. I’ve started to realize that things I’ve done in the past are actually just autistic traits, such as masking. I’m extremely high masking and would often attach names to certain “masks” I would put on around certain people. This habit has been going on for some time now and has persisted even into my regression journey, which only started becoming a huge deal over the past few months. I ended up associating different regression states/headspaces with names/temperaments, so that’s why I go by many names.

I’ll introduce them to you in a moment, but I want to clarify something right off the bat: I DO NOT HAVE DID. Dissociative Identity Disorder is a very different disorder that I am very passionate about advocating for, and I DO NOT want anyone to misconstrue my situation for something as complex as that. I’m simply on the spectrum, used to be a theatre kid, and have masked 95% of my entire life. Regardless of which name I sign off as, it’s still me, but please be aware that each name has a different age and temperament attached to it (that’s why I’m doing this in the first place.) Talking to me in my little space like I’m an adult can be very triggering.

Cleo 🍯🥀👻🐈‍⬛

Cleo is me when I’m big (so me writing this post). Posts signed off/on as Cleo indicate being an adult or mostly big. Posts will have appropriate grammar as I have a hyperfixation on it lol.

I (and the other headspaces) have a huge disconnect from our humanity/human bodies, so we don’t feel human. As the name of this blog suggests, I feel like a fairy or some kind of fae creature. Weird, I know, but a lot of people with autism have this same struggle.

I’ll make a get to know me post(s) in the future

Fae 🫧🌼🦋🍃

When I’m positively triggered into age regressing

Age range changes a lot but more likely to be a younger little

Jinn 🌙🐦‍⬛🍄🖤

When I’m negatively triggered into age regressing

Age range changes a lot especially depending on how triggered I am

Jinn does most of the venting

Sephie 🐶🌸🍬🧸

When I’m very little or even nonverbal

Probably won’t post too much when in my Sephie headspace, but if I do, it’ll probably just be images

I won’t respond to any comments in this headspace as I’m too young

(Short for Persephone)

That’s it!

I’ll make a trigger list eventually and tag it here.

Oh and also: it’s a shame I have to even say this, but DNI if you are racist, sexist, transphobic, terf, homophobic, antisemitic, Islamophobic, Zionist, ableist, view age regression in a s3xually expl!cit/n.sfw manner, or any other bigotry not mentioned here. It’s not hard to respect others, so if you can’t do that as a bare minimum, then I don’t want you here.

THIS BLOG IS SFW 13+!

Don’t make me uncomfy.

banner by nkitti!

[raising-harmony]

What made you decide to take in orphaned children?

An interesting question. There were a few different factors at play, really.

Time and place are partly to blame for the girls. While I wasn't actively planning on adopting, I knew Team Plasma and the Harmonia name needed a future beyond myself.

Anthea and Concordia were on the streets regularly in my area. The police had tried a few times to remove and rehome them to little success; They would vanish briefly, then turn up again, maybe in a different neighborhood but never leaving the city altogether. Anthea took on a sort of leader role between the two, doing most of the speaking and leading her sister around to safety. Concordia was quite shy compared to how she is now. I spoke with them a few times, gave them some food. Everytime I fed them, they would ration just so they could feed some of the thinner wild pokémon, too.

They confided in me at one point that they wanted to find a home, yet were too scared that the foster system would separate them. Knowing this, and seeing their sense of kindness and love, I decided I would take them in at least temporarily. I wasn't quite sure I would officially adopt them yet, but they were so incredibly grateful to have a place to stay that they did just about everything in their power to convince me to make it a permanent decision. So I did.

As for N... Well, finding him was more deliberate. There was this strange rumor that had been started, you see, of a cursed monster roaming the forest northwest of Lacunosa Town. They spoke of all manners of outlandish things, from him being responsible for the disappearance of hikers in the vicinity, to him playing some role in the annihilation of a small nearby village. They claimed he had the ability to call upon all sorts of creatures to decend upon you if you wound up in the wrong part of the forest. The way he was described, you wouldn't be remiss for assuming he was some sort of mythical pokémon. Hearing all of this, I decided to go and see for myself. Maybe this new mythical pokémon would aid in my mission.

Imagine my surprise when I found not a pokémon, but a scared little boy. These rumors had indeed mentioned seeing a child every now and then, but they spoke of this fact as if it were an illusion, like one of a zoroark. I reckon him being frequently seen alongside zoroark and zorua didn't help.

Leaving him there would be idiotic. The pokémon around him were clearly trying their best to care for him, but human children aren't exactly compatible with the lifestyle of a wild pokémon. He was skinny beyond belief, nonverbal, filthy, and injured from walking around barefoot. He was blatantly traumatized by humans. He tried hiding from me in a bush. He thrashed and clawed and wailed when I picked him up and didn't stop until I gave him something to eat. Once he calmed down, he was only confused by me. Maybe even a bit curious.

I had half a mind to simply hand him off to the authorities, yet his apparent connection to pokémon and his rumored abilities to communicate with them fascinated me. Not to mention, he had obviously been abandoned once, and having him abandoned a second time at an orphanage seemed cruel. Dragons only know how many more times he would be taken in and kicked out over and over again by ill-equipped individuals if I sent him there.

I don't even know how Z managed to sneak into the car alongside him. She simply appeared next to him as I went to close the door, and he was clinging to her for dear life, so there was no taking one without the other.

[izamationbroker]

this isnt a specific character but do u think any of these bitches autistic???

Right off the top of my head? Both the Heiwajima boys, with different presentations.

Shizu-chan struggles with emotional regulation and feels like he isn't able to connect to others. He stims when he gets worked up, usually through pacing or his muttering (killkillkillkillkill). One scene in particular comes to mind where he's literally bouncing on Celty's bike because he's so riled up. He takes things very literally, especially when justifying his own actions. He also seems to be somewhat routine oriented in that he wears the exact same outfit every day (further sentimental about it because Kasuka gifted them to him, and he gets very upset when those clothes are messed up), follows Tom around all day for work in a very predictable manner, and gets very upset when that routine is disrupted (usually by Izaya).

Meanwhile, I don't have quite as good of a grasp on Kasuka because it's been a long time since I've seen the Hollywood arc, but his flat affect and distance from others except his own brother is telling to me. Not to mention the way he expresses his care for Shizuo isn't very straightforward to most, like when he offers Shizuo milk to calm him down or gifts Shizuo his bartender uniforms to wish him luck in his new job. It's clear he cares a lot about Shizuo, but prefers to show that care in other ways than just saying so.

Kururi also strikes me as autistic, but that's pure vibes based off her typically nonverbal nature so I'll just call that a headcanon.

Could Walker and Erika also be autistic based on their hyperfixation (special interest?) in manga and anime? I guess you could argue that, but a special interest alone does not an autistic person make imo. They don't really display many characteristics beyond the manga thing, so it's more likely to me that they are just surface-level quirky otaku.

[willowiswriting]

Extremely Detailed Character Sheet Template

Hi! This is the actual character sheet that I use for my main characters! (My side characters usually get a much shorter one.) I will normally do this character sheet, write a lot of drabbles (or the entire first draft of the book *cough LnD cough*) and then re-do the character sheet once I get a better feel for who the character is. Characters tend to develop themselves as you write them, and it’s nice to keep this kind of information handy (and accurate to the current iteration!) while writing. 

These questions are kind of an amalgamation of questionnaires I’ve found online and questions I felt needed answering for my own characters. Feel free to copy/paste this into your doc or reblog and fill it out! (Under a readmore tag please, it’s a very long questionnaire lol)

THE BASICS:

Name: 

Meaning behind the name (if any):

Age:

Gender identity: 

Sexuality:

Role in story:

Hair color/texture:

Skin color/texture:

Eye color:

Scars:

Other notable features:

 “Default” outfit:

EXTERNAL/OUTWARD PRESENCE:

How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?

How much physical space do they use, active and at rest?

How do they position themselves in a group? Do they like to be the center of attention, or do they hang back at the edges of a crowd?

How does their size or build influence how they use their body, if it does?

What are they like in motion -– in different environments, and in different activities? What causes the differences between these?

How do they physically engage with other people, inanimate objects, and their environment? What causes the differences between these?

Where and when do they seem most and least at ease? Why? How can you tell?

How are they vocally expressive? What kind of voice, accent, tones, inflections, volume, phrases and slang, and manner of speaking do they use?

How are they bodily expressive? How do they use nonverbal cues such as their posture, stance, eyes, eyebrows, mouths, and hands?

INTERNAL:

What is their greatest fear?  

What are some misbeliefs about the world? 

What is the best thing about their life? 

What is the worst thing about their life? 

What do they most often look down on people for? 

What makes their heart feel alive? 

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way? 

How do they manage their energy, exhaustion, tension, or other strong emotions?

What energizes and drains them most?

What kind of inner life do they have — rich and imaginative? Calculating and practical? Full of doubts and fears? Does it find any sort of outlet in their lives?

Do they dream? What are those dreams like?

Are they more shaped by nature or nurture — who they are, or what has happened to them? How have these shaped who they’ve become as a person?

(Potentially ignoring the plot if it wouldn’t normally play into their life,) what kind of person could they become in the future? What are some developmental paths that they could take, (best, worst, most likely?) what would cause them to come to pass, and what consequences might they have? What paths would you especially like to see, and why?

Does their perception of who they are align with how other people see them? Why or why not?

Top three things they value most in life? 

FUN:

What’s their favorite book, movie, and band? (Modernize them if it’s a fantasy setting)

Favorite color?

Least favorite color?

Favorite food/cuisine?

What associations do they bring to mind? Words or phrases, images, metaphors or motifs? Why?

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with and why? 

Describe three typical outfits for them, top to bottom.

What names or nicknames have they been called throughout their life? 

Describe their daily routine.

Their go-to cure for a bad day?

[remakethestars]

Being Damian Wayne's Twin Sister Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Exactly. I don't ask my dog to drive, and I don't ask the Justice League to solve my problems.❞

— Damian Wayne, Adventures of the Super Sons #9: Showdown on Hexworld

TRIGGER WARNING: Cursing, (Damian’s) death. Mentions of toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny, nightmares, blood, knives.

Headcanon masterlist.

When people ask you, “So, which one of you is the evil twin?” Damian always glowers, and you always motion to him.

You look disturbingly alike when only your eyes are showing; Damian’s got long lashes. Talia taught you a good tactic for tag-teaming in combat as kids was to pull up your hinged balaclavas and make the enemy think there was only one of you, that they’re seeing double.

Or for one of you to hang back while the other attacks as a distraction before the other knocks them out from behind.

Obviously, this won’t work when the two of you start filling out, but it works when you’re kids. It’s the reason why, even off the field, the two of you usually wear a matching outfits with hoods.

You utilize the same methods when she sends you to live with Bruce.

You don the Robin costume just like he does, much to the rest of the Batfam’s confusion (both because they weren’t expecting it and because they can’t tell you apart either), but sticking with the “red” theme, you go by Redstart.

There’s a rumor on the street that Robin V. is a meta that can teleport.

The two of you are freakishly good at mimicking the other’s voice and mannerisms, which makes it even harder for your family.

Jason tells you two about April Fools Day, and you make the most of it. Of course, Damian’s a pain in the a$$ and decides to go around pretending to be you and getting into trouble. You’re banned from the mall, and you still have no idea why. 

The two of you can communicate with just an impassive expression (Dick says it looks like a prime example of twin telepathy to anyone else), but anyone close to you knows sh¡t’s about to hit the fan when the two of you look at each other and smirk.

If it’s something you can’t communicate nonverbally, you use your cryptophasia. 

Cryptophasia is a language developed by twins when they’re learning to talk. Most of them grow out of it, you and Damian decided to keep developing it so it became more of a conlang. No one else has been taught to speak it, and they never will be. It’s for emergencies only.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was your Bible growing up, and the two of you call out verses when you fight together and need the other to understand a tactic (you both inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory, so you’ve got it memorized).

When you get too big to pull off the which-is-which game, you make your own costume and become the true Redstart. 

It’s basically Damian’s Robin uniform (the Super Sons’s version is the only one I’ll accept), but the boots and gloves are black, the biceps have a white stripe, the lining of the cape is white (the lining of the hood is black), the gold accents become white, it has a zipper down the front instead of clasps, and the mask becomes black (including the eyes). The waterline of the eyes is white. Like a painted redstart.

If Damian’s into animals, you’re into plants. The two of you find common ground on the fact that pollution sucks, so when you walk Titus, you take a trash bag and gloves with you to pick up litter as you go.

You did not want to go to Jon’s school. 

Not because you don’t like Jon (because you do), but because you know you could run intellectual circles around every one of those snot-nosed brats. 

School is stupid. Especially because the American education system is subpar; everything about it is.

You hardly pay attention in class. You do all of the homework a week ahead of time incase something comes up. Usually you’re doing next week’s homework in class. You’ve written entire papers on your phone in Google Docs in the middle of class to be printed out later.

If you’ve already done everything, Damian’s usually drawing and you’re daydreaming or you’re working on a case on your phone.

The teachers are always trying to catch you not paying attention, but you little sh¡ts can always answer their questions. 

Damian’s closest with Dick, but you’re closest with Tim. You admire his ability to plan ahead (see the entirety of the Red Robin comics), and you know that he’s better than both your father and your grandfather; you want to be as good as him when you grow up.

It takes a long time to wash the toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny our of your head, to learn that your grandfather’s ideas of “strength” were wrong, that it’s okay to lean on someone besides Damian, that you can be just as strong as your brother and still be feminine, that there are acceptable emotions besides anger.

Actually, your father teaches you that anger is more likely to get you killed. He won’t let you go into the field when he knows your angry.

It’s harder to drill out of you than your instinct to kill.

There’s a Lebanese restaurant called Tarbooshes (Teen Titans Special #1) the two of you go to when you’re feeling homesick. They make ox blood soup the same way your mother did, and it’s the only non-vegetarian thing Damian will eat for that very reason.

It’s nice to have a place to go where they know you by name and know what you want when you tell them “the usual.” It’s nice to have a place where you’re not a Wayne or an Al Ghul, where you’re just [Y/N] and Damian.

You disappear for an hour on your birthday to eat there. Bruce has asked you were you go, but you kept that between the two of you. 

Speaking of birthdays, you’re eleven minutes older than him. He was six pounds and ten ounces (Batman & Robin #0?), and you were a solid seven.

After Damian died, you go to Tarbooshes to feel close to him.

You were doing all right with the no-killing thing until the night Damian died.

Heretic never stood a chance.

He looked so much like Damian it gave you nightmares, though. Nightmares where you killed your twin brother and woke up sobbing.

Damian didn’t give you a speech in his last moments. He just looked over at you and said in your cryptophasia, “I’m sorry.” 

Not “I love you.” Not “Take care of them for me.” You knew that; you’d do that. He didn’t have to tell you, and he didn’t have to ask.

Just “I’m sorry.” Sorry that you were the one that was left behind.

It’s one thing to lose a family member, to lose a friend, or to lose a lover. It’s another to lose half of your soul.

The two of you had always feared you would die apart. It had always been a possibility; you weren’t stupid enough to think, “It’ll never happen to me.” Because it definitely could. 

And it had.

You wanted to run away from everything. Even just for a while. Go to one of your safe houses in London or France or whatever and just — you didn’t know — stare at the wall until you felt better? But you’d made that unspoken promise to Damian — “I’ll take care of them for you; don’t worry.” — to take care of Titus and Catfred and Jerry and Batcow and Goliath, to take care of Alfred and Bruce and Dick and Jason and Cassandra and Tim, to take care of Jon and Colin and Maps.

You avoided the cave. And if you had to go down there for some reason, you refused to look at the Robin suits.

Dick noticed. He asked if you wanted them taken down, even just for a while. You gave him a look like he was nuts and said, “No.”

Jon was a mess. More of a mess than you were, somehow. 

You’d shown up at the Kents’s. Jon was out doing Superboy things with Clark and Conner. Lois was the only one home.

You nearly scared her out of her skin when you materialized behind her and asked, “Is Jon home? It’s important.” 

He had to know first. He deserved to.

For all he put up with from you two, he deserved to be the first to know when one of you was f*cking dead.

Lois, of course, bless her heart, had the mom instincts to know that you were in no way, shape, or form okay even when you were trying so hard to hold yourself together. She asked you what’s wrong, and it’s what made you break. 

Your lip trembled. “He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“Damian,” your voice broke. “He’s dead.” 

Jon came home to find you in his living room in your Robin uniform, covered in Damian’s and Heretic’s blood, snot running down your lip, sobbing in his mothers arms and knew what happened without having to ask. He did anyway.

When you and Jon both finally passed out, your Uncle Clark flew you back to the Batcave. No one was in any condition — not even Alfred — so he carried you up to your room; took your boots, mask, cape, and gloves off; and tucked you in. Then he went to find Bruce because there was no doubt he was losing it too.

Bruce doesn’t tell you anything about trying to find a way to bring him back without the Lazarus pit because he doesn’t want to get your hopes up. 

You walk into your room one day to find Damian sitting there reading the dissertation (the requirement was three pages, not 120, but your teacher would just have to deal with your coping mechanisms) you had been working on for your World History class and left up on your laptop while on patrol. 

He said with the utmost indifference, “You’ve made some good points, Sister,” and, of course, you pulled out a knife and attacked him because this was — was — was some shapeshifting alien or hologram tech or a cruel joke — your twin was dead, this wasn’t funny, whoever did this was going to pay.

He met you blow-for-blow and flipped away from you before saying, “And here I was expecting a warm welcome,” in your cryptophasia. 

“Brother?” 

“Tt. Obviously.” 

Yeah, a college level thesis. You’re smart. You inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory and were raised by assassins.

You learned seven languages and wrote five doctoral theses by the time your teeth came in, wrote your first letter to a newspaper editor when you were two, could’ve had a geology doctorate when you were seven (Super Sons #1), and it only took you a week to learn the language on Takron-Galtos. You’re smart.

You’re also incredibly skilled. You learned to drive when you were five (Super Sons #1), your mother trained you to go for weeks without eating (Adventures of the Super Sons #6), you can micro-sleep for days and converse with half your brain asleep, can use a muscular contraction to move your liver out of the way of a blade (Nightwing #20), and can place yourself in a deep trance to heal damages caused by a hematoma (also #20).

(My dumba$$ didn’t note what Super Sons/Adventure of the Super Sons comic I was reading when I took notes, so I don’t have all of them noted in the two above bullet points. But that’s where they’re from. If I end up rereading them, I’ll edit this and add the comic numbers.)

The first time on patrol you thought Bruce was gonna die, you called him Baba. 

The next evening, when Dick came to visit the cave, he turned to you and Damian and asked, “So, which one of you called him Dad?” 

“How’d you know?” you asked. 

“He’s smiling the way he did the day I called him Tati.”

“He’s not smiling,” Damian pointed out.

“He is on the inside.”

Can we talk about how royally the Arkham Knights game screwed up Tim Drake? (Though, everything seems to screw up Tim one way or another, I guess.) Why does he look like a quidditch player in the gif above the cut?

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ I’m a dumb white American, and I don’t know much about Arab or Romani culture other than what I’ve learned online. I hope I got it right?? If I didn’t, please drop a comment or P.M. me or something to let me know!

[the-trash-eating-llama]

Greetings once again, I come to you from a calmer place, calmer ðan usual anyhow.

I do hope you enjoy ðis entry, it seems to be a little longer ðan oðers, and I take ðat as a good sign.

But enough of ðe prolog, it is time for chapter 6. Enjoy!

After leaving the small interior, Nemandi finally saw something they would never truly understand, an enormous orange and yellow place, completely enclosed, bigger than a valley and taller than mountains, with birds so far away that they could barely be seen. They could only just barely see the walls to the gargantuan space, which stretched all the way up and joined the sky, where it became difficult to determine if they were truly observing the sky or simply a replica of it, both ideas equally impressive.

An enormous waxy pillar centered the entire structure, holding the sky and successfully stealing Nemandi’s breath. How could something so gargantuan exist, and without showing any signs of collapse in the slightest?

This place, it made Nemandi feel very small, almost nonexistent, and threatened to swallow them whole if they were not careful.

Everywhere they looked was life. Small birds flying in swarms, buzzing around bigger birds and teasing them, scattering when squakes rang out. Large birds sailing across the expanse with large boxes in their grips filled with things they needed for their daily activities. Fresh hatchlings playing in suspended canopies where they could be wild while being supervised by much older hawks.

“Woah” it was beginning to become their catch phrase.

Before long, our party came upon a large silo, various markings and dials covered the base of the cylinder watched carefully by strange looking birds, giant flabs of skin hanging from beaks that looked no sharper than an elbow, and white feathers coating what was certainly orange skin.

“Hello Pelíkan, how are you today?” Cawed Gripur, stealing the strange bird’s attention. “Oh, greetings Gripur, it has been well, for our food here is projected to last another two weeks at the least! And who is this fledgling?” Pelíkan squawked, queuing to Nemandi with their large wing. “But where are my manners, I am Pelíkan of the west, it/it’s, and it is a pleasure.”

Pelíkan outstretched a wing, and when Nemandi reached out, Pelíkan slapped its wing against the child’s hand and withdrew their wing. “Good to see even humans understand our basic nonverbal greetings.” Hummed the bird, not only gifting Nemandi a new set of pronouns to understand, but also showing them a new way to greet, truly they were already a part of the flock.

After about five minutes of small talk, the pair left with a small pouch of crowberries, two small fish and a pitcher of something called juice.

After getting the food, the two moved over to some benches facing each other, where they began to eat.

“So, what do you think of our food?” Questioned the bird, in between beakfuls of fish stuffed with crowberry.

“It’s incredible, I’ve never been able to pick my own food, and this is just delicious.” Exclaimed the child, so enraptured by the meal it almost felt sad when they finished.

“So, I suspect you have a couple questions? I know it can be overwhelming to think on your feet, so here we can truly find refuge for our thoughts.”

“Yes, first, what is this place? I remember going through the stump, and through a set of shiny doors, but then my memory fades into this morning.” Pondered Nemandi, scratching their head, hoping to shake loose the moments before they woke up, unsuccessfully.

“Yes, this place, it must be overwhelming, considering where you came from. This is my home, welcome to Heim, where all who wish for peace can congregate, and find peace together.” Spoke Gripur, wistfully, caught in memory.

“But where are we specifically? Are we underground?” Questioned Nemandi, somewhat calmed, but still nervous from what they remember. “I also remember the little red bird said something about work?”

“One thing at a time,” Replied the eagle, “first, after we talked to Rauðer, we followed him into the elevation, and we entered the middle of a tree not far from where your sister likes to hunt. On that tree is what you call a ‘beehive’. That is where we are.”

Nemandi glanced around, taking in their surroundings with a fresh tint, and nearly lost their mind. How could they be in a beehive? They were small, sure, but not miniature, and the tree, their sister hunts in an ash tree forest, how could either of them fit in an ash tree, let alone at the same time? And how did their stump reach all the way to their sister’s ground?

“I… uh, how?” Was the most the child could muster, their mind thoroughly scrabbled.

“Runic gateways, my father designed them himself,” Gripur explained, shifting into a more dramatic pose on the bench. “They allow for travel across long distances in seconds, and travel across shorter distances in years. In short, because of his life’s work, we can exist in a home so inconspicuous that no human has ever found us. We always find them, and I’ve had my eyes on you for some time, Nemandi.”

Hearing their name was not a new experience, but listening to it not be yelled or on a letter was new, and they rather liked it.

“Okay, um, and about the work?” Gulped Nemandi, still relatively anxious, but also more calm and collected.

“Ha, I doubt you’ll last 5 minutes out there, worm.” A voice cackled softly from behind Nemandi.

Phew, anoðer chapter uploaded. I very much enjoyed writing ðis one, but it took extra time due to me getting heavily into planning out what's next. I þink you'll very much enjoy it.

As for ðis chapter, I am finished, so I wish all a good day, especially @transasfuck30 @decoysender @godofautism @traaansfem and @and-this-gun-i-found for inspiration ðis chapter!

Good luck to all, and I hope you enjoyed,

Llama

Hey, I've finished ðe 1st and second chapters of my new book. I'm posting ðem boþ here, as I can't find where I posted ðe first one when I first made it.

I will be tagging ðis post as "llama writes" from now on, for ease of access.

On wiþ ðe reading!

As all things go, it was quiet. The season was autumn, the usual browns and greens of dirt and moss that often blanketed the forest gave way to spectacular oranges yellows and reds. Yes. Reds.

The red of a new flower, the red of a fallen leaf, and the red of painted wood. Nestled in between the exposed roots of trees long since fallen, lay a door, red as a dying sunset, circular in nature, with a shiny brass doorknob, protruding from the bottom of this now horizontal birch tree. How quaint.

And as it were, this was not just any fallen tree, nor just any door. No, this was the house of a woman, and no ordinary woman mind you, as she was possibly the toughest woman to ever dare live, for she harbored a curse. This, is her story.

Once, a very long time ago, the woman was but a boy, who carried water in a bucket for his mother, who needed that water for her bread. The bread was not easy to bake, it could take swaths of time to make one handful, but it was always necessary to have some, for it was never eaten immediately. The bread was used to make pies that could last for weeks.

The boy never understood why his mother would spend so much effort on making bread she never ate, as it was for the boy’s sister, who would bring the meat home. After a long day of hunting, she would carry the meat back home and have her mother put them in the pies, and eat some leftover soup with bread on the side.

The boy on a bright day walked down the dirt road, into the local hunting forest, through the brush, over a small creek of stones, and plopped down on a stump of a recently fallen ash tree, and pondered. He liked pondering, he found, the time he spent on that stump was often his most favorite time awake. Certainly better than carrying heavy buckets of water, he would think to himself.

But eventually, we all tire of the questions we have going unanswered, so after spending some time out there, a kindly tree near his spot would drop a leaf on his head, to tell him to go back home, and so he would. And he would ask his tired mother about his questions on the way of it all, and he would get told he spent too much time questioning the way of things and not enough time submitting to their forces. And then he would ask his wise sister about the general way of it all, and she would simply describe how things worked and what would happen if, but the boy never did find interest in the what will, only the why.

And so, he would find himself walking along those trees the next time he awoke, slumped on his stump, stumped by the general way of things. But this is not where the story ends, merely begins.

For, you see, one day, the winds began to change.

The boy, after a long day of carrying his bucket, he asked his mother why the leaves were a new colour, and his mother, who had not seen the trees that week, looked through the small window in her work house, and right jumped out of her skin. The leaves had changed, but much sooner than she would have hoped.

The mother took a moment to calm herself, for now was the hardest day of her year, autumn. Now, to most, autumn is but sweaters and scarves, but to her home, it was death.

The mother told her boy to get some rest, and take an extra blanket with him, for it would be a long night. The boy had little concept of night, but knew it was the part you slept through. So off he went to bed, wrapped in not only his sleep clothes and soft white fur blanket, but also in a new musk ox blanket handwoven by his sister to keep even the bitterest of frost out.

The boy slept well, but when he awoke, did not find a usual sight. Unlike the often bright window sill he was used to, spilling light all over the interior of his small room, it was dark, as if someone had draped blankets over his window, like his sister would do if the wind started to pick up and throw rocks at their house. The boy never did like those nights.

So the boy thought to himself that perhaps the time he was asleep was long enough to see, or rather miss, the beginning and end of a nasty storm. Reasonable as this conclusion was, when the boy reached out to remove the blanket, he only felt glass, as there was no blanket, and there was no storm.

For the boy had long since understood day, it was time for him to understand night.

With a sudden creak from nearby, the boy was awake, but had yet to see, for the room was blanketed in darkness.

“Hello?” He asked to no one in particular, and much to his chagrin, they answered.

“Greetings fine fellow, how may the night find you?” They boy gasped and tried to sit upright in his covers, but unfortunately could barely even squirm.

“Who are you, and what’s going on!?” Wherever the boy thought the voice could have come from, he certainly did not expect a quite large eagle.

“I am your friend, and you are being attacked.” Spoke the eagle, which was very impressive for such a bird.

“Why can’t I move!?” Cried the boy, trying his best to kick, punch, sit up, or much of anything.

“Now you’re supposed to introduce yourself to me, but I suppose that will have to wait for other circumstances.” Announced the eagle, which then jumped on the bed and turned away from the boy, stopping the boy from seeing what little he could of his room.

“Please, help me!” The boy wailed, but the bird hushed him with what can only be described as a ksssssst before a second entity emerged into the room, this time from the closet instead of the shadows.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the fowl.” Grumbled a voice most grumpily.

“Fyrirboði, how did I guess.” The eagle retorted, it was clear to the boy these two had a history, and he was in the middle of it.

“I wouldn’t doubt your tracking skills for a second, although I can tell you lack a partner still.” The grumpy grumbler grumbled, grumbly.

“My private life is no longer of your concern, and your presence here proves your assertion false.” The eagle defended, which puzzled the boy even more, who were these two, and why were they having such an argument in his bedroom?

“Of course, I simply wished to hear it from you, as you never do own up to your own words.” Fyrirboði stated, a statement that implied a long history indeed.

“Now leave Fyrirboði, I have no need to see you ever again.” Croaked the eagle, clearly on the edge of their limit.

“And that is where you are wrong, but I will heed your request, I always do.” And with a sudden decline of tension in the room, Fyrirboði was gone.

“Can I speak now?” The boy asked the bird, who now faced the boy with tears in their eyes.

“Yes you may, but please stay seated.” And as if the boy’s body thawed from ice instantly, he could move once again.

“What was all that, and what is going on!?” The child once again asked of the eagle.

“My name is Gripur, and I can be trusted, now as you can see, you are no longer safe here, and we must move.” Cawed the bird, answering absolutely zero of what the boy just asked.

“Oh, and before I forget,” continued Gripur. “What is it I shall call you?”

“Nemandi, and I need to tell mother about this.” Replied the boy, dazed and confused from the current situation.

“Well, Nemandi, you are the only one currently in this house, so I suggest we leave it before you disappear too.” Gripur described, leaving Nemandi with not only a degree of emotional whiplash, but also a full bucket of worry. At this rate, Nemandi might need a second bucket, or at least two trips.

“Outside, I can do that.” Nemandi agreed, finally.

“Good.” Replied Gripur. “Because we face more than old rivals tonight.”

So, how did you like it? I just finished it, so any criticism I can get would be helpful.

@decoysender @tangerineflavouredduck @mag150cul-de-sac @cannibalcanid @bigmeatpete69420 @illululusion @lovelythenabeana

Ðank you guys for inspiration!

And I will see you soon wiþ my next chapter.

[schtroumpf-a-lunettes]

@schtroumpfalunettes​ I’m just gonna make a new post so as not to bother OP hahaha. Continued from this post;

the other baby Smurfs we see are actually properly interacting with their subject of interest

Nnnnot quite.

Off the top of my head, Painter doesn’t tend to do abstract art, usually sticking with realism (which is why not just the manner in which he was painting, but also the abstract nature of his art in Lure of the Orb seemed to be part of his uncharacteristic behaviour.) Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong though, but this seems to be an instance of interacting with the interest in a baby way as opposed to how they will when they’re older.

Handy playing with a baby toy as opposed to building something more complex like he will when he’s older. The others seem to be interacting in a more characteristic way with their interests, but to me it feels rather filtered through the lens of “as a baby” - they’re still figuring it out, and the Brainy depiction felt much the same.

There’s another point I didn’t really mention in my previous reply, and that’s about how the smurfs as depicted here don’t yet seem to be able to speak.

Another point of ambiguity is as follows: how much time passes between Papa putting those glasses on Brainy compared to when we see him flipping through that book? I always assumed the timeframe was very brief, because Papa states he “figured out what he wanted to do in no time at all”. So even if we assume Brainy may have been a fast learner, I always interpreted the scene as “now that Brainy can finally see, he can interact with objects properly, and he finds books in particular interesting” - a timeframe where even if he was a fast learner he wouldn’t have had time to learn how to read since getting the glasses. You could potentially argue that there may have been a bigger timeskip involved from the point the glasses were placed on his head - long enough for him to become adept at reading relatively fast before we go to the next scene and he’s flipping through the book.

But to circle back to “they don’t yet seem to be able to speak”... That’s another key reason I never saw it as Brainy actually reading the book. All of the baby smurfs don’t appear to be verbal yet. Brainy is unable to vocalise what’s wrong which is why Papa had to figure out the sight issues. They’re babies and can’t speak yet. And when we see Brainy flipping through the book, he doesn’t look any different - presumably still at the nonverbal stage.*

Which... IRL there are people who are nonverbal of course, but from the POV of the “average” person’s development, it’s rather out of the ordinary for someone to have the ability to read before they can even speak. It inclines me to think that if he can’t speak, he can’t actually read either.

Because it’s Just A Cartoon, however, I actually do find it entirely plausible that there can be nonverbal babies fully adept at reading... Except this is Brainy Smurf we’re talking about. Being talkative is a core part of his entire Thing! It would seem out of place and almost uncharacteristic to me from that point of view for him to be depicted as being able to read but not able to talk. His inability to shut up is way more pronounced than his love of reading in the show, after all. How many scenes are there of Brainy just quietly reading vs scenes of Brainy talking talking talking? etc. It’s not out of the question that Brainy Smurf could read long before he could talk - it’s an interesting possibility. But if you come at it from the POV of “what did the writers intend, what is the intended depiction of this character here” then I’m not too sure why they would go that route.

*Granted, this calls upon that question of how much of a timeskip there was between scenes. The assumption that he’s still nonverbal in the “reading” scene is just that - an assumption. You could argue that he’d learned to talk in the interim, but... The biggest thing for me is how he’s still depicted the same way, no evidence of being able to speak is shown... It really feels like the scene of them all being nonverbal and the scene of Brainy flipping through the book are inherently “connected” - that Brainy interacting with the book “completes” the picture of the others interacting with their interests from a baby pov while still being nonverbal.

And I still just feel like it would be so easy to dispel these ambiguities if a) a timeframe long enough for Brainy to learn to read and speak actually took place (even if we assume he was a very fast learner) and if b) we are supposed to understand he’s older in the second scene and no longer nonverbal. They could have depicted him as slightly older to show a timeskip and have us understand all that (because reading as a slightly older toddler or something is still impressive), they could have depicted any of the young smurfs at that point in time saying anything, etc. (Maybe it just wasn’t feasible voice actor wise? idk. But I’m left with the very strong impression that Brainy in the second scene still can’t speak).

It makes sense for his character to imagine that he was incredibly advanced and intelligent as a child, and praised for it, but then as they grew up, everysmurf else caught up with him.

This actually makes a lot of sense. And he does seem to have been a bright child! It reminds me of my own hc in that regard that he originally had some basis for bragging when he was younger, but then... Well, he stopped trying to hone his smarts and wrapped himself in more & more delusion, etc etc, essentially just a bunch of interconnected complicated stuff to produce the adult Brainy we all know.

But now I can picture kid Brainy being really precociously intelligent, and Papa affectionately referring to him as “my brainy little smurf” in his response, and the name “Brainy” just kinda stuck from then onwards. That’d be so cute, actually. But then kinda sad to think that they used to refer to him as “brainy” in earnest for him to gain the name... Only for him to get older and constantly shove it in the others’ faces. whoops.

Your POV as a whole in terms of your understanding of Brainy is an interesting one (and does make sense! your explanation was helpful and illuminating for seeing how it can also be a fun way to approach his character) - but I still don’t really agree when you say he’s “more intelligent than the others”, for a lot of different reasons that I want to kind of go into and look at in more depth when I can hopefully do a deeper analysis of his character (I had those plans in the works long before this whole conversation happened btw, I had a couple of connected epiphanies lately that just so happen to equip me with some great tools to analyse the different incarnations of Brainy’s character and the evolution involved, etc etc). But I think there’s a compelling middle ground to explore between our two perspectives as well. And while I have a lot of canon-based reasons for not seeing 80s Brainy as smart to the extent that you do, part of it comes down to personal preference as well - but this post would probably be too lengthy for me to go into all of that here.

Edit: Oh yeah, I also wanted to note that there is some evidence in the show that Brainy is smart, to be fair. Like the fact that he can read some sort of ancient language with no problem (I know this is a thing Somewhere in the series. I just do not for the life of me remember which episode, lol. Would love to find it again). And I have taken this stuff into account to incorporate it into my perspective, but it’s part of why I’ve realised I’ve not given him enough credit in the past and why I really want to do an in-depth analysis of him to try and take into account stuff I may have overlooked!

[not-your-damsel]

Craving You

Word Count :: 4,994

A/N :: Go easy on me, my sweeties. This is my first full fic in the hottest of minutes.

This is just some soft, tender, Husband! Hitoshi Shinsou x Pregnant Fem! Reader missing each other dearly. We’re sticking with Keiid’s adult version of Toshi because that version of him has me absolutely fuckin’ weak 🥴

CW :: Minors DNI, NSFW, 🔞, Smut, Tender Loving Hours, Slight Choking. Pretty much it, I wanna say.

You will 100% be blocked if you’re a minor liking/re-blogging this work, or if your age isn’t in your bio and you’re liking/re-blogging this work. Simple as that!

You woke with a start, small hand darting out to feel for your husband only to feel his side of the bed not only empty, but cold. You sighed and attempted to sit up, holding your rounded stomach, feeling as your body ached. “Toshi?” You called out, silence answering back before sniffing for any hint of coffee in the air that he so loved to brew, strong enough to wake the dead. Nothing. Had he even been home at all last night? Being pregnant had done some weird things to not only your body, but your senses and sleeping habits. You noticed you’d sleep deeper than usual, something you hated. You wanted to be able to know when Hitoshi got home, when he hit the bed, anything. You wanted to be able to help should he need it. Take the other night for example. On his way home from being out on patrol he stumbled on a man who was robbing the local convenience store and though he caught the robber, he hadn’t escaped the ordeal without the guy putting up a surprisingly good fight. Toshi came home that night beaten to hell and you’d spent the better part of the evening with him on the toilet while you cleaned and patched him up. He didn’t want the help, wanted you to rest with your swollen ankles raised but you wouldn’t hear of it. When you were done, you carded your fingers through his short wild indigo locks, kissing his forehead while he caressed your stomach before wrapping his arms around you. You slipped your black cat slippers on, waddling from the loft down to the kitchen to grab a cup of black tea. Once you finished there, you made your way to the bathroom, turning shower on to your desired temperature. Your back was hurting and you wanted nothing more than to have hot water splashing against the painful spot as hot as you could bear. Carrying a whole other human inside you was hard work. You couldn’t wait to get back to work, kicking ass alongside your husband, the Shinsou’s back at it being a top hero power couple. You felt so out of shape and bloated and your breasts hurt when they were too full of milk, back and ankles on fire and swollen... you just seemed to be in perpetual pain these last 2 months. Not only that, you and Hitoshi’s sexual activities had to be put on hold and that was getting to you both and you knew it. You didn’t have to ask Toshi to know how much he was aching for you to the point of it making him at least a little crazy. As reserved as he was, gentle in his demeanor with you, and calm as a still lake, he was a human and he had needs. He’d never tell you, but he had to keep himself on more than one occasion from ripping your clothing off and bending you over the nearest surface to fuck you silly. Your dom and sub roles in the bedroom had to also be put on hold because Hitoshi could be a particularly rough man when it came to that, never truly knowing the full extent of his strength. He’d been absolutely terrified out of his wits of being rough once you started to show.

Great. Now you were sorely in pain and horny. “Stupid, stupid woman.” You seethed at yourself. You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t noticed the door to the shower open. It wasn’t until you felt the cool air hit your back that you felt a large set of hands slide from your hips to cradle around your stomach, your body tensing ever so briefly before relaxing. “Hitoshi, you scared the shit out of me.” You breathed, your shoulders relaxing. “I’m sorry, kitten. Are you ok?” He asked, hearing his voice was more gruff than usual had you turning to look at him. The normal bags under his eyes now looked like a set of luggage. He��d taken on more hours over the past several weeks to help build up some parental leave for when his daughter was due, he was busy doing so much and you felt bad. You cupped his cheeks before stepping forward on the balls of your feet with your lips poised for a kiss. He lent the rest of the way down to meet you, the water hitting his short wild tresses in the process, wetting it. “Toshi, thank you. You’re doing a lot and it shows. I wish you could rest already, we appreciate it and you so much.” You held the back of his neck, your thumbs rubbing lovingly along the sides behind his ears. He gave a tired, crooked grin, pecking your forehead then your nose before pulling away and looking at you with love, “It’s all for you guys, I love you with everything I am and I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” He joked with a chuckle.

Before you had a chance to protest, moving to swat him at his choice of words, he grabbed your wrist and held it to his chest, dipping again to kiss you passionately, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip for permission, but you were already opening for him to invade your wet cavern with his muscle. Hitoshi’s kiss was hungry, conveying all the pent up want and need he had for you, his wife. His large hands roamed down your back, thick fingers skimming the curve of your spine before they landed at your hips giving them a loving squeeze only to then rest on each cheek of your behind where he pulled you against him, allowing you feel how hard he was for you. Gasping in his mouth before continuing the kiss, you threaded your fingers through his hair again, tugging and earning you a groan of pleasure from deep within his chest. With your hand still held against his chest, you dragged your nails across the neat indigo chest hairs that lay there before sliding over to graze over his nipple, hardening it. Toshi was breathing harder through his nose now, his hips rolling of their own accord before pulling away. You whined, eyes lidded and drunk off his searing kiss. He grinned before looking around your spacious rainfall shower to the built in bench. “Do you trust me, kitten?” Hitoshi asked. You shook your head in confusion. “What kind of... you know I do, with my life.”

Hitoshi guided you to the bench to sit for a moment before he stepped out of the shower to grab a couple of things. “I-I’ll be right back,” he said with his hands held up, nonverbally telling you to stay put, where you smiled and nodded as he stepped out of the bathroom. You’d heard him faintly talking to himself before a loud bang sounded out followed by him swearing under his breath loudly. “Toshi? Are you alright?” You called, tilting your head from where you sat with a hand on your stomach rubbing it. “I’m ok, my love!” He called before turning up at the door a moment later with a couple things in hand, namely a towel and his hero weapon, the capture cloth. You were puzzled to say the least. “What are you doing, sweetie?” You asked him with your brow cocked and lips parted in wonder. “Well, I know we haven’t been able to get as intimate as we’d normally like due to me being so busy at work and you being... being... so pregnant,” ‘Nice choice of words, Hitoshi.’ He mentally slapped himself, “So I had an idea while I was on my way home. Care to try?” He asked you, purple tried eyes looking at you so hopeful it ached you to see. You’d nodded and began the monumental task of trying to stand until he stopped you. “No, no, let me set it up, ok?” Toshi nodded as he helped you to sit back down again.

You guys’ shower was rigged in a such a way that there were bare decorative pipes that were hanging from the ceiling with holes drilled in them that assisted in providing the rainfall effect. Toshi rigged his capture cloth expertly through those pipes and used the towel, folded, against a portion of it. Before you knew it, you were looking at a rigged swing made out of the two items. The towel was placed as a little padding for a seat of sorts and Hitoshi stood back to survey his handy work. He nodded, happy with the look of it before looking back at you with a lopsided grin. “What do you think, kitten?” He asked, reaching his hands out to help you up from the bench. “I think it’s really smart... and I think you’ve been thinking about this for much longer than on your way home.” You poked at his side with your nails, causing him to jump a little before he grabbed the back of his neck, rubbing it. “Ok, ok. I’ve been thinking of what to do for a couple of weeks now, you got me.” Hitoshi admitted, pulling you close into his side. “I just... I just really, really miss you.” He said lowly. You looked into his beautiful, tired eyes, noting that they were lust blown. His purple orbs almost drowned out by dark, black pupils resembling voids. Drinking you in, full of want and need, his hand roamed your back, squeezing in a massaging manner that had your own eyes slipping shut. He felt how tight and knotted various places of your back were, frowning to himself. “I miss you so much, kitten. So fucking much.” Hitoshi was now pressed against the side of your face, gruff voice in one ear as he kneaded the skin of your sore back. “Toshi, I miss you so much too, I wish I can know about your safety the way I used to.” You were now pressed against his body, your arms around his neck while on your tippy toes to reach him better.

Hitoshi’s hands abandoned your back to glide down your hips, further below to start squeezing the backs of plush thighs as he lent down to kiss you passionately, his tongue in your mouth again, exploring every inch of it trying to memorize it even after all these years together. “I missed the way you feel against me. I absolutely crave the way you taste to the point that it’s all I think about, getting in the way of my work, do you know that, little kitten?” Toshi said against your neck before he bit down on your pulse point. Moaning, your fingers dipping into his hair where your nails grazed his scalp. “Tosh- ah!” You squeaked, Hitoshi lifting you off the shower floor as your legs and arms immediately wrapped around your hulking husband for support, swollen, large belly pressed against his chiseled abs suddenly had you feeling some type of way as you stared down at where you both pressed together. “I love you.” You said, looking up to him to find that he was already staring down at you, watching as you took in the roundness of your stomach, holding his and your baby inside you. Your eyes brimmed with tears as he walked both of you to his little set up. “I love you, too. Baby? Baby what’s wrong?” Hitoshi asked, unsure if this was something that had to do with pregnancy hormones or something he possibly did. You hugged him, warm tears falling onto his shoulder. He held his capture cloth in place as he set you down, perching you on a few bands he’d lined up to make a makeshift seat that was plush from the towel he set there. He backed up cautiously in case you’d tip in any single direction and he needed to grab at you. You went to wipe your eyes but Hitoshi was already doing it. His large hands cupping either side of your face, large enough to eclipse your delicate face easily. It would’ve looked comical in any other circumstance, but he loved the way you fit perfectly in his hands.

“Talk to me, baby girl.” He said, squatting down to be able to look at you better. His hands now at your thighs, rubbing soothingly up and down them while occasionally rubbing your belly. “I’m happy is all. I just... as a pain in the ass as it can be sometimes, I couldn’t be happier carrying our baby.” you said, another round of fat tears spilling from your face. “I’m sorry, I’m all over the place and I missed you, I’m so stupid an-“ “Hey.” Hitoshi’s tone was stern, shivers instantly running down your arms and legs so strongly that even he felt the goosebumps break out across the skin of your soft thighs. “I don’t want my kitty cat talking about herself that way,” his hands now skimmed over the tops of your thighs, slipping in between them and parting them. “I take offense when my wife is talked about in any sort of negative capacity,” he leaned in closer, you were so enraptured by what he was saying, having not been spoken to like that for what felt like forever that you weren’t even paying attention to his actions. “Even if it’s from my wife.” He licked a fat stripe up your core, able to cover more ground with his tongue flattened, a hiss of a gasp being drawn in as your feet swung from the sensation. “Toshi!” You threaded your fingers through his hair and balled your hand into a fist, pulling his hair, spurring him on as he licked more forcefully, tongue delving into your hole as he nudged himself deeper into your wetness. His hands closed around your hips and pulled you closer, the stubble of his beard rubbing against your skin deliciously as he worked like a man starved.

Toshi was giving all he had then, moaning into you, as he slurped and sucked, tasting what he longed for for weeks. His hand closed around your thigh, propping it up over his shoulder to delve deeper. Even with the shower running you could see the pre leaking from Hitoshi’s tip. Wiggling a little and masking it as movements to his actions, you take your free foot and gently rub it against his length causing him to pull away with a hiss before looking up at you through purple lashes. His eyes became lidded, grabbing that same leg and throwing it over his other shoulder before diving back in and licking with fervor. “Ah, fuck!!” You yelped, feeling as though you’d fall backwards but Hitoshi’s hands wrapped around your back and pulled you closer, anchoring you in place, assuring your safety. It was then that he started to tongue fuck you, his wet muscle delving in and out while intermittently swiping up to pay attention to your clit when his nose wasn’t bumping into it. Your moans got louder, soft thighs shaking around his head as you felt your first orgasm approaching fast.

Hitoshi wrapped one arm around your back as sturdily as he could so he could bring a free hand into the mix. Two thick fingers slid into your core, replacing his tongue as he began pumping at a brutal pace, crooking them just right. “Oh, oh God...” Your voice shook, one hand in his wet hair and the other latched onto his shoulder, nails leaving crescent moon indents into his flesh now that your legs were free. Toshi’s breathing was ragged, his mind on one goal and one only, the one thing he’d been envisioning his fingers do for the last 4 nights at the agency while he filed reports into the early morning hours. Your walls began to flutter, his lidded purple orbs flitting to yours as he came up for air, watching his wife get overtaken with pleasure. “I love you... I love you...!” Toshi panted into your pussy before you threw yourself back from the force of your orgasm, liquid gushing forward and coating his arm and then his face as he dove in to lap up what he could, instantly wrapping his arms around you again for stability so you wouldn’t fall backwards. He went from vigorous licks to kitten licks which melted into soft kisses. Kisses leading from your drenched core to your thighs and then your stomach as he rubbed loving circles into it with his thumbs, getting up from his position on the floor of the large shower, kissing the top of your head when he reached his full height. “You did so good for me, my beautiful kitten, you always do. I love you, sweetheart.” He cooed. “I love you, too.” You panted out.

He tipped your worn out, blushing face upwards to look at him, still catching your breath but not caring as you leaned forward to reach for Hitoshi’s cock before he grabbed your hands softly. “Baby, no need... w-wait till we’re done here, I’ll be raring to go again.” He smirked. In your post orgasmic haze, you didn’t even realize that from the sheer visuals and moans alone that you’d provided was enough to make him come, the water having washed away his mess. Toshi gathered both of your wash items, placing them closer on the bench in the shower before helping you down off the makeshift swing to stand before himself. He deposited some shampoo in his palm before massaging it in your scalp, washing your hair before running his hands through it to rinse it. He did the same with the conditioner, only leaving it in your hair as he washed your body lovingly. Admiring every curve and dip, no sexual drive behind his actions, just pure love before rinsing you off. When he was done, you gently guided him down on the bench so you could reach his head properly. Hitoshi stood at a whopping 6’ 1”. He was always on the taller side out of the many students at UA, coming in at 5’ 9” when you two met but as the years went on, he just kept sprouting. You were smaller compared to him, standing shorter in stature, you just reached above his shoulder when you and him stood side by side and you loved it. You loved climbing him like he was a mountain, latching onto him, your smaller frame melting and melding into his larger one, and it was one of your most favorite things in the world when he was spooning you.

A large palm came to rest against your stomach as you worked the lather in his hair, pulling you from your thoughts. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” Hitoshi asked, feeling as his unborn baby would push against wherever he’d touch. “You.” You hummed to yourself as you rinsed his hair free of the conditioner, bending to pour some body wash on his washcloth. No loofahs for Hitoshi Shinsou in your house, ‘Too damned girly’ was how he’d put it and you giggled at the thought. “What’s so funny, hm?” He grinned lopsidedly, bending to kiss your stomach with his eyes closed, lips brushing across your skin. It was moments like this that you wanted to snapshot and put away forever for you to cherish, observing the endless beauty he never seemed to know he has. At least until the silent admiration was interrupted by him pulling away and holding his chin exaggeratedly. You laughed, as you rubbed the cloth over his neck muscles to loosen him up. “She’s gonna pack a wallop, huh?” He joked, rubbing his jaw as you nodded with a smile. Hitoshi sighed as you kept working the washcloth over his upper body, his back, pressing as hard as you could which earned you some relieved of grunts. “Up, sweetie.” You stepped back a bit as Toshi stood, willing the jelly feeling you’d imparted on him out of his body. Bringing the washcloth to his abs, you rubbed, the scent of his body wash filling your senses as you got drunk off it. Your husband always smelled so nice, so warm and comforting. Like a cozy cabin tucked away in the woods on a cold winter night, it brought you comfort and safety. He watched you work, noting how you’d pause every now and again to deeply inhale his scent and with every open of your eyes, the more they lidded. When you got to his member, it was semi erect. You looked up at him and he smiled with a wink, “I told you. Gimme that, I think we’re done here.” He said as he finished up the rest of his body in record time, you giggling at his quickness as you put the items away before he tossed the washcloth back in its spot, and swooped you into his arms.

You squealed out with a laugh, Toshi minding where your stomach landed, his broad shoulders between your breasts and stomach, pushing the door open and draping a large towel over your body before bringing the both of you to your bedroom where he gently plopped you onto your large bed. He hovered over your laughing frame, watching as water dripped down from his hair onto the bed above your own head. Your laughing slowed as you noticed his silence, smiling at him and bringing a hand to his scruffy cheek to thumb gently at a scar he had over the left side of his lips leading into his chin. He turned his head and kissed inside your palm, his hand wrapped around your delicate wrist as he held it against his lips. “Turn around, kitten.” He gruffed. Hitoshi was helping you maneuver, perching onto the bed himself as he molded the front of himself to your back, his fully hardened cock prodding at your ass cheek leaving a smear of pre along your skin. Kissing along your neck and shoulders, Toshi ran a large hand from your stomach to your thigh, grabbing and propping it against his own leg which he used to open you up. Your breathing was already uneven, knowing what was coming yet not getting to you fast enough, your hips already rocking back into him for stimulation only he could provide. Hitoshi chuckled against your ear, “Does my kitty want it that bad?” He teased, reaching his hand between the two of you to pump his cock in his fist, teasing your already wet entrance. “God, you’re already soaked, baby, fuck.” He gritted out. “Toshi, stop acting like you’re not dying too and make love to me already,” you whined. “You’re always so coc- HAH!!” Your hand flung upward to latch onto the back of Hitoshi’s head which was buried in the crook of your neck and shoulder, biting into the soft skin that lay there as he jutted his hips forward and sheathed into you in one fluid movement. He gave you time to adjust, running his hand up your body, softly squeezing your breasts and lovingly rubbing your belly as he pressed more kisses into your shoulder and neck, sucking hard enough at your pulse point to leave an immediate blooming bruise.

“To- Toshi please. Please, please I need you...” You begged him as he pressed more kisses into your damp hair, his hips starting to move to create that hot friction you both craved. It seemed he was panting like a dog within seconds, thick fingers pinching your nipples as gently as he could, breast milk dribbling down the tips as he rolled them between his tips. “Fuck, kitten!” Toshi was now snapping his hips faster into you, the bed creaking with each brutal thrust. The second the headboard hit the wall for the first time, it acted as fuel for Hitoshi to go even faster. Hips rutting into you from behind so hard it hurt in the best way. He could already feel your gummy walls twitch and clamp down on him, knowing that you were getting closer with each thrust. “Fuck, baby, the way you’re taking me so -shit!- so greedily, so fuckin’ well, you really missed my cock, huh? Answer me!” He almost barked out, feeling you clamp down on him particularly hard when he did. “Fuck your cock, I missed y-you, Hitoshi!” You moaned, your nails digging into his neck. He groaned lowly, breathily whispering out, “Oh my fucking God!” before his hand came down on the swell of your ass, the sharp sting causing you to clamp down on him again a little harder. The slap didn’t pack the usual punch it did with Hitoshi’s heavy hands, but it was enough and you both noticed.

You rolled your hips into him, meeting his thrusts with your own as that wonderful feeling of a taut invisible string began to fray inside your stomach. “So good, so -y-yeah!- s-so fucking good, Toshi I- I, Godfuckinghell!! Ugh, missed you, I missed you, I-“ a broken moan tore from your throat at the feel of Hitoshi rubbing circles against your clit, his thrusts reaching inside you deeper, the prominent vein that ran along his cock sliding against your walls. His breath was coming out in puffs against your neck and cheek, groans and moans sounding out from him just the way you loved. “Mmm, kitty cat, fuck, you’re gonna cum! C’mon now, c’mon, I wanna feel you cream all over this cock, your cock, this cock belongs to you, all yours...” he reached his other hand around, gripping your throat, getting lost in the pleasure as he railed into you, watching your face for any changes in discomfort, keeping mind of the baby. Once your eyebrows slightly furrowed, he loosened his hold, allowing you to catch your breath for a few beats before starting the process again. “Cum, cum because I fucking can’t hold on much longer you’re sucking me in so goddamn good!” Toshi growled in your ear, his hand abandoning your clit for a moment to spit on his fingers just to go back to rubbing it faster than before. As your smaller hand gripped his forearm for dear life, you came undone. “Toshi, fuck!!” Hitoshi felt his thrusting cock get wetter, slipperier, as he slowed his rubbing fingers through your orgasm having released your throat long ago.

Now he began driving into you with reckless abandon, seeking his own release which wasn’t far behind in the first place. The hand that was at your throat now wrapped around your shoulder, while the one that left your clit reached up to grab at your free hand, threading his large fingers through your own. “O-oh my God, oh my God I’m gonna cum, kitten, fuck, I’m gonna cum...” sloppy hips faltered even more before he gave one last strong thrust, stilling inside you spilling his warmth in thick spurts, giving 2 more soft slow thrusts before coming to a stop. The both of you were breathing heavily, Toshi’s head dropped onto your own before he bent down a bit to kiss your shoulder, his stubble scratching at the softness of your cheek. His hair was now dry, being short, it drooped down onto his forehead. There was a fresh sheen of sweat over both of your bodies, especially on his chest and your back. “I love you.” You said, your breaths coming out fast but not as harsh as before. Hitoshi wrapped his arms around you, pressing you into his almost too warm body, nuzzling in your semi damp hair inhaling deeply, “I love you, too. So fucking much, don’t ever forget it. I’m sorry I’ve been away so much, I just...” You shook your head, opening your eyes halfway. “No. I know why you do it. I can’t ever convey how much it means to me that you’re working your ass off for proper time with me and little Anzu once she gets here. Do I miss you? Of course I miss you, I miss you terribly. I also miss working with you. I never realized how spoiled I truly am until it came time for me to stay home from work. Getting to see you every single day, work alongside you, be out in the public eye with you... I never realized that I spend every moment with you. And now that I can’t, it has me a bit out of sorts I guess you could say.” You confessed, your eyes heavily lidded with sleepiness, voice soft and gentle.

The bed suddenly shifted, Hitoshi launching himself over your body and plopping next to you to face you causing you to squeak out in shock. He cupped your cheeks and brought you in for a slow, passionate kiss. Your smaller hands planted against his chest, fingers rubbing lovingly before scooting closer to him where he wrapped his arms around you instinctively. “I’m almost done, sweetheart. Just one more week, maybe even sooner if Anzu comes before then. And hey, if you want, I can help you train up again my agile, telekinetic kitten. Would you like that?” He asked into your hair at the top of your head. You hummed softly and he looked down having felt your hand slip off his chest and go limp, joining your other arm pressed against him and the bed. You were fast asleep, your breathing slow and deep as Toshi took a moment to look at you, large hand caressing from your head to your shoulder, only to glide down your back where he grabbed the blanket and draped it over the both of you, snuggling your body closer to his. “And I thought I was the one who got into people’s minds. I don’t deserve you, baby girl.” He whispered in your ear, kissing the side of your mouth before perching his head atop yours and falling asleep just as quick. You woke with a start, small hand darting out to feel for your husband only to feel his hand grasp yours and pull it to his lips, “I’m here, baby. I’m still here.” Hitoshi said as he cradled it in his own, pressed against his chest, a small smile gracing your lips before slipping back into the warmth of his embrace.

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 49

a/n : "the incantation comes from latin 'protego', 'i protect', and 'diabolica', a declension of 'diabolicus', meaning 'diabolic, relating to the devil'. it is unclear if the translation is meant to suggest 'protection from the devil' or 'the devil protects.'..."

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“Jungkook, will you stop eating all the cookies please--”

“How come Jin gets to eat everything in sight, but I can’t--”

“Because Jin is an insatiable mountain troll with no human manners and six stomachs--”

“Aw, Yoongi, you’re so loving with your words!”

“Shut up, Jin.”

“Kim Seokjin, stop eating the fucking food!” Jimin watches with thinly veiled exasperation as chaos unfolds in Yoongi and Hoseok’s countryside cottage. They’d arrived a few days prior, spending the week together before dispersing for Christmas Day, just in time for the full moon. It had been a chaotic week at best -- verbal altercations were had over stupid things like gift-wrapping techniques, and several small fires had already occurred in the kitchen, mostly due to Taehyung’s ice cream maker.

But somehow, they’d made it to Christmas Eve. And, so far, this Christmas Eve had been spent watching Jin eat all the food as it’s being made and consequently be kicked out of the kitchen entirely by Hoseok. Jimin’s seated in the living room with a perfect view of the chaos happening at the dining table. Y/n’s next to him, reading quietly with her head on Jimin’s shoulder. She’s especially tired today, the full moon just over 24 hours away, so Jimin’s staying close to her.

Namjoon and Taehyung are seated in front of the fireplace, engaged in an intense game of wizard’s chess. Namjoon is beating Taehyung by a landslide, but Taehyung just will not give up, something that makes Jimin smile fondly.

There’s a bang from the kitchen, catching everyone’s attention. Hoseok turns slowly from where he stands at the oven, smiling sheepishly at them.

“I may have put the pie in for too long.” The room is a collection of groans and exasperated laughter, Jin’s complaints overpowering the rest.

“How the fuck do you make a pie explode?! It’s a pie!” Hoseok looks to Yoongi for help, but the boy only shrugs.

“The man’s right, babe -- pie’s not that hard.” Hoseok lets out an affronted scoff, moving to open the window over the sink to let some of the smoke from the oven out. Jimin feels Y/n snicker softly beside him, and when he looks down at her, she’s peering over the top of her book at the scene in the kitchen. She looks so peaceful and happy, even with eyes full of exhaustion. He adores her entirely, and he knows it’s obvious to everyone but her.

Her eyes flick up to meet his then, and, over the cries of outrage from the kitchen about not having dessert, he hears her whisper to him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jimin purses his lips, smothering the smile that’s rising to the surface. He only shakes his head, his expression judgmental.

“Not everything’s about you, Y/n, geez.” He laughs when she gives him a hard nudge with her elbow, and he moves to wrap his arms around her and trap her in his hold. She lets it happen, only grumbling noncommittally about being unable to read like this. He presses his lips to her temple stubbornly in response. “You have a lifetime to read -- let me hug you.”

“Alright, it looks like we’re having deconstructed pie for dessert, so everyone come eat!” Apparently, the argument about the oven disaster has ended, as Hoseok’s setting a pie on the table, a giant hole in the middle where it had imploded. Taehyung jumps up from his tragedy of a chess game and runs for the kitchen, socked feet sliding to a stop in front of the refrigerator. Plucking a big bowl of homemade ice cream -- its flavor to be determined -- from inside, he makes his way to the table and spoons a giant scoop into the pie’s battle wound. He gestures dramatically at it when he’s done.

“Problem solved!” Hoseok mimics him, gesturing just as dramatically at his disappointed boyfriend.

“The man’s right, babe -- problem solved!” The group laughs, everyone slowly making their way to the table to eat. Y/n sets her book on the couch, moving to stand, but Jimin stops her. From within his pocket he pulls a vial and shakes it, eyeing her knowingly when she groans.

“Ten seconds of pain, and then you can drown the taste out with some ambiguously flavored ice cream. If it makes tomorrow night more bearable for you, then ten seconds is nothing.” She smiles, taking the vial and uncorking it.

“Did you just admit to being someone who eats dessert before dinner?” She downs the potion in one go, eyes squeezed shut. She doesn’t see Jimin gazing at her lovingly, only to lower his eyes when she’s done. She hands him the vial and takes his hand, pulling him to his feet and toward the table.

“You promised me only ten seconds of pain before ice cream, so move faster, Park Jimin.” They take their seats in the chairs nearest them, Jungkook setting his plate down on Y/n’s other side and moving to join them. Tae, Yoongi, and Hoseok sit across from them, Jin and Namjoon taking the end seats. Namjoon leaves his seat after a moment, moving to pass out silverware and swap the ladle in Jin’s hand for a normal spoon. Jin refuses to give up his spoon of choice, glaring at the boy standing over him.

“Dude, I will fight you on Christmas Eve -- I have no qualms about fucking up the holiday spirit or whatever--”

“Stop.” It comes from Jungkook, spoken with a quiet urgency that halts all activity in the room. He’s standing just behind the seat he’d been about to take, his hand resting on the back of the chair. He ignores their questioning glances, his eyes locked on nothing in particular as he focuses his hearing on the open window. When he finds what he’s looking for, he meets Yoongi’s eyes, alarmed.

“I thought you said you put a barrier around your house.” Yoongi and Hoseok glance at one another, shaking their heads simultaneously as Yoongi looks back to the Gryffindor.

“We never got around to it…” But Jungkook’s stopped listening. And, for all the years of jokes, remarks, and complaints Jung Hoseok had ever made about the boy’s heightened senses, he can say with complete confidence later that Jeon Jungkook is the only reason he’s still alive. Because the only person in the room that’s ready for the unforgivable curse that’s shot though the open window, aimed squarely at Hoseok’s chest, is the boy who’d heard the call for death fall from its caster’s lips.

Suddenly, Jungkook’s across the room, launching his body at Hoseok’s over the dinner table and twisting in mid-air to throw his hand out toward the window. He’d never in his life attempted nonverbal magic -- not necessarily the most advanced of students -- but it’s said that wizards can create even miracles if they’re desperate enough. And this is nothing like the World Cup, when Hoseok had protected him from a nasty stunning curse -- the beam of light headed Jungkook’s way right now, in this moment of literal life and death, has been shot to kill. So desperation is exactly what produces the shield charm that emits from his entire body, exploding outwards and shattering all the windows in the house as it goes. The force of it blows them all back, throwing them to the floor and against walls with cries of shock.

And, while a shield is normally null against a curse so powerful, it seems Jungkook’s done more than just perform nonverbal magic for the first time. He’s produced a physical barrier -- an invisible pane of pure energy separating his enemies from his family. It takes out half of the kitchen as it goes, destroying the far wall completely and opening the house out to the cold night around them.

In the confusion of chaos and rubble, Y/n lifts her head from the kitchen floor, catching a glimpse of the group of people outside the house, all equally disarmed from the display of sheer strength they’d just witnessed. She counts 6 bodies, all donned in dark robes, and she knows immediately that this is a Death Eater attack.

Groaning, she drags herself to her feet, grabbing anyone she can get her hands on and pulling them with her, staying low to the ground. Jimin’s the first to follow, holding onto Y/n for dear life, but he can’t help the way he hesitates when he looks past the overturned dining table, the wood splintered and cracked amidst all the wasted food.

Because there in front of him, right where the initial wave of power had surged out from and disoriented them all, is something that is very much not human. When it rises to its feet, it stands to full height, and Jimin knows that it’s easily as tall as he is. Black fur as far as the eye can see, the end of its ears and tail painted grey -- its body practically ripples with strength as it moves, and it’s from behind a set of sharpened teeth and a massive jaw, so powerful it could probably break Jimin clean in half, that a low growl starts to rumble.

It becomes a terrifying snarl in a matter of seconds, those piercing teeth shining in the moonlight with deadly intent. Jimin can feel that he’s still moving -- that all of this is happening in slow motion as he runs for safety and that no time at all has actually passed -- but he feels his whole world stop, drowned out by the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, when the beast shifts. Preparing to attack, it turns its head at the last moment to meet his eyes, and Jimin sees then that he knows these eyes. He knows the way they look him over with guarded concern and the way they turn away from him as soon as they know he’s unharmed, silently telling him to find his own way out -- after all, Jeon Jungkook’s always made it clear he has better things to do than look after Park Jimin.

Jungkook presses all his weight into his back legs, crouching low for a moment so suspended in time that Jimin doesn’t even see him leave. But then he’s gone, wind rushing past Jimin’s face and blowing debris everywhere as the wolf takes off. After another hard tug from Y/n that pulls Jimin’s focus back to the matter at hand, he only hears when Jungkook finds his first target, the ripping of cloth and the hellish cry of pain ringing in Jimin’s ears like a nightmare.

Tripping over pieces of the ceiling and walls -- the back half of the house essentially crumbling in on itself -- Jimin finds the faces of each of his friends. They’re all there with the exception of Jungkook, who seems almost feral, if the shrieks of death behind them are anything to go by. The group stumbles from the side of the house through a door that’s comically useless at this point, and when they circle around to the back, it becomes clear that there are far more than 6 Death Eaters.

The group that had led the attack has all but been taken out now, Jungkook nowhere to be seen -- but he’s certainly left evidence of his presence there. Jimin can’t tell if these people are dead or still dying, but he doesn’t have time to sort through the discarded bodies to check. Behind the cottage is a field of tall wheat that's surrounded by forest-- a massive expanse of land -- and when they look into this field to the top of a hill not too far away, there’s another wave of Death Eaters lined up, these faces rather familiar to just two of his friends. Jimin hears swearing behind him, and then Hoseok’s pushing past him roughly, only stopped by Namjoon’s hand clamping down around his wrist.

“Don’t, Hoseok! We can’t do this -- there’s too many of them. We have to run--”

“They just tried to kill me, Namjoon! In my own home!” Hoseok whirls around and gets in his face, eyes wild. Jin tenses next to Y/n, one of his hands hovering over his pocket where his wand is. When she follows his eyes, she sees that the line of Death Eaters has started to approach.

They move slowly, as if they have all the time in the world. As if they have nothing to fear, organized and protected against this mismatched group of ambushed friends. She watches as they approach like predators waiting for the kill, and she knows that this is no simple Death Eater attack -- it’s a massacre.

And then, just as silently as he’d disappeared, Jungkook’s returned. Their attackers are given no warning, only registering that the wheat around them is rustling when one of them is violently pulled down into it. He’s gone in an instant, his screams echoing in the night as he’s dragged through the dirt toward the house.

The moment Jungkook emerges at the edge of the field, the Death Eater is flying through the air and crashing into the remains of the house, slung from Jungkook’s jaws like nothing more than a ragdoll. He lands not a few feet away from them, and Yoongi’s jaw clenches when he recognizes the bloodied face of a fellow Slytherin. Turning to lock his gaze onto the line of his old classmates, he pushes past the group and summons his wand from within the rubble of his home with nothing more than the flick of his wrist. It flies from deep within the ruins into its master’s hand with ease, and Yoongi spins it between his fingers casually once he has it.

“I really hope you guys all know how to cast shields as powerful as Jungkook’s -- otherwise, we’re fucked.” The wolf in question falls into line with Yoongi, his whole body shaking from the warning growl forming deep within his chest. The rest of the group follows, facing their enemies head-on.

From Jungkook’s other side, he feels a warm hand press into the top of his head, and he knows it instinctively. He can also feel the cold length of a wand, hidden easily in the darkness of his fur and beneath her flattened hand. Y/n keeps him there for only a moment -- knowing they only have a moment -- and presses her fingertips against his skull as if to hold him back. As if to stall him just long enough to tell him to be careful. And then the moment is gone and she’s wrapping her fingers neatly around her wand, releasing him with a whisper.

“Go.”

--

None of them can say how long they’ve been there -- every second that passes is another that they could lose their lives, so it feels like they’re there a lifetime. They’ve huddled into a small circle, surrounded completely. Jungkook is mobile, weaving in and out of their enemies at too fast a speed to ever be hit by a curse. He’s taking them out slowly, dragging them back into the darkness one by one while the rest work just to stay alive. Unlike at the World Cup, where every enemy shot fired was red, these beams of lights are all hauntingly green, glowing in the night sky -- a sign that things are different now, death standing only a few feet away in the form of old friends.

Every killing curse fired is met with an equally powerful shield, a wall that shatters the moment it meets its mark. They’re cancelling each other out, evenly matched in a battle that won’t end until someone gets tired -- until someone makes a mistake. The only sounds come from incantations, spoken by those of their group that cannot cast silently.

Hoseok and Yoongi fight much like their opponents, masks of guarded silence -- a reminder that while they’re on opposite sides of the war, they were once very much the same. The difference, of course, is that their old housemates are now murderers without remorse. But that’s not their only problem.

Y/n suddenly stumbles next to Jimin, and he can’t even tear his eyes away from the Death Eater before him to check on her. He can only reach for her with his free hand, gripping her wrist in panic, which she rips from his hold with a groan. She only barely manages to raise her wand in time to block the killing curse headed right for her head. The force of her shield colliding with the curse so close to her knocks her back, and she falls into the circle with gritted teeth.

Jimin steps in front of her, closing the gap in their circle and allowing her a moment to recover inside their circle. But she never returns to her spot, only curling in on herself and gripping at her head with a cry of pain -- she knows this feeling. The feeling of her skull splitting, her body rejecting itself as it turns into something unnatural -- something unhuman.

But this can’t be happening. The full moon is not tonight, something she confirms simply by rolling over in the dirt and looking up at the sky, in excruciating pain. She can see clearly that this cannot be her reality, yet the popping of her spine as it dislocates itself is very much real. Reaching out blindly, she latches on to the first person she can find, her hand clamping down around Hoseok’s ankle and squeezing with all her might. He hisses above her and manages to glance down long enough to see an expression of pain he’d long become accustomed to.

“What the fuck?!” It’s the first time he’s spoken in ages, his attention back on his opponent as he works out in his mind how this is possible. There’s no time to reason through what he knows, however, because Y/n’s teeth are clenching so hard she’s afraid they might crack, her grip on his ankle tightening painfully. Hoseok makes a snap decision then, calling out into the night.

“Jimin, listen to me.” The boy’s on his left, so focused on the shield he’s casting that he responds only once he’s successfully blocked the deadly beam of green light.

“What is it, Hoseok--”

“You have to take her into the forest. Now.” His instructions are muffled by the sounds of a curse crashing into Namjoon’s shield, unheard by their enemies, but Jimin hears him clearly. He also hears the urgency in Hoseok’s voice, telling him there’s no time for questions. “It has to be you, Jimin.”

He knows then what Hoseok’s saying, what he hasn’t had the chance to confirm himself. Y/n’s transforming on a night other than the full moon, and they’re out of time. He calls for Y/n then, reaching back for her.

“Y/n -- baby, listen to me. We gotta go.” There’s a moment of nothingness, only her groans of pain, but then he feels her hand slamming down into his and gripping hard. And then his body is working faster than his brain.

Stepping forward out of the circle and straight for the man that’s been trying to end his life all night, Jimin swings his arm out, bringing a new shield up with him as he goes. It hits the Death Eater from the side, catapulting him through the air. Just as he’s in the downward arc of his fall, he’s caught suddenly, torso trapped in Jungkook’s jaws as the wolf leaps into the air to capture his next target. They crash to the ground not far away, hidden away in the wheat.

Jimin pulls Y/n to her feet, pointing his wand out into the field as he runs for the treeline.

“Fumos!” The effect is immediate, smoke pouring out of his wand and swirling around him in a dense fog. It keeps them hidden as they make a beeline for the trees, allowing them safe passage. Jimin chances a look over his shoulder and sees that the smoke hasn’t passed over his circle of friends, ensuring that they’ll still be able to see clearly and protect themselves.

Y/n stumbles again as they run, but Jimin’s hold on her keeps her going, and she registers that he’ll be there for her transformation. Panic seeps in through the pain, and she calls out desperately for him to stop, her vision leaving her. Jimin can feel her struggling against him, but he tightens his grip and forces her to follow. They’re close to the treeline by now, but it won’t be enough until they’re completely hidden. And, although he can’t see where the wolf has gone with his old enemy, Jimin steps in something wet and everything suddenly reeks of blood, so he knows Jungkook is near. Apparently, Y/n can smell it, too, because she’s struggling harder now.

“Jungkoo-- Jungkook, stop him!” Jimin grits his teeth and stops, turning to face his girlfriend and pulling her forward. She crashes right into him, the force of his sudden movement propelling her straight into his arms. Her eyes are wide open but her vision’s completely blacked out, which Jimin can see in the fact that she won’t look at him. But he doesn’t need her to.

Ducking low, he wraps an arm around her waist and throws her over his shoulder, ignoring her cries of outrage as he races for the forest just ahead. She pounds her fists against his back, practically roaring with fury as she fights him. He only pushes on, telling himself he’ll let her be as mad as she wants later, if they’re still alive.

Once they make it into the forest, Jimin runs only far enough that he feels unseen before setting her on her feet. She’s immediately falling to the ground, crawling blindly away from him and clawing at the dirt in pain.

“Go away! Just go away!” Disappearing behind a tree, she swears at him loudly, looking for any outlet for her pain. Jimin only turns to the treeline, letting her curse him as he surveys the land around him for Death Eaters. All he sees is Jungkook in the distance, turning in circles in the field as if lost.

Jimin watches as the wolf races for their friends, sliding to an urgent stop and turning back again in confusion when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. He sees when Jungkook’s ears perk up at someone’s call, and his head is turning in Hoseok’s direction. Hoseok’s lips move, giving instructions Jimin can’t hear, but he knows exactly what’s been said when Jungkook’s whipping around to look at the trees.

Interestingly, the wolf hesitates, moving forward before stopping to looking over his shoulder. It’s only a moment, but it’s enough for Hoseok to point out at the forest urgently as he blocks another curse. Jimin can read Hoseok’s lips clearly then as the older boy calls out to Jungkook.

Jimin will die if you don’t go.

The chill that runs down Jimin’s spine at that moment, an omen playing a cruel joke on him, only worsens when he realizes that he’s stopped being able to hear Y/n’s pained gasps. A low whine rings out behind him, and it’s with bated breath that Jimin’s turning slowly on his heels.

Towering over him with an icy gaze locked on him is Y/n -- rather, it’s the part of Y/n that has no idea who he is in that moment. The eyes that see him only see through him, completely empty of anything that isn’t primal. Where Jungkook’s eyes are still his own even in a wolf’s body, these eyes don’t recognize him, and Jimin knows that fact alone will haunt him forever.

Yet, he isn’t afraid of her. He’s only afraid for her -- for the way she’s still curled in on herself, still in pain. He’s afraid for the way she blinks, thoughts muddled and lost, struggling to find herself in the darkness of her mind. He’s especially afraid for the way she finally gives in, losing her will to fight for herself. Her pupils shrink and grow until she’s focusing in on him, and Jimin knows by the way she tilts her head curiously at him that he’s got her attention -- and that’s never good.

When she takes a step toward him, he mirrors it with a step back, and that alone seems to set her off. She moves suddenly, closing the distance between them easily. She leans down until her snout is pushed close to his nose, snarling at him as he stays frozen where he stands. When she raises one clawed hand, he barely has time for a final thought before she’s swinging down at him.

Well, shit.

Suddenly, Jimin’s flying through the air and crashing to the ground a few feet away, rolling to a stop at the base of a tree with a groan -- but he’s in one piece. Lifting his head, he finds that he hadn’t been sliced to pieces by his own girlfriend. He’d been shoved out of the way by a wolf twice his size, the wolf in question now standing where he had just been.

Jungkook’s got his teeth latched around Y/n’s wrist, growling loudly to keep her attention on him. They stand there a few moments, eyes locked in a tense stare-down of dominance. Y/n eventually raises her other hand, claws gleaming in the moonlight, but Jungkook only growls again, a warning. It stops her, as if recognizing this moment, and, although she seems enraged by the display, she lowers her hand anyway.

Ripping her other, trapped, wrist from Jungkook’s jaws, she lets out her own snarl and steps toward him, and Jimin thinks these two might really tear each other apart. But Jungkook’s been here countless times, and he’s still of clear mind, so he knows exactly what to do.

Crouching quickly, he snaps his teeth at her ankles, sending her backwards. She roars angrily, but he persists, snapping at her feet again and again until she’s finally scurrying off into the forest with a cry of outrage. Jungkook watches her go before rushing to Jimin, startling the boy out of his shock.

The wolf sniffs at the air around Jimin, knocking him around with his massive head as he pushes his snout into Jimin’s torso, checking for injuries. Jimin’s lost for a moment, wondering exactly why Jungkook’s expressing so much concern when Y/n should be his priority, but then he remembers exactly what it would mean if he had been caught by one of Y/n’s claws.

Once Jungkook’s done checking that Jimin won’t be turning into a werewolf anytime soon, he’s gone, disappearing after his sister. Jimin only sits there, bruised and battered but alive all the same. Then he hears someone yelling Taehyung’s name in the distance, and he’s on his feet.

Rushing out to the field, he stops at the top of the hill, his breath catching in his throat when he sees the scene down below. His friends are still surrounded, and, although the number of Death Eaters has been severely reduced thanks to the merciless animagus running around, there’s still too many of them. But before he can rush to help, something happens, all too fast to process -- and Jimin has the displeasure of witnessing everything from that hill.

Down in the circle, the rest of the group is fighting for their lives. Many of the boys have sustained injuries simply from their own shields exploding too close to them -- pieces of the ground and debris from the house are thrown around, catching on their bodies in surface wounds they won’t even notice until the next morning.

There’s a special kind of desperation spilling off of Namjoon and Taehyung -- the only muggleborns in that circle -- and it’s making one of them reckless. Namjoon’s keeping his cool, as he’s been in the Order for months now and has had the battle training, but Jin’s having to compensate for small mistakes Taehyung is making out of fear. The Gryffindor’s only a boy, a boy targeted simply for being born. This is the first time he’s ever been faced with his own reality, and he’s terrified.

So when he slips on a piece of rubble at his feet, the only thing that keeps him alive is the fact that he’d moved his head a quarter of an inch to the left just in time. The killing curse flies past him and through the circle, passing Yoongi on the right and hitting a mark just past him -- that mark is the Death Eater that Yoongi had been battling all night.

The boy crumples instantly, the light in his eyes gone. Yoongi watches as he goes, his mind blank as the body crashes to the ground. And then he’s turning on his heel, everything slowed and muffled around him. The Death Eaters have all stopped, equally shocked from what’s just occurred -- after all, they’re just boys, too.

Yoongi hears Jin yelling Taehyung’s name, and he sees Hoseok rushing for him. He watches as Namjoon starts to run to Tae and then stop, raising his wand and choosing to keep guard instead, realizing that their fight isn’t over. Yoongi watches all of it with wide eyes, thinking then that this scene would be very different had the curse hit Taehyung as intended. He spins, staring down at the dead body below him, thinking that this is what Taehyung would have been. This lifeless, empty corpse. And that’s just too much for someone like Yoongi to deal with.

In that moment, the strength of the silent marksman is broken, shattered from within as he fights no longer to protect his own life but those of his friends. In that moment, he proves to be much more worthy than he’d ever thought himself before, breaking through that perpetual tendency to hide himself away — but it comes at a price. Because it’s in that moment that Min Yoongi, for all that he’d tried to free himself of that cursed name, finally gives in to the bloodline he’d spent his whole life denying.

“Protego diabolica!” The spell is cast like the roar of a dragon awakened, enraged -- the first time he’s spoken an incantation in years. It’s ripped from his lungs against his will, uttered with nothing but the urge to destroy, the need to bring pain down on his enemies so that they may never hurt his family again. That dark magic — so forbidden, so evil — follows the command of his left arm, quite literally brought to life by the malice in his eyes and the sweeping of his hand in an arc around himself. And for the first time in the 7 years Jimin had known the shy, self-loathing Slytherin — so guarded from the vulnerabilities of life — he watches from that hill as Yoongi loses control.

The fire that flows out of his hand like water -- icy and unforgiving -- spreads out around Yoongi like a wall of pitch black rage. It passes right over his friends -- they flinch at the foreign magic and its caster, who seems equally foreign to them now. They watch with awe as Yoongi commands the fire, forming a protective circle around them with ease. It almost seems to feed off of his rage, growing with every breath he takes and shrinking with the fall of his chest. He is a snake no more -- a dragon birthed of fire and blood stands in his place.

Jimin watches in pained silence as one of his closest friends loses himself to the war -- but even now, he can still see that Yoongi’s still there. And it’s Yoongi that will have to deal with consequences later, but right now he’s doing whatever it takes to save them. And that includes exploding with anger the moment he spots Jimin still up on that hill.

“Get your ass in here!” The ring of fire seems to swell with his outrage, and Jimin is in no place to refuse. The Death Eaters are still shocked and disoriented by the wall of fire they’re now faced with, and Jimin uses that to his advantage. Racing down the hill, he leaps into the circle, the cold flames licking at his ankles as they let him pass, recognizing him as a friend to their master.

Having seen Jimin’s success at passing through the ring, two of the Death Eaters rush at the wall, unaware of the nature of this dark magic. The moment they make contact with it, the fire senses their intentions, reacting accordingly. Jimin watches as they dissolve into nothing, shrieks of pain ringing out into the air as the fire consumes them. When he turns, he sees that Yoongi is shaken by this, his eyes conflicted as he watches two of his classmates cease to exist, remembering exactly what kind of magic he’s just brought into the world.

But when one of the last Death Eaters attempts to cast another killing curse into the circle, hoping to get through, the fire seems to act not on Yoongi’s command but on his instinct -- and his instinct is to block it. The flames explode outward, concentrating into a wall of protection and destroying the curse. And then they reach further, snaking out to overpower the boy who’d cast the spell, consuming him and his plea for mercy.

There’s only one Death Eater left, standing just outside the circle. Yoongi locks eyes with him, sees the trembling boy staring back at him with fear. They see each other, remembering simultaneously all the times they’d eaten together at mealtimes and suffered together during exam season. They’d grown up together. Just how they’d ended up here, neither of them can recall in that moment, and it destroys whatever innocence they’d had left.

Yoongi finally looks out to the field, his eyes flicking quickly before returning to the Death Eater. The boy hesitates, eventually stepping back. After another moment, he turns, running for his life and never looking back.

When he’s gone, the ring of fire fades, the wall tumbling down until all that’s left is a ring of earth around them that’s been burned to a crisp. Yoongi crumbles then, falling to his knees and staring at nothing. Jimin and Hoseok rush to him, eyes scanning him in concern. They all remain silent, words unable to express what any of them are feeling. Finally, Yoongi lifts his head, still unable to lock eyes with anyone.

“Is everyone okay?” They don’t answer his question, Jin only scoffing in shell-shocked disbelief.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi looks at his best friend, and he knows Jin can see right through him. They all can. He doesn’t respond, and they fall to silence again. Surrounded by bodies and destruction, unable to comprehend what’s happened. Unable to fathom how inexplicably broken they’ve become.

Just when they’re ready to face each other -- when they’re ready to face the aftermath of this night together -- a howl rings out from the forest, pained and haunting. They all lift their heads to stare in exhaustion at the treeline, outlined perfectly by the light of a moon that isn’t full. Yoongi chuckles darkly, shaking his head as he rises slowly to his feet and dusts off his pants before turning to look at what's left of his home with a long sigh.

“This family’s a fucking mess.”