#seriously i should not still remember this

[screamlet]

hi hellooo for the intimacy prompts: ♟ Patching up a wound

well hello i'm back and it turns out i did have another one of these! in the same urgent care/dr. donna universe as the other patching up a wound fic. 1.2k, established bucktommy, future fic, set about a year+ after 8x15 (so canon compliant for 8x15). from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt list

and this is the last one!!!!!!!!! thank you all for the prompts!!!!! they're all available here and i'll post them to the ao3 at some point.

---

"Hey, you're back!" Dr. Donna says cheerily. "They should have told you at the front desk, though: I don't do loyalty cards. The 10th visit isn't free."

"No offense, but let's not see each other eight more times," Tommy says as politely as he can manage. (He can't manage much.)

Dr. Donna shoots him a wry look. "I don't just do stitches. I showed up for other parts of medical school, too, I promise."

"It's okay, it's me this time," Evan says, proud of his several-inches-long gash for some reason. "I was fixing this wooden post in our garden and, I don't even know, this happened."

Dr. Donna checks out Evan's bicep and winces. Tommy hasn't looked at the wound since Evan yelled in pain from the yard; they immediately covered it with some paper towels before jumping in the car to urgent care, but it's still too vivid in his imagination. "Jeez, it sure did happen. Shirley already gave you a tetanus shot so I'm just here for the fun part, huh?"

"Let 'em rip," Evan says. "Or not, since they're stitches. Hey, do you use the same kind of stitches for everything you sew up or do you mix it up? Like is it your choice or do you have to use a different kind of stitch for—"

Tommy's been doing a great job, he thinks, of Saturday afternoon moral support here at their local urgent care, but he's still not great with the stitches thing, with the doctors thing. People would think, pretty reasonably, that seeing as much trauma and outright carnage as he does on a daily basis for the past 20 years would mean that he's used to it, he's seen it all, and that's true—except. This is someone he loves getting a needle and thread jabbed through their skin several times because he let a particularly large bird distract him from repairing one of their raised garden beds. It's not the same thing.

"Evan," Tommy interrupts. "I love you so much, I do, you're the love of my life and there's no one I'd rather share all of this with, but you have got to stop talking about sewing your skin together before I throw up everywhere."

"Ooh, that'd be messy," Dr. Donna says. She looks away from Evan's arm and asks Tommy, "Do you want to lie down in one of the other rooms?"

"Yeah, Tommy, it's okay," Evan says. "Seriously, she's so quick."

"I'm so quick," Dr. Donna, Evan's new best friend, assures him. "Shirley, get him a compress and some smelling salts, and put him in room 6, huh?"

"No, I'm fine, I am," Tommy says, even though lying down sounds amazing right now. "I'm here for moral support and I'm doing it, right? I'm being so supportive. I just—"

"Tommy," Evan says, his voice gentle. "I promise, you'll be a lot more supportive if you're okay in another room, alright? You're making me nervous."

"Okay," Tommy says slowly. "Okay, I'll go, but I'm not abandoning you, I promise, I'm just—"

Evan tugs on the front of Tommy's shirt and pulls him in for a quick kiss. "You're not abandoning me. I know that. I'll be right out to get you, okay?"

"Okay," Tommy says. "I'll be right in—that room she said. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"I know you're not," Evan says. "I know you're here."

---

Shirley takes him to another room and helps him to lie on the exam bed. The lights are dim, he's got a cold compress, and for one reason or another, he's trying to remember Ian McKellen's monologue from The Two Towers. Through fire and water, from the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth…

"Something something, smote his ruin upon the mountainside, ugh, I know that's not all of it," Tommy grumbles under his breath. Suddenly there's a quiet knock at the door and it's Evan, smiling like they're anywhere else doing anything else.

"Shh, you're good, don't sit up," Evan says as he pulls over a stool. "I'm all set. You wanna hear how many?"

"What'd you bet, 12?"

"I guessed 12 and I got 15! Same as you!"

Tommy closes his eyes. "You're so excited about that."

"What? We have matching scars. That's pretty cool." Evan pauses. "I wonder if she gave me an extra so we'd have the same. Dr. Donna wouldn't do that, right? Is that malpractice? I guess it was just a coincidence. I don't really care."

It's a short rolling stool, so Evan stands up and leans over Tommy. He lifts the compress so he can press a kiss to Tommy's forehead, then puts it back. "I'm sorry I got all carried away with gross stuff. How are you feeling?"

"Stupid. Really stupid." Tommy sighs. "I've popped shoulder joints back into place, tied off bleeds with tourniquets and t-shirts and whatever I have, literally held someone's guts together once, and I just…"

"Hey, hey." Evan leans down again and kisses Tommy's lips. "Stop apologizing, you don't have to prove you're a big tough guy. I know you are. Everyone's got their stuff. I can make myself a little sick just thinking about cutting up raw chicken breast. It's gross as hell."

"This isn't gross kitchen stuff," Tommy protests. "You needed me for something serious and I—"

"Chickened out?"

"Once I can stand and open my eyes for more than five seconds, I'm kicking you in the shin."

"Yeah, that's fair." Evan kisses him again. "Tommy, it's okay. When haven't you come through for me when I needed you?"

Tommy tries nodding without making himself nauseated. "Let's make a list of acceptable urgent care conversation topics on your phone, I'll keep some good noise-canceling headphones in the glove compartment, and neither of us will ever get injured again, okay? You heard Dr. Donna, she doesn't do discounts."

"Actually, since she teaches at the medical school, too, she's giving a talk next week or so about some new research in—" Evan catches himself. "Research in medical stuff. I'm gonna go to that and you have the house to yourself."

"Sounds like a blast, send her my best."

Tommy opens his eyes to the dim room and Evan standing over him, looking so soft and concerned. "I'm okay."

"I know you are," Evan says. "And this doesn't count, okay?"

"Doesn't…"

"You didn't leave me," Evan whispers. "I know you never will."

Tommy doesn't have anything else to say, so Evan kisses him again, then presses his ear to Tommy's chest, right over his heart. Tommy lifts his hand and rests it on Evan's head, fingers flexing gently in his curls until Evan stands up again.

"Oh, wait, actually," Evan says.

"You're too excited, please stop this ride."

Evan digs into his pocket and holds up a handful of lollipops. "She let me take one of each of the citrus ones, and a strawberry one. They're all yours."

Tommy sticks them all in his shirt pocket for easy access later. "When you run off with Dr. Donna, remember that I tried to be a good boyfriend, okay?"

"Shut up," Evan laughs, kissing him again. "Redheads… are a little my type, but not as much as you are."

"Are you helping or hurting, Evan? Helping or hurting?"

[shanastoryteller]

Sam’s in the middle of transcribing a scroll by hand in a language that no human has spoken in a few thousand years. Destroying it takes another seal out of play, but also the information inside is valuable and ancient and it should be preserved on principal. He’d tried taking photos it, but whatever magic is surrounding it means they all come out blank. He’d asked Castiel if he could make a replica and he’d looked at Sam, mildly offended and even more mildly confused, and said, “An angel is not a printing press.”

Which Sam took as a no, unfortunately, because his hand is cramping and his eyes ache, and seriously, he and Castiel are some of the biggest heavy hitters on earth right now, and they can’t make a copy of a stupid scroll?

Castiel could have at least offered to help. Dick.

Then, very faintly:

Sam?

He looks up automatically, but Castiel is still gone, probably to avoid Sam giving him shit over not helping him transcribe.

Uh, can you – I mean, if you can hear this, then, well. Ah, hell, this is dumb…

He frowns. It’s not coming in great, like a staticky radio, but he thinks that might be Bobby. It doesn’t sound like an emergency. He’s known Bobby practically his whole life, did a significant amount of growing up in that man’s house, and he remembers how he treated him and Dean after Dad died, how he didn’t try to fill the void but made it all a little more bearable. He doesn’t want Bobby to look at him like he’s a monster. He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of Bobby pulling a gun on him after he escaped the panic room, but he can imagine it and he’d rather not have to live it.

A woman’s voice, loud and confident and crystal clear. Sam, we need your help.

He breathes in and then when he exhales, he’s standing outside of a warehouse. Megan Masters is in front of him, almost unrecognizable from what she’d been while Meg had been possessing her. She’s tanner, wearing sturdy boots and jeans and a large flannel that looks vaguely familiar over a high-necked black long sleeve. Her hair’s longer, which really throws him, more honey blonde than ice, and down to just below her chin, the length adding waves to her hair. How long has it been since he brought her back to life? The days have all started to blur together, but her hair is so much longer than it was, and it doesn’t seem like it’s been quite that long.

She smiles at him, a gentleness there that Meg had never been able to replicate. “Hi, Sam.”

“Hey,” he says, feeling his lips curl up in return. “You look good.”

Megan tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing a ladder of piercings that he doesn’t think she had before. “Thanks. I feel good.”

“Good,” he echoes softly and means it. Meg had rode her for a year and hadn’t bothered to keep her body in proper working order. Not that he and Dean had really helped with that by throwing her out a window, although most people don’t survive being possessed for a year regardless. Beyond that, there’s the real horror of being stuffed in a corner of her mind for a year, only catching glimpses of what her body was doing, and probably only of the worst stuff that Meg would taunt her with or stuff she didn’t care about Megan knowing, snatches of food that she wouldn’t let Megan eat or another missed call from someone who knew her and missed her. Megan being good after that isn’t a small thing. He honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if he took the life he gave back to her and got rid of it herself after all that.

“Sam.”

He turns and there’s Bobby, but not just Bobby, but five other hunters, a couple that he vaguely recognizes. He tenses, not sure what to expect. They’re all looking at him with some degree of disbelief or wariness, but none of the weapons in their hands are pointed at him, so he supposes that’s something.

Bobby’s eyes are wide, something that’s almost wonder there as he looks Sam over. Megan says, “I told you he’d come.”

He nods, taking a tentative step towards Sam, then another. He’s close now and Sam resists the urge to fidget like he would anytime he did something he wasn’t supposed to at Bobby’s, like reading a possibly cursed book or messing with stuff in the junkyard. He thinks this might be a little worse than that.

Except Bobby reaches out, gripping the back of his neck and squeezing. His voice is choked when he says, “You damn near gave me a heart attack the last time I saw you, son. Thought I was looking at a ghost.”

Sam relaxes into it, offering Bobby a crooked grin. “Sorry. What’s going on? What do you need help with?”

“There’s a demon in there,” says one of the hunters, who’s name might possibly be Kyle. He’s pointing to the warehouse. “People have been going missing. The girl seems to think it’s too much for us to handle.”

Both Megan and Bobby make identical expressions at her being referred to as the girl. As if a woman who’d been possessed for a year wouldn’t have a decent grasp on how dangerous demons can be. Sam looks to her and asks, “What’s going on?”

“It’s Alistair,” she says.

His blood runs cold and he lets out a snarl that has two of the hunters tightening their grips on their weapons. Alistair. The demon that tortured his brother for forty years, who tore him apart piece by piece in every way a soul can stripped, who’d nearly killed him again when he’s escaped from the devil’s trap the angels had fucked up.

Alistair had overpowered Castiel the first time around, a more powerful demon than he was an angel, but Sam had killed him with nothing more than his own power and a few mouthfuls of Ruby’s blood. He was nothing to Sam before and he’ll be even less to him now. “Good instincts. He’d have torn you apart the second you walked inside.” He probably knows they’re here and is waiting for his newest victims to hand deliver themselves to him. “I’ll handle this. Stay here.”

“Woah, hold on,” Possibly Kyle says. “Look I don’t know what you are, but you’re not leaving us out here. We’ve been tracking this thing for weeks.”

What he is. His lip curls, but it’s not like he can really say anything against it. Who knows what he is anymore? Castiel doesn’t, Ramiel doesn’t, he sure as hell doesn’t.

“Whatever,” he says, turning away from them. “Stay behind me if you don’t want to die.”

Maybe they would have continued arguing with him, but he doesn’t give them the chance, striding forward. The door isn’t even locked, but then again, why would it be? Venus fly traps exist with their mouths wide open for a reason.

As soon as he steps inside, he’s hit with the thick, metallic scent of blood and something more foul. It’s not hard to see why, with the floor covered in blood and bodies in various states of dismemberment around them – bellies emptied, faces torn off, skin peeled. He hears someone behind him retch, but he doesn’t bother to check who.

Alistair turns to face them, a drenched apron and a dripping knife in his hand. He’s in the same vessel as before. What’s with that? Castiel seems to have a preference for Jimmy Novak and now Alistair’s once more taken control of this random pediatrician. “Ah, excellent, I’d just finished. I was worried I’d get bored.”

There’s a woman on his table that has an uncountable number of cuts across her body and tongue and eyes gone, so she couldn’t see what was happening to her and she couldn’t scream. There’s a body’s worth of blood pooled beneath the table and she isn’t breathing.

Sam narrows his eyes and Alistair slams into the wall, letting out a surprised grunt. He stalks forward, ignoring how blood squelches beneath his feet. “How did you get up here?”

This shouldn’t be happening. Before it took Lilith to get Alistair out of hell. They haven’t even opened the devil’s gate here.

He grins, showing all his teeth. “Ah, the infamous boy king, Sam Winchester.”

“Answer me,” he orders, yanking on the demon’s essence and twisting it inside his vessel, just like he had before. Alistair groans, writhing against the pain, and Sam doesn’t let up. He can compel demons from their actions to what they’re made from at the tiniest level, including unmaking them, unravelling what’s left of what used to be their soul until there’s nothing left. When he’s merciful, it’s fast.

Surrounded by the bodies of his victims, knowing what he did to his brother in another life, Sam doesn’t feel particularly merciful.

“Uriel,” Alistair gasps. “Gave me an express trip up and told me to do my worst. You’ve made some powerful enemies, Sammy boy.”

An angel did this? The same one that let Alistair get loose before, he thinks, although he’d been too worried and furious to get the specifics from Castiel after the fact. He’d expected a direct attack from them when they got fed up with him trying to sabotage their apocalypse. Not this. Not unleashing some of the worst demons upon the world to, what, piss him off? Teach him a lesson?

“I am a powerful enemy,” he says and then rips Alistair apart on level no one but him can see, until he’s nothing motes of black dust mixing into the bloody floor to make a disgusting, dark imprint. His vessel is dead, of course. Alistair probably burned through him just for the fun of it.

This isn’t right. It’s not fair. Sam’s doing all this to save the world, to make it better, so Dean doesn’t suffer in hell and Dad doesn’t die and all the people that suffered after the breaking of the first seal and Lucifer’s return don’t have to suffer this time around. That’s the point of all this, of turning him into something worse than a monster or a freak, it’s why he’s willing to give up his life a few years early. He’s not supposed to be making things worse.

He has to fix it.

Sam bend down, hand on the side of the man’s throat, and wills his body to life. He has Azazel’s blood and Ramiel’s blood inside him, he is Lucifer’s true vessel and blood that should burn through him and burn him out only gives him more strength to borrow against.

He’s stronger than he was before. He has the blood of another prince of hell shoring him up. He’s been practicing.

The man gasps, coughing, and then his hazy eyes focus on Sam, then their surroundings, and he leans over and empties his stomach. It’s not like he can make the floor worse than it already is. “God,” he moans, which Sam tries not to find ironic. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do this,” he says, kindly, gently. “But I need your help to fix it. What’s your name?”

He doesn’t, probably, but it can’t hurt.

“Mark,” he says shakily. “How can I…”

“Put them back together again,” Sam says. “I’ll handle the rest.”

He doesn’t know what the hunters think of this and he doesn’t care. They want to know what he is? This is it. Something that can disintegrate demons and make a master torturer cry out in pain and who will yank people from their comfortable afterlife to live with the horror of their death just so their deaths aren’t on his conscious.

He’s trying to save the world and he’s being selfish about it and if they want to kill him for it, they’re more than welcome to try.

Sam goes over to the woman next. He doesn’t know where her eyes are but he assumes the tongue on the ground is hers. He picks it up off the floor, ignoring the way revulsion shudders through him, and places it back in her mouth before laying his hands on her chest. First the wounds outside, then inside, then regrowing a new pair of eyes and attaching the tongue back in place. The soul is pulled back towards its now living body, but it needs a nudge, some help, and Sam provides that.

She comes back to life crying.

“Here,” Mark says shakily. “I think – this is all of him.”

He turns from her, not knowing what to say, if there is anything to say, but he sees Megan go over to her out of the corner of his eyes, sees her pulling off her flannel and draping over her shoulders.

An old man, ripped limb from limb and all the fingers torn off. Mark’s pressed the pieces of him together and Sam nods, laying hands on him, and feels his blood boiling in his veins as he calls forth the power of archangel, of the devil, of a god, and restores breath to his lungs.

Another man, a woman, and when he gets to a teenager who’s teeth and fingernails were all torn out, Sam feels liquid run down his face and hopes it’s sweat. One more person, two more, three more, all gasping to life beneath his hands. Then a woman with a baby who’d been torn from her and that’s tricky, that might be too much for him, but he refuses to let it be. This happened to her because of him, because he’s going against the will of heaven to save the world, and he won’t let anyone suffer for that if he can help it.

She breathes and he stumbles to the next body, Mark’s voice his only guide as blackness creeps into the edges of his vision.

It’s the last one, just a boy, and Mark is placing what organs he can back inside of him. Sam falls to his knees next to them, taking in gasping, desperate breaths, no matter how rancid the air is. He hurts. It’s something different than the burn of new blood, an ache inside of him that is so close to snapping into something worse.

He’s not an archangel, he’s not the devil, he’s not a god. Acting like one comes with consequences.

“Sam.” Bobby’s hand tentatively settles on his shoulder. “Maybe you should stop. It’s alright. You’ve done enough.” His touch tightens. “You don’t look so good. Are you – you’re bleeding, Sam. I don’t think you’re supposed to be bleeding.”

He raises a shaking hand to his face. Tears have been replaced by blood, he feels it crusting at the edges of his mouth, out his ears. The skin on the back of his hand is pale, almost grey, almost like the corpses he keeps touching.

There’s only one more.

So what if it kills him? Castiel can bring him back. Probably. All the demons who want him on the throne of hell with at least be thrilled when he shows up in the flames of damnation.

Sam ignores him, ignores the way his whole body is trembling and he can’t seem to get enough air, chest tight, and lays his hands on the boy’s chest. He looks so small underneath them. Sam did this and he’s going to fix it.

He just sees the boy’s eyes open as his slides shut, as his body collapses in on itself. Bobby’s holding him up, face pressed into the soft material of Bobby’s flannel and his voice frantic and impossible to understand as he shouts in Sam’s hair, as his everything fades just that much more and he slips into that darkness.

He fixed it.

Apocalypse Never

They help Dad into the cabin, more coherent than he was when they first broke him out, and Sam heads back to the car for their bags, for the Colt, and tries not to think about how everything has gone so quickly to shit. Mom and Jessica’s killer got away, again, but they’re all alive. That’s not nothing, that’s –

The pain hits him so completely and suddenly that he has no chance to brace himself for it. Usually it builds, first prickling pain then greater, but this is something else. It feels like nails are being shoved into his skull, images coming almost too fast for him to follow. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until it stops, until he comes to with his head in his brother’s lap, Dean’s arms pinning him down and his face white and terrified above him. “Sammy? Sammy, you’re bleeding. What’s wrong?”

His throat is too raw and tight to speak even if he wanted to. He does want to, but he can’t, he can’t say a goddamn thing.

I saved the world for you, he thinks wildly, and I didn’t even get to keep you. How fucked up is that?

~

He doesn’t know if his future self couldn’t send it all back any further, or if he thought that this would give Sam less time to fuck things up.

For a couple terrifying minutes, Sam had taken control of Lucifer. For a couple exhilarating minutes, Sam had the power of an archangel.

That sending the knowledge of the future back four years in the past was the best thing he could think to do with it leaves Sam with a poor opinion of the man he became. Then again, he had saved the world, so. There’s that.

He doesn’t want to think of the him that had fallen into the pit with Lucifer and Michael. He hopes he can save him by making different choices, but maybe he can’t. Alternate universes, or parallel ones, or whatever. Maybe that Sam is damned for good and the best he could do was save a different version of himself, a different version of his brother.

There’s not much point in wondering about it. He’ll never know either way.

It’s memories with no emotions, thank fuck, because just the knowledge of it all is enough to drive him to his knees, to edge him to weeping and whimpering and slitting his wrists if he lets it.

He’s not going to. He has work to do. There will be time to fall apart after, when the world is safe. When Dean is safe.

Dean after Dad had died and given him that ultimatum had been bad enough. Dean after forty years in hell had been nearly unrecognizable.

He wipes the blood from his face, ushers Dean back inside, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

Dean figures out it’s Azazel in Dad’s body and they’re pinned to the wall and Sam waits until Azazel is hovering over him, hand next to his head as he tilts his head back and breathes over Sam’s lips. It’s a torture and a powerplay, to let the want in his eyes come out in his father’s face, to make it John’s body that’s pressed so nauseatingly close to his own.

Sam isn’t the same person he was four years ago, ten minutes ago.

Breaking out of Azazel’s hold is easy. He’s using the equivalent of a single finger to keep them down, like pinning down a butterfly, and it's only enough until it isn’t.

He grabs Azazel’s face and pulls him close, hears the beginning of his laughter before Sam seals their mouths together. He’s making a deal here, selling his soul sure as anything, just not with Azazel.

Azazel leans into it, just like Sam knew he would, shoving his tongue in Sam’s mouth and getting off at his instinctive flinch of disgust, of the way Dean’s screaming bloody murder behind him. Azazel hasn’t hurt Dean yet. Sam’s going to make sure he never will.

He bites down hard. Blood fills his mouth and he sucks on his tongue, drinking as much as he can. It doesn't tase like iron, not like it should, instead it's sweet and thick like honey. He thought Azazel would pull back now, but he’s still laughing into Sam’s mouth, even bites the inside of his cheek to add to the blood from his tongue, and he just lets Sam drink his fill. Of course, he doesn’t know what Sam knows. If Sam had done this the first time, the only thing the blood would have done would be to get him high and useless.

It means he gets more than a mouthful, that it’s long minutes of keeping his eyes closed and swallowing and trying not to think too hard about how it’s Dad’s hands on him and Dad’s hard on at his thigh and Dad’s tongue he’s sucking on. He’s already got four years’ worth of nightmares in his head. No need to add more than necessary.

His skin is buzzing, feeling stretched out over him like his body is too big for it suddenly, almost like the aches of growing pains but more electric. Azazel pulls back and licks up the side of his face, leaving blood and spit behind, and breathes into his ear, “If you missed me feeding you, boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

He shoves Azazel back without moving his hands, hard enough that he stumbles, and he has to move fast, before he gets a smart idea like snapping Dad’s neck or bursting his heart. He raises his hand and he’d settle for an exorcism, but power is lying heavy and thick in his veins. Destroying Lilith nearly killed him and Azazel is more powerful than Lilith and the blood he drank shouldn’t be nearly enough.

But fear sparks in Azazel’s yellow eyes and he starts choking, black smoke leaking from his ears and out his mouth. “How-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He remembers killing Samhain, killing Alastair, killing Lilith. He knows what to do.

Azazel dies screaming. Mom and Jessica are avenged. It’s not as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

Dad is on his hands and knees, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Sam knows from experience that being possessed isn’t pleasant.

“Sammy?”

He forces himself to look over, sees his brother approaching him with hands outstretched. The fear hasn’t gone anywhere even with Azazel dead, even with Dad alive, even though he doesn’t have any of the devastating injuries he sustained last time.

He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of the first time Dean saw him drinking demon blood, but he imagines it was something like this. “I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again, but Dad’s getting to his feet, Dad’s looking at the Colt, and Sam can’t die yet. He still has work to do.

It’s not a conscious thought, not something he actively tries to do, it’s just one minute he’s there in a cabin with his father and brother and the next he’s in the middle of a field, the night air crisp and clear and a million stars shining above him.

He couldn’t do that before.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, because he doesn’t remember what drinking demon blood felt like, but he remembers describing it, and this isn’t right. He should be drained after that, should feel almost normal again, but instead it’s like there are bees pinging around inside him, like there’s molten lava in his veins, like he’s dying.

He’s dying, he realizes suddenly, the power threatening to eat him alive. He looks down at his arms, like he’s expecting to see them crisping up beneath moonlight, but they look normal, like skin. Of course it’s not killing him, no matter what it feels like. He’s Lucifer’s perfect vessel. There’s no power his body can’t contain, none except God’s, maybe, and it looks like he’s long past making house calls.

It won’t kill him, but it hurts like hell, and he can’t think, he needs to burn it off somehow. He’s never had this problem before, not even when he drank all that blood for Lucifer.

He’s standing in Bobby’s living room and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the body on his kitchen table wrapped in a white sheet. He doesn’t know how Bobby got rid of the paramedics, if he’s maybe holding the body for her family, but Sam thinks he knows how to get rid of some of the itching along his skin.

Sam died a lot, in those weeks he and Dean were apart. Lucifer was true to his word. Sam came back every time.

He pulls down the sheet, sees the ways Meg’s face has settled into death in the past day, how decay has started to take hold and left her blue and cold and her skin slack. He leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, and thinks that this is the least he owes her, for what she endured because of him, for trying to help him even at the bitter end.

She gasps to life beneath him, warmth flooding her skin and air stuttering into her lungs. “Sam?” she asks, fear and confusion and a pain that’s not physical.

Maybe she won’t want to live, considering everything she’s been through, but at least now the choice is hers and not a demon’s. There are footsteps and he turns to see Bobby standing in the doorway, gun pointed to the ground and mouth open in shock. Sam doesn’t have time to worry about it, instead he’s gone, the same burning still clawing its way out of his bones.

Caleb lies slumped in the chair Meg had tied him to, throat slit and eyes empty. Sam puts his hands on his shoulders, presses his lips to his bald head, and feels the moment his heart starts beating again. He sends the ropes falling with barely a thought and he’s gone the moment he hears his first confused groan.

Pastor Jim is laid out in his home, church workers Sam vaguely recognize huddled around him in prayer, his final send off. He’s just glad he got here before they burned him. They start screaming when they see him but he leans down, internally wincing at how Jim’s going to explain his way out of this one, and kisses his forehead, a reversal of the paternal tenderness Jim had shown him as a child.

His chest rises and his eyes open and his eyebrows push together. “Sam, what-“

He doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that question, figures it’s not anything he can answer anyway.

It takes him a long moment of staring out at the snow covered peaks and too close sky and the brilliant sun hitting his face even though it was just the middle of the night for him to place himself, even though it shouldn’t be enough, but he knows where he is even though he shouldn’t.

The air’s too thin and he’s going to give himself altitude sickness if he lingers and he should probably be freezing to death but his blood is still running too hot. Not burning, not like it was before he brought three people back from the dead, but still far from comfortable.

Still. He can’t say he ever thought he’d ever get to see the view from Mt. Everest.

“Castiel,” he says. “It’s Sam Winchester. We need to talk.”

Nothing. Typical.

“I know about God’s plan, about Lucifer and Michael, about my role as his vessel. I know about you, Cas. You’re going to want to hear me out.”

There’s the rustle of wings behind him and he turns to see Cas, younger than he looked before. Jimmy Novak younger than he’d been before. He wonders about that for a moment. He’d half expected Cas to show up as a sherpa rather than nip to America for a vessel, but Cas had kept the shape of Jimmy Novak even after his physical body perished, so maybe there’s a deeper preference there than just convenience.

His face is as cold as their surroundings. “You have strayed from God’s light.”

“Yeah, well, what good has he ever done me?” he asks tiredly. He used to believe. He believed yesterday. He prayed this morning. Even when he met Cas the first time, he believed. “I can’t explain. Can you just read my mind? We don’t have time.”

His eyebrows push together, but Cas has to be curious, otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. He steps forward and presses two fingers against Sam’s forehead. He doesn’t feel any different, but when Cas lowers his hand, he’s lost his stoicism. Shock, despair, and anger chase themselves across his feature and Sam can’t blame him.

He’s not the only who lost his faith in the future.

“You said there were thousands of seals,” he says. “How many exactly?”

His eyes snap to Sam’s. “What?”

“God loved Lucifer,” he says. “It’s why he imprisoned him rather than destroying him. It’s why he left him a way out. Maybe it’s why he set up the apocalypse in the first place. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not letting him out, ever. So we’re going to destroy every seal we can.”

Some can’t be undone, like the first one, a righteous man torturing an innocent soul in hell. But there are plenty that can, hopefully enough, hopefully most. If there are less than sixty six seals available, then Lucifer is never getting out of his cage.

“There were originally ten thousand seals,” Cas answers and Sam gets lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with thin air. “Only two thousand and thirty four seals are still viable.”

Okay, that’s better. Not great, but better. “Let’s get that number down to sixty five.”

“You are different,” Cas says.

Of course he’s different. His father’s alive. His brother never went to hell. Sam has never known the utter desolation of being completely alone, of grief and guilt so heavy he’s surprised it didn’t break his spine as surely as Jake’s knife in his back. He doesn’t actually remember feeling it, which is no small mercy, but he saw the effects of living with it, which is almost as bed. He'd thought what he’s feeling because of Jessica is as low as he could get. It’s not even close.

He wants to dig up her bones and breathe life into them, but at almost a year dead he thinks that’s beyond even this strange new power. Even like this, he’s failing Jessica one more time.

“Got any ideas?” he asks. “It wasn’t like this before. With the blood.”

He’d drank Ruby nearly dry more than once. It had been a high and then a crash and never did it give him access to this type of power.

“Azazel is – was a prince of hell,” Cas answers.

Sam frowns. “I thought he was king?”

“He was regent,” he corrects, “but to be a prince is separate from being ruler of hell. Lucifer created Lilith from bone, as Adam and Eve were made. The princes were created from his blood. Azazel’s blood is, in a way, Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer’s blood. Sam, his vessel, drinking down Lucifer’s blood, as a baby and now. Except as a baby he’d only had a few drops. He’d consumed a lot more than that back at the cabin.

Demon blood always wore off. The few drops of Azazel’s blood he’d gotten as a baby never had. He probably should have taken that into consideration, but there hadn’t been any time.

“Lucifer is evil but he is not a demon,” Cas continues.

Sam realizes suddenly that he did have power like this once. When he locked away Lucifer inside of him and took his power for his own. It’s not the same, not even close, but it’s similar. “This is what angel blood does?”

“No,” he says. “This is what Archangel Lucifer’s blood does to his perfect vessel. I believe. This has never happened before, so I cannot be certain. You are, as always, one of kind, Sam Winchester.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s not as combative as he remembers Castiel being in the beginning. He’ll take it. “Guess we’ll figure it out together, then. If you’re sticking around to help prevent the apocalypse.”

If he’s not, this is going to be more than difficult. Tracking down all the seals without an angel on his side isn’t going to be impossible, but pretty damn close. And he doesn’t know how much time he has. Hell is going to be pissed about him killing Azazel. Heaven is probably going to take notice once he starts destroying seals so they can never be opened. Not to mention, he’s definitely going to be on hunters’ radar. Even if Dad can keep his mouth shut about him drinking demon blood, which he knows better than to rely on, him bringing back people from the dead is going to spread quickly. He’s going to be hunted at all sides, just like last time.

At least last time he had Dean, even broken, even when he was broken himself. He still had his brother.

But this is the price for saving him. For making sure that Dean is never in the position to kick off the apocalypse in the first place, to make it so Lucifer never again walks the earth even if heaven and hell reincarnate him and Dean and try and start this all over again.

He’s going to be killed for it, he knows, by demons or angels or hunters. But that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes,” Cas says. “It is better for us all if the future you saw never comes to pass. I will help you.”

He grins, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and only laughs at the glare he receives in return. They have to get out of here before the altitude makes him loopy. Maybe it already has.

He’s going to save the world for his brother and he’s not even going to get to keep him.

How fucked up is that?

[gay-dorito-dust]

Biting them? Which is demon brained and who’s just weirdly -not weirdly- into biting? (Spoiler: I live for demon brained Vergil bc that man has been in hell for a large part of his life.)

Dante

He will wholeheartedly tell you to bite him harder, only to dramatically yowl in fake pain when you do, he’s weird like that but you love him regardless.

‘Can you not be weird for five minutes?’ You asked, regretting ever forgoing caution and biting him, you should’ve listened to your gut when it told you that he’d make it weird somehow.

‘You’re the one who bite me first!’ Dante pouts as he rubs at his bicep, sure he easily can walk off your bites, but still he likes to commit to the bit regardless.

‘Yeah. For a laugh.’ You replied.

‘That’s not how it came across to me sweetheart, it’s almost as though you were planning this for a long while, just waiting to sink your teeth into me literally!’ He says with a cheeky wink and biting his bottom lip. He looked a little stupid doing so but you weren’t going to say anything.

‘The last time I bit you, you moaned loudly!’ You exclaimed, remembering just how quickly you scampered off of him when he moaned, hoping no one heard him as suddenly the playful mood was ruined by his childless as you lightly smacked his shoulder and asking what the fuck was wrong with him. You weren’t angry just a little embarrassed.

‘Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.’ Dante teased as he booped you on the nose.

You threw your hands up. ‘I can’t do anything without you making it weird and making me regret everything.’ You said before leaving the room as Dante hollered after you ‘there’s nothing wrong in admitting to having a biting kink, if it makes you feel better I have one too!’

‘Fuck off!’ Came your embarrassed exclamation from afar as Dante only laughed harder.

Vergil

Again with how much time this man spent in hell, he’s extremely demon brained in how biting is a thing in demon courting, a sign of possession of what’s theirs and killing any other demon that dared look their way.

So when you bite him out of pure silliness, his inner demon is telling him that you were marking him as yours and that he should do so too, having not like how people had been looking at your recently as if he wasn’t right there glaring them into oblivion.

So don’t be surprised if you see him with glowing demonic eyes becuase it’s just him acting upon his demonic heritage and bite you on the shoulder, or anywhere that only he would know. He’ll probably bite a bit too hard, drawing blood and whatnot but that’s all apart of demon courting unfortunately, so you’re forced to walk with his bites marks on your shoulders or arms or if he’s feeling a little bold; your neck.

Your bites are nothing compared to his and it shows and your left wincing as you noticed his canines had done a bit more damage than you originally thought, meanwhile Vergil and his demon brain were proud as fuck of his handy work and doing a poor attempt to withhold his pride.

If his long, scaly tail were visible right now it would be wagging with happiness at how marked up his mate looked, all the while you were concerned with how they’ll look when healing.

seriously this man is severely demon brained it’s not funny.

[mintyys-blog]

Hiiii! Can I make a req about reader x variants where the marks are told that their kid got into their first fight and won (e.g. school fight, training fight, fight against some invading enemies, ect)

HEADCANON | invincible variants children get in a fight at school

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS: fighting

Do not repost, translate, or rewrite my work, whether AI-generated or otherwise, without my permission.

© @mintyys-blog

MAIN MARK

You found Mark pacing the living room, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, babe,” you called out casually, “guess what? Our kid got into a fight today at school.”

Mark spun around so fast he almost knocked over a lamp. “WHAT? Are they okay?!” You smiled calmly. “They’re more than okay. They won.”

Mark’s jaw dropped. Then — a giant grin spread across his face. He looked like he could fly through the roof. “That’s my kid! Hell yeah!” He scooped you into a hug, laughing into your shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he pulled back, grinning. “We have to celebrate. Ice cream? Pizza? Both??” Parenting lesson later. Right now, your kid was a champion.

SINISTER MARK

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Our kid beat someone’s ass today,” you said casually. Mark looked up from his book, eyes gleaming with interest. “Details?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

“Schoolyard fight. Some jerk pushed them first.”

Sinister’s lips curled into a dark grin. “Defended themselves and won? Hah. They’re finally learning something useful.”

He shut the book with a thud. “I’m proud,” he said simply. “But next time, we teach them to hide the body.”

MOHAWK MARK

You found Mark lounging back in a chair, boots kicked up on the table, lazily scrolling through his phone. “Got somethin’ you gonna love,” you said, crossing your arms. He lifted an eyebrow, grinning lazily. “Yeah? Hit me.”

“Our kid? Got in their first fight today.”

He set the phone down, interest piqued. “They win?” You smirked. “Absolutely. Sent them to the hospital, nothing critical— but still”

Mark let out a sharp bark of laughter, slapping his hand on the table. “Ay, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he said, standing up and bouncing a little on the balls of his feet like he was ready to square up himself.

“Lil’ monster got it from me, huh? You see ‘em? Bet they walked off like a boss, too.”He swaggered across the room, pretending to shadowbox, hyping himself — and your kid — up with every punch.

Later, he called the kid over just to dap them up and say: “Remember — first hit wins the fight. Keep it dirty if you gotta.”

VILTRUMITE MARK

You found Mark sharpening his blade when you delivered the news.“Our kid fought today,” you said simply. Mark didn’t even look up. “And?”

“They won,” you added with a shrug. Only then did Mark glance at you, a small, smug smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.“Of course they did.”

He set the blade down and crossed his arms. “Were they merciful?” he asked seriously. “It was a school fight, Mark.” He grunted, standing up tall and proud.

“Next time, they should leave no room for retaliation.” You sighed. Viltrumite standards were something else.

PRISONER MARK

Mark was sitting on the porch, smoking quietly when you walked up. “You’re gonna like this,” you teased, nudging his shoulder. He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “What?”

“Our kid got into their first fight. Won, too.”

Mark froze, staring out at the street. “Good,” he muttered, a gravelly pride lacing his voice. He leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare, tiny smile.

“Means they’re learning.” Later that night, he cooked their favorite dinner — the closest thing he ever did to throwing a party.

OMNI MARK

Mark stood quietly by the window, arms crossed behind his back, observing the sky in silence when you approached.

“Mark,” you said carefully. “There’s been…an incident at training.”

He turned his head slightly toward you, patient and expectant. “Our child fought for the first time,” you continued. “And won.”

Mark’s gaze returned to the horizon, a slow, approving nod following. “They are Viltrumite. Survival is not optional — it is mandatory.” He stayed quiet for a long moment before adding, “Monitor their technique. Strength without control is a flaw.”

You almost smiled — because despite his severe exterior, you could see it: The faintest lift at the corner of his mouth. Silent, restrained pride.

Later that night, he personally oversaw their next training session with greater focus, expecting nothing less than perfection — but inside, he was… pleased.

[clairewritesfanfics]

No Goggles!Mark Grayson Origin Part 4

Pairing: No Goggles!Invincible x Older!Reader

Part 3

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Unplanned pregnancy, descriptions of bodily harm, mild swearing, No Goggles is a little freak

When the first test came out positive, you stayed calm. False positives were a thing.

You barely slept as required and your job left you stressed every waking moment, so your period was often irregular, but when you started dating Mark, who was insatiable to say the least, you took a pregnancy test every time your period was late. Every test turned out negative or a false alarm. 

For false alarms, you simply needed to recheck and everything would be fine. But not this time. No. Every single stick said the same thing: you were pregnant. 

Logically, you knew this was possible. Despite all your efforts–condoms, sponges, injections, timing–everything short of surgery and an IUD, nothing was 100% effective. 

You didn’t know what to feel at first. Shock, fear, anxiety, terror. Not exactly what expecting mothers should be feeling. 

You remembered crying. You cried a lot. You were grateful that Mark was out for a multi-day mission with the others when you first confirmed the pregnancy.

He needed to know, it was his right, but… He wasn’t even a college graduate, for God’s sake. He was also a “teen” superhero on the cusp of getting promoted. He already dedicated so much of his time to you. Hell, he never went to parties or hangouts with his classmates or teammates unless you insisted, and even then he would return two hours after leaving you.

He said he was happy, he said he loved you, and you believed him, truly. That’s why you couldn’t be the woman who ruined his future.

After you broke up with Mark and he accidentally fractured your wrist, you spent a good five hours weeping on the floor before pulling yourself together and going to the hospital.

“Hey, you, I thought you had the day off?” 

Of course, it had to be him. The friendly jerk. What was his name again?

You glanced at his nametag. Josh. 

“I did,” you answered quietly.

“Then why–what the hell?”

“It’s not a big deal. I just needed to get this checked.”

He went from flirty to professional in an instant. He unrolled the recklessly done bandages and narrowed his eyes at the injury. 

One x-ray and an excruciating re-alignment later, he finally asked while you two were alone, “Wanna tell me what happened? And don’t say something stupid like you fell down the stairs. We both know this was something else.” 

You stared at your cast. Then you turned to him with a blank face. “I’m thirsty.” 

He looked at you like you grew a second head, but followed you to the bar across the street.

“Seriously?” He watched you stir your milkshake with a paper straw. “You really hate booze that much?”

“I can’t drink alcohol right now.”

“Why?” He picked up his pint. “Are you pregnant?”

“Yes.”

Beer squirted through his nostrils and he lurched over the counter, coughing. 

The bartender handed him a pile of tissues while you sipped on your drink. 

“I figured– ack –I figured you had something serious going on considering how mopey you’ve been, but I didn’t expect this.” He wiped the bar counter and without looking at you, he asked, “Did the father do that to you?”

“Actually, he doesn’t know.”

“The father… is he the boy toy–I mean, your boyfriend? But I thought he was still in college?”

You said nothing.

“Ah.” He sighed and went back to his pint. “That sucks.” 

You stirred the milkshake again. 

“Are you going to tell him?”

Again, you said nothing.

“You know he has the right to know, don’t you?”

“I know.”

“Are you going to keep them?”

You stopped stirring, your vision blurred. “I don’t know.”

“Crap, I’m sorry, don’t cry.” He picked up the remaining tissues and handed them to you. “I’m sorry I called him your boy toy.”

“It’s fine. Not like you’re the first to call him that.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

“...Thanks.”

“What’re you gonna do now?”

You shrugged. “Maybe move.” 

“You can’t run away. He’s young, but he’s still the father. He deserves to know.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I just… I think I just needed someone to say it out loud.” You let out a big sigh. “I shouldn’t have pushed him away.”

Josh watched you for a few seconds before reaching into his satchel. He uncapped a black marker. “Give me your arm.”

You let him write on your cast.

“‘ Shake it off’ ?” You gave him a look of incredulity. 

It was his turn to shrug. “Well, I don’t think a bible verse would fit.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you laughed. It was so stupid. “Thanks.”

“No problem. It’s getting late. I’ll drive you home, and don’t refuse.”

You accepted his offer. The drive home was quick and you thanked him again as you got out of the car.

“Hey.” He leaned over the passenger seat. “It’s gonna be fine. Just talk to him before you decide on anything else.”

“It may be too late for that.”

“You’ve always been the logical one in our team. Don’t start being stupid now.”

“You realize that I’m technically your superior, right?” 

He winked and you shut the door.

He was right. 

Feeling much better, you breathed in the evening air, unaware of the pair of eyes observing you from afar.

***

Mark hasn’t been picking up your calls. Understandable. You did ask for this. In the past, he’d pick up at the first ring, and now you knew how he felt when you missed his calls. 

You put a hand over your belly. 

After that talk with Josh, you made up your mind. You were going to be a mom. Mark would be free to be as involved as he wanted. That is if you got him to talk to you.

He didn’t open the door when you reached his apartment and you really didn’t want to speak with Nolan. He might’ve been polite but he always looked at you with a chilly regard. 

“Desperate times,” you muttered, scrolling through your list of contacts. “Hello? Donald? It’s me, I hope I’m not disturbing–”

Static and the sound of panicked panting interrupted your words. Donald called out your name, out of breath and in distress. “Thank God! We were about to call you!”

Your shoulders tensed. “What’s going on?”

“It’s–”

The line was cut off.

“Hello? Hello?! Donald?!” You redialed but there was no ring. Suddenly, you tumbled into the wall as the whole building shook. Several apartment doors flung open and dozens of residents ran out screaming.

Your pager beeped. It was the hospital. 

Forcing yourself to your feet, you followed the stream of civilians down the emergency exit. 

By the time you got outside, the neighborhood–no, the whole city was in chaos. The roads were cracked, revealing broken pipes that flooded the streets with filthy gray water. A line of buildings was bright red as tall, angry flames licked the sky and filled it with smoke. A signal tower from a few blocks away was bent at the tip. You could hear sirens and shouting everywhere.

Shit.

You needed to get to the hospital ASAP. This disaster meant they were going to need every pair of hands available, though your wrist was still in a splint, you knew a bunch of fresh graduates who would require a more experienced doctor to guide them.

But before that…

You surveyed the scene. There was a little boy whose arm was bleeding. An old woman was on her knees, her whole form was heaving, struggling to breathe. There were more injured civilians. 

A policeman ran towards you. “Miss, you need to leave now!”

You searched inside your purse and clipped your hospital ID on the collar of your shirt. “I’m fine, prioritize escorting the others first. I’m going to help with the injured.”

Two ambulances arrived. One of them had Josh on board. If he was curious about your presence in the area he didn’t voice it. 

“Any idea what caused this?” You asked, pushing back any stray hairs that could interfere with your job and shoving them under a haircap. 

“At first we thought it was an earthquake, but we caught Omni-Man and Invincible flying around so we think it might be a villain attack.”

Mark.

You pushed that thought away. You couldn’t afford to be emotional right now.

“I’ve never dealt with this level of catastrophe before,” Josh admitted. 

Understandable. He was originally from a small town before he came to this city, which was villain central.

“Consider this your baptism.” You then split up and went to work. You couldn’t exactly put back bones together or stitch up wounds, but you helped ground the new hires who have never dealt with emergencies before.

Once you were done with the patients in the neighborhood, you went with the ambulance back to the hospital.

Checking for vitals, overseeing transfers, calming down delirious patients, worried family members and nervous young doctors left you exhausted to the point that even your boss had to ask you to take a break.

“You should get some rest, we’ll take it from here,” Josh said as you two headed for the vending machine.

“I guess.”

“Wow. I expected more resistance.”

“I’m not a workaholic.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He caught you by the elbows when you began to lose balance. “Are you–”

“I’ll be fine, I just… need a moment.”

He let go. “Go home, doctor.” 

You sighed. There was no point in arguing.

You were already on your way to the elevator when your phone rang. 

“Donald?”

“Finally, I’ve been trying to contact you for hours.”

“I had to set my phone to airplane mode. What happened?”

“It’s Mark.”

Your shoulders tensed. 

“He’s in surgery.”

“What?”

“We need you at the base.”

You gritted your teeth. “I’m on my way.”

With the roads all ripped up, the ride to the GDA base was excruciatingly slow.

When you arrived at the building, no introductions were necessary, the guards brought you to Cecil and Donald immediately. 

They were standing outside giant window panes that started from the floor and reached all the way to the ceiling.

“Where is he? Is he okay? What happened?”

“Easy, doc.” Cecil raised his palm placatingly, then he gestured towards the window.

You peered through and saw Mark unconscious and surely bare naked under the white cloth that covered him from his chest to his knees. He wore an oxygen mask so at least you knew he was still alive.

Donald began to explain, “We’re not too sure about the details… but from what we’ve seen, he and Omni-Man got into a fight. A big one.”

“Nolan did this to him? His own son?”

Donald could only offer a look of helplessness.

You touched the glass. “Where is he now?”

“We don’t know,” Cecil replied. “We lost track of him when they flew past Earth’s atmosphere.”

“What’s Mark’s status?”

Donald gave you his datapad. You scrolled through the patient history, each line was a stab at your heart.

He had multiple hairline fractures, torn muscles everywhere, eight bruised ribs, both eyes were inflamed, and he was missing several teeth.

“Here.” Someone offered you a handkerchief.

You lifted your chin and saw Cecil looking at you, face blank.

You gratefully took the cloth and wiped your tears. “I’m staying by his side.”

“We figured as much. We’ll move him to a more private room. Donald will take you there.”

“Thank you.”

“By the way.” Cecil stopped you before you could walk away. He stood still, only staring at you, like he wasn’t sure of what to say. 

You were growing impatient. “What is it?” 

“Are you and Mark okay?”

Your fingers twitched. Even someone like Josh noticed how Mark became absent the past few months. Cecil was Cecil so he probably knew of your… relationship problems. 

You took a moment to answer. “We hit a rough patch.”

“But you’re still together, aren’t you?” 

“No offense, Cecil, but that’s not any of your business.”

“I’m sorry, but it is, considering that Mark is one of our most valuable weapons. The state of your relationship tends to influence how he works.”

Rage filled your stomach and you stepped forward, pointing an accusatory finger towards his chest. “ How dare you. Mark is not a weapon, he is a living, breathing human being, a person who has dedicated most of his life protecting you and me and everybody else on this godforsaken planet. You don’t get to treat him as some kind of tool that needs to be controlled and monitored.” 

He narrowed his eyes. For a moment, he looked ready to argue, but instead he shook his head and turned his back to you. “Go. He’s gonna need someone when he wakes up.”

Donald didn’t say anything, which you appreciated. 

Once you were left alone with the love of your life, you allowed the rest of your tears to fall as you sat beside him, holding his hand in yours. With nothing but the hum of the AC and the steady rhythm of Mark’s heart to keep you company, you took in your lover’s appearance. You read Mark’s file, but nothing could have ever prepared you for seeing him like this.

His face was nearly unrecognizable. His chest heaved with every breath.

Over the years, you learned to steel your nerves as you got used to seeing bodies mangled and shredded. But you weren’t the doctor here, you were the patient’s family. 

You put a hand over to his cheek, your knuckles feathered over the cut swollen skin. 

He stirred.

Then he groaned softly as he woke up, turning his head. It took him a while to adjust to the light, but when he finally became aware, his bed rattled as he shot to a sitting position.

“Careful!” You put your hands over his shoulders. “You’re injured, stay down.”

He stilled under your touch and turned to you. You resisted the urge to fidget under his stare.

“Why are you here?”

You tried not to flinch at the venom in his voice. Mark’s never talked to you like this before, but you would gladly receive his anger.

“Donald called me. He said you were in surgery.”

“Why?”

“Mark–”

“I thought you didn’t want to be with me.”

You deserved that.

“I don’t need your pity.” He swung his head to the other side, glaring at the heart monitor.

“You can be angry, but please look at me.”

A beat. Then he reluctantly raised his swollen eyes to meet yours. 

You refused to break down. You needed to be strong for him. So you gulped down the lump in your throat and cradled his face between your palms. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

You smiled thinly. “I figured.” 

His lips twitched. “Dad…held my face against a train.”

“Fuck.”

He bent forward, chuckling, but his laugh was soon covered by a groan of pain. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Instead of answering, he stared at you intently, like he was drinking every last detail of you. “Are you really here?”

That took you by surprise.

He reached over, his thumb ghosting over your lips. “Or am I dreaming again?”

And just like, you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You pulled back, your hands covering your mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the whimpers. 

“I’m sorry, Mark, I’m sorry.”

He watched as you swallowed down your sobs and breathed. 

You straightened your back, trying to compose yourself. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

He was silent. His expression was unreadable.

You looked down at your lap. “I… I should’ve been more upfront. Should’ve told you from the beginning.”

“I know.”

Your whole body froze. He knows? 

You raised your chin and nearly jumped. His gaze wasn’t full of understanding but something dangerous, something dark and cold. 

“You cheated on me,” he said matter-of-factly. 

Your brain crashed. But it quickly rebooted and you shook your head furiously. “No! What… no! I would never do that to you.”

“You don’t have to lie, I saw you. What was his name? Jacob or something? I saw you in his car.”

You clenched your fists, desperate now. “He just gave me a ride home, that’s it.”

“From a bar.”

How did he… 

It doesn’t matter.

You grabbed his hand. “Mark, listen to me. I have never, ever cheated on you. I’ve never even so much as entertained the idea of doing that. Ever . You were–are the only one for me.”

He blinked, expression breaking for a moment before he grinned sardonically. “Then why did you break up with me? And why have you, who has never been the type to drink after work, decided to go to a bar with a man you barely know?”

“Because I’m pregnant, you idiot!” You wanted to smack your own face. “Sorry, no, that’s not right. You’re not an idiot. I didn’t mean that. Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

It was Mark’s turn to crash. The darkness broke completely, leaving him wide-eyed and his jaw ajar. He gulped slowly.

“You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“With my kid?”

“With our kid.”

Several heartbeats passed. 

Mark ran his fingers through his hair.

You rubbed your arms. You two haven’t talked about having a family before, not really, because you were busy with your job and Mark was busy being a superhero, and just as importantly, being a college student. Life was good. You were both happy. Talks of the future were limited to what you two wanted for dinner next Thursday or who was going to plan date night next. You discussed marriage–well, he mentioned marriage every now and then–even only in passing, but never brought up children. 

“I don’t want you to feel pressured. We didn’t plan for this.” You chose each word carefully as you put a hand over your belly. “But I decided to keep them.”

His eyes had that faraway look to them. 

You continued, “I should’ve told you from the very beginning, I know that. But I panicked, and I was worried about you. About us. But I’m telling you now. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay and be a father. You’re young–”

“Stop.” 

You did.

“You keep saying that I’m young, and you act like you have to worry about the big things and make all the big decisions alone. I’m younger than you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not your equal.” Mark squeezed your hand. “You said you would never cheat on me–”

“I never did, and I never will.” 

The bed creaked as he shuffled around and reached for something in the night stand drawer.

“It’s the same for me, there was only ever you. So I’m going to ask you properly this time.” He revealed the ring he had prepared days ago. 

“How–”

“I kept it with me even when I was in costume. Before they started treatment, I asked one of the nurses to keep it close. I’m glad he listened.”

You stared at the ring. It was exactly your style. Simple yet opulent. 

Mark lifted it between the two of you and offered his hand. He said your name, eyes full of adoration, and asked, “will you marry me?”

You smiled back, hoping the look in your face had even just a fragment of the love he showed you, and placed your fingers on his palm. “Of course.” 

The ring fit perfectly. 

You leaned down and kissed him, actively avoiding the questions at the back of your mind. The type of questions whose answers should’ve sent you running.

For example, Mark left this ring in the condo when you broke up. Up until now, you have had zero contact with him. So how did he manage to take it from the vault that only your fingerprint could open? It was one thing if he forced it open, but it was still intact.

“Sweetie?” Mark called.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Promise me you’ll never leave me again.”

“I promise. I’m sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist with ease. He buried his nose in your torso.

“Huh.” It came out before you realized it.

“What?”

“Just that… Viltrumites sure do heal fast.” 

He tilted his head.

“You didn’t seem to be in pain when I kissed you, but your face and your arms should still be hurting. That’s what your chart says.” 

A beat. A smile. “Yeah, we do heal fast.”

“That’s good. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“Then you should take better care of me. Make sure I don’t do anything stupid or reckless.”

You giggled. “I will.”

He mumbled something into your stomach.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“I’m telling the little one that I’m excited to meet them.”

You felt the tension leave your shoulders and you patted his head. “Me too.”

***

Mark breathed in your scent. God, he missed this. He missed you.

Poking holes in the condoms wasn’t as useless as he thought. He would’ve done more, like switch out your pills, but you definitely would’ve noticed that. 

It was cute how careful you were. In fact, he appreciated it. He didn’t want to share your attention with some brat, but it was an effective way to keep you by his side. 

He rubbed his nose onto your abdomen. “If you die young, that’d be great, too.” Nothing like a senseless tragedy to bind two people together. He already has proof that you love him so carrying this thing to term wasn’t necessary anymore. Though he definitely won’t protest in seeing you round and full, waddling around, helpless and pouty and adorable. He was getting hard just thinking about it.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that,” you said.

Channeling his inner puppy, he beamed up at you. “Just telling the little one that I’m excited to meet them.”

A/N: The next chapter will be the final one for this Mark Variant's origin.

@danart501

Part 5

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

For weird reader, what if they auditioned for a musical and got a big part, but it’s in a less popular musical?

I’m thinking like weird reader getting Shrek in Shrek the musical or Annabeth in the lightning theif, because I like the idea of reader singing a song they really relate to

Oooh, what is reader played Micheal in be more chill?

*BLOWS DUST OF THE ASK* I MUST LOCK IN!!

WB reader word should be in the musical. I feel like Heather's would suit her so well because the reader is sort of like Veronica from Heather's—a weird girl who's pretty smart, and getting on the popular kids' good side. She's a good person but makes bad decisions; a morally gray character who, at the end of the day, does some good. Plus, I think the reader would rock that blue uniform!

But it also has me thinking: just imagine the reader singing "Dead Girl Walking" with her actor partner and the crowd, which is filled with the Waynes and the reader's love interest, who's obviously yandere. It would bring so much drama! I mean, yes, the boys do love your voice and think you're an incredible actor, but there’s no way your acting partner should be touching up on you like that. Did you just take off your clothes in front of the crowd? They're literally having spasms! Bruce is all like, "You're too young, and how do you even know about this type of stuff? You aren't 19!" Dick is seriously impressed with your vocals, but you're his baby Robin, remember? If your partner gets too handsy, they'll get a visit from Nightwing.

Jason is enjoying the show and the spectacle, but he's definitely not a fan of your partner. They'll have a little chat, and by chat, I mean bullet to the skull. Tim is honestly in love with the entire performance; he's trying his best not to clap every time you say a line, but when "Dead Girl Walking" comes on, he instantly closes his eyes and covers his ears. Damian does enjoy the show, yet he’s still not a fan of his older sister parading herself like this. Where is your shame? And where's your actor partner's shame, looking at you like that? This must be discussed after the show.

Steph and Cass are literally in love with the choreography skills—like, hands down, they're foaming at the mouth! Barbara is filming everything, even though there weren't cameras allowed in the theater. She has her ways, but the film doesn't show the rest of the cast, only you the entire time. The camera was just focusing on you—way to be obsessed!

[uarmygguk]

NO ONE, BUT YOU ⋆ 전정국

. . . . KISS ME, dangerous. been so lost without you all around me . . .

pairing, jungkook x model f!reader tags/warnings, little suggestive/allusion to smut, fwb2l, not too plot heavy js vibes lol note, slightly edited version of one of my drafts while i work on other longer wips <3 taglist, @ggukivrse @bangatanily | click here to join taglist! love diaries music rec, "Shirt"— SZA

feedback is appreciated! xx

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

"Hold my hand in secret and kiss me when no one's looking."

Eyes skimming around the sky now felt like a burden, you just wanted to give up and collapse, finally, onto the couch or the ground would even do— for how you felt like a human wrapped in a cyclone, world feeling dizzy as fuck.

There behind, as the only source of light apart from the moon ablaze —an otherwise fluttering sight to drink in, if it weren't for the current scenario— lay your phone, chats blowing up like gushing water following a drought.

Him, Jungkook, is your best friend but with benefits. A mutual help was what you agreed upon but eventually it became really hard for your heart to continue to bottle up the feelings growing in, with each touch, each caress and each contact. Skin to skin.

Walking up towards the little table across the balcony, you pick up your phone, scanning the texts you just received from Jungkook. How he portrayed all the words, you couldn't believe he was feeling so. 

Reciprocated. 

Your love was bound back in all means from his fucking heart. Jeon Jungkook's heart. 

Days ago, you were shattered by what he asked for, after you had your timbers shivering and knees clamping in all seriousness of the confession he presented before you.

Everything seemed to wash into your mind all at once, making things twice as hard. Tossing the gadget away, landing safe on the couch, his chat was still open. You took yourself into your well-kept bedroom, for a cup of water so that every piece of information, each adversity and ecstasy would sink in thoroughly.

"Hold my hand in secret and kiss me when no one's looking."

These couple of words echoed to and fro inside your tight heart, remembering when this was part of the "contract" / help you were lending to each other. He needed you, but was scared of society. A shit ton of insecurities ate him up alive each time, when he thought about how he'll be judged to be "using" you, the daughter of a revered model in South Korea. 

But all you know is, you love him for good. You'd never regret being his friend and now, someone he loves. Society has clamped a huge pressuring weight on each one’s shoulder. Sometimes it is the constant nagging to remain perfect. Sometimes it's how you're not perfect / likable. 

You don't give two hoots about the media, your "famous" family and your friends who go blind at shiny things. You'd gave no fucks about big and bold in the community. If you got the chance now, like right now, it'll be you on one knee with an imperfectly perfect paper ring, proposing to someone who already has your heart wrapped around in his strong fists. 

"Oh, Jeon. You make me fucking crazy." You whisper, now, admiring the sky feels less a burden, that heart of yours somehow eased into peace.

She flipped, landed and spun in circles every time he touched you. Everytime his fingers came in contact with the one tiny tattoo resting on top of the skin right next to your sternum. Everytime he kissed you there and traced it with his tongue.

Funny how you address your heart as if it was a person, right? It is. Now, she has safely landed upon something, hilarious much, again how she found peace, her world in the chaos.

"Can I take her for a ride then?" You jumped at the sudden cameo of a familiar raspy voice. Yes. That's it. It's the very voice you longed to hear, even after all the confusion and frustration. 

"Jungkook.." Oh. So you've been thinking out loud. Not embarrassing at all.

"Are you gonna let me in or should I stay hanging on your balcony?" He tightens the grip around the railing, trying to stay intact.

"Shit, sorry." You finally move, grabbing his wrists, surely not helping much as he pulls up and jumps over, hands landing taut around your waist as soon as he's on ground-level.

His eyes roam around yours, spewing a thousand words through its gaze.

And her. Your heart.

She was absolutely down. Damn much.

Toppling over and crash landing in the walls trying to break out and finally run into his heart.

"Calm down you stupid little organ. I'm not affected. No, not one bit." 

You ironically smiled at him, as he raised a brow at you. Amusement written across his annoyingly good looking face.

"Stop."

"You're making me feel, Han." He spat, fierce and quiet.

"Stop this, or I might lose myself. And I'm fucking not taking myself back. Ever."

You exhaled, the anxiety slowly waving goodbye. He's playing.

"Is that so? Then hold my hand and make me yours as the world witnesses us, Jungkook. I know for a fact that nothing can change now. It’s now, or never." Both of you were deprived. It's been days since you saw him after the controversy that arose along with a few pictures of you spending time with him, all around social media.

It immediately sent your mind to overdrive, already seeing an end to the 6 month long arrangement.

But more than that, the years long friendship you shared with this man standing in front of you.

However, his eyes swam over yours, alerting you that he doesn't give a fuck. None about the media, none about your background.

He scoffs, leaning in. "The problem is,," 

He does that, for the first time in ages. He holds your chin to face him, like he used to do, back then. Now there's different emotions mixed in, with all the lust.

Love. 

"If I kissed you, now and here, I'd not be able to stop. Don't fucking expect me to."

And there, his lips fall on yours, like a missing puzzle, skin hot against each other as he eventually picks you up in the process, and puts you down, towering over once again.

The gates of hell opened once more, as he pressed open mouthed kisses next to the v-line of your body-con, on the tattoo.

He wanted your body, pressed up against his heart.  Your hands, spreading his thoughts. Gripping your love, hope and desires, cupping them with nothing but passion. Fire. You felt his soul breathing heavily against your collarbones. You felt him nibble all the un uttered thoughts onto your ears. His hopes, naked on your skin. You needed each other. In a way unexplainable for eternities to come.

[klonnieshippersclub]

A Taste of Trouble

Here's the last little drabble before Klonnie Weekend (starts May 2!). Dinner was supposed to be about negotiations. Bonnie showed up with a plan. Klaus showed up with a different kind of appetite.

The restaurant was empty, candlelight flickering against the polished glass. It should have felt romantic, but Bonnie sat stiff as a board across from Klaus. Her arms were crossed, and she glared at the Original Hybrid before her.

"I'm doing this to help keep my friends safe, not because I like you," she snapped. She accepted his dinner invitation to negotiate a truce, and yet Klaus was more interested in discussing her personal life

Klaus leaned back lazily in his chair, swirling the blood-red wine in his glass. His eyes dragged over her, slowly, appreciatively.

"I think you do like me. Why else would you wear such a dress?" he said.

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "You wanted to talk over dinner. I wanted to dress appropriately."

"Well, I am very impressed," he said, voice low and heavy.

"I didn't wear this to impress you."

"Yes, but I can still appreciate the view."

Bonnie ground her teeth together. "You should focus on your girlfriend." She remembered the foolish Martin witch, Greta, who looked at Klaus like he hung the moon and giggled each time Klaus made eye contact with her.

He waved a dismissive hand. "I already told you she is not my girlfriend. Terms like that mean nothing in the supernatural world."

Bonnie scowled. "Vampires don't have girlfriends or boyfriends?"

"Dating is for humans," Klaus said, leaning forward. "For witches, wolves, and vampires, there are spouses, partners, or mates. And that is why I do not take your relationship seriously."

"That is enough," Bonnie snapped as she closed her fist.

Klaus smirked, unbothered. "Have I hit a nerve? Suggesting you belong with a real man?"

"No, you are..." she spluttered.

"I am what? Making you believe you deserve more?"

Bonnie shook her head frantically. "I can't stay."

"No, please," Klaus said, his voice soft. "All of this is for you."

"This is not a good idea," Bonnie muttered. "And I am not a cheater."

"You would not be thinking of cheating if you did not feel something."

"Goodbye, Klaus," she hissed.

Before she could leave, Klaus blurred forward, snatching her phone off the table. Bonnie gasped, lunging for it, but he was already texting.

"KLAUS!" she shouted.

He raised his brows innocently. "There. You are single."

Her phone buzzed, Jeremy's name flashing across the screen. Why are you breaking up with me? it read.

Bonnie's mouth dropped open. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

"Saved you from impending doom," Klaus said, utterly unapologetic.

"Why would you ruin my relationship?" she cried.

"You wanted this," Klaus said with a devilish smile. "Secretly."

"I barely even know you!" Bonnie protested.

"If you want to fix it," Klaus said, tossing the phone onto the table, "call him. Apologize."

"You call him!" she snapped.

Klaus shrugged. "Do you really want me to tell that boy we are having dinner alone?"

Bonnie's eyes lit with fury. "He does not need to know about this."

Too late. Klaus picked up her phone again and dialed.

"Hello, Gilbert," Klaus drawled when Jeremy answered. "You are not good enough for Bonnie. She is moving on. With me. And I can't wait to taste her." Before Jeremy could respond, Klaus hung up and blocked the number.

Bonnie was trembling with fury and something worse, something hotter.

"You are impossible!" she hissed.

Klaus smiled, showing his fangs. "You will thank me later."

Bonnie barely had time to react. One second, she was pissed beyond belief and the next, Klaus had crossed the space between them and crashed his mouth against hers.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was raw, greedy, and devastating. His hands gripped her waist, dragging her flush against him. Bonnie gasped into the kiss, and Klaus used the moment to deepen it, his tongue sliding against hers.

Before she knew it, Klaus hoisted her up effortlessly and sat her right on the edge of their table as a couple of empty glasses crashed to the floor. She barely noticed, too overwhelmed by the way his hands roamed her thighs and hips. Klaus kissed her like he was starving and she was the only thing that could satisfy him.

Bonnie was supposed to hate him and walk away like a good little witch. Instead, she found herself wrapping her legs around his waist to close the distance between them.

"You drive me insane," the Bennett witch breathed between kisses.

Klaus just smiled against her mouth.

"And yet, you still can't let me go," he whispered back. “Do you want me to let you go?”

Bonnie should say no, pull herself away from the hybrid but instead something inside of her burned. “No, don’t let me go,”

“Allow me to serve you, little witch.” Klaus purred, lowering down as he squeezed her hips.

“I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Bonnie said, she gasped at Klaus’s soft kisses on her legs.

“All I ask is to hear my name.”

[hungarianshinobi]

His favourite Obsession - Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader (Mafia AU)

-Chapter 1

https://www.tumblr.com/hungarianshinobi/781504229767577600/ryomen-sukuna-x-freader-his-favourite-obsession?source=share

Chapter 2:

Author's note: I decided to be generous today, and bless you with a patreon only (yet) chapter. The rest won't be published for a long while. If you wanna read further and see how things turn out, be a patron and enjoy the exclusive content. Dark romance shiiii 💓👀 Available on all tiers. Link in bio!

.

.

.

Third person POV:

The afternoon sun hung low over Tokyo, casting long golden streaks across the bustling city streets. (Y/n), bag slung over one shoulder and her phone clutched in her hand, hurried through the crowd. Her shift had run late again, and as usual, she was trying to catch the next bus before it pulled away from the corner.

Just as she picked up the pace, her bag slipped slightly, causing the zipper to snag. She cursed under her breath, fumbling to adjust it, and then, in one swift, cruel moment, the strap gave way. The bag fell to the pavement, scattering it's contents in every direction.

Files, pens, lipstick, her earbuds... all splayed out in a chaotic mess on the sidewalk. Passersby glanced her way but didn't stop. A few stepped around her, one even kicking her pen further down the street without a second glance.

"Ugh, seriously..." she muttered, dropping to her knees, heat rising to her cheeks in frustration and embarrassment.

Just then, a hand entered her vision, long fingers plucking her house keys from the wet ground.

"I'm starting to think I should start charging for these rescues." came a deep, smooth voice. Familiar.

Her heart skipped. She looked up, and there he was.

Sukuna...

His hair was tousled, suit perfectly tailored, and there was a playful glint in his eyes. He knelt beside her, casually helping to gather her scattered belongings as if they had done this a dozen times before.

"Do you just lurk around waiting for me to drop my stuff?" she asked, laughing nervously.

"Maybe." he replied with a slow smirk. "Or maybe fate has a funny sense of humor."

She smiled despite herself, and once they finished collecting everything, he offered his hand to help her up. She hesitated a moment before taking it, it felt warm, strong... comforting in a strange way.

"Come on." he said, brushing his coat sleeve. "At this rate, the universe owes you a coffee. Let me pay it's debt."

.

.

.

Later at the café...

The quiet murmur of voices and the rich scent of roasted beans surrounded them. They sat by the window, steam curling from their drinks. Sukuna had ordered her usual without asking, something that made her tilt her head, just slightly.

"I remembered." he said simply, catching her curious glance. "You ordered it last time, right?"

"Right... I guess I talk too much." she chuckled, wrapping her hands around her cup.

"Not at all." he said, leaning back in his chair, gaze steady. "I find you... fascinating, actually."

She blushed lightly, stirring her drink. "You don't even know me."

"Yet." he replied.

For a moment, silence passed between them, not awkward, just... still. Comfortable, even.

She ended up talking more than she meant to. Childhood memories, favorite movies, the way her dad used to cook breakfast on Sundays. Sukuna listened closely, always with that same focused expression. He laughed at the right moments, asked the right questions.

To her, it felt like getting to know someone special.

To him, it was confirmation of everything he already knew.

As they settled deeper into conversation at the café, (Y/n) relaxed more and more with each passing minute. Her voice grew warmer, her laughter less guarded. Sukuna leaned in slightly, not too close, but just enough to make it feel intimate.

"I used to get in trouble all the time as a kid." she said, grinning. "Climbed trees, scraped my knees constantly. My mom used to say I had a death wish."

Sukuna smiled, watching her with rapt attention, though he already knew that. He had read the old Facebook posts, scrolled through photos from years ago. But hearing it from her lips made it feel more... real.

"You don't seem like the reckless type." he said.

"I guess I grew out of it." She stirred her drink idly. "Now I'm just boring and overly cautious."

"Maybe." Sukuna said, his tone playful. "But I get the sense there's still a little troublemaker in you."

She laughed again, cheeks coloring slightly. "Maybe."

Their hands brushed again as she reached for her cup. This time, she didn't flinch. She met his gaze instead, curious, slightly unsure... but not uncomfortable.

.

.

.

The sky had darkened slightly, and the first hints of evening crept in with a gentle breeze. They walked slowly, side by side, their steps naturally in sync.

"You know..." she said softly, "It's weird how you always seem to show up when I need someone."

Sukuna's expression didn't change, but inside he smiled.

"That's not weird." he replied. "That's fate."

She rolled her eyes. "Now you sound like a drama character."

He glanced sideways at her, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just trying to impress the girl who's been living rent-free in my head for days."

(Y/n) blinked, surprised at the sudden confession. She opened her mouth to respond, but he stopped walking. She turned toward him.

And for a brief second, the noise of the city seemed to fade.

Sukuna stepped a little closer, not touching her, just close enough. His voice dropped, low and soft:

"Rarely does someone make me want to slow down... but you, (y/n)... you make me want to take my time."

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, heart fluttering wildly in her chest.

The streets had grown quieter, lit only by the soft glow of streetlamps and distant storefronts. As they walked side by side, Sukuna gently slowed their pace, savoring the calm.

They passed a small flower stand tucked between two alleyways. The elderly vendor called out as they approached, waving a bouquet.

"For the lovely lady!" he chirped. "Only 500 yen!"

(Y/n) shook her head, smiling. "I'm okay, thank you."

But the man stepped closer, a little too insistent. Sukuna's body shifted, just slightly, between them.

"She said no." he said, voice low and even, but there was an edge beneath it.

The vendor's smile faded. He backed away, bowing nervously. "Ah- my apologies, sir."

(Y/n) blinked, surprised by how fast Sukuna had reacted. "You didn't have to-"

"I know." he cut in gently. "But I don't like pushy people."

His gaze lingered on the retreating vendor before returning to her, calm again. "You okay?"

She nodded, a bit thrown off, but touched. "Yeah. Thanks."

"I- I should go..." she murmured, half-smiling.

He nodded, stepping back politely. "Of course."

They exchanged one last look before she walked off, later stepping inside her apartment building after turning down a few corners, closing the door gently behind her.

.

.

.

Sukuna sat alone in the dim light, a glass of dark liquor untouched on the table beside him. The monitors flickered before him, showing various angles of the street, the apartment complex... her window.

The monitors glowed quietly in the dark. One screen replayed footage from earlier, the dropped bag, the café, the flower stand. Sukuna sat in his chair, relaxed but focused, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand.

A file folder was open beside him, photos, transcripts, records. Everything about her.

He had tracked the bus schedules, tipped the flower vendor, timed the 'chance' meeting down to the minute.

All of it meticulously calculated...

He leaned forward, watching as she moved in her apartment, brushing her hair, folding her clothes, checking her phone. Though the picture wasn't too clear.

"You're starting to trust me." he said softly. "Good girl."

A slow smirk curled on his lips.

"Every move, every word... It's all going exactly the way I want."

He opened a second monitor, a live stream of her apartment building's hallway. No movements outside.

"No one else can reach you like I can." he whispered. "No one else ever will."

He took another sip of his drink and whispered.

"You will."

He leaned forward, watching as she moved about her room, oblivious, content, real.

"You're falling." he whispered to the screen. "Just like I planned."

He smirked, eyes gleaming like a predator watching his prey dream peacefully, unaware of the trap slowly closing around her.

The dim light from the screen flickered across his sharp features, casting shadows that danced like smoke across his skin.

She was brushing her hair, her movements calm and rhythmic. Ordinary. Beautiful in it's simplicity.

"You don't even know what you do to me." he murmured, voice low, as if she could hear him through the screen. "Every smile, every blink... it's like gravity pulling me closer. You're so unaware... so soft. Too soft for this world."

He paused, watching her toss the brush aside and crawl into bed, curling beneath the blankets. His eyes didn't leave the screen. Not even for a second.

You think I'm just some charming stranger who keeps appearing like magic. You have no idea how much I've sacrificed, how carefully I've crafted every moment between us. You're already mine, you just don't know it yet.

He took a slow sip of his drink at last, the burn sliding down his throat like satisfaction itself.

I'll make you fall for me, (y/n)... and when you do, I won't let you go.

Meanwhile, (Y/n) laid in bed, eyes open in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

She had replayed the day's events over and over. His timing. That little smirk. The way his voice dropped when he said her name.

'You make me want to take my time.'

She swallowed, pulling the covers up to her chin, cheeks still warm. Who even says things like that? And why did she like it so much?

She tried to convince herself it was just a weird coincidence, that he was just a stranger who happened to show up twice. That it wasn't anything meaningful.

But deep down, part of her... hoped it was.

(Y/n) laid curled beneath her blanket, phone resting on her chest, her thoughts spinning.

Her cheeks warmed again.

She wasn't the type to be swept away by charming words, but something about the way he looked at her... the way he listened... it felt different.

She rolled over, staring at the ceiling, heart fluttering as her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the edge of her pillow.

Was it just her imagination, or did he genuinely seem drawn to her?

She wasn't sure. But one thing was certain: She wanted to see him again.

She rolled onto her side, staring at the soft glow of the streetlight bleeding in through her curtains. Her mind wandered back to his eyes, calm but intense. The kind of look that stayed with you even after you turned away.

What if we do meet again?

The thought made her heart skip. She smiled softly to herself, and whispered into the quiet:

"I hope I see him again soon..."

Back at his home, in the darkness, Sukuna's eyes gleamed at the screen.

He took another sip of his drink and whispered,

"You will." Saying as if he heard what she said.

Phase Two: Secure...

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

End of Chapter 2

Comments and feedbacks are always appreciated! ❤️ Don't forget to follow for further updates!

You can support me and my work on Patreon here: https://www.patreon.com/user?u=104357938

-Hungarian Shinobi

[thewretched1999]

── .✦ bailale, mi amor.

cw: established relationship, jealousy, luis serra is alive!! (i scream as they drag me away.) reader is an agent + is also implied to be like, latina, but it’s hardly (heavy on the hardly) mentioned.

a/n: finish literally any fic i’ve had in the vault and post it? no. post a imagine/drabble i wrote cus i was listening to a song? yes. anyways. short n sweet i guess. will be posting a real fic soon, promis :3

word count: 577

Imagining Leon going out with you to like a baile or something, Leon doesn’t dance, would rather roll on broken glass and pour salt in his wounds than ever humiliate himself like that in front of anyone, especially you.

He opts for the safer option, stays behind, nurses his drink and takes in the setting, everything was going fine but for some god forsaken reason, you dragged Luis out to dance.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to let you two be all buddy buddy because now he’s silently seething watching you both dance together. You’re not doing anything bad, per se, just having fun with a friend, a friend.

It’s not that Leon doesn’t trust Luis, he does!

…He just has to remind himself that there would never ever be anything between you and Luis. He remembers how Luis was all too eager to hit on you any chance he got back in Spain, granted he stopped once he figured out Leon had a thing for you, but that was basically on the helicopter ride home.

A little too late for Leon’s liking.

He still knows a little bit of spanish from Spain and what he's learned from you to know he doesn’t like what the lyrics are saying at all.

Something about turning someone on and needing to feel their body close to them. You’d be proud of him for making the words out.

But he can’t focus on that right now, not with the way his brain is just screaming at him that you and Luis just look too good together, too natural.

Luis twirls you, you stumble a bit but recover by leaning into him with a laugh, Luis’s hand makes it’s way to the small of your back, pressing you just a tiny bit closer against him.

Leon’s fingers tighten subtly around the glass, jaw clenched and brow furrowed. He’s being stupid he knows he is, but he can’t help it. He’s jealous.

Eventually the song ends and you bound back to the booth meanwhile Luis slips outside, probably to smoke, Leon’s just glad you’re back with him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, he forgets you know his tells.

“Nothing.”

“Your face is doing that thing, Leon.”

He stays quiet for a moment, wonders if he should just tell you or not, but he sighs and decides he doesn’t want to ruin your night.

“Did you have fun?” He asks instead, cringing slightly.

Fuck, even he knows his tone was bitter and snarky, you picked up on it too, judging by the momentary look of suprise on your face that’s being quickly replaced with a grin, he knows he’s screwed.

“You’re jealous.”

You gasp and point an accusatory finger at him. Like it’s the discovery of the century.

He just glares at you, slugs his drink while you cackle, because it’s hilarious to you, it’s absurd.

“You’re jealous!” You repeat.

He’s jealous of Luis? You can’t help but laugh at the notion. If you weren’t a couple drinks in you’d have taken him seriously and reassured him.

But right now all you can do is laugh.

“You wanna play like that?” He grumbles, “Wait til’ we get home.”

That shuts you up real quick, paints a pretty blush across your face that lets him know he’s got you right where he wants you.

Needless to say, he makes sure you remember your place by his side once you both get home that night.

[badmilkk]

How do you think Pony or Darry (or maybe the whole gang) would react if Soda and Two-Bit let their relationship out of the closet

They seem like they're closeted because homophobes yk

I'm so glad you asked me that because I have a whole structured timeline about their relationship based on my headcanons. This is a bit of a long post but I don't caaare... (There are drawings at the end anyways)

Their relationship is post-canon, so Dally and Johnny are sadly dead. They started getting closer after Sandy left Soda. Darry was really busy at work, Pony hung out very often with his new group (Curly and Scout and more random characters I guess XD), and Steve was taking his relationship with Evie very seriously after seeing how badly things went for Soda, so these two started to get together since they were a bit lonely. Two-Bit had liked Soda for a long time, but he obviously kept it all a secret and would occasionally hook up with some girl as a way to disguise it and to distract himself, thinking he would forget him that way. But well, that didn't happen lol. Soda started to like Two-Bit after Two didn't gave damn about anything and began to half-flirt with him and have very strange acts of kindness and courtesy. At first, he didn't understand his feelings, but then, looking back, he understood everything. He had already suspected that he liked guys for a few years but hadn't stopped to think about it, plus, back then he had internalized homophobia 😔. Things started to happen between them one night when they were half-drunk after some party or something and they kissed. The next day, unfortunately, they both remembered and started avoiding each other out of embarrassment until Soda had a talk with him and told him that their relationship was wrong and that they should stay away for the good of both of them. Two-Bit was super depressed because he was very much in love but he listened to him and they were like that for a few weeks. They avoided each other while hiding it from everyone and acting like nothing was wrong. Everything exploded one day when Two-Bit finally spoke to him and they had a long conversation where they were honest with each other on the rooftop of the Curtis' house (for some reason??) and they confessed their feelings and blah blah blah... But there was no kiss!! They just hugged and that was it because that was still something new for them hehe. During the following days, they half-avoided each other because they were very nervous, but they would steal glances or touch hands, or sometimes Two-Bit would take advantage and start flirting with Soda. Until finally one night Soda snuck into Two-Bit's room through the window, they hung out, and they had their first official kiss without alcohol involved. Some nights when Pony had a sleepover with Scout in his room (this is another ship I like a lot), Soda would sleep in his old room, and taking advantage of this, Two-Bit would sneak in through the window and spend time or the night with him. Sometimes Soda has also snuck out to spend the night at his place. They started going on dates. Pony once caught them in a too affectionate situation 🫢🤨 when they thought no one was around and started to overthink it but kept it a secret. Then things started to fall into place and he already assumed that those two were at least friends with benefits.

When Soda (and Steve) went to war, in my head it was like a year and a half or so until they returned. Well, there was a time when they stopped receiving letters from both Soda and Steve and everyone assumed the worst, thinking they might have died. In a moment of weakness (and maybe a little drunk), Two-Bit confessed to Darry and Pony that he was dating Soda. Darry took it really badly and Pony finally confirmed his theory, and although he took it a little badly, he tried to show his best support (remember the homophobia of the 60s aaaa). Darry didn't want to talk to Two-Bit anymore ☹️. Upon returning home from Vietnam, the only one who knew they were coming back was Darry, as he kept it as a surprise after some phone calls with Soda. First, they reunited with Pony. Later, he told Soda that he already knew about his relationship and they had a little chat, but everything was fine because Pony understood that as long as they were happy and didn't hurt anyone, it shouldn't bother him that they were two men together. The next day, Pony accompanied Soda to Two-Bit's house and they had a super cute reunion. Time passed and Darry tried to soften up but it was very difficult for him. He fought with Soda many times about this because it was a huge shock, but over time he got used to it, "forgave" them, and accepted their relationship (what choice did he have XD). Steve was more of the same. He ended up finding out because Soda told him and they argued a lot too. He was hurt for being the last to find out blah blah blah there were problems blah blah blah homophobia of the time blah blah blah but Darry and Pony talked to him and made him see reason. Everyone got used to it and finally they were all happy!!! Although, of course, they couldn't act like boyfriends in front of other people, and they also don't really like being too close when they are around the gang. I couldn't tell you how long their relationship lasts, but for some reason, I feel like they don't end up staying together in the distant future.

[ysaefinn]

mommy!sugu but he’s evil.. i’m talking forcing you to sit on his lap, incessantly, after a rough spanking sesh. bouncing you on his thigh while you’re almost completely bare. your raw, red ass stinging due to the skin on skin contact. he only does it because he knows you’ll whine a bit and sling your arms tightly around his shoulders. maybe if he’s lucky, you’ll hide your face in his neck and he’ll be able to sneak a whiff of your shampoo.

-🍎

Tw: infantilization, mommy kink, spankings, humiliation (or maybe you have no shame LMAO), consensual punishment, mdni :]

No this is so mean o(｡•́︿•̀｡)o <- what i would say if i hadn't reached the point of no return

ROUGH MEAN MOMMY!SUGU PUNISHMENT oh boy oh boy, I KNOW YOU SAID EVIL AS IN YOU WANT HIM TO BE LIKE THIS UNAPOLOGETICALLY and I WILL INDULGE YOU but I'm still gonna say that this happens for reasons!!!!!

We've talked about this before, he's mean as hell when you hurt yourself and refuse to listen, effectively proving to him that the only way to get you to behave is through tough love.

If you remember my answer to an ask yesterday, i said that Suguru sees giving you exactly what you need no matter how hard it hurts him as nurturing, and that includes discipline, bcuz ultimately he just wants what's good for you. And if it's a big mean hand coming down on your cheeks till the flesh gets all red and tender then so be it, you're getting that spanking <//3

I'm really really really weak for mommy!Suguru talking you through your punishments (tmi: the cat's throbbing) he really does believe that you can't handle him being too mean and you can't, trust me lmao. But if you somehow manage to trigger his wrath, the sweet warm coos and reassurances that it'll all be over and you'll be in mommy's arms soon turn into cold dismissive responses, telling you that you did this to yourself, that he has no problem bending you over his lap if it's what it takes to keep you in line, that you have no one to blame but yourself, he doesn't even rub the flesh when it gets too warm :( Instead he pinches the plump cheeks <- MEAAANNN MEAN MEAN MEAN AND EVIL!!!!!!

Edit: oh and he makes you count each spanking <3

And no, you don't get to suck on his fingers after, That's supposed to soothe you, and disobedient babies don't get to be comforted after earning the pain. Instead, you're made to sit on his lap, soft sore tender flesh pressed against rock-hard thighs, a rough spanking is already sure to keep you unable to sit for a long time. Then he starts to bounce you...and you're probably gonna start to leak. Listen, its stimulation, something you don't get every day (seriously), and paired with being in nothing but a pair of stockings (<- he loves putting u in stockings) and possibly a shirt if you're lucky, you are gonna be tempted to ride his thigh, and you should!!! You should if you feel like your ass wasn't spanked raw enough!!! Seriously don't piss mommy off when he's trying to teach you lessons...

You're gonna cry and whine and beg him to stop but he won't, bcuz again, it's what you need, and you're being nurtured, you're being cared for, and he expects you to be grateful and promise to be good from now on. Suguru LOVES you, and if you neglect yourself and refuse his care, he WILL remind you of your place, just gonna have to drill it into your thick stubborn skull , one red ass at a time <33

[tiniinbookland]

it's a little funny how i told my therapist on Wednesday that i'd show up in a better mood on Monday because i'm going to see Star Wars in cinema and i'm hyped!!

what a fucking fool i've been

anyway, random thoughts i had throughout the movie, in order of me remembering them:

this is epic

seeing the grey in Obi-Wan's beard so large is so important to me

Artoo my specialest boy, he's the king

Anakin and Obi-Wan are two halves of the same idiot sometimes

i'm smiling so much even tho i know what's coming

Dooku doing a backflip down that balcony is so extra for why

need to punch Palpatine in the face

just drop him down the elevator shaft → Obi-Wan saying drop and then dropping with the Chancellor still hanging to them is sending me

Palpatine is regretting everything now huh

another happy landing, i need to eat him

hey, i read about the business on Cato Neimodia in February!

Anakin would've been such a great dad, LOOK HOW HAPPY HE IS

it's going downhill from here i am not ready

is it Boga time yet, where is Boga, Boga? BOGA!

need to skin Palpatine alive

brain, Anakin, USE YOUR BRAIN I KNOW YOU GOT ONE

Obi-Wan's stance, his nonchalance, he's HIM

getting both angry and desperate about Anakin not consciously realising the lighting that's frying Palps is coming from Palps himself

PLEASE THE BRAIN, YOU'RE ACTUALLY A SMART GUY MAN i hate it here

i need to die

Boga my beloved

thinking about that letterboxd comment of Windu falling out the Windu

you're laughing. i'm sitting here in agony and the people around me are laughing

if the guy next to me takes out his phone one more time i'll shove it down his throat

how can all the Jedi have betrayed you specifically Anakin, CAN'T YOU SEE IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE

thinking about the random analysis posts i've accumulated in my head that make this so much worse, including but not limited to Artoo telling 3PO Anakin doesnt talk to him anymore, Artoo being told to wait by the ship only for Anakin to never return, Palpatine calling Cody about Order66 first bc he knows Obi-Wan is a threat...

what if i threw myself down these rows of chairs

i need a hug actually. and a big jedi robe for comfort

Palpatine needs to die a painful death. episodes 6 and 9 didn't do enough there

where's my blåhaj when i need him

i'm in pain

oh hey that lava splash is actually from Mount Etna

PLO KOON 😭😭😭😭

who even am i anymore

Anakin seriously needs a friend his own age, just a single one could've done so much

need to gnaw on Obi-Wan

so many beautiful shots in this

we should all die actually

"he's still alive!" i don't think he wants to be

that doesn't conclude my thoughts but those are the ones i can scrape together atm lol. very much got quite inside and out throughout the film, in the end i just sat there staring blankly with tears in my eyes and now i'm. in the car with my dad listening to linkin park, so yeah, i'm doing wonderfully

[vermisc]

you're right and you should say it!!

(in addition to their real-world importance, the vast majority of shipping discourse would ALSO be non-existent/resolved if more people were familiar with these concepts, so... yeah. everyone please put down the shipping discourse for a minute)

I'd like to start a list of intro level readings for anyone who is unfamiliar with these concepts and interested in learning about them -

(DISCLAIMER: please note that I'm by no means claiming to be an expert on any of these topics - in the spirit of anarchy/collectivism (and also bc I have limited energy due to being neurodivergent and physically disabled) I'd like to encourage others to contribute to this list if they can - it's more constructive if we pool our knowledge together than it is to treat any one person as the sole authority on a subject)

so anyways - here's the actual list:

Family Abolition:

- "Why We Should Abolish the Family" by Lily Sánchez (May 2022) - fairly easy to read, but it is on the somewhat longer side; a good intro to the concept and touches on family abolition as it intersects with disability, age, race, immigration, gender, queerness, economic status, etc.

Singles Tax:

(I'm having a hard time finding resources on this one that aren't either "normative to the point of being alienating" or just literal information on filing your taxes as a single person - I know I did read a really good one somewhere but I can't remember what it was called/where i found it so this will have to do for now)

- "Money Matters: The Singles Tax Isn't Just Relevant to Single People" by Bella DePaulo (2023) - more heavily focused on going over the results of a specific study than fully explaining the concept, but it does still give a passable overview of the basic concept of the singles tax - it is still pretty interesting to see the percentages of people (at least based on the study) who feel that financial incentives significantly impacted their decision to stay in/pursue a partnership though

(this author has a few other decent articles on this site around the concept of singles tax - they're all pretty heavily focused on statistics but I think they're still worth checking out (personally I don't find stats to be very engaging but I can't speak for everyone))

Romantic Harassment:

(I actually couldn't find ANY decent resources on this one, so I'll do my best to just provide a basic definition of this concept myself, as I understand it based on my own and other people's experiences - I hope I'm not totally off-track with this and if so I apologize)

Romantic harassment is basically exactly what it sounds like - harassment that is "romantic" in nature. This could include:

- unwanted romantic gestures/attention from someone after you have told them to stop

- someone persistently asking you to form a romantic relationship with them after you have turned them down

- someone secretly telling everyone that you are in a romantic relationship with them when you aren't

- someone pressuring you into giving them romantic gestures/attention that you aren't comfortable with

- someone pressuring you into a romantic relationship by putting you in a position where it would be awkward/difficult to turn them down

- others (such as friends, family members, coworkers, etc.) continuously pestering you about why you're "still single"/trying to set you up with people against your will/non-consensually giving out your contact info to "potential partners"

- etc.

Because it doesn't have an overtly/inherently sexual element, romantic harassment is widely seen as harmless or even endearing, and therefore is often ignored, enabled, or encouraged by bystanders, normalized in the media, or otherwise not taken seriously as a real form of harassment. Targets may be told that they should "give (the person harassing them) a chance" if they bring up the harassment to others, that they're "lucky" or should be "grateful" for the attention, that they're "cold" or "heartless" for turning down the person who is harassing them, etc. Romantic harassment can be especially distressing for aro +/ non-partnering people, though anyone can be the target of it.

(if anyone has any resources/more information on this, plz add it! it's pretty disappointing that I couldn't find anything good...)

Relationship Anarchy:

(these are both very short reads, formatted more as bulleted lists than articles, and do brush on most if not all the other topics to a lesser extent - if you're pressed on time/energy, I'd suggest reading these two FIRST)

- "The short instructional manifesto for relationship anarchy" by Andie Nordgren (2006) - as far as I can tell, this is widely considered one of the OG texts on relationship anarchy

- "Manifesto for Relationship Anarchy 2.0" by Mariia Karhu (2023) - reiteration upon Nordgren's work which places it more concretely within a broader cultural context

-

and that's all I've got for now, i hope someone gets some value out of this -

I'd also like to really emphasize again that the articles I've included are INTRO LEVEL and intended as jumping off points for those who are new to these concepts - most of these articles don't go super in-depth but offer what I feel are relatively accessible and decent foundations - if you're already familiar with these concepts then these may seem very superficial/redundant.

if anyone has more in-depth resources, I do think it's important to share those as well! it's good to encourage people to really delve into these topics and consider them over the long term, rather than just engage with them on a surface level for a few minutes - I'm just sticking with intro level texts for this reblog bc I think these are concepts that many people are not familiar with (even within aro+/ace spheres) and everyone has to start somewhere!

aros, aces, and allies put DOWN the ship discourse we need to talk about family abolition, single tax, romantic harassment, and relationship anarchy im so serious

[mytragedyperson]

Did I ever talk about the horrific body horror type shit I found in a BNHA x OC fanfic? Like I wasn't prepared for it but it was really cool but also just horrific to think about? Well allow me to discuss than now. If body horror type things disgust you, maybe skip this post. Like I'm not going into too much detail but, you know, it's fairly gross so if that's not for you, maybe skip this one. If you've ever read Freeze Frame by good old Strawhat_Pirate, who I've mentioned before because I love their BNHA fics, you may know where this is going. Hint: Monoma. Congratulations, you now have a memory that you may not have thought about since reading it, unless that didn't help at all. Again I may have discussed this before but, well, its time to discuss it again.

So let me paint a picture for those who haven't read Freeze Frame or did reas it but need their memory refreshed. Freeze Frame is a BNHA x Female OC fanfiction. There's a lot that happens in this fic, a lot of it traumatising for the characters and its fairly angsty. At first, it seems like the OC is going to get with Shinsou but she ends up getting with Bakugou instead. The friend group is the OC, AKA Lillian Faust, shinsou Hitoshi, Neito Monoma. Todoroki, Bakugou, Deku and denki later join the friend group. There are also adults involved, but most of them are OCs or would spoil other things, and I really want there to still be surprises for those who choose to read it.

So it's time for the apprenticeships. And Monoma, in this fic, likes boys and likes Hitoshi. When he first starts exploring this, the apprentice ships are coming up, he applies to join Jay (I believe his hero name is Songbird or something), an openly gay hero. At first, things seem to be going well for Monoma, he seems to be learning about his sexuality and having fun, he even goes to a pride parade with Jay and meets his husband. I'm sure the husband is named but I can't remember his name.

Then, for a few chapters, nothing. No Monoma POV. The only mentions of him come from his friends who haven't heard from him. Other than that, he's just gone, until he drags himself into a hospital. Now he is dead, or at least he should be, bit then it turns out he's not. Turns out Jay, and everyone in his agency, were killed, including Monoma, who I'm pretty sure was decapitated. "Well, mytragedyperson, what happened? How is he still alive?"

Let's turn our attention for a moment to Jay's husband, shall we? Jay's husband has a very interesting quirk. He can essentially make people immortal, as long as he's in contact with them. And he's been missing since the attack on the agency. "So what? Was Jay in contact with Monoma when he was decapitated or after?"

Technically, yes. See, Jay's husband, along with about four or five others, have been turned into nomus. Now, let's recall, Monoma's quirk, shall we? He can temporarily copy the quirk of anyone he touches.

What does this have to do with body horror? Well it turns out, someone had a little fun with Monoma's organs, as each of the people turned into a nomu has had one of their organs put in Monoma, and I think, recieved one of Monoma's in return. Including Monoma now having Jay's husband's heart. So Jay's husband's heart is, technically, always in contact with Monoma, who is constantly copying his quirk and, in turn, keeping the nomu alive. And he can hear Jay's husband and possibly the others in his head. So the nomu are immortal and also Monoma is functionally immortal but also kinda technically a zombie. This, right here, is a horrifying thought. And the thing is, with a shitty writer, it would sound dumb. But because it's revealed piece by piece and treated seriously, it becomes yet another traumatic event.

Also it's a really cool idea even if the idea does give me some sort of crisis. And it's stupidly smart in the villains' part.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Historians having takes on frev women that make me go 😐 compilation

Sexually frustrated in her marriage to a pompous civil servant much older than herself, [Madame Roland] may have found Danton’s celebrated masculinity rather uncomfortable. Danton (1978) by Norman Hampson, page 77.

The Robespierres sent their sister to Arras because that was their hometown, the family home, where they had relatives, uncles, aunts and friends, like Buissart who they didn’t cease to remain in correspondence with, even in the middle of the Terror. There, among them, Charlotte would not be alone; she would find advice, rest, the peace necessary to heal her nervousness and animosity. Away from Mme Ricard, who she hated, away from Mme Duplay, who she detested, she would enjoy auspicious calmness. It is Le Bon that the Robespierres will charge with escorting their sister to this neccessary and soothing exile. […] If there is a damning piece in Charlotte Robespierre's case, it is this one (her interrogation, held July 31 1794). She seems to be caught in the act of accusing this Maximilien whom she rehabilitates in her Memoirs. She is therefore indeed a hypocrite, unworthy of the great name she bears, and which she dishonors the very day after the holocaust of 10 Thermidor. Charlotte Robespierre et Guffroy (1910) in Annales Révolutionnaires, volume 3 (1910) page 322, and Charlotte Robespierre et ses mémoires (1909) page 93-94, both by Hector Fleishmann.

Elisabeth, as she was popularly called, was barely past her twelfth birthday, younger even by three years than Barere’s own mother when she was given in marriage. On the following day the guests assembled again in the little church of Saint-Martin at midnight to attend the wedding ceremony of the handsome charmer and the bewildered child. Dressed in white, clasping in her arms a yellow, satin-clad  doll that Bertrand had given her — so runs the tradition — she marched timidly to the altar, looking more like a maiden making her first communion than a woman celebrating a binding sacrament. Perhaps the  doll, if doll there was, filled her eye, but certainly she could not fail to note how handsome her husband was. Bertrand Barere; a reluctant terrorist (1962) by Leo Gershoy, page 32.

The young nun who bore the name of Hébert did not hide her fate. She did not wish to prolong a life stifled from her childhood in the cloister, branded in the world by the name she bore, fighting between horror and love for the memory of her husband, unhappy everywhere. Histoire des Girondins (1848) by Alphonse de Lamartine, volume 8, page 60.

Lucile in prison showed more calmness than Camille. Before the tribunal, she seemed to possess neither fear nor hope, she denied having taken an active role in the prison conspiracy. What did it matter to her the answer they were trying to extract from her? They said they wanted her guilty? Very well! She would be condemned and join Camille. This was what she said again when she was told that she would suffer the same fate as her husband: ”Oh, what joy, in a few hours I’m going to see Camille again!” Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un couple dans la tourmente (1986) by Jean Paul Bertaud, page 293.

What did it matter to Lucile whether she was accused or defended? She had no longer any pretext for living in this world. She was one of those heroines of conjugal love who are more wife than mother. Besides, Horace lived, and Camille was dead. It was of the absent only that she thought. As for the child, would not Madame Duplessis act a mother's part to him? The grandmother would watch over the orphan. If Lucile had lived, she could have done nothing but weep over the cradle, thinking of Camille. Camille Desmoulins and his wife; passages from the history of the Dantonists founded upon new and hitherto unpublished documents (1876) by Jules Claretie.

Having been widowed at the age of 23 [sic] years, Élisabeth Duplay remarried a few years later to the adjutant general Le Bas, brother of her first husband, and kept the name which was her glory. She lived with dignity, and all those who have known her, still beautiful under her crown of white hair, have testified to the greatness of her sentiments and austerity of her character. She died at an old age, always loyal to the memory of the great dead she had loved and whose memory she, all the way to her final day, didn’t cease to honor and cherish. As for the lady of Thermidor, Thérézia Cabarrus, ex-marquise of Fontenay, citoyenne Tallien, then princess of Chimay, one knows the story of her three marriages, without counting the interludes. She had, as one knows, three husbands living at the same time. Now compare these two existances, these two women, and tell me which one merits more the respect and the sympathy of good men. Histoire de Robespierre et du coup d’état du 9 thermidor (1865) by Louis Ernest Hamel, volume 3, page 402.

Fel free to comment which one was your favorite! 😀