#pretends to be like the doctor. then the doctor isn’t really dead.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Drabble 187/366 - Doctor Who

The Master marches up to the so-called Ghost Monument-

The doors are locked.

“Look,” he snaps at the TARDIS, “I’ve had a very long, very frustrating day, so you’ll open up or I’ll…” Stubbornly, she refuses. The humans following him are watching, concerned.

He lowers his voice. “The Doctor is dead. He isn’t coming for you. I’m all you have left.” Still nothing.

He exhales and rests his forehead against her doors

“Trying to change me killed us.” She’s too warm to be a ghost. “I am what I am. But he would take them home. Let me.”

She does.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

(Dark!) BNHA: Toxic Relationship

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Bakugo + Dabi + Deku

Reaction: Moments from your toxic relationship with your Pro-Hero boyfriend.

WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship; Abuse; Manipulation; Non-con.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

Let me know if you like this reaction format or what 🙂

–

Hawks

“Y/n is a real clutz, y’know. Can’t even walk on even ground without tripping over her own feet.”

Your cheeks flame with humiliation as the camera pans to the crowd that laughs heartily at the demeaning words, as if Keigo had dropped the funniest joke they’ve ever heard. 

“That’s adorable.” the woman laughs, “Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she has no quirk? I believe you said she is quirkless, right?”

Keigo chuckles, nodding as he crosses an ankle over his knee.

“She sure is. Can’t even imagine what type of quirk she’d have, she’s just not the type.”

Your hand grips the remote tighter. What does he mean by that? Does he think you’re not good enough to have a quirk?

You consider turning off the TV, but fortunately the interviewer changes the subject. They casually speak about the current stance of heroes and their struggles on fighting off criminals and villains.

Keigo is charming as usual, delivering answers that are a perfect portrait of responsibility with a sprinkle of humor. He’s good like that, even though his previous answers left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Somehow, they end up reaching the topic of hobbies and free time. 

“Going Pro Hero leaves little time for myself, so sadly I don’t really have much time for hobbies. Wish I had.” he says humbly. “My girlfriend has lots of them, though.”

You inhale sharply. Not again. 

For your misfortune, the woman gets interested.

Perhaps because it’s an exclusive interview and her network channel gave her orders to squeeze every drop of information they can get on Hawks’ personal life. 

“What type of hobbies? She looks like she’s a great cook.” she tries to guess, but Keigo bursts laughing, holding his belly in an exaggerated mannerism. 

“Nah, cooking isn’t really her department. Burned eggs and half-cooked pancakes are more her style. She doesn’t even-”

You change channels in a heartbeat, bursting in tears at the low insults.

You’re not that bad. Sure, you’re not amazing at cooking, but never once did Keigo complain when he eats the food you diligently make after he returns from patrols. 

And now he slanders you on national television? 

And the worst part? It’s not even the first time he’s done this. 

Dabi

“There’s nothing to eat in the fridge.” 

“There is.” 

“There isn’t.” 

You stop writing your notes, swallowing back an annoyed sigh, already aware of what was happening.

“There is food in the fridge.” you repeat, “You just have to cook it.”

Dabi looks at you, unimpressed. 

“No shit Sherlock. Maybe you can do it for me.” 

“You serious?” 

Meeting his arrogant smirk, you huff. 

“Dead serious, babe. Not like you’re busy anyways.”

Your mouth drops at his audacity and you open your arms to indicate the mess of books, papers and pens in front of you. 

“I’m studying, Dabi. Can’t you see that? Grow up and cook for yourself, yeah?” you snap your attention back to your books, but your mood has already turned sour. 

You pretend to scribble down a few words when Dabi walks to you slowly. He peeks into your annotations, snorting. 

“That handwriting is kinda shitty.” he mocks you. “Besides, what exactly are you even studying for? You’re not exactly cut out to be a doctor, y’know? Not enough brain cells in you to become that.” 

You glare at him, angrily swatting away the hand that condescendingly tries to pet your hair. 

“You’re such an asshole, Dabi. Maybe if your life revolved around something other than your stupid daddy’s issues, you would actually get a job. Not like Endeavour is worried sick about you, not when he’s got Shoto.” you spit the words venously.

Not the nicest words, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to bother. 

A dark shade crosses Dabi’s face, his amused expression turning colder. You’d be lying if the sight didn’t ignite some fear in you.

“Is that so?” his crooked smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “And why would I need a job - or Endeavour, by that matter - when I have you?”

His hand reaches for your shoulder and there’s an edge in his eyes that immobilizes you. You shouldn’t have mentioned Endeavour. 

“I’m not with you because of that bitchy attitude, you know. I like my girl to know who’s in charge. Respect is really important in a relationship and your behavior is making me really upset, baby.” his tone is scaringly soft, and his hand travels to your neck.

You hold your breath when the staples on his hand scratch against the delicate skin of your throat. “So, if you need me to remind you of your place, I’ll gladly help you with that.”

His fingers heat up at a low temperature, not enough to actually burn you but it doesn’t stop the lonely tear that slides from your eye, the only sign of the chilling terror you’re feeling.

He leans forward, kissing your forehead before sliding his hand away. 

“Are we understood?” 

The nod you give him is shaky at best, but Dabi smiles nonetheless. 

“Now, how about that food you’re gonna make me?”

Bakugo

“I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

Besides a low hum, Bakugo doesn’t acknowledge you much, too busy French kissing your neck.

His hands head for your ass, provoking a wince in you when he gropes it with unnecessary strength, your left ass cheek being kneaded like it’s dough.

Katsuki uses his grip on your ass to push your hips forward even as you complain again. The thin fabric of his sweatpants does nothing to hide the hardness that shamelessly rubs against your thigh. 

“Katsuki.” 

Once again he gives no sign of hearing you, rolling his hips with more urgency and you barely catch the tired groan that almost rolls away from you.

The clock on your side reminds you that despite the early hour, you’ll only have 6 hours to sleep. 

You really have to sleep and if you’re being honest, tonight you’re not feeling sexy or horny enough to sleep with your boyfriend. 

But that doesn’t make you feel any less awkward when Bakugo’s movements turn more vigorous and needy, humping your naked thigh as if he’s fucking it while you remain as alive as a statue. 

“Fuck, this isn’t enough.” he growls against your skin, and your heart skips a beat when his hands reach for your shorts, tugging them down halfway until you panickedly grab his wrist, wiggling your body away from his.

“Seriously, Kats, I’m not in the mood tonight.” you say, quickly pulling back your shorts. 

“You fuckin’ serious right now?” he growls through gritted teeth, still hovering above you. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you timidly nod. 

“Maybe we can do this tomorrow? It’s just that-”

“Yeah, whatever. Not like you haven’t used that stupid excuse on me before.”  

Your eyebrows raise with surprise at the bitter tone on his voice as he gruffs, pushing himself off you. 

“I’m not making up excuses.”

“The hell you aren’t.” he looks at you, angry. “Every time I try to start something, you turn into a damn nun. Always too freakin’ tired,  too busy or not in the mood.”

He scowls, spiky blonde hair falling to his eyes. 

“All you have to do is open your goddamn legs and let me do the rest, and you can’t even do that.”

His words hit a sore spot and he turns his back on you, settling on the distant side of the bed after delivering strained punches to the pillow to soften it up.

“Maybe I go after those Dynamite's groupies that are always throwing themselves at me. Since you never want to fuck anymore.”

You’re left too stunned to speak, sadness blossoming at the cruel meaning of his words and it’s a struggle to swallow the tears. 

He wouldn’t really, would he? But your mind lingers on the disturbing thought. He’s popular with girls, even with his angry mood.

Bakugo is tall, muscular and not even the ever present scowl in his face is able to contradict the attractive facial features he’s been blessed with. Meanwhile you’re just mediocre, if even that...

Your insecurities strike back, taunting you. 

Your hand reaches for his arm before you even realize it, and you’re mildly surprised when he doesn’t shake you off. 

“The hell you want now?”

Pulling on his arm until he finally turns to the side, you kiss him. 

He groans against your lips, allowing your hand to rest on the warm plane of his chest and you let it slide lower until it touches his clothed member. 

Neither of you speak a word, but you feel Bakugo smirking against your lips while he practically shoves your shorts down. 

You allow yourself go limp underneath him, letting your boyfriend fuck you in the way he wants to. Holding back a tired sigh when the fluorescent numbers on the clock mock you. 

You really have to wake up early.

Deku

“Are you serious, Izuku?” 

The tall hero jumps, eyes widening almost comically when he realizes you’re standing on the bedroom’s doorway and not cleaning the kitchen, like he clearly assumed you to be. 

“I wasn’t- The phone-” he stammers with his words, plowing your phone onto the bed with a bit too much force.

Crossing your arms, you flash him a frustrated glare.

“You promised me you wouldn’t spy on my phone anymore, Izuku.” your stern tone has him frowning and Izuku practically sprints closer to you.

“I wasn’t spying! I was just- just checking the time.” his words aren’t convincing enough for you to actually believe in him. 

You squint your eyes at him, dodging his grabby hands with a nasty slap, despite the hurt expression on his face.

“Izuku.” 

“I wasn’t! C’mon, you gotta believe in me.” 

You don’t. 

“Even if I did go through your phone - which I didn’t - why would that be such a problem?” he complains, dragging his voice. “Do you have something to hide or what?”

You point a warning finger at him.

“Don’t you dare. This isn’t about me. You’re the one who went behind my back because you’re just too insecure to fully trust me.”

He shakes his head, emerald eyes turning feverish. 

“You’re being dramatic, of course I trust you.”

“You don’t, stop lying.”

“I do trust you!” his voice rises in volume.

“No, you don’t!” you scream, voice breaking before you crumble in tears. 

You’re exhausted. Of arguing, of dealing with Izuku, of everything. When did things turn so frustrating, so tiring? Why does he always have to ruin things for you?

Izuku curses under his breath before rushing to you, engulfing you in a comforting embrace as you cry on his chest. 

“You don’t. You never will and I know that.” he stays silent, not contradicting you this time. 

He lets you cry on his chest, his hand gently caressing your hair as he mutters apologies. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” Izuku hugs you harder, arms tightening around you. “I’ll do better, okay? I promise, I will.” 

And like a fool, you accept his promise - even if you know it’s meant to be broken.

[doc-who]

When Green Turns Red

Emily Prentiss/Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapters: 4/?

Words: 1745

Categories: Angst, Jealousy, Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Eventual Smut

Emily sits in the waiting room, eyes glued to the emergency department doors. She’s chewed her lip raw, and the traces of blood on her tongue match the stains of yours on her clothes. The rest of the team waits around her, silent. Barely a word has been spoken since the paramedics had taken you away in the ambulance.

The clock on the wall seems to tick louder with each passing second, seemingly mocking Emily and her inability to do anything to help you. She buries her head in her hands in an effort to stop the onslaught of images that torment her.

Her thoughts start to spiral, a mixture of guilt and fear. She can’t shake the thought that if she had done something differently, if she hadn’t left you alone that night, you wouldn’t be fighting for your life right now. It’s a weight that threatens to crush her.

The surgeon finally emerges with a look on his face that makes Emily’s heart sink. He beckons the team over, and Emily jumps to her feet. The room feels too small, the air too thick, as he delivers the news. You’re in critical condition. The surgery was successful, but you lost a huge amount of blood, along with sustaining severe head trauma. Emily’s world narrows at the sound of his words. She nods, throat too tight to speak, as the doctor explains your recovery, assuming you’ll pull through.

“When can we see her?” Garcia asks.

“It’ll be a few hours until she can have visitors. Right now we’ve had to put her in a medically induced coma. If the swelling in her brain goes down like we hope, then we should be able to wake her up tomorrow.”

Emily tries to focus on the positives. That they found you, that you’re alive, but she can’t help but think about all the things that could still go wrong. She turns away from the team, knowing the thoughts are clear on her face.

Morgan is the only one to have the courage to approach her. “Emily, she’ll be okay.”

She nods, not trusting her voice. JJ pulls Morgan away for a second, handing him a bag.

“Here, a change of clothes. Why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll get us some coffee.”

Emily shakes her head, “I need to be here when she wakes up.”

“Emily, you heard the doctor, it’s going to be a while. Do you really want the first thing she sees being you covered in blood?”

Sighing, she takes the bag from his outstretched hand. She waves off Garcia when she moves to come with her, needing to be alone. Locking the door to the bathroom behind her, she braces herself at the sink, and hangs her head. She hesitates for a moment, not having the nerve to face herself. Taking a deep breath, she looks up, her eyes meeting the strangers in the mirror.

For the first time since she found you, she let’s herself cry.

—

The team had forced Emily to go home, refusing to let her sit in the waiting room all night. She had fought them at first, but she was tired, the weight of the day heavy on her shoulders. They told her she wasn’t any use to you half dead on her feet, and she reluctantly agreed.

Walking into her empty apartment, she’s greeted by Sergio nudging her leg. “Hey buddy,” she whispers, picking him up and holding him to her chest. Burying her face in his fur, she focuses on the rumbling of his purrs.

Not bothering to turn on any lights, she heads straight for the bedroom and puts Sergio down on the bed. Pulling back the covers, she gets underneath them without getting changed and draws the spare pillow towards her.

The scent of your hair lingers on the pillowcase, and she clutches it to her chest. If she closes her eyes she can pretend that you’re next to her. That the scent of your shampoo isn’t just traces of where you used to be. The tears come again, silent and hot, rolling down her cheeks and staining the pillow. She’s not sure how long she has lays there, holding the memory of you close.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the day overcomes her. She drifts between fits of sleep and wakefulness. In the brief moments of unconsciousness she relives a slideshow of the worst moments of the past two days - and every time she wakes, she’s hit with the agonizing reality that you’re not here.

—

Morning comes and Emily is surprised she’s slept at all. There’s a brief moment before she’s woken fully, where she’s at peace. Then she remembers and the pain returns. She goes through the motions of her morning routine on autopilot, the sting of the too hot water barely registering as she showers. The sun has barely risen by the time she leaves and the early hour means she’s the first one to arrive at the hospital.

She lingers in the doorway to your room, listening to the beep of the machines that are hooked up to your bruised and broken body. She’s not sure how much time has passed before she hears footsteps approaching. Dragging her eyes away from you, she quietly greets the team, giving an acceptable answer when they ask how she’s doing.

“She should be waking up soon,” JJ says, leaning next to Emily on the other side of the doorway.

A panic starts to build in her chest and she feels the overwhelming urge to run. “I’m going to go get some coffee,” she says suddenly, walking away before they have the chance to reply. She rounds the corner and collapses into the nearest chair. Pressing her palms into her eyes, she tries to calm her breathing. Gradually, the panic starts to recede, and she manages to take in a full breath.

Feeling someone sit down next to her, she lowers her hands from her face. When she sees it’s Morgan she tenses. He sits in silence with her for a moment, waiting to see if she’ll open up without him having to pry. When a few minutes have passed he leans back, assessing her in that particular way he does.

“Why don’t you want to see her, Emily?”

She clenches her jaw at the question, “I have seen her.”

Morgan sighs, “Alright, then. Why don’t you want her to see you?”

Emily stills, before she leans forward and braces herself on her knees. Morgan is patient, letting her organize her thoughts.

Finally, she answers with a shaking voice, “It would be selfish,” she whispers, “for me to be there when she wakes up.”

Morgan looks at her in confusion, “How would that be selfish? If anyone should be there it should be you.”

Emily scoffs, “After what I said to her? What I did? She probably hates me.”

“Emily, you know that’s not true. She doesn’t hate you.”

“If she doesn’t, then she should,” she mumbles to herself.

Morgan sighs in exasperation and stands up, “If you want to sit here and feel sorry for yourself, then fine.”

The mortification of being called out so blatantly renders her speechless. He waits, giving her the chance to defend herself, to get herself together and be there for you. When she doesn’t, the look of disappointment he gives her makes her hang her head in shame.

—

You wake slowly to the sound of beeping. Gradually emerging from sleep, you lay there, bits and pieces of the past few days slowly coming back to you.

“Emily?” You mumble, wincing in pain when you try to move.

“Hey, just relax. You’re in the hospital.” JJ, not Emily. You fight against the heaviness in your eyes, opening them just enough to see her hovering over you.

Clearing your throat, you try to get your thoughts straight. “Where’s Emily?”

JJ looks behind her to the rest of the team and they share a look that makes your heart speed up. The increasing beeps from the monitor draws their attention back to you.

Your voice shakes, “Is she okay?”

JJ sits down on the chair next to your bed, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “She’s fine, I promise.”

Her words provide some reassurance, but you still don’t understand. “Where is she?” Your eyes dart between the team, waiting for an answer.

Morgan steps forward, eyes shifting. “She’s here,” he says quickly, “She just…had some things to deal with.” It’s obvious there’s more he’s not telling you.

Your heart sinks. Of course. Why would Emily be here? She hates you. She said you were a mistake. You turn your head away, trying to hide the tears building in your eyes. You don’t want to be here. You feel exposed and vulnerable now that you’ve realised what happened between you and Emily is common knowledge amongst the team.

“When can I go home?” You whisper.

The team gives you an incredulous look. JJ utters your name in disbelief, “You almost died.”

You nod as much as your aching head allows. You guess you won’t be going home anytime soon. JJ sees that you’re about to break and motions to the team, who all give you a sympathetic look before filing out of the room.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?” JJ asks, voice gentle and unimposing.

You swallow back tears and put on the most convincing smile you can manage, “Nothing, just tired.”

You can see that she doesn’t believe you. “Are you sure?” JJ asks, and you nod.

“I’m fine, really,” you smooth your hands over the rough blanket that covers you, “I think I just need to be alone for a while.”

JJ studies you, trying to discern how you’re really feeling. You try not to squirm under the observation. When she realises she’s not getting anything more out of you, she sighs and gets to her feet.

“I’ll get a doctor to come and check in on you,” she pauses, hovering next to you, “We are all here for you. You know that, right?”

You nod, even though you know it’s not completely true. The one person you really need doesn’t want anything to do with you.

You keep yourself composed until JJ is gone, then you let out a sigh of relief. Turning your head into the pillow, you finally allow yourself to feel the absence of Emily.

The tears burn as they fall.

ao3

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do Part 28

wc: 3020, masterpost

“I get why you insisted on picking me up,” she said as she watched the black sedan part the sea of reporters outside of Wayne Manor. Her hand made a half aborted motion, like she wanted to fidget with with her hair despite the red being cropped close to her scalp in a pixie cut.

The haircut would be a new thing, or new enough that in stress old habits were still there. Perhaps something she did when moving into her doctorate. A new hair cut to go with a new stage of life. She went for an extreme though, maybe trying to shed a metaphorical weight or maybe a bob would have been too much like her mother’s hair. Maybe both.

Dick gave his head a little shake and tried to stuff the parts of himself that couldn’t help be analyze someone away.

It was worse with the stress of it all.

“I know, right? They’ve been crazy,” Dick said with a laugh.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Dick blinked. “Do what?”

“Pretend everything is okay. You don’t have to do what with me. After all, we’re both big siblings, aren’t we?” Her own, wry smile didn’t reach her aquamarine eyes.

Dick wanted to protest and for a moment he almost did. Then Dick just sighed and let himself slump into his seat. “That obvious?”

“No, I just know what it’s like,” Jazz said.

“I shouldn’t be putting this on you though, not with what happened to Danny—”

She held up manicured hand. “Don’t. Suffering isn’t a competition. Besides, I got to learn this happened knowing that Danny was already safe and being taken care of. I didn’t have to think he was dead like you all did. I also didn’t have to learn about all the rest of it. It’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Knowing my little brother is still dead?” Dick gave a bitter bark of a laugh. “Yeah, it’s hard.”

“Half dead,” Jazz said with a smile that was all too understanding. “That half part is important to them. They’re half dead. They’re half alive. They aren’t the little brothers we had before and that’s hard. It’s okay for that to be hard.”

Dick rubbed at his face. “It shouldn’t change anything.”

“But it does.”

“It does.”

“That’s alright,” Jazz soothed. “It’s a big fact, of course it’s going to change things. As long as he’s still your little brother and you love him then the rest won’t matter so much, not with some time.”

The car came to a stop in the garage. Dick let himself take a deep breath as the door rolled closed. It was always about needing time, but at least they still had it.

“Well, Miss Nightingale, shall we go inside?”

“Thank you, Mister Grayson,” she said and took his offered hand to get out of the car. “And thank you again for the ride, Alfred. Picking me up from WE was the right move.”

“And you needn’t worry about your car, it will be safe in the parking garage,” Alfred assured her.

She covered an amused snort with her hand. “You saw my car, no one is going to try and steal that old thing.”

Alfred held the door to the house open. “Perhaps slightly more worried about the press hoping to find something.”

“Would they really break into my car?”

“They would,” Tim said from where he was standing inside the door, typing away on a tablet. “Gotham’s lost prince shows up at a gala with his mystery boyfriend and then proceeds to press the kill button for said boyfriend? The press is going insane for it. If it was just Gotham’s press it would be one thing, but it’s broken containment and fast. Have you said anything to any reporters? Even any non statements? Is there anything that the might dig up on you, other than your parents, that we need to know about?”

“Jazz, this is Tim. We’re sorry about him,” Dick said with a strained smile. It only got worse when he took in Tim and the heavy bags under Tim’s eyes. “Tim, when was the last time you slept?”

Tim waved the question away. “I had a power nap after breakfast.”

“What Master Timothy means is that he fell asleep at the table mid-meal,” Alfred chastised as he continue into the manor proper.

“Still counts,” Tim muttered. Finally he looked up from his tablet to blink listlessly at them. “Well?”

“Tim,” Dick chastised.

“No, it’s fine,” Jazz said with a patient smile of someone used to behavior like this. “It really is… everywhere. I haven’t said anything to any press other than ‘no statement’ and I can’t think of anything. Well, I mean, I have a girlfriend but if they have an issue with her they already have Danny and Jason to rage over. How is Danny handling it all?”

“Tim has blocked all social media from the manor. You need a password to get through it and I don’t think they’ve been bored enough to try and crack it yet,” Dick said.

Jazz looked thoughtful. “That’s probably best. I’m alright with you asking more questions, but can I see Danny first, please?”

Tim blinked as if startled by the thought. “Yes, right, of course. They’re probably still in the library, that’s where I saw them last.”

“That was yesterday,” Dick pointed out.

“Oh, well,” Tim tilted his head but didn’t stop talking. “I bet I’m still right.”

Dick just sighed and exchanged a look with Jazz. Little brothers.

-

Jazz crouched down in front of the couch and reached out to run her fingers through Danny’s hair.

“Danny.”

“Nn.”

The corner of her mouth ticked up. “Danny.”

“’ive m’er min, Jazz,” he mumbled sleepily.

“If you don’t get up, I’m calling Cujo.”

“I’m up, I’m up!” Danny explained and jolted awake before he was left just blinking confessedly at the room. When the rest of it snapped together for him he smiled brightly. “Jazz!”

“Danny!”

“Your hair looks even better in person!” Danny said, reaching out to ruffle the short locks.

“I don’t care if you’re on your deathbed Danny, I will bite you.”

Danny sighed dramatically as he sat up properly. “I never get to die on a bed. At least this time I was sitting.”

Jazz leaned forward and wrapped Danny up into a crushing looking hug. “Oh Danny, what am I going to do with you?”

“Still don’t have an answer for you there, Jazz,” Danny said. He was practically curled around Jazz and stayed that way as she shifted to sit with him on the couch.

She looked up at Jason who was still standing awkwardly by the couch where he had greeted her. “You can sit. I don’t bite.”

Jason snorted. “You just threatened to bite Danny. I don’t believe you.”

“Her bites aren’t bad,” Danny said with a yawn. “But her aim is horrible. And don’t let her have a baseball bat. She’s lethal with one of those.”

The almost fanged way that Jazz smile made that easy to believe.

“I approve of you, Nightingale,” Damian said with a decisive nod from the armchair he was occupying.

“What are you going to do now that there are two Nightingales?” Tim asked, far too innocently.

Damian scowled, his whole face scrunched up before he gave a sharp shrug. “I am confident that the Nightingales are intelligent enough to know which one I am referring to.”

Jason shook his head at the easy way the brat seemed to accept Jazz and settled on the far side of the couch from her, leaving Dick and Tim to take the two seater.

“You didn’t have to come all this way, Jazz,” Danny said, though his words were at odds with how thoroughly he had relaxed into her side.

Jazz rolled her eyes. “You were electrocute Danny, again. Of course I was going to come see you. Even if classes were in session, you’re more important than them.”

“Hum, fine,” Danny said with a huff of air. Somehow he settled in even further to his sister’s side. “Sam, Val, and Tucker send their love. With all the crazy press I told them to stay away so not to get caught up in this.”

“It is something for sure,” Jazz agreed. “How are you doing?”

“I’m tired and tired of being tired, it sucks. Oh, I’ve got more Lichtenberg scars!” Danny stuck his legs up in the air. His fuzzy, Nightwing patterned pants slid down his legs enough to show the scarring that wrapped around his ankles. The marks were still raised and red. Jason caught the legs as they dropped and settled them into his lap. He couldn’t help but run his thumb over the mark as soft reassurance that Danny was there and alive despite it all. “Not sure if these will stick around since they’re not ghostly.”

“You need to stop collecting them. No more getting electrocuted, big sister’s order.”

“Second that on boyfriend’s orders,” Jason said.

“Thirding that from the in-laws,” Dick said. In-laws? “Aw look at that, Jaybird is blushing.”

Jason pulled a throw pillow out from behind him and lobbed it at Dick. “Shut it.”

Dick easily caught the pillow with a laugh. “Jason and Danny, kissing in a tree—”

“Grayson, try to not be an embarrassment,” Damian said with a sigh.

“What? Jason and Danny could totally kiss in a tree. Danny can fly! I mean, not that we’ve seen it yet but he says he can,” Dick said.

“Oh he can. Nothing like walking into your little brother’s room to find him sitting on the ceiling,” Jazz said. “It was an interesting childhood.”

“It makes hanging things easy too,” Jason teased.

Danny sighed dramatically. “I knew you were just into me to be your glorified ladder.”

“That’s just because he wants to climb you,” Tim muttered absently.

Jason held up his hands for Dick to throw the pillow back to him and then lobbed it at Tim. It smacked Tim square in the face, making his little brother’s shoulders slump as it landed on his tablet.

“Really?”

“Don’t be crude,” Jason said.

Tim glared at Jason from under his bangs. The kid’s hair was getting long again. “Oh that’s rich coming from the Red Hood.”

“Red Hood?” Jazz’s voice cracked slightly.

Jason buried his face in his hands with a groan.

“Oh, shit, did she now know? I thought she knew!”

The whole couch shifted as Danny pulled himself up by Jason’s shirt so that he could cuddle him. “It’s okay, I love my hero.”

“Vigilante,” Jason mumbled.

“Daniel John Nightingale!” Jazz screeched. “Tell me you’re not doing vigilante stuff again!”

“Ooooooh full named!” Dick heckled.

“I am not doing vigilante stuff again,” Danny said.

“He’s really not,” Jason promised as he shifted Danny around to be more comfortable. “That’s just family business. I wouldn’t ask him to get involved.”

“Family…,” Jazz said. Jason watched her eyes dart from Danny to Jason to the rest of them. “Ancients you’re all, what would you call it? Various Batmen?”

“Usually we just go with Bats,” Tim said with a little shrug. “Especially since we’re not all, or only, men.”

“Okay, Bats,” Jazz said with a sigh. “Really, Danny?”

Danny shrugged, completely unrepentant by the way he smiled. “I didn’t know! I didn’t even know Jason was a Wayne until just before we started dating. That one is maybe on me though, I’m bad with faces.”

“You always have been,” Jazz said. “Really though, no hero stuff?”

“None. I’m focused on school. Well, and Jason. Dates are very nice, but mostly I’m focused on school. You can’t blame me for enjoying dates too!” Danny said.

Jazz laughed and shook her head. “No, I can’t. I’m glad you’re enjoying dates. Just try to stay out of the business, okay? I want you to be able to just enjoy your life. You have enough obligations waiting for you when you’re dead.”

“Do we have to work when we’re dead?” Tim asked desperately. “Please tell me we don’t have to work when we’re dead. That’s when I was planning to sleep.”

“No, Tim,” Jazz said gently. “Most people don’t work when they’re dead. Danny’s just an idiot—”

“Hey!”

“—who became the Ghost King without realizing what he was doing. His forever job starts when he dies.”

“Wait wait wait,” Dick spread his hands. “Danny is royalty?”

“Mhum.”

“Oh my god,” Dick said with a gleeful smile that Jason didn’t trust one bit. “Does that make Jason a prince? Queen? Does it feel like you’re in one of your regency books, Jay? What’s it like.”

Jason groaned and buried his face into Danny’s hair. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Dick cooed.

“Oh good, Jason can work then,” Tim said. “I just want to sleep.”

“You can sleep now,” Jason pointed out. “No one is stopping you. Hell, Alfred would encourage it.”

“Can’t,” Tim said. “I’ve got to get this PR stuff done. Is this a diplomatic issue now too?”

“What can I answer to help?” Jazz asked in such a patently big sibling way that Jason glanced up to exchange a look with Dick. Having one more person after Tim to rest couldn’t hurt.

Tim pursed his lips. “We’ve already done the usual asking for respect during this difficult time. Babs and I have been working on making sure the part of the video where Danny asked Jason to press the button is in circulation and in the right hands. There have been some pointed emails sent. Bruce is going to go on tomorrow and give a brief statement— which we need some answers for. We’ve got Clark coming to interview in a few days to do a proper story. Luckily Vickie Val has made it easy for us to go out of Gotham for that story with how she’s been behaving.

“They’ve found out about your parents, of course, but we were able to respond instantly with your name change and, in all essence what was nearly emancipation with how quickly you did it and moved out. There are some character stories from old classmates though calling you odd but also defense from current ones that we’ve been pushing further up in the SEO. Between those details and his survival, it’s no wonder that the question of Danny being a meta is circling That’s the main thing we need to know how to address and if we want to play into it.”

Jason had to take a moment to respond to all that. He’d been so focused on helping Danny heal and stay happy that he hadn’t even thought half of that through. He knew the press were out there, of course they were, but… “You’ve really worked this out, haven’t you?”

Tim just blinked owlishly at him. “Of course I have. It’s what I do. I know you didn't like me looking into Danny when we first found out about you dating him, but… this is why I do those things. Not just to protect the family from other people, but to protect the people who get close to us. I can help direct the conversation because I know ahead of time that things like the Fentons will come up."

“Thank you Tim, really.”

“Um… you’re welcome,” Tim said before he looked back down at his tablet. “We do need to decide if we go the meta route at all. Would that cause issues with the Fentons? Do they also hate metas?”

“No,” Jazz said. “Well, they would basically look at superheroes to make sure they weren’t ghosts in disguise or possessed, but other than that they didn’t really mention metas. It was actually pretty much a non topic in our town with everything else.”

“But we’d have to be careful with what we say I can do or… well, they’ll clock me as a ghost. I’ve never wanted to find out what would happen then.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to go to a hospital?” Dick asked in that carefully gentle tone of his.

Danny shrugged. “That but more old fears. There used to be a group called the GIW that were government funded ghost hunters that had legal clearance, basically, to experiment and exterminate any ecto-entities. I really don’t want to be dissected like some classroom frog.”

“Vivisected,” Jazz corrected in such an absent way that it spoke of old arguments.

Jason clutched Danny closer to him.

“It’s okay. They never really were very above the board, it turned out, and when the power changed hands they lost their funding and just sort of disappeared.”

“But it doesn’t mean there fear did,” Dick summed up.

“We will look into them,” Damian said, standing. “To be certain that they are gone and no longer a threat to you or Todd. Drake, you will not be needed on this while you are in this sleep deprived state. I will seek Gordon’s help instead.”

“Hey! I can still—”

“Finish up asking us questions,” Jazz interrupted smoothly. “It wouldn’t be hard to spin Danny as a mild meta from the results of a lab accident.”

“Maybe even give a half truth,” Jason said. “He was electrocuted around some chemicals and he ended up with a mild resistance to it.”

“That could work,” Tim said, tapping away on his tablet. “Generally useless in day to day life other than cutting down on annoyances when wiring something but just enough to survive this sort of trap. Have Bruce throw in a joke about how Danny produces a lot of static electricity or something to lighten the mood.”

“And it would make it seem like Danny has a resistance, not a weakness, in case anyone tries something again,” Jason added.

“That would be nice. Being tased really, really sucks,” Danny whined.

Jason pressed a kiss to Danny’s temple. “I know, fish.”

“Yes, alright, Bruce will need to put it in his own Brucie wording but I think this will work,” Tim said with a little nod. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

---

AN: Rereading through this, this might just be the whole chapter. Maybe I'll make the interview it's own chapter to cut down on the shock of going to that style of pov and piece. And then the final* chapter? Thoughts thoughts...

Anyways, words are hard, brain is tired, here is Jazz!

You can subscribe to the masterpost here.

[bonchobrick]

tw: slight suicidal actions (but not really the batfam are wildly clueless to the actual context to danny's bullshit hes not suicidal--in this fic--he's dead get it RIGHT brucie)

Au where Batfam are entirely convinced that the new vigilante in Gotham, danny, has time travel powers because he can vanish away from their senses completely

This becomes a problem however when 

Bruce searches for him because wants to save Jason. Danny can save Jason not in the--im a time traveler and i can bring him or you back from or to the past--but in the, I’m a ghost king and have domain over the dead haha

Batfam become really concerned watching Phantom fight because “if he has time travel powers why doesn’t he avoid getting hit every time he can” and get worried phantom is purposefully letting himself get hurt

Danny in all honesty is just vibin the entire time while the batfam is going crazy at every sliver of info they get about danny because like

okay hes a time traveler thats established they got over that

This guy whos somehow been able to stop and rehabilitate rouges (ghosts) in his town is 15??

he may be the kindest most self destructive kid they've ever met like who immediately agrees to help people who were trying to capture and interogate him because he 'thinks we are better than the last billionaire who did this' what the FUCK

Oh yeah and they find out as a bonus in the end that his normal unpowered form he is a teen with black hair and blue eyes (bruce no no dont do it dont--)

---

Bruce is losing his mind

Okay so at the start of this there’s an unknown vigilante (danny) that Batman tends to bump into. Except Batman isn’t sure what he is.

Every time they run into each other Batman can tell there should just be a person beside him but before he gets a glimpse and opens his eyes to empty fresh air.

A vigilante that can vanish before their very eyes?

What do the bats think about this?

They think this vigilante can control time and is doing that to sneak out of their gaze.

Now here’s where the funny part comes in

Bruce goes on a wild hunt to search for the vigilante with a plan. To make them turn back time so that he can save his son.

The problem with this?

Danny is not a time traveler most days–scratch that he's not one at all. He can save his son Jason though, in fact he wants to, it’s just he needs to figure out a way to do this whilst not blowing his cover that he is the goddamn ghost king.

So he pretends that he does have time powers and that he just… uh… needs a minute to figure them out… yeah that!

Cue Batfam getting progressively more worried about Danny because ‘if he could turn back time—why doesn’t he avoid those hits?’

They all kinda think Danny is like purposefully hurting himself so now Danny is forced to eat breakfast with them and sleep at their manor.  I mean he’s confused at why they always look so worried about something but he’ll make sure Batman’s son gets home soon! Plus the rich people temporary-living-situation without all the ‘I want to adopt you’ billionaire bullshit is pretty sweet!!

(somewhere in the ghost zone jason is tearing up laughing at the batfam as they struggle to not burst into flames trying to figure out danny-- like for christs sake they think the ghost king is an american doctor who and are trying to get him to spill where his tardis is)

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 5 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

//

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: language, depictions of depression and depressive episodes, mentions of doctors' offices and medication, angst, mentions of attending therapy, recreational drinking, kissing

wc: 6.9k

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

Now - Fall

Vernon’s watching his ceiling fan when his phone chimes - a noise he isn’t fond of: incoming email.

For the last few months, his emails have all been from recruiting directors and head-hunters - either thanking him for his interest but regretfully informing him they’ve gone in a different direction, or head-hunters pretending they found him a great opportunity when it was really an underpaid, short-term position where he’d spend more on his commute into the city than he’d ever earn.

It’s been real fun. He sucked it up and finished grad school, threw his diploma behind a cheap frame, added the degree to his resume. Quit going to classes (because there weren’t any), quit spending whole nights on assignments (none of those anymore either), and still - he finds himself no happier than he’d been before, even with all the free time in the world. So maybe, he considers, grad school wasn’t the problem, and he’d done the right thing to just push through and finish.

On top of this - on top of the fact that he was still bored with life, still unenthused to be here - the break-up has sucked, just to make things even bleaker for him.

Can he even call it a break-up? You were never together. But it’s been nine days since he made you cry in his car - not that he’s counting - and all nine of them have fucking sucked. He’s wrestled with indecision for all of them - did he make a mistake? Should he try to undo the damage? Wasn’t what he had with you still better than being alone?

But he knows this will be better for him in the end. He knows that what you two were doing together wasn’t real, wasn’t a relationship. It couldn’t grow with him - it was stagnant by nature. So, even though something in his bones screams at him to take it back, in the end he doesn’t regret the decision to try and do something better.

He does regret that he can’t do something better with you. He regrets that he lost his temper and yelled, regrets that he was cold in his last moments with you.

Regrets that he spent two years walking towards a dead end.

Still misses you, despite this.

He picks up his phone and scrolls to his email, already feeling the frown take over his face in anticipation of another rejection. As expected, the email is from a company he’d interviewed with last week - he’d even gotten to a second in-person round, which was rare. Still, he hadn’t wanted to get excited about it. He knows how unlikely it is that they’ll want him.

Dear Mr. Chwe,

Our team was delighted to meet with you last week. We found your background impressive, especially your internship experience with -

Vernon’s eyes skim the page, so fast the words are a blur. 

…Would like to formally offer you the position of… annual salary of… additional opportunities within the company including traveling to… working with… reporting to… expected start date of… we are looking forward to having you on our team!

Vernon’s heart thuds and he turns the screen off and stares at his ceiling again. He’ll answer it later, accept it graciously, call his eomma, probably shop online for some button-downs and maybe some ties. Later, though. Later. For now, he reaches for his lighter.

He kind of wishes he could tell you - hey, I got a job offer. hey, guess who gets to wear a suit five days a week now? hey, all that bullshit paid off in the end.

Would he have texted you any of that if he hadn’t ended things? You’d never talked about this kind of thing - that had been part of the problem.

Still. As illogical as it is, you’re the one Vernon wants to tell first. It aches a little, like sore muscles but somewhere inside him, behind his brittle ribs.

He wonders if you’re doing okay. He wonders if you care at all, or if you’re fine. He turns his lighter over and over in his fingers, and then realizes he’s just read the words contingent on... drug test…

“Fuck,” he grumbles, then picks up his phone again. Maybe he’ll call his mother first, after all.

—

You were never a big fan of autumn. A lot of your friends are - the season shifts and everyone starts posting about sweater weather and PSLs, the aesthetics suddenly revolving around pumpkins and ghosts.

You have plenty of ghosts, but not the right kind.

Your phantoms haunt your phone, mostly. You feel it buzz in your pocket, hear it vibrate on the table from the other room. Sometimes you even wake up from a dead sleep, sure you’ve heard it going off, reaching for it frantically, only to turn on the screen and see nothing. 

No missed calls, no new texts.

You dream about him, too. In some of them, you’re still fighting, yelling at the top of your lungs in a way you never had in real life. In some, he isn’t even present - you just know he’s missing. In some, you’re trying to get to him, but never can - stopped by nonsense laws of dream physics.

In one of them, you tell him you love him, and he staggers backwards, breaths starting to rasp the way they had when you’d talked him through a panic attack, like he was just as scared of the admission as you had been.

Maybe he had been just as scared about it, back when it had mattered. Maybe he was just better at handling it than you are.

You never see his whole face in your dreams - only glimpses, fragments. You don’t want to examine if that means anything.

You fucking hate your brain.

You’re starting to hate your phone, too.

—

You lose November to grey - the whole month, a wash. You miss three days of work, unable to do anything - unable to cook, unable to get dressed. You feed the cat because you have to, and it’s the only reason you leave your bed except to pee.

When the grey days break as December dawns, you follow an impulse and schedule an appointment with your primary physician through their app. As you click the button to confirm the appointment, you burst into tears, loud and embarrassing. You cry with abandon, pulling your hoodie up to cover your face, to muffle the noise that you can’t stop.

You should have gone to a doctor years ago, and you know it. It feels like a big deal. It feels like a potential mistake - like opening a can of worms and now you have to deal with them. It feels like admitting something is wrong when you’ve worked so hard to look like nothing is. It feels like a farce, like nothing that bad is wrong with you, and you’re wasting everyone’s time.

But you keep the appointment anyway. You make yourself small in the chair on the other side of your doctor’s little table, and you admit, eyes on your hands, “I want to talk about my mental health. I think I’ve been dealing with depressive episodes. For… a long time, now.”

It’s so damn scary. As scary as loving and losing someone - like, yes, Vernon - had seemed. And you’re somehow surviving both.

Something to think about.

You buy yourself good job you did the scary thing ice cream on the way home. You go inside, put it away, and then scoop Nana off the couch, burying your face in his belly and cooing, “How is my favorite boy today?” He tolerates your nonsense with aplomb, as always.

Chan has never forgiven you for naming a cat “Banana Bread”, and you think that’s why Nana has never warmed up to him.

Nana loved Vernon, but you don’t want to think about that.

You kind of want to text him. You think he’d be proud of you for what you did today. You think he’d tell you good job.

(Chan would tell you good job, too, and will, when you call him later. But it doesn’t feel the same.)

You wonder if he’d answer if you told him. You wonder if he wouldn’t answer, but be proud of you anyway.

You fill the prescription, you leave your contact info with a therapist as advised by your primary physician. You don’t text Vernon.

You take your pride and your sadness, your fear and your hope and you channel them into greens and yellows. As late autumn grips the leafless trees outside, you paint something that looks like spring.

Now - Winter

Winter howls through your life like you personally pissed it off. You and Nana huddle under thick blankets with your tablet night after night.

Sometimes you close your eyes and remember Vernon’s hands slipping underneath his own hoodie on your skin; it helps you feel warmer.

Sometimes you think about the way he’d said the word wasted about the time he’d spent with you; it makes you feel cold all over again.

You click through all the tabs you’ve had open for days - different universities with decent visual arts programs, all advertising admission for the spring semester.

None of them are big name schools, not like the one you’d turned down all those years ago. But they aren’t nothing.

You’d brought it up to your therapist last week and she’d encouraged the idea - accepting that you can’t unstitch the mistakes in your tapestry, but you can control what new patterns emerge.

This was the plan: start classes. Open social media accounts to showcase your work. Network through school, look for job opportunities at galleries or for collectors. Open commissions, maybe.

On your best days, this seems like a list of goals to shoot for. On your worst days, this seems like a list of things you’ve already failed at before you’ve even started.

You text options to Chan, ask him, which school colors can you see me in?

Your best friend sends back, all of them. any of them. look at you go!!

You sit in your living room and watch snow fall lazily outside the window. You daydream about what classes might be like, if you get in. You take pictures of the snow in the park, then try to paint something similar once you’re home again.

You wonder if Vernon’s doing okay. You worry that he’s going through his hard days alone. You worry that maybe he’s not - maybe he found someone who helps him better than you did, maybe he’s so happy with them that he doesn’t have hard days at all.

(You know life doesn’t work like that.)

You paint Nana, just for shits, and post it on instagram. It gets the most engagement you’ve had so far. Someone messages you asking if you do commissions for pet portraits. You frown, looking at the message.

Maybe I do, you think.

Your apartment is cold. You burrow under blankets, rub your legs together like a cricket to warm them up, and think maybe after I’m a cicada, I could be a cricket next.

There’s no one to share the joke with who’d get it. Just another of the thousand ways you feel Vernon’s absence in your life. You hadn’t realized how much space he took up until he was gone.

—

Everywhere Vernon looks, all he sees are circles. The hands on his kitchen clock circle each other, align, move on again. They tell him he has two minutes to get out the door before he’s late.

He checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror, straightens his tie, smooths back his hair, then grabs his crossbody bag and heads for the bus.

The hands of the clock in his office mark his passage through his schedule: one circle until his 10:00 meeting will end. Two more after that and he can take a lunch break. A circle and a half until his one-on-one with his boss, to discuss his first few months here.

On his lunch break, Vernon rides with two of the guys he works with to some nature trails nearby, as they usually do. They swap suits for joggers and zip-ups, pop in airpods, and head out. Vernon didn’t run before this job - didn’t exercise much at all, really. He’d gone along with the guys the first time there had been an unseasonably warm day, just to be out, and he’d found it felt good to get fresh air and some endorphins before returning to his desk. 

It’s cold today, the air brittle as he inhales, but the rest of his body feels warm as he works to keep up with the other guys. It’s not as hard as it used to be, keeping up. 

The trail is a circle, too, passing a small, man-made lake before looping around back to the changing facilities. On his wrist, a fitness app closes circles to quantify his steps, his speed, his progress.

At home again, he runs his thumb around the edge of the circular joystick as he waits for Seungkwan and Wonwoo to sign in and join him for a round or two before he figures out dinner.

“Some of us were going to the bar tonight, you in?” 

“Shouldn’t,” Vernon says. “But maybe this weekend?” Unfortunately, his new nine-to-five forces him to make decisions like this - better decisions. He kind of likes his job. He kind of doesn’t want to feel like shit in the morning. 

His mind, a circle - always coming around back to you when it gets too quiet.

He opens his messages.

how have you been? … are you doing okay? … hey, i’m - … I think I’m sorry … what if we did it differently …

Of course he doesn’t send any of them. Instead, he searches for your instagram. You’d never followed each other in the first place, and he considers it a win that you didn’t block him when it was over. But you haven't posted anything that he can see in the last eight months.

Except - one post. It looks like your cat.

He clicks it and realizes that it’s not a photograph, but a painting, and the caption links to another account. He clicks that, too, and finds himself on a page that seems dedicated to posting paintings only.

Yours, apparently. He scrolls through slowly, rolling to his stomach so he can look more closely. He never knew you painted, let alone that you were good - great, even, to his untrained and certainly unbiased eyes.

Part of the problem, his mind chimes in.

Somehow, despite understanding each other better than anyone else in your lives, at the end of the day you hadn’t known each other at all. 

Now - Spring

happy hour after lecture???

plsss can we

bestie YES!!!

The sender of the original invite - a girl close to your age called Juri - eyes you from two rows up, expectantly. Normally, you’d go straight home after class. But you’d been talking to your therapist about almost this exact situation - the way you closed people out, squandered friendships to the point that only Chan managed to hang onto you for more than a year. (Vernon had made it about two years, a sick voice in your head says, and then answers itself with, but you weren’t friends, anyway.)

So, you send the group chat, sure!

(You’d also been talking to your therapist about that last fight with Vernon. I can’t get that conversation out of my head, you told her.

I’ve been caring about you way more than I should, he’d said.

You’d been talking to her about how your brain had skipped like a flat stone right over that detail and had sunk deep on I don’t want to do this anymore.

“What did you think he meant?” she’d asked you, watching you carefully. “When he said do this, what did you think this was?”

Me, you’d whispered. Anything with me - hook up, sleep, spend time together, talk, anything.

She’d helped you see the context of the fight - that maybe by “I don’t want to do this” he’d meant “be with you but not with you”.

“Sounds fake, but okay,” you’d joked. She hadn’t laughed. Negative ten points at Therapy.

You were still working on trying to believe it.

You still weren’t sure if it fucking mattered what he meant, because instead of asking him, “what do you want, then?” you’d gone defensive, had greedily grabbed at the excuse to push him away, hard and careless. He wouldn’t want you back now, even if that’s what he’d wanted at the time. You were sure of it.)

Happy that you’ve agreed to go out, Juri flashes you a grin and then turns around in her seat to watch the board again.

The bar Juri chooses is cute, not crowded or noisy yet this early in the evening. You sip at a beer and talk with the girls about upcoming projects, about the professor you all can’t stand, about the term paper you all feel you shouldn’t have to do.

It’s nice, and honestly when you glance at the time and decide you’d better get home to feed Nana, you regret that you have to. Still, you make your way to the bar to pay for your portion.

You don’t even notice the lean, handsome man who sidles up next to you while you wait for your check until he speaks.

“What’s your drink?”

You look over at him, surprised. “Oh,” you say, which isn’t really an answer. “I’m leaving, actually.”

He gives an exaggerated frown. “It’s so early!”

You shrug. “Sorry. Places to be.”

He’s cute, you consider, as you pay your bill and head for the door. Two years ago, you probably would have picked up what he was putting down.

At home, you feed Nana, then collapse on the couch, pulling a throw blanket all the way over your head. Your stomach churns with discomfort.

You open your phone, find Vernon in your contacts.

You sit on his contact page, thumbs hovering over his number, for so long that your screen goes black twice while you stay locked in indecision.

Don’t call him don’t call him don’t call him.

But you’re lonely, and you miss him, and going out made you think of him, and you wonder what would happen if you did it, if you called. Would he even answer?

Eventually, you let reason win this time, and get up from the couch, the blanket falling from you like you’d shed a skin.

In your spare room, you eye the last painting you’d finished - mostly black but with a fractured, fragmented view of a tabletop littered with empty glasses and half-finished drinks, all the liquids a toxic, piercing neon pink. You hadn’t posted that one; it felt too much like an admission.

You stare down the empty canvas, tapping your mouth with the wooden end of a brush, deciding how to begin. You close your eyes and see the beast that’s followed you these last few years - even before Vernon. The embodiment of your shame, your regrets, your failures. It’s never left your side for long.

When you finally begin to paint it, you start with the claws.

—

you up for a 1v1?

arent you on a date???

obviously not.

you didn’t go? bro.

i went. it was just. idk.

it was just what?

idk dude.

you didn’t like her?

she was fine?? she was funny, and hot, and it was fine

so why are you home alone at 8:30 asking me to come online

Vernon rubs at his face in irritation. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain to Seungkwan why the date had felt flat.

What could he say? It was fine. It just wasn’t… enough.

He could still remember how he’d felt the first night he met you. He wanted to feel that.

idk, he told Seungkwan. lack of chemistry, ig.

Now - Summer

You think you’ve learned a lot over the past few months - between starting classes again and beginning therapy, you’re just bursting with new knowledge.

Something you’re working on is appreciating the shadows.

In class, you work on shading, on adding darks even when you think an area should all be light. Sometimes, somehow, shadows are exactly what you need to make it right on the canvas.

You think about this concept for your whole drive home from therapy - how the shadows under trees change the way you see them, how the darks affect the lights, how the shadows in your own life are natural and maybe, in the end, not so catastrophic.

At home, you duck your head into the shadows under your bed and drag Nana out by the middle.

“Come be social,” you scold him, plopping him on the couch.

After dinner, you go back to work on what you were painting. You’d been stuck for a few days, not happy with any change you made, but today you have an idea.

You create a palette of black, grey, navy, and deep purple. For two hours, you work meticulously, adding the midnights, the bruises, the shadows. They belong here, too.

—

Chan tells you he’s proud of you, the next time he’s over, and it makes you cry even though you’re only one your second sip of wine.

“Stop it,” you scold, avoiding his gaze, burning up under the attention.

“I mean it,” he says seriously. “I’m so happy that you’re painting again, I could throw up. And going back to school? And therapy? Damn. The glow-up.”

“Ew,” you frown at him, because this feels safer than acknowledging that you have been working hard on yourself, on your life. “What year is it, 2017?”

He gives you a look to make sure you know that he sees through your bullshit.

“It’s not all perfect,” you admit quietly. You feel like it should - like you’ve done the work, and now you should get the happy ending. But it hasn’t worked that way. You’re still working at a job that feels like a waste of time, painting on the side. You’re accumulating some debt for the classes you’re taking. The grey days still come and go, though admittedly their grip is less intense.

And you still think of Vernon, near daily.

Chan shrugs. “That’s normal. Perfect isn’t real. It’s unattainable. If your therapist hasn’t told you that, then you’re wasting your money.”

You laugh. She had told you that. Another thing that was easier to say than to put into practice.

You recork the bottle after a second glass, put it in your fridge for another day. Returning to your spot by Chan’s side, you tell him, “I keep thinking about him.”

Chan cocks his head, probably unsure if you’re talking about who he thinks you are.

“The guy I was hooking up with.”

“Ah.” He inclines his head knowingly.

You recount what he already knows - that you’d been whatever you were for about two years, that it had ended. That it was your fault.

“I think,” you say, taking a deep breath mid-sentence to steel yourself for the truth, “I think I could have loved him. I don’t know… maybe I did.”

“Either you did or you didn’t,” Chan points out, which is fair.

“It’s just…” you say, thinking about it. “We kept our boundaries so tight. We didn’t talk during the day, didn’t meet each others’ friends or families… barely got to know anything about each other. But it was like… even so, I think we just understood each other. It was like a lot of it just went without saying.”

Chan considers this, face serious. “Sounds like the potential was there, at least. If nothing else.”

“Yeah,” you said sadly, tracing the bottom of your wine glass with your finger. “Potential.”

Wasted potential. You’d heard that plenty before, just not usually about your love life.

Chan reaches out and shakes your knee playfully. “It’ll happen again,” he promises.

You don’t know what would be worse - if it never did, or it did, but it wasn’t Vernon. You’d never believed in there only being one right person for you - like soulmates or shit like that. But looking back at your time together, you’re not sure anyone will ever have a hold over you the way Vernon did. The grip he had on your life was unshakable.

Before he leaves for the night, Chan hesitates by the door.

“Hey,” he says, “this weekend? A bunch of the guys are driving down to the beach for the day. Wanna join?”

Something else you would have said no to, before. You’re trying to say yes more, plus you can’t deny that the sea air and sunshine sound like heaven.

“Sure,” you say, shifting to block Nana from slipping out the front door as Chan opens it. “Text me the details.”

Later, you ask what you should have asked first. who all is coming?

Chan sends back the list - six of his friends, ending with, seungcheol-hyung and his friend hansol. i think you’ve met him once or twice at the bars? he’s a good guy.

Something in you knew this was going to be the answer. You counted your breaths, tried to talk yourself down from immediately bailing on the plan.

Sleep on it, you told yourself. See how you feel in a few days.

You followed your own directions, but for days your mind spun around the question, buzzing and frantic.

Are you ready to see Vernon? To be around him, and act normal? Is it a good idea? Will you fight? Will you fall back into old habits? Will he bring out the worst in you?

Actually, you consider, that isn’t fair. Vernon never brought out your bad habits - he just coexisted peacefully with them, never tried to kick them out.

You’re scared that seeing him will undo the work of getting over him. But that isn’t true, either - because you don’t think you moved on from him at all.

In the end, you do slip into old habits - you let yourself make a potentially bad decision. You decide to go.

A twisted, quiet part of you is kind of excited.

The louder part is scared to death.

—

The day is perfect - blue sky, barely any clouds, hot and bright. Chan drives you and two of his friends; a second car with the others is somewhere en route, will meet your group once you’re there.

Chan’s car arrives first, and you help the guys unpack the trunk. Loaded down with beach bags, chairs, and coolers, you make your way unsteadily through the sand, pausing at one point to take off your flip-flops, tired of how they slow you down in the dry, loose sand.

You pick a spot and lay the towels out, unfold the chairs, get the umbrella anchored down in the sand so it doesn’t fly away.

The whole time, you can’t stop watching the parking lot, waiting for the other group to arrive - waiting for the moment of truth. What will happen when Vernon sees you?

Once everything is set up, you lay out, trying to enjoy what is admittedly beautiful weather. It’s so bright that when you lay on your back, you want to throw an arm over your eyes to block out the light, to really relax.

It feels like forever when you hear a distant shout and sit up, blinking against the glare of the sun, returning your sunglasses to your face as you get your bearings. A group of Chan’s friends approaches, one of them - Mingyu, you think - shouting hello and waving like a fool.

You stand to greet them, waving hi when they get close enough. You bite your lip nervously and glance at Vernon. He’s near the back of the group - their car had brought four people, just like yours - and his face is absolutely unreadable as he looks at you. It reminds you of the beginning, when you noticed how hard he works to keep his expression blank.

He’d stopped doing that with you, near the end. You’d almost forgotten.

Meeting and holding his gaze, you give him a solemn nod. I can be normal if you can, you try to promise, silently.

The moment is tense; you aren’t sure how he’ll react. Then, he gives you his own tiny nod back.

Relief melts through you like butter. Seeing him aches, but it isn’t unmanageable. You can do this - you’ll both be okay. You’ll both get through the day.

You help set up a second umbrella while a few of the guys move a few yards away to set up a volleyball net.

For a few hours they play volleyball. You sit on your towel with airpods in and watch, trying not to notice Vernon, trying to keep that part of your brain locked tight in its little box. But the sunlight streams down, not half as blinding as his smile as he jokes and laughs with Chan and Seungcheol, nowhere near as glittering as his laugh when he doubles over, elbows on his knees.

The sun is almost directly overhead when you get warm enough to brave the ocean.

“I’m gonna swim for a few,” you announce, standing and brushing some loose sand from your thighs.

Chan collapses on his towel, next to yours, pushing his hair back and heaving a deep breath, exhausted from volleyball.

“Maybe in a few,” he wheezes. “I need a minute.”

“I’ll go,” Soonyoung says, tossing his sunglasses onto his towel so he doesn’t lose them in the ocean.

You head down to where the waves are breaking onto the wet sand, foamy water dancing up to your ankles before retreating into the deep sea again. It’s cold, but under the midday sun the cold is welcome. You wade until you hit the awkward point where it’s hard to stand without being constantly battered by breaking waves, and then you duck underneath the surface and swim past the breaking point.

Treading water, you turn to see if Soonyoung made it out with you. He’s still back a bit, jumping each time a wave comes through. Beside him, Mingyu splutters, having taken a wave to his face. A few feet back, the water only at their knees, Vernon and Chan laugh maniacally.

You missed those goose honks.

The guys take their time catching up to you until all five of you are treading.

“Do you think there are jellyfish?” Soonyoung asks, peering into the water behind you.

“Probably,” Vernon deadpans, and you laugh, then immediately wonder if you shouldn’t. Luckily, he grins at you appreciatively as, behind him, Chan points out that there could be sharks, too.

“I’ll probably go back in soon,” Soonyoung says, trying to sound cavalier, but his unease shines through.

“We’re fine,” you promise. “You don’t have to out-swim the shark. You just have to out-swim Chan.”

Chan curses and splashes water at you as the others laugh.

You talk and float for a little longer until you consider the goosebumps on your limbs, the growl in your stomach.

“Anyone interested in lunch?” you ask.

Mingyu raises his arm and squints at his watch. “It is one,” he says. “I could eat. What did you guys bring?”

Chan starts rattling off what’s in your coolers as you start to make your way back to shore. You reach the point where your feet touch the sand, only to get slammed in the back by an incoming wave. You stumble a little, and someone holds your elbow steady, helping you stagger through it without completely tripping.

You give Vernon a grateful smile as he retracts his hand, but your stomach is swooping and your arm is burning where he’d held you.

Rejoining the others, you plop down on your towel, suddenly exhausted. The ocean water drying on your skin under the sun makes you shiver as you dig through the cooler. You pass out drinks to the guys closest to you, toss a bag of chips at Seungkwan when he asks for them, then settle back on your own towel to eat.

After, full and happy, you flop backwards and put airpods back in. Seungkwan and Soonyoung head back to the volleyball net. Mingyu and Chan seem content to bake in the sun, like you, and beyond them the others have circled up and are playing a card game, open cans of beer in the sand beside them.

You feel truly at peace, and you take a moment to ask the universe - can I hold onto this? Can I remember, when things go grey, that these moments exist?

Once you’re warm again, you pull your shorts back on and whack Chan on the arm. He startles awake, pushing his sunglasses up to glare at you.

“I’m going to walk up the beach for a little,” you tell him, pointing, just so somewhere will know where you are. He nods, his head sinking back down to his towel, eyes closing again.

You walk where the waves flood over your feet every few minutes, never getting higher than your ankles. You search for shells as you go, carrying one or two, but mostly stopping to take pictures of them and leaving them where they are, wanting to paint them later.

There are four shells in your hand when you hear someone call your name. You turn, surprised, and your stomach swoops again; Vernon approaches, hat twisted backwards and sunglasses perched over the top of it, one hand reaching out to show you a shell he’d found.

You hold still, you let him come to you. When he’s close enough, you hold open your hand and let him drop the shell there. It’s a mostly-white spiral top.

“Thanks,” you say, looking away from the shell to meet Vernon’s eyes.

He looks down at the other four in your hands. “You gonna paint them?”

You feel yourself physically take a step back in shock. “What?”

Embarrassment darkens his face just slightly. “I’ve been following your art page,” he admits, shoving his hands into his shorts pockets. “I didn’t know.” Then, “I feel bad that I didn’t know. You’re really good.”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t painting when we… I used to. I stopped for a long time. Just started again, after…” You trail off. After you left me. After I pushed you away.

He nods, licks his lips. “Does it help?” he asks, and you know exactly what he’s asking - does it make the rocks weigh less, does it make the grey lighter?

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “In general. It’s been… kind of cathartic.”

You both stand there, the shells on your palms between you, a decision teetering between you.

You should be the one to mend it, you think, since you were the one who’d ruined it before.

“Do you want to walk with me?” you ask, a little tentatively. “You don’t have to - I’m fine on my own -”

“I’d like to,” he says, voice quiet, and something about it makes you want to well up - that he’s willing to give you his time, that he doesn’t hate you as much as you deserve.

You walk quietly together as the sun starts to sink a little, casting everything a bit orange.

“What’s new with you?” you ask, finally.

And he tells you - new job that he actually likes despite how stuffy the nine-to-five thing sounds in theory, new mile time on his daily run, new friends through work.

“And you?”

You fill him in, telling him about taking classes part-time around your job, the commissions that aren’t enough to sustain you but aren’t nothing - you even shyly admit that you’ve been seeing a therapist.

It was the most either of you had ever talked about your real lives, you thought. It struck you how normal it felt, like it wasn’t something new or novel.

“Sounds like things are coming together for you,” he says.

“You, too,” you return.

Everything between you sits heavy, weighing the moment down, pulling towards the ocean’s depths like an anchor.

Then, at the same time, you break.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Vernon, I’m really sorry.”

He stops walking, turns to face you, aglow as the golden hour inches closer. The sun is warm on your skin, the sand is warm beneath your feet, and you are dying to make it right with him.

“It’s good to see you, too,” you whisper. You’re scared of this moment - scared it will burst, like a bubble, like waking up from a dream that you can’t get back.

“Don’t be sorry,” he counters. “We both screwed up.”

You shake your head, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “No,” you say emphatically. “You had every right to be mad. You were right that you were wasting time.”

He glances down, mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m sorry I said that to you. It wasn’t a waste.”

“Maybe not entirely,” you allow. “But you were right. I was never going to give you what you wanted - not back then, not with… how I was. That last fight we had… it would have been so easy for me to just let you in, and everything would have been fine. And I just… couldn’t.”

He listens seriously, watching your face carefully. You look at your feet in the sand, feeling the beginning trickles of shame down your spine. But you remember that the beast can’t get you - you’d locked him on a canvas. You don’t succumb to him in these moments anymore - you take a breath and remember that you’ve grown since then.

“And -” you swallow, take a breath, “- and I’m sorry. You deserve so much better than that.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes suddenly on the ocean. You watch his throat work, and your stomach clenches in regret. Then, he says, “I should have been clearer with you - way sooner than I was.”

“I’m not sure it would have changed anything,” you admit sadly.

He nods again, agreeing. “Still,” he says.

Still.

“I really like your paintings,” he says, and then laughs at himself before you can respond. “Sorry, that sounded so lame. I don’t know the art terms or anything. I just… like them.”

You smile despite how serious the conversation had felt only seconds ago. “Thanks,” you say shyly.

“What’s the best thing you’ve learned in your classes?” he asks, stepping a little closer.

You don’t even have to think about it. “Shadows,” you say simply, looking up at him. “Even the brightest painting is nothing without the shadows.”

His smile grows slowly, and you know he gets it. Of course he does. He’s been in the trenches right alongside you.

“I thought about you a lot,” he admits, and you realize how close you’re standing. Had you been standing this close the whole time?

“I did, too,” you murmur, heart hammering.

His fingers brush up your sun-warmed arm, and you shiver despite the heat.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice low, a little unsure.

He’d never asked before.

You nod, unable to speak, lifting up to meet him halfway. He kisses you like he never had before - featherlight, gentle, like you’re the most fragile thing.

Neither of you say anything after, but as you start walking back towards the guys, you slip your hand into his, and he gives it a squeeze.

You’re still hand in hand when you reach the towels, and you watch Chan clock it out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t call you out, and you promise yourself that you’ll give him the conversation you owe him - later. When you’re alone.

You stay a few more hours; the guys play a little more volleyball, you sit on the towels and fill pages in your sketchbook. You draw Vernon - all angles, so sharp, so beautiful.

When the sun sinks low enough, the guys start packing things up, and you help haul everything back towards the cars.

As you slam the trunk of Chan’s car shut, you turn to find Vernon waiting.

“What about now?” he asks.

“What?”

“You said not back then,” he explains. “You said back then you couldn’t give me what I wanted. What about now?”

The question lands like a mine. “I don’t know,” you say, as honest as you can be. “Vernon, I don’t know. I’m scared - I’m scared I’ll hurt you again, mess it up again. I don’t know what I can promise you.”

He considers this. “Okay,” he says finally, in that easy way of his. “What if I don’t want a promise? What if I just want to know… what’re you doing next Saturday?”

You and him, you’d existed only at night. You’d never done this before - considered dating, considered giving him more than just the hours between midnight and three am. You’d never considered letting him be him and not just one of your many vices, one of your distractions, one of the things you used to hide from how broken you felt. But here, now, with the summer sun beating down on your shoulders, you take in his whole, unfragmented face and see how open it is, how willing he is to meet you where you are.

You’ve been missing out on so much, you think. It’s about time to stand in the light - with him. With him, you could try.

“Nothing,” you say, smiling up at him. “You got a suggestion?”

“Yeah,” he says, sending you a wink as he starts to back away, the car keys jingling in his hand. “I know a place.”

<- Prev

thank you so much for reading my veyr first svt fic!! i hope to write many more in the future :)

[myslutwritings]

Human Heian era! Muzan with arranged marriage wife! s/o super sweet and kind. Cue tsundere (and in denial ✨) Muzan whenever his wife cares for him. Wants to cuddle with her and tries to makes up the excuses that he needs her body heat lmao

... Then she dies after trying to get blue spider lily for the medicine that the doctor requested (doctor "hinted" to lady s/o that the flower can be a cure for Muzan so he could trick her to get it for his lazy self lmao)

Fluff to angst my cup of tea 👍

LOVE THIS IDEA!!

➤ Muzan with a wife!reader

➤ SFW headcanons (not proof read)

Human!muzan x Fem!reader

•

•

•

warnings: death of reader

No, no, no, no.

None of this sat right with him!

Why, why on god mother earth would he need a wife only to probably get bored of him and slowly witness him die?

What’s the meaning of this nonsense?

Muzan isn’t happy with it one bit.

He throws a fit.

Bro is immature as hell to be honest.

He judges you and absolutely resents this situation before he even meets you.

Fast forward to the first time y’all meet. let’s just say you aren’t what he expected!

you were.. so kind. it almost seemed unreal.

Wonders if your kindness is fake or genuine.

He obviously doesn’t admit he does in fact enjoy your presence so instead he either throws childish insults at you or pretends he doesn’t want to be around you when really he craves your body warmth and soothing voice.

I feel like this Muzan is insecure.

Like, definitely insecure of his sickness and he usually asks you why you even want him if he’s just going to die in the end.

You consistently remind him that you love him for who he is and reassure him that you’re going to find a cure for him.

Doesn’t really help since he hears that from the doctor 24/7 but when it’s coming from you he actually feels a bit better about himself which is a first.

I also headcanon that this Muzan grows a bit shy when you touch him.

That’s only because he isn’t used to someone touching him so intimately and gently.

If you notice his flushed cheeks don’t you dare point it out!!

One night, Muzan really wasn’t feeling the best (as per usual) so being the loving wife you are you gladly offered him cuddles. you enjoy holding him, or him holding you.

Most of the time it’s mostly you holding him since he struggles to move..

Despite him being the biggest asshole on the face of the earth sometimes he does have a cute side.

Cue those special moments whenever you have to leave the futon he lies in, he briskly grabs your waist and pulls you back down with him while mumbling the words “stay”

Anywho, you smother this man to death at times.

Turns all Tsundere mode every time you do anything.

Acts repulsed by love but deep down you know he loves you just as much as you love him.

You adore Muzan with all your heart. No words can even begin to describe how deeply you appreciate him. You’d do anything to see him grow healthy. You know he can!

You’d walk the earth to find your husband a cure for his sickness.

Muzans doctor is highly aware of your growing relationship with him and how you’re so desperate to please him.

So, here you are, naively making the fatal mistake of doing the doctor a massive favor and searching for a medicine/plant called “blue spider lily”

Your clueless self accepts this mission in a heartbeat, assuming ahead of time that nothing could possibly go wrong.

Oh my, what an unfortunate evening that was because as soon as you leave town a deadly storm hits.

To make matters worst, Muzan isn’t even aware of any of this. He just thinks you forgot to visit him tonight.. which is incredibly odd considering the fact you’re all over him by now.

Doesn’t think much of it all until you’re pronounced dead by the next day.

You died, searching for that damn flower that the lazy bum doctor couldn’t get himself?!

As soon as he heard of your death, Muzan goes on a rampage with all the strength he can muster up in his fragile body.

He killed the doctor that same day you were announced dead.

Now Muzan truly has nobody. No cure for his illness, his lovely wife is gone, the doctor isn’t alive to nurse him back to health.

But at the end of the day, he doesn’t care for the doctor, nor that stupid medicine.

He only cares about you.

Muzan is aware he’s close to dying. All his life he despised his condition, desired for it only to go away, dying was his greatest fear.

But now?

Maybe dying isn’t so horrible after all.

At least he could reunite with you in the afterlife.

A/N: i apologize if this post isn’t well written. i was rushing and i’ve been insanely busy lately! I hope you enjoyed tho:))

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 14

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

Kate: Ah, welcome back Roger!

I welcomed Roger back with a smile when he returned to the bar.

Roger: Hey now, what’s with all the food on the table?

Kate: I ordered all this for you, so please help yourself.

Roger: Well, since it looks good, I’ll dig in. Feels like you’re up to something though.

Kate: I’m not up to anything at all! You’re always treating me so I thought I would return the favor.

Taking me out for a meal is probably a part of giving despair the finger.

So I wanted to pretend that I didn’t know anything and just pay him back.

Kate: Here. Eat while it’s still hot.

Roger: Well if that’s the case…Good food and drinks are reasons to keep living!

Kate: Yes! Barkeep, two beers please!

Roger: Barkeep, can you also lend me something to dry with?

Barkeep: Beers and a towel coming right up!

--

Kate: Nnn…

I swayed from side to side until I suddenly rested against muscular shoulders.

At that moment, I was lulled to sleep with a sense of security.

Kate: …Zzzz…

Roger: …Geez, you really are hopeless when you’re drunk. You’re always forcing yourself.

His mutterings weren’t heard by Kate who had passed out.

Roger: The rain might’ve dampened your heartbeat and breathing, but it didn’t dampen your footsteps. …Also, you should’ve been surprised when I came back soaking wet. You suck at lying, lil’ lady.

A faint smile appeared on Roger’s face as he patted the head resting on his shoulder.

Roger: …Thanks Kate.

--

—After a night of rain.

A secret meeting was being held in the Privy Council’s office within the palace.

Privy Council member: I’ve found the best thing to take down Crown.

Privy Council Lord: Really? What is it?

Privy Council member: Look at this from over 20 years ago. There was a case where police arrested a doctor by mistake and shot then him dead. It was covered up, but here are the documents the police had confiscated.

Privy Council Lord: …”Research material for a drug to nullify curses”?

Privy Council member: This was written by a man named “Alexander Taylore”, a doctor formerly from Gracefield Royal Hospital. If what’s written in these documents are genuine, then does that mean a drug to remove curses can be made?

If they could take the abilities of those annoying “Cursed Ones” of Crown away— 

Seeing this as divine punishment, the crafty people assembled chuckled to themselves.

Privy Council Lord: Pfft, haha…And then those monsters at Crown with their strange abilities will be reduced to nobodies!

Privy Council member: However, we have one problem. These documents are so old that most of the text has faded, making it near impossible to decipher.

Privy Council Lord: Tch, then it’s just trash.

Privy Council member: It’s too early to say that, Council Lord. Please look here.

Privy Council Lord: …Roger Barel? Isn’t he a member of Crown?

Privy Council member: It seemed that the dead man and Roger had known each other.

Privy Council Lord: I see. Then let’s find out everything we can on Roger Barel.

Privy Council member: Understood.

Privy Council Lord: Now then…It seems that the winds are blowing in our favor of dismantling Crown.

The secret meeting continued. Unbeknownst to them, a cruel angel was eavesdropping—

Darius: …They should hold these secret meetings behind thicker doors. “Roger Barel is conducting research on Cursed Ones, which the Privy Council can use.”

Just as Nika reported.

Now then, what to do…Hm?

--

Kate: I finally caught you…You run so fast, Ale.

Ale: Arf arf.

While we were out on a walk, Ale got so excited that his collar came loose. We ended up running in the opposite direction of the park, toward the palace.

Kate: Since we’ve come this far already, how about we head back and give you a brushing?

When I reattached the collar and started leading him away, Ale’s ears twitched.

Darius: Good afternoon Miss Fairytale Keeper and doggie. 

The man who appeared before us was the chief of the German organization, “Vogel”. 

Kate: …Darius.

(If I recall correctly, he’s staying at the palace for several months as a goodwill ambassador)

(...But I didn’t expect to meet him here)

Ale: Rrrrrr…arf arf!

Kate: Hey now, Ale. Why did you start barking all of a sudden…I apologize. 

I hurriedly picked Ale up when he bared his teeth.

He thrashed in my arms as he snarled at Darius.

Darius: Though I like animals, I don’t know why they hate me.

Darius smiled cheerfully, as if he were an angel sent down to Earth.

Kate: …We haven’t spoken in a while. How do you like your stay here?

Darius: It’s fine. The food’s delicious and everyone’s friendly with us. And I’ve come to understand some things.

His eyes narrowed as if he found a new perspective.

Darius: Her Majesty cherishes Crown over anything else. Yes, because they get on their hands and knees to clean up all the evil throughout Britain. However, there are people in the palace who dislike them.

Only few are aware of Crown.

Meaning the people who dislike them— 

Kate: Do you mean…the Privy Council?

“Her Majesty’s Most Honourable Privy Council”, the Queen’s formal body of advisors.

To dismantle Crown, they were willing to aid any that were against them without getting their own hands dirty—that way, it wouldn’t trace back to them.

Victor and William had told me about them when I first came to Crown Castle.

Darius: Who knows, it’s just one possibility. At any rate, nothing’s changed. Those in power are too busy trying to protect themselves in their own sandbox. They may be smiling, but they’re more cunning deep down. “Humans” see themselves the most innocent…How repulsive.

(Darius talks as if Cursed Ones and Humans are separate creatures)

(But…I don’t think they are)

(However, there are others out there that don’t feel the same)

He stayed smiling this whole time, like a true angel.

Yet I got goosebumps hearing him talk about humans.

Kate: Darius…do you hate humans?

Darius: If I did, what would you do? Disappear?

Though he still had a gentle smile, his eyes turned cold.

Kate: I wouldn’t…disappear.

Darius: And why is that?

(Why…)

The answer was obvious, but any confidence I had faded when facing him.

(I don’t understand what Darius is saying, that’s for sure…)

Kate: Because you and I haven’t tried getting to know each other yet.

Darius: Haven’t tried getting to know each other? Hehe, Miss Fairytale Keeper’s so earnest and pure. However, don’t assume that I hate humans. This is just another possibility.

In that moment—

Harrison: Hey…what are you doing?

Kate: …Harrison.

In an instant, I was freed from the feeling of being judged by an angel.

Darius: Nothing at all. I was just having a nice chat with Miss Fairytale Keeper. I’ll talk to you later then. Miss Human Fairytale Keeper.

While Darius headed off toward the palace, Harrison approached me while keeping his eyes on his retreating figure.

Harrison: Should I not have cut in?

Kate: No, I was feeling nervous so you saved me....Thank you.

Harrison: Like I said the day they came, Vogel’s lying about something. Be careful.

Kate: Yeah…

I took a deep breath and Harrison suddenly fixed his gaze on me.

Harrison: …You know, we haven’t chatted like this in a while. Ever since you became his exclusive, you’ve been stuck to Roger. How’s that going?

Kate: He’s self-serving, pushes me around, treats me like a dog…it’s annoying.

Harrison: Yeah, that’s a lie. You don’t actually think it’s annoying.

(Ah right, Harrison can tell when I’m lying)

Kate: Well if you say it’s a lie, then it probably is…

Harrison: Huh?

Kate: To be honest, I’m not sure myself. I enjoy being with Roger and there are parts that I respect. But there’s also some other feelings…

(There are feelings that are neither true nor false)

I thought back to that night in the rain when I wanted to run up and hug him, and I placed a hand on my chest.

Harrison: Kate, I think you’ll be able to stay here past the agreed month.

Kate: Huh? But wasn’t the Fairytale Master position only for…

Harrison: They’ll still be important in the future with their reports on the Cursed. It’s hard to find replacements for Crown given its unique reasons for secrecy. Besides, you’re already one of Crown’s.

My heart beat warmly hearing those words.

Harrison: However, you should think carefully on what you want to do. No matter how much you get used to it, we’re still a dark place that light can’t reach. There are some things you won’t get again…after letting go.

(A dark place that light can’t reach…)

Kate: …Harrison, have you ever thought of what life would be like without the curse?

Harrison: … Yeah, plenty of times.

I wonder—surely everyone in Crown has had this peaceful smile at some point.

--

I didn’t even have time to relax before I was assigned my next mission.

But— 

Kate: …What is this?

Roger and Alfons, who were put in charge of the mission, smiled wryly as we stood at the building we’re going undercover in.

Alfons: As you can see, we’re at a strip club. What a sight.

Roger: You’ve never been?

As a matter of fact, I’ve been to one once

There’s no way I would have +4 +4

No comment

Kate: There’s no way I would have.

Roger: Ohh? Hmmm.

Alfons: Hehe.

Kate: What, why are you two looking at me like that? I’ve really never been to one before, okay? Anyway! Are we sure this is the right place?

I asked them as they finished examining the inside of the building.

Alfons: Of course it is. We received information that illegal gambling was taking place here, so we’re here to investigate and condemn… When we looked inside, we found that it was a peaceful place coated in desire!

Kate: Um, that doesn’t make the building…

Alfons: Rather than doing evil, it’s worse that people are profiting off of love. Perhaps we should condemn them. Unexpectedly, we are not here to destroy evil, but perversions. Heh.

(...Apart from being shameless)

(Can entertainment actually keep the people inclined to do evil…in check?)

What Alfons said may or may not be suitable.

Roger: Well, sometimes we get misinformation.

Roger then looked to the showy stage with shiny mirrors all around.

Roger: So what do we do now?

Alfons: It would be suspicious if we were to just leave, so why don’t we look around for a while?

Kate: Huh, look around?

Alfons: Kate, you may take an interest. In this study. Of. The. Adult. World.

Kate: Wha…

Alfons: Look, look. It even says here, “women are welcome to join in.” Kate, toss away your shame along with your underwear.

Kate: I am neeeeeever going to join in!

As the dizzying conversation continued, Roger leaned against a wall with his arms folded.

It reminded me of that night in the rain.

(The pain, the frustration he locked up…I won’t ever forget that look)

Roger noticed me staring and smirked.

Roger: What’s with that greedy look? If there’s something you wanna see then say it. Don’t sulk.

Kate: W-who’s sulking here?!

(I was thinking about Roger)

Alfons: Yes, yes, please take a seat before you draw attention to yourself.

Kate: Huh…wait, I’m going back.

Alfons: Don’t worry about it.

He pushed me toward a seat…

I stood there between Roger and Alfons, who were already seated, but had no choice but to sink down into my seat after someone from behind yelled out “Miss, you’re blocking the view.”

(...Here I am watching)

I gulped and looked at the stage.

(Since it’s a strip club…that means there will be naked women on stage)

(...I wonder what Roger thinks when he’s watching. Does he get turned on?)

(No wait, why am I thinking about this? What Roger thinks is none of my business)

I frantically shook these random thoughts and instead focused on my far less wicked convictions.

(I will follow the robin growth map under Roger’s guidance and become a strong woman!)

(I will teach Roger about romantic feelings and prove to him that love exists!)

That’s right. My relationship with Roger began with giving back what he gave me.

(Nothing more, nothing less…That’s how it should be)

(That’s how it should be…)

Alfons: Look, the performers are coming out.

Kate: You can’t…

My body moved on its own and I covered Roger’s eyes with my hand.

Roger: Kate, I can’t see anything.

Kate: Ah.

(What am I doing…)

Kate: Um…I’m…sorry.

I quickly removed my hand, but it was soon grabbed by a much larger one.

Kate: Roger…?

Roger: Hey, Kate. If you keep me company, we can go home. How’s that sound?

[dairy-farmer]

Omegas can get pretty stupid if they’re subjected to too many alpha pheromones. Specifically, the ones produced by alpha come.

It takes a lot of pheromones from a lot of alphas to affect an omega like this. Normally, an omega with an alpha or two, or even three, that has a healthy sex life would barely be affected. If all three alphas were involved in a a short time, the omega would get a little come-drunk and submissive, and it would wear off.

But if a bunch of alphas made a determined effort for long enough, they could turn an omega into little more than a chirping, submissive breeder.

So I had 2 thoughts on this:

The first one: Bruce is lost in time. Tim is the only omega in the pack, and starts talking about running off to find Bruce. Dick panics, thinking Bruce is dead. Tim refuses to listen to reason. Dick is stressed, his instincts are screaming about his fracturing pack, Damian (who’s old enough to be an alpha here) is whispering in his ear about how his father controls unruly omegas, Jason isn’t dealing with the pack changes, and Tim is packing.

Dick gathers Damian and Jason to talk about Tim. Damian suggests getting Tim come drunk and Dick, to his shock, agrees. Alfred, who subscribes to the old school way of thinking, has never really approved of an omega in combat but didn’t speak up against it, suggests starting by doctoring Tim’s food.

So Dick pretends to believe Tim and convinces him to start researching from home. Tim’s food gets come from his three alpha pack mates mixed in every dish. He doesn’t notice. It makes him listen to them more, but he’s still talking about Bruce being alive.

So they have to escalate. They feed him more. They come on him when he’s sleeping. Dick and then Jason, and a little bit later Damian, all get Tim to let them fuck him. It helps some but Tim is still making plans and talking. Tim’s teetering on the edge, getting fed come all the time and getting fucked multiple times a day. They need more to break him.

They call in help. Wally doesn’t mind stopping by, or Roy. Dick even gets a hand from deathstroke, when he’s in town. And Tim breaks.

Bruce gets rescued from time by the league and returns to find his Robin turned into a loving, chirping, mindless little omega. Tim doesn’t argue or push back anymore. He’ll snuggle up to his alphas, purr sweetly when he gets pet, and smells so sweet since he was bred. He doesn’t need as intensive a treatment once he was broken, just a steady diet of alpha come. Bruce isn’t thrilled at first, but Tim is so soft and easy and relaxed that he can’t deny that Dick made the best choice for the pack. Maybe not for Tim, but the pack and Gotham are still standing and that’s all he can ask for.

My other thought is this:

Omegas are still, unfortunately, legally treated a bit like chattel. It’s looked down upon and it’s very rare for an alpha parent to sell their omega child, but it can happen. There’s laws about it to prevent trafficking, but if a parent wants to make a match the omega can’t contest it until they’re an adult.

Jack finds out that Tim is an omega and that he’s sneaking out at night to fight crime in one fell swoop. He’s incensed. He wants to wash his hands of Tim, but doesn’t want the embarrassment of society finding out about Tim. He starts putting out feelers amongst his less than savory business partners. Bruce and Tim still aren’t all that close yet, so Bruce doesn’t notice at first that anything is wrong.

Hood hears that his Replacement’s dad is going to mate him off. Hood could use this to legally get control of him for at least the next 15 months before he’s 18. He needs to get this done quick before Bruce finds out.

He puts in an offer and Jack accepts. Tim is much cuter in person and smells great without the bat-grade blockers. Jason picks Tim up, ties him up in the trunk and shoves a knotting dildo into him to keep him pliant and takes him to a safe house.

He knows that Tim will fight him to get free and run to Bruce or Dick. He’s only got one chance to keep him. He starts drugging him with come. He knots him often. He keeps Tim hanging off his knots during meetings and lets his lieutenants use Tim’s mouth or jerk off on his body.

Tim’s mind is broken before the Bats even realize he’s gone.

Eventually, after enough time has passed, Jason can ease up on Tim and let him get some of his mind back, but it’s too late to be completely reversed. Tim will always be a submissive little omega, eager to please his alpha and be bred. It works out perfectly for Jason, since this Tim has no desire to leave and even helps Hood’s operation on the logistics side. When he has the time, that is, since he’s already been pupped once and has another on the way.

tim getting mindbroken in omegaverse is so especially good because he just reverts back to his most core omegan instincts- focused only on making the whole manor soft and warm, nuzzling all his pack members, and cooing for attention until someone fucks him. omega tim rendered stupid from alpha cum in his system becoming just this sweet little pet that visitors to the manor 'aww' over and maybe even fuck occasionally because tim is just so cute and eager and friendly and so after hanging out with dick or jason they'll bury a knot in the tight little cunt of a sweet and pretty little omega that hums so nicely.

[momotonescreaming]

I went digging through my fics, and found this. Absolutely no idea when I wrote this, or if I shared it already, but I can't stop thinking about it. Enjoy.

It’s the 1800’s, and Steve is the first born and only son of Richard Harrington, heir to the Harrington fortune. Expectations have been placed upon him since he was born, and it only got worse as he got older. He was too kind, liked flowers, and playing in the mud, and learning about horses and carriages and trains, and sitting with his mother while she put on make up and had her ladies maid do her hair. Then came the lessons from the private tutor (since the Harrington’s were too good for the local school) and Steve wasn’t as book smart as his father wanted him to be.

His father was mean and his mother was scared and so Steve spent a lot of time out in the fields as a young boy, wandering the land his father owned, picking up sticks and pretending to be a sheriff or an adventurer riding a fast horse into the sunset.

So he played until it got dark and Steve still didn’t go back home. Dad would yell and Mom would give him That Look and he didn’t want to change into his fancy dinner clothes. So Steve stays out late and wanders.

There are things living in the woods.

Things with teeth that hunt and kill and make people disappear. But no one tells poor little Steve this. He gets attacked by a wolf that isn’t quite a wolf, and screams so so loud.

Nobody hears him.

One of his father’s farmhands find him in the woods in the early morning. His clothes are ripped and he’s dirty and covered in blood but he doesn’t have any wounds, save for one single wolf bite. The man rushes him back to the Harrington Manor House, and someone calls the doctor. Steve is bathed, and fed, and checked over and the doctor tells his parents that he’s lucky it wasn’t worse. He gets better and goes back to his lessons.

Next month he gets a fever. Steve is sweaty and delirious, and hungry and itchy and restless and nothing quite helps. He blacks out one night and when he wakes up he’s curled up on the hardwood floor and all his furniture has been ripped apart. The servants whisper the word “werewolf” in the halls.

His parents fire half the servants, pay them off to keep their mouth shut, and hire someone who can help. A friendly woman named Mrs Henderson, whose dead ex-husband was a werewolf like Steve. She teaches him what she can while Richard Harrington hires men to build a stone basement underneath a small cottage at the very back of the Harrington Land. Where no one can see.

So Steve grows up, he falls in love, he finds out his sweetheart Nancy doesn’t love him, he befriends Dustin Henderson, and then Robin Buckley - a  dorky local girl who plays the trumpet and works at a store in town. And once a month, he takes himself down to the basement of the cottage, and turns into a werewolf. Mrs Henderson could only help so much, not being a Werewolf herself. His control is better than it was, but he still doesn’t trust himself. So chained in the basement it is.

Then there’s Eddie Munson, the poor son of an outlaw living with his uncle in a tiny house in the town of Hawkins. Grew up learning how to break the law with his father, how to live off the land, how to shoot and hunt and survive. He hated it, little Eddie wanted to learn to play the guitar and read and tell stories. But Pa didn’t give him much of a choice. Until Ma died and Pa spiralled and ended up getting caught and shipped off to prison. So he went to live with his uncle Wayne. And he made friends, and told stories, and started writing.

And then he watched a girl die and got blamed for her murder. So he’s on the run, and he knows how to survive but not when he doesn’t have any supplies. And not in a town where everyone knows his name and his face. So he runs. And he hides. First in his friend Rick's, who’s away in jail or on a job or something. Eddie's not sure and he really doesn't care right now. But he gets close to getting caught again. So he runs again until he finds a barn, semi abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

He’s close to the Harrington’s land, this he knows. But everyone knows they travel for business all the time, so it’s fine.

Except it’s not.

He’s tired and hungry and scared and it’s dark. There’s a light in the distance - lantern. He ducks down, waiting. Except it’s not the Sheriff, or Jason Carver (who took it upon himself to become a bounty hunter, to avenge the death of his sweetheart). It’s Steve Harrington. The semi-estranged, semi-reclusive Harrington heir, who looks grim and angry as he storms across the field. And he doesn’t see Eddie, doesn’t look at the barn, doesn’t even have a horse.

Steve goes into the cottage and Eddie doesn’t know whether to stay put until he leaves in the morning or make a run for it. Eddie is still paralysed with fear and indecision when he notices the full moon in the sky.

He hears a guttural scream, the snap of bone, a howling; and Eddie remembers the stories his Uncle Wayne would tell him of the things that live in the woods.

[remnants]

thots about tommy wayne under the cut 👇🏾😚👍🏾

ok so in my head he's not from gotham lol (my guy is east coast mean, which is pretty mean, but not gotham mean which translates to being the sweetest guy on earth once you’re within the city limits). he's the illegitimate and son of patrick wayne and his daddy wouldn't claim him bc the affair/one-night-stand/whatever-you-wanna-call-it happened while he was very much married (fuck this guy fr!) and his wife was very much pregnant (oh brother this guy STINKS!!!). anywayyyy elizabeth mitchell isn’t stupid and knows a fight she can't win when she sees one so she leaves gotham for new york when the test comes back positive and patrick won’t pick up her calls.

and things are going good! she's made a little name for herself as a local nightclub singer and she's got a job waiting tables during the day that makes good money and sure things were a little touch and go for a while and sure there were times where she was sure that they weren't gonna make it but she got her baby through school (he graduated valedictorian btw) and now he's in the first year of his pre med undergraduate degree at the local university on a full scholarship (her parenting HER parenting).

so imagine her surprise when the billionaire deadbeat of the hour shows up on her doorstep one day talking about family duty and lines of succession.

patrick amadeus wayne jr. is dead. dead dead dead. and while it wasn't really a surprise to anyone with eyes (weak lungs can only take so many wet gotham winters and the tabloids were saying that the cough he sported at the latest gala sounded particularly nasty), he was by all appearances an only child (francesca wayne could barely get pj out let alone carry another baby to term) and the waynes were fumbling for someone to take his place before the body was even cold.

the transition is as rough as you would expect, what with the stony silences from his father’s wife (stepmother? who knows, not that either of them would ever acknowledge the relation) whenever they cross paths in the manor (francesca wayne never makes an outside appearance in gotham society again after the passing of her son. she enters a period of seclusion and never emerges, spending her days wandering the halls in mourning blacks and lighting candles in prayer), and sometimes being called patrick or pj by the gotham upper class (intentionally or not. though he suspects intentionally because his mother’s side of the family got the monopoly on his looks). it’s very obvious that he doesn’t fit in but hey, free college is free college and his mama is gonna be set for life if he can just see this through.

of course the whole thing doesn’t go over well (a long lost father suddenly appearing on your doorstep and claiming you only because his other kid died would put most people off to be completely fair) but after some yelling and screaming and haggling, compromises are made. in exchange for thomas moving to gotham and being prepped to take over as head of wayne enterprises, his mother is also to be put up in a fancy brownstone on the upper east side and given enough in allowance (in addition to the 18 years of child support she never got) so that she never has to work again and thomas is to be allowed to continue his studies, graduate medical school (in gotham and not at john hopkins like he planned. rip it was literally his dream school), and become a doctor (i like to think becoming a doctor was solely a thomas wayne endeavor. all the wayne men before him were men of business and trade but tommy has wanted to help people his entire life and he’ll be damned if he lets his father keep him from following his dreams). there’s a handshake and signatures signed on a drawn-up contract (because patrick wayne doesn’t do anything by halves and of course he brought the family lawyer to meet his son after 19 years of pretending he didn’t exist) and thomas goes from a two-bedroom apartment in hell’s kitchen to a bedroom the same size (and then some) right outside of gotham city.

and he does see it through, very well in fact! thomas wayne graduates top of his class in undergrad at gotham university as well as in medical school, is granted a residency at gotham general, and eventually becomes the head of surgery. Along the way, he meets a girl named martha, gets married, and has a beautiful baby boy named bruce (after his maternal grandfather ofc) and the rest is history!

[calliecwrites]

Shifter HRT, part 3 – Rebirthday

I had the appointment. I passed the test. I’ve got the little package that will change everything.

I hold it tight all the way home. Part of me is still angry at my contact for messing with me like that – and the rest is in something like stunned amazement that I actually have it.

Now I’m home. I open it up.

There are two kinds of pills. First there’s antihominidone. That’s the humanity blocker, the one that lets my body change and stops it trying to change back. People transitioning to lots of different species take this one.

Then there’s the other one, the one that does the hard work of actually changing me. ‘Shifterising hormone’, it says on the label – they don’t even have a scientific name for it. There’s a little instruction book with doses – one of each a day – but it doesn’t say a lot about side effects or timelines. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, going DIY – this isn’t stuff you’d get from a doctor, after all. Almost no one’s been through this before. It’s super experimental, and I’m the experiment. The whole process takes two to three years, but what to expect when is pretty vague.

This is when my anxiety kicks in. Experimental treatment? Becoming another species? What am I doing?

I take one of the hormone pills out. It’s a clear capsule full of liquid. I turn it over, and the liquid slowly drops from one end to the other. It’s thick and gooey, which makes sense, since I’m going to be gooey. It looks a bit like the fluid shifters are made of, but without the life of the real thing. How do they make this stuff? Do they distil it from their own bodies or something? It’s not made of dead shifters, is it? Geez, I hope it’s not made of dead shifters. —Nope, nope, not thinking that way. Lots of other things are gooey. It could be anything. It could be literal magic, for all I know.

They’re so secretive, since they don’t want anyone else figuring out how to make it. Maybe I should save some and smuggle it to the other groups who are trying to? No, who am I kidding, this is for me – I’m not wasting a single drop.

Stop. Focus.

Changing species is much bigger than changing gender, but somehow it doesn’t feel quite as scary as that did – because this time, I’ve been through something like this before. I’ve sat here, scared and desperate, staring at pills that might as well be magic, before. Looking back, it doesn’t feel like I ‘changed’ gender at all – I just stopped pretending to be something I wasn’t. Sounds easy. Sounds obvious. Hopefully, one day, I’ll look back and this will feel the same.

I trust myself so much more than I did back then. I was right the first time, and that makes me confident I’m right this time, too.

And my friends and family? We’ve been through the fire together once. The ones who would leave left then – that’s what I tell myself. But I don’t really know how anyone will react to this. That’s a problem for another day.

The first two pills are on the table in front of me. Here goes.

* * *

It’s done. I’ve taken it. I feel all tingly, though surely it can’t be having an effect already. I think that’s just the excitement and the fear and everything.

I call the day I started estrogen ‘Rebirthday’, because that’s how it felt. I never thought I’d have another day like that. Now I have one birthday and two rebirthdays. I am a shifter. Even through all my doubts and fears, I can truly say that now, for the first time. I want to laugh. I want to cry.

I am a shifter. I am me. I know the next few years will be hard, I know there will be pain, but I can’t wait.

This is what I am.

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[taylorkellyreporting]

i hope no one minds if i inconsistently liveblog this bitch: doctor who season one from 1x04

1x04

HELLO??

A WHOLE YEAR???

shit

“you’re 900 years old?” “yeah.” “my mum was right, that is one hell of an age gap.” lmfaooo

“i’m the only person who knows it exists.” spoke too soon

damn, he left her. i wonder if the key he gave her was even real.

it was a pig 😭

OH NOOOO

every time they get separated, shit goes off the rails

IS HE GONNA KILL HER MOM?!

1x05

girl, FUCK the emergency protocols

“sorry.” 😭

that shit was intense

“my mother’s cooking.” “good, put her on a slow heat and let her simmer.” CACKLING

i feel so bad for her mom :(

1x06

this episode really is…something.

why the fuck is the doctor just offering up all of this information???

he really should have seen this coming

*pretends to be shocked*

their cockiness is gonna get them killed

i never want rose and the doctor to be separated EVER again

“what use are emotions if you won’t save the woman that you love?” damn

don’t know how i feel about this dude joining them

1x07

“he’s your boyfriend.” “not anymore.” did i miss something???

something’s wrong…

is that guy dead?

i don’t trust adam at all

rose is so stupid. i could understand if it was mickey she was trusting but she doesn’t even know this man

huh, that was unexpected.

what the actual fuck

1x08

this ep’s gonna be so sad

the doctor never should’ve taken her to that day

“alright, i’ll tell him you’re not my boyfriend.” obsessed with her thinking that was the issue 😭

not important but jackie looks really good with her hair like that

well. that was heartbreaking.

1x09

sorry, but if a kid wearing a fucking plague mask was repeatedly saying “mummy” in an eerie voice, i would have turned and walked the other way. r.i.p. to rose but i’m different

what part of “don’t answer it.” is hard to understand? lmao

“excellent bottom.” gross.

i know i sound like a broken record but what the fuck?!

this is one creepy ass episode

this dude is coming on so strong dkgjgks

“finally, a professional.” rose, be serious.

“they’re not dead.” okay.

girl, what the fuck?

1x10

i can’t believe that worked lmfaooo

“those would’ve been terrible last words.” 😭

“half this street thinks your missus must be messing about with mr haverstock, the butcher. but she’s not, is she? you are.” SCREAMING

“i sent it to its room. this is its room.”

that’s fucking terrifying

“the first day i met him, he blew my job up. that’s practically how he communicates.” pls

“okay, so he’s vanished into thin air. why is it always the great- looking ones who do that?” “i’m making an effort to not be insulted.” “i mean…men.” “okay, thanks, that really helped.” fkfhhgdj

i hate jack for interrupting their dance. IT WAS JUST GETTING GOOD.

“carry on with whatever you were…doing.” “we were talking about dancing.” “it didn’t look like talking.” “didn’t feel like dancing.” 😭

these episodes are so fucking creepy but they’re definitely the best of the season

oh my God, he’s her son

THEY’RE DANCING 🥹

1x11

i can’t wait for mickey’s reaction to jack

“trust me, safest place in the universe.” famous last words

i hope the doctor doesn’t trust her

poor mickey

“it’s always the doctor, it’s never me.” buddy you should’ve known you weren’t first choice when she left you in the beginning

she’s an egg 😭

1x12

i almost don’t want to press play.

lmao, what the hell

it always comes back to floor 500

oh shit, the doctor cause all of that?

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK

rose can’t be dead

THANK GOD

i can’t believe the daleks actually survived

1x13

i’m not ready to say goodbye to nine

rose is getting a taste of her own medicine with the doctor and lynda djfjgjs

HE KISSED THEM BOTH 😭 I LOVE JACK

i can feel my heart breaking

who the fuck is bad wolf if it isn’t the daleks???

mickey’s really getting on my nerves this ep

HELLO

“there’s nothing left for me here.” ‘nothing?” “no.” she’s RUTHLESS 😭 but honestly he shouldn’t be surprised at this point

JACK ☹️

“i am the bad wolf.” BITCH???? WHAT????

i got my kiss but at what cost

OH SHIT THEY LEFT JACK

all i feel is pain

that’s it??? how am i ever going to move on from eccleston? how the hell are you guys strong enough do this every season? cause i’ll tell you how i’m doing: not well, bitch!!

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Things My Dad Says That Modern AU No War Jake Sully Would Also Say:

Jake Sully is canonically a skxawng. But he’s also a little bit smooth with it, and I think he’d do it a little bit on purpose to make Neytiri and also the kids laugh.

-Neytiri and Tuk (also Spider) are the ones who will always laugh at his insane jokes. Neytiri especially. Like she always laughs. They’ve been married for like twenty years now and she’s still laughing like what he said was a surprise. Kiri and Lo’ak are NOT LAUGHING it’s NOT FUNNY shut the fuck up, Dad, oh my god. 

-Jake when Neytiri comes home from work: Neytiri, come here, let’s kiss in front of the kids and make them uncomfortable. 

-Every time they stop to get gas on a road trip and they go into the rest stop to pee while Neytiri fills the car, Jake says “Guys, don’t worry, this definitely won’t be the time she decides she can do better and just gets in the car and finally leaves us here.”

-Jake, every time Neytiri is sick: Make sure you pick the right last words for your mother in case she doesn’t wake up.

Lo’ak, always refuses to laugh at Jake’s shit: Oh really, what are your last words?

Jake, in the middle of making Neytiri tea for her sore throat: Goodbye, asshole.

Neytiri: *laughing so hard it turns into coughs*

-Every time Jake buys groceries like the good retired-veteran-stay-at-home-husband he is, he sends Neytiri a picture of the flowers and says he didn’t buy them because he knows she’d rather spend the money on the kids, and it’s their shared money anyway. He’s joking and it’s supposed to make her laugh, but she knows he’s also serious. They have five kids including latchkey child Spider, and do have to pay attention to every penny. On her birthday and on Valentine’s Day, he actually buys the flowers and presents them to her and says he scrounged the money up from behind Lo’ak’s bed. (Lo’ak: HEY!) It makes her laugh every time. It’s their cute little thing, it means he’s thinking of her every time he goes to the store even if he doesn’t spend the money every time. (Lo’ak: those are my flowers then.)

-Jake, pointing at the screen every time they watch any movie: That’s actually how me and your mother met. 

It was most egregious when they were watching Titanic. 

Lo’ak, confrontational: Oh really? You’re dead dad? And mom is like 90 years old?

Jake: Oh my god, Lo’ak, you never comment on a woman's age.

Neytiri: *hysterical laughter from the kitchen*

-Sometimes Lo’ak will forget something he needs for school and sprint back into the house to go back for it, and every time Jake and Neytiri are sitting at the kitchen table finishing their breakfast watching him and Jake goes “How can we miss you if you just won’t leave?” Neteyam copies Jake a lot and he says that shit all the time when Lo’ak, Kiri, or Spider forget something, they hate it (secretly love it).

-Kiri, complaining about what a kid did at school: -and then she told the teacher I didn’t do any of the work. Isn’t that crazy?

Jake, nodding sagely: Mhm. Do you want me to go fight her?

Neytiri: *surprised laughter*

Kiri, trying not to laugh: *deep sigh* You can’t fight a teenage girl, Dad.

Jake, pretend hurt: You think I can’t beat a teenage girl?

-Neytiri works at the hospital with Ronal. Ronal is a doctor and Neytiri is a nurse. Jake likes to put on episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and then tell Neytiri they could’ve used a better nurse during almost every scene. 

-When the Sully’s and Tonowari’s family have their first big family dinner after Lo’ak and Tsireya start dating, Jake comes down the stairs in his underwear and his stained marines t-shirt and says “I’M READY TO GO!’ and Tuk and Neytiri die laughing while Lo’ak has an aneurysm. 

[purlty23]

𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖆𝖌 𝖌𝖆𝖒𝖊 ✨

I saw this little fandom game thingie on another site and I really liked it, so I decided to bring it over here to tumblr while my apple pen charges. I’m also going to change up the rules. I’m going to list the fandoms I’ve been in, and classify them by:

Passive enjoyer = simply enjoyed it and the fan content made for it OR Creative enjoyer = actively made art, fanfic, cosplay, etc etc etc.

I’m going to tag people here but no pressure if you don’t want to do it! @miasmaghoul @lonelymentality @copiasjuicebox @iamthecomet @thediktatortot Also if you see it and want to do it, feel free.

Game under the cut since mine will be long<3

Harry Potter - creative enjoyer - My very first. This shit was a family affair in my house. I went to watch parties, themed parties. I cosplayed shittily, wrote shitty fanfic, and my walls were plastered floor to ceiling in teen magazine posters. Went to the Exhibition. Every second movie would come out in July so I would pretend it was like a birthday gift to me.

Twilight - creative enjoyer - Jfc. Don’t get me started. I still have my Edward action figure whose now missing both hands. Used to write self insert fanfic on quizzilla.com. RIP you beast of a website

The Walking Dead - passive enjoyer - This was also a family affair. Every sunday we would all gather round our shitty TV for the newest episode. I was more of a liveblogger than anything else. My dad has a bit to this day that ‘Hershel isn’t dead. He’ll be back.’ Yeah, sure dad.

Legend of Zelda - creative enjoyer - For most of my childhood I was passive, only really doodling Twilight Princess stuff sometimes. Then BOTW came out and it all changed.

Lord of the Rings - passive enjoyer - I look at Legolas and Aragorn. That’s enough for me. I don’t need creative works because I just need to look at them.

Marvel (Spider-man and Loki mostly) - creative enjoyer - I’ve been drawing these guys since birth, for better or for worse. MCU can suck my nuts but so can Loki franchise /sex DC (Batman) - creative enjoyer - Batman the Animated series did something bad to me. Now I draw Joker sometimes. Watch out, stay safe out there

Sherlock and Doctor Who - passive enjoyer - I’m putting these two together since I never really made fan art or anything, but I did attend watch parties for both on several occasions.

Supernatural - creative enjoyer - Sighs. Sighs even harder. Somewhere out there, deep in the depths of fanfic.net there’s miles of really really really bad fanfic. Somewhere…. Final Fantasy VII - creative enjoyer - Sighs far more dreamily. My favvvvv my ultimate fav. Sephiroth is my fictional other and LOMF. Many, many arts of him throughout every sketchbook I own. Also some fanfics IIRC.

TF2 - creative enjoyer - I used to draw Medic and Pyro kissing<3

Homestuck - creative enjoyer - War flashbacks. Not only was I a semi-well known fanartist, I was also a semi-well known cosplayer in my city. I was a ‘friendleader’ in my cities Homestuck fangroup and attended events, dances, etc etc etc. I was on a cosplay gif blog here on Tumblr. I ran the second most popular groupchat on MSPARP.com before it was MXRP.com. I had beef with mods. Most of my relationships at that time were forged in the fires of LOHAC. I still see my art of Dave in MCR black parade uniform around sometimes. Dramatical Murder - creative enjoyer - To no ones surprise. Yeah. I like the yaoi dissociation game. Dream Daddy - creative enjoyer - SHOUTOUT DREAM DADDY!!!!!!!!!!!!! Evil priest Joseph lovers rise UP. Didn’t do much, but there’s some art floating around out there.

Voltron: LD - passive enjoyer - Thank GOD I never made anything for this. However, I was active in the kin community so thats a huge L. I also ate uppppp stuff about it and sheith still fucks.

Overwatch - creative enjoyer - Sometimes you’re a Genji main and the world is so so hard for you. That’s how I used to live my life, then I got better.

Final Fantasy XV - creative enjoyer - Second LOMF. My old art blog is stocked full of chocobro content, mostly fanart of the boys and meme redraws. Also used to cosplay Noctis CONSTANTLY! Here’s an old tiktok

The Band Ghost and Sleep Token - creative enjoyer - (((((((: Hi guys

[tiptapricot]

Moon Knight City of the Dead Issue 1… why…?

So. New MK side run has begun, the hyped up full on debut of Layla/new Scarlet Scarab in the comics, with a premise that most writers would twist into an epic and breathtaking journey.

We don’t get that here.

And I have a lot of thoughts on why and how I feel so frustrated with what we got. There’s pieces of something awesome, potential to go to some really fascinating places, and yet it is held back in almost every aspect, creating something messy and clunky that makes me mad to read.

(This is long btw)

First off though, some things I did enjoy!

I really love the art and coloring of this issue. The anatomy and movement and shadows, the stylization of character’s faces and costumes, the sprawling city with its deep reds and blues that feel saturated and weighty. It’s great. Besides a few moments that it comes out of left field with some bad stuff (Layla’s whole face at the end or the MK mask w teeth during the memory slideshow like whaTtt is that), it’s super solid and made for a very enjoyable looking comic.

It was also really fun to see Badr for a little. I think it would’ve been cool to get more, and the pacing of things as I’ll get to later sapped his importance in the story for me some, making him feel more like a prop or a plot device to get it going, but overall it was lovely to see him again. And it was cool to see him being a doctor as well, as we haven’t seen that as recently in MacKay! Always a joy my dear sir please come back soon.

The story in concept. Going to the underworld, detaching a headmate supernaturally to journey to a different plane of reality to save one life, and meeting a dead ally along the way is fascinating stuff, an idea that inspires me to want to explore it myself.

Because (and now it’s time to get into the stuff I didn’t like) the writing doesn’t do this idea justice at all.

This is not the worst MK comic ever rn, not their worst writing. It’s not as violently ableist or antisemitic as things like Bemis or making a joke out of MK like some others, but it’s just stupid, and what it glosses over or gets wrong is weird and uncomfortable and harmful in its own right.

To start this isn’t my Marc. His guilt is not one of punishment for penance, of believing he’s sinned and needs to be washed clean by pain. He is a man stuck in bad coping mechanisms and trying to pretend he’s not. He’s a man who hates himself and uses violence as what I would describe as a form of self harm. But it is not with the goal of erasing his past.

Yes, he runs from the person of Marc Spector, he runs from the idea and the responsibility, but Marc doesn’t try to forget. He holds onto things with a vice grip and never lets himself drop it. He believes in his own mythos and is grappling with his complicated and traumatized history to remember he can love and care and trust people again, that the work of making his life better is not solely on his shoulders. That’s what MacKay’s been dealing with.

MacKay Marc is guilty and self flagellating but in a way he tries not to think about, that he brushes over. He puts on an air of confident collectedness and has more hate for Marc as a concept then specifically his actions, and he’s still able to move forward and find a type of momentum and bravado in the MK suit.

Or in simpler terms: yes Marc has guilt. He does not have this kind of guilt.

The first few pages read so strangely, just this over dramatic spiel that feels more like daredevil than moon knight, like a rehashed dramatic intro to a moody sad 90s comic. And not in a good way. It’s not deep it’s just annoying and tedious and the prose is clunky and again, extremely off in its vibes and message. I think it could’ve been alright, if some of the talk of his guilt had been shifted and the narration hadn’t continued constantly throughout the rest of the issue (which I’ll get to later), but as is in its full context it’s just… weird.

In addition to the weird guilt vibes, there’s further issues with the Khonshu religiosity in this.

Khonshu isn’t something Marc worships, he’s something he uses for his own means. He’ll call on him or talk about being the priest of the mission, but that’s because Khonshu doesn’t have oversight, he’s a tool and form of direction and theming, and at the story’s core Marc is the priest for his mission, not this god’s.

At points in this issue he genuinely sounds dedicated though, and it shifts the flavor of earlier pieces more in line with his usual monologuing to seeming more like strange spiritual devotion. Especially calling Khonshu the greatest of great gods, or saying that him being in the underworld is Khonshu’s mission. It changes his actions from that of Marc to that of a real Khonshu follower and its…. Just weird. It’s all just weird and very ooc.

On top of that, there’s no mention or interrogation or even presence of discussing Judaism alongside all of this. I’m not Jewish myself but have had multiple convos around the topic w those who are n who have made their own posts discussing it and can add on more nuance n info to this should they like (bc more thoughts for discussion are always awesome), but just on a surface level it’s strange. It’s strange to have a plot revolving around going to another belief system’s afterlife and not at all bringing up how it clashes or relates to Jewish beliefs. Yes Marc isn’t really actively practicing anymore but I’d hazard Jake probably is, and Marc has still talked about his connection to his faith and how it’s impacted his time as moon knight and serving Khonshu.

The text treats the Egyptian pantheon belief system as the True and Accepted default here, with Marc not even discussing anything about going to an afterlife he doesn’t belong in (and shouldn’t even have) as a Jewish man, or even thinking about how Badr discussing Ka conflicts with Jewish beliefs on the soul and how Neshamah differ.

And yes, Marc works regularly with the very real Egyptian pantheon and mystical systems but it’s in a different way, and under a different context and understanding by readers of his acceptance of it.

A whole other layer of depth, conflict, and exploration could’ve been added by really digging into the theological implications of this plot, of a Jewish soul in the Egyptian afterlife, and yet it’s not brought up at all, not referenced or mentioned and it makes it all feel weirdly out of place, or like stuff is being glossed over.

That, on top of Jake and Steven (not to mention the entire rest of the main mission cast) being completely absent in mention, consultation, presence, or anything just feeds into this strange sense of Pepose wanting Marc to be the idea he has of him in his head, this guilty, sad, and violent merc serving a moon god with not a ton else. And yes again those are all aspects of Marc, but there is nuance to each of those aspects and treating him as a singlet with no thoughts on the conflicts in faith of his present is… just weird.

I don’t know if he’ll be treated as a singlet the whole run, but the fact that the body’s soul being sent into the afterlife has not already brought in any system conflict at all is an issue. Is it their collective soul? Is it just Marc’s? How does this comic understand alter soul distinction? Has it thought about it at all? I mean the answer is no but the thing is it should’ve.

That’s where so many of my issues with this come from though: choices just being… not good. Not thought out or in line with the characters and world. The writing is off and out of place and gOD THE CONSTANT NARRATION IS GRATING!!

I don’t know why it was chosen for Marc to novel write his thoughts and observations the whole issue but it’s bad. It goes past introducing plots or observations that can’t be shown in text to either:

1. Filling space that doesn’t need to be filled

2. Restating what has just been said or shown in a panel (“we have the power of the four horsemen” “wow they just got the power of the four horsemen”)

3. At worst, telling us stuff that was not indicated at all by anything else (“oh I know something is wrong here even though I have not been given enough reason to pique that suspicion” “oh I reunite with Layla and hold her and take her in but haha you don’t see that ig”)

It’s annoying and makes reading things difficult because he’s blabbering on the whole time in places he DOESNT NEED TO!! And it makes the action and emotional movement feel awkward and forced. I don’t need to know every second of Marc’s thoughts Pepose I can parse out things with my eyes I promise you that. Also can he stop talking about penance for TWO SECONDS!!!

The worst part is narration works when done well! When it highlights things that can’t be shown in art or gives some bits of exploration into feelings or exposition, but we don’t need it in every panel. It actually confused some parts of where to look for me by telling me what was about to happen before it did. Stop being like “I thought it was over but—“ JUST LET US SEE ITS NOT OVER!!

Another moment (similar ish to the start) where the narration would’ve worked for me (if it was not surrounded by just more constant narrating monologue) is when Marc first arrives in the Duat. The prose is pretty, it’s vibrant, it describes things the audience wouldn’t be able to pick up from static pictures and helps to set the scene. The only issue is that it doesn’t stand on its own, it’s not an interjection of observations and thoughts, it’s another entry in the never ending cycle of Marc just talking. And it loses some of its luster because of that.

There’s also just a handful of pieces of either dialogue or thoughts that (in the context of Steven and Jake being absent at the moment despite not being absent at the point in time this should be taking place) make me feel very uncomfortable with Pepose’s vibes on their mental health. Some lines that rubbed me the wrong way in context include “The rage fills within me—and suddenly I have a plan. That said, it would help if my plan wasn’t dangerously insane.” “You know me Badr, mental discipline is my middle name.” And a few similar ones I don’t want to reread again for.

They’re just unnecessary man. We don’t need vaguely or directly ableist vibes in words with MK anymore. It works if it feels like it’s coming from Marc’s internalized ableism IE when he was talking about being called crazy during the discussion with Steven and Jake and Jake called him out for it, but when it’s obvious it’s just how the author sees things it sucks!

Stop using insane, stop using crazy, stop being like “oh I’m so good at keeping myself in check,” WE DONT NEED IT!! ALSO THEY R AT A GENERAL POINT OF SYSTEM COMMUNICATION N HARMONY RN!!

Which also just… man this feels like it’s trying to introduce MK instead of continuing an already established and well under way arc. Yea, this isn’t MacKay writing it, but it’s still in the continuity and set up for his run and like… sorry not sorry but I think you should take that context into account if you’re going to be working within it???

Instead the story props itself up by trying to introduce everything at once and Marc feels like he’s starting from the bottom of development.

And speaking of introducing everything at once! Oh boy the pacing!

No one besides Badr is consulted before Marc goes into the Duat, Badr just. Sends him there. There’s no real build up for why there’s a need go that far, for what the threat is or why Marc would go to these lengths so suddenly. Like yeah I know he wants to save a kid who’s a traveler of the night, but like… Others have died or almost died on his watch and he’s never gone to this point before, even though it seems like it’s always something they’ve had as an option. Like… ok ig if Soldier hadn’t been vamped he would just be dead lmao (though also hey! Why and how do souls end up in this afterlife? Do they have to believe in the gods? Do they have to be in some way tied to the pantheon? Is it just where souls go if they’re near moon knight lmaO? If you want to have your afterlife plot you have to do the worldbuilding for it)

And while yes, a lot of this is because This Plot Wasnt Thought Up During Earlier Parts Of Mackay, it also isn’t introduced in a way that feels natural or makes sense.

Events just Happen. Mysteries or drives are just Said without a good basis for why they’re there. Again, this cult was talked about as just kinda a sadistic gang but then they’re a big deal? And oh the kid is dying and oh he’s worth going to the afterlife for and OH WERE JUST HERE NOW and “oh there’s a conspiracy I’ve decided with no real evidence” and HEY FOUND THE GUY and—Suddenly a whole lot of what is happening. God heart full on cult horsemen of the apocalypse memory flashback and BOMBS NOW APPARENTLY and LAYLA and MK BIG PAST BADDIES BOSS FIGHT INCOMING!!

Like ohhhh my god stuff is so rushed and happens so inorganically and with no time to really understand what’s happening. It’s a type of story where my suspension of disbelief isn’t there and it fully just feels like seeing the writer trying to get to the end goal of what they want to write about (moon knight fighting old villains) as quickly as possible. And it SUCKS! Like this genuinely should’ve been more than one issue, there should’ve been at least sOme more build up to gEtting to the city of the dead in the first place, no matter additionally uncovering a plot of some sort happening and Layla turning up.

It’s just…. It’s so rushed and strange and forced and it didn’t have to be and IT MAKES ME MAD IT IS and it’s just not enjoyable to read. It all feels so shallow and stilted and weird, all while having this underlying idea with so much weight, some generally gorgeous art, some moments that could’ve been really awesome, and last but not least…. Literally a good reference to doing a Duat plot well.

This whole mini run is for MCU synergy, bringing Layla in, exploring the Duat and it’s lore, and again yes, the run isn’t done, but it just…. Compared to the MCU plot for the Duat this feels so…. GraaggHhggh. Especially when it comes to system interaction and exploring different painful memories that effect headmates in different ways.

It’s just. It was an extremely frustrating read from both a technical writing standpoint and a character exploration standpoint, and it worries me and doesn’t excite me at all for future issues. Like we’ll sEe but goddamn this is not a good start no matter how it plays out and it doesn’t give me confidence if it turns out I have to read several more issues of this kind of stuff.

Petty nitpicks speed run because there wasn’t enough enjoyable padding for them to not stand out!

I don’t know if Pepose could’ve specified or not but Marc’s not drinking vodka in the opening scene, it looks more like whiskey or something similar by the bottle, again nailing home how strangely off this Marc is from the Marc he’s meant to be with how Mackay has built him up.

Why do they use Duat and City of the Dead like they’re interchangeable titles it’s just the Duat like I get calling it “the city of the dead” since it is that but like. Let that just b the run title they shouldn’t be calling it that like it’s a final name.

They misspell Dr. Alraune’s name lmao

How did the kid get… hurt..? The only point in the opening fight I can think he maybe got hit was with the gunfire but it didn’t seem like that was aimed towards him and there wasn’t any moment of having a detail in the background showing him get injured. And he wasn’t lethally injured at the start so ???

What… is the continuity between the Hydra vs Karnak Cowboys fight we see in MacKay and the flashback here. They were on an empty road there when they crashed? And now they’re in the heart of the city? AlsO bOMBS???

Anyway all I’ll wrap it up with is when the only thing I genuinely smile at is the cameo and namedrop of Apocalypse you know something is wrong with your story lmaO