#so i might not even get sick off it if i Did

[gold-onthe-inside]

flu season

who? aaron hotchner (s7) x fem!reader summary: when you catch the same bug that's been going round at jack's school, your favourite person returns the favour to take care of you. content warnings: sickness obv, lots of praise (smart/best girl) word count: 0.8k a/n: wrote this for my best girl @minswriting to help her feel better <3 love you bby ; listened to flu season by koffer

You don’t fall sick that often — your record had been 6 sick days last year — but flu season gets to everyone, especially when you spent the better half of a week taking care of a 10 year old with your boyfriend while he was working on a case. You’d felt the odd tickle of a sneeze but nothing more, and Aaron had shown his gratitude in more ways than one. You didn’t mind, you never minded. Just like Aaron, Jack had made a home for himself in your heart, complete with a pillow fort and all.

Except come Tuesday, you’ve got the same bug he did, waking up much later than you normally did, your whole body aching and sore and your head woozy. There’s no choice, you have to call in sick - for fear you might pass out behind the wheel. You wouldn’t have called him if there was another choice either, but it’s just your luck that you’re out of any medication that might help — no painkillers, no cold syrup, nothing.

He can hear it in your voice, the frail hoarseness to it, the stuffy nose that means your voice is a little more nasally than usual. It’s a no-brainer; he tells Rossi to hold down the fort for a day, to which he receives a knowing smirk, and then he’s out of the office, stopping only at a general store in your neighbourhood to pick up everything you need. He splurges on the hypoallergenic eucalyptus tissues, the softest ones he can find, and strawberry cold syrup because he’d be a lousy profiler to not remember your favourite flavour. The next stop is groceries — chicken, eggs, and vegetables, seeing as you wouldn’t go shopping until Thursday — and then he’s at your apartment, sliding the key you’d given him for emergencies into the door.

You look, and feel, like death warmed up, all laid up on the couch with your red-tinged nose and pale skin, tissues scattered around you. “Hey, honey, how are you feeling?” he asked, instantly making a beeline to kneel at your side. He doesn’t even take off his dress shoes first.

“M sorry,” you managed, reaching out for his handsome face, which he covers with his own large palm, kissing the inside of your wrist.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he murmured, closing his hand over your hand and frowning with concern. “You do seem a little warm, though. You check your temperature?”

“Mhm, was 100 degrees this morning. Figured I should stay warm.”

“Smart girl,” he praised, pressing his lips to your temple. “Food?”

“Toast and orange juice,” you said, looking at him as he stroked your hair. “Were you very busy?”

“Never too busy to take care of my best girl,” he replied. “Let’s get some medication in you and then you need to rest, okay?”

You nodded, uncaring of how childish you felt yourself being. Not when he was so caring. He measured out the exact dose of cold syrup for you, had you follow it with a painkiller to help with the body ache, praising you the whole time. “Stay with me?” you asked in your sleepy voice, and he can’t say no. You shift to make space for him on the couch, laying your head on his lap, drifting off to his hand stroking your hair.

You stirred a couple hours later, rubbing your eyes groggily as you try to make sense of everything. Aaron’s suit jacket hung on the back of a chair, and the curtains had been drawn to help you sleep better, and you feel too hot in your hoodie and blanket. You pulled off the hoodie, leaving it beside you just as Aaron walked over, carefully holding a tray with bowl of chicken soup.

“This is officially too much,” you said, your voice a little stronger than it had been when he’d come through the door.

“It’s not nearly enough,” he said firmly. “Go on, sit properly.” He waits until you oblige, his look firm, but a fondness in his eyes as you crossed your legs, leaving him plenty of space to sit beside you. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, drifting down to check your neck. “Not as warm as before, but you can do better,” he said and you pursed your lips at him.

“You may be a boss at work, but you don’t boss me around here, understood?” you told him, threatening him with your spoon and he tried not to laugh.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, sinking back into the couch while you return your attention to the soup, his hand rubbing your back. “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked, and you know he’s being genuine, because there’s nothing he loves more than being of service.

“You’re here,” you said softly. “That’s enough.” And you mean it, of course. You also make him watch Moulin Rouge, even though he hates watching movies that make you cry, and he doesn’t leave your side, spending the day in his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt and slacks, letting you use him like a large body pillow for the rest of the day.

[merakiui]

jade is absolutely getting off to the thought of drugging you up with mushrooms and then using them to fuck you

Oh, most definitely. 😌

“You’re an ash-hole,” is the first thing to tumble out of your mouth. The insult isn’t nearly as biting as you’d hoped it would be, for the slurred way in which you pronounce the expletive dulls its sharpness tenfold. It does earn you a quirk of the mouth from Jade. The exact opposite of what you wanted.

You’re sweating out of your skin, body temperature rocket-high. It almost rivals the stifling humidity of the off-campus woods, which you think might be your resting place if whatever shit Jade spiked your salad with stops your heart. Pre-hike salad, your foot!

He’s found a comfortable clearing, the lush grass more inviting than the cool breeze tickling your cheek. It feels like the wind has a dozen tiny tongues and they’re all lapping at your face. With a shiver, you smack Jade’s arm away when he offers to ease you down. The world is breathing beneath you. The tree trunk you prop yourself against has a heartbeat, and you watch the lines in the bark undulate like saltwater waves.

“As a member of the Mountain Lovers’ Club,” Jade says, lowering to his knees in front of you, his backpack now shrugged off. When you blink, he’s right in front of you next, checking to make sure you’re still lucid. Mostly. “You must be able to discern dangerous flora from the safe ones. The mushrooms mixed in with your salad have hallucinogenic properties. In small amounts, they’re fine. Quite the exciting trip, one might say. But there are some species that have hazardous effects…”

You squeeze your eyes shut again and inhale a shuddering breath. There are spiders beneath your eyelids and in your skin. It prickles. You move to slap nothing off your arm and find that, in the seconds or maybe minutes your world has been turned over, your shorts have been shucked down to your ankles. Jade’s spidery digits creep in close, parting your legs, sliding along your hole through the fabric. You’d kick him if your body wasn’t so keen on melting like candle wax. All you can do is wilt and take in big gulps of air as he presses in, fingers curling beneath your underwear, prodding inside such a private, sensitive place. You’re not sure how much time passes. You swim in and out of consciousness, occasionally snapping back to yourself like a boomerang.

When you come to, it’s with a keening cry and he hums, sounding quite pleased. You’re not sure how or when it happened, but you came around his fingers. The embarrassment doesn’t settle for long, not when your skeleton is jittering in its fleshy confines. You think you might be sick. Something is crawling up your throat. Hands? Vomit? It feels weird. Just what was in that salad? What terrible mushroom did he experiment with this time?

And that’s just it. Everything he does is experimental. Never on himself. You’d quite like that—to give him a literal taste of his own medicine and watch him crumple. What a glorious day that would be.

Like a surgeon, Jade slips a pair of latex gloves on. For a horrified moment, you wonder if he really is going to bury you out here. But instead he procures a particularly sizable mushroom from a plastic bag. It looks familiar, but right now there are a dozen names rushing through your mind and none of them can be correct. You watch with even more horror as he tears a little square package open and slides the condom over the mushroom’s stipe, all business. Perfectly clinical.

“Today, we’re going to learn to identify mushrooms and their uses.” He beams. “Starting with this one.”

“I…” Your tongue feels all wrong. Numb. Too long. And then too short. You try to pronounce your next words, but they come out in a messy splutter.

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s edible.” Jade smiles angelically.

Gee, thanks for the help. That narrows it down by a lot, you think, sarcastic.

“Maybe this will jog your memory,” he adds, and when you blink the stipe is pushing against your puckered hole. His fingers are wrapped gently around the cap of the mushroom, holding it steady.

“Wha…” You attempt to crawl back from him, but the tree holds you firm. “Jade—”

“It’s a very popular ingredient in soups and risotto,” he continues, undeterred in his approach.

You dig your fingers into the ground and rip up clumps of grass. It feels wrong. Intrusive. This strange, foreign thing. You squirm weakly, but it doesn’t shake him off.

Dunno, you think, your mouth moving mutely.

“It’s part of the genus Boletus.”

Oh, you hate him something fierce. This smart-ass eel. As if you’d know the scientific name or the genus and whatever-heenus-gleenus. You’ll kill him.

Not really. Because who could kill Jade Leech? Not you.

But the feeling comes something close to death as you imagine yourself weaponizing the blazing sun in your scowl and burning a hole through him like he’s an ant under a magnifying glass. Instead, your expression falls and you give a short, sweet whine. The mushroom presses in shallowly. Jade watches with a delight that can only be described as exhilaration. His smile is preternatural.

It turns out it’s a penny bun. Boletus edulis. He tells you that halfway into working the thick mushroom in and out of you.

“I’m sure you’ll have better luck with the next one,” he assures, and then you see it. The many mushrooms packed neatly away in his backpack, each one packaged in that chilling, serial-killer-like precision only Jade Leech could have.

[demonic0angel]

Can you please do a sick/comfort fic in the Dani is Pup au?

(Hell yeah I can)

Pup sneezed.

Red Hood turned in her direction for a moment. This was the fifth time she had sneezed in the last 20 minutes, and frankly, if he wasn't worried about her, he was worried about the state of her helmet's insides.

"... You alright there, Pup?" He asked.

She nodded, sniffling loudly. "Yeah. I'm just fine."

He narrowed his eyes. Usually, she had a voice modifier to change her voice, but as he was starting to look for clues, he was beginning to notice the hoarse edge to her voice.

"You're sick," he deadpanned, standing up and striding over to her. She didn't even react, only giving a thin whine as he pulled her up and took off a glove to check against her neck.

Hot.

Fuck. She probably a fever.

Red Hood hauled her up into his arms and opened the office door to call out, "Wolf! Emergency!"

"Boss? Do you need help?" Dave, one of his men nearby, asked, looking worriedly at the limp Pup in his arms.

"Nah, it's... family business," Red Hoof said, patting Pup's back. She sniffled again and just laid in his arms, docile. He felt sad for her, and guilty for not realizing sooner. After all, she had stayed up with him for the entire night while Wolf had been completing other business. She probably wouldn’t have gotten sick until he kept her up.

"Hood! What's wrong?" Wolf asked, marching over before she gasped at the sight of Pup in his arms. "What's wrong?" She asked again, her voice in a coo.

"I think she's sick," Red Hood said, as he ushered them inside of his office. "I noticed that she was sneezing and her voice was off. Her skin also feels hot— I think she might have a fever, I'm sorry."

Wolf carried Pup in her arms, holding her securely and silently before she unzipped Pup's jacket. Pup had her arms wrapped around herself, shivering. Wolf then turned to Red Hood and as she tossed Pup's jacket onto the back of the office chair, said, "Take off your jacket."

Red Hood blinked. "Pardon?"

"And your armor too— are you okay with taking off your armor?"

Red Hood nodded and hesitantly did so, leaving himself in his skintight spandex and pants. His helmet stayed on, but he took off his holsters since it seemed as though that was the direction they were headed. With one hand, Wolf pushed him onto the couch and then gently placed Pup in his grasp. Pup gave another whine, and Red Hood tensed.

“What?” He blurted, as Wolf took his jacket and then popped off Pup’s helmet with the other hand. Black hair scattered across his vision before Pup was covered by his jacket, too quick for him to see her face.

“Wait!” He cried and Wolf paused. Red Hood squirmed with the weight of Pup on top of him. “My jacket’s sweaty.”

Wolf was still for a moment before she unzipped her own jacket. Red Hood stared speechlessly at the expanse of skin he saw before Wolf switched jackets and layered hers over Pup’s, taking Red Hood’s as her own.

“You stay here with Pup while I go out and buy medicine. Just comfort her and hold her for a little while, she gets clingy when sick. Also—” Wolf put a hand on Red Hood’s shoulder. “I trust you with her and her identity, okay? So just relax and watch over her.”

Then while still clad in his jacket like it was nothing, she strode out of the room, leaving Pup still laying on his chest like a baby while unmasked, sick, and completely vulnerable.

Red Hood stared into nothing, mind completely blown into space. He awkwardly patted Pup’s hair (hair!! It was her hair!!) when she grumbled in her fever induced dreams.

He was sure of it.

These two were going to be the death of him.

[cement-covered-tree]

DOEY HEADCANONS!!!

๑ One of the toys in Safe Haven is from a more… recent (brain rot) generation, and taught him all the lingo. He aggressively uses the words “slay”, “sis”, and “baddie”. Poppy has it out for the toy that did this.

๑ If he is ever to get an injury or get sick and require antibiotics or medical care, you can bet that he would resist, resist, resist. He would absolutely avoid any such things until probably passing out (hits the family guy death pose).

๑ Since all 3 of them are from the sixties, if player was to tell him about prices, he’d crash out. Also, (bless his heart) sometimes Kevin says racist things. Matthew usually always takes control and apologizes profusely. Also, I think Matthew might have been a closeted bi, but hasn’t had time to deal with such things. And where would he find a dude OR a girl? And how would he even date? He shares a body with 2 other kids and is too young for the business so he just sits there, pining for something he can never have :(. He just wants to buy someone a 10 cent glass bottle of coke… wait, 3 dollars??? And plastic??? AAA-

๑ Also, (we’ve discussed this matter before), when listening to music, he stims along with it by changing shape, and prickling, and just silly goober stuff!!! Matthew likes indie rock, Kevin likes emo music, and Jack likes… um… the Taylor Swift and Olivia Rodrigo and Sabrina Carpenter genre of music. Not pop, but specifically the soft voiced white girl music. Matthew humors him, but Kevin would turn that off immediately given the chance. But Kevin and Matthew both really like Lemon Demon, Tally Hall, Will Wood, Gorillaz- that music.

hope u enjoyed!!!

Heheheehehhehehehe I love these I made the music headcannon btw aaaa🩵🩵

[gothamite-rambler]

Batman and Jim faced a woman who has the flu, her boyfriend was on the floor crying with a knife in his thigh.

Liz: I have the flu, not that 'flu', but regular flu. I am not feeling well. I just wanted to have my broth and relax in bed until my flu went away. Then… that motherfucker!

Liz pointed to her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend who glared back at her.

Liz: Was like, "Let's cook together! Let's cook together!" Like a damn Muppet!

Kyle: I don't sound like Kermit the Frog!

Jim: Maybe don't keep talking.

Liz: Thank you! Anyways, he said if I went to the store to shop, he'd make me a meal that I could digest, because you know I'm sick! So I relented, we got the stuff, went home and I couldn't 'cook together'. I couldn't stand… I could barely walk! Kyle sucked his teeth in denial

Liz: I went to bed and thought he would leave me alone, maybe bring me some Campbell's soup. He came in the room with a cutting board, a bell pepper and a knife.

Batman (pointing to the knife in the man's thigh): The knife that's in his thigh?

Liz nodded, hands on her hips.

Liz: Oh yeah, I lost it. I'm not proud to admit it, but "cooking together" with that man is me doing ninety percent of the cooking! He does this with all his family and I can usually let it go, but not when I'm going through the flu!

Kyle: Oh my God, I had a cold at ten and it wasn't even that bad. You're such a—

Liz tossed the bell pepper she had been gripping in her hand directly at Kyle's head, making him grunt and interrupting his whining for a second.

Kyle (whining again): I just wanted to cook together!

Jim: You keep saying that, but that doesn't mean anything. Especially since she's sick. Why would you want her to cook when she has the flu? Also you lied to her, you promised her a dinner you'd cook.

Kyle: There is a knife in my thigh!

Jim (jokingly): You're alive. I got stabbed once and could still work so that means yours can't be that bad.

Liz: He's done crap similar to this. One time he did that stupid TikTok challenge where the guy says 'what's for dinner, bitch?' and I let it slide, but what he did was uncalled for! Batman has said anything, but I'm ready for my scolding.

Batman covered his mouth, unintentionally laughing. He turned to Jim, placing his hand on the man's shoulder.

Batman: This is fucking wild!

Jim nodded, rubbing his eyes and laughing as well.

Batman: I'm sorry, I just keep picturing you grabbing the knife and jabbing it into his thigh and he shouts "I just wanted to cook together!"

Jim: This fucking guy. He's like the dog that keeps bringing the ball back and I just want to rest.

Liz started laughing next, still pissed but glad two other men were on her side.

Liz: Dude, agree. I couldn't take his nonsense anymore.

Kyle: I'm right here!

Liz scoffed rolling her eyes.

Liz: Look I know I overreacted, but he promised to make dinner and give me my medicine then brought me a cutting board!

Batman: Which is the worst task to give a sick person. Bringing a knife and cutting board in bed. You're going to prison, but I don't blame you.

Jim: Yeah, you overreacted, but he's alive. We just have to wait for the EMTs to take him away and then take you in for questioning. Honestly you might not get jail time.

Kyle (defiant, whining): I'm suing her either way!

Liz: I'll pay half of your medical bills douche. This was a good reason to dump him at least. Kyle, pack your shit later and leave. We're through.

Kyle: Fine! I'll find another—

Batman and Jim: STOP SAYING COOK TOGETHER!

Kyle pouted, resting on the ground with his arms cross while Liz sat down to blow her nose.

Based off a reddit story I saw on smosh pit that angered me so much I had to write a what if. In the AITA post OP is the boyfriend who brought in the cutting board and she didn't stab him (I would've hit him with the cutting board at least). I can only hope she dumped his ass.

[lumdays]

please notice me, prince!! ♡

au by @alli-ily << i've been meaning to join this au for a little while now hehehe

*click for better quality LMAO,,, sorry i have no idea why it's so fucked up but i did transcript the important stuff down here if you want

sir? dame? siyun (aka azul's worst nightmare)

"though they are very capable, they're quite unpopular with nobles as they tend to disobey even direct orders if they figure that there is a more efficient way to do things. they're also a little too honest for high society's taste."

siyun hails from far away lands, practically another world (hehe nod to them being a yuu). it is known that they have two younger siblings and that their parents are both well but it seems that they are no longer in contact.

...ashengrotto despises them (they give him SO many headaches, FREE HIM 🙏🙏)

some more stuff utc,, ARGHHH I BRAINROT OVER AUS LIKE THIS SO FAST💔💔💔 it's the evil manhwa lover in me

ALRIGHT SOOO.... the reason why i keep mentioning azul is because In My Head (please correct me if i'm wrong/you don't want me making up stuff HELPPP i didn't know what to go off aside that there's a bunch of kingdoms and nobles), he was accused/is suspected of embezzlement and siyun was dispatched to monitor him.

...they might as well be the bane of his existence honestly. embezzlement is likely the one crime he has yet to commit but with a highly competent knight keeping a close eye on him, it's gotten a lot harder for him to do anything that is remotely not outstanding-member-of-society material, which pisses him off to no end (...that's kinda just his own assumptions though LMAO, siyun does NOT care that much about the matters of some rich merchant,, unless someone gets hurt that is).

ANYWAYS. this made me think i should probably write down how they feel about lady ariya and prince shin

starting with lady ariya

siyun truly admires her resolve to clear her family's name. but they also can't help but feel something akin pity for her, the path she chose for herself will be long and arduous, especially alone—very few manage to walk out, head held high and pride intact. still, she seems like a promising young lady and siyun is a hopeful person, "i will assist you should you ever call for me."

prince shin (@liyuviq)

humble beginnings, big responsibilities. it's a bit presumptuous, but siyun sort of relates to the illegitimate prince. perhaps not fully—they never experienced Suddenly Being A Royal and sincerely hoped they never would, even in another universe. however, they can relate to the whiplash, the struggle to cram into a few months—no, weeks—everything the other nobles learned over the years, the stares, the whispers... they remember how it all felt, and when they look at their highness shin, they can only hope that they will rise through it all. "then again, i do know i am not your highness. perhaps you don't feel even a fraction of the dread that filled me back then—i would be very glad if so."

i hope i'm not overstepping 👉👈,, aghh also open for interactions for anyone interested hdhdhhdshd, i haven't checked the tag yet HELP

as for the hypothetical target of their affection,,, i fear it may be butler jade 💀💀........... I'M A SUCKER FOR BUTLER X KNIGHT ARCHETYPE 💔💔💔ALSO I BRAINROT OVER YUNDE 2MUCH💔AH AND quick lore rundown

i imagine their knighthood still stands in another empire—or kingdom,,, sorry my knowledge of the world building here is a little vague HDUAJHF. anyway the point is that they are skilled enough for the royal family themselves to take them under their heavy golden wing—until the ashengrotto accusations and they're given bits and pieces of their freedom back.

I'M REALLY SORRY MOOTS THIS IS JUST ME YAPPING ON AND ON..... but like this au's really sick‼️‼️‼️ tags - @heyhellohihowareyou @elenauaurs @distant-velleity @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @skriblee-ksk @sickle-stick @puowei @jadelover69 @tixdixl @nemisisnemi @angelwishess @theleechyskrunkly @chillygourami @bunniehunn @cheerleaderman UUUH DID I FORGET ANYONE.....

[yesimwriting]

Phantom Lurking

A/n This is a story set in the bestie reader verse that I briefly mentioned in an ask, but there's no specific context needed outside of the fact that reader and louis are extremely close best friends

Warnings: nothing too crazy (especially when compared to the source material) but there's mentions/implications of someone putting something in reader's drink but, within the fic, reader is never actually in danger of being physically hurt, reader feeling sick/anxious, Armand being emotionally manipulative as a way of expressing affection

Summary: After an argument with Louis, you decide to go out with an old friend. Once you're home again, you're forced to deal with two realizations. The first is that you feel a lot worse than you should, and the second is that Armand isn't the worst at being helpful when he wants to be.

----

The world feels flat, like one of the three dimensions you're used to being able to perceive has slipped into nonexistence. You frown, letting the thought inch its way up your spine.

You blink. Once and then twice, as if the familiarity of the gesture will be enough to remind you of what you were doing--of the reason for the phone in your hand.

"Woah," the voice is sharp enough in its happiness to jab at your stomach. You lift your head, ignoring the rigidness of the movement as you look to the source of the sound. Grace--your friend, Grace. A part of you is almost complacent enough to be eased by the realization that she's here. "You look so sad."

You can feel your eyebrows draw together. Do you? And then, as your fingers tighten around your cell phone, a second thought latches itself onto the first: Are you?

"Don't worry," she says, voice so chipper it almost stings. "He'll be over it tomorrow."

Right. On instinct, you let your head fall downwards. You unlock your phone, eyes narrowing at the screen's brightness as you open your messages. No new ones. Just the last texts you managed to send to Louis before you started feeling too nauseous to type: Not feeling. Okkay.

The lack of response presses itself into your lungs, making it impossible to breathe right. Louis was upset , but you can't imagine him ever being mad enough to not text you back. "But Louis answers."

Grace watches you for a second, her head tilting curiously at your phrasing. "Maybe he's sleeping." When the suggestion doesn't seem to sway you, she places a hand on your bare shoulder. Your mind is aware enough to acknowledge the intentions behind the contact, but her skin is so warm and sweaty against yours it's nearly nauseating. "It's late."

Louis keeps different hours than the general population, but that's not something you can fault her for not knowing. Besides, maybe it is so late that the night is morphing into morning. It wouldn't be the first time you and Grace lost an entire night to partying, and it would explain why you feel so incredibly out of it.

And...if Louis was really upset, he might have gone to bed early. He mentioned once that sometimes vampires enclose themselves in their coffins to avoid dealing with discomfort. It sounds deeply dramatic to you, but it's possible he's doing something similar.

You exhale, nodding so slowly the motion feels like more of a caricature of a human response than anything else. She laughs, the sound full in its certainty. Your stomach doesn't know how to digest her easiness.

"You'll feel better tomorrow." Grace's hand pulls itself away from your arm. "Okay--keys." When all you do is stare at her, she sighs. "First, I have to stop you from going home with that weird guy you met while waiting for the bathroom..." She trails off as she reaches for your purse. "And now you don't even remember where you are."

Hm. Grace's chastising gives you something to focus on. You blink, lifting your gaze as you glance around the building. The pale walls and warm lighting are familiar...this is your apartment building. How did you get to your apartment building?

Grace rifles through your purse, the contents of your bag clinking together as she searches through it. After a second, she seems to find what she's looking for. She turns away from you and towards the door.

"Okay," she hums triumphantly, "We're in."

You take the words as a sign to step forward. Your thoughts don't align with your movements. The delay is enough to make you stumble, your foot missing the base of your heel.

Grace is next to you in a second, her hands latching onto your arms to keep you stable. "How much did you drink?" The question lacks her earlier amusement.

You're not sure you're meant to respond, but you think about it anyway. It didn't feel like that much...but you don't exactly remember every moment, every drink--and you were mad at Louis.

She watches you for a second, her eyes wide and much too focused. "Are you okay?" It's a question your mind refuses to dwell on. Of course you're okay. "Like--okay to be left alone."

"Mhm," the answer feels hollow, "Yeah." Grace continues to stare, her lips pressed together in a way that conveys her uncertainty. "I'm just gonna go to sleep."

She studies you for another beat, and then sighs, "Okay--but straight to bed. And no more texting." Easy enough to follow. Grace lets go of you slowly. "And maybe try to drink some water--and--and try to sleep on your side."

You nod blankly, your hands reaching for the door in front of you. "Water, side, no texting."

Grace sighs as she walks forward. "And call me in the morning, okay?"

You squeeze the side of the door in an attempt to feel more stable. Tomorrow morning feels so far...so impossible. "Okay. Yeah."

She turns her head to look at you one last time before continuing down the hall. You step into your apartment before shutting the door behind you.

The darkness of your apartment immediately pushes itself to the front of your mind, blending into your unease in a way that's dizzying. You exhale, letting your weight rest against the door. You shut your eyes, inhaling as you force yourself to focus on the concrete. The ground beneath your feet is steady, the wood against your back is stable.

"You turned off your location."

The tension that takes over your body is so sharp, so heavy it briefly leaves you paralyzed. You open your eyes, pushing yourself further against the door.

Wait. The voice. You know that voice. The recognition doesn't ease you until a familiar figure pulls itself away from the shadows enshrouding your living room in darkness.

"Oh my god," you manage a second too late, the words devoid of the necessary bite needed to turn the phrase into a warning. "I thought you were a serial killer."

Armand doesn't care about your reaction. He just continues walking towards you with slow, even steps. Your mind is too foggy for his theatrics. "What..." Your questions feel too inadequate for you to make them mean anything. "Is Louis--is he okay?"

He stills at that, but it doesn't really matter. He's close enough now that the darkness isn't obscuring his features. For a moment, you think the question might have softened his expression. "Now you can find it in yourself to worry about him? After the way you spoke to him?"

Of course Louis told him. The haziness clinging to your thoughts has turned everything into sludge. Your lips part, some barely coherent defense-apology hybrid attempting to crawl its way up your throat. All you can manage is a slurred, "He was--dramatic, and I--" You push a hand against the door in an attempt to make yourself stand on your own. "I'm sorry." You're not sure why you're apologizing. It's not like Louis can hear it.

Armand continues forward. You don't think about where he might be going until you feel his hand on your arm. He's a lot less careful than Grace was, but something about the feel of his skin against yours is also a lot less overwhelming. If anything, the coolness of his touch is almost alievating.

"I don't--" You're not sure there's much point in explaining anything. Not when the only thing tethering you to consciousness is your nausea. You can't remember ever feeling so separate from yourself. "I don't feel good. If you're gonna lecture me, do it tomorrow."

Tomorrow. It feels more like a concept than a date. Things would be so much better if you could just fade out of existence until then.

Armand pulls you away from the door. Your limbs are too stiff to protest. His eyebrows draw together, and something behind his expression shifts. "I'm not here to lecture you."

"Then why are you here?"

His thumb moves out of place, brushing against your skin soothingly. "After your argument--Louis came back to me, he told me about what you said, how you treated him, and then he went to bed. Hours later, you sent him a message saying you didn't feel well..." He squeezes your arm a little tighter. "And you turned off your location."

It had been an extremely petty move, but in the moment, a few drinks in, it had felt so reasonable. If Louis was going to see you as fragile, you'd have to show him that you felt no interest in being looked after. "I was mad."

"And now you're experiencing natural consequence." His hold on you morphs into something that borders on uncomfortable, his nails pressing into your skin. "Do you know what people see when they look at you?" You can't do anything but stare at him. "You refuse to acknowledge your vulnerability, and then you stumble home like this."

Okay--you're drunk, but not--not horrible. You’re standing (mostly), and you haven't said anything weird to him. "You're not clueless." The words almost feel like a compliment. "How much did you have to drink?" You don't have an answer. "You don't know? Because I've seen you with Louis, and even when alcohol makes you sick, it's never like this."

Your limbs seem to grow heavier at the implication of his words. Did someone drug you? There was that one guy that hung around you and Grace a little too long, but he never got you a drink.

"Maybe you'll learn to appreciate Louis's warnings instead of running off with the first girl that offers you something simple."

Louis--when he learns about what happened, when he learns that you tried to call him...and that he wasn't there. "Don't tell him."

He angles his head towards you. "You're asking me to keep a secret from my companion for you?"

Ugh. "No." You didn't mean it that way, or at the very least, you didn't want to mean it that way. You can't make sense of things for yourself let alone for another person. "I don't know." Your head is starting to ache. "I just don't--I don't want him to feel bad."

Armand lets go of you slowly, his fingertips brushing against your arm as he straightens. "We'll worry about him tomorrow." There's a certainty there that leaves no room for argument.

The thought of delaying your worry doesn't feel as simple as he's making it out to be, but you can't find the words or energy to disagree. You're not sure what you'd be arguing for, anyway.

He turns with no warning, walking down the hall like this is his apartment. His decisiveness might have bothered you if it didn't make things feel a little easier. Even with Armand serving as a guiding force, your mind seems to buffer. It takes you a second to think to act on the desire to follow him.

It shouldn't be surprising that Armand seems so comfortable moving through your apartment. He's nowhere near as familiar with this space as Louis, but you find it hard to imagine Armand uncomfortable anywhere.

He finds your room. A more coherent version of yourself would have had the energy to worry about the last minute outfits you rejected and didn't have time to put away sitting on your desk chair.

The familiarity of your bedroom is enough to get you to move forward. You approach your bed, half-sitting-half-stumbling onto the mattress. You're not given the chance to settle before your muscles slump out of place. It's an unraveling of tension that offers you no peace.

Dread pools in your stomach. You blink, screwing your eyes shut before forcing them open again in an attempt to fight against the drowsiness blurring your vision. It's too sudden, too heavy.

"You can't fall asleep like that." The words are gentle enough to reach you through your panic.

You want to tell him that you can't be falling asleep, that falling asleep doesn't hold this kind of weight. Instead of struggling to piece your thoughts into something intelligible, you lift your head slightly and mumble a flat, "I'm not."

Armand's back is to you, his attention focused on your dresser. When he turns to face you again, he's holding a familiar piece of fabric. One of the oversized T-shirts you sleep in.

It takes much more focus than it should for you to press your elbows into your bedding. The edges of your vision grow spotty as you stand. You're managing, but everything about your positioning feels circumstantial, like the slightest shift could push you into unconsciousness.

He hands you your shirt. You squeeze the fabric between your fingers. Before you can think to do anything else, Armand's hand finds your wrist. You still at the contact. He moves towards you with slow, deliberate steps.

Armand stops directly behind you. He sets his palm against your shoulder, his thumb smoothing patterns against your shoulder. His other hand settles against your upper back. Something about the contact makes it a little easier to breathe.

You're just getting used to his proximity making things feel easier when he pulls his palm away from you. Before you can overthink the shift, you realize what he's doing. The zipper of your dress has been tugged out of its place.

Armand's slow to release you, his fingertips dragging against your skin as he steps away from you. He walks forward until he's in front of you again, his attention firmly focused on the wall. It takes you a moment to realize that this is him offering you privacy.

You pull the T-shirt over your head with a tact that feels similar to that of a toddler dressing themselves for the first time. You adjust the shirt's hem before pulling the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and down your arms. The material pools at your feet. You step out of the puddle of sequined fabric.

You tilt your head downwards, frowning at the discarded dress. You need to pick it up.

"Sit." The instruction is presented with a directness that leaves no room for resistance, and yet all you can bring yourself to do is blink at him. He turns to face you again. "The last thing you need is proximity to the ground."

His voice is implying a level of irritation you can't handle right now, so you step away from the dress and move to sit on your bed. Armand walks forward. He bends down, picking up the dress before approaching your desk. He lays the dress over the back of your desk chair neatly.

He approaches your bed again, this time sitting down next to you. The return of his proximity is strangely easing. When he doesn't say anything else, you give in to the need to break the silence, "Thanks."

Armand nods once in acknowledgement of the sentiment. "Lie down." The thought immediately digs at you. If you lay down, if you lose consciousness, you'll be letting go of the little control you still have. Anything could happen to you, and--and you'd be so alone.

When you don't move, Armand straightens, his arm extending towards you. His hand finds your shoulder. "I can stay..." The offer feels fragile, like the slightest mistake on your end could force it to crumble into dust. "But only if you listen to me." He turns his hand over as you let his words sink in. He drags his knuckles against your arm patiently. "Are you going to listen to me?"

You nod, if for no other reason than to keep him here. If your acceptance means anything to him, his expression gives no indication of it. "Lie down."

You give in with a sigh, pushing your bedding back as best as you can from your position on the bed. You move beneath your sheets before relaxing against a pillow. After a second, Armand begins to shift. You're not sure what he's doing until he's lying down next to you. The return of his proximity is unexpected, but not unwelcome.

He adjusts your comforter just enough to expose your forearm. Before you can think about the change, he begins to trace patterns against your inner arm. The gesture is oddly grounding...and considerate...which, even in your current state, you can tell is odd.

"Can I ask you something?"

He continues to drag his fingertips against your skin. "A lack of permission has never stopped you before."

A fair point. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He tilts his head slightly as he considers the question. "Am I usually cruel to you?"

That's not exactly the difference. Armand is never particularly cruel to you. He's never made you feel like you're in physical danger, which means a lot when considering what he is. You've never even had much of a reason to fear arguing with him. However, you can't recall him ever being so understanding.

"No," you find yourself hoping he can feel how much you mean the answer. "But you're usually less patient."

His hand briefly stills against your arm. "I prefer a fair fight."

The sentiment roots itself in your chest, leaving your skin a little warmer than it was a moment again. "We can have one tomorrow."

"I don't doubt it," he says, voice much flatter than before.

Hm. The comment isn't exactly aggressive, but it implies an annoyance that doesn't suit his actions. Something uneasy wedges itself between your lungs and ribs. "Are you mad at me?"

You turn your head as best as you can, staring at him with an openness that a more sober version of yourself would have never allowed. "Mad at you, the darling sun?"

You sigh, letting your eyes fall shut. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," his defense, though already weak, is further softened by the easiness of his tone. "I'm only recognizing what you are."

Opening your eyes, you turn your head to face him again. "What am I?"

He's quiet for a moment before angling his head towards you. It's a subtle shift, but something about it seems to amplify his proximity. Armand's eyes look a little softer than you remember them being, his irises closer to a brown-tinged ember than their usual amber hue. Maybe it's the limited lighting.

"Worthwhile suffering."

The answer feels much too soft to be considered an insult. You're not sure what to think of it. "You're very dramatic."

His hand stills against your arm. "I'm dramatic, when you're the one that turned off your location."

You don't have a decent response. Even as a teenager, you knew better than to completely turn off your location without letting anyone know where you were going during a night out. You're lucky that Grace was there and aware enough to get you back home, but things could have gone so much worse.

The thought of how incredibly stupid you've been burrows itself into your stomach, adding a sharpness to the underlying nausea you've almost been able to forget. Knowing that you're wrong and Armand's right isn't helping things, either.

And Louis--your Louis. Who cares if sometimes he worries so much it makes you feel like burden? At least he cares about you.

"I was mean to Louis."

Armand's hand stills against your forearm, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that somehow feels both reassuring and resentful. "He'll let it pass."

You let out a self deprecating sigh. There's no reason to believe that Louis won't forgive you, but that doesn't make things okay. "He shouldn't."

"Don't be a martyr." His dismissal isn't enough to diminish your angst. You frown, shifting away from him so that you can lie flat on your back. He's quick to counter your resistance, adjusting his position so that he's sitting up a lot more than you are. He's practically leaning over you, and all you can think to do is stare.

"He loves you," Armand's voice is a lot quieter than you thought it'd be, "There isn't a single thing you could do that he wouldn't forgive."

His certainty is enough for both of you. After a second of blankness, you find it in yourself to nod. The gesture is stiff and uneasy, but it seems to be enough for him. He relaxes slowly, moving to rest his head against your ribs.

His closeness is more of a surprise than it should be. You and Louis have fallen asleep like this more times than you can count. The shock takes a moment to subside, but once it does, you realize that you're... not uncomfortable.

Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, you move a hand to rest against his upper back. Neither of you move.

"You should go to sleep," he whispers after what could be a long or short stretch of silence, "You'll be yourself in the morning."

The suggestion is a lot less overwhelming now. Maybe it's because you feel a lot more concrete now. You shut your eyes, but before you can try to find rest, you remember where you are and who you're with.

"Wait," you mumble, "The window--" You're not managing the urgency you feel. While your room isn't exactly flooded with light in the morning, the sun does reach your bed in the mornings if you don't remember to fully shut your curtains.

"The curtains are fine." Armand shifts slightly, his hand settling against the arm not bent against his back. "Rest."

You close your eyes again, this time finding it in yourself to relax fully.

----

@joong-of-gold this is the fic i mentioned having in my drafts a little while ago!!

[nikoniclove]

Hey so today’s my birthday, and birthdays kinda always suck for me (I’ve never known why and I’m fairly sure I’m not alone on this). But anyway, I was wondering if you could write something about Ace’s first concrete birthday with Jemily and maybe it kinda feels weird for her too?

Happy birthday! Sending you virtual love 💜

The First True Birthday

(Available on Ao3 here)

Even though you promised you’d tell her about your birthday, you don’t. Mostly it’s because you’ve spent decades ignoring your birthday, so it’s just another day on the calendar like any other. Also the makeshift celebration JJ planned last year when your work anniversary rolled around and she realized she never celebrated your first birthday with the team… well that was so over-the-top. Fun, sure, and very overwhelming and unnecessary. You don’t really want a repeat of that, and you don’t have anything you do want, so you keep your mouth shut. You don’t mention it, figuring it’s better for her to be mad at you for a bit than suffer through the discomfort of celebrating your birthday.

When the day rolls around, you wake up to JJ singing merrily. You groan and bury your head under the pillow. If even part of your brain thought you’d get away without a birthday celebration, you should have known better. “Happy birthday, baby,” JJ congratulates, ducking her head under your pillow too to give you a sweet kiss. “I know we have work, which is less than ideal from a celebration standpoint, but don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“I’m worried because you have a plan,” you counter. “We don’t need to do this. If you insist on it, maybe just something lowkey that doesn’t make me crawl out of my skin please.”

“It’s your birthday. You deserve to be celebrated. I know you. It’s nothing crazy,” she swears.

“You do realize that even knowing my birthday and singing to me is more than I’ve done any other year, so that in and of itself is fine. We don’t need more than that. How did you even know anyway? I didn’t say anything.”

The pillow’s weight lightens as Emily removes your hiding place. “How many times have you been hospitalized, even briefly, in the last six months? I can recite your medical file verbatim.” You forgot about that factor. “Birth date is right up there, my love. Now we know, and you won’t be forgotten again.” Your forehead creases into an expressive frown. Emily kisses the furrowed spot. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” you groan.

You briefly consider calling in sick to avoid whatever plans JJ might have concocted throughout the day. The idea of decomposing in the bed under a mountain of blankets and ignoring everything birthday related sounds more and more appealing. Emily grabs your ankle and drags you to the edge of the bed. “You’ll be okay. You can stomach us loving on you a bit.”

“Can I? Are you sure about that?” She lifts your pajama shirt off, tossing at the headboard to be dealt with later. “I do so well with surprises and things that are different from the norm,” you snark self deprecatingly. “And I just love to be the center of attention.”

“Trust us,” Emily implores. “If you need a break, give me a sign and I’ll get you to a quiet spot where you can take the time you need. You matter, my love, and it’s important that we get to show you that today of all days.” She helps you into clean underwear and jeans, though it’s mostly manipulating your uncooperative self because you hate the thought of this day more and more. “Up you go.” Your hands trapped in hers, Emily levers you up and nudges you toward the bathroom. You grab a black, long sleeve T shirt and deem it good enough. Deodorant. Face sunscreen. Eyeliner. Chapstick. Your morning routine takes all of six minutes. JJ stops you at your braid, taking the brush out of your hand. She takes the time to do a French braid, adding to the plait sections little by little as she moves down the back of your head.

You’re in the backseat with your work bag before you even realize you’re thirty minutes earlier than normal. The additional time makes sense when Emily parks outside of a little Parisian bakery that makes delicious croissants and lattes. When she pops in, JJ turns around in the passenger seat to look at you. “Let me celebrate you, baby, please. It’s important to me.” You clench your jaw and give her the smallest nod. You don’t really have a choice. When Jennifer Jareau sets her sights on something, nothing short of an apocalypse could stop her, and even then, you’d still bet on JJ.

When you walk through the bullpen’s double glass doors, you freeze, absolutely rooted to the spot. Your desk is a mess of color. “I did not do this,” JJ insists quickly. “I know you would hate something like this. I didn’t do this.” You hum some monosyllabic sound and force your feet forward. There are balloons and literal confetti that you already despise. There are cupcakes and little plastic characters everywhere.

The characters tell you all you need to know about who set this up, and it’s confirmed when Garcia squeals through the bullpen, shouting about your birthday with an exuberance that rivals a small child hopped up on cocaine-laced skittles. Your eyes widen at the volume. Your body instinctively braces for the inevitable hug. “Happy birthday, peaches! Oh you look stunning. A year older looks so good on you.” She bustles past you to your desk. “Okay, we have all of my favorite chachkies to keep you company throughout the day. Obviously balloons and cupcakes because it’s your birthday. I didn’t know your favorite flavor combination, so I got a bunch! I have candles and matches at my desk when you’re ready to make a wish! Oh! I love you so much,” she shrieks, pinching your cheeks dramatically.

You don’t know how to make this stop. You’re desperate to make it stop, for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. But it keeps going. You can’t tell Penelope how insane it all is because she’d be gutted that she made you uncomfortable. You manage a thank you and return the second hug she gives you. Emily squeezes your hand, a silent encouragement to keep it together.

When Garcia thankfully skedaddles back to her lair, you look at your desk in horror. It feels like everyone is looking at you, and your skin crawls with the weight of the presumed attention. You miss the silent conversation Emily and JJ share behind your back. You’re overwhelmed and uncomfortable in a very visible way in an environment that those adjectives are not… “Come with me, baby,” JJ whispers in your ear. “C’mon,” she soothes, her calm words interrupting your train of thought. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you manage. You know Garcia meant well, and this is too much. It’s too much attention.

JJ takes matters into her own hands, dragging you up the short staircase to her old liaison office. The door thuds behind you, the deadbolt clicking into place. “Breathe, baby.” Clinging to her, you bury your face in her neck, letting her long blonde hair act as a curtain to hide you away from the attention on the other side of the door. Her own breathing follows the four count you know from decades in therapy. In two three four. Hold two three four. Out two three four. Hold two three four. JJ continues the pattern until your body mimics hers. “That’s my girl. I know that was a lot. Emily will take care of it, okay? I’ve got you. Emily’s got all of that,” she repeats. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t like my birthday,” you mumble. “I can’t… I can’t call attention to myself like that. I can’t stand out like that. I need to just… blend in. I need to survive.” You don’t have to see JJ’s face to know her blue eyes shine with unshed tears. You can feel her sadness for you.

“Stop making yourself small. You deserve to take up space,” JJ states, holding you tightly. “I understand why. I do, but, baby, you’re not that kid anymore. You have made a life for yourself out of all that hurt. You found people who love you, who want to celebrate you. You did that. Let us love you loudly, baby. There’s no scenario that you end up alone. Not anymore.”

“I don’t like my birthday,” you repeat, feeling pitiful in the face of her kind words that make you feel seen while also making you want to burrow away.

The knock on the office door startles you until Emily’s voice filters through. “Just me,” she announces. JJ reaches around you to flip the lock open. Emily locks it behind herself. “Just like old times, huh, Jen?” It’s meant to give you a second to settle again. “Everything’s shifted away from your desk. Just your coffee and pastry is there.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings. It’s sweet. It’s just a lot.”

“I know. I’ll explain it to her,” Emily promises. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Emily kisses the side of your head tenderly in response.

You’re relieved to see your desk mostly back to normal when you escape the reassuring confines of JJ’s arms (and her old office). There’s a large stack of case files for you to lose yourself in, and murdering serial killers distract you from the birthday nonsense from the morning.

Around noon, JJ appears at your desk. “C’mon.” You can’t help the grimace that stretches your lips. “Letting me love you loudly, remember? Trust that I know you.” You gather up your stuff and follow your partners out of the federal building.

The second you’re clear of the doors, Emily takes your hand, fingers interlacing together. They let you follow along in quiet companionship. They have a clear direction in mind, and you’ll go along with, trying to trust that JJ’s intention isn’t to make you uncomfortable.

JJ pops into a cafe, coming back out quickly with a stapled take out bag. She winks at you as Emily takes off walking again. It’s another few blocks before you’re in a small, grassy community park nestled between buildings. It’s adorable in its isolation. A pop of green serenity amongst the concrete. Emily leads you to a picnic table where JJ sets out different containers. “See? Nothing outrageous. Just lunch with your favorite people.”

“Who said you’re my favorite,” you retort playfully, the fresh air doing you worlds of good. JJ smacks you lightly. “I mean Emily’s definitely on my list of favorites.”

“You bitch,” JJ teases. “Eat your lunch.”

There’s something about being outside that helps you reset. The banter, the easy conversation, the company - it all feels almost celebratory. A happiness you never expected to feel on your birthday of all days. “You’re smiling,” JJ accuses, bumping your hip as you walk back to the office. You don’t bother denying it, laughing as she slings her arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head.

When you blindly reach for the next file in the stack around 4 PM after you’ve refilled your coffee and snacked on one of Penelope’s cupcakes, your to-do pile is empty, your fingers grazing the metal wire of the intake basket. You stare at it, unsure if you’ve ever actually caught up on all the cases and the paperwork. Your phone buzzes with a text from Emily, wishing you a happy birthday. You know there’s no way she took all of your remaining case files, so you’re betting she divvied them up amongst the team. It’s sweet and loving in a quiet way.

You’re even more surprised when JJ and Emily pack up at an appropriate time, nearly shoving you toward the elevator at 5:30 PM on the dot.

“This… umm… it was nice. Thank you,” you mumble self-consciously on the drive home.

“There’s a little bit more.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“Okay?”

“Trying to let you love me loudly. I trust you.”

At home, there’s a wrapped package in shiny purple paper on the coffee table. You trace its precise edges carefully. For a moment, tears burn in your eyes. You can’t remember the last time you got a real birthday present, so this feels monumental. “You can open it, you know,” Emily encourages, tugging your hips back onto the couch. JJ puts the box in your lap. “Hey, you okay, my love?” You nod, not trusting your voice. “You sure?”

“I’m okay. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“It’s your birthday, baby. Of course, we’d give you a present.” You’re gentle peeling the tape, almost like a diffusing a bomb. You don’t want to rip the paper. “Hold on for a second. Talk to us. What’s going on?”

“I… just… I… uhh… I don’t remember getting a present on my birthday before,” you mumble, somehow hoping they heard you so you don’t have to repeat yourself and hoping they didn’t hear you at all. The hitch in JJ’s breath says she heard you loud and clear; she pulls you into a tight hug, professing her hatred for the world that made that a reality for you. “It’s okay. Really. It’s just new to me, so it feels intense. Good, but intense.”

To avoid driving the conversation further into volatile territory, Emily nudges you with her knee. “Go ahead, love. Open it.” The box shakes and rattles as you unfurl the tape pieces and gingerly peel apart the shimmery wrapping paper. Inside is a Lego set of the Milky Way from the art collection. Over three thousand colorful pieces to give depth and texture to the finished product, which can hang on the wall when it’s done.

“Will you build it with me?”

“Of course, baby. Do you like it?” You nod exuberantly, your fingers once again reverently tracing over the details on the box. “Good. Happy birthday, baby. We love you so very much.”

“Thank you… I… thank you for all of it.”

[alexa-yukiyu]

Cursed Endearment ft Sukuna and Gojo

A/N I like this one better than the last one but I ‘m still not sure if it’s a cook. It might be guys, I think I likey this one; let me know what you guys think

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for reader in japanese for the enjoyment of both reader and oc character readers!

It had taken but a small moment of weakness—a shock from a mission he had received, catching the teen off guard—for the King of Curses to take his chance and take possession of his host's body.

Sukuna laughed with sick glee, standing at the top of a building as he looked down on the people of the Sendai Prefect. His mind was already relishing all the plans and fun he could carry about with his newfound freedom. That is, until he heard the tale-tell sign of footsteps behind him. Turning around with excitement akin to that of a child, he came face to face with an actual child.

However, it wasn't the child itself that excited him but his host's reaction to the child; based on Yuji's desperate screaming, he was quick to gather that the child in front of him was the brat's younger sibling.

"Ji?" the child called, confused, a grin growing on their young face as they realized who it was.

"Ji!" The cheered, running to the pinkenette's arms, giggling as the latter easily took hold of him

"I found you, Ji!" they exclaimed, cupping Itadori's face, pausing at his appearance. Their eyes stared at the small eyes popping below his own. Itadori had always told them that despite their age, they were unusually sharp, something that was becoming apparent as they stilled, gaping at the person holding them.

"You're not Ji…." They muttered, flinching at the grin that grew on the thing's face at the statement

"Ha, you're not as stupid as the brat, aren't you? You might just be quite useful if only to keep him in check. You can't believe the tantrum he is throwing up there right now," Sukuna gleefully stated, giving his temple a tap

"Ji is up there?" They questioned, looking up

"I've got him on a leash; you see, your brother thought he could do it to me, keep me locked up, so it was about time I returned the favor."

"Ji did that? But b-but that's so mean!" they cried out, seemingly aghast that their brother had done such a thing

His response was cut off as the both of them snapped their heads at the sound of a war cry and what looked to be a sorcerer heading the way and recklessly sending an attack their way.

"I see some things haven't changed even a thousand years later; still don't care who you take down in the process of getting rid of me; and yet you have the nerve to talk about me?" He called with a scoff as he easily blocked the attack sent towards him and, by proxy, to the small child on his hands

"I was about to start having fun; don't interrupt me," he growled, cracking his fingers as he prepared his own attack, only to raise a brow as the sorcerer dropped to the ground, soon after his cursed energy had suddenly disappeared

"Well, you really are something, aren't you; why did you hide this one from me, brat?" Sukuna questioned, turning his attention to Dokucha once again as he asked his host and let out a few snickers at the loud protests that came from the teen.

"Don't be mean to Ji either," they pouted, ignoring the tsked sound that escaped the curse at their words.

"What did you do to him?" he questioned, gesturing to the slumped body of the sorcerer a few feet away

"Gogo said to keep to keep it a secret, so don't tell anyone, kay?" they hissed, putting a finger on their lips

"Who the hell Is Gogo?" he snarled.

"Umm, he's Gogo! He's Ji's teacher, he's really funny!" they beamed.

"That cocky bastard huh? To think he had you under his sleeve, too, so what did you do?"

"I made his magic go poof! Mr. Gogo said I can make magic go poof and also crank it up!"

"HAHAHAHA, what are the chances that technique would be passed down even after all this time; this certainly makes things more fun," he cackled.

"Ne, Ne. What's your name?"

"Me? I am Sukuna, the king of curses; you better engrave that name into your skull, little brat."

"Kuna?" they questioned, tracing the markings on his face, and surprisingly, the cursed allowed it, glancing at Dokucha as their fleeting touch glided along his face

"I like your tattoos, Kuna," they mumbled.

"Do ya?"

"Mmhm, they're cool. I want to have some too! "

"Don't go influencing my little spark," a voice called out

"So you finally caught up," Sukuna spat out, a disgusted scowl growing on his face as he took it in the white-haired intruder

"Save yourself the trouble and go back quietly; we both know how it's going to end," Gojo piped up with an easygoing smile on his face as he leisurely approached the curse.

Sukuna was a lot of things; however, naive was not one of them; cocky as he was, he knew that with the fraction of power he possessed at the moment, he didn't stand a chance against the sorc

"Hey lil' Brat," he called dismissively, continuing as the child gave a little hum

"I will see you real soon; you and me, we're going to have lots of fun," He called with a grin growing on his face, a nasty glint growing on his eye as he spoke

"You're going to leave?"

"Don't worry; like I said, I will be back real soon, and it will be to stay. I like ya, so I will allow you to walk with me after I wipe out these maggots," he called as he retreated into his domain, causing Yuji's subconscious to come back, only for it to quickly fade as his body slumped to the ground, Dokucha jumping out of his arms with a squeak

"Ji?" they called once they had gathered their bearings and approached the fallen sorcerer

"Ji?" they repeated, shaking his body

"Don't worry, little Spark," Gojo called as he approached the child

"Gogo? Is Jiji alright?" they tearfully called

"Yeah, he's just catching up with some beauty sleep," he smiled, growing into a grin as the child gestured for him to pick him, happily obliging as he did

"M' sorry, Gogo; I told kuna our secret," They cried as they hid their face in the crook of his neck, tightly hugging him.

"Hmm, don't worry," he assured them, patting their head dismissively

"He would have heard of you from Itadori eventually, so it was bound to happen. I'm not surprised he had a soft spot for you; you're quite the talented cutie," He responded as he dug his fingers into their stomach playfully, following them as they squirmed around, trying to escape the small attack.

"You're not mad?" they asked as their giggles subsided; backing away from their hiding spot to look into the man's covered eyes.

"No, but make sure not to tell anyone else, m'kay?"

"Okay"

"Pinky promised?" he suggested, pulling out his finger and offering it to the kid.

"Pinky promise!" Dokucha confirmed, watching their much smaller finger around his

"Now then, let's get your brother back to school," he merrily stated, easily hauling Yuji's body over his shoulder and balancing the kid in his other arm.

"How about we stop for some sweets on the way?"

"Yay! You're the best Gogo!" they cheered, bouncing in his arms with excitement

Let me know what you guys think! I ‘m not sure if there was enough interactions 🤔

[ezrasxfics]

Could you do a one-sided Jax x Caine interaction? Jax fell for the one guy that actually pays attention to him/takes him seriously anymore, and said guy is completely unable to compute the feelings Jax has for him, let alone reciprocate. Basically... Jax being a miserable, lonely loser.

..i wish you were real.

-

one-sided bunnyteeth angst

-

jax pov

“man, i dont know. i guess i just wish you were real, but if you were, i don’t think i’d be able to tell you about this dumb stuff.” i groan, talking to caine. our ai ringmaster. “you’re the only person who makes me feel real.”

“well, of course you feel real, jax! you’re a human, after all!” he replies, a look of confusion on his face. just confusion, nothing resembling affection or recognition. i hate when he looks at me like that, it’s just a reminder him and i may as well live in two completely different worlds. it’s embarrassing i managed to fall for someone like him. but i did, hard.

“you don’t get it. of course you don’t, what was i even thinking? i’m stupid for even considering that you might be able to even— i give up.” i ramble, voice drifting off to a whisper of defeat. i hate feeling like this - powerless. lonely. it’s so damn miserable.

“i don’t get what exactly? jax, you do understand that i’m not like you, right. i cant feel the same.. complicated emotions that you do. i can feel happy, sad, angry. but i cant feel love, disappointment and other things like that! i can fake those feelings, if that would help you feel better? my goal as your ringmaster is—“

“that wouldn’t be the same. i don’t want you to fake anything. i want something.. real. but i also want you- and you’re not.. man, this blows.” i put my hands over my face, letting out a loud groan of frustration.

“but jax, like i said, i’m not re-“

“I JUST SAID THAT— do you even f**king LISTEN!? i know you’re not real. you’re not human and it’s ruining my GODDAMNED LIFE. so, i just gotta be miserable forever, because my needs don’t add up, and i cant get what i want. as usual. i never f**king get what i want, no matter what i do, and i’m sick of it.” i yell, interrupting him. i wasn’t sure when the tears started falling down my face, but when i regained my senses, my face was wet.

“jax— jax, im sorry! im sorry, but i don’t understand your feelings!! it’s not within my capabilities.. have you considered talking to..”

“none of the others like me-!! none of them take me seriously, none of them give a damn about me because i’m jax. i cause problems for everyone, and now i’m reaping the consequences. they all hate me. and guess what? i’m starting to hate myself too.”

-

thanks for the request!!!! this was so fun to write.. i’ve never actually thought about this ship before, but one-sided bunnyteeth is actually really interesting!!/pos

reblogs appreciated!!

[kkoga]

2. Unwanted reunion ┈─★ WC : 1034

Masterlist ! next !

Y/n turns her phone off after Yunjin drunkenly yells for her. The girl approaches over to Yunjin's voice, only to find Yunjin basically clinging onto Sakura for dear life. Y/n felt bad for Sakura, but atleast Yunjin made some progress with her 4 year long crush on the older member.

''C'mon Yunj, get off Sakura.'' Y/n says as she tries to pry the red head off of Sakura. The girl groans in protest.

''But I don't wannaaaaaaa'' Sakura giggles at Yunjin's behaviour, and Y/n just felt embarrassed. She was trying to save her ass, and this is what she gets in return??

''Bro, let Sakura enjoy the damn party too. She hasn't gotten a single drink in. Get off her and—''

''No no, it's okay Y/n. I can handle this, you should go enjoy too!'' Sakura gracefully cuts Y/n off, and before Y/n could tell her otherwise, Sakura's stern look told her all she needed to know.

''Well, there's no saving her now. Might as well get a pic and tease her for it tomorrow.'' After swiftly asking Sakura for a picture and taking it, the girl leaves the two alone.

Daniela enters the common area for HYBE. This room was commonly used for parties and what not, so Daniela wasn't so surprised to know this was the set place for Le sserafim's party.

Manon immediately books it to the nearest area with booze, Lara not far behind. Sophia sighs, knowing the bullshitry she will have to deal with on the way home.

Daniela notices Megan looking around. Trying to find some random girl to flirt with probably. Daniela knows she probably won't find this party any fun at all.

''At least it got me out of the house I guess...'' The Latina mumbles to herself. The girl was going to hang around the drinks area, get a couple more down, and probably pass out on the couch or something. That was until she bumped into someone.

''Oh, I'm so sorry—'' The Latina's words got stuck in her throat. The person she bumped into was none other than Hyunsik. Her fucking ex.

''Well look who it is... My wonderful ex girlfriend! Nice to see you hours after you sent that damn breakup text yeah?'' The guy grabs her arm, and forcefully pulled her close to him.

''Wanna have some fun? C'mon.. I know you still want me.'' His once sweet and cute smile turned into a sick and disgusting look. How did she ever fall for his bullshit?

''What the fuck are you— let go!'' Daniela struggles to get out of his grip, the girl reminded of the reasons as to why she even fell for him. His strength was known by all his fans and members. Fuck.

''Stop struggling already honey, it was only a few days ago you were basically begging me to meet up with you no?''

Daniela felt so disgusted. She did not needed to be reminded of their relationship. The thoughts of their intimate moments made her feel so... dirty. Good god, she let this man touch her like that? Daniela was damn near close to puking.

What was love making to her, was nothing but sex to him. Daniela hated men like that. The Latina was on the verge of tears, when suddenly, someone slapped his hand off of hers.

''Hey, what's going on here?'' Daniela couldn't look up. She was trying too hard to keep herself from bursting into tears.

''None of your damn business.'' Daniela could hear Hyunsik grit his teeth. She was sure he was sending whoever was next to her a death stare right now.

''It is going to be my business when I see a man clearly harassing a non-consenting woman. Now fuck off.'' The person defending her gently put an arm around Daniela. Strangely comforting, Daniela thought.

''What if I don't want to?'' Hyunsik tries to grab her arm, but the person stops him.

''I said, go. I'm getting you kicked out of the party. I know Le sserafim personally. Expect to hear from management tomorrow.'' Hyunsik looked threatened, and decided to just leave it be.

Daniela let go of a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. She turns around to see her savior, and it met with fucking Y/n L/n. Someone notorious for her confident and rude behavior, along with her very obvious bitch face she constantly gives to everyone.

''Are you okay? Look, I will get him kicked out. Promise. Do you want me to find your members?'' Daniela doesn't know whether it was the booze or not getting to her head, but all she wanted to do right now was get comforted. So, drunkenly, she hugs and clings onto Y/n.

''Oh— oh... okay, yeah this is fine.'' Y/n gently pat her back, as if telling her it was going to be okay. Daniela couldn't hold it in anymore. The Latina burst into tears, staining Y/n's T-shirt with her tears.

''Uhm... we should go to a more private place. Are you alright with crying out here? I could call your members...'' Daniela shakes her head. She doesn't want any more people to see her vulnerable right now.

''No. Take me home please?'' It was definitely the booze talking right now. The only thing on Daniela's mind right now was comfort and rest.

''W-what? To your home? I don't know your address... We should just get your members Daniela—''

''No, please,'' Daniela pleaded, looking into Y/n's eyes, a tired and drained look on her face. ''I don't want any more people to see me right now. Just take me to yours? Pretty please?'' Y/n looked reluctant, Daniela could tell. So after a few more ''are you sure''s, Daniela found herself in Y/n's car, on the way to Y/n's as she sobbed and ranted to the girl. Completely forgetting who she was even talking to, the drinks keeping her mind hazy and confused. All Daniela knew at this moment, was that she was being taken somewhere, and that she was currently ranting about Hyunsik to someone. But at this point, the girl had forgotten who.

Taglist 13/30 : @itzkatflixs @yjiminswallet @hydrardz @wtfisthisnoclueman @yeetaberry127 @gtfoiydlyj @kristalag @haerinkisser @sunshinez4 @xochitlisbest @sirenontheloose @arihiu @harajuku

[kcrossvine-art]

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯 hiiiii folks :) 𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

todays just a little one-off for a recipe a friend shared to me, that im now sharing with you. i really miss this cooking series but affording enough ingredients to try new recipes, workshopping and failure and wasted material, is expensive. and things have been getting harder to afford. still we persist, and this is a recipe i've tested and tried to great results

today we'll be makin some chocolate crinkle cookies!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to chocolate crinkle cookies?” YOU MIGHT ASK

All-purpose flour

Baking soda

Baking powder

Salt

Cocoa powder

3 Eggs*

Vanilla extract

Brown Sugar*

Espresso powder

Bakers chocolate*

Unsalted butter

Confectioners sugar, for coating

thats the original recipe at least. i made some substitutions

I didn't have brown sugar so it got replaced with equal amounts cane sugar

I didn't have eggs so i replaced them with apple, thoroughly beaten until similar texture

I didn't have bakers chocolate but did have hot chocolate, so I used 1 Ibarras Chocolate puck chopped up

AND, “what does chocolate crinkle cookies taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

soft, crumbly, moist

halfway between pudding and brownie and cookie, smack dab in the middle of the taste triangle

the confectioners sugar holds up really well, it doesnt sink in and form a dull crust like it would on a cake powdered too soon

extremely chocolately

when it was made for me and a group of people everyone raved about it

when i made it for myself and a group of people everyed raved about it

its fuckin good and easy

when youre taking it out of the oven, it will look and even smell a bit raw, which is scary for people like me who are terrified of undercooking dough. but i suppose the density and letting them sit until Completely cooled (not just cooled to the touch!) lets them finish baking at a much lower temp internally?

oh and be sure to space them out pretty far apart, they expand more than youd think. and if youre having trouble scooping and transferring them to the pan, put a dish of confectioners sugar out and keep coating your hands in it between scoops, it helps to keep them from sticking.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From start to finish it took about 2 hours to start eating, but most of that was cook time and then letting them cool completely. an hour max was spent in the kitchen working on things. Im bad at spacing things due to wanting to fit as much product as possible in as small a space, so this created about 12 cookies the size of my hand? roughly.

but yeah! if youre the type to struggle with brownies i highly suggest this as an alternative, due to the many similarities but the harder to fuck-up-ed-ness because its guaranteed to cook through and doesnt need to form a crust.

this is a an easy 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Its hard to beat. i hope youre having as lovely a time as one can, be sure to hold onto eachother.

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

¼ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

3 large eggs*

a dash of vanilla extract

1 ½ cup brown sugar*

4 teaspoon espresso powder-

4 oz unsweetened bakers chocolate*

4 tablespoon unsalted butter

For coating;

½ cup confectioners/powdered sugar

Replaced brown sugar with cane sugar

Replaced eggs with 6oz apple mush

Replaced bakers chocolate with one Ibarras puck

Method:

Adjust oven rack to the middle and preheat to 325. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.

Whisk flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and cocoa powder together.

Whisk eggs, vanilla extract, brown sugar, and espresso powder together in a separate bowl.

In a third smaller bowl place bakers chocolate and butter, microwave for 1 minute at a time and stir afterward until its melted together. Should take about 2-4 minutes.

Whisk the melted chocolate/butter mixture into the egg bowl until combined. Fold this into the flour bowl until no dry streaks remain.

Let the dough sit at room temp for about 10 minutes.

Place the granulated sugar and powdered sugar into a bowl. Scoop your hands into the mixture and then scoop balls of dough into tiny uniform size balls. Try to coat evenly.

Place the dough balls on the prepared baking sheets, evenly spread, there should be about 10 cookies per sheet.

Bake the sheets for 12 minutes, rotating halfway through. The cookies should look puffed and cracked and the edges have begun to set, but the center is still soft (cookies will look raw between the cracks and seem underdone). 

Remove from the oven and let the cookies cool completely on the sheet before removing or eating.

[anartisticalniche]

Glass Barrier-Lockdown Protocol AU

This fic is based on this art right here: https://www.tumblr.com/anartisticalniche/775015960570675200/there-was-always-a-thin-glass-separating-us?source=share

Enjoy this sad thing lol

“Inmate G-5683, you have visitors.”

The bearded man barely moved his head from his side as he sighed and got up from his bed.

He was sick and tired of relying informations to SMG1 and 2.

It's time they got their shit together and caught his ex-boss.

He's got nothing else to say to them anyways.

He might have been an elite guard but that didn't mean he got to see him up close; not even his superior Wren did.

The guard bots used their laser chains to hold onto his cuffs and neck restraint, guiding him like a dog.

His eye bags were deep and visible, no light in his eyes aside from the luminescent one from the chain.

The swift sound from the door sounded off as his gaze remained on the floor.

He was led to his usual spot, seated in front of the protective glass dividing him from anything that basically was freedom on the outside.

He sighed, preparing for the questions.

“Three…?”

His red eyes took a second but eventually widened when he glanced up and saw the softest gaze on the most beautiful face he had ever seen in his life.

“Hey… how are you holding up?”

Tears threatened to escape from blue eyes across him.

The imprisoned man opened his mouth like a fish.

Eventually words left him: “What… what are you doing here?”

Four smiled as he tipped his head to the side: “Can’t I come visit you?”

“You legally can't yeah-” he said he looked at him with wide eyes; “you have to stay a hundred miles away from me according to the court-”

He huffed and rolled his eyes: “I guess time doesn't matter much to you when you're in your cell. Three years have already passed. That thing they said doesn't apply anymore”.

The scientist said it so casually but to the prisoner it felt like another nail dipping into his skin. Just to let him know that he's staying there forever… to the point time doesn't matter anymore.

Four immediately realized his mistake when he saw his face: “Ah shoot wait I didn't mean it like that- I'm just- I said it because now I can come see you! Isn't that great?”

He was trying to lighten up the mood, but there was no way it could work.

“Yeah… great.”

The raven's eyes clouded with sadness, but he was still hopeful.

“I've missed you…”

Three glanced back up: god how the hell was he still allowed to make puppy eyes like that- it will always make his stomach flip and heart race…

“Yeah? You've missed the one person that was sent to kill you?”

He said it so bitterly and he didn't know why he even said it why the hell did open his mouth-

But the response he got was as calm as ever.

“Yeah… maybe I'm wrong to feel this way, but I've forgiven you Three. You know that.”

Four’s eyes were watering and god was it contagious to see him like that.

Three inhaled…

“I’ve… I’ve missed you too.”

They shared bittersweet smiles, until Four snapped out of it and said: “Okay, I wanna tell you what we've been up to! Me, Mario and Meggy found a job with the intergalactic police! We are helping 1 and 2 find that bitch that wanted us dead! Isn't that great?!”

Three’s brain short circuited.

He growled in anger.

“Why the fuck are you doing that?! You're gonna get yourself killed!”

Four smiled confidently: “Nuh-huh! I'm a smart guy, remember? My wits are what is keeping me alive eheh!”

He groaned at his dumbassery.

For a scientist, this man was anything but realistic-

But that was what made him fall in love with him, wasn't it.

His never ending need to dream, to be positive if not a little reckless.

He wanted to hold him.

To strangle him and hug him at the same time.

He was so FRUSTRATING-

“You PROMISE ME. Nothing is going to happen to you. Okay?”

“Aw you care about me…” he said, his eyes having that flirtatious glint he had back in the ship.

Goddamnit.

Three let his head fall on the tiny desk.

“Just promise you moron-”

“But of course! Me and the squad make the best trio ever in the police department! With my wits and the siblings' destructive methods, we are bound to catch him!”

Three found that super hard to believe.

It was a miracle Mario didn't blow up the ship back before Wren could.

“After all, gotta make it before you come out of here, no?”

He glanced back up to him, his sure gaze still staring at him.

He was still convinced he was gonna be let out.

Despite KNOWING his crimes.

Despite… despite being sent to kill him…

He was not naive. Sure he was dumb sometimes, but he knew… he knew how the system worked.

Yet he still chose to dream.

He could cry for real right now.

“Yeah… when I get out.”

The scientist smiled softly, his gloved hand coming up the glass.

“And when you do… I wanna feel your hand against mine, okay? Nothing separating us anymore, not even layers of fabric.”

Red eyes glistened.

The cuffed hand itching upwards too, spreading against his own on the other side.

“I can't wait…”

“Time’s up.”

The robotic voice shattered the atmosphere as harsh reality settled in.

Three got yanked back, both bots on each side of him dragging him upwards.

The scientist’s smile strained but he tried to keep it on his face as he called back to him.

“THREE! REMEMBER, I LOVE YOU! NEVER FORGET THAT!”

He saw a glimpse of his messy bearded face glancing back at him before the door closed up, leaving him alone in the room as another security bot gently handled him to be escorted outside of the meeting room.

The walk back to his small reconnaissance ship was a breeze, and automatically he seated in his pilot post and started it up, exiting the prison’s hangar.

Once a few miles away, in the dark cosmos, a drop of water followed by many others descended on his control column and jacket.

Four didn’t even know when he started crying, but he couldn't stop, and despite telling himself to take back control of his emotions so that he wouldn't risk crashing somewhere because he couldn't see, he couldn't stop the hiccuping and tears.

And so he kept letting himself go, not knowing that back in the prison, the one he came to see was doing the same thing, leaning crouched on his side against the wall near his bed, letting out wails of despair and ache without stopping.

[sir-fenris]

AAAAAAAAA 🥹 I've lived for the day that I would be getting commentaries too. I can die happy. Thank you <33

Sorry for taking so long to answer. I read it before going to sleep and I giggled so much my cheeks hurt, but I was too tired to answer cohesively. And today I was busy pretty much the whole time :'(

But I was able to write this down while preparing and eating my dinner :D

(My responses organization is kinda messy, don't mind it please XD)

It is real and it is happening, I'm glad Cyrus's yearning was clear and that it seemed a strong start :) I went back and forth with SO MANY begginings, I think I wrote and deleted more than 10 completely different starting paragraphs XD.

I might put the rp on the masterpost soon! I wanted to ask you if I could, first. And find a way to organize it in a way I feel is nice to read.

And well... about the gloves, who knows? :) is it because he can use his magic with any skin contact? What I can say is that all handlers do have gloves with technology, but usually, they're are fingerless gloves. Wilson's hands and arms are fully covered.

(I already changed your emoji <3)

Yes, protection barriers makes him nauseous when he goes in, because it's designed exatcly to keep his magic contained in the tent in case he uses it unauthorized, so it gives him a bad feeling. Once Wilson gives him authorization, the barriers are set down. When the authorization is revoked, they come back up. That's one of the many reasons why Wilson has to communicate when he's about to turn the nullification back of the collar.

A lot of safety measures 😃

Well... I wouldn't say he's allowed to actually refuse food. Wilson just sometimes is "merciful" and allows him to take his breakfast after his comedown is done, because usually Cyrus feels sick before getting to work. (If Cyrus... makes a mess, yk, Wilson will have to report and take care of the situation, and that's too troublesome)

And I'm not one for underestimating trope either, but I guess in LW whump it's interesting because adds to the familiar dehumanization and because the LW is actually very powerful and that gets proven.

"ohhh :( he makes me sad I'm definitely gonna read the comfort ask"

My comfort is also whumpy, because I don't wanna spoil Cyrus too much yet, he's still on the whump arc... but I hope you find the hurt/comfort good enough XD.

":( he knelt fast then. man..."

He dropped down on his knees :') Wilson doesn't let him kneel down slowly.

And Wilson whispered the "behave". Rhe others around don't need to hear the weapon being reminded to behave, just know that it will.

About the other gifted. I'll show the sketches of the gloves soon, but you'll see that it does need a metal manipulator, or else it has to be cut off and re-made on his hand every time. It's 100% closed. So that's why they use other gifted to do it.

(Usually metalokinetics are used around for stuff like that, menial tasks. They only go to battlefield if they are strong enough to destroy enemy's weapons and machines.)

"yeah I know </3 man this is a bunch of info I know cause I've already been exposed to bits of this story but for future newcomers this is probably necessary clarification"

That was the hardest part :') I wanted anyone who didn't knew any context to be able to understand the first chapter (though that's really really hard without a beta/proof reader) and the people who did have context to enjoy it anyway, even though it's pretty much a retelling of the drabble a lot of you already read. I was afraid of giving too little information and making it hard to understand, and of giving too much information and making it too dense.

60% of the chaotic editing was because of this. And 50% of the typos is because I kept changing sentences and missing to change a word or to (like making a sentence about one of his hands, then decide it should be both hands, but forget to put one of the words in plural)

Speaking of that, I need to do a typo checking on the chapter asap... already caught 2 yesterday.

"ugh he's so well trained"

His handler is proud to hear that.

I'LL GIVE YOU ALL THE GRASS EVER SWEET LOVELY BOY </3

Own, that's adorable. He'll have grass in recovery, lots of it, don't worry.

(The bar is very low when touching grass is almost an ultimate reward...)

aaaaaaaaa? wilson my beloved he's so cold

"Wilson" and "beloved" in the same sentence is........ something I was not expecting ever. Huh.

ooooooo :D I remember wondering why the art of him showed him with blue lines in his collar when he was a threat level red!!! fascinating :3

😊 when the nullification is on, it stays blue. When he's being shocked, it flashes yellow, and when his magic is free, it turns red. :D safety measures, too.

About the withering description, thank you! I really think it might be too abstract or dense to some people, especially those who don't have any context, but there's really not much I could do. From Cyrus's view, he's not seeing what the magic is actually doing, and this needed to be included on the first chapter.

But I'll try to slide in some description from Wilson's view of his powers in a canon chapter to make it clearer, perhaps make a separate post showing his vision vs what's actually happening, if I can.

And yeah! On the drabble I was really thinking about that song. But on canon, it became more like a curious fact, because I made it so it's from another language. It doesn't have a set lyrics, though the translation would be something akin to the hurt incantation. No one knows what Cyrus's murmuring means, not even him, it's gibberish to them all.

Yeaaah! I'm happy you saw that "Sweet Creature" follows the same line that "Magic Euphoria" drabble. It's pretty much that drabble, but from his perspective, plus a bit more at the beginning and end. This chapter is the truly canon, since when I did the drabble I didn't have the characters in mind, but Cyrus really does say "yes, sir" because his conditioning runs deep. He doesn't say "okay" ever.

(But Wilson is also an unreliable narrator, so you can consider the drabble him remembering Cyrus's words to be more disobedient than it actually was, since he spoke quietly)

(Poor baby, being shocked not even knowing why, loosing his warmth, being remembered as disrespectful even when he wasn't...)

Metallokinetic whumpee is not well :(

"oooo so he has gloves on when not working got it got it. leather! I assume it's to avoid skin to skin contact? or his hands are the most effective conduit and the higher-ups don't want him touching anything with his hands?"

I like the way you're going :)

(Both Cyrus and Wilson have gloves, but Cyrud's is restrictive)

About the den (his cabin) and mattress.... eh, don't get too happy. Remember, unreliable narrator. And this ask is very important.

(Oh, you reminded me that I wanted to put the images of his cabin and capsule on the chapter, thanks, I'll do that later)

"oooo is his collar nullifying it? or the gloves? capsule??? I think it's the collar"

All of the above. Plus the glasses too. Safety measures :)

the euphoria narration thing is. so fucking good man. but why'd he get shocked?? this isn't in the wilson pov chapter 😔

First, thank you <3

Second, it's not defined, it could have been a lot of different things. But my favorite option is that he started singing without realizing it.

"someone please give him a blanket istg. I know this is a different kind of cold but can he have a blanket :("

He can only earn blanket privileges when he's at the central base. In caimpaings there are no blanket privileges.

If he's very very good, tho, he might earn one night with a blanket.

!!! sneaky :0

🥰 He would look down ashamed at your words. He really didn't mean to be... he just wanted to relieve some of the painful uneasiness.

also love that. “his handler always sees everything.” !!! love love love that love the sheer amount of fear and expecting danger

YEAAA, that's the emotions I wanted to show. Especially since Cyrus is blinded so often. He rarely knows when Wilson is looking, to what he pays attention, what is his expression. It's kinda like the Panopticon Prison. You never know when you're being watched, so you stay on edge the whole time.

Wilson is a smart handler :)

HE'S NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO MOVE WITHOUT PERMISSION??? I mean I expected that but damn. also gloves again. is it a military thing or is this the skin contact thing

He's not allowed to move in the ways Wilson doesn't approve. What moves does Wilson approve? Only Wilson knows.

Cyrus discovers when he's shocked for doing the ones on the "no" list.

And the gloves, ah the gloves. Who knows?

Wilson knows, he's the one that changed their designs too.

pfft I love those moments of like. passive caring about everyday stuff in whump. they're funny but then they're not funny

Yeah, I really like doing that :D

Cyrus doesn't want to go through an hour of Wilson getting his anger out in his hair, leaving him with a sore scalp and holding back tears. His hair is full of broken strands because of it already.

HEY DON'T CALL HIM SNEAKY I DID IT FONDLY >:(

I let out a really genuine laugh 🤣

ough.. he's so scared poor baby

Of Wilson? Always.

D: man I don't even know what to say this is just rlly fuckin good. guilt my beloved

Oh well, thank you <3

huh??? how come he didn't get physically close to any of it

His comedown has really fun hallucinations :)

Auditory, visual, gustatory, tactile, proprioceptive and interoceptive ones. Not all together or at the same comedown, it varies.

WOW!!! love the logic and treating cyrus like so much of an object wilson can just talk out loud while he's there.

:)

man. I love cyrus. I love wilson. I have so many feelings about them both... I rlly love handler whumpers those are so neat I love cold whumpers that are professional. wilson has such a presence in this chapter. cyrus is so cute I wanna wrap him in blankets...

I loved how this was like. stractured with the euphoria and comedown and everything. I also love how despite everything cyrus is still so caring towards others it's so. ough </3

Really, thank you for this <333 I'm really pleasently surprise to see people saying stuff like "doing the fenris thing" for the commentaries. It really makes me happy, like... YEAH? Please do! With me and with others. It's so cool to read these. Even tired, even busy, I just wanted to keep coming here to read yours and others comments.

So thank you <3 really enjoyed reading this, and I really like the way you think :)

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Sweet Creature

Content: magical living weapon, dehumanization, "it" briefly used as pronoun, dangerous whumpee, magical euphoria, shock collar, sensory (visual) deprivation, manhandling, military whump, implied institutionalized whump, magical slavery, heavily implied mass murder, hallucinations.

(chapter 1) | next chapter ->

(Curse of Withering masterpost)

Cyrus wishes to at least have a look around while outside. It would only be a military camp, soldiers walking around, tents set up, maybe some horses on one side. Not a very pleasant nor interesting view.

But at least he would be seeing the sky, and the grass, and people.

He's not. He's seeing pure black from behind his nullification glasses, being guided by an unrelenting hand on his neck, just above his heavy collar. Not even allowed to feel skin, only the tough material of a glove.

Around Cyrus, talk dies down, and muttering comes to life, as he's used to. It never stops making him feel ashamed.

Also not allowed to curl up or hide in any way, he's just dragged forward to keep walking.

A strong sensation of nausea hits him when they enter his designed post tent of this campaign. It feels like the protection barriers put around the tents are getting stronger each campaign.

Being on an empty stomach doesn't help, either. Regret fills him from refusing breakfast, but he's sure his stomach wouldn't have kept it down anyway.

"... This is it? The rumors made it look spine-chilling, not... this." A voice from his right side says, a bit far back. Further into the tent, then. Cyrus doesn't recognize the voice, but the words are familiar.

The gloved hand on his neck squeezes, and he stops after a second of trying to figure out if it was out of frustration or a command to stand still.

No scolding comes, so it must have been a command. Or both.

"Wait until you see it destroying a whole military camp while laughing like a maniac," Mr. Wilson says. That voice he does recognizes in the very core of his being. And by the coldness of it, his handler is audibly used to that question as well.

Cyrus doesn't have time to feel ashamed of the words before a pressure on his neck commands him to kneel down. Even with the knee pads, a mercy not chosen by his handler, the impact hurts a bit.

"Behave." Is what reaches his ear before the leather gloves are unfastened from his wrists.

Magic wraps around the metal gloves that were beneath the leather ones and bend it open. Cyrus didn't even hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do that. Maybe this gifted doesn't have a handler, he knows there's some free Gifted that serve the military willingly.

Unlike Cyrus.

He obediently waits with unmoving hands until his handler applies pressure on his head in another silent command. No one speaks as the nullification glasses are unlocked from his bowed head, nor when his half-necrotic fingertips find the floor beneath him.

It's not grass, it's rocks. He suppresses a disappointed sigh.

Cyrus knows better than to look around or shift from his position, but he's still able to see a bit of the tent's inside. The metallokinetic does in fact have a handler, and a black eye. He can't see anyone else, they're all behind him for safety.

That black eye must hurt, there's probably more bruises under the clothing, it never stops at just one.

Cyrus shouldn't care that the gifted was hurt. But he did. They deserve someone to care.

Mr. Wilson blocks his vision of the gifted by crouching down. The direct, practical delineation of where the enemy camp is sinks into his mind easily as his handler speaks. It's easy to map in his head exactly where he needs to focus on.

"You have permission to use your power, Wither." An uncomfortable eagerness blooms in him at the words.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus whispers and his collar beeps, its blue lights turning red as magic comes to life under his skin once again.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Pain doesn't even register in the sea of feelings building up in his body. The rocks puncturing the palms of his hands aren't nearly enough to ground him, not after years of the magic slowly numbing his nerves.

The tent disappears and all he can see is colors erupting from the blackness, like thousands of little roots travelling through the grass. Ignoring the surrounding life had become easier over the years, and the withering knew to travel until it's closer to the delineated area than to him before branching to reach all soldiers of the other side.

It took less than a minute for him to spiral into euphoria this time.

Faintly, he knew his lips were moving, in that same eerie murmur of always, singing words he couldn't understand, but also couldn't forget. An incantation that breaks the laws of nature. A chant that was never created... only repeated. The echo of something that always existed.

And so he repeats. From the words, waves of withering magic follows the colorful branches and pushes it forward.

His hands crack and dug further into the ground, and he repeats the chant again. Again, again, again...

𝙰𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

Cyrus could see, or in a way feel, the life bursting out of the enemy's camp. It was hard to separate what was greenery and what was people, but it didn't matter in the end.

Wither magic fills the entire enemy camp with thousands of black ramifications that only he sees the colors of. Growing, rotting, decaying.

Every cell in his body beams with giddy energy.

A warm mist swirls on his arms pleasantly. Something similar started filling his eyes, and Cyrus's head was pure delight. His chest shudders with a bubbly feeling as a smile grows on his face.

And then everything goes black. The cold, painful reality crashes down on him, harshly taking all the cheerfulness away and leaving behind an itch, a hysteric uneasiness. A faint beeping of his collar tells him he's done today, it had turned blue again.

Cyrus didn't even know he had made a noise until the collar beeps again with a warning electrical shock. With a flinch, he goes dead quiet. An argument was happening over his head.

Cyrus wants to keep using his magic, why can't he? It's so warm and happy-

"It was fucking smiling, it is fine to keep on! What is the point of having a weapon that can't be used?!" A man behind him almost yells. Not the same one from before, a slightly more familiar one. It might be the general, but without seeing it's hard to be sure.

Yes, Cyrus was fine to keep going, he was! It's been less than a minute with the nullification glasses back on, but he misses the colorful cheerfulness already, his body is taut with the need to move, to do something, anything.

But Mr. Wilson is right there, so he stays obediently still.

"I'm not telling it to launch an attack again! The magic would consume it's head and-" Mr. Wilson pauses, and Cyrus recognizes his temper rising. It's an effort not to flinch. "Ugh, you have no idea how bad it gets. Wither. Up, we're leaving."

"Mmn?" The order takes a second to click. "Oh... yes, sir..." To speak was hard, his tongue didn't move the okay he wanted it to. Cyrus could hear the ecstatic smile on his own voice, and he almost winces at it, but without knowing why. To smile was good, wasn't it?

Should he even be speaking, actually? Wilson doesn't usually like him speaking. Did he say "Sir" as he was supposed to? He doesn't think so... but no shock comes. Perhaps he did. It's hard to remember.

The floor seemed to spin beneath Cyrus when he stood up.

A gloved grip squeezes his arm and Cyrus knows to stay completely still, despite the dizziness. Magic envelops his hands as the metal gloves are bent to fit them again. He still couldn't hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do it, maybe it had been a silent command.

He feels the leather gloves being fastened on his wrists, too, before Mr. Wilson grabs him by the upper nape and guides him out. The sound of many boots around them tells him the escort team is here already.

On the way back, there's no longer any murmuring. Even blinded, he knows everyone is just staring. There's only the sound of heavy steps and the wind slowly bringing the smell of death into the camp.

The heavy metal door shuts with the escort team outside, and the only steps that echo inside the container are his and Mr. Wilson.

Blindly, he's pushed to sit inside his resting capsule. Oh, that's right, he's at a campaign, his den isn't here... the sad longing only lasts a second.

The thin mattress is cold, and the restraints are too tight. Cyrus hates the cold, but it feels so weird, he can't help but giggle. It sounds off, but he can't pinpoint why.

"Quiet," Mr. Wilson scolds sternly, fastening his legs securely inside the capsule. Cyrus flinches and tenses from the upcoming shock that doesn't arrive.

What a silly thing, to flinch from something that didn't even happen. He suppresses another fit of giggles.

The pressure building up behind his eyes and neck is getting harder to ignore. His fingers twitch with the need to use his magic again, but the nullification doesn't let him.

The pressure gets worse.

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Now the shock comes, and Cyrus's flinch is not so funny this time. It wasn't just a warning shock, but he doesn't know why he has been punished. Mr. Wilson doesn't clarify it, either. He's scared of not knowing.

The twitches are getting worse. He wants to move. The cold is starting to creep in again, and he wants the warmth back.

His hands move slowly under the temporarily loose restrictions, trying to relieve some of the painful nervous energy without grabbing Mr. Wilson's attention.

It doesn't work. His handler always sees everything.

"Did I say you could move, Wither?" Cyrus freezes from the gelid tone. His shoulders go up chastened just before a gloved hand fists his hair harshly. That'll form a knot later... he wants to wash up and detangle his hair already, before it gets too bad.

From how harsh Mr. Wilson's grip is, he doesn't think he'll be allowed that so soon.

"Stop trying to be sneaky, that's the only warning you'll be given." Cold and firm as always. Frightening as always.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus answers quietly. It's weird how he still feels afraid and sad even when he's feeling giggly and euphoric.

Euphoric. Didn't that word mean something important? The headache is getting worse.

Mr. Wilson's grip only grows even more painful. There's more to be said, but Cyrus's head is not working well. He doesn't want to talk, he wants to move.

What weapons want doesn't matter.

He tries again. "I'm... I won't be sneaky again. I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson," he tries. The hand leaves his hair without any further words.

The need to move only gets worse in the silent. He knows Mr. Wilson knows. Cyrus's body is so tense it hurts.

He needs to use his magic, he needs to. It hurts, it's bad, he wants the giddy energy back, and not this nervous, restless cold creeping in. Everything is still pitch black, and the restraints are too heavy, and he wants his magic free again-

So you can kill more people with it?

No. What? No, no, no-

Your handler stopped you before the euphoria truly took place. Where is your gratitude, you vile thing? Why must others die just so you can smile?

That's not what he wants, he just... he just wants the colors back, the happy feeling of-

Of killing.

The memories of colored forms change. Those were people.

People you killed.

"Are you crashing already?" Comes the distant, cold voice. It takes long seconds for Cyrus to recognize it's Mr. Wilson's.

Crashing. Yes. Yes, he's crashing, and he's still on war camp, so he doesn't even get his white den-

Images strafe his mind. People died. People were killed. By him. And he was just smiling. He giggled to people losing their lives. Not only soldiers, there were medics, and servants, and-

A cold, sharp thing runs his arm and he flinched away, swallowing hard. He tastes blood. He knows it's not his.

Vile thing. You're a plague on earth that should be eradicated.

Cyrus's back presses against the capsule mattress, and he can barely separate what is real touch and what isn't. Sharp goosebumps run up his arm, his hands are being held, there's a pressure on his chest and a numbness on his left leg.

"It's euphoric state was pretty fast this time, it was a good timing to retrieve it," Mr. Wilson's out loud thinking reaches his ear along with a faint noise of screams that mustn't be true.

They're true, you're just hearing them too late.

"Today will be easy, then."

Cyrus couldn't disagree more with his handler.

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Want to see Mr. Wilson's pov? This is the drabble this series began as. You can consider it a loose version of this chapter, but in Mr. Wilson's view.

Taglist: @whump-till-ya-jump @floral-comet-whump @paingoes @bonbonbobomb @inhurtandincomfort @half-duck @scoundrelwithboba

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[ssaalexblake]

waiting to see if you get sick from something you might have eaten that was bad is lousy when you are a chronic nausea sufferer like am i normal sick or am i 'accidentally poisoned myself' sick???

[thedreadvampy]

sometimes I forget that my experience has been. um. not 'your experiences are not universal' vibes but more like 'your experiences are EXTREMELY atypical'