#okay so. it’s so vicious looking to the point that if someone were sitting in the chair just observing

[redhotarsenic]

I think J’ihwu and Valantinez fuck nasty. Like. Blood splattering everywhere. Lots of snarling and growling. Like they hate each other’s guts (they don’t in reality they care about each other very much but Valantinez refuses to admit it out loud cuz it’s embarrassing.)

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Platonic Yan! Dick Grayson w/ batsis darling

A/N: I'm sorry. I love crazy Dick. WHat can sayyy..

concept: You instantly don't take a liking to Dick. Something about him makes you uncomfortable. He's obsessed with being your favorite sibling and making you love him back...even if he has to wring it out of you. (Any version of Dick)

Warnings; Obsession, intimidation and possessive behaviors

Requests: always open. please read pinned post/masterlist

Masterlist

Yandere Dick is a good big brother. He still finds time out of his hectic life to spend with all of his siblings. He remembers all of their interests, a shoulder to cry on and an overall positive reinforcement for the bunch. When you first got in the family, everyone told you over and over, just how perfect he was. There was no better brother than he.

But would i be wrong to say i love the idea of Dick Grayson having a vicious temper? I mean it's hidden perfectly behind is charming smile and good-willed nature.

From the moment you met him, you never truly felt at ease. There was just something off about him that set off alarm bells in your head. You didn't feel safe...you didn't want to be alone with him. It was a guilty feeling seeing as everyone else took to him so well. He was more than welcoming to you so you didn't know why you felt this way.

Dick could sense your unease with him, much to his dismay. He didn't like that one bit. It pissed him off really. In what world someone didn't like him? especially one of the little brats Bruce waddled in. You need to feel comfortable with him, he's a perfectionist that takes nothing less.

Yandere Dick Grayson is obsessed with being your favorite sibling. He's achieved it with all the others, you're no exception. But you avoid him at every single turn. Literally. You've rejected movie nights, dinner invitations, gifts, and other kind gestures. His self worth is rather outward and you're hurting him very badly right now. Why can't you see that? stop being difficult and love your big bro.

As time progresses you can see more cracks coming through. The others cannot possibly notice a flaw in him but you see it all. You know he's eager to be close with you but your body just won't let you. He terrifies you. Especially when you are hanging out with another sibling or texting them.

You don't ever reach out to him. You don't care about him like you did with the others. Why don't you care? You ghosted ever message he's ever sent you. He constantly asks if you're okay or if you want food but you just cannot be bothered to reply. To you it's a trap. You're scared if you give him an inch that he'll run a mile. (which he would)

He becomes visibly irritable with you. He'll grit his teeth through his stunning smile and his seemingly playful words laced with venom. They're soft enough that the others brush it off but you can read between the lines. Other times if you're eating family dinner, and he's upset with you chatting it up with someone, he'll serve you last and the least amount of food.

Dick's last resort was to just forcefully get you alone together for a brother-sister bonding experience. He tricked you in saying the others were meeting at a pizza place after their patrol and offered to drive you over since he was about to leave. You get there, awkwardly sitting at a booth alone with him. He's trying his best to strike up a conversation and patch things up but you're completely silent. You barely even look at him, your eyes are constantly scanning the room for your siblings expected arrival. Hoping one of them would come and save you.

To his glee, you had eventually spoken up but only to ask when the others were supposed to arrive. His smile dropped and the blood in his hands could’ve burst out from how tightly his fists were clenched.

This is his tipping point. You ignored him all this time and the second you decided to speak up it's about them? Something switched in Dick.

It was a strange sight to see. His eyes eyes were completely glossed over and dilated with a murderous intensity. They're wide as they shot through you. His jaw tightened as he thought about how he wanted to hurt you like you're doing with him. You wanna play mental games with him? So be it. He should torture his love right into you. He's got a perfect method aaaalll picked out. You're giving him a run for his money and he's all out of it.

"Jealousy is endearing, don't you think?" His tone was deceptively playful, you knew he was anything but happy at the moment. The unease in his demeanor was enough to cause you to shift in your seat and lean back against the plush of the booth's backboard.

You hesitantly questioned what he could've possibly meant by that to his reply of,

"I just understand your game now. You enjoy making me jealous, it's fun to you. This is all a playful ruse to get more of my attention?...Right?” He shook his head and let out a deep, twisted chuckle.

“You didn't have to do all of this, baby bird. I would've made more than enough time for you had you asked. But i forgive you, if that's all this was?" He leaned in over the table, inches away from your face. His brows furrowed and the intimidation from his eye contact was enough to make you crumble. He was a dangerous person, capable of so many things. He would physically hurt you or his siblings but he’ll find a way to make sure he was number one.

The honest answer to his question was No, this wasn't a game. You just didn't like him. That was all.

But you knew what this was. He was giving you a way out before he gave into the thoughts swarming his mind. There was only one right answer. Give up the gun, say yes, and embrace your brother. He only wants a relationship with you. He's the best there ever was at his job so please, stop being a hard-ass and love him back...

[revelboo]

Im not sure if these are updated based on request or based on your whimsy, but if it *is* request based, may I please beg for Ironhide? I love the old man >.<

If not, feel free to ignore and I will continue to patiently wait :) 👍

Love u so much for this blog; it gets me through the work day.

Honestly, it’s mostly based on people reminding me in the asks that I’ve neglected a character or story, because I’m not motivated enough to make a posting schedule I know I won’t stick to and those asks are sitting at over 300 at this point 😂 no matter how fast I go through them

Hold Me Down Pt 4

Ironhide x Reader

• “Rules,” he growls, servos flexing as you scowl up at him from where he’d unceremoniously dumped you on his cluttered desk. “You’re going to behave. Primus help you if I catch your sticky little fingers on anything that’s not yours.” And you’re looking around, ignoring him. Smacking a hand on the desk to make you jump and glare, he grins. “Act like a sparkling and I’ll treat you like one, darling.”

• Eyes narrowing at the big, red jerk, you curl your lip at him. He’d made it abundantly clear that you’re not getting away. That you’re stuck with each other and that he hates it. Well, that’s fine. The hate is pretty much mutual. He’d tried to give you a heart attack after all. And, okay, maybe you’d been trying to steal him at the time, but how were you supposed to know he wasn’t a real van? If anything, this is his fault. And what is a sparkling? Sounds like an insult. One thing you have figured out? He can’t hurt you or you’re pretty sure he’d have chucked you out while driving and that makes you brave to cover up the fear. “Look, demon van,” you say ignoring his pointed ‘it’s Ironhide.’ “You kidnapped me, so I have every right to make you miserable. And I’m going to enjoy it.”

• You’re grinning at him, no longer putting him in mind of a sparkling. No, they’re at least innocent. You’re a vicious little scraplet, all teeth and evil. “Try me.” Because he’s not putting up with any sass or attitude and unfortunately, you seem to be nothing but. He almost liked you better screaming. Bending slightly to get on your level, he reaches out and taps you on the head with a servo. Grimacing as you slap at him, swearing. Maybe gentler next time, he decides as you rub your head to send your hair into disarray. “I’d behave a little better if I was your size.”

• “Well, I’d punt you across the room if I was your size,” you mutter, rubbing your head. He’d thumped you hard enough to hurt. “Jerk. Demon van. Asshole.” Those big servos flex into a fist and you shut up. Know he can’t hit you, but the threat? Cringing and hating yourself for it, you glare up at him, heart racing.

• That shut you up, but it twists unpleasantly through him, too. That fear in your eyes so raw. It’s the look of someone expecting a blow because it’s familiar, cringing but still defiant. Resigned. “Look,” he grumbles, sitting down and suddenly exhausted. “I’m not going to hurt you, but you can ease up on the back talk.” Lips pressing into a thin line, you just shrug. Right. Brat. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not cut out for taking care of sparklings.” And far too old for it besides.

• That word again. You’re beginning to suspect what it means and it’s not flattering. “You understand that I’m an adult, right?” When he just stares, you swallow a laugh. “I’m not a kid, pal. I’ve been on my own for years and I don’t need taking care of.” Or want it. Relying on other people, trusting them to look out for you, to have your back can only come back to bite you. The only one you can count on is you. You’ve learned that the hard way. Anything else just gets you hurt and you’re so sick of pain.

Previous

Next

You hold me down

You're the echoes of my everything,

You're the emptiness the whole world sings at night.

You're the laziness of afternoon,

[puzzled-pegasus]

The Demigods Discuss: Man vs Bear

(tw for implied SA topics in dialogue)

Literally the demigods just talk abt the man vs bear question and why girls choose the bear

“Annabeth,” Percy asked, “do you know about the Man vs. Bear internet debate thing?”

Annabeth and the rest of the Seven Demigods sat in conversation on the Big House porch at Camp Half-Blood. Piper sat next to her on the porch swing, and Percy was in a chair on her other side.

“Yeah,” Annabeth answered. “What about it?”

“What do you think about it?” His green eyes contained no judgment, just curiosity.

“Like, which would I choose?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…I suppose it's different since I’m not mortal,” Annabeth said thoughtfully. “I could technically defend myself just fine if the man was mortal. And since I’ve killed so many monsters, a plain old bear probably wouldn't scare me much. In a fight, I’d probably choose the mortal guy. Especially if I don't have any weapons.”

“Oh, true,” Percy said. “What about, uh. Demigod man versus…like…one of the magic bears Artemis hunts?”

“Then, yeah. Bear.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, it’s easy for you to pick the bear,” Leo butted in from his conversation with Jason. “You could just think up a way to kill it, easy peasy. Or punch it in the snout and send it crying home to its mama bear.”

Annabeth considered that. “That's true,” she said. “The point is that the man is still more dangerous, though.” She noticed Frank, Hazel and Jason were suddenly quiet, and everyone was looking at her now.

“What if he's a less powerful demigod?” Jason asked. “Son of Iris or Baccus or something?”

“Well…part of the hypothetical is that you don’t get to pick the man. It should be the same for a demigod; you don't get to pick whether they're powerful or not.”

“Hmm. I guess that makes sense.”

“I’d still choose a bear over a random mortal guy,” Piper joined in. “Mortals can still hurt and kill demigods.”

“Yeah, they technically could,” Annabeth said.

“And I don't have my dagger?”

“Nope, no weapons.”

“Okay. I mean, I guess I could charmspeak the mortal guy into leaving me alone. But like, what if they sneak up on me? I’d have nothing.”

“I’m pretty sure a magic grizzly is more dangerous than a mortal guy,” Percy said skeptically. “Can you even charmspeak a bear?”

“I’m…not sure, actually,” Piper said. “But, I mean…the worst the bear could do is maul me to death.”

“But the mortal’s just…some guy,” Jason argued. “What's the worst he could do to a girl like you?”

Leo’s expression changed so severely that Annabeth thought he was going to start his deck chair on fire. Annabeth knew exactly what he was thinking, but she was surprised—and a little impressed—that he was the first one to give Jason a scolding look.

“What the fuck do you think, man?” Leo snapped. “Pipes, you want to burst his bubble, or should I?”

“Yeah, man,” Percy growled, “what the hell?”

“No, I know!” Jason held up his hands, looking at Leo warily. “I just meant that Piper could fight him off, easy. Couldn't she? And there's a good chance that the guy doesn't even want to hurt you.”

“Okay, listen,” Piper said. “Take it from someone who's been surrounded by mortals for my whole life. They can be as smart and vicious as any demigod. There's plenty of them who are stronger than me. If the only thing I have is my charmspeak against some guy who really wants to hurt me, demigod or human…all they’d have to do is cover my mouth.” She gripped the edge of the porch swing she was sitting on.

“And if you were mauled by a bear,” Annabeth added, “at least people would believe you.” She threw a pointed glance in Jason’s direction, and he flinched a little, giving Annabeth a glimmer of schadenfreude.

“Yeah,” Piper said, “that, too.”

“I suppose I shouldn't underestimate mortals, either,” Annabeth reflected. “I mean, it’s not like I have any powers besides wisdom. I’m generally pretty confident in my ability to defend myself, but…I don't know. Hubris is dangerous. And I haven't spent enough time around mortals to really know what they're capable of, like you, Piper.”

“Annabeth, you're way tougher and smarter than any mortal,” Percy said. She could tell he was trying to be reassuring, but he also didn't really get it. How could he?

“I know, Seaweed Brain,” she said. “Thank you. I do still think a bear would be easier. I wouldn't even have to kill it, just get it to run away. And it wouldn't come back to retaliate with the sickest torture it can think of. It wouldn't pretend to be my friend and care about me, and then hurt me when I least expect it.”

“That's…very true.”

Annabeth noticed Hazel hadn't said anything. She sat between Frank and Leo, watching the conversation. Her expression was hard for Annabeth to read.

“You okay, Hazel?” Annabeth asked her.

“Mmmhm, fine.” Hazel nodded.

“What do you think?” Piper asked. “About the argument.”

“What's the argument?” Hazel asked. “What are the man and the bear from?”

“A hypothetical that people on the Internet are talking about lately,” Annabeth explained. “If you were alone in the forest, would you feel more scared coming across a man you don't know, or a bear? Women keep choosing the bear, and men keep getting angry because they don't understand why.”

“Oh, alright. That's really interesting.”

“Yeah,” Piper said. “It kind of…puts into perspective how much more afraid women are of men than men realize we are.”

“That's definitely true.” Hazel tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “I actually would rather be alone with a bear than a strange man. That's crazy. Like you said,” Hazel looked over at Piper, “the worst the bear would do is kill me. And even then, just because it thinks I’m either food or a threat. It won't hurt me just because it wants to.”

Annabeth observed Frank, who was sitting next to Hazel. He’d been quiet, maybe afraid he’d say something insensitive on accident, like Jason had. The thought made Annabeth like him even more than she already did. His expression, listening to Hazel talk about her fears, was full of sympathy and worry.

“That's terrifying,” he said finally. “Is that something you guys think about all the time?” He glanced at Piper and Annabeth.

“We have to,” Piper said with a dejected shrug.

“She's right,” Annabeth agreed. “If we don't stay cautious, bad things happen. You know how many horrible things happen to women in Greek and Roman stories. The tricking, the violence, the blame getting pushed onto the women for mens’ bad behavior or mistakes.”

“Yeah,” Percy said. “Dark times.”

“But those things still happen,” Annabeth continued. “The specifics change, but…humans don't, really.”

The demigods were quiet for a moment. The only thing disturbing the silence was the cool breeze rattling the porch’s wind chimes.

“For what it's worth,” Hazel said, “I’d choose to be with any of you boys in the woods, over a bear.”

“Aw, shucks, Hazel,” Leo grinned. “That is high praise.”

Frank kissed his girlfriend’s hand like they were an old married couple. Percy was smiling the cutest smile Annabeth had ever seen—besides the one he’d given her at the picnic table after their first proper kiss. His cheeks were pink. Jason blushed and smiled, too, a little uncertain.

A genuine compliment from Hazel Levesque could make anyone’s day, Annabeth supposed.

“Hazel’s right,” Piper said, “after all we’ve been through together, I’d trust each one of you guys with my life. Even Leo, I guess,” she teased.

“Hey, now!” Leo said indignantly.

Piper laughed.

“Same here,” Annabeth agreed. “Despite how annoying or ignorant some of you can be,” she said in Leo and Jason’s direction with a playful smile, “you guys are alright.”

[hannahssimblr]

I spend three hours wandering around the estate looking for Goose. I've checked every front garden, every hedge and flower bed and under every car, looked inside bins and up trees by the time I'm forced to contend with the fact that I haven't confronted the railroad tracks yet. I don't. I never pluck up the courage.

I can’t fathom it, being the one to find him there, sweet Goose with his little kitten paws and soft pewter fur. This thought that I hadn’t even considered until Michelle spat it at me is tormenting me now as I forlornly wander the evening streets, calling out the name that I’m not even sure he knows to answer to yet. 

I stumble upon Jen in a little park we used to drink in when we were fourteen. She’s been out looking too, evidently, but has had enough and is sitting on the ground gazing out over the last russet streaks of sunset over Dublin Bay. 

“Have you given up?” I ask her. Her eyes are clouded with sadness 

“I have a feeling he’s gone, Jude,” she says. I feel a lump forming in my throat. “He mightn’t be. He might come back, you know, cats are known to show up after being away for days, weeks, months even,” this is the sort of bargaining a person who refuses to accept the obvious truth gets too involved with, and the kind I’ve been doing with myself the whole afternoon, thinking that maybe if I imagine Goose’s return with enough conviction I will magic him home again, but Jen, for once does not match my idealism.

“He probably doesn’t know where his home is yet, he’s too new.”

“Yeah,” I shift some loose gravel with the toe of my shoe. “Jen, I feel so awful.”

“I know,” she says, and holds her arms out to me to pull me to the ground and wrap them around me, “It isn’t your fault, it could have happened to any of us.”

“I ruined the entire day with my stupidity.”

“Shh, stop,” gently fingers stroke my hair at the nape of my neck, “you just made a mistake, it’s human.”

“Did I ruin your date?”

She pauses, “It’s okay, I don’t think she realised it was a date, and it's probably for the best.” 

The wind rustles through the trees around the park, and I feel chilled with the knowledge that change is coming. The school year is ending soon and now the future lies unavoidably ahead of me, a path completely untrodden. 

“You’ll find someone else to take to the debs,” I tell Jen, peering at the side of her face as her short crop of chestnut hair is backlit by the sunset. “You should have been the first person to get a date anyway.”

She gives me a half smile, unconvinced, “there are like, four lesbians in our year including me.”

“Out lesbians,” I point out, “You never know.”

“When I go to college it will be better,” she says firmly, “school is just destined to be shit, romantically, I mean.”

“In all ways, I think.”

She just laughs. 

“This stuff is bullshit anyway.”

“What is? Love?”

I rub my arms where goosebumps are rising with the cold. I should have worn a jumper. “Yeah, you’re not missing out on much.”

A silence follows, one that feels deliberate, but I venture into it anyway, “Michelle and I had a bad fight earlier.”

“I heard.”

“Us shouting?”

“Mm.”

“Sorry.” I wipe my nose which is running from the cold with the back of my arm. “It was terrible, we both said awful things.”

She just circles her hand on my knee in a vague gesture of comfort.  

“Sometimes it feels like she’s trying to hurt me, you know what I mean? It’s like she has all of this bad stuff stored up that she wants to, like, unleash. It’s so vicious. It seems like she really wants to dig her nails in and leave a mark on me, and then I get so defensive, like, because talking it out doesn’t work, I have to shout, and I have to be horrible too so that she’ll even react to me.”

“We all say things we regret when we’re upset.”

“Yeah, but it’s so destructive. I come away from it all feeling like shit. Like, this isn't who I am, I’m not a person who fights. At least I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be up there saying these things to her, but I can’t stand there and let her say them to me either.”

“Yeah.”

“And I worry a lot about what things are going to look like after this year is over, like, with college and stuff,” even mentioning it makes my stomach feel tight, “like, um, how she wants us to live together and all.”

“And you’re nervous about that?”

I sigh, “Well, I don’t know, it makes sense to do it, right? She thought we could get a little place near NCAD, and we’ve been looking at houses online, and… I don’t know. The idea of being around her all of the time, like, twenty-four-seven, sharing a bed, eating every meal together, walking to college, it makes me feel claustrophobic, and then I worry that if I feel that way now, how am I going to feel when I’m actually doing it? Surely it’s not supposed to feel so terrible, right?” I prompt her when she doesn’t respond, “Jen? What do you think?”

She pauses for a long moment, toying with the aglets on the end of her boot laces. “I think that you’re asking me for an opinion I’m not prepared to give you.”

“...right.”

“We agreed, I agreed with you both that I’d never talk to one about the other. It’s not fair on me and I don’t want to feel stuck in the middle of it.”

“But-”

“You’re both nice people and I love you both so much, but when you are together you are absolutely horrible. That’s all I want to say.”

I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't, I just sit in bad feelings and wish for the millionth time that my brain was normal enough to make good choices on its own and not beg them from other people.

I sniff again, though this time I’m not sure if it’s just because of the cold. “So, um, the acceptance deadline for those other colleges is coming up.” 

“The foreign ones?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you still going to turn them down?”

“I promised Michelle that I would.” 

Jen’s shoulders slump, all of her does, like someone has let the air out of her, but she just says, “Alright.”

I feel the teeth of my genuine desperation for her opinion, her approval gnawing at me. I just want the sage words of advice she’s withholding from me, “Is it a mistake? Like, if I reject their offers? Would that be the stupidest thing I ever did?”

“I don’t know.”

“I worked hard, you know? I really put everything I had into those applications, I gave them the best that I had and they loved it, they said really nice things about me in the letters, and sometimes, like, I think I’ll die, or something, if I don’t leave Dublin. But then there’s Michelle,” I fist the front of my hair in my hand, “and the things at home, and I don’t know what the right thing is, whether it’s hurting myself or hurting everyone else…”

“Jude,” Jen suddenly grabs hold of my face and forces me to look into her eyes, “you have to do what feels right, okay? I’m not going to tell you what to do. Like, just… you need to fucking search within or whatever.”

“Uh huh. What does that entail?” 

“I dunno!” She lets me go and stands up, brushing dirt from the back of her jeans, “C’mon, it’s cold, we should go home.”

“Uh, I was kind of hoping you’d be able to solve me, actually.”

“No, this time you can solve yourself. C’mon, up!” She presents her hand to me and I let her haul me onto my feet. 

“Ugh, Jen,” I say, feeling myself sinking back into a melancholy hole again, but she links my arms and brusquely walks me toward the playground gates with all the pep of a middle aged Sunday morning power walker. “You know what? I think we could both do with something nice to make us feel better.”

“What do you mean ‘something nice’?

“Like, I dunno, an ice cream or something.”

“What time is it? It must be after nine.”

“Yeah, so? I was thinking of that place with all the weird flavours, do you remember that?”

“Yeah, but it’s all the way in town. Effort.”

“You can drive, can’t you?”

“You want me to drive? Jen I hate driving.”

“I think you’ll do it for me.”

“Why’d you think that?”

She eyes me sideways, “After what you put me through today, hm?”

“That's manipulation.”

“No, it's payback.”

“Fine. I’ll go get the car.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Come on, before I change my mind.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[jantostolemyheart]

How Long Was I Dead This Time?

Written for day three of @torchwoodfanweek - also on my ao3

Prompt: Death

Ianto fired a couple bullets into the Weevil’s legs, causing it to stumble and stop running. He tied it up quickly and injected it with a sedative so it wouldn’t attempt to break free and crawl off while he attended to Jack. Speaking of which - he hurried back to the Captain who lay bleeding out in the edge of a darkened alley. Jack was far too wounded for him to try and mend, so Ianto just laid Jack’s head in his lap and held him as he died. 

It should have been a simple Weevil hunt. The Rift monitor had only picked up on one that seemed to have gone rogue, but when they arrived, there were three more. The first two had given in with barely any fight, but the last two had fought back. It seemed they were getting a bit smarter. Jack managed to get the third one just as it had grabbed Ianto, its teeth dangerously close to his neck. He shot it in the head, killing it immediately. Just as he did, the fourth Weevil had attacked him from behind, clawing through his sides and biting into Jack’s shoulder. 

It tore into him as though he were nothing more than carrion. Ianto saw a few moments too late, coming back from dumping the other three into the boot of the SUV. He ran up, startling the Weevil and it ran off. That’s when he had shot at it. Ianto had been hoping to kill it, but he was lucky to hit it at all with the way his hands were shaking with adrenaline and fear. 

Now he was kneeling on the cold, hard sidewalk, Jack bleeding out and losing consciousness. Ianto wished he had stayed behind to help Jack with the last one, but he had no idea it would attack like that. He noticed Jack’s Webley lying a few feet away - as though he had tried to draw it but he had dropped it. It was a vicious attack, and would be a painful healing, he knew that. 

A soft gasp turned his attention away from the Captain’s wounds back to his face. Jack’s eyes were closed, and he was no longer breathing. He’d succumbed to his injuries and had died in Ianto’s arms. Slowly, his body started to heal, the lacerations knitting themselves back together. Unfortunately, such extensive injuries meant he’d be dead for a lot longer than either of them would have liked. Of course Ianto wished he wouldn’t die at all, but occasionally it still happened.

TWTWTWTWTWTW

Jack was dead for too long. Ianto had expected it would take a while for him to come back but it had already been two hours. Toshiko and Owen had both tried to reach him over the comms but he was too numb to respond. Jack was dead and showed no signs of coming back. It was like the time he had been dead for three days all over again, and Ianto did not want to go through that again. 

At some point, Tosh had shown up in a cab, to check on them and the Weevils. She had tried to talk to Ianto, and to sit with him, but he just ignored her. He was only focused on Jack, and her heart broke a little for him. It must be hard, loving someone who died so many times. Eventually she had left some money with Ianto for a cab, wrapped an emergency shock blanket around him and one over Jack so they would stay warm - it looked as though Ianto was in shock - and headed back to the Hub in the SUV. She would have sent Owen over to treat them, but he felt it’d be a bad idea in Ianto’s state. He’d examine the two when they returned. 

TWTWTWTWTWTW

Four hours later, and Jack gasped back to life. He reached out for anything, something to hold and help him sit up. Ianto pulled him up, but refused to let go. As far as he could tell, Jack’s skin showed no sign of being torn up, he looked okay. Well, at least physically. Jack wrapped his arms around Ianto, shivering from the cold. “How long was I dead this time?”

[silverynight]

By blood

Even though Akaza is making an effort, Tanjirou can see he's really struggling to keep his part of the deal; Tanjirou allowed him to follow him while he's on a mission and Akaza promised not to harm humans anymore.

And that means he has to stop consuming them as well. But Tanjirou has noticed that he doesn't look well lately; it's hard for him to resist because unlike Nezuko, he knows what blood tastes like.

"Maybe you should try to sleep," Tanjirou whispers in the darkness of his room. He has started to stay in normal inns instead of wisteria houses so Akaza can pay him a visit in the middle of the night. The Pillars would be furious if they knew about it. "It works for Nezuko."

"I don't think I can do that," Akaza says, looking miserable.

"Is there something I can do?" Tanjirou asks, moving the covers a bit to sit on the futon. "I mean... to make it easier for you?"

Akaza looks almost embarrassed when he turns his head towards him, but he nods and crawls to get closer to Tanjirou. Nezuko is so used to his presence by that point that she doesn't even get out of her box. She's completely relaxed around him.

"I've been thinking... If you let me drink a bit of your blood, maybe the hunger will go away," the demon says, almost in a whisper.

Tanjirou really wants to help him, but even he knows that sounds risky.

"What if you don't–"

"I can control myself," Akaza assures him. Then, fiercely, he adds: "You're under my protection now. I'd never hurt you... I just want a little bit. I'll stop after a few seconds, I promise."

Tanjirou is still worried, even though he smells like he's being completely honest. But he doesn't know how difficult it'd be for him to resist. He's seen Nezuko before; once it took all his strength and a lullaby to calm her down.

"I'll let you kill me if it goes too far."

Akaza looks so... lonely and ashamed of his own condition that Tanjirou can't help but sigh in surrender and nod.

He starts rolling up his sleeve when the upper moon stops him.

"Wait. I... I'd like to bite your shoulder."

Tanjirou would like ask him the reason for that, but Akaza looks almost embarrassed and he supposes that it'll be the same for him. Just giving someone blood, well... not just "someone" he's a demon who has protected him and his sister a couple of times.

"Okay," he mumbles right before he opens his robe a bit, at least enough to bare his shoulder.

For a second, Akaza looks almost flustered... But it doesn't last long because he moves quickly and places himself behind Tanjirou with his arms around the human's waist.

A gasp escapes from Tanjirou's lips when he feels Akaza pressing soft kisses on his skin.

"I'll try to be gentle." He whispers before sinking his fangs right into Tanjirou's skin.

Tanjirou can tell he's being gentle, but it still hurts, at least at first. After a second, Tanjirou starts feeling warm and fuzzy for some reason and it's almost like he's more aware of Akaza's presence now.

Then, it ends and Tanjirou feels almost cold. A tongue cleans the wound before Akaza's lips are pressed against the bite a couple of times.

Tanjirou blushes, shy and confused for a moment.

"Akaza..."

"I'll patch you up."

The demon takes a couple of things that were left in the room (Tanjirou always requests bandages) and starts taking care of it.

"Are you feeling better?" The redhead asks after a while.

"Much better, your blood is delicious," Akaza says, before hugging him from behind once he's done.

Tanjirou finally lies back in the futon, ready to sleep, knowing Akaza will stay with him for a while.

***

It's a mistake, but Tanjirou lets Akaza drink his blood again, and again... He doesn't need to drink very often and not that much (to Tanjirou's surprise) so it's more than okay with him.

However, Akaza turns more affectionate; he likes to pull Tanjirou into his arms and nuzzle against his cheek. He also turns more vicious whenever another demon tries to hurt Tanjirou and went crazy once (almost in an scary way) when he found another demon licking Tanjirou's blood that had splashed all over the demon's face.

"HE'S MINE!" He hissed before attacking her in such a way that the demon didn't have time to regenerate herself before the sunrise.

When they are safe and hidden from the sunlight, Akaza patches Tanjirou up himself and takes a look at the most recent bite he left on Tanjirou's neck, before covering it again.

He usually doesn't take too much blood, just a little bit, but the bite marks take a long time to heal. Tanjirou always comes back with bandages all over his shoulders and neck to the butterfly estate and even though he's been careful to avoid the Pillars, the butterfly girls and Aoi have started to get worried... And suspicious.

Especially because Tanjirou never lets them check on his wounds.

"We need to be more careful," Tanjirou tells him, right after explaining the situation.

"Leave them," Akaza whispers against his cheek, before pressing a soft kiss on it. "There's a house in the middle of the woods, it's abandoned, we can stay there with Nezuko... There's a village nearby where you can get food. Besides, I can protect you–"

"I can't," Tanjirou shakes his head. "People will worry about me and I'm sure the Pillars will come looking for me."

"I can kill them for you."

Tanjirou glares at him until Akaza looks away, looking ashamed of his words, or at least he pretends to be.

"They're my friends!" Tanjirou reminds him, ignoring when the demon rolls his eyes at him.

"Then what can we do?"

"I was thinking that maybe you should start biting me somewhere else, so the marks on my shoulders and neck have time to heal properly," Tanjirou says after a while.

"I can start taking blood from your inner thighs," Akaza suggests almost immediately, like he's already been thinking about it.

Tanjirou turns completely red and shakes his head.

"I-I was thinking about an arm... Or maybe my wrist actually..."

"Those places are easy to notice."

He's right, of course he's right. It won't make much of a difference...

"O-Okay, listen... If they keep asking about it, then we'll try with my thighs..."

"We could also run away." Akaza says, before taking Tanjirou's hand to kiss his knuckles. "Live in the woods..."

"No, it's okay. We'll be fine."

***

Next--->

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[alexanderlightweight]

Wednesday prompt :) what if the reason Valentine made Luke a wolf was that a wronged nephilim in a parabatai bond can declare the other an oathbreaker, to trigger divine judgement, and if the judgement finds fault with the other you get back your soul piece and the other is punished? What if Alec, faced with another entitled and selfish rant, just snaps and declares Jace an oathbreaker?

okay so I couldn't figure out a way that would work like you were wanting but i did really like the idea that traditionally, a ritual with the silent brothers as a conduit to raziel is the only one allowed to judge and break a parabatai bond

this is actually an au of all your cracks i'll paint gold. because my thought is that an alec who didn't have the faith or hope to wait to give jace till the very last minute (because until the first rune is taken, some part of alec still believes jace is coming). this alec knows he's about to be deruned and he wants to lose his parabatai bond on his own terms. because fuck if he's going to let the clave tear him from jace, he's going to ask raziel to judge them and whoever ends up taking the brunt, so be it. because only raziel can judge the bond between him and jace.

also a part of alec expects to be the one judged as an oathbreaker. he's really tangled up in his own thoughts at this point and he knows he's not thinking straight which makes him doubt himself.

alec wants answers and to fuck the clave by not letting them get their way.

also tbh, for parabatai, i think the loss of the bond itself, especially not knwing what is happening would feel like divine punishment itself. especially for two peple who are so devout to the bond.

i hope you still enjoy <3

lumine

-

Alec doesn’t know what to do, but there is only one thing left to try and Jace is going to lose him either way. This is the most selfish thing Alec’s ever done in his life and he almost doesn’t do it, until he thinks about how long he’s been sitting here, alone.

Jace isn’t coming. Alec knows that at this point. Wherever his parabatai is with Clary, it’s far beyond anywhere that Alec can reach him in time.

And Alec can’t stay sitting here, waiting to be deruned whenever Imogen gets bored of making him wait.

Treated like he isn’t a Commander and not even given the choice of someone as a witness of his own to keep watch.

“I demand the presence of a Silent Brother for an oath.” Alec rasps to the next shadowhunters who pass, and they wince, looking at him with concern but they shake their heads.

Imogen has scared them all with his imprisonment and Alec is paying the price. Alec is normally the backbone of his Institute, the shield between him and the clave and while they trust him to do that, Alec’s never been their official leader or had the chance to make these hunters completely his.

It’s with a snarl and the determination of spite in his heart — because what was the point of any of this? Of denying himself and Magnus even a moment of anything if this is the way things end — and Alec spits his blood and saliva onto the ground.

It’s grueling work.

Alec was already tired from patrol and the mess with Meliorn when they dragged him to a cell and pronounced him a traitor.  There’s been no soul sword and no trial. They want an example and they’re not afraid to use Alec as one.

Where once, Alec would have assumed he had the protection and privilege of the Lightwood name, he knows now that none of it is true. He’s protected himself and his siblings by his own merits, despite their name, all of these years.

So, Alec reaches deep within himself and calls forward the blood magic that every nephilim is told about but rarely any ever attempt.

It’s a brutal, vicious magic that can turn even the simplest of magical desires into an onslaught of eldritch curses.

Alec uses the blood from his split lip and cut cheek and paints a series of runes before placing his hand down and willing it to activate.

His fingers shatter from the pressure he’s using t push down at the same time the array activates and Alec smiles in satisfaction, copper thick on his tongue.

—

“The Silent Brothers have been summoned and so will remain, especially for a trial we were not notified of.”

“Because this isn’t a trial.” Alec rasps out, “I’ve been asked no questions and offered no recourse. I request two things of the Silent Brothers, one of each.”

“Your requests?”

“I declare a broken oath between parabatai. I wish to let the angel judge my parabatai and I’s bond, not the clave.”

Alec isn’t going to fight his deruning, he can’t.

But he’s not going to let the clave strip away his bond, the angel himself can do that.

“The second request?”

“After the first is finished.” Alec says firmly, not about to let them know that his request depends on how the ritual goes.

“Very well. You will need a warlock to maintain your vitals.”

Alec hates to do it, but there isn’t a warlock who he trusts more than Magnus and Alec is very tired of being betrayed.

—

“What is going on?” Magnus asks tightly, because the Institute is full of strange nephilim and there isn’t a single one he recognizes. Which normally isn’t strange, except it wasn’t like this even a week ago.

“You’ve been requested to monitor and maintain the vitals of the nephilim, Alexander Gideon Lightwood, during a ritual.” The Silent Brother escorting him informs him with their invasive way of communication.

Magnus freezes, because this sounds dangerously close to the idea that he’ll be holding Alexander’s life in his hands.

“And he knows I am the warlock working with him?”

“You are the only warlock he would agree to work with.”

Magnus wonders at what that means and curses the flare of hope in his chest. As he enters the room he frowns, noticing it’s heavily guarded by what are clearly clave guards.

They sneer as he passes and Magnus lets his glamour drop, smirking as they flinch from him.  The cell-like quality of the room means he’s not prepared for Alexander when he enters, though he should be.

Alexander looks exhausted and worse than Magnus has ever seen him, and his eyes are dull. There’s a small spark, the softening of Alexander’s gaze on him. When their eyes meet there is wonder and curiosity for a brief heartbeat before Magnus’ glamour goes back up and Alexander’s eyes drop to the floor.

“Well, this is not how I imagined seeing you again.” Magnus says, trying to soften his words but he’s surprised, and he can’t help it and the hope makes him coy. “In my dreams, I imagined crashing your wedding. Not being summoned here to keep you alive.”

Alexander lets out a hoarse, defeated laugh and shakes his head. “There’s not going to be a wedding to crash, Magnus. I’m being deruned for treason. If I’m alive in a week, it’ll be considered impressive.”

Magnus feels his heart crack with the icy hands that have suddenly grabbed it.

“Tell me, everything, Alexander. Now.”

Alec sends him a weary, hopeless gaze and then shrugs, his hoarse voice forming words that tear into Magnus’ cracking heart.

—

Alec recites the words of his oath, the one that will allow Raziel to judge the bonds of his and Jace’s soul.

If he’s to lose this, then he’s going to do it by his own choice.

He expects the pain, when it comes, but it’s more excruciating than he thought it would be. 

The part of Jace’s soul that is melded with his own is burrowed tightly. It writhes and tugs and fights leaving, and Alec is too tired to do anything but accept the pain and the struggle. He doesn’t even have the energy to fight for himself, he certainly doesn’t have the energy to fight for Jace one last time.

Instead, he lets him go and wonders, whose soul will be returned to who.

—

Magnus has never seen such a gruesome, intimate ritual in all of his life, and it galls him at how many are watching it.  He’s keeping Alexander’s heart beating only through the strength of his magic, or Alexander would be lifeless on the flat table they’ve laid him on.  There is nothing to comfort him or ease him from the cold marble and Magnus seethes that he wasn’t allowed to add any kind of magical cushioning.

It’s as if they want Alexander to feel the most discomfort possible.

He can see it in Alexander’s eyes, the surprise and confusion of waking up and it breaks apart the walls he tried so hard to hastily rebuild.

Alexander didn’t expect to wake up and Magnus was the only one he trusted to make sure that if he did die, he was properly taken care of. Death is an intimate affair for shadowhunters, and Magnus knows the honor he’s been given, but every part of this except keeping Alexander alive feels like a curse.

Because what could have happened in the mere days since they last talked and saw each other, to send Alexander spiraling so low? When he was so proud in his own misguided beliefs the last time they saw each other.

“His soul and bond have been judged. Alexander Lightwood’s soul has been returned to him; he has not broken the oath of his bond.”

Alexander doesn’t look pleased by the pronouncement, if anything the distress and grief grow before they’re hidden away.  It’s then that Magnus realizes, while there are a variety of important shadowhunters, there isn’t a single person there connected to Alexander. 

“Is family not allowed?” He asks casually, smirking at the Silent Brother, because all of their order know Magnus’ reputation enough that it’s better to indulge his curiosity.

“There was no family willing or available to come.” Is what he’s told instead of something like, ‘they’re not allowed’ and Magnus, Magnus itches with the urge to destroy something.

“And Alexander?”

Whatever information Magnus is about to learn, is interrupted by Alexander himself.

“My second request, to the Silent Brothers. To request the right of severance. A trial of law.”

Magnus is curious and he raises an eyebrow imperiously at the Silent Brother standing near him.  Magnus hears the mental sigh before he’s told, “to request such a thing, means the clave has first betrayed the nephilim requesting it. There is no risk besides the soul sword knowing it is a lie and he is still due to be deruned. If he cuts himself from the clave, the clave cannot destroy first destroy him.”

“Does he need a magical aid?” Magnus asks without thinking, because of course he wants to help Alexander get away from the people doing this to him.

“Only comfort, when the strength of his own will finally fails him.”

Magnus wonders what that means but he has no further interest in what is being said and he takes the five steps that separate him and Alexander.

“What will happen, when you succeed in the next ritual?”

“I might fail.”

“You won’t.” Magnus assures him, his fingers light as he boldly places his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. Alexander stiffens for a moment and Magnus almost moves, before Alexander visibly relaxes and leans even closer.

“I’ll be allowed to leave the clave, though I doubt any Institute will take me. I wouldn’t trust them either, not anymore.” It’s a bitter thing for Alexander to admit and Magnus can tell. “I’ll still have my runes; I won’t be hunted. I can hide in the edges of the mundane world if I need to. I’m sure Night Markets have some use for what I can hunt.”

Magnus tsks and tightens his grip on Alexander’s shoulder and sends a soothing, warming pulse through Alexander’s muscles. His shadowhunter has been shivering since the ritual and not a single shadowhunter has offered him a blanket.

This entire time he’s been dressed in thin clothes, the kind nephilim are buried in, as if his fate is already decided on. Magnus is going to burn the horrendously white shirt and pants Alexander is wearing and never let him wear the color again.

After Alexander agrees… of course.

—

Alexander’s voice is low, but strong as he speaks his truth upon the soul sword. It carries across the room as he grips the soul sword and speaks.  He looks at no one but Magnus as he talks, repeating line for line the various laws the clave have broken in his case. Even Imogen looks a little pale when he’s done, as if hearing the truth of her own crimes is worse the committing them.

Alexander seems stunned when he’s finished.

As if he didn’t really think it would work, as if he thought he might actually be in the wrong and Magnus heart breaks.

“Alexander—” Magnus murmurs as he walks towards him, for his shadowhunter’s eyes haven’t once looked away from Magnus’ unglamoured ones. His dark eyes are weary as he watches Magnus, there’s no satisfaction in having one.

Hazel eyes widen in shock as Alexander watches Magnus reach out and wrap his fingers around the hilt of the soul sword.

“None of it has ever been a game. I would cherish you, darling. Far more than the clave, your family, your parabatai or even your exalted angel, Raziel.” The sword doesn’t stop him from speaking, because it isn’t a lie. Raziel cares little for the race he created and what Magnus is starting to feel for Alexander can’t be matched even by a divine being.

Let alone the petty, hateful mortals that have brutalized Alexander’s heart and soul so badly.

“What if you get tired?” Alexander asks and Magnus knows he’s too worn to voice the ‘of me’ aloud.

“I will keep you for every moment of your life.” Magnus tells him, swearing upon an angelic relic that croons temptingly to the corrupted blood in Magnus. “I will never throw you from me. Or give up on you. Whatever exists between us, it can grow to whatever we let it and no matter what that is, I will never abandon you. You, just you, would be enough, Alexander.”

Alexander wraps his trembling arms around Magnus and nods, “then take me away. Please, Magnus. From all of it.”

Magnus smirks at the one Silent Brother who never approached him and Jem nods in return. If his friend hadn’t told him about the properties of the soul sword in detail, this never would have worked.  However, Jem isn’t afraid to toe the line of nephilim law and Magnus has never seen him so enraged as he was when he pressed against Magnus’ mind in secrecy earlier.

The clave cannot refute Magnus’ words, not when sworn on the soul sword or witnessed by two Silent Brothers and that means that this is binding.

The clave no longer has any say or power over Alexander, only Magnus does.

[merakiui]

I love sk!Jade so much its like my meds to make me stay put and all that. I LOVE to always imagine and wonder what it'd be like in this situation with sk!Jade and while im always reading it and something inconvenient happens with Darling im always quick to say "Oh hell nah" Or cuss out at Jade because WTF?!?!!?! But in reality if it were me in there i'd be cowering in fear and already dead😭😭 I'd have the tongue and wittiness that Ace has but the moment he points that blade against my throat im suddenly mute and submissive to his will. Or sometimes i would think Darling would find themself thinking "Okay so what if hes hot and has nice damn muscled arms when hes rolling his sleeves to dismember another victim- wait what am I talking about IM LITERALLY HELD CAPTIVE AS WELL. dude is literally going to kill someone and is holding me captive, now is NOT the time to ogle at his arms (if it isnt obvious enough i am SO DOWN BAD for strong leech arms even in such treacherous situations and conditions ><)"

I also like to think that sometimes for fun Sk!Jade likes to dress Darling in his clothes (Bloodied or not) and let his big collard shirt drape over them without anything under as they give him a pathetic and mortified look. That pathetic and submissive look on their face is absolutely adorable to him that he could just kiss their cheek! (And bite it off a few for a taste hehe)

Fear play is definitely his kink, but he can be so genuine and soft despite that and it has you melting in his big and firm arms (That could literally kill you with one bone crushing squeeze to the throat if he so desired; Its kinda cute if it was a puppy love Floyd though who just loves you so much but accidentally kills you because of his strength 😭poor Darling;;;)

I HAVE SO MUCH IDEAS STEMMING FROM MY BRAIN RN AHHHHHHHHH SK!JADE LITERALLY DOES A NUMBER TO ME IT HAS ME SHAKINGNNGNGNGNGN (I am so sorry for the long ramble😭🙏 Please take care! And also could I be Honey Anon??)

:D hello hello, Honey anon!!!!! Please don't apologize for the ramble. I love reading it hehe. <3 I'm happy to know sk!Jade has all of us in a vicious chokehold. He's just so frustrating. T_T and he knows he's attractive, too, so he uses it to his advantage if he wants you to lower your guard. Omg dressing you in his clothes... he's terrible!!! >:( I imagine he just loves seeing how visibly unsettled you get when he drapes his bloody apron over your shoulders.

Aaaaaa maybe if your ears aren't pierced he offers to do it for you so you can wear the earrings of one of his victims. ;;;;; or if they are pierced, he goes through the collection he has and picks a pair out for you. You can try to be confident, but then you're always reminded of how strong he looks and how brutal he can be and so you'll sit still while he dresses you up.

It's definitely a whiplash when he has his soft and sweet moments, but these aren't nearly enough to fool you. You know what he's like beneath his gentle demeanor. orz although sometimes you can't stop yourself from admiring his body, whether out of fear or appreciation. As scary as he is, at least he makes for pleasant eye candy when you need a distraction from the daily horrors of confinement.

And Jade just has fun being a menace and adding more fuel to your nightmares. <3 it would be arguably worse if he had a puppy crush on you like Floyd might because then his self-restraint would be even more tested than it already is.

[fluentmoviequoter]

h e l l o, Hanna!!! ♡ guess who is back again with prompts for V-day??? well, what a magician that you are here, here are some prompts that i chose for one and only Victor Vale BUT as we both love college!Vic that much; thus, i would love to see the college lovers day with these prompts!!

“i could marry you right now.” + “you’re all i’ll ever want.” = ♡

bonus: i actually came across with your post how you like shy!reader; if you want you can do this with a shy reader, i don’t mind really since i am a shy person too. happy writing, love ♡

Softie college!Vic🫶🏼 I love these prompts together!!

Warnings: fluff! takes place at Lockland before the events of Vicious, Angie and Eli are together. 1.4k+ words.

Fanart from Pinterest (pretty boy.)

Valentine's Theory

It’s always hard to talk to Victor, but it becomes harder when he’s studying. You’re never sure if he’s intentionally blocking you out or just so focused that he truly can’t hear you. As you lay on his bed, picking at a box of chocolate someone left at your door, he is sitting at his desk and studying for an exam that is months away (and he will ace, no matter how much he does or doesn’t study).

“Vic, are you doing anything for Valentine’s Day?” you ask, rolling onto your side to look at his back.

He doesn’t answer, and you reach for another chocolate. After a moment, he asks, “When is it?”

“Tomorrow.”

Victor shrugs, mumbling that February 14th is just another day on the calendar. You smile, having expected no less.

“Let me guess, it was commercialized by the card companies and chocolate makers,” you joke.

“Absolutely, it was. How else do you explain the stereotypical, not to mention, expected, gift or a card, roses, and chocolate? There are millions of ways to show you love someone, yet those three have their own day,” he explains.

“Okay, then.”

As you put the lid back on your chocolates, having eaten all your favorite flavor combinations, you wonder about something.

“If you were going to go out,” you begin, “what would be your dream date? With your valentine.”

Victor turns toward you, his pale brows raised as he abandons his textbooks. “Who am I going with?”

You shrug, looking back at the heart-shaped box beside you. “Your choice.”

Victor thinks for a moment, then sighs. “I just don’t see the point.”

Smiling, you ask, “What if I show you?”

Victor doesn’t answer, but you push the chocolate toward him and announce, “We’re going out tomorrow. You have to at least try Valentine’s Day before you decide it’s pointless.” Noticing his blank stare, you whisper, “Unless you don’t want to.”

A man of science (and a man who has unexplained feelings around you and difficulty turning you down), Victor agrees. “You have one chance to prove your theory that it’s worth it.”

Standing from his bed, you tap his shoulder in thanks before leaving to plan the perfect Valentine’s Day.

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor finds you waiting outside his first class on the morning of Valentine’s Day. Extending a box, you wait until he takes it, then tuck your hands behind your back and press your lips together nervously.

Victor’s expression is unreadable as he looks at the gift: a black watch with a cat engraved on the back. At that moment, you have no way of knowing that it will become his most prized possession, and even years in the future when it’s scraped and worn, he looks at it and remembers this moment.

“I know it’s not much,” you begin.

“It’s perfect. Thank you. I, uh, I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s because you are my valentine for the day, not the other way around,” you remind him. “Have fun in your class and I will see you at lunch.”

Victor watches you walk away before looking at the watch again. It’s the most thoughtful gift he’s ever gotten, but he’s more surprised by the sudden desire to follow you. Victor Vale will do anything to get what he wants, but now he’s questioning what he really wants and what he’s willing to sacrifice for it.

The watch holds his attention throughout the class, and Victor doesn’t hear Angie calling his name until she touches his hand.

“Angie, hi,” he says, blinking as his eyes adjust to looking at more than a watch.

“Eli and I are going out for Valentine’s Day, but I wanted to see if maybe you want to come hang out before?” she offers. “It’s not fair to have to be alone.”

There was a time when Victor would have been angry and hurt at the idea of Angie and Eli together and more so at their pity-driven invite to save him from a perceived miserable, lonely night. Now, though, he can only think of you and how, for once, he’s somewhat excited to spend time with someone else.

“I’ve got plans,” he mumbles. “Thanks though.”

“Wait, Vic! Plans with who?” Angie asks.

The watch beeps, and Victor knows it’s a reminder to meet you for lunch. You really did think of everything.

“Sorry, have to go, have fun with Eli.”

Angie yells after him, but he only has one thing on his mind: you. All those moments with you, the feelings that he couldn’t place… he’s starting to realize that you’re showing him something he has never experienced before. The second realization, though, that you’ve been doing it since long before the Valentine’s Day theory arose, is the one that makes him question everything.

✯✯✯✯✯

Around sunset, you take Victor to a small restaurant in a secluded area. You know it won’t be busy, making it more comfortable for you and Victor, and you’re glad to have his full attention when you sit across from him.

Victor has been distant since telling Angie and Eli he was happy for them. You could tell it was a lie, but you seemed to be the only one. Part of you thinks he’d rather be out with Angie, but he’s not. He’s with you.

“How is your day going?” you ask kindly.

Victor nods, and you smile. “Thank you, for all of it.”

You see the watch on his wrist, surprised that he hasn’t taken it off yet. When the waiter approaches, you turn to order, and Victor’s hand brushes yours under the table. His touch disappears quickly, but the spark you felt sticks with you.

It’s no secret to you that you have feelings for Victor, but now you wonder how obvious they are to other people, to him. Friends aren’t usually so willing to take one another on dates and buy custom gifts to prove that a day dedicated to love doesn’t have to be scripted or stereotypical. Yet, here you are. Sitting in a nice restaurant with a guy who has never given you anything close to an idea that there could be more between you.

Victor tugs his hand back into his lap before he takes it too far. Your kindness, loving actions, and soft questions and reassurances make Victor see the point of Valentine’s Day. You show him love daily, he realizes, but today is the one day that it is wholly acceptable to show off the person you love and shower them with the gifts they deserve. It’s a day of appreciation, which happens to involve cards and chocolate for some people.

✯✯✯✯✯

As you leave the restaurant after a dinner filled with pointless conversation, neither of you willing to acknowledge the touch or the fact that this is a date, you walk beside Victor and work up the courage to speak.

“Is there anything else you want to do? We need to make the day perfect.”

Victor slows, and you turn toward him as he answers, “You’re all I’ll ever want.”

“Vic.”

“I think I knew. Or have known, for a while, I just didn’t realize what it meant,” Victor admits quietly, his eyes on the ground.

“So, what now?” you whisper.

Victor takes your hand, and your skin alights at his touch. He fights for his composure, his entire being bending to your will with a single touch. Knowing that he is totally yours, Victor doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“I could marry you right now.”

Your hand tightens around his fingers, and you silently hope his trench coat is soft before you lean against it, hiding your face against his shoulder.

“Why’d you ask if the answer was going to make you shy away from me?” Victor asks.

“I was expecting a, ‘let’s take it slow’ or ‘we’ll see,’ not a few words short of a proposal,” you say against him.

“It’s your fault. You’re the one who wanted to show me the point of Valentine’s Day.”

Pulling back, you look at Victor, whose eyes seem softer than usual. You argue, “It may have worked a bit too well.”

Victor runs his tongue over his bottom lip before tipping his head toward you to ask, “Are you denying that everything you say and do comes from a place of love? Love for me?”

“Vic.”

“You already said that. You’re getting redundant.”

“I- we…“ You stop, inhaling deeply before asking, “Is this ending tonight? Was all of this just for Valentine's Day?”

“Oh,” Victor says, making a noise that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle as he pulls you against his side and begins walking again. “This is starting tonight.”

Bonus: 2 Years Later

"Vic, it's falling apart, just let me replace the watch," you beg. "I can get the same engraving, like it's the same watch."

"It won't be the same watch," he argues. "I like this watch."

"The new one can be a Valentine's Day gift, just like that one was."

Victor's hand gently cups your hip, turning you toward him as he says, "You will have to take this watch from my dead body."

Speechless, you blink at him. "Okay."

He nods, keeping a hand on your back as he returns to what he was doing.

"But could I at least get it cleaned or something?" you add.

Victor's hands move to your face, cupping your cheeks as he says, "Absolutely not."

[teamjo]

jo’s memory bank (2).

An official contract renewal lies on the coffee table, pristine white paper stark against the dark wood beside the condescension ring forming around a glass of water. The letterhead proudly displayed the NHL logo and beneath it the staggering figures that would make him the highest paid player in NHL history. It’s a triple digit million number, one that he’d get per year for a 5 year contract. It delves into the benefits he’d be receiving including endorsements from Nike, Gatorade and Bauer— signing & performance bonuses and additional perks that come just by putting his pretty signature at the bottom of the page.

Jo had the world sitting in front of him.

It all sounds so pretty on paper— so luxurious and so tempting. Any athlete’s dream, but he wasn’t feeling as grateful as he thinks someone would feel.

He leans back, running a hand through his hair as he slumps back into his couch— his eyes distant as memories flood in. He can almost feel the searing pain from the countless injuries he’s suffered, the aches that never seemed to fully heal.. The countless times he stepped onto the ice and the pain would flare, gnawing at his will power to push through a measly practice, yet another game.

But Jo had a reputation to uphold.. a team that relied on him.. and fans who idolized him.

He couldn’t disappoint them and more importantly:

He couldn’t disappoint himself.

At first the painkillers were a necessary evil— prescribed by the team doctors to help him manage his pain and continue playing. It started with a few pills here and there, just enough to take the edge off. But soon the doses increased, the intervals shortened and he began to rely on them not just for the pain.. but for the escape they provided.

He recalls the pivotal role that made him spiral downward like it happened yesterday instead of 7 months ago. It happened in the locker room after a particularly grueling game and Jo had been wincing in pain trying to hide it from his teammates as they celebrated a big win. His coach noticed his discomfort long ago, watching him pull off from the rest of the team to sit by himself on a secluded bench in a quieter section of the locker room. Jo didn’t notice his coach’s presence until the shake of the bottle, handing him the pills. Jo’s expression one of confusion.

“What are these?” Oxycodone.

“Shut up and just take them, kid.” His coach said, his voice low but firm. “You need to stay in top shape for the team. We can't afford to lose you— you’re slipping. We can all tell.”

Jo hesitated, but his coach’s insistence was almost desperate. “You’re our star player— hell, the best defender the NHL has seen in decades. We need you out there, Togame. No matter what. These will help you keep going.” Of course he didn’t tell him he got these from a sleazy doctor who had been known in the industry for accepting money from coaches and players alike without even as much as a consultation. Dosage and milligrams left completely up to their discretion. But Jo didn’t need to know, he needed to play and play well.

Did his coach feel remorse? Yes, of course. Togame was like a son he never had but unfortunately bad things happen to good people sometimes. He’d look back on this and thank him one day.

That day.. that day was the turning point. The coach’s selfish encouragement intending to keep him in the game by any measure, inadvertently fed his developing addiction. Jo didn’t need pills, he needed help. The pills became a crutch— a way to numb the pain and push through his physical limits. The more he took, the more he needed and the cycle became a vicious spiral that felt hard to impossible to break. Until he took his hiatus.

Jo feels.. okay now. His body has had 7 months to recover— his own trusted and personal doctors have given him the green light and arguably, he’s in the best shape he’s ever been in. He’s content.

But.. the offer he got from the MMA last week presents a way out— a chance to start fresh, however it also comes with its own set of unknowns and challenges. His love for fighting is ultimately the reason why he got into the fight club scene— it was gritty, it was real, and despite how seedy it was, it seemed as though everyone cared after one another. No one put on this.. mask of trying to help when their actions were solely to harm him. It wasn’t perfect but it felt nice to be real again and not a machine.

A big reason why he got into bartending in the first place was the simple face the glitz and glamor of fame was gone and he felt like a normal person again. Jo had always been into mixology as a side hobby of sorts in college, but when he took the hiatus he’s on now from the NHL, he needed to keep himself entertained for the time being, even despite his bank account having more than enough to solve hunger crises in multiple countries. Jo was a busy body. He saw a listing for a bartender needed for one of Kisaki’s clubs and he got hired on the spot by Tetta himself.

Jo sits in silence, remembering how the pressure to perform never relented. Each game, each practice, each expectation placed on him felt like a brick added to an ever growing wall of burden.

He feels an.. unfamiliar surge of anger at the realization of how taken advantage of he feels, how his developing addiction was encouraged for the sake of the team’s success.. How the pills were handed to him not out of genuine concern for his well being, but to make sure he remained on the ice, scoring goals, and winning games. Making them money. They saw his talent, his resilience, and used it to their benefit, all while never truly acknowledging the personal cost.

And yet.. alongside all the anger is a profound sense of.. guilt?

Jo chose to take the pills, he chose to push through the pain, to keep playing despite the damage it did to his body and mind. He feels complicit in his own exploitation— believing that his decisions stripped him of the right to feel like a victim. It was his choice to follow the coach’s advice, his choice to prioritize the game over his health. He doesn’t have room to be the victim. The line between self sacrifice and self destruction is blurred in his mind, leaving him questioning his own validity to feel hurt.

Jo’s wants to desperately break free from the past, to find a path that honors his wellbeing as much as his talent. But his love for hockey runs so deep— so rooted in his earliest memories linked to very early memories of his biological father. He remembers the first time he laced up a pair of skates, the feeling of gliding across the ice and the sense of freedom and power that came with every stride. Hockey became more than just a sport for him; it was a passion, a calling that ignited his soul— made him happy in every sense of the word.

It captivated him.

The sound of the puck clattering against the boards, the sharp cuts of the skates on ice, the roar of the crowd as he scored a goal— all of it filled him with an indescribable joy. He loved the his teammates, the bonds made through the shared victories and defeats both on and off the ice. He smiles at the locker room chatter, the pre game rituals, the mutual respect among all the players that created this sense of belonging he cherished. It reminded him of home— the unconditional love and support his mother provided just in a different medium.

Even the physical toll of the game couldn’s completely diminish his passion. The bruises, the aches, the grueling workouts— it was all part of what he loved about hockey.

They were reminders.

Hockey gave Jo a sense of purpose.

He’d be stupid to give it up, so he grabs his pen.

[petchricor-creates]

Can I get a writing request for Max x Neil? Nothing is still so maybe when Neil realizes he liked Max or the other way around 

Here ya go! I decided to write from Max's perspective on this one. Enjoy!

“Fuck!” Max shotued, kicking the crate he had been using as a table in his tent. “This is fucking bullshit!” Max hated everything right now. Well, almost everything. Neil was the exception, as he always was. However, that’s what he was mad about right now.

Stupid Neil and his stupid cute face.God damn him and his stupid cute face and pretty hair. Max groaned in frustration, throwing himself onto his cot with a sigh. He rubbed his face. He hated this. He wasn’t the type to catch feelings, especially not like this. He’d never even had a crush before, what were you supposed to do with them?

Confessing wasn’t an option. He didn’t even want to think about telling Neil about how he felt. Besides, they were only middle schoolers, these feelings would all fade away before they erached highschool and then Max would have another crush that would fade away before adulthood. THen he’d finally date someone, maybe, and then those feelings would also fade away. Probably be a nasty divorce too.

It was a vicious cycle of stupid feelings making things awful, as usual, and Max wanted nothing to do with it.

“Hey, Max?”

Fuck.

“What!?” Max shouted, sitting up. “What do you and your stupid hair want, Neil!?”

“Jesus!” Neil said with a scowl. “What’s your problem?”

“You are!” Max yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Neil, who looked shocked.

“Wha-me? What did I do?”

“Have stupid hair!” Max yelled before groaning in frustration and falling back onto his cot. Well, this was going super duper well.

“What’s my hair got to do with it? Max, are you feeling alright?” Neil went to go touch ihs forehead and Max whacked his hand away, sitting up a little to glare at Neil. Neil frowned. “Max, seriously, you’re not making any sense, maybe you have heat exhaustion? Oh! I’ll go get David!”

“Don’t you dare!” Max grabbed Niel by the wrist, yelping when that got him face first on the floor somehow. How fast had Neil been going? “Ow.”

“Oh my god! Are you okay!?” Neil ran over, helping Max to his feet. Max grumbled, wiping the first from his face.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “But if you go get David, I’ll end you!”

“Alright, alright! Jesus, Max, what’s wrong?”

“You’re what’s wrong!” Max gestured angrily with his hands. He growled in frustration when Neil looked at him like he was cazy. God fucking damn it! Max sat back down on his bed. “Leave me alone!” 

“Max! You can’t just tell me to leave you alone like this!”

“Can too.”

“Max!”

“What!?”

“C’mon man, what’s wrong?” Neil asked, his voice downtrodden. “And why are you so upset with me? What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, you didn’t do anything wrong! Ugh, I don’t wanna talk about this!” Max shouted, hiding his head under his pillow. “Just leave me alone!”

“I’m so confused,” Neil muttered. “Max, can you please just tell me?”

“No!”

“Max!”

“AGH!” Max sat up, grabbed Neil by the collar, and pulled him in for a kiss on the cheek. Max immediately laid back down, hiding his head under his pillow again as he felt himself go a dark red.

“Oh,” Neil said quietly. How articulate of him. “Max?”

“What?”

“Do you…do you, like like me?”

Max threw the pillow off his head and glared at Neil indignantly. “You did not just say ‘like like’.”

“Eheh, sorry.”

“You are such a god damn dweeb!” Max shotued. He squeaked when Neil kissed his cheek.

“You don’t seem to mind too much!”

“SHUT UP!”

[inoreuct]

Okay I actually have a few extra headcanons for this au (and the little ficlet I’m writing for you), so take them into account when reading lol (hope you don’t mind)

Zoro (when in human form) has two pairs of canines (not one, the extra pair sits behind the first. The first (normal) pair are quite large, and sometimes stick out of his mouth), and his teeth are all unnaturally sharp. Also, slit pupils because I said so. He also has tiger stripe prints on his back, although he normally excuses them as tattoos. Ears are slightly pointed, fingers more nimble, you know the drill. Moves and jumps way faster/higher than a normal person has any right to. Nails are similar to cats claws (as in, attached to the bone), and are incredibly sharp. The Tiger form is massive, and makes him look like some kind of spirit (sword + massive + green = not normal lol). Scars and the such transfer to each form. Side note, Zoro doesn’t really feel pain (or temperature for that matter), so it’s harder for chopper to treat him, because how does one treat something when the subject can’t feel it? Zoro is also really intelligent and perceptive, it just doesn’t seem that way because he has zero fucks left to give.

Hope your day is good my guy <3

IM SHAKING YOU SO HARD. WHAAAAAAT THE HELL THIS IS SO SO GOOD ALREADY.

i’m sat here hunched over my phone like 👀👀 I’M SO MAD I DIDN’T THINK OF THE SLIT PUPILS FIRST I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THAT and yes to the pointy teeth. he’s a bitey bastard with his crew already but he’s entirely capable of ripping someone’s throat out with those. and the TIGER STRIPES your brain is so HUGE. massive, dare i say. the increased speed, strength, agility— it’s not obvious when you don’t look closely but once you do it’s easy to see that he’s Not All Human. but i think his crew is almost a safety barrier against people reading too much into it, because zoro bickers and banters and lets them hang all over him, and it puts strangers at ease yk?

HE’S DEFINITELY BEEN MISTAKEN AS SOME KIND OF SPIRIT AT SOME POINT. THE WHOLE CREW GOT A KICK OUT OF IT a village thought zoro was a divine guardian or something and the entire crew got treated like royalty. usopp felt a little bad about not saying anything but the others were Capitalising and zoro was living his best life LMAO

and omg. i hate it when people pass zoro off as dumb or stupid because he is a dumbass but he’s not Dumb. he literally created his own sword style. his battle instincts are honed nearly sharper than his claws. he sits in the back of a room and seems antisocial but he is clocking EVERYTHING; who’s coming in and out of all the exits, where his crewmates are, any potential threats etc etc (also figures out exactly what booze they have by smell alone but let’s not enable him shall we)— the point is, he is intelligent, perceptive and he doesn’t seem like it, which makes him all the more dangerous. people look at him and see a blockhead with three swords, and the next thing they know they’re pinned to the ground with claws in their chest and fangs at their throat. he’s vicious and i love it.

ANYWAY I’M SO EXCITED TO READ THE FICLET YOU HAVE NO IDEA I’M DOING LAPS RN. this was so enjoyable to read already i literally can’t wait for the whole thing. HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY ANON 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[acemmetry]

A Poor Man's Dilemma / Poor Man p.1

(Available here!)

----

The first thing he became aware of was white noise.

It felt different, this noise. It wasn't as rough, or as grating, as he was used to. No, this noise was quite nice. It felt soft and... well, not warm, but...

There.

That's the word. "There". It was "there" like a blanket was "there" when on the cusp of sleep. You're not really aware of it, but you could still feel the slight pressure situated on top of you.

Yeah, that's what it was.

The white noise dissipated when, from behind his eyelids, a light flickered on, followed by muffled noise. Someone must have been speaking.

...Ah. Someone was dumpster diving.

...Really? Dumpster diving? At this hour? Come on, whoever it was should know better than this. It was too early for anyone's day to start. If the local bum's asleep, then you should be, too.

Regardless, the light continued to flicker, the voice continued to speak, and he continued to ignore it (to no avail). He stirred. Damn it, close the lid!

spmmy kmmn n'no yrr awake rrss and shn.

...What?

Groggily, he opened his eyes, only for a vicious amount of blue to assault his vision.

"Thrryarr! Slerpwll? Good, woovluts toodsks-"

The blue belonged to a face, big and smiling, wearing sunglasses that hid their eyes. They were... where were they? That light blue background looked familiar...

"-thnn thrrs th'll thnkwthyr'rm-"

That was the sky, wasn't it? How'd they get in the sky? Oh, wait, there was that green stuff below them. Grr... rass, right? Yeah, they were on the grass, meaning that they weren't in the sky.

"-rlly, s'chamess-"

Okay, cool, they were in some sort of field. Now where was he?

His eyes strayed from the screen in front of him to wander about the room. Though it was dark, he could just barely make out shapes of the objects around him.

...Wow. This was a big dumpster.

"-w'v llrdy pd'all the bills-"

His fist tightened around the fabric in his grip. Were they still talking? Woof, that was harsh; he couldn't understand anything they were saying-

His breath caught in his throat as something- something, he didn't know what- clicked into place. Eyes trailed down to the cloth in his hand, and, experimentally, he kicked his legs. Just as he was hoping for, something at the foot of the bed rustled, no doubt the same something that was weighing his legs down. Eyes shifted to the cloth in his hand, and the cotton in his head evaporated.

This was a blanket. He wasn't in a dumpster, he was in a room. But where was the room? Hell, where was he?

"Y'know, You Seem Kind Of Busy I'll Just Swing By Later."

At the sound of Queen's voice, Spamton's head snapped up, and he caught a glimpse of her smiling blue face before the screen turned off and he was submerged in darkness. There was a panic rising up in his chest, and he had to force it down with a strained smile. Now was not the time to be freaking out. Queen had said she was dropping by later, he had to be ready and look professional. There was absolutely no need to freak out.

...What the hell.

What the hell? What the hell! WHAT THE HELL?! WHAT WAS QUEEN EVEN DOING HERE? WHERE EVEN WAS "HERE"? WHAT-?!

Shut up. Calm down. Breathe. You're fine. Nothing's wrong.

Bullshit. Everything's wrong. Where am I? This isn't home !

Yes, yes, obviously, but you need to CALM. DOWN. Seriously. Panicking will get you nowhere.

Right, right. You're right.

Right? Ok, now breathe. Take a look around. Does anything look familiar?

It's pitch black.

Shut up. Ok, fine, whatever. What about the things you have seen? You saw the screen. You saw Queen's face. You saw the blanket.

I didn't see that, I figured it out.

Shut up, you get the point. If there's a blanket, there's a bed, right? You're in a bed. A big bed.

I didn't feel a pillow.

Lay down.

...

What do you feel?

...A pillow.

Congratulations, you're in a bed.

Okay, so what does that mean?

It means-

Another piece clicked into place.

The room. The screen. The bed. Queen.

He was in the mansion.

Sitting up, he took in slow, deep breaths as he wracked his brain for the final piece. What was different? He was in a room instead of a dumpster. Where was the room? In the mansion.

Alright. Now why was he in the mansion?

He broke in; that was easy enough to remember. He broke in to the mansion with those music Darkners and they lead him to the basement. He remembers because it was the easiest break in of his life; all the staff had been gone!

Ok, so, he broke in. He got to the basement. He reached NEO. He-

An excited fizzle of static raced up his spine. Yes, he remembered that; he remembered that the best. The cold of a metal forged in Heaven sliding underneath his fingers, trapping within it the light of a god; how could he forget?

Focus.

He reached NEO. He touched NEO. NEO was in his grasp. So why was he still here? Logically, after basking in the light of Heaven, he'd do the next best thing and join it. That had been his plan, right?

He flinched at the sound of electric whip in his ears, and shut his eyes in vain at the memory of the white hot pain that followed.

Right. There had been a fight. Swatch and the Tasque Manager had been down in the basement, waiting for him like the assholes they were.

...

That was it, wasn't it? They'd fought, he'd lost, and another attempt at NEO had been thwarted. Damn it, he'd been so close, too!

His grip on the sheets tightened.

He had lost. He had lost, and they had hospitalized him. Why? Pity? He didn't know. He didn't care. He just had to get out. Try again.

Hey, he was hospitalized! They wouldn't expect it!

A white light exploded from behind his eyes as the room's light flashed on.

"Good Morniiiing! Who's Ready To Marry Their Signature To This Paperwork? I'm Officiating!"

He assumed that the aforementioned paperwork was what dropped into his lap; he couldn't see past the hand kneading the dots out of his vision. Strangely, his right arm wouldn't move to help with the dot-kneading. Oh, but why did that matter when he was currently blind?

Blearily, he peeled open his eyes to squint harshly through the brightness of the room. Queen, he noticed, sat in a half crisscross on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked beneath her, the other dangling off the side, as the contents of a Manila folder were arranged on his lap.

"I Bet Their Kids Would Look Like: Resolved Legal Issues," she was saying in her overly-obnoxious voice, eyes (visor? camera? line of vision?) trained on the task at hand. "LOL That Would Look SO Cute."

What the hell was she talking about?

"Anyhoos Here's A Pen!"

He blinked as a pen smacked against his face.

"[Hold your horses]! D0N'T ThINK [[I agree/consent to its terms]] WHeN      [[I have(n't) read and understood the new Terms of Service and Privacy Policy]]! W-" A glitch. "WH  AT'S THE HUSTlE, pAL?"

And just like that, Spamton G. Spamton, number 1 rated salesman of the year 1997, was on the clock. Hidden away was his panic and confusion, and put on display was his false confidence and crumbling charisma. Such adverts were necessary when selling customer service, after all.

"Oooo, You Talk Funny. I Have: 27 Languages Downloaded. And I Didn't Understand Anything You Just Said." Two red "@" symbols popped up on her face thing, giving the illusion of avoiding eye contact. "Reiterate."

Hoooo, boy. A tough customer.

He picked up the pen between his middle and index finger. "I'M NOT SssIGNiNG..." He threw the pen at her face. It clacked pitifully against the eye screen and did nothing to wipe that dumbass smile off her face. "UNTill I [Always Read The Fine Print!]."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. It might have been frustration, but knowing her, the former was more likely. She was dumb like that.

Her expression shifted into that of amusement. "That's Silly Nobody Ever Reads That. It's Logical To Save Time By Signing Agree Then Going About Your Day." He scoffed.

"WELL, ii;;m- I"M NOT [nobody to call your own?]." Yes you are. "AS [top biznisman], 1T'S MY [Job Offerings Available At-!] [Make sure to check your kids' candy!]!"

Queen's cheek twitched. The two sat staring at each in silence for a moment. She seemed to be processing his statement.

"Well, Have Fun!" She piped up out of nowhere, once more flicking the pen at his face. "A Swatchling Will Accept It From You When You're Done!" His response was a (clearly fake) toothy grin, which fell upon her departure from the room. For the strangest reason, he had a feeling she hadn’t understood anything he had just said.

The paperwork was acknowledged with nothing more than a disinterested side-glance before being shoved aside. Flipping the covers off, (which proved to be quite the feat with only one arm choosing to function as it should), he stumbled his way to the door, legs numb and leaden.

Jeez, he thought as he caught himself from falling for the third time. You get one good night's rest, and suddenly your body wants to take a whole-ass vacation. He punched one of his legs. Work, damn you!

And work they did, for a short while. At least they carried him through the room, to the door and, with a twist of the knob, out into the hallway. NEO here I come... again.

His legs probably would have carried him through the hallway too, had they not buckled underneath him at the sight of the purple-suited Swatchling waiting for him... on him? at the other side of the door. He didn't yelp. Not at all! If he did, it sounded dignified. Yup, verrry dignified.

His face met the floor.

"Ah, Mmm... mister Spamton. Have you already finished?" It straightened its cuffs, clearly masking its surprise as it looked down at him. Spamton didn't neglect to notice its ruffled feathers settling back into place. "That was fast."

He gave a grunt of affirmation from where his cheek was pressed into the carpet, followed by strained groaning as he tried to push himself off of the floor.

"Allow me," the Swatchling said, stooping down to pluck Spamton off the ground. Suddenly, and much to his chagrin, the butler began... righting him, so to speak. Dusting his clothes, straightening his lapels, smoothing back his hair. Now, you never touch a salesman's hair, especially not one as well-known as Spamton, but there wasn't anything he could really do but squirm as he dangled by his collar a good 2 feet in the air. It was only when the Swatchling started rubbing a wetted thumb over the grime on his cheeks did he decide he had enough.

"ALR1GHT, [[Stop the count!]], [Stop wasting time on-!], ST0P!" He exclaimed, twisting to and fro in the hopes of loosening its grip. "I'M NnOT SOME f[4.99!] ch-!" A glitch, quick but violent, rattled his frame, causing the bird-like Darkner to nearly lose its hold on him. "CHILD! PUT M3 [Down on your knees!]!"

The Swatchling, albeit a little hesitantly, put him down, and it was only when his feet touched the floor did he jerk out of its grasp, running a hand through his hair to regain his composure. "THAT"S [No Way, José!] T0 TREAT A gGUEST!" The butler bowed its head in acknowledgement.

"Apologies, mist- Master Spamton, you're just so..." Without his spectacles, the Swatchlings could clearly see the glare he was shooting it, daring it to continue with its sentence. It cleared its throat and began again.

"Apologies, Master Spamton, it won't happen again." He huffed.

"IT [Better than the rest, it's not a test!]-" A cough. "It B3TTEr N0T, OR YOUR [Ascots for cheap!] IS [[Lier, Lier, Pants on Fire]]d!"

During the confrontation, Spamton had been inching away, ever so slowly, in the opposite direction, in the hopes of making it a far enough distance that he could simply turn around and book it to the basement, leaving the avian Darkner in the dust wondering what had just happened. However, it seemed that plan was for naught, as it caught him with a raised brow. Goddamnit, it was gonna-

"Master Spamton, guest or not, you are not permitted access of the mansion until an Ambyulance discharges you. You are still recovering, and besides, your paperwork is in your room."

He sucked in a breath. "I..." Shit. What was his excuse? "I'M... [Golden Retrievers, Now-] AN 1TEM I            "

"You... what."

A series of clicks responded to the Swatchling's inquiry, leaving it with a look of bafflement as he struggled with his words. Lost. He had just wanted to say lost. Why was that so hard?

"...mmM1SpLACED." That'll have to do.

"Well, mm...Master Spamton, if you could tell me where it is, I could retrieve it for you while you wait-"

"I'M [What are you, scared?] 0NLY I cAn [[Get it while it lasts!]], [It's mine, it's MINE!] AND A LL ThAT."

It was weird, how its eyes softened with a sad understanding at that. It was only a smidgen, but it was noticeable enough that Spamton began to wonder what it was it was understanding. It was weirder still that it bowed its head to seemingly accept his weak-ass excuse. Swatchlings are usually much more stubborn, he thought. However, the weirdest of all had to be the, "I'll be sure to escort you" that came right after, followed by its retreat into his room.

Spamton, once the Swatchling disappeared from view, began to speedwalk away. Swatchlings are weird, he thought as he scratched an itch just beneath his chin. But this one takes the cake. What the hell was all that? Hopefully it doesn't come back out.

Like most of Spamton's hopes, this one was crushed when the butler reemerged from his room, carrying his (now neatly organized) paperwork and calling his name. He willed himself not to hasten his already hurried steps when it approached him; Swatchlings had a habit of chasing things that ran.

It fell into step beside him, Manila folder held to its chest with lightly-grasping hands. "I thought it best to bring your paperwork with us," it said, eyeing him curiously. "But I couldn't help but notice that none of them are signed."

Spamton hummed, not trusting his voice to conceal the anxiety that came from being so close his "escort". This was an enemy of fourteen years. He took a right, walking briskly. The Swatchling, of course, kept pace.

"Master Spamton, I don't think you've read these."

Oh really?

"THIS [[-is of utmost importance]]. I;;ll H4 VE [Time is of the essence!] (2) READ [It's no good ly-]- ahem- thEM. L; ATER."

The Swatchling chose to remain silent.

-

Was the puppet before it a mister or a Master? Iris didn't know; for so long, he had simply been a "mister" out of formality, but recent circumstances had tipped the scales, the biggest factor being that he was staying in a room at the Mansion. Queen had insisted that his stay would only last as long as his recovery did, but until his discharge, he was still technically a guest, wasn't he? Besides, there was no telling how long his recovery would take; not only was he missing an arm (the Ambyulance couldn't reattach it because of how damaged it was), but he was plagued with many (thankfully not contagious) viruses, many of which had yet to be identified.

It was the indecision between mister or Master that ultimately drove the butler to resign into the position of an escort, as opposed to a mister's acquaintance or a Master's servant. In reality, it was the puppet doing the escorting, leading the of both of them to the basement.

Any other time, he would have been vacated from the premises for even considering taking this excursion, but with NEO erased, there was no need for such unpleasantries.

But he didn't know about NEO, did he?

Iris' heart clenched. True to the word of the Ambyulance charged with his care, his concussion. although minor, had rendered his recent memories lost; the evidence had presented itself when he had insisted on retrieving his "misplaced" object. Did he even know what he was doing in the mansion? How he got here? It was bad enough that he didn't remember what happened with NEO, seeing as the first chance he got, he was once again seeking it out to claim as his own.

A violent glitch separated the man's head from his body, forcing him into an abrupt stop. Iris stopped too, looking at him with a horrified concern painted across its features. Was... that wasn't normal, right? That was a medical concern?

The glitch had passed, but he still hadn't moved. Had it caused damage? Iris was about to ask when the man spoke. "[Why, oh, why-?] ARE YoU FOLL0WING ME?" The butler took a moment to hide its confusion regarding the rather simple question before answering.

"I am your escort. I thought that much was clear."

"Y0U KNOW [Where in the world is C-?] WE'       'RE GOing."

From what it could understand, what he said was not a question, but a statement. It was hard to understand with his glitch-speak.

...Of course it knew. The path to the basement was a path all of Queen's servants were required to know. It was likely that wouldn't remain the case what with NEO gone.

"Of course. I wouldn't be much of an escort if I didn't."

They both knew it was him doing the leading.

Silence settled over them, and with it, a tension began to grow. To agitate the quiet, the butler cleared its throat, and the puppet took the initiative to resume walking. He only acknowledged his party member's presence again when it suggested a shortcut through the foyer.

...The quicker he remembered, the easier his recovery, and the faster he could leave the Mansion.

***

This was a mistake. In hindsight, it shouldn't have let him down here, even if the basement was empty now, because that was the problem. The basement was empty, NEO was gone, and Spamton didn't know why because he didn't remember.

The butler's suit was flushed a deep, shameful violet as recent events replayed in its head in an attempt to discern what it could have done differently.

They walked in silence through dusty air and down corroded stairs, the puppet occasionally looking back at his "escort" with suspicion as they neared their destination.

It should have brought him back to his room and insist that his paperwork was of higher priority.

The two were now following a trail of train tracks. But, out of nowhere, the puppet spun on his heel, planted a fist in the butler's gut, and bolted off in the direction he remembered NEO to be in. Iris reeled back, coughing in surprise, and only then had the thought to go after him.

It shouldn't have hesitated. It had the strength, it could have easily caught up to him and forced him back to his room. The punch didn't even hurt, so why did it hesitate?

A series of harsh beeps met with Iris' ears once it entered the room where NEO had previously resided. If Spamton's angry and panicked expression was anything to go off of, the beeps were actually censored expletives. "W h3Re i:IS IT<<!?" He was screaming, his one hand tearing at his hair. "W W wwHER3- WH3r3- WHE<RE THE [$@!%] 1<<iS              !?"

It was a pathetic sight.

"Master Spamton," Iris called, hiding its feelings of shock and worry behind an expression of nonchalance. "NEO isn't here. It has been permanently removed."

Spamton, upon hearing its voice, whipped his head towards the butler, surprise painted across his features as if he had forgotten there was someone else down here with him. Just as quickly, his face donned a look of rage, and he was stalking towards Iris in short, angry strides.

He gripped a fistful of the butler's suit canvas before tugging it down to meet his eyes. Iris couldn't help but cringe away at the fierce intensity in his glare.

" Where is it?" Words like fire hissed out between clenched teeth in a voice so dangerously low that the butler feared what a wrong answer would mean for it.

Iris swallowed past a lump in its throat, gingerly cupping Spamton's fingers with its own as it braced itself to speak. "Al- allow me to clarify." It relaxed a smidgen when confusion flickered across the puppet's features. "NEO isn't anywhere. It was erased. You should know, you were there when it happened."

His face fell, and the hand clutching its suit fell away. Wide eyed and open mouthed, he turned away from Iris, ignoring the pixels that began to break off his body in favor of cautiously making his way over to where NEO had once sat slumped against the wall.

It... God. This had been inevitable, hadn't it? He'd have to find out eventually, or he'd be stuck searching for something that no longer existed. There wasn't anything it could have done to stop this.

Currently, Spamton stood, silent and unmoving, in front of the space where NEO had once occupied, eyes fixated on the border between floor and wall. With shoulders relaxed, chin was level with the ground, and expression hollow, he was the picture of a defeated man. Iris couldn't feel more ashamed

Had NEO been all he had left?

A glitch momentarily shifted around his facial features, which seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he had fallen into. Cautiously, his hand reached for his right arm, and he flinched with a sharp intake of breath when it only found the stump. Even so, he continued to stare into nothingness as he began to shake, fingers curling around and gripping the stump. Iris could only watch as he hunched into himself, shoulders hitched up to his cheeks, chin tucked into his chest, and face, no doubt scrunched up in anguish, obscured from the butler. His shaking intensified.

Then he began to laugh.

It was bitter. Angry. Helpless. He was laughing, but there was no laughter in the sound.

It made sense that his laughter then turned into screams, because only a scream could sound so pained and so, so angry. Only a scream could sound so broken and so heart wrenching.

Iris expected tears to follow, but none came. When he ran out of a voice to scream with, Spamton simply fell into silence, his trembling having subsided. Noticing this, the butler turned to leave, unsure of how to proceed and unwilling to. that was, until a dual-toned light caught its eye.

...That would have to do.

"Master Spamton," it called, stooping to pick up the familiar item and ignoring the clinking of broken glass as it did. He acknowledged the butler, just barely, with a minute turn of his head and a small hum. "I believe I have found your "misplaced item". Is this it?" Casually, as if it had not just witnessed a meltdown from the man, Iris held up his dealmakers.

Slowly, he twisted around to see whatever it was the butler was talking about, his eyes red and puffy but otherwise drained of emotion. A small relief fluttered in its heart when his eyebrows crinkled together, ever so slightly, in confusion, as he processed what exactly he was looking at. Iris quirked a brow upon eye contact, restating the unspoken words hidden in the question: "This never happened, right?"

The pained smile he wrestled onto his face was answer enough for the butler.

"w w (Y) y0u [fFunky little worm], THaT'S 1T!" He lied, stepping towards Iris. It cringed at the poorly masked tremble in his voice. "NOw TH4T IT"S [Lost and f0und], [[We're cleared for takeoff]]."

The butler could only take that to mean that he wanted to leave, so it stored the broken spectacles in its inventory and began to walk in the opposite direction, expecting Spamton to follow. The pair of footsteps behind it indicated he was.

They walked in silence, the two of them. Somewhere along the way back to his room, Iris had handed Spamton his paperwork, the contents of which he was currently poring over to distract himself from the reality of 13 years gone to waste. As for the butler? It kept him from wandering off.

He had just looked so lost in the basement.

"HEY." Iris was startled out of the quiet by the sheer volume of the puppet's static-riddled voice, before humming to acknowledge him. "WHAT'S tHIS [suposed] to MEAN?" It turned to see what he was talking about.

He had a single sheet of paper pinned, by his thumb, to the folder, the likes of which he held up in the air within the butler's reading range. However, it was unsure what exactly it was supposed to be read, so it began skimming the page for anything that might have been unclear. An idle thought questioned how Spamton had even managed to get the paper out of the folder with just one hand.

It was startled out of its reading by a mini Spamton crawling out of the puppet's tattered sleeve. Curiously, it watched the tiny clone clamber up its master's wrist and onto his thumb, gesturing wildly to the paragraph the digit was covering once it had secured its footing. Both Spamtons looked at the butler with impatience.

...Ah.

Iris lid the paper out from under his thumb, careful not to jostle his clone, and, after a nod to a passing Swatchling, began to read the selected paragraph.

By accepting the hospitality of her Majesty Queen, you agree to be subject to the conditions placed upon the quality of your stay, for the duration of your stay. To assault a mansion resident, attempt escape, fight treatment, or break mansion-owned pottery would go against these conditions and result in a termination of your special resident status. A debt equal to the cost of your treatment would be owed, and you would be arrested and detained on account of your unanswered crimes against her Majesty Queen.

Two of Iris' fingers were stroking the underside of its beak by the time it was finished reading. Catching the expectant brow Spamton had raised, it cleared its throat in preparation of a summary.

"Well," it began. "It just means that you have to follow some rules while you're here, otherwise you won't be... here, anymore. That shouldn't be too hard." He gave the butler a deadpan look, which it returned. "Seriously." It spoke in a tone reminiscent of freshly ironed sheets; flat. "Master Spamton, there is nothing to be misunderstood with this."

"OF [coarse] THErE 1S!" He retorted, expression suddenly angry. "[[What in tarnation?]] IS A [specil deal] [Consult your local doctor]? [Quality servis] 0F MY ssT<<AY?! I d0N;;T E E [Even better deals!] W4NT TO bB<<E H3- HeRE!" When all he got in response was a blank stare, he let out a long, irritated, exhausted sigh, squeezed his eyes shut, rested the back of his hand against his forehead, and muttered something about bird brains.

Simply put, he was being overdramatic, but at least he was feeling better.

-

"Your Majesty, I have Master Spamton's signed paperwork."

Queen, who had occupied herself with playing Minecrap from the comfort of her bed, paused her game, mentally minimized the tab which it was running on, and lay down flat on her back so she could see the Swatchling who had walked in. "Ah, Hello!" She said with a smile. "It's Signed? Perfect, Hand It Over." The Swatchling obliged.

...Huh. Spamton had an atrocious signature.

"Any Complications?" She absently inquired as she flipped through the folder held above her head. Damn, this was a really bad signature. Was this a name, or a squiggle?

When the Swatchling didn't answer, Queen once more tilted her head back, and found the avian darkner wringing its wings together. "Well?" She offered, placing the folder to the side in favor of rolling onto her stomach, legs paddling the air. The Swatchling, taking notice of this, awkwardly cleared its throat and folded its wings behind its back.

"Master Spamton has, ah, expressed an objection to his residence within the Mansion, and is uncertain as to whether or not it is an obligation."

A moment was taken to process the statement.

...

She barked out a laugh as the statement processed.

"He Doesn't Have A Choice," she answered. "The Law Says That He Cannot Leave The Mansion Until He Finishes His Sentence." She slid the folder back towards her and resumed flipping through it, ignoring the confusion on the face of her guest.

It jolted as if coming to a sudden realization.

"What law?" Queen, not even looking up, simply replied, "The One I Just Made Up, Obvi." She sensed it nod.

"And..." By the tone of its voice, it was another question. "What do you mean by "sentence"?"

Queen closed the folder (all the papers inside no doubt bore that ugly signature, there was no need to check) and peered up at the Swatchling. It had a look on its face that said it wanted not just an answer, but an explanation.

...Eh. She wasn't in an "explanation" mood.

"It's Not A Prison Sentence, If That's What You're Thinking. It Was Tammie's Idea, It-" She smiled, as the notion was, quite frankly, amusing. "Think Of It More As: Community Service."

It was the least he deserved, after all.

(Originally written 11/22/22)

[enigmatist17]

L.A Seems Fun (Part 2)

Part 1

---

"Early one morning, just as the sun was rising

I heard a maid sing in the valley below

Oh don't deceive me, Oh never leave me,

How could you use, a poor maiden so?

Remember the vows that you made to me truly

Remember how tenderly you nestled close to me

Gay is the garland, fresh are the roses

I've culled from the garden to bind over thee."

It had been a lifetime or three since Angel had heard that song, especially coming from someone who refused to sing if anyone was within hearing range. Well, he had with Drusilla at times, but they were rare enough to never draw much attention from Angelus or Darla.

Yet here Spike was, singing without a care even though Angel and Cordelia were only a few feet away, to the little bundle in his arms. Connor was cooing as he listened to the vampire, one little hand waving up and down when Spike grinned and poked his nose.

"He's been singing for the last half hour," Cordelia whispered into Angel's ear, the older vampire having finally woken from his first decent bout of sleep in months in her arms. "Wish I had his skill."

"Connor's okay?" Angel only held back from jumping out of bed and snatching his child from Spike's hands because Cordelia was not worried in any way. One of her hands idly ran through his hair while she read a book in the other, clearly having joined him at some point after he passed out with Connor in his arms.

"Safe as houses." She replied with a soft hum, kissing Angel's forehead. "Spike is a friend, and he loves Connor."

"What?" Angel blinked, wondering just how long he'd been asleep. "Friends?"

"And roomies." Spike waggled his eyebrows, trailing off to hold Connor up by his cheek with a smile. Angel is concerned to see the younger man covered in bruises from what looks like a vicious beating. "Got me a nice room upstairs, little tyke 'ere loves it."

"You're staying?" Angel sat up with a slight wince, the other trailing across the room to slip the happy infant into his arms before he could speak.

"Reckon I can use the vacation from Sunnyhell." Connor squealed slightly as he got comfortable in his father's arms, Angel raising an eyebrow at Spike, who pointedly avoided his look. "Speakin' of, 'm gonna score myself a bit o' violence before bed, so 'ave fun children."

"Have fun?" Cordy questioned as the other vampire swept out of the room, waving his hand before he disappeared around the corner with a whistle. "He is so weird."

"No, he's just Spike." Angel shrugged as he gently poked his son's nose, donning his demonic face to hear the peals of laughter the baby let out moments later.

"I will never get over how cute that is." Cordelia smiled from her lounging spot on the bed, earning herself a genuine smile from Angel, showing off all of his vampiric teeth in the process. "Adorable."

"You're just being nice," Connor cooed as he was bounced a little. The little being in his arms soon yawned and dozed off when Angel shuffled back on the bed to sit beside Cordelia. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the vampire just watching his son sleep as Cordelia watched Angel.

"Spike and I had a chat after you fell asleep." Angel glanced over as she hummed under her breath, flipping a page in her book. "I know you both have history, but you're going to play nice with Spike while he's here."

"Um...I am?" He doesn't have to look over to see the look on Cordy's face, her tone of "don't mess with me buster because I just adopted another loser off the street" was enough to be an answer.

"It took half the liquor cabinet after we got back, but he opened up with some of what is going on in Sunnydale, and it's bad." Cordelia had to shake her head at the memory of the drunken confession she'd bore witness to after the fourth bar they'd gone to, closing her book with a quiet sigh and setting it aside. "He had to convince me not to go down there myself to raise figurative hell, and ended up using your son to do so, cheeky ass."

"Connor has that effect huh?" Angel chuckled, the sleeping baby making a noise as if he heard them. "Spike can stay as long as he wants, I can tell he's attached already."

"Considering you've seen him for about five minutes, that's impressive."

"William has never been able to hide caring about something from me, this is one example." Angel shrugged. "It'll also be nice to have an extra fighter on hand."

"Good." Cordelia hugged Angel's side with a soft noise, looking down at Connor with a smile. "Another Sunnydale stray finding their way with us, huh? I can't believe we ended up being the responsible ones...well, most of the time."

"I blame L.A." Angel shrugged, Cordelia's laugh nearly echoing throughout the entire hotel.

[crashingwavesinmyworld]

I’m not gonna act like I’m perfect and that I’ve never made mistakes or sometimes said hurtful things when upset (who hasn’t though) but I’m tired of being treated like the villain in a situation where I’m the victim and I’m tired of any way i try to defend myself or when I’m just trying to get answers is seen as me having a “BPD meltdown” or “lashing out.”

I have every right to be hurt and angry and sad but I think I’m handling it pretty well regardless??? And I wouldn’t need to constantly defend myself or speak about how hurt I am or any of that if this dickhead had just properly communicated with me in the first place or at the very least didn’t try to paint me as some dangerous crazy person for something that wasn’t my fault and like even if it hadn’t been about me fainting and was about me being depressed/suicidal, once again I was the only one hurting there no one else was getting hurt it doesn’t make me dangerous you ableist fucks and if it was such an issue why did he assure me everything was fine? He blatantly lied to me and so did his girlfriend and I don’t know at this point what was true and what isn’t true and it’s honestly disgusting that she thinks I’m the problem and has been using my BPD as a way to demonize me.

This was all because of her coward boyfriends inability to communicate like a mature adult. But I didn’t even fucking do anything I’ve been trying to move on. All that happened is last night after I finally had felt okay and strong enough to hang out in the food court which I haven’t been able to do cuz I feel like I’m being watched. But then after I came out of the bathroom his girlfriend was sitting outside, she didn’t see me right away and I wanted to say hi but I didn’t cuz of what she’d said a few weeks ago about him not wanting her talking to me and as dumb as it is I wanted to respect that, I went and sat away from her and went back to my music or whatever I was doing.

But then when she did see me she walked away without saying anything. That hurt a lot but what hurts worse is he eventually came out and saw me and walked past me too without saying something, and his girlfriend intentionally parked the car right by where I was sitting so I had to see him get in the car, I tried leaving after this I was gonna go to the grocery store but when I was walking there suddenly he was driving and he was stopped in front of me and he looked at me again and so I turned and went the other way but he ended up parking in a random parking spot by where I was walking and got out of the car for no reason seemingly just to make sure I saw him then when I kept walking he got back in like I feel like he was trying to torture me on purpose. Like who tf does this?

Maybe I’m being paranoid and I know they would deny doing this but it just all felt very intentional. I can’t believe I ever called these people my friends. No matter how many problems I have I wouldn’t have ever done something like this to them. Sometimes I wonder if this is karma for my past mistakes cuz I have said and done a lot of things I regret. I’ve always tried to make things right and apologize and correct my behavior but maybe to the universe that isn’t good enough.

But even then even though it’s not an excuse most things I’ve said or done that have been wrong usually happened when I was hurt first by whoever it was or I saw them treating someone else poorly and that doesn’t make it okay obviously and it’s not an excuse but im just saying I’m not a vindictive person or vicious person purposely out to get people or harm people.

Most of the examples I can think of were several years ago anyway before I even knew these people. And usually if anything I may say something bitchy or mean after being provoked or backed into a corner (usually to my mom more than anyone) but like these people are acting like I was a threat to their safety… I am not this dangerous crazy person they’re making me out to be.

I cared so deeply for them I would have done anything for them and it makes me sick that I could care so much for people that could just so easily hurt me then move on like it’s nothing. I think the differences between me and them is that if I say or do something wrong whether I realizes it at the time or realizes it later I always feel deep regret and always always apologize and try to make it right. Whereas they are blaming me and making it seem like my justified hurt is irrational. Well her and not him because he still hasn’t said a damn word to me. Coward. God just the thought of him makes me sick. I can’t believe I used to think he was the sweetest guy I’d ever met. And that I used to think he was the one guy to treat me with respect despite seeing me at my worst (about 6 years ago) and even recently before all of this he wasn’t treating me any differently everything was fucking fine that’s why I don’t fucking understand!!! And like the fact that he knows too how scared I was of getting hurt and losing people….asshole. He knows I felt so much pain which I was why I went to the hospital which he was so supportive and sweet about but now I’m in worse pain than I was then and he’s nowhere to be found. But that’s the thing I never needed or wanted emotional support from him. I just enjoyed talking to him about books and music. It’s all just so fucked and in sick of it all