#the mouth sewn shut? YES ABSOLUTELY

[yakam0z]

2nd phase harleigh, lord of ache ??? ©

[trulyumai]

Oh, Mr Mosses (Series)

Part One: (Author Note towards the end!)

Synopsis: You were fine with the job, the steps were easy enough but the secret of the D.D.D was getting harder and harder to contain. Each night a new entity would enter the building, each with its own horrific look and intentions. Just as you debate on leaving, a new resident has entered the premise; Francis Mosses who is absolutely entranced by your being. Not only that, it seems his “mimic,” is obsessed with you too.

Will you be as smitten of them as they are of you? In the end, who will you choose? Only time will tell.

Oh, Mr. Mosses I

It was simple: check the ID, match the numbers and appearance, ask them questions to form an alibi, push the red or green button. Yet, as she stared at the blood soaked neighbor, she reconsidered her options; the job at hand. He was scratched, bruised and covered with layers of dried blood.

The smell seeped through the glass somehow, spoiling her thoughts and pushing away any rhyme or reason. She gagged, carefully covered her mouth and started her task at hand. 

“Mr. Peachman,” She began, a cough flooding her senses, “The… blood, are you okay?” 

The said man did nothing but stare back, his unwavering eyes were bloodshot and wide. Finally letting a cough escape her she glanced towards the lockdown button, until a bloodied and battered hand slammed against the window in front of her. 

“I'm real,” He said. “I'm REAL, REAL REAL REAL,” 

“Mr Peachman-” “REAL, REAL REAL,”

Quickly she pushed the lockdown button, a metal screen blocked her vision from the man and she quickly slid her fingers over to the dial, calling the D.D.D as quick as her shaking hands would let her.

“Hello, yes, there's an intruder on the base floor, no, yes he is sealed, okay thank you.”

The wait was the worst part. How eerily silent everything got and then a knock. Three taps were signaled on the metal casing to let her know the job had been done, the neighbor had been confiscated. 

With a sigh she leaned forward, just until her forehead pressed against the wooden desk, scratching it lightly with each intake of breath she let in. It was hard, keeping this from the other residents. Sometimes they would ask, question why there would be random alarms, random screaming. She would start to sweat, always responding with the same thing. “Ah well we are in a busy city, afterall,” most of them would take that answer, although hesitantly. 

There was a new face amongst the regulars, he was quiet she noticed. Most of the time she wasn't on schedule when he ran through, but she would see glances of him from time to time, always leaving before her shift. In all white he had a somewhat of a thin build, his shoulders were strong, firm against the buttoned up shirt that he seemed to wear everyday. His eyes were tired, more so than hers and she wondered if that was because of his job or him. 

The night had started off bleak, a neighbor came in with sewn up eyes and a mouth, she didn't even attempt to ask it a question before shutting down the doors and calling the D.D.D. They didn't do as clear a job as they normally would, splatters of blood littered the wall in front of the main desk and she winced. She'd have to clean that up later. 

Rubbing her temples she let her eyes close, maybe within the month she could afford to quit, to move and find another job, another life. Maybe she coul-

“Mmm. Hello.” A deep and somber voice broke her out of her thoughts, with a jolt she glanced up, only to be met with tired eyes and a light frown. “Ah, hello Mr,” She glanced at the schedule

“Mosses,” he muttered. 

“Mr. Mosses, yes, it's nice to meet you, I always see you around but, it seems are schedules are always the opposite.” She was rambling, a bad habit she found when reading and comparing ID numbers. 

“Yes, it's nice to meet you.” Seeing nothing wrong she finally glanced back up to meet his gaze. 

“Everything looks in order Mr. Mosses, you're free to go!” She smiled, slotting the paper through the thinly made entrance.

“Mmm, thank you.” Without meaning to, his fingers collided with hers, his fatigue was weighing on him and he could feel his face flush with embarrassment. With his paper back in his wallet he shuffled awkwardly before returning his gaze on the woman. She was pretty, he noticed, too pretty for a place like this. Her hair perfectly framed her face, her eyes, although tired were beautiful, he couldn't stop himself from staring until a clear of her throat broke him of the trance.

“Are you okay, Mr. Mosses?” He winced, he hated that name, although it sounded pretty coming from her lips.

“Francis,” He whispered, unable to break free of her, her arms, hands, neck, jesus those-

“Francis,” She smiled. He swore he could die happily right there, in that miserable outfit with his miserable job, he could go happily as long as he could look at her. 

“Have a good night, hope to see you soon!” 

Walking away he felt shame, said nothing but nodded his head as he mashed the elevator button. All he did was stare like a freak, someone like her would never be romantically involved with him. He’s a milkman for god's sake, and yes, they're still around.  

Walking to his floor he swore right then and there, he would change his whole schedule if he could just see her for seconds at a time.

A/N:

Hi everyone, I hope you liked the first part to the series! I love this game and it’s mysterious neighbors so I wanted to take a shot and write about everyone’s favorite milkman. I’m trying to write him to be obsessed yet in love, I don’t want it to be overwhelming or weird. A quick warning this series will get more heated and violent, as the mimics do have murderous intent.

Thanks for all your support and the next part will be up soon! Much love, TrulyUmai

[rollinouttahere-writes]

I decided to write an alternate ending to Spandam confronting Doflamingo. The thrilling conclusion to the Spandam fucks around and finds out trilogy.

Warnings for violence, body horror, torture, death, and Doflamingo using his devil fruit in egregious ways.

Warlord meetings could be mildly amusing and entertaining to a point. An opportunity to annoy other warlords and Sengoku or terrorize some lowly marines was a grand old time in Doflamingo's book.

Today was not one of those days where he could enjoy such trivial pleasures. He had too much on his mind. He didn't want to be here at all and only showed up on the off chance that they might let slip some information he wants. Much to his chagrin, nothing of note came from the meeting. His dear niece wasn't mentioned once.

With his mood already sour, he didn't care enough to turn around when he heard someone behind him yelling. No one here would dare to speak to him that way, so he knows it's not for him, and thus not important.

At least that's what he thought until someone grabbed the bottom of his coat and yanked on it.

A vein bulged in his forehead and an eye twitched. Whoever was stupid enough to do this wasn't going to be around long enough to do it again.

Doflamingo whipped around with an unnaturally wide smile on his face, ready to see who had just volunteered themselves to be some prime stress relief for him.

Far beneath him was a pathetic whelp of a man that he had recently become familiar with through his investigating. Spandam was glowering up at him with stiff posture enforced by the brace around his torso. It would appear that he's graduated from using a wheelchair. Such a shame that he won't be able to enjoy that for long.

Stooping down, Doflamingo leered at the man, "What do you want?"

"You know exactly what I want!" Spandam snapped at the warlord with a shocking level of confidence given that he didn't have so much as a single Cipher Pol guard dog with him. "I know that you know where Nubia is."

Much to Doflamingo's absolute chagrin, Spandam was wrong. Despite his best efforts, even he had been struggling to track her down. Those Straw Hat Pirates moved awfully quick, he'll give them that. As soon as he thought he had them, they were popping up somewhere else entirely. But Spandam didn't need to know this. Doflamingo chuckled, "And if I do?"

Spandam was visibly incensed by the response. His lip curled up into a snarl, "You need to disclose anything and everything you have on her to me! She is a wanted fugitive, and I'll see to it that you lose your warlord privileges if you're hiding her!"

The threat was completely empty. A Cipher Pol Chief didn't have authority over who was and wasn't a warlord. Even if he did, Doflamingo wouldn't care. He was powerful enough to not need the protection granted by the status.

Doflamingo laughed loudly, relishing in the palpable anger on Spandam's face. "I have nothing to tell you."

"Do you have any idea what that little demon did to me?!"

"Oh, yes. I'm very aware. I've never been so proud." Doflamingo chuckled as he recalled first reading the leaked medical records that he got a hold of. Truly, he didn't think Nubia had that in her, but it was a very pleasant surprise. It only made him want to have her under his care more.

Spandam was seething and noisily grinding his teeth. The ones he had left, at least. "Proud? Proud?! We'll see how proud you are when I've gotten my hands on her and reduced her to a screaming, sniveling brat begging for the mercy of death! And I w-!"

The tangent was cut short as Doflamingo forced his strings through Spandam's lips and pulled them tight. Muffled screams came out of his victim as he clawed at his mouth, desperate the pull out the strings. Even with his mouth sewn shut, his screams were surprisingly loud. It would be a shame if he anyone heard this and tried to cut the fun short...

Carefully manipulating his strings, Doflamingo forces them down Spandam's throat and into the laryn. He scream and writhes in pain, before being silenced when the strings wrap around the vocal cords and squeeze them tight.

Finally, Doflamingo was seeing the terror that he had been craving. He could tell that Spandam was putting together that Doflamingo had no intention of killing him quickly.

Doflamingo grabbed him by the brace and wrenched him up off the ground, noting how the man's eyes roll back from the pain of having his already severely damaged spine jostled violently. How cute. It was about to get so much worse.

Strings tapped into his spine, but instead of stopping there, he pushed them in deeper. Spandam flailed and tried to reach behind himself to pull them out, but that was put to rest quickly with the help of the parasitic strings taking control of his arms and forcing them to grab onto the two bars at the back of the brace instead. And pull.

The vocal cords were vibrating intensely from within his clutches, but were unable to make a sound. His strings slithered down the spinal column, wrapping around each and every vertebrate and searching for the broken ones. This was easy enough given that the metal rods stuck out like a sore thumb.

Doflamingo's grin split across his face and he brought Spandam up just enough to be at eye level with him, "What was it that you were going to do again? Reduce Nubia to 'a screaming, sniveling brat begging for the mercy of death'? That's what you said, yes?" Doflamingo paused as if Spandam could actually answer, mostly just to humor himself.

A malicious laugh crackled out of him as he saw the pleading desperation in Spandam's eyes grow more and more frantic. Doflamingo sneered at the pathetic display and ground out one last sentence, "If you're going to make threats, you need to be strong enough to face the consequences of them."

With that said, the strings tighten around the metal rods in his spine and rip. Them. Out. The bones they were once embedded in crack and shatter in response, and he can feel broken blood vessels soaking the strings. Spandam's body flails wildly for a few seconds, then jerks violently.

Without even touching the heart, Doflamingo can feel the cardiac arrhythmia clearly. The heart's rhythm couldn't regulate itself, not with the the strain it was under. Abruptly, it stopped, unable to cope with what it was being forced to endure.

Spandam's body spasmed a few times, then went limp. Doflamingo scoffed and dropped the dead body to the ground. Of course this weak coward would go into cardiac arrest and die just when things were getting interesting.

Still... Doflamingo couldn't deny that he felt much better now after blowing off some steam. How grand that the CP9 Chief had one moment of usefulness in his life.

The warlord turned on his heels and to resume the walk back to his ship, leaving the body to be discovered by whomever happens upon it first.

[propheticclown]

I feel like a lot of people misunderstand Kurloz as a character. Sure he's not some "little skeleton man who does no wrong" but he absolutely isn't some horrible person that hurts Mituna and Meulin. I might do an analysis of his character but I've always seen him as a character who deals a lot with having to choose between his beliefs and his friends. Sort of a "Nagito-esque" character, who believes that what he's doing is good for his friends but is causing more harm than benefit.

At the very least, he obviously cares for Meulin, otherwise he wouldn't have literally sewn his mouth shut "out of guilt and shame" like Aranea says. Yes, he uses his chucklevoodoos on her, but I always interpreted this as him trying to get Meulin into the Dark Carnival by making her do Lord English's bidding. Again, might make an analysis of him, as well as some of the other dancestors.

[rubylarkspur22]

Random Crossover Idea: Demon Slayer/Barbie in the Nutcracker

Ye Olde Nostalgia kicked in, and refused to let me leave the topic alone.

So! I did what anyone would do when they have plot bunnies without a proper plot. I'm gonna post some random idea vomit, and anyone who stumbles across it and gets inspired is welcome to use the idea vomit with appropriate credit(i.e. tagging me here, or gifting on AO3).

Plot Ideas:

Tanjirou as Clara, Kanao as the story's version of the Nutcracker/Prince Eric. I am a sucker for TanKana, and it honestly kinda fits in my opinion.

Kanao's a doll instead of a nutcracker. I feel it fits her vibe a little better. Plus, it gave me another idea for her! Along with being turned into a doll, if she ever comes back to life, her mouth is sewn shut. Because I'm evil, apparently. Also, it creates fun communication hijinks.

Said communication hijinks includes Tanjirou giving her a notebook, and the poor girl being able to communicate with only him because she only remembers how to write in Japanese. Which isn't used in her fantasy kingdom. So poor Tanjirou has to play interpreter for her to the other members of the group. (Which absolutely includes him reading some choice words she wrote, looking her directly in the eye, and saying "I get the sentiment, but I am not translating that.")

Kanao initially belonged to Nezuko, given as a gift when she was younger. With the financial situation the Kamado family is in, Tanjirou and Nezuko decided to regift doll!Kanao to one of their younger siblings. But, due to age, she needs some touching up. Tanjirou offers to handle it(either Nezuko has a broken hand, or she's swamped with other sewing projects), and this plot gets underway.

The Mouse King is Douma. Who else could I pick, after Kanao got put in the position of Prince Eric? How'd he get the throne? Coup, that's all I got. Kanao got out alive, but got cursed. So he shows up, shenanigans occur, Tanjirou becomes tiny, and the plot goes forth with our intrepid duo searching for the... It's a bit cheesy, I think, but Sun Prince.

Kanao is a feral sword ballerina. Let her kick a** in a tutu, Natasha Romanov Style! She deserves it! Meanwhile, poor Tanjirou just got handed a sword and told to swing it at Douma's soldiers, and he's looking around like "Why did I get a sword? Why am I being trusted with weaponry? I am literally a teenager who's never seen battle. I need an adult!"

In other words, our boy has no battle experience, is very stressed, and needs help

Sanemi and Genya as Major Mint and Captain Candy. I don't know why, but the vibes came to me. Genya still has his gun.

Again, feel free to use any or all of these ideas. And if you do, I'd love to see/read them! In the meantime, have some doodles I did of Kanao, and some art I did of Kanao and Tanjirou.

Local Teenager Dragged Into Fantasyland Revolution by Feral Sword Ballerina, more at 10.

Honestly, with the nostalgia trip I'm on, I might do more of these. Unlikely to become fics of my own, but I could end up doing more of this "Spitballing Ideas For Others To Use" sorta thing.

[eric-the-bmo]

Happy Valentine's Day! I have a character named Valentine, so to celebrate his day (/j), have his playlist! <3 (yes i know some of the songs are jarringly different from each other, i will not apologize)

Valentine is a corrupt nobleman and enchantment wizard who had planned to take over the kingdom to become its ruler; however, he was unsuccessful, and was thrown into prison. Due to his magic primarily being cast through his voice, his mouth was sewn shut and he was forced to wear a mask that would prevent him from speaking. Since his imprisonment, he's learned how to use sign language to communicate.

Valentine was eventually released and recruited by a demon lord's forces, being promised his own kingdom to rule over if he assisted the demon in taking over the realm. He agreed, of course. When he was released, he was also given back his ability to speak; however, he prefers to keep the mask on for the intimidation factor, and only takes it off in order to vocally cast his magic or so that whatever he says would have more impact. He is effectively mute most of the time.

In the past, he's prided himself on having never fallen in love, and views the feeling as a horrible sort of enchantment- he's a bit afraid of it, although he would absolutely never admit to that; he's too arrogant for that. Unfortunately and unbeknownst to him, Valentine is beginning to develop feelings for one of his demon army colleagues...

[playlist thumbnail by @/citrusro]

[sauntering-down]

(slams back an entire can of sparkling water) all right this one is for the haters*

*joking. i was never that invested in this particular trilogy so, Asexual Rage aside, reading through it again and not taking it remotely seriously was actually super fun.

there's a character limit on bullet points and i can't indent them, which is annoying as i was going buckwild with those things on gdocs. anywayyyy this'll be a bit disjointed as it was disjointed to begin with and i'm gonna skip all my irrelevant Nonsense. here we go!

Book One!

Oh, i’m so glad this kicks off immediately with Will and Jem being… like that.  Will does Something Cool and instantly gets annoyed because Jem wasn’t there to see it.  Lord.

so the thing i remember most about Will is that he’s an absolute asshole.  Like, yes, he believed he was cursed to kill anyone who got close to him, but genuinely the only reason i didn’t hate him more than Jace Back In The Day was thanks to his… Relationship™… with Jem.  he was SO unpleasant otherwise.  that’s gonna be fun to re-experience.

Oh, Tessa.  Tessa, Tessa, Tessa.  I remember nothing about you except you’re some kind of weirdass warlock-thing.

Tessa’s brother Nate is a Bad Guy.  not the Bad Guy, though - genuinely do not remember who or what that was.  Even Sebastian had more staying power in my memory and he sucked.

oH RIGHT NOW I REMEMBER, Tessa gets kidnapped right after arriving in England and Will finds her!  That’s how she winds up at the Institute!  This is like reconnecting with an old friend, one you can’t fucking stand! 

I’m on page 18 and i’m already sick of hearing about the clockwork angel

“Tessa had many times tried to get a better look at the globe - something about the way the continents were laid out had never looked quite right to her, especially the space in the center of Europe - but the sisters always kept her away from it.” - if the Dark Sisters didn’t want her seeing it why did they just leave it there all the time where she could look at it

Tessa hitting Will with a jug is hilarious though.  I wish she’d hit him harder.

“He had the most beautiful face she had ever seen” of fucking course he did.  Everyone in these books is beautiful, unless they’re specifically hideous.

Oh god and here we go.  The dialogue in these books is just. painful. Because it’s constant endless snarky snappy witty-comeback-to-everything dialogue.  It’s so fucking annoying.  All of these characters wind up sounding exactly the same because of it.

Ah yes, the uber-creepy Silent Brothers with their lack of eyes and sewn-shut mouths. thank goodness Jem gets to stay pretty when he becomes one, right??

Sophie! \o/ she was one of the better characters, i do remember that.  She has a terrible facial scar, but she would have been pretty without it.  Thank god!!!

Omg i had completely forgotten about Jessamine.

I had NOT forgotten how incredibly disdainful these people are of mundanes. Ugh

Namedrop for Magnus.  He used to be my second-favorite character, but… yeah, idk, the older i get the more i wonder what the entire fuck attracts centuries-old immortals to teenagers.  Teenagers are so annoying.

“Tessa couldn’t help wondering what Henry Branwell did” weapons-grade lunacy.  And we respect his craft!!

I’d also forgotten Thomas existed.  Pretty sure he dies.  Fortunately, he’s also good-looking.

Jem also asks her if she’s an orphan within two minutes of meeting her.  Dimly reminded of Magnus dropping his Tragic Backstory on a group of random teens he’d never met before. And Isabelle casually outing her brother to someone she barely knows (yes, i know Clary asked, but in that position my response would be “how the fuck is that any of your business???”).

(screenshot to break up the bullet-point blocks since evidently there's a character limit on them! who knew)

“Jessamine giggled, the dressmaker smiled limpidly, and Tessa considered racing out into the street and ending it all by throwing herself under a hansom cab.” you know what. That’s fair. Kinda feeling the same

Just let Henry infodump, Charlotte, you married the man.

“She knew - she had been advised enough times - not to force on Henry affection he probably did not want.” waaaait, was theirs an arranged marriage?  It’s been so long since i read these.

“Henry rarely, if ever, took the lead in conversations with strangers.” he's so relatable

Jessamine gets a point for being the only goddamn person who isn’t a shithead about MUNDANES. Because she grew up like one and wants to be one, true, but that’s The Trauma.  And her attitude in this case is a little refreshing.

“‘You know, that’s not necessarily true,’ Henry said, unable to restrain his inner pedant.  ‘There’s an issue of translation from the original Aramaic -’” Henry is my new favorite character.  Neither snark nor social skills in this entire man! <3

“Can’t blame her, really.  Can’t count on me to be sensible.” oh, Henry, be kind to yourself. you are honestly the most likable character in this entire book so far.

“So Downworlders could be beautiful.” yes, yes, everyone’s beautiful. So what else is new

Reading these now is Wild because Back In The Day Henry and Charlotte seemed like Adults and shit, but. They’re like fucking 25 or whatever.  I’m older than these children.

“Perhaps it meant Will actually did have feelings after all.  Not that it had anything to do with her, whether he did or not, of course.” i’m too aromantic for this.

Oh, Charlotte’s twenty-three.  These are babies.

Thank god Tessa conveniently gets access to Camille’s ‘inner voice’ just in time for this party-slash-raid.  Imagine if this was hard.

I admit Will biting a vampire is funny.  Love it when Dudes are Unhinged.  Too bad about his everything else.

Gabriel arrives just to be a dick to Will.  still valid.  I would bully him too.

We’ve hit our first Teenage Makeout Scene.  Skimming time

Jessamine, immediately: welp guess i’ll marry Nate then. He’s not even conscious but at least he’s a mundane

Jem, about Will: “I love him as if he were my brother.” k

Honestly though, Sophie is the GOAT.  puts up with so much shit.  I would let her bully Will too.

Nate’s awake and as coherent as he ever gets.  He’s a Bad Guy but he ain’t compelling in any way even when he’s supposedly Just A Guy, that’s for sure.

“Don’t think you know Jem better than i do.” 😏 buddyfriend you’ve probably known a lot more of him than she has. wink wonk

Jem kisses Tessa’s hand. It’s supposed to be romantic but i ain’t programmed for that nonsense so mostly it’s just funny.  Will is Jealous, of course.

And the cook’s dead.  We hardly knew ye.

Oops Mortmain’s a Bad Guy and also Nate sucks.

Tessa’s angel necklace comes to life and attacks the automatons.  Iirc this is because there’s some bit of an actual angel in it.  Probably Ithuriel, nothing good ever happens to the poor guy.

Jessamine kicks too much ass and has to be knocked out.  Thomas holds the line while Tessa gets Sophie the hell out of there.  Pretty sure this is the last we’ve seen of Thomas.

Ey, it's Church!

One thing i do remember about CoHF was Jem pretty much just stealing Church at the end of it.  Might be the funniest thing that happened in any of those books.

Nate sucks.

Jessamine concussing him with a lamp is a Truly Beautiful Moment.  Love that for her.  I wish you’d kept your character development, kid.

Will is Cursed (supposedly) and has to be dramatic about it.  Pretty sure he’s going to be an absolute c-bomb about it in like one chapter, too.

Yeah, here we fuckin go

Jem is the only person Church likes. valid.

Oh god the jade pendant Will gave Jem… we could’ve had it all.  Instead we have whatever the hell this is

…epilogue from Magnus’s POV.  i don’t deserve this suffering.

Book Two!

Prologue. Will talks to ghosts. K.

He wants an anti-love potion so he can get over Tessa.  K.

Jessamine: “This is finally exciting.”  Tessa gets mad about that but. I kinda agree.  Even Benedict being a tool and insulting Charlotte is more interesting than the fucking Teenage Romance.  Hoo boy this is gonna be an ordeal

Jessamine finds it annoying Jem and Will can basically read each other’s mind.  The Relationship™ lives on. Thank the lord

“You could always wake up Henry.  It looks like he’s eating paper in his sleep again, and you know how Charlotte hates that.” oh shut up, Henry is still the best character in this series

Yes, yes, Jessamine is pretty, Tessa is also pretty. big whoop.

Jessamine sneaks out dressed like a dude.  I know full well she’s hooking up with Nate.  miss when she was almost interesting.

“They’re simply being late to make a point.  They don’t have to do what we say, or what their father says either.” valid on one point, at least.  Benedict is a tool.  Fuck that guy.

Oh my god i forgot Gideon randomly lapses into Spanish.  He’s lived in Spain for like, ONE year.  So extra.

Our first mention of Aloysius Starkweather.  Mostly i recall him being Old and also absolutely Off His Nut.

“Church adored Jem but had been known to bite others, often with very little warning.” and we love to see it

He promptly claws Will after Will and Tessa have a little tense literary flirt.  Most relatable character in the series

“That’s it?  You’re coming because you’ve never been on a train before?” be sensible, Will.  that’s a completely rational reason.  I too would go somewhere boring if i got to take a train there.

Oh, Bridget.  Just hanging out in the kitchen singing extremely morbid Irish tunes.  Love that for her.

The girls are fiiiightinggggg… by which i mean Gabriel and Gideon are having a lowkey argument behind closed doors because Gideon thinks their father’s a tool.  He’s right.

“I came back for you -” full disclosure, the only fic i wrote from that era i can reread without cringing too much is a short oneshot about Gideon and Gabriel post-patricide.  They do not have a Relationship™ (good thing, since they’re brothers and all), but their actual relationship is kind of sweet.

Cannot remember how much older Gideon is?  I want to say four years but i think it may be less.  I do remember a family tree on the inside dust jacket of the last book… not sure how accurate it was, though.

“That is because every time one lets Henry out of the house on his own, one risks an international incident.” bully him all you want. I still adore him.

“Half-mundane, half-Welsh, and the worst traits of both, i’ve heard.” okay, racist, but Will is pretty feckin’ awful, i’ll give you that.

Oh fuck no.  Cecily starts showing up sooner than expected.  I don’t think she’s in the story proper until the end of this book but i still don’t want to hear about her.  I know which Not Another Teen Romance she’s part of.

“Tessa was aware of Jem whispering to Will, in Latin, she thought - ‘Me specta, me specta,’ and Will not answering.”  Look at me.  Back In The Day someone said this bit wasn’t even subtext, it was just text, and i’m inclined to believe it.  If we had to have a Forbidden Relationship, this one would’ve been immensely more compelling.  Instead it’s just the endless goddamn jealousy.

And Will’s back at Magnus’s place, admitting he’s in love with Tessa.  It’s been like a month since they met but fine, whatever, let’s just move on.

Gabriel, about Will: “I hope he’s dead.” lol. same.

Tessa is stunned - stunned, i say - to gradually realize she may be attracted to Jem too.

So many problems that could’ve been solved with a threesome.

Anyway, skipped like four pages of Tessa and Jem making out.

Tessa sees Jessamine sneaking away in Dude Clothing but doesn’t do anything about it.  That’s gonna come back to bite you!

Charlotte gets annoyed with Henry for Being Henry and walks off, he is deeply confused why she didn’t just tell him she wanted him to come with her. I may be wrong but i think eventually these two geniuses have an Actual Conversation and admit they both think they’re not good enough for one another and the other one just settled for them.  And then they get over it because Charlotte’s pregnant in the last one.

Will goes to Tessa’s training just to piss off Gabriel.  It works.

Gabriel is rather surprised Tessa doesn’t like him (because he vocally doesn’t like Will, or Charlotte for that matter).  Getting the impression Gabriel is not the most socially-aware man on the face of the earth.

Sophie, of all people, slaps him.  Love that for her. <333

“I speak Spanish when i’m in a good mood.” Gideon is like, a fuckin college sophomore who’s decided to be interesting and sophisticated to impress a girl he thinks is hot.

Yeah yeah fucking yeah Will’s in love with Tessa we know

Will, possibly having a slight freakout, to Jem: “I would die for you.  You know that.  I would die without you.” mmmmmmmm yeah 😏

Anyway Sophie found an invitation because Jessamine’s sneaking out to Benedict’s Saucy Party, courtesy of Nate.  here we fuckin go

Also Sophie hit her with a mirror when Jessamine realized she’d seen the invite.  Have i mentioned i love Sophie?  She’s absolutely one of the best characters in these books.

Will then declares his love for Sophie because of this and for once i’m inclined to agree with him.

Time for Will and Tessa-as-Jessamine to attend the Saucy Party.

Tatiana had a crush on Will and wrote in her diary about it, and because he is Cursed To Kill he made her hate him by reading it aloud in public.

Anyway.  Party time.  Lots of people and not-people and automatons and Downworlders!  And demons.  Plenty of those.  Tessa has to Be Jessamine and dance and flirt with her dick brother, and i feel for her rn.

Lmao @ Jessamine secretly marrying Nate.  incredible taste in men, truly.

The first time i’ve been glad to see Magnus, solely because he’s interrupting Will and Tessa’s makeout sesh.

“Could you really love two different people at once?  Could you split your heart in half?” the answer is yes. Tessa. Just have a threesome. It’s fine.

Jessamine’s still a dreadful bitch.

Now we’ve gotta deal with Magnus and Camille’s relationship drama.  It never fuckin ends i s2g

“Was he horrified by what had happened on the balcony between them last night, or did he find it amusing?  And dear God, had he told Jem?” would’ve been hilarious if he did lbr.  The only one left to tell, then, would be you, and we could commence with the OT3 i deserve for putting up with this crap.

Sophie goes to meet Gideon. Mr. I Speak Spanish When I’m Happy was only in Spain for six months.  Amazing.  Fantastically pretentious.  What a legend.

Tessa and Jem have Hot Makeouts in the carriage.  It’s honestly kind of funny at this point.

Jessamine is still uhhhhh violently unstable? Has enough of the ol’ bitchitude left in her to tell them it was obvious they’ve been making out in the carriage.

Jem sees Tessa in Jessamine’s Dude Outfit and apparently it’s super hot.  I do not fucking understand allosexuals lmfao

“First Thomas, now Cyril.  When will you stop trying to marry me off to the nearest available man?” get her ass Sophie

Anyway time for Charlotte to get the pregnancy-induced illness apparently?  I thought it wasn’t until next book, but here we are.  Guess for all their mutual unworthiness they are getting it on.

Then Tessa ogles Will while he’s getting shards of metal pulled from his bare back.  I don’t understand allosexuals

TIME TO GO BLACKMAIL BENEDICT HELL YEAH

“The old man is a nasty piece of work, and don’t forget it.  Very harsh, he is, on those boys.” independent confirmation Benedict is a shit parent.  I mean that was already pretty obvious but it’s nice to hear Sophie say it. Fuck him

Benedict calls Will a “certifiable lunatic”.  He sucks but he ain’t wrong.

Gideon: anyway. Fuck this dadguy, i’m out.

Anyway Charlotte and Henry get to keep the Institute.  Obviously.

Benedict is “fine” with this, mostly because he accepts he was spectacularly outplayed.  Luckily he won’t live long enough to be salty about it!

Jem and Tessa announce their engagement at dinner.  They’re so fucking 17.

More importantly, Charlotte is Officially Pregnant.

Book Three! (fyi, i read the first nine books CC put out and this one has the only subplot i still remember fondly, simply because it's so fucking bananas.)

Took a look at that dust jacket family tree thing and yeeeeaaah, according to that, Tatiana is three years older than Gabriel, directly contradicting what’s said in the actual books (she was twelve at the same time as Will, who is less than a year younger than Gabriel).  The stunning continuity i have come to expect, truly.

Sophie!!  She’s being very civil to Gideon because she is but a Lowly Mundane Servant.  He has no idea what the hell he’s done wrong.

Careful, Sophie, or he'll try to get your attention via scones.

If there’s one thing i like about this particular book, it’s that it wastes no time getting into the plot.  Chapter one and Benedict’s already gone buckwild wormguy with demon pox.

So Gabriel has been having an absolutely terrible time with his wormguy dad.  I approve.

Benedict is a worm.  A giant fucking worm.  This is hilarious, by the way. Benedict fucked a demon and then turned into a worm.  I could not write this shit, and for once that’s not an insult.  Truly inspired.

“‘He’s a worm’, he said again, tonelessly.” Gabriel is like six inches away from just noping out of this shit and completely dissociating.  Don’t worry kiddo, you get to do that for a bit once this whole wormdadguy thing is taken care of.

“Tessa had seen him follow Cecily around a room with his eyes, with the same protective love in his gaze that he sometimes bent on Jem.” lord i hope not

(regarding Yet Another Romance) You know what.  You know what.  I will not be remarking upon it again.  I do not see it. I am looking away.

Tatiana arrives.  While she is certainly unpleasant, i feel (temporarily) bad for her because her husband was just dragged off by her wormguydad and he’s quite dead now.

“We’re not just discussing him; we’re chasing him through an ornamental sculpture garden because he’s turned into a worm.” honestly cannot blame Will and Jem for just being astounded by this entire situation.  It’s absurd.  Love it.

Gabriel shoots his wormguydad in the eye with an arrow and Benedict goes poof.  And nothing of value was lost.

Sophie is so annoyed by Bridget’s endless Morbid Irish Tunes she wants to push her into the oven. I vote we let her. as a treat

Gabriel is being forced to interact with Charlotte.  Love that for them.

Re: Gideon, “‘I think he has proved who he cares for most,’ said Gabriel, ‘and it is not me’.” :(

Jem, who’s been quite seriously unwell and has only just awoken, asks for Will specifically. 😏it’s probably about Tessa honestly but. Let me dream

“‘You wish to marry me now?’” if only.

Ah yes. The Scone Scene.

That feel when you get your arm broken trying to defend your sister after a boy’s been a c-bomb to her and then you have a terrible relationship with that sister afterwards, i guess? she's gonna accuse you of patricide in like ten pages

Lord, the cradle.  Henry please you are going to accidentally murder your child who will not be named Buford.

Anyway there’s no more of Jem’s drug so. He’s gonna die ASAP.

The Consul’s here to speak with Charlotte about Benedict… and, you know, the fact that Tatiana’s blaming Gabriel for Benedict’s “murder”.  There goes my limited sympathy for her.

“Did she mention that her father had eaten her husband?” thank you, Henry, for this timely interruption.  Wtf Tatiana

“The next time one of our esteemed members turns into a worm and eats another esteemed member, we will inform you immediately.” this plot is so absurdly weird it loops right around into perfectly sensible.

Unfortunately, it's over, and I have nothing else to sustain me through the rest of this.

All right high time for Gabriel to pretty much check out of this entire Situation for a few minutes.  Cannot blame him.

“Then Gabriel found himself hauled forward, his face mashed into the wet wool of Gideon’s overcoat while his brother held him tightly, murmuring, ‘All right, little brother.  It’s going to be all right,’ as he rocked them both back and forth in the rain.” i only care about one (1) relationship in the entire trilogy and it’s this. This is my reward for suffering through the rest of it.

…incidentally, I do not see it. I am looking away.

Do non-aroace people really spend this much time - regardless of whatever other highly important things are going on, dying friends and recent wormpatricides and Bad Guys and all - thinking about Attractive People and flirting with one another??????

I’m skimming rather a lot of this because i just don’t care.  The love triangle bores me senseless.

“I do not know who to be without him.” 😏

So they’ve figured out where Mortmain’s keeping Tessa.  In Wales.  Cool beans.

In the meantime Gabriel’s having fuckin. traumatic flashbacks to wormguydad fight and also stuck talking to the Consul at the same time. RIP.

And Jem finds out quite by accident Will is stupid in love with Tessa.

“Magnus waved a hand. ‘All Lightwoods look the same to me -’” give it a century or so and you will not be saying that anymore, bucko.

Henry: “Mostly they wish that I would stop suggesting new inventions and cease setting fire to things.” okay the latter is legit but the former? Rude

Welp. time for Jem to not-die.

Jem not-dies, which Will feels, painfully.

“Jem and Will.  Will and Jem.  Will Herondale lives, therefore Jem Carstairs lives also.  Quod erat demonstrandum.  To lose an arm or a leg would be painful, he imagined, but to lose the central truth of your life felt - fatal.” gay

Cannot believe i have almost half this fucking book left.

Gabriel writes A Letter that will absolutely fuck Charlotte over. SUSPENSO.

I do not see it i am looking away i do not see it i am i am so sick and tired of literally everything ever being about romance

Naturally, being the special sort of warlock, Tessa is not sterile. God forbid, right

Her clockwork angel does have a chunk of Actual Angel in there, go figure

Feels like this scene would be significantly more impactful had Charlotte and Gabriel had any meaningful interaction since the beginning of the damn book, but we just had to get that Teenage Romance in there instead, huh?  All right all right i’ll stop bitching.  What do i know, i just write bad fanfic, idfk anything really ANYWAY

Back to the rest of it… i’m skimming again, ngl.  Gabriel didn’t send The Letter. K

Gideon, Master of Social Skills (i mean, he’s better than his brother, marginally): accidentally says he’s going to marry Sophie in the middle of a conversation

“You did announce to the whole breakfast table that you intended to marry me, but that is not a proposal.  That is only a declaration.  A proposal is when you ask me.” you’d better marry her, Gideon, or i will

Bridget punctuates the proposal with a Morbid Irish Tune and Sophie goes off to commit a spot of homicide, as one does immediately after getting engaged

Yeah Ithuriel just literally has the worst time all the time. Like imagine being a fucking Actual Angel and getting constantly captured by random-ass mortals and shit.

Skimming again.  Will found Tessa, Jem’s dead, everyone’s sad about that, time for sex ig

Silent Bros show up at the Institute to help kick Mortmain’s irritating ass.  One of them is Jem.  like, there’s no point even pretending we don’t all know that.

Anyway hello to another Silent Brother, who is Jem, who is Not Dead.  big shock.

Shit taste in music aside, Bridget is honestly such a badass.  If only she got to be a proper character.

And Tessa shapeshifts into Ithuriel.  K

Henry, suddenly paraplegic: this is a minor concern. Maybe i should invent a flying chair

I do not see it. i am looking away. tiredly

“Does that mean they will not take your eyes - sew your lips shut?” of course not, Tessa.  That would make him not pretty.

It’s almost over

Sophie is gr8

And then the epilogue, year 2008, Jem is no longer a Silent Brother but he is still pretty. However that happened was in CoHF which i refuse to engage with again.

The end

the original document ended with the Ben Affleck Smoking Meme, which does kinda sum it up, but i think this screenshot also says it all:

few months back i reread TID for the Lulz, proceeded to take twenty-six pages of notes as i descended into aroace insanity, and i'm kinda tempted to post the Greatest Hits for y'all because i'm sure at least one person who's been following me for way too long will get a kick out of it.

[sky-berrie]

Stitch - Damian

Summary: Another favorite trope - reader patches up a wound. Warning: mentions of blood. 

The window opened behind you and you felt a cool summer night breeze brush against your neck. You didn’t bother to give the intruder any attention because you knew that Damian was the only person who could disarm the alarm and crack lock mechanism with ease. You thought the whole system was overkill but it pleased Damian to have it installed so you didn’t complain.

“Hey, Damian,” you greeted him robotically with your gaze still transfixed to your laptop screen and your back to the window. You were watching the events of the latest episode of your favorite show unfold.

You heard Damian land in your room with a grunt. He was usually quite graceful, however you guessed that his ribs and hip were still sore from the last sparing session he had with his brothers and sisters. That family took everything to a whole other level.

You heard Damian shut the window after himself. The sound of the latch being secured came next. Then you heard electronic beeps as he reactivated the alarm. “You –” he let out a sharp exhale. “You took home economics, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, nonchalantly with a mouthful of popcorn. You didn’t take your eyes off the screen, but you heard the sound of his heavy boots carry him across your room.

“Good,” he said. A shaky breath infiltrated his normally self-assured voice. “And you remember most of it?” The bed springs creaked under his weight.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Great,” he said. “What grade did you receive?” This wasn’t all that out of character for him. Damian was competitive in all aspects of his life. You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to compare home economics grades just so he could vaunt his skills.

“I don’t know, Damian,” you said honestly. You turned up the volume, hoping that Damian would get the hint that you wanted to watch your show in peace and quiet. “I think it was a good mark.”

Damian let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Excellent.” His voice sounded less troubled than before.

“Jon did most of my assignments,” you admitted unapologetically.

Damian was quiet for a moment. “Okay, but you attended the classes, correct?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too focused on the climax of the episode. “Oh my goodness,” you muttered under your breath to yourself as the plot twist unveiled. “Um,” you said, remembering that Damian had asked you something. “Yeah, yeah, more or less.”

“Do you remember how to sew?”

“Sort of,” you told him. You had sewn on a button once. It didn’t look great, but it definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well enough,” he said. “I need you to suture a laceration.”

“What?” you choked out. He said it so nonchalantly that you weren’t sure if he was serious or not, because a sane person would not be so stoic. You whipped around to find Damian lying on your bed in his Robin uniform. It was soiled with a layer of black, like he had been charred. It was so dark that it masked the staining of his blood and you wouldn’t have known he was bleeding if it weren’t for the pool of red soaking through your white comforter. He was holding his side with his hands at an awkward angle.

You had seen him with cuts and bruises and even broken bones, but never with the life bleeding out of him. “Oh my goodness!” you shrieked as panic filled your lungs. Your face contorted into a horrified grimace as you tried to stifle an expression of disgust. The strong stench of metal made your stomach churn and your head woozy.

You immediately felt horrible for not paying attention to him sooner. “Damian, why didn’t you say something? Holy crap! What the hell happened? You need an ambulance!” You turned around to reach for your phone.

“No,” Damian choked out. “Secret… identity,” he said with his eyes squeezed shut.

“What about your brothers and sisters? Your dad? Alfred?”

“On their way. No time to wait. First aid kit,” he implored weakly.

You ran for the bathroom and tore into the cabinet to find the massive first aid kit that Damian insisted you store. You had opened it once or twice to grab a bandage for a paper cut but you never touched the majority of the contents. You didn’t even know what half of the kit was for. You guessed that you might find out today.

When you returned to your room, Damian was moving slowly to unbutton his uniform. You helped him with the rest, trying to do it quickly without jostling anything. You tried to ignore the squishy wetness of the uniform, but your hands came away covered in a layer of crimson blood. Beneath the outer coat, his white undershirt was seeping with blood. There was a large tear in the fabric and a bit of the raw wound peeked through.  

You didn’t have a fear of blood, really. You had no qualms about donating blood or seeing it on TV. This, however, was completely different. You were more terrified than you had ever been in your entire life. You had no idea what to do - everything you knew about CPR and standard first aid had inexplicably disappeared from your brain. Silent tears began to spill from your eyes as your breaths tore in and out of your throat, ragged and shallow.

“Y/N,” said Damian, firmly. Through your blurry, wet vision, you could see him straining to make eye contact with you. “Breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Just follow my instructions.”

Normally you trusted Damian, but this time his reassuring words didn’t have any kind of soothing effect on you. Your whole body was shaking now. You couldn’t find your voice. Instead, you shook your head.

“Yes, Y/N. It is going to be fine, but you must listen to me. Do you understand?”

You tried to take a deep breath, but an uncontrollable sob cut it short. If Damian could lie there halfway to death and still be composed, then you could at least pretend to be calm for his sake. You nodded your head this time, trying your best to even out your breathing. It was no use though. You couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Thank you. Cut it,” he said, motioning to his undershirt.

You did as he ordered and cut a line right down the centre of his shirt. It was warm and wet and clung to his skin, so you peeled it off to reveal the full extent of a nasty looking wound. Even through your distorted, teary vision, you saw enough to know it was not good.

You felt faint at the sight of his insides. Or maybe it was your hyperventilating making you dizzy.  

“Breathe, Y/N. Breathe and then get the sterile solution to irrigate it.”

You returned with freshly washed hands, a pair of gloves and a jug of irrigation solution. Following his instructions, you squeezed the syringe and expelled the liquid over his wound. It ran down his side and carried even more blood into your comforter.

“Okay,” he breathed out. “There should be a small white packet with a curved need and thread and a pair of suture holders. They look like scissors but without the blades.”

Your trembling hands had a difficult time picking out the items. Once you collected the materials, you looked at Damian for further directions.

“It’s a bit deep so you’ll need to close the layer under the skin first. Can you see it?”

You shook your head. His side was a giant red mess. You couldn’t make out anything except for blood and jagged skin. It was nothing like the clean and clear-cut diagrams you’d seen in class. “This is crazy! I can’t do this,” you cried. People spent years studying and training to do procedures like this. Stitching up a body was not something that a person should wing, and definitely not on their best friend, lying in an unsterile room.

“You can,” he assured you. “Pretend like you’re sewing some fabric. Start with this layer here.” Damian pulled at his skin and pointed to the inside with a pair of suture forceps. You couldn’t help but turn away and shut your eyes as he prodded himself. “Y/N,” he called your attention back. “Make sure the needle goes in like this and comes out like this,” said Damian as he demonstrated.

You were shaking your head. “You are absolutely insane! Sewing fabric is nothing like sewing a wound! Can’t we just wait for your dad or someone?”

“No time,” he said.

“Please, Damian,” you begged. “Let me call EMS.”

“No,” he asserted with what little strength he had.

“Please! I…”

“No,” he repeated. You could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“I understand you have to protect your secret identity, but Damian, come on. There won’t be an identity to protect if you die.”

“Batman…Nightwing…” he said weakly.

“They’ll understand!” you argued with desperation.

“No,” he mumbled. He shook his head.

Without any thought, your next words came flooding out straight from your heart. “Damian, I love you and I don’t want you to die!” Oh. That came as a shock to you. You’d never said anything like that before. In fact, you’d never even had a thought like that, but you knew it was the truth. Your hands almost flew to cover your mouth in regret, but the blood dripping from your hands stopped you.

Damian didn’t seem to notice your confession, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Had you not been utterly distracted by the emergency before you, you might have run away with embarrassment from your sudden proclamation.

“Please try for me, okay?” His eyes were starting to close, but you could see him struggle to keep them open.

You searched his eyes, to see that his once vibrant green eyes had a dull, hazy colour to them. Seeming to find what you were looking for, you conceded. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Okay.”

It was the worst experience of your life. Damian walked you through the process, but nothing could prepare you for the nauseating feeling of piercing his skin and pulling the nylon thread through the thickness of the tissue. Seeing the inside of his body made you want to vomit but his life was at stake, and you had to be brave for him. Besides, he was the one who should be worried, not you. Your technique was obviously non-existent and you were certain that you were hurting him a hell of a lot more than he was letting on. He hissed and groaned and you apologized profusely but he insisted that you continue.

“Thank you,” said Damian after you tied the last knot. His eyes were heavy and lidded and you could tell he was barely hanging on to consciousness. “Knew you could do it.”

You had no response. Now that the worst part was over, the adrenaline had left your system and you were in shock. His hand lolled out in an attempt to offer you comfort, or maybe to seek comfort for himself. You weren’t certain which is was, but nevertheless, you instinctively clasped his hand in yours.

Then he said something that caught you off guard. His voice was so faint that you barely heard him. “For the record, I love you, as well.”

You weren’t sure if he really meant it. Maybe he was delirious. He did lose a lot of blood. You pondered it for a moment and wondered if you should feel mortally embarrassed when he was fully lucid, but just then, a gentle squeeze on your hand told you that you didn’t have to worry.

[slasherholic]

Could you please write more about being the colletors favorite, but maybe you try to get away from him, and he hunts you down? can be nsfw i love your writing for him :3

didn't end up being nsfw but I’m not opposed to writing a second part

synopsis: bad things happen when you disobey asa. terrible things happen when you disobey him like this.

contains: gender neutral reader, depictions of torture, threats of torture, fear play, drugging, body horror, depiction of a panic attack. not as dark as it could be but still quite dark.

Asa Emory x Favorite!Victim!Reader | One More Chance

Of all the victims displayed around the hotel, none haunt your mind like the dolls.

That’s what you’ve named the people he rearranges beyond recognition.

People with their arms and legs amputated at the joints, bolted to walls or hanging by chains from the ceiling, kept alive with IV bags and feeding tubes forced down their stomach. Some have sewn shut eyes or a sewn shut mouth. Some have body parts that are not theirs, stitched to places they have absolutely no business being. Some are peeled wide open. All seem conscious and alert when his footsteps echo past.

They never live long. Within a week or two, they wither, inevitably. From infection, organ failure, malnutrition, shock — or, you would assume, pure anguish. Even so, you’ve seen how he tends to them to make them stay alive. These creatures are his flower garden; he waters them diligently and makes sure they have fresh soil. When they die, he preserves them in the lobby in grand glass tanks.

You’ve been in the room before when he carries out the procedure. He likes to make you watch. The most obedient ones get sedated, but some just get restraints. A lucky few die during the operation — but the ones that live through the torture are rendered shattered, broken, docile husks. His breathing creations. His timid dolls.

Ironically, it was in the lobby that you were caught. You had been so close to the door, so blinded by adrenaline that you nearly crashed into the thin razor wire stretched wall-to-wall just feet in front of you. One moment’s hesitation to make a choice, to risk flaying yourself alive and bleed to death, or surrender and be tortured for days — and his dogs were upon you. The door to your escape had shut.

He called off the dogs. He knelt by your head, knife in hand. He seized you off the tile, by your hair. And slashed your cheek so hard you felt the blade scrape bone. 

You started screaming for help. For anyone. The door was right there. Someone might hear you.

The dolls preserved in the tanks all around watched.

He slapped your face with such force your thoughts stopped.

You felt the furious jab of a needle into your thigh.

And now, you’ve woken up restrained to a cold steel table.

All his surgical equipment is spread out on the metal countertop nearby. The large figure in all black stands with his back toward you, putting on a fresh pair of gloves.

You notice the thick dotted lines drawn in blue marker beneath your elbows and knees. A moment later, when your thoughts come sludging back, you realize what he’s about to do to you.

Your face goes cold and tingly and your hands seize up. You wheeze and sob and wheeze. There are black spots bursting across the ceiling, eating your vision away.

Between breaths, you plead and beg him no and no and no.

You’ll never try to get away again. You promise. Please one more chance. You mean every word of it down to your bones.

His hand alights on your cheek where he grips you softly. His fingers are warm through the nitrile. He strokes your face where he sliced you and you feel the stitches in your skin. He’s already cleaned and dressed the wound.

Brushing your mouth with his knuckles, he presses a finger firmly to your lips; quiet.

You obey him without thought. You can’t shut your mouth fast enough. Sucking in huge breaths, nostrils flaring rapidly, the crying won’t stop. The panic is only mounting.

Maybe if you’re good, if you obey his every command from here on out, he’ll do it while you’re asleep.

He comes back and stands over your head. He holds up a needle. Flicks it to get the air bubbles out. Squirts the plunger a little, and liquid spurts into the air. Some lands on your cheek. It’s cold. You cry harder.

Fear of death compels you to try and save yourself one last time.

He doesn’t have to do this.

Your lower lip quivers so terribly you can hardly get the words out.

You’ll never try to get away from him again.

You’ll do anything he wants from now on, you’ll never run away.

Please just one more chance.

He stands above you, needle in hand, looking at you the way he did the first time he threw you down in that trunk, just before he slammed the lid shut.

The needle plinks on the steel table as he sets it next to your head. His palm comes down on your cheek and he gives your face a few gentle, goodbye pats.

He picks the syringe up again and slides the needle into the base of your neck.

Weeping freely, you don’t say anything more as he strokes your hair, wiping your tears as they come.

It’s a different drug from the kind he uses to put you to sleep. Though your body feels heavy and relaxed, like you could melt through the table and into the floor, your eyes don’t feel the need to shut. He intends for you to be awake for it.

Your heart is beating so fast it must be about to burst.

You’re going to die before he even makes the first incision.

You can feel yourself dying right now.

You don’t realize he’s bent down next to your face until his mouth is very close to your head, so close you can feel the heat of his breath. Fingers ghosting gingerly along your scalp, he pets your hair in soothing, circular motions, while his voice trickles into your ear;

“Ready to behave?”

Yes. You nod furiously. Tears fly down your cheeks. Yes.

“There’s still going to be a punishment.”

You know. You’ll have it. You’ll take anything but this.

You whine through gasps, “Mhm — Mhm — Mhm—”

“Alright butterfly,” he interrupts, “one more chance.”

Straightening up, he wipes your tears away with his thumb.

He takes an alcohol swab from his pocket and cleans the marker on your elbows and knees away.

You continue to weep silently as he undoes your restraints. You don’t have the strength to think.

Scooping you up beneath your armpits and knees, he lifts your limp body off the steel autopsy table. Gripping you close, he carries you out of the room. When your heavy head falls against his chest, you are unable to do anything about it at all.

[midgardianweasley]

Build-a-bear adventures

Build-a-bear adventures.

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A top trained assassin, her girlfriend, and a build-a-bear workshop, what better way to spend a day off. 

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Agonisingly fluffy.

I was planning on posting angst, but, decided on a fluff instead<33 

“But babe. Babe. Babe.” You poked your girlfriend, fully aware that with every prod, you were only contributing to the headache worthy eye rolls she had been giving you for the past hour. You were joking, of course you were, she knew that, but she also knew that it was possible you were about to be single in 0.2 of a second if you didn’t stop poking her. 

With a sarcastic smile and a deep breath, she turned her head towards you, momentarily stopping your movements as you returned a sickeningly sweet smile back. 

“Yes?” 

“I don’t think you understand.” 

“I do understand.”

“This is life or death.” You spoke with a poker face, a weak attempt to try and make your point valid. 

“I think that may be exaggerating just a little bit honey.” She chuckled lightly at your tone and the way you moved in your spot on the sofa, now having your legs crossed in front of you, hands enthusiastically moving in front of you. 

“No. No, see, you don’t understand! We need to do this!” 

“Is my unconditional love not enough?” 

“No.”

“Ouch.” She dramatically placed her hand on her chest, a smirk plastered onto her face as she watched you rile yourself up with every sentence.

“Okay, sorry, I didn’t mean that, your unconditional love is more than enough, and while I unconditionally love you too, that doesn’t change the fact that this is a necessity.” 

“Like the ones from the jungle book?” 

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back as the assassin teased you. 

“Baby, please!” You moved once again, now clambering onto her lap with your hands interlocked behind her neck, your faces mere inches away from hers. Her hands immediately went to your waist to steady you, pure energy coursed through your veins as you tried to convince Natasha to go ahead with your idea and she wasn’t certain you wouldn’t fall off of you if she didn’t hold you down.

“You seriously want to?”

“Yes.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“Instead of cuddling in bed with movies?” Her eyebrows raised in question, not faltering as she watched you pretend to ponder, stroking an imaginary beard on your chin.

“Yes.” You smiled, your inner child shining through. 

Knowing she wasn’t going to win, she sighed gently, running a hand through your hair and giving you a quick kiss on your temple before tapping your thighs to signal for you to stand up. 

“Alright. Get ready and we’ll go.” 

“Really?” You squealed, clapping your hands together as you rocked back and forth on your heels. 

“Really. Now hurry and get your shoes on, we don’t want to get stuck in traffic.” 

She watched with nothing but adoration as you whizzed off to get ready to leave, swearing that she’s never seen you move so quickly in her life. Despite her playful protest, she walked over to the kitchen counter to pick up her car keys, swinging them around her pointer finger as she walked over to the doorway of the compound living room. 

‘I can’t believe I'm doing this.’ She thought. 

Although she’ll deny it to anyone that asks, she’s absolutely whipped for you. 

“I’m ready!” Your voice called out, encouraging Natasha to shrug her leather jacket on and walk towards her smiling girlfriend, taking her hand as they walked out together with content smiles on their faces. 

‘Let’s do this.’ 

_______________________

It didn’t take long to arrive at your destination, your eyes immediately drew themselves to the store windows filled with stuffed bears in a variety of different outfits, some bears were dressed up to fit a theme, some bears were characters from loved movies, some were just bears in dungarees. 

That’s right. You’ve managed to bring a trained assassin to a build-a-bear workshop. Why? 

To get matching bears. 

You looked towards Natasha, a huge grin on your face, only faltering slightly as you were met with her hands and forehead on the drivers wheel. You tugged on her sleeve, ignoring her disagreement, her head not leaving the wheel, but turned to face you.

“Stop being silly, c’mon, you’re looking forward to it! I know you are!” 

“Babe. We’re parked outside of a teddy store.”

“Exactly! It’s fun, you’re excited, I'm excited, let’s go!” 

You didn’t hesitate to open your car door, jumping out of the car and shutting the door behind you, the redhead not far behind you as she once again took your hand, reminding you how lucky you are that she loves you. Your response was a simple kiss on her cheek, a small blush following shortly afterwards.

“You’re cute.” You pinched her cheek.

“Yeah yeah, let’s go get our bears.” 

_______________________

“So, that’s both of your bears stuffed, do you guys want to put voice boxes in them?” The kind staff member asked the pair of you. 

You glanced towards Natasha, silently asking if she’d like one or not. She gave you a brief smile before looking back at the woman helping you with your bears. 

“Sure, I don’t see why not.” She winked at you before following the woman over to another station within the store. There were rows and rows of different shapes and coloured voice boxes to choose from. 

You had the option of choosing a pre-recorded sound, like animal sounds or a bunch of different ‘i love you.’ in different voices. You didn’t mind what voice you had, honestly, you would’ve been content with an ‘i love you’ from Elsa at this point. However, you saw your girlfriend make a beeline for the ones that you record your own message into. 

“You’re gonna do your own one?” You asked, moving over to stand beside her. 

“Nope. I’m making one for yours.” She said proudly, holding two of the small items in her hand, holding it out for you to take one. You couldn’t help but feel your heartbeat quicken at her words. This is the sweetest thing you’ve ever done with someone else, and to think she wasn’t even that eager to come in the first place. You knew she’d have fun. 

Taking the small blue speaker from her hand, you were instructed to press the button on the back of the plastic, hold it down to speak, and release it when you were finished, but it can only be a short message. The both of you tucked your bears under your arm, bringing the box to your mouth and cupping it so that it would come out loud and clear, and so the other couldn’t hear what you were saying. 

Once your messages were done, you handed each other the speaker to place in the paw that had a ‘press me’ sign sewed into it. The woman ensured it was inserted correctly before taking them elsewhere to be sewn up, leaving you both to look at the racks of tiny clothes hung on the wall. 

It was almost as difficult as choosing clothes for yourself, there were too many options, and every single one was adorable. How did literal children do this? 

“Please tell me you can’t decide on an outfit either.” The Russian spoke from beside you, her gaze focused on the fabrics, styles and patterns in front of you. 

“It’s easier trying to take a pop tart off of the demi-god at home than trying to pick a pair of jeans and a t-shirt for a stuffed animal. What the hell?” Your arms gestured to the wall in front of you, exasperated as you tried to decide whether you wanted the blue jeans or black.” 

“Hi guys, here are your bears, just letting you know, there’s also some dresses over there if you want to check them out.” The woman smiled, watching as you and Natasha shared a glance of horror. 

The two of you were gonna be here for a while.

______________________

Finally, you and Nat had dressed both your bears. You chose a pair of black jeans, a white t-shirt and a black leather jacket for yours, and Natasha had chosen a Y/F/O. It appeared as though each of you had made ‘mini me’s’ of the other, and they seemed pretty damn accurate too. 

After successfully creating and dressing your bears, it was time to name them, pay, and then you could both go home and relax. You had no idea building a bear could be so exhausting. 

Both you and Natasha had to pick a name. You thought it over, whereas Nat had just rushed right in, choosing to call her bear ‘honey.’, the nickname she always reserved for you. Gripping your bear tightly, you observed the birth certificate being printed out, the name, the owner’s name and the date clearly written in bold, black letters. You could’ve sworn you saw Natasha’s eyes light up when she was handed the sheet of paper. 

“What about you, miss?” The woman asked, ready to type in whatever name you gave her. Glancing behind you quickly, you caught the eye of your girlfriend behind you, immediately knowing what to call it. 

“Snoopy, please.” 

You heard one loud and short laugh erupt from Natasha’s lips, her hand shot to cover her mouth, not intending to be so disruptive when she heard what you had called it. 

‘Snoopy’ is the name of a cartoon character, which was probably what people would think you named the bear after. In reality, it wasn’t that at all. 

When you first met the team, you were informed of what everyone’s roles were and how they contributed to the group. There were supersoldiers, scientists, a god, all different kinds of people, including the incredibly attractive spy. When you went on your first mission, she had to hack into a computer to retrieve some stolen data, but took her time to also look at some other things they had on there too, just to kill time. 

The first words you said to her on that mission that wasn’t to do with what direction you were running in, was ‘Alright, hold off Snoopy, you can do that in your spare time, hurry up.’, and at first she was annoyed with the nickname, claiming she wasn’t snooping, nor does she ever ‘snoop’, but she soon took it in her stride. It was still a running joke between the pair of you 2 years down the line, and you never let her forget it. 

“Nice name, babe.” She coughed, unable to fully settle down from her laughing fit.

“Why, thank you! Yours isn’t so bad yourself.” You spoke as you blew her a kiss that she grabbed in thin air and pretended to shove into her jean pocket, earning a small shake of the head before you took your printed certificate and went to purchase the bears. 

_______________________

Once you got back to the compound, the both of you were completely shattered, unable to keep your eyes open to watch some TV before bed. Eager to get some sleep, the two of you just ended up changing into your pyjamas, following your shared night routine before collapsing onto your bed. 

You lay beside her, still able to smell her perfume after so many hours, the scent making your eyelids feel like rocks. Grabbing your bear, you put it in between you, Natasha doing the same thing, before snuggling up close together under the covers. She reached over to put some fallen hair behind your ear, smiling gently at you as she did so, the gesture lazily returned. 

“Thank you for suggesting today, baby. I really enjoyed myself.” She whispered, a murmur of agreement following her words.

“Thank you for taking us Natty, I had fun.” You mumbled with closed eyes, sleep quickly taking over. 

“Get some sleep, my love.” 

You nodded once before responding. “G’night Nat.” 

“Goodnight baby.”

And that was you, out like a light. 

Natasha reached over to give you a kiss on the forehead as her final goodnight, not realised that she’d leant on the teddy in the process, only noticing when she heard your voice in a non sleepy state. 

“I’m madly in love with you, Romanoff.” She heard you laugh, followed by an excited “I’m done!”, obviously you forgot to let go of the button after you recorded the initial message, but it had made it even more special. She couldn’t help but adore you with every bone in her body. 

You weren’t awake now, but when you were, she hoped to see your reaction when you listened to her message in your bear, the words spoken in Russian, but you’d heard them before, so you’d definitely know what it meant.

“Moye serdtse tvoye, lyubov' moya.” (My heart is yours, my love.)

She was right. 

She’s absolutely whipped. 

 Taglist: @natashas-favourite-knives @eilarch @natashaswifey @lostandsearching​ @wandaromanova​ @pottahishotasf @d14n4ol @xxromanoffxx 

[rogueprincc]

' oh how she loved to irritate him , how she loved to play upon the inner sense of guilt or even remorse that did not exist within him . did he at least feel in any sense a -- thread of guilt for his actions ? absolutely not . was it his fault he was thrown into a marriage he had no wish for with false hopes of love and a bright future ? ' such fickle fools . for even as that little boy , his scoundrel side reared its ugly head , those little sprouts of wild fire burning through the layers .

' yet in her he had found a strength , even a stubborn nature he had not seen in women in the keep , most were docile , wide eyed fools , always seeking to try and -- tame the dragon that harboured beneath his flesh to only be devoured by the beast once its head had been reared . yet constantly he had found her ' testing that very fine thread of self control that he apparently lacked at most times , always having to be an irritating cunt with an opinion , how pretty she would -- look once her mouth was sewn shut ,yes , only then would she look or even seem appealing .

' " a wife i did not want , but a wife who still belongs to me even if i like it not . " his property , even if he had no thought or affection towards her , she still belonged -- to him . she knew that once she married into his family that she would be a representation of their house , joined together for all to see .

' yet as her hand reached to his hair , low animalistic growl vibrated from deep within his chest , one that could have challenged the very ones that his own mount -- would produce when deeply angered or distressed . yet with it , a laugh escaped him , not one of amusement , it was low , danger seeping from it " such an honour it ' is for you to be wedded to a dragon , am i not the monster that wet nurses tell children about at me ? tsk tsk , i thought you would have learned by now , wife , i -- bathe in the knowledge of knowing my actions cause you such tribulations . "

' yet with her words , there was almost a shift in him , almost as if the danger that had been pulling him to it , pulling him into the darkness of his minds had -- ceased , his grip loosing around around her neck " you speak of fairytales , we both should know that no such things exist . have you dead ? now that is an ' interesting thought , yet i do believe my brother would not be pleased , exile does not suit me . " was she trying to sppeal to his humane side ? they both know - such a thing was a rarity , almost nonexistent .

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Mute

Prompt: I absolutely adore your writing! Could I ask for a request too, please? I was thinking of a back-and-forth between Janus and Logan, just lies after truths after lies, until one snaps and accidentally causes the other to lose the ability to speak? Since they can both technically change the reality around them. Either the recipient becomes forcibly mute or the very angsty "sowed up mouth" method. Whoever caused the other to lose their speech freaks out and tries their best to fix their mess while apologising. Either a platonic or romantic ending -whichever you decide- but with at least a happy ending please? - willowaudreykeyes

Thanks for the prompts, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: sympathetic janus, logan gets his mouth sewn shut but it's okay we fix it

Pairings: can be platonic or romantic I don't care, but we hit logince, rociet, lociet

Word Count: 2922

He doesn’t even remember how it started.

Or, an argument between Logan and Janus spirals dangerously out of hand, and powers in the Mindscape are sometimes more curses than blessings.

It hadn’t been something Thomas knew about, it hadn’t been a group discussion—he doesn’t think the others know where they are. Virgil is probably in his room, Roman is working in the Imagination, Patton is baking with Remus.

He doesn’t remember how it started.

He does know how they got here.

“I fail to see what use this is,” Logan had grumbled, standing up from the library table, “I will be better off figuring this out myself.”

“Oh, yes, of course, because that’s always gone so well for you in the past.”

Logan’s eyes had flashed with anger he still denies he has. “I fail to see what gives you the opinion that you have any right to complain.”

“Because I’m certainly the one saying that I’ve done all my best work alone.”

Janus had smirked cruelly as Logan shoved his glasses back up his nose and pointed a finger at him. “Your track record, may I remind you, has certainly shown that.”

Janus had thrown his head back and cackled, filled with mirth that sat like rot in the pit of his stomach. “And yet I managed to do so much more in the few times I appeared than you.”

“Oh, like that’s the same thing.”

He had held his hand to his mouth in a mock gasp. “Why, Logan, surely you can’t be insinuating that you think the others are incompetent. How hurtful, what on earth would they say?”

“I did not say that.”

“But you meant it, didn’t you?” Janus had morphed his expression into a mock pout. “They’re all so slow, so irrational, all they do is get in the way, they’re so irritating.”

“You’re attempting to convince me that I said something I did not,” Logan had said firmly, “it will not work. The meaning of my remark, as you are aware, was that you, as your role in the videos, have an easier time disrupting the flow of conversation that I do as a member of the main cast.”

Logan had ignored—or perhaps not noticed—the subtle tightening of Janus’s fist. He had simply sniffed and looked down his nose.

“And even then, it’s a surprise you haven’t been more capable.”

Janus had bared his teeth. “Yes, because obviously, you could’ve done better.”

“Oh, please.” Logan had tucked his notebook into the crook of his arm. “Can you name one of your haphazard schemes that actually worked?”

Janus had gritted his teeth as Logan opened the notebook and began to read down the list.

“Your attempt to get Thomas to lie to Joan failed when Roman started to believe that lying was wrong as well, leading to Thomas discovering your true identity.”

“By all means,” Janus had growled, “keep going.”

“Most notably, your attempt to get Thomas to go to the callback backfired quite spectacularly—something that wouldn’t have happened in quite the same fashion had you actually let me participate—“

“Keep talking, Logan,” he’d said again, inching closer to the nerd, “that’s a wonderful idea.”

“—and of course, led to what is the most disruptive event in recent memory,” Logan had continued, undaunted, “the wedding.”

Janus hadn’t even bothered with words this time, reaching for the notebook with a growl. Logan had tucked it away before he could reach it.

“Tell me,” he had said, “was it worth it? Knowing how much it cost us?”

“Surely,” Janus had growled back, “then you know it’s not because you didn’t do your job well enough.”

Logan had stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

“Well surely you haven’t realized that the reason I was able to make it into that video in the first place,” Janus had said smoothly, sliding back into the ‘villain’ persona Logan has so graciously cast him in, “was that you were so painfully easy to replace.”

“Falsehood,” Logan had said lowly.

Janus had raised his hand again. “Oh, so you did notice. Splendid. Then you know that when it comes to pushing blame around the Mindscape—“

He had leaned closer.

“—you’re where we should be looking too.”

“I am—“

“Easy to overlook,” Janus had sung, prowling around Logan in a circle, “easy to silence. And surely there’s no correlation between when you attempt to override the others and when Thomas gets hurt. You want to talk about my failures? Then let’s not forget getting the others trapped in Patton’s room, shall we?”

Logan’s fists had tightened. “That’s not—“

“After all,” Janus had continued, speaking over him to illustrate his point, “if I’m to blame for knocking all the dominos down, you certainly didn’t give me a hand setting them up.”

“As if that in any way equivocates to what you did,” Logan had spat, the emotionless facade finally giving way as he whirled of Janus, “I did not use, manipulate, and lie to get the others to do what I want.”

“Oh, of course you didn’t.”

“And if I did, my lies would be nowhere near as comically obvious.”

“Ah, yes, of course you’re never comical.” Janus had tapped Logan’s flushed cheek. “The possibilities of you being a joke have always been…infinitesimal.”

Logan had bared his teeth as Janus chuckled. “At least my concept of a joke never hurt anyone.”

Logan’s mouth had tugged up cruelly too.

“Setting Remus loose on Thomas when you knew he was already upset, pushing the others to follow on whatever path you decided was best. And let’s not even start on what you did to Roman.”

Janus had flinched.

“Have you ever apologized?” Logan had shaken his head. “For everything that you’ve done to hurt him?”

“Have you?”

The room had dropped several degrees.

Janus had dropped the villain persona, staring directly at Logan.

“You want to talk about hurting the others, hurting Roman,” he had said lowly, “what do you think it is that you do?”

Logan had opened his mouth to speak but Janus had raised a finger.

“No. Do you know how much you’ve hurt him? Over how many years you’ve made him ashamed of who he is?” He had shaken his head. “I know I’ve hurt him. But you don’t seem to recognize it.”

He had looked Logan up and down, mouth curled in disgust.

“Maybe I’m not good enough at my job for your liking, but I sure was good at yours.” He had raised an eyebrow. “Maybe they wanted you silenced permanently. They did press the ‘skip’ button, after all.”

He had looked for the shadow of the bruise on Logan’s neck.

“And it was so easy to replace you. To silence you properly.”

He had turned away, not bothering to look at Logan’s face.

“Maybe I should do them a favor and keep you quiet.”

There had been a strangled gasp behind him.

“Oh, what,” Janus had drawled, turning around, “did you finally realize you don’t have a smart comeback for…”

The room had frozen.

…so that’s how they got here.

Janus, standing a few paces from Logan, turning back to face him, the sharp quip dying on the edge of his lips as his mouth drops open in horror, staring back.

Logan, his eyes wide, shining with unshed tears, glasses blurred and obscured by the bright light shining from the golden stitches that sew his mouth shut.

Logan raises trembling hands to his mouth, feeling the stitches, tears rolling down his face. His fingers disappear into the bright golden light as he fumbles with his mouth, until he realizes that he can’t.

The strangled scream lingers in Janus’s head long after Logan shrinks into a crouch on the floor.

No.

No.

No, no, no, no—no, not Logan. Not Logan.

“Oh, god—“ Logan’s hands keep pressing fruitlessly against his mouth— “no, oh, god, Logan—“

He runs back, ready to crouch and pry Logan’s hands away before he hurts himself, chest splitting open from the ache of hurting the poor thing like this.

He doesn’t think it could hurt more.

Like so many other times today, he’s wrong.

The instant Logan catches a glimpse of him moving toward him, he shoves himself away, scrambling backward until his back hits the wall. Eyes wide, breathing as heavily as he can through the stitches, utterly terrified.

As he has every right to be.

“No, no, Logan,” he murmurs frantically, “no, it’s okay, I’m not trying to hurt you—“

Does it matter that you’re not trying? You certainly were earlier.

“—I promise, Logan, please, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

Through the pants, the sobs, the shakiness of his chest, Logan huffs, disbelieving.

“I didn’t, Logan, I promise.” Janus drops to his knees in front of the crying man. “I—we went too far. I’m sorry, I didn’t know this would happen, I didn’t mean to, please—“

The poor thing presses himself further against the wall. Janus swallows, feeling guilt press hot and heavy against the underside of his tongue. He reaches out, trying desperately to show him that he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to, he doesn’t actually believe anything he just said, he’s nothing but a liar, a horrible liar, please—

“I didn’t mean it, Logan, I promise, you’re—you’re not replaceable, I don’t want you silenced, the others don’t hate you, they don’t want you gone, I’m sorry—“

Slowly, too slowly, and not slowly enough, Logan’s breathing begins to settle. His eyes lose that awful whiteness and he slumps a little against the wall. His cheeks are damp, his glasses knocked askew, but he stares at Janus and slowly, slowly, nods.

“L-Logan?”

Another nod, a little less hesitant.

Janus’s shoulders slump. “Oh, Logan, why does it always end up with you being the better person?”

A tiny quirk of the eyebrow, nowhere near Logan’s typical sass levels, but it’s enough. It’s enough. Enough to make a weak smile come to Janus’s face.

“Can I come over, please? Can I come help?”

Logan nods, still wary as Janus shuffles across the floor. Before he makes it all the way there, he tugs off his gloves and stuffs them in his pocket.

“There,” he says quietly, wiggling his fingers to get used to it, “don’t want the fibers getting caught on anything.”

Logan’s wide-eyed stare tells him he knows why Janus really took the gloves off. Something Janus confirms a moment later.

“And I want you to know that I mean it.” He reaches forward. “Can I touch?”

Logan still flinches when Janus runs his thumb carefully over the cruel stitches sewing Logan’s mouth shut. He winces as he takes in how taut the thread is, how many stitches there are.

“Oh, Logan, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, “does it hurt very badly?”

Another miserable nod.

Then it clicks.

Logan.

The one who submits least to the Imagination. The one who tethers himself tightly to the fact that they are metaphysical, they are subjective, they need not subject themselves to real-world consequences of whatever nonsense the other Sides pull.

Logan still has the stitches.

It threatens to break Janus’s heart all over again.

“Oh, sweetie,” he murmurs, cupping Logan’s face and slipping his glasses to the top of his head, “I’ve hurt you more than this, haven’t I?”

For indeed, if Logan is too upset to remember how to pull himself out of turns of phrase, then the poor thing is distraught.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, gently wiping away Logan’s tears, “it’s okay, sweetie, I’m not going to hurt you, it’s over, I’m not angry, I’m going to take care of you.”

And oh, the way Logan pushes shyly into his hands feels warm.

“Does this help, sweetie, is this alright?” At Logan’s nod, he moves, tucking Logan’s legs across his lap with his other hands. “Come here, yes—that’s it, shh, I’ve got you, you just focus on me.”

Logan’s eyes fall closed and a muffled whimper comes from his throat.

“I’ve got you, sweetie, I’m right here,” Janus murmurs, still cupping the poor thing’s head as it leans into him, “shh, shh, let’s get you a little calmer before we have a look, okay?”

Logan gives a huff of ‘what do you think I’m trying to do?’

“I know you know that, sweetie,” he chuckles, lifting Logan’s head to gently knock their foreheads together, “you’re clever. Our resident brain cell.”

He wraps one hand around the back of his neck.

“It’s just like what you taught us, remember? Object impermanence. This won’t last forever. I’m right here. You were so brave, you are so brave, so wonderful, so sweet…just give yourself time, sweetie, it’s okay.”

Logan relaxes a little in his hold as he keeps talking quietly. The poor thing gets over his hesitation and buries his face shamelessly in the crook of Janus’s neck.

“Shh, shh, that’s it, sweetie, easy now—“ Janus cradles him as he sets his glasses out of the way— “I’ve got you. I’m right here, sweetie, I’ve got you. It’s almost over, now, you can do it, shh.”

Another muffled noise from Logan.

“You’re not easily replaceable,” Janus says firmly, “you’re not unwanted. You’re not a joke, the others know how much you care about them, how much you help them, how important they are to you, how important you are to them.”

He tilts his head to press a kiss to Logan’s temple.

“How important you are to me.”

The golden light dims, sputters, and vanishes.

“…sweetie?”

Logan pulls back, carefully rubbing his fingers over his stitch-free mouth. He opens and closes a few times.

“Ouch.”

“Are you alright, sweet? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“I know,” Logan says quietly, “I’m sorry too. That…escalated very quickly. I did not mean the things I said either.”

He squints.

“Oh, here—“ Janus passes him his glasses.

“Thank you. But that’s not why I—what were we arguing about, to begin with?”

Janus huffs a laugh. “I had been meaning to ask you that question.”

“Well, whatever it is, it must not have been very important.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I’m sorry too,” Logan repeats after that pause, “you are not just a villain, you are not incompetent, and you…you are not to blame for everything that has gone wrong.”

Janus chucks him lightly under the chin. “Neither are you.”

“I know that, intellectually, and yet…somehow, it remains difficult for me to grasp.”

“Because even though you’re Logic, sweetie,” Janus says, “you’re Thomas’s Logic.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because Thomas is, frankly, something of a dumbass.”

It startles a laugh out of him at any rate.

“I mean, that also makes you a dumbass.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly aware.”

Logan’s smile is wonderful. “What is it that Roman is quite fond of saying?”

“That he’s pure of heart, dumb of ass?”

“That’s is.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“It is.” Logan frowns. “Even if he’s far more intelligent than he gets credit for.”

Janus nudges him. “I hope you know that you can be big of brain and dumb of ass at the same time.”

“Ah. I see.”

There’s another moment of silence as they reflect on what’s been said. Then Logan nervously adjusts his tie.

“Speaking of Roman…”

“I was about to say.” Janus gives his knee a pat. “Shall we see if we can find him?”

“I believe his business in the Imagination should be done.” They help each other to stand, Logan keeping a grip on Janus’s sleeve. “Should we check his room first?”

“I think so.”

Roman, of course, swings open the door with a cheerful greeting, the role of the pompous prince firmly in place until he takes in their tear-stained faces and he melts, dropping the act almost immediately.

“Oh, my darlings,” he coos, cupping each of their faces in a hand, “what’s the matter? Why do you look so upset?”

“May we come in, please?” Indeed, poor Logan looks as if he’s about to melt into Roman’s arms. Janus can’t talk, though, he’s about to do the same.

“Of course, come on, let’s get you sat down—“

Roman bustles about the room, fetching them a glass of water, sitting on his bed with them, almost bursting into tears himself when he hears what’s happened and promptly telling them they’re going to spend the rest of the day right here, in comfy clothes, watching ridiculously obscure documentaries until Patton and Remus call them down for dinner. They keep a hand on each other at all times, laughing at Janus’s snarky responses to awful narrators, Logan’s quick corrections when the information is out of date, and Roman’s impersonations of the strange wildlife. Roman’s room is pleasantly noisy and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

He doesn’t remember how it started, but he will always remember how it ended.

Curled around each other, in the warmth and safety of the people who care about him.

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[written-in-ash]

A prompt :

“Sometimes... When you’re asleep... I look at you and my mind drifts to what our future holds. And I think I fall more in love with you.”

His Inevitable Truth

Hermione was wholly and entirely terrifying. Now, as her look of disappointed rage was unjustly trained on him, he wondered why he ever bothered to save her from that troll back in first year, anyway. Harry had the urge to tell her that, but he wouldn’t, of course. He didn’t want to die.

“You told her you would Floo her, Harry. If you had no intention of doing that, why did you say you would?”

It was their weekly pub night. A night that was supposed to be full of laughter and joy, dancing and snogging. Unfortunately for Harry, absolutely none of this seemed to be happening for him.

While Draco was off dancing with some black-haired, muscled, stupid, idiotic prat, he was boxed between Ron and Blaise with Hermione across from him. She was making no attempt to conceal how much she’d like to skin him alive, which ruined the carefree vibe in their small booth at the back of the pub.

It wasn’t his fault, really. The girl Hermione set him up with had been too happy, too friendly, and her hair was utterly too brown. Blaise chuckled, and Hermione’s eyes reignited when he relayed that particular information.

Ron snorted and ruffled Harry’s hair, trying to ease the palpable tension between his best friend and wife. “So lemme, guess,” Ron said, red cheeks flushed from one too many pints, “you want a blonde prat whose skills in sarcasm are unmatched?”

Harry opened his mouth to state that yes, in fact, that was precisely what he wanted. But then he realized the implications of that statement and swiftly shut his mouth.

Hermione shot Ron an inscrutable look, and suspicion mounted in Harry’s chest. “What do you know?” Harry asked eyes narrowed and mouth firm.

Blaise nudged him from the other side and raised his stupid perfect eyebrows. “No, Harry. What do you know?”

Harry glanced at Draco, who was now grinding unapologetically on the Stupid Prat. Jealousy curled in his gut, and he had half a mind to deck the idiot for even thinking about touching Draco, much less actually doing it. Draco was Harry’s, even if he didn’t know it yet.

And really, that was the problem, wasn’t it? Harry had thought that his love for Draco was a well-kept secret between himself and — well, himself.

But it was hard to control the flush that ran up the back of his neck every time Draco so much as existed in his general vicinity. The stuttering and general idiotic behavior were merely other symptoms of Draco’s unresistible charm.

Ron’s heavy-handed pat brought him out of his thoughts. “Face it, mate. You wanna shag Malfoy.”

“I do not!” Harry sputtered, slamming his pint down so hard that the liquid sloshed over the edge. It was painful to note that not only was he now in possession of less beer, he also was really, really bad at lying.

Three pairs of raised eyebrows bore down on him until he felt almost forced to respond. He opened his mouth to deny the accusation once more, but Hermione reminded him that she had the right to deny Harry his status as Godfather to soon-to-be-born little Rosie.

“Okay, okay,” he groaned and placed his face in his hands to hide the blush that was beginning to spread across his cheeks. He took a breath and tried to find the words to articulate his feelings. “It’s just… he always comes over to my flat every Saturday after pub night and changes into those stupid green silk pajamas that he keeps at my house. You know the ones with his initials sewn on the breast pocket? Anyway, he looks absolutely brilliant in them. All we do is watch Muggle films, but I can hardly pay attention because he’s just so beautiful that I want to—”

He paused to breathe. He felt his heart hammering in his chest as a small smile graced his lips. “It started during eighth year, and we just— we never stopped. Most of the time, he falls asleep on my couch, and sometimes— sometimes when he is asleep, I kind of just look at him, and my mind drifts to what our future could hold. You know, if he just— just returned my feelings. It feels like every moment that I’m around him, I just fall more and more, and there’s literally nothing I can do to stop it.”

He was breathless by the time he finished, heart skipping a beat and eyes closed. He’s admitted that he was in love with Draco once before, but that was in front of a mirror, and Harry cringed so hard he felt like he would die if he were to ever do it again.

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes only to be confronted with three pairs of eyes blinking owlishly at him, mouths agape. Ron and Hermione shared a look before blinding smiles enveloped their faces, and Blaise laughed out loud.

“Goddamn it, you’re in love with him,” Ron murmured.

“Well, I— yeah?” Harry was confused; wasn’t that what they were talking about?

Hermione reached across the table, grabbing Harry’s balled fist in her soft hands; all former ire melted away. “Oh, Harry. We thought you just wanted a shag! We didn’t know you were in love!”

“Have you been pining for three years, mate? That’s kind of pathe— Ouch!” Blaise abruptly leaned down below the table to rub his shins, presumably where Hermione had just kicked him.

“Harry,” Blaise hesitantly tried again, gaze trained on Hermione, “you know he loves you too?”

Harry scoffed and looked back at Draco talking to Stupid Prat by the bar. Draco was shaking his head, and the man looked annoyed but started walking away. Draco turned to approach their booth.

Just before Draco made it back to their table, Ron whispered, “He never pulls Harry, do you notice that? He always goes home with you. Why do you think that is?”

Harry opened his mouth to let countless other explanations pour out of his mouth, but Draco’s relaxed drawl beat him to it. “James Bond tonight, Harry?” he asked.

Harry smiled, the inevitable flush staining his cheeks once. “Again?”

“Always.” Draco held out his hand to help Harry out of the booth, and Harry took it.

Hello, Anon! I tweaked the prompt just a little! Hope you don’t mind. This took a long time and I’m not satisfied, but here it is! Hope you enjoy! 🤍

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 6: 

Truthfully, it’s been a long day. A really long day.

The weather’s begun to change, and people are coming in left and right riddled with the flu. Your entire day was spent running between rooms, administering medication, taking temperatures and, unfortunately, cleaning up puke. All in all, it was a terrible night, and it was only going to get worse when you still had to go grocery shopping afterwards.

Still, you tried to calm yourself, taking a deep breath as you pushed the door open. Your last patient of the night, was thankfully, not flu-ridden. From your chart she was old, and the only thing you would be doing is taking her vitals before she moves on to radiology.

“Hello!” You greet, trying your best to smile kindly. “I’ll be taking care if you today.”

The old lady greets you, smiling gently as you approach. She’s got one hand wrapped in a bandage, the other cradling it protectively. Her face is a little uneasy, no doubt in obvious pain, but she seems to try and smile through it.

“So, I take it you’re here for your wrist? To get an x-ray?” You say, pulling over the medical cart. She nods and you take the blood pressure cuff, wrapping it gently around her arm. You take her vitals and then step back. “Alright, do you think you could take off the bandages for me? I just need to see.”

“Of course, I understand.” She says, calmly removing the bandages.

When she removes them entirely, her wrist is a sickening shade of blue. It’s swollen and discolored and looks incredibly painful, if the look on her face wasn’t any indication. When you look a little closer there’s strange disfigurement to her palms, like healed over burn scars. You try not to look at them too long, especially when the woman seems to become more uncomfortable the more you study them. You wonder if she’s alright. Your fingers start itching in your gloves.

“Yeah, that does look pretty nasty, I can see why you came in.” You try to smile reassuringly, but something about the woman’s scared demeanor is making you uneasy. “But, that’s pretty much the extent of my duties before I send a radiologist to come get you.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

You’re about to walk out, about to turn away and finally go home, but then she sucks in a sharp breath. When you look at her, she’s wrapping her wrist up again, and her pain is written clearly across her face. Your fingers itch trails of fire, and you find the decision is made almost immediately. You’re nearing her again, smiling gently, and thanking the hospital for lettings you use your quirk entirely up to your own discretion.

“That must hurt pretty bad, doesn’t it?” You start softly, pulling your gloves off. You move to the sink, washing your hands before you address her again. “I can help- my quirk, it lets me relieve others of their pain. If you would like me to, I would be happy to provide you with at least a little relief.”

“No- I- an old woman like me isn’t worth the fuss. Really! Don’t feel like you have to trouble yourself!”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” You smile back at her, pulling up a stool and sitting on it. “This is my job after all, and I’d be happy to help. If you would like me to, all I have to do is touch your hand. It’ll be instantaneous.”

“You’re sure?” She asks, eyes crinkling a little unsurely. She’s trapping her injured wrist to her chest again, hope coloring her voice. “You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Absolutely not. It’d be my pleasure.”

The woman nods, holding her hand forward. You smile reassuringly again, reaching for her. You stop just a few inches away.

“I just wanted to let you know- a lot of previous patients have said that everything goes green when I help them. I’m not saying this to scare you, as I’ve actually been told it’s quite pleasant, but I just wanted to tell you beforehand.”

She nods, and you take her hand, closing your eyes as you focus.

You feel it immediately. An ache in your wrist that throbs with every beat of your heart. It’s familiar, you’ve felt a break like this before, but the feeling that swallow you up next isn’t. It’s a sickness coiling in your stomach, dripping through your veins and running viscous like a slow poison. It’s like you’re being boiled alive- all of your sinew and muscle falling apart and being sewn back together. All in the span of a second. It leaves you dizzy, reeling, sick and nauseous when you release her hand.

“My- that is some quirk.” The woman marvels, flexing the fingers on her injured wrist. She does so without pain, and looks at you, a wide smile across her face. “That is very impressive. And, you were right. Green. It’s all green.”

“I- Yeah.” You try to recover, hiding your breathlessness behind a hand itching at your chin. “Of course. Your very welcome.”

“You must be able to help so many people. You must be a very good nurse with that quirk.”

“I-I’d like to think so.”

“You know,” She says suddenly, and her tone is nearly devoid of all the meekness she had walked in with. She looks brighter, livelier. “My husband and I run a facility to help grow people like you.”

“People like me?”

“Yes, dear. Those with extrordinary potential who might just need a little push.” She smiles gently, grabbing her bag at her feet. Rifling through it with her good hand, she pulls out an index card. “I’m sure your quirk is plently strong all on it’s own, I’ve certainly seen that, but if you ever wanted a little help- well, we’d be more than happy to have you.”

Then she’s pressing a business card into your hand, turning to face the sound of the door as it opens. The radiologist walks in, gesturing for her and she follows behind him gracefully. The woman leaves behind her a trail of perfume, like lavender and lilies in your nose, and then door is then shut. It seems she is leaving you just as quickly as she’d arrived.

The card in your hand feels heavy, weighty as you flip it between your fingers.

Center for Quirk Advancement

You almost couldn’t believe your luck. You had just been talking about ways to strengthen your quirk, and, as it turns out, life really did decide to let you off the hook for once. You think it’s justly deserved- it did seem pretty intent on saddling you with Bakugou, after all. Maybe it’s a strange sort of cosmic reward?

Either way, you slide the card into your bag, smiling to yourself. A part of you still feels uneasy, still sick after what you’d experienced from her, but she seemed nice enough. It made the poisonous feeling almost a little too easy to brush off.

You pack up your things, and you can feel the exhaustion creeping in. By the time you’ve gone grocery shopping and have finally made it back home, your arms loaded up with bags, you feel dead on your feet. The familiar tiredness seeps into your bones, but you blink yourself awake, determined to put the groceries away before you pass out. You brace your head in your hands. If something didn’t wake you up soon, you really would be asleep in front of your fridge.

“Oi- shitty leech!” You hear screaming, knuckles against glass and an irritatingly familiar rasp. “Let me in! Shitty leech!”

Oh- joy. Seems like something did wake you up. What was that you were saying about a cosmic reward again?

When you turn around, Bakugou is standing on your balcony, shifting impatiently on his feet. His expression is skewed up something nasty as he taps on the glass once more. He’s shouting your name, well, nickname, clad in sweats and stomping dramatically just a few feet away- you think he’s almost better left outside. Then you recognize the goosebumps on his arms and the red of his cheeks. It’s cold outside, you know it, and you curse your own heart once more, trudging dutifully over to the door.

“Wow, only a week since I’ve last seen you. And you look awfully uninjured today, don’t you?” You say, yawning as you pull the door open a fraction. Just enough to peek your head out into the cool night air. “No blood or anything. Good on you, Bakugou.”

“Shut the fuck up, leech. I was bein’ nice for once.”

“Yes- because shouting ‘Oi- shitty leech’ at me from my balcony was nice.” You roll your eyes, pulling the door open enough for him to walk through. “But sure, come in, make yourself right at home.”

“Gladly.”

You just shake your head at his curt tone, turning back to the kitchen to resume putting away your things. You’re just barely organizing vegetables away in the fridge, when you hear him stomp up behind you.

“Fuck are you doing?”

“Groceries?”

“No, idiot, I meant why’re you doing it now?”

“Because this when I have time to do it? And I just went shopping?” You ask him, bewildered, and confused. You’re tired and his mind games really aren’t amusing you right now. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand the question.”

“Are you-“ Bakugou swears under his breath, turning his nose up at you. “Jesus you really are stupid. You’re so fucking stupid. Why the hell would you go grocery shopping at 1 AM?”

“Because that’s when my shift ends, you asshole. Actually, you know what, no- I absolutely do not have to defend myself to you!” You sneer right back, whirling around to face him. Suddenly you find you’re not very tired anymore. “It’s really none of your business why I do anything, let alone when I do it so if you think that maybe you want to open your mouth again to me- don’t. And I-“

“Not like that. God, you’re fuckin’ clueless. I don’t give a shit what you do, but you do realize you can’t outrun somebody with your arms full of groceries right?”

The stunted look on your face must frustrate him, because then he’s huffing, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before dragging his hand down his face.

“You seriously didn’t think about that? You fuckin’ kidding me? Jesus fuck I should’ve know, you’re so stupid.” He breathes out, rolling his eyes. “If I saw you fumbling around like an idiot, on a dark street, in the middle of the night? When you can’t outrun me because you’ve got all those shitty fuckin’ bags? Please, even I’d be attempted to attack you. You’re making it too fuckin’ easy for those weirdos, you moron.”

Is that- is that concern lacing his features? Bakugou’s brow is creased, and if you didn’t know any better you’d almost say he sounded more exasperated than outright angry with you- but you did know better. Of course you did. Believing that Bakugou regarded you with anything but begrudgingly familiarity would be foolish.

“Okay, well than you can take that argument up with my superiors.” You purse your lips, biting back another yawn. “Until then I guess I’ll just keep going out entirely defenseless and vulnerable. Lord knows that’s apparently how you see me.”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself, leech. I see everyone as defenseless and vulnerable. You’re not special.”

“Mhm, I’m sure I’m not.” You mutter, turning back to your fridge, to put more food away. “But, really, if you have such a problem, then you can figure out how to stop all the ‘weirdos’ before they get me. Isn’t that literally your job?”

Bakugou just sighs at your remark, looking very put-on. Then he clenches his fists up, eyes determined focused on the ground. “Just- fuckin’- just tell me when you’re going next time. Stupid idiot woman.”

Truthfully, you want to give him shit. You do, because there were so many nicer ways he could’ve shown concern-but you don’t. One look at his flushed face and insecure body language has you relenting. And being way nicer than he deserves. You are pretty tried after all.

“Yeah. Okay, but you’re carrying all the bags, Bakugou.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Or I’ll just go without telling you, and then we can catch up when I’m bleeding out in the street.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a joke. It was an incentive.” You smile cheekily, then you point to the bags left on the counter. “Now be a dear and unbag those for me, would you?”

“Fuck you.”

Bakugou seethes but he moves anyway, unbagging all your groceries with an absolutely unnecessary amount of force. It’s like he’s picking a fight with each plastic bag, and you try to hide your giggles.

It’s a strange little domesticity, but as weird as it is, it’s nice too. You’re still tired but things are moving much faster now, with him handing you items relatively quietly. All things considered, Bakugou did seem to be in a good mood (well, a good mood for him) and, you supposed it was nice to see him uninjured. And would’ve been totally great, totally perfect- if you didn’t turn around to see him plucking a piece of paper out of your purse.

 “Fuck is this shit?”

“Are you- stop. No. Don’t just go digging around in my stuff!” You huff tiredly, grabbing your purse from him with one hand snatching the card out of his grip with the other. “You’re being rude.”

“And you’re being fuckin’ evasive. So spill it, leech, the hell is it?”

“None of your business, that’s what!”

Bakugou just rolls his eyes, plucking the paper from out of your hand with little effort. You’d like to chalk up your loss to being surprised, but no, he really is just that strong.

“Hell is this?” He asks, grumbling as he flips the card over. “Center for Quirk Advancement?”

“Yeah. That’s what it says. Asshole.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why the hell do you have it?” He stares, squinting at you like you’re an idiot. “Looks fake as shit. Get rid of it.”

You can’t believe him. Seriously. You cannot believe him. There has never been one moment, in your entire life, that you would ever feel comfortable enough to dig through someone’s things- let alone ridicule them on the spot about it. It’s pure, unbridled insanity.

“I’m not- Bakugou, I’m not getting rid of something just because you said so!” You exhale, arms crossing around your stomach as you lean back against the counter. “It’s from that woman I saw today, alright? A patient.”

“Doesn’t smell right.”

“Doesn’t- What are you? A dog?”

“No. Fuck no.” He grumbles in defense, while simultaneously scrunching up his nose and barring his sharp canines. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t fuckin’ feel right.”

“Okay, well you weren’t there, so how would you know?”

“Because this company name is bullshit. It’s stupid as fuck and I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Okay? And? There’s a million stupid companies I’ve never head of before, and I don’t immediately think they’re fake!” You stride over to him, snatching the card back from his fingers. “And you know why? Because that’s paranoia. Blatant paranoia! The world doesn’t revolve around you and your knowledge, you know?”

“God, you’re so fucking dumb.” He laughs under his breath. “It’s killing me, leech. Can you really not see how shady that shit is?”

“No? Because it’s just a business card? A business card that was given to me by a kind old lady- and, why are you- no! Stop! Bakugou!”

He just rolls his eyes once more at your yell, tearing the business card in half easily. Apparently, he’s still not satisfied, because then he’s tearing those halves in half and tearing those fourths into eights, and shredding the paper entirely on your counter.

“Can’t call ‘em now, leech.” He says evenly.

You think you could scream, maybe even murder him right where he stands. Not necessarily in that order.

“Okay. No. No.” You reprimand, nearing him with determined steps. “You are not going to just walk in here and tear up things when you feel like it! That’s incredibly rude, for one, and-“

“What, so you were actually gonna call ‘em?”

“No! But that’s not even the point! The point is, you cannot just walk in here and feel free to do whatever you want! I don’t know how it is everywhere, but here, in my house, there are manners! Manners which I expect you to have, and that means you can’t just treat my things like that! It’s disrespectful and I will kick you out if you try it again. Understand? Play nice, Bakugou.”

He pinches his face into a scowl, squinting at you from just a few feet away. It looks like he’s sucked on a lemon. Then Bakugou’s scoffing, gathering the shreds of paper into his palms.

“Here. Take ‘em then, leech.” He growls, pressing them into your outstretched hand. “Since they mean so fuckin’ much to you.”

“It’s- oh my god. Oh my god, you really don’t understand what the problem here is do you?”

“No. It’s a piece of shitty paper. Who the fuck cares?”

“Me!” You nearly shriek, letting the paper fall through your fingers and back onto the countertop. “I care! It’s my house and all the things in here are my things! So, you either apologize, and I can be way more lenient than you deserve and forgive you, or you can walk yourself out.”

Bakugou leans forward, shoulders broad and intimdating as he stares down at you. You glare right back, unwilling to lose. He was in the wrong here- not you. A few seconds pass and then he’s throwing himself back against the, hands braced behind him.

“God, fuckin’ seriously? You want me to say sorry? For that shit?”

“Hmm, for walking into my house, in the middle of the night just to tear up my things?” You nearly screech at him. “Yeah! Yeah. I do.”

“You’re annoying. This is annoying. But fine. Whatever. I’m sorry. You happy now?”

“No, actually, not even a little bit.”

Then your stomping back to the remainder of your groceries, putting them away sloppily and not really caring much to organize them. You were tired before, exhausted from using your quirk, and now? With Bakugou needling you in your own kitchen? You were beat.

“What’s wrong with your face, leech?”

Spinning on your heels, you clenching your jaw tightly. You’re gonna throw him out. He’s just asking for it at this point.

Bakugou seems to pick up on your vexation, and he, to his credit, relents a little. By looking the slightest bit sheepish, for all of one second, before wiping it away into a scowl.

“I meant- why the hell do you look like that?” He grumbles, “All fuckin’ dead inside. You look terrible.”

“I- god, there are so many problems with that statement. So many. That I will not be getting into because it isn’t even worth the effort and I-“ You rant, red in the face before you take a calming breath.

It takes a second to center yourself, but you do- because cleaning up his blood would just further deplete your tank already running on empty.

“Okay- Bakugou, have had a long day, a long one. So if you have any other little mean comments you’d like to spew, don’t, alright? Because I swear to god I will euthanize you right where you stand if you open up your mouth one more time.”

He just blinks, once, twice, tilts his head to the side. Bakugou squints, rolling his shoulders back before a slow smile creeps across his face.

“Oi- you used your quirk, didn’t you? Shitty leech.” His tone is devoid of any real venom, slight amusement coloring his words. “I didn’t know it made you so fuckin’ cranky.”

“Are you making fun of me? Right now? After what I just said to you?”

Bakugou just shrugs, flicking all the lights off in your kitchen. He doesn’t even wait for the room to fall into darkness before he’s leaving, not even looking back to see if you would follow. Of course, you had to, because your bedroom was past the living room, but you almost wanted to stay rooted where you were. Just to see his frustration when you weren’t listening to him.

“You shouldn’t use your quirk just because someone tells you to.” Bakugou says, dropping himself onto your couch. “Shit’s weak. ‘s how you get burnt out.”

“Oh, whatever. And she didn’t tell me to do it.”

“So, what, you’re telling me you chose to do it? Knowing it’d wipe you the fuck out?”

“Yeah. She needed help.” You say softly, dropping down into the opposite side of the couch. You try not to get too comfortable, but you find yourself sinking into the cushions anyway. “I’m not done till I’m on the floor. Or unconscious. Kind of which ever comes first at this point.”

“Jesus. Somebody oughta put you on a fuckin’ leash. That’s stupid as shit.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.” You mock, eyes sliding lazily over to his. “Mr. ‘Let me kill myself without sleep for 3 weeks straight and then show up half dead at Y/n’s hou-“

“Y/n.”

“Yeah?”

“Your name is Y/n.”

“Yes? Did we not already know that?”

“No.”

You blink your eyes open entirely, flopping sideways to face him. Bakugou is smirking openingly, lips pulled back into something disarming and shit-eating.

“You fucker.” You seethe, scrunching your eyebrows together. “You’re telling me, this entire fucking whole time, that you didn’t know my name? My name! That’s my goddamn name, you shit! And you didn’t even think to ask? What the fuck?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Excuse me?”

“Swearin’ a lot. It’s disrespectful as shit.”

“Me? I’m the one swearing? Fuck you! You swear all the time, and it’s really funny to me that you’re even running your mouth right now considering you didn’t know my name until a minute ago! You’ve slept on my couch! Multiple times! And you didn’t think, not even for a measly little second, to ask my name and- are you laughing right now?”

Bakugou is rested against the arm of your couch, one hand across his stomach and the other covering his chin. There’s no sound, he’s trying to keep quiet, but you can see his eyes. They’re crinkled up. Almost entirely closed into little slits. He’s laughing.

“Do you want to be kicked out? Seriously? Do you want to be kicked out on your ass right now? I’ll do it! I’ll fucking do it, I swear- try me again! Stop laughing, you jerk!”

“I’m not.” Bakugou tries, doing a horrible job of covering up that he is, in fact, laughing. “Ya get so fuckin’ mad, leech. Shit’s hilarious.”

“Wow, really, me? Mad? No- see,why would I be mad about you not knowing my name? After knowing each other for months. Why would I be mad about that?” 

Bakugou eventually does sober, but you still he still looks a little brighter than you’ve ever seen him. It hits you then that the only color you’d ever seen in his cheeks, at least before then, was dripping blood. 

““s fine. Doesn’t matter anyway.” He says, voice deceivingly light. “Your name’s leech. Don’t really give a shit what’s on your birth certificate.” 

You just sit up, grabbing the pillow behind you and launching it at him. Bakugou catches it, because of course he does, and throws it right back. When it hits you it feels like you’ve been socked in the face. Because he is an asshole. An asshole who can’t play nice to save his life. 

“Fuck you. Fuck you, Bakugou.” You say matter-of-factly, swiping the stray hairs from your face. You stand from the couch, glaring down at him. “I really hope you enjoy tossing and turning all night because I am not helping you.” 

“Yes you will.” 

“What? Making orders again? It didn’t work the first time and it’s not going to work now.” 

“Nah. Don’t need to.” He says confidently, grabbing the blanket off the back of your couch. A smirk lies across his face, one you want to slap off. “You’ll help me. Because you’re too fuckin’ nice right?” 

Then he’s flopping back against the pillow, sprawling his legs out and settling the blanket up to his shoulders. Bakugou looks at you expectantly, that same irritating grin still plastered on his mouth, and you want to hit him all over again. 

Because he’s right. You are too nice, and you are too forgiving, and unfortunately the everything and everyone you care about includes him. It’ll always include him, even when he insists on being an exasperating child.

“Fine, go to sleep then.” You’re pulling a glove off, nearing the back of the couch with your own devious grin. “Go to sleep.”

You lean over him, bringing your hand down to flick his forehead. He catches you, of course he does, just like that fucking pillow. Bakugou traps your wrist in his grip, his grin only growing wider. You think it softens a little too- just a bit, but then again, the lighting in your living room wasn’t that great.

“Got you. Leech.” He goads lowly, tapping his thumb against the base of your wrist. “Should’ve been faster. Shit was fucking pathetic.” 

“No, you’re just a freak, with weird reflexes.” You pull back, but he doesn’t seem to be letting go. Whatever it is he’s basking in, he looks a little too prideful for your liking. “Let me go- or I use my quirk on you.” 

Then he’s throwing your wrist back in your face, applying so much force that you almost knock yourself out. You stumble back, grasping on to the back of the couch for stability. When you look down at him again, Bakugou is blushing but you’re not really sure why. You shake it off- it’s his problem not yours.

“Well, there, since you insisted on being a little shit, that’s all the skin-to-skin contact you’re getting from me.” You sniff, flicking off the light behind the couch. “Better pray it’s enough to send your impudent ass to sleep.”

“Stop swearin’.”

“I swear when I’m angry and-”

“I make you angry?”

“Yes!” 

Bakugou just seems to almost- smile? It’s a tiny thing, curled up against the edge of his lip for all of a moment before he’s smoothing it out again. You’re about to turn away, to finally go to sleep, when he speaks again.

“Oi- shitty leach. You’re not gonna call ‘em right?” He slurs, voice raspy. “Right?”

“No? I wasn’t? But now I can’t because somebody tore up the paper.”

“Do it again if I fuckin’ have to.”

“Why’re you so concerned about it anyway?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Go to fuck to sleep.”

Then he’s out, giving into sleep and snoring into the cushions. His breathing is deep and even, mellow and relaxed, and you realize that’s all you’re getting from him tonight. 

 It’s not until you’re settling in bed, just on the verge of drifting, that you realize it. When Bakugou grabbed your wrist- no fire. Warmth and anger on the likes of which you’d never experienced before, sure, but no searing fire.

You wonder if he somehow forgot to put his angry pants on that day. 

-/-

pls this is not edited i am so sorry ahahah 

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9  @the2ndl @the-shota-king-masayuki @shy-panda02

[blackberry-bloody]

✋ 📝 for Octavian / 🔪💰 for Rupert / 🏃👕 for Nox

Octavian:

✋ - Are you handsy with your Whumpee?: (CW: implied noncon (not described), noncon touch, and mouth sewn shut) "Of course I am darling!" He chuckles as he runs a a hand along the trembling angel's arm, across his chest, and finally cupping his cheeks in a firm hold. "Wouldn't you be if you were given a gift this handsome?" The angel looks at you with pleading eyes, despite the ever present smile on his face. Although, to be fair, the stitches holding it in place might have something to do with that. (CW over)

📝 - Are there any rules that your Whumpee must follow?: He scoffs, "Absolutely there are rules. I'm a man of high profile. So not only does he have to be held to my own standards, but also any rules to... Keep him in check." He rolls his eyes. "But of course there's the basic ones you'd probably expect. No talking back, not fighting back, don't pull away, do as you're told as soon as your told. That kind of thing." he shrugs. "It's taken him an unexpectedly long time to learn even those though. Made me mar the delicate skin on his pretty little neck. But ah, well. He'll learn eventually."

Rupert:

🔪 - What would you do if someone tried to steal your Whumpee?: "Well obviously I'd take him back." Rupert gives you a flat look. "I'd be able to track him through his brand, and once the opportunity came, I'd make the poor bastard pay for taking my property." Rupert smirks, "And depending on how complacent Dayzel was, I'd make sure he too gets what he earned. Make sure he knows his place is beside me."

💰 - Is there anything that would make you give up your Whumpee?: He narrows his eyes at you. "The only reason I'd let him out of my grip for even a little bit. Was if I was damn sure I could get him back. He's mine and I've fought tooth and nail to get him back after he ran away the first time. There's no way I'd let him slip between my fingers again. He's far too important to me for me to let that happen."

Nox:

🏃 - What would you do if your Whumpee ever tried to leave you? Or what have you done if they’ve already tried?: Nox seems to think for a moment. "he's tried before, but he never gets very far. All it takes is a little... Reshaping of his privileges." Nox smiles as he taps his lips. "Not that he knows I'm the one behind them of course. I'm his savior. I rescued him from Hell. From being a disowned little nothing." He glances around, making sure he's alone, before continuing, "A hired kidnapper here, an anonymous tip to a couple demon hunters there. In the end I'm always there to bring him back here. Safely in my arms." A darkness passes over his expression. "Although lately he's been getting more and more... Rebellious. And I had to take matters into my own hands." he glances down at his palm as though seeing something, but you can't see anything there. He doesn't elaborate.

👕 - Is your Whumpee only allowed to wear what you choose? If so, what do you normally choose?: "Yes of course I choose what he wears. His taste is just so... Bland. And if he had his way, he'd never show any skin aside from his face." Nox rolls his eyes. "I'm his husband and it's perfectly normal for me to take care of him like this. It's only fair! He just-" He huffs frustrated. "I'm allowed to want to see him in better suited clothes for him. And it helps him do his job better. He's my trophy. My distraction. And the only way turtlenecks and gloves are distraction is how garishly ugly they are! Honestly, I'm doing him a favor." He gets up to pace. You get the sense this is an ongoing argument between him and his husband, as he continues to rant about how much better Dayzel looks in Nox's pastel and floral outfits, and how much he hates when Dayzel wears gloves, and keep having to unbutton the first few buttons whenever Dayzel goes out, etc.

(asks from here)

[jimlingss]

Hi hi. Just a random idea I thought I would share in the case it might interest you. But sort of like a parallel universe or time travel thing. There's a forest/meadow on earth that is suspended in another time or world. You happened upon it by chance and meet someone there not realising that your lives can only cross in this one place.

inch-resting.....

↳ Snow White and the Park Ranger

2.4k || 100% Light Fluff || Kim Seokjin

Once upon a time—

“Please, let me go!”

—you were birthed as Princess of a marvelous kingdom, as fair as your mother and beloved by all who breathes. But tragedy appeared when your mother passed. Your father remarried a woman and after he, too, passed, your step-mother became Queen.

She was consumed by her jealousy and banished you from the castle.

And now, you were fleeing.

“I beg of you!”

The leaves of the Enchanted Forest crunch beneath your quick steps. A twig snaps as a cry befalls your trembling lips. You continue running, grasping fistfuls of the yellow shirt of your dress as you weave between the grandiose trees cloaking the sky with their canopy. The darkness is thick, shadows that whisper with beasts lurking amongst the wooded thicket. 

But you are far more fearful of the Huntsman trailing after you.

He brandishes a sharp knife, gripping it at his shoulder. You turn at your shoulder to find him close and you shut your eyes as you brush past another tree. Someone save me! Please!

Bring me away from this!

As if the magic of the Enchanted Forest answers your desperate pleas — suddenly there is a man standing in front of you. 

You are unable to slow your steps and you run into his firm chest. Yet, luckily, his strong arms reach out and he grasps at your shoulders, so that the two of you don’t collide or fall. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Are you alright?”

You look up at your saviour. The person who has rescued you. 

And your breath is stolen away from your lips. You wonder if this is what your mother always described to you when she used to read those bedtime stories back when the castle was still your home. You wonder if this is it: love at first sight.

The man has plump, pink lips, sheepish eyes and a sharp nose. He is without a sword, white horse or silver armor. Rather, a flat hat the colour of sand on top of his dark hair. His clothing is strange as well, a shirt of the same shade with an emblem on the sleeve — perhaps his kingdom’s crest — and his long pants are much darker. 

But still, he is your prince. 

“Are you alright?”

“There is a Huntsman chasing after me!” You turn around, still within his embrace. But as your breath catches up, there is no Huntsman. Have you lost him in the forest?

“I don’t see anyone,” your prince says.

“He must’ve gone when he saw you here.”

You turn back to your prince as he steps away from you, gazing down at your dress. 

You feel shy. Your red cape is torn from being twisted by branches and your yellow skirt is dirtied from the mud. You never expected to encounter your prince in the Enchanted Forest. You always thought you’d meet him at a ball. But this dress, although dirtied and not as beautiful as the ballgowns the Evil Queen has, it was sewn by your mother. You cherish it deeply. 

“Are you cosplaying?” he asks. “Or filming something?”

“Pardon me?” Your brows lift, unable to understand him.

Your Prince frowns. “Are you here alone?”

“Why, of course, I am. I was trying to get away.”

“You said someone was chasing you? Who?”

“I already said, it was the Huntsman.” You sigh. “Oh, goodness, I do not know why he would do such a thing, but it was quite frightening. I had no choice but to flee as quickly as possible!”

“Al-….right then.” He takes a black rectangle from his pants and you watch inquisitively as he squeezes the side. You’re startled when a noise comes from it. Yet the prince speaks into the rectangle. “Hello? Can we get a medic? We have a lost and distressed...unstable female down just off of the granular trail by the Marshall Springs, west of the river. Hello?”

You’re startled once more when he suddenly hits the rectangle with his hand. “Hello? Can anyone hear? Goddammit, why is it not working?”

You wonder if this is a magical contacting device from his kingdom. Perhaps he’s calling his knights. “Is everything alright, my prince?”

He looks up at you. “Huh?” 

“I’m quite alright,” you reassure your handsome prince as a bashful smile comes across your features. “Now that you’re here.”

He’s silent for a few beats and then he sighs, placing the rectangle to hang off the top of his pants again. “Do you know what your name is?”

“It’s Y/N.” Your lashes flutter. “May I know yours?”

“I’m Seokjin, Park Ranger of Wood Buffalo National Park.” He points to the emblem on his sleeve. You’ve never heard of such a kingdom before, but it sounds absolutely splendid.

“Seokjin,” you murmur the name of your prince to seal it into memory.

“I’ll be able to help you. You don’t need to be scared,” he promises and you’re sure you must be dreaming. He is perfect. “Do you know how long you’ve been out here for?”

“Half a day, perhaps? I’ve been wandering the forest for quite some time.”

“What was your last memory?”

“Well, I was picking flowers and singing to the birds, but then I heard footsteps and I turned around and saw the Huntsman and started to flee. It was such a shame as I had to leave my daisies behind.”

You sigh softly, not noticing his incredulous expression and how he takes another step away from you. “Why won’t you take a seat, Miss Y/N. I’ll try my best to contact some help for you and get an assessment done.”

You’re not sure what he means but you nod, deciding to rest at a tree stump. Prince Seokjin tries to speak into his rectangle again, but there is little answer. It goes quiet as the beautiful forest sings, birds twiddling their song and the leaves rustle. 

Your prince breathes out and then he looks at you, mustering a smile.

“You must really like Snow White,” he comments passingly.

But you gasp. How does he know the nickname of what the Evil Queen calls you?

No one else knows. Could it be that he’s working for her?

You stand, careening back from him. Seokjin’s eyes widen. “Are you alright?”

“Stay back!” you shout. You can’t believe you were almost tricked!

“Miss—!”

You flee from him.

“Wait!”

You turn around, tears welling into your eyes as you look at him. You don’t notice the rippling effect in front of you, like an invisible wall only visible to the eye if close attention is paid. You don’t notice it until you step past the boundary line and Seokjin suddenly vanishes from sight.

You slow to a stop. What.

You step back and as if the world ripples, he appears again. Right on the spot you last saw him.

You step forward and he disappears. You step back and he reappears.

Seokjin’s mouth has drawn open. He’s as bewildered as you are. 

The magic of the Enchanted Forest is wondrous in ways you cannot and will not ever understand. Your mother once told you tales on how the trees are more ancient than mankind. That the fairies and elves, creatures and beasts, living inside have added to its mystic magic that have both answered pleas and punished wrongdoers when harm is done to the forest.

You are sure this is part of the Enchanted Forest’s magic too. 

When you cross a certain point of the area, Seokjin vanishes from your sight and you do from his and when he crosses, you vanish from his sight and you no longer see him as well. It’s as if it’s a doorway and this place crosses between both of your paths.

You quickly learn that Seokjin is no prince of any kingdom. He belongs to a different world entirely.

“...and they lived happily ever after. The end.” You close the storybook he’s given to you, stunned at how your entire life has been simplified in these measly drawings and short sentences. “I...have to live in a small cottage with seven small men?”

“They’re dwarves,” he says.

You look up at him. “And I’m given a poison apple by the Queen?”

“Well, you’re saved by a handsome prince who gives you true love’s kiss…?”

“This is awful!” You sob out and the book falls to the ground. “I don’t want to return!”

Seokjin is wide-eyed, not sure what to say.

“I don’t want to live in a house with, with, with—”

“Dwarves,” he finishes.

“—or be poisoned and brought to an endless sleep, waiting until a prince’s lips touches mine, so I can wake up and live in his kingdom as his!” Hopelessness makes tears well in your eyes.

You were waiting for someone to rescue you — your prince and one true love. But now that you know what will eventually happen, you’re heartbroken. You thought once you were banished from the castle, you could live a peaceful and happy life. But there was still so much waiting for you.

You never return home. Yes, you meet your true love and the Evil Queen dies. But all that misery for a happy ending? The end doesn’t justify the means. It was still frightening. You’ve been chased by the Huntsman already and that fear is enough to make you tremble now. You can’t imagine living with seven small strangers, being poisoned, and brought to a deep sleep while not knowing when you will wake up again.

“I won’t leave,” you decide, placing your foot down.

It seemed like no one could enter this place except for you and Seokjin. The Huntsman couldn’t come when he was right behind you, so you’ll be safe from the Evil Queen and her henchmen.

“What?” Seokjin looks at you, blinking.

“I’ll stay here.” 

He looks around the empty forest, appearing at a loss. His mouth opens, closes and then opens again. “I can’t in my good conscience leave a young woman to fend for herself.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, unable to understand his concern. “I may not be able to defeat my evil step-mother and her magic, but I know the forest well enough and can still fend for myself.”

To prove it, your lips part and you start to sing. 

At once, the birds hop from their branches and fly over to your feet. The squirrels emerge from their homes, rabbits from their burrows and a doe peeks out from the thicket. Seokjin is startled, taking a step back at all the animals and forest creatures emerging. Perhaps if he did not truly believe you were Y/N, Princess of your kingdom, and also Snow White from his storybook, he does now.

The creatures scurry away in disappointment when you stop singing.

Seokjin appears surprised. “Your voice is lovely— but I know this place might be your….your…”

“Enchanted Forest.”

“It might be your Enchanted Forest, but it’s also the Wood Buffalo National Park. It could have bears, wolves and bison. It’s dangerous. Especially at night.” 

You look at Seokjin. Seokjin looks at you.

He ultimately sighs.

Throughout the next few days, Seokjin brings you supplies. He teaches you how to set something up called a tent and it’s absolutely wonderful to sleep in with the makeshift bed he calls a sleeping bag. He teaches you how to start a fire, brings you a chair that you can easily open up and a lantern for the night.

It starts to become a wonderful place, filled with knick-knacks such as the box that makes a fantastic drink called coffee to a bigger box that’s cold and holds in snacks he brings to you. He tells you these things can run on ‘solar power’ which is power from the sunshine. It’s magic.

Seokjin might not be a prince, but he is a kind man. 

You also learn his job is a noble one. He walks through the forest and protects the creatures and heroes that wander in it. And while you may be from vastly different worlds, if there’s one thing you both have in common, it’s how much you cherish and love nature.

“I would like it if you could possibly bring me a shield or perhaps tools of some sort. Any scrap materials that you have no need for.”

Seokjin frowns, seated next to you on the log as he roasts the sweet treat called a marshmallow. His face is warm and glowing by the light of the fire. The forest is quiet but it feels peaceful. You find it’s always peaceful when he’s by your side. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I think I’m going to train and defeat the queen.”

“What?”

You roast the white puff until it’s golden on all sides. “I’ve been thinking that while I want to stay here, I don’t know if it can hide forever. I am not truly free until the Evil Queen has been defeated and I do not want to wait until she poisons me.” Your gaze meets his. “I want to protect myself.”

For the weeks that follow, you fashion sheets of metal into shields and weapons. Seokjin brings you a bow and arrows, and shows you how to shoot. You practice without rest on apples that you collect from the tree by the boundary line. That fruit has become your one true nemesis.

The arrow spirals out and thunks straight into the middle of the apple. It smacks into the trunk of the tree.

“Nice shot!”

You set your bow down, smiling widely at Seokjin who’s been watching you fondly.

“What are you going to do after you defeat the queen?” he asks in a murmur later that evening whilst helping you prepare dinner. He’s been coming to visit you every day now, after his work he says. You’re thankful for it — his company is something you’ve grown to yearn for.

You hum pleasantly. “I don’t know. Perhaps I will return. Don’t you think a cottage would be pleasant here?”

Your face lifts to find his softened gaze. He looks away just as quickly, yet he still murmurs, “Maybe I could bring you supplies.”

The two of you shyly smile to yourselves.

Seokjin may not be a prince, but he might just be the one you love.